#you want to be the best daughter you really do but you also want to let go and do things other kids do and try stupid shit out

[swiftispunk]

spring breaks loose | joel miller x f!reader

a your summer dream one shot

your summer dream masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | follow @swiftispunkupdates and turn on notifications for updates

It's spring, you're young, you're lovely, you have a right to be happy. Come back into the world.

–Shirley Jackson, We Have Always Lived in the Castle

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pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ word count: 11.2k

series warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] we'll call him dad's buddy!joel, fairly soft!joel, age difference (28/50), angst, smut (will specify with each chapter), fluff, alcohol, food, secret relationship until it's not.

chapter summary: building bridges and starting fresh. it's springtime in austin. chapter warnings: smut, lots of fluff, a sprinkling of angst, consensual somnophilia, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, squirting, vaginal fingering, oral (m receiving), alcohol + intoxication, reader is so very eepy, food, discussions of infidelity, a whole lot of dialogue and tying up loose ends, heather comes with her own warning, in this house we hate chris, time hop, pov swapping. no use of y/n.

a/n: we have reached the penultimate chapter of ysd (for real this time). thank you to everyone who has stuck around this long. thank you to @frannyzooey for helping me work out a few things in this chapter, @joelscruff for beta'ing, and @5oh5, who offered me plant guidance many moons ago now. i also wanted to just boost the fact that i do have a kofi account, and while there is never any pressure to tip, life is hard rn and i always always appreciate the help. love ya'll sm.

*lastly: be sure to see the very end of this post for a special SNEAK PEEK of the upcoming final chapter of your summer dream.

january

-

"I'm really happy," you insist, and in spite of it all, Joel's lips twitch up at the corners. You've told him how happy you are about a thousand times, but watching you confidently profess it to your father is something else entirely. 

"I'm really happy, okay?" you repeat, firm as you stare down the man across from him. Your father's face remains unchanged, stoic and blank as he nods. Joel swallows tightly as you nod back, and then you're gone.

Neither of the men utter a word until the back door swings shut behind you. Joel can feel your father's eyes on him, but he can't bring himself to meet them. He should say something. He clears his throat but then–   

"Joel...since Costa Rica?" your father asks. He doesn't sound angry, Joel notes. No, he sounds…hurt. 

At last, Joel looks up from the table, and your father stares back at him with obvious confusion in his eyes. Confusion and–as Joel had imagined–hurt. 

Joel sighs. 

"Yeah," he nods solemnly, shifting in his seat. "Yes."

Your dad just shakes his head, and Joel can practically see the cogs turning in his mind, playing back those days at the resort, piecing it all together in real time. 

"That whole time we were there, you–?"

"No–" Joel cuts him off. "Not…not the whole time."

Like that makes it better. Your father doesn't look at him, still lost in thought, still shaking his head defiantly. 

"I was…we were right across the hall. You–all that sneaking around–we–you–"

His rambling dissolves into incoherent sputtering until Joel finally chimes in again.

"I'm sorry," he says, and then he's shaking his head too, like he's just as much in disbelief about the whole thing as his best friend is. And he is, really. Couldn't believe it then, can hardly believe it now. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Goddamnit, Joel," your father suddenly exclaims, a palm coming down hard on the tabletop. His anger seems to catch up with him, as though Joel's quiet apology had somehow been the final nail in the coffin. "She's Sarah's age! I mean, that–that's my daughter!"

Joel swallows and sniffs back a heated flow of emotion. He knows he deserves it, deserves every bit of your father's ire. But that doesn't mean it doesn't sting, that feeling of being scolded by his oldest friend in the world. He shrinks a bit and crosses his arms over his chest defensively.

But he doesn't actually defend himself at all. For some reason, he digs the hole deeper. Maybe he's tired of lying. 

"Younger," he grumbles, staring down at his hands. 

"What?"

Joel clears his throat, cautiously daring to meet your father's accusatory glare. 

"She's younger than Sarah."

There's a long and painful beat of silence as your father sits back in his chair with a heavy, exasperated sigh. 

"What the hell is this, Joel?" he demands. Still biting, still cold, though not quite as infuriated. 

Joel seizes the opportunity. He leans forward, elbows on the table, pleading. Where to begin? He thinks about what he'd want to hear if the roles were reversed–and starts there.

"Everythin' was mutual, right from the start–I swear," Joel begins. "And I...I mean, I couldn't even remember the last time I seen her before that day at the airport. I ain't never even thought about her like that before. Then we were–spendin' all this time together, which you wanted us to do–"

"Uh-uh, don't you go puttin' this on me," your dad cuts in. "You know damn well this ain't what I had in mind."

Joel nods. 

"I know, I know," he agrees. "I didn't mean–sorry."

Your father doesn't respond. Joel sighs.

"Listen, she was hurtin', man–you don't know the half of what that boy did to her," Joel attempts to reason. "We got to talkin' about it all and I...I just wanted to be there for her, you know? And, sure, there was attraction there, she's a beautiful girl–"

"Alright, alright, alright," your father interrupts again, grimacing. "I don't need to hear about all that."

Joel nods again, swallowing back the words he'd been about to say–that the attraction had, miraculously, flown both ways. That you'd wanted him just as much as he'd wanted you. That he never would have sought you out if he hadn't known that was true. 

He contemplates his next words carefully. 

"Look, it wasn't right to keep it from you," Joel concedes eventually. "We–or, I–got caught up in it. You think I expected this? I mean she just–," Joel shakes his head, lost for words again as his cheeks warm and his lips curl into this fond little smile when he thinks of how completely and quickly you'd made a home for yourself in his heart, "She took me by surprise, man. But you know what it's like when you got a good thing goin'. You don't wanna risk losin' it."

Your dad just frowns, his mouth seemingly fused into a hard, unforgiving line. 

"Costa Rica was months ago, Joel."

Joel sighs. 

"I know. I know, okay? I wanted to tell you sooner. But she wasn't ready for that and I wasn't gonna go against her wishes."

Your father's jaw ticks as he chews on the inside of his cheek, thinking. Coldly assessing the man across from him like he's seeing him for the very first time. Joel crumbles under that stare, hates how it feels coming from someone he's known so long. 

"You know me, man," Joel pleads, wide eyes boring desperately into your father's. "You know me. When have I ever gone for someone younger? When have I ever even wanted that?"

Your father's face doesn't change but he also doesn't argue, so Joel goes on.

"All I wanna do–all I have ever wanted to do for that girl–is take care of her. And I-I know maybe it's…uncomfortable–"

Your father scoffs at the understatement of the century, and Joel can't help the way his own lips twitch upwards too. It's a moment of genuine camaraderie, of two fathers well aware of the absurdity of their situation. Their matching grins quickly fade, but nevertheless, Joel feels somewhat more at ease when he next speaks. 

"–but it's real," Joel concludes, "What we got. S'hard as it is to understand–and believe me, I ain't even sure I understand it, but…"

His voice trails off into a pensive sigh, mirrored by your father. There's another stretch of silence, but the air feels less tense now, a little less thick with disdain. Again, Joel ponders what he'd want to hear if he was in your father's shoes. What would give him the peace of mind to know this was okay?

"I'm…" he starts to say, but he's shocked to find the words get caught in his throat, obstructed by a sudden lump of emotion. He grunts past it, straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders while your father looks on with furrowed brows. 

"I'm in love with her," Joel finally manages, voice low and laced with devotion. 

It's infinitesimal, but Joel could swear he sees your father's eyes soften. 

"I ain't told her that yet," he continues. "But I think she knows. I think she's a smart girl, and I think she knows this is real, too. Hell, I don't think she'd'a stuck around this long if she didn't think I was serious about her. And so, I…I think you gotta trust her on this one. Even if you don't wanna trust me."

Your father crosses his arms over his chest and takes another long, weighty sigh. 

"Jesus Christ, Joel," he mutters, shaking his head down at the table. But it doesn't sound angry or even hurt anymore. It almost sounds teasing, and Joel almost laughs. 

"I know," he smirks. "Trust me, I know."

"S'pose I got no business tryna forbid it, do I?" your father says.

"She wouldn't let you even if you tried," Joel replies, grinning wider when he thinks of how you'd respond to that. You, so independent and sure of yourself. Yeah fucking right.

Your dad huffs out a single laugh. "Ain't that the truth."

Tentatively, both men sip at their drinks, falling back into something of a routine. It still feels…awkward. But the worst seems to have passed.

Meanwhile, Joel's heart is pounding in his chest as the reality of his admission catches up with him. He loves you. He's in love with you. He's never said it out loud before. His entire body suddenly aches with the need to see you, just so he can say it again and again and again. 

Joel polishes off his drink, pursing his lips around the burn of whiskey on his tongue. The two men lock eyes, and Joel thinks maybe–maybe–he can see the early signs of forgiveness there. 

"I get it f'you need some time," Joel says. "Guess I just…wanna make sure me n' you are gonna be alright."

Joel's best friend sighs, before nodding slowly and sympathetically. 

"Yeah," he grunts. "Yeah, we'll be alright. C'mon–"

He cocks his head to the side as he rises up out of his chair and Joel hastily follows suit. Your father pulls him into an affable, if somewhat unsure, embrace, firmly patting his palms over Joel's upper back. Joel returns the hug instinctively.

"Don't fuck this up, Miller," your father grumbles over Joel's shoulder.

Joel chuckles, honestly grateful for the familiar ribbing. "Won't. Promise."

That's about the time you come charging back through the door.

-

four months later

-

A blanket of grey coats the early-April sky above, a telltale sign of rain to come. It's appropriately ominous, you think, considering what you're about to do.

Joel herds you toward his truck in the driveway with a hand on your lower back, but something in your periphery gives you pause. A glimpse of colour that hadn't been there before, stopping you in your tracks about halfway down his front steps. 

"Those are new."

Joel stops too, following your eye line as he casually throws an arm across your shoulders. He smiles when he sees what you see, letting you guide him a little closer to what had once been an unassuming, mostly barren patch of dirt on his front lawn. Now, poking out from the otherwise lifeless bushes are a handful of tulips, vivid green stems giving way to pink and yellow petals, tentatively blooming in spite of the day's limited sunlight. 

"Oh…yeah," Joel shrugs. "Sarah and I planted 'em. Years ago. Grow back every year around this time."

You're not sure why that stirs something in you. But it does. 

Joel Miller has tulips in his garden.

Curiously, you inch towards them, crouching to delicately curl your fingers around the unfurling petals.

"They're beautiful," you muse. You turn to face him and find he's watching you with equal curiosity. "Pink and yellow?"

"She picked the pink."

"Adds up," you nod. "What made you go with yellow?"

He stares at your fingers fiddling with the stems, and shrugs. You think he seems a little shy. 

"Can't remember," he says. "They're sunny, I guess. Bright."

A tightness knots in your throat as he reaches out beside you to touch his own fingers to the petals, softly running his thumbs against them, seemingly deep in thought. You think of a younger Joel Miller, picking out yellow tulip seeds to plant with his daughter because they reminded him of the sun. A younger Joel Miller digging holes in the Earth to lay down his roots, burying a memory only to watch it grow back, year after year. A sure thing, a constant. Always there even if you can't see them.

Of course Joel Miller has tulips in his garden. 

"What?" he probes after a moment of prolonged silence. You clear your throat. 

"Nothing," you smile, craning to kiss his cheek and feeling the low rumble of his responding chuckle against your lips. "I love you."

He cups a hand over your face before you can get too far, pressing his mouth to yours in a deeper, far less chaste kiss. 

"I love you too," he murmurs as he pulls away. 

You're still thinking about the tulips as Joel backs out of the driveway, and the first of the day's raindrops begin to hit his windshield. You make your way out of the safety of the cul-de-sac, and with the low hum of the radio playing in the background, you count the houses on the street outside your window in an attempt to calm your nervous mind. 

Joel doesn't interrupt your silence. But as you merge onto the freeway, your heart begins to pound–and you decide you need a distraction. 

"It's nice they grow back every year," you say absently out the window. 

"Hm?" Joel's brows furrow as he glances over at you, sitting with your chin atop your fist and staring out at the steadily increasing rainfall. He quickly catches up with your train of thought. "Oh, the tulips. Yeah, it is nice. 'Specially after Sarah left. They always reminded me of her."

You nod and make some noncommittal humming sound. Talking was a stupid idea actually. 

As ever, Joel notes your demeanour. 

"You alright?" he asks, taking your hand across the centre console and squeezing three distinct times. 

You sigh.

"Just nervous."

"You'll be fine," he insists lightly, not for the first time. "I reckon she's a lot more nervous'n you are."

You can't argue with that. Heather is the one who fucked your ex-boyfriend. Heather is the one working to make amends. Heather is the one who threw away your friendship and is now asking for it back. 

"Yeah, that's probably true," you agree quietly. 

Joel sighs. He lifts your conjoined hands to his mouth to lay a kiss against your knuckles, keeping his eyes on the road as he does. 

"Just…remember, you're not goin' there to forgive her or to…pretend like nothin' happened," he says. "But I think you'll feel better once y'get this all hashed out."

"I know you're right," you nod, allowing the truth of his words to wash over you as you take another steadying breath and lean your head back into the seat behind you. "I just feel like I-I've been carrying the weight of this for too fucking long. I have to let it go. I'm doing the right thing."

It's a mantra you have to keep reminding yourself of–you're doing the right thing. Not just from a being the bigger person standpoint, but for you. You need to do this so you can close this chapter of your life for good. 

"You're takin' the time to hear her out after all the shit she put you through," Joel goes on. "Makes you a better person than most people I know."

The pride and adoration in his voice makes warmth bloom in your tummy, but you roll your eyes all the same–out of habit more than anything else. 

"I don't know about that."

"I do."

His gaze darts in your direction again, and there is no trace of a lie in that look. So you choose not to fight him, just smile tightly and accept his reassurance, falling back into comfortable quiet for the rest of your drive. 

By the time he pulls up in front of the cafe you'd agreed to meet Heather at, your nerves have returned tenfold. Is she already inside? You're ten minutes early so maybe not. Is it better if you're here first or would that make her feel weird? Why are you worried about making her feel weird?  

God, it never used to feel this terrifying to see your best friend. You have half a mind to ask Joel to wait with you but ultimately decide against it. You need to be a big girl about this. 

"I can do this," you tell yourself instead. 

"You can," Joel agrees, taking you in his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Call me if it goes south and I'll come pick y'up, alright?"

You nod resolutely as you unravel yourself from his hold. 

"'Kay. Thank you."

"Good luck, baby girl."

With one last parting kiss, Joel lets you go, watching you from the driver's seat until you disappear behind the door of the cafe.

-

Heather is not there yet, as it turns out, and you can't tell if that makes this better or worse. 

Now you're faced with new dilemmas. Should you order her a coffee? You haven't seen her in eight months; what if she takes it differently now? 

She fucked your boyfriend–why would you buy her a coffee? the pettier part of you wonders.

And that's…true, you suppose.

So you buy yourself a latte and get it in a to-go cup, find a seat at a two-person table in the back of the dining room and wait. But not for long.

Barely five minutes later and Heather is coming through the door. She spots you and there's a moment of awkward uncertainty as you half-rise from your chair, the both of you waving at each other before Heather gestures to the line at the till. You nod and retake your seat.

You resist the urge to text Joel. You can do this. You can do this on your own.

Heather settles up, cautiously setting her coffee cup on the table beside yours and you're not sure why–instinct or something–but you stand when she gets there, and let her pull you into a hug. 

"Hi, babe." Her voice is thick and her arms are tight around you. And, goddamnit, for everything she put you through, there is a familiarity in that embrace, something long-forgotten in the warmth of her voice. 

"Hey," you murmur, letting her squeeze you in tighter before you both pull away. "Hey."

She assesses you with wide, wet eyes, hands still resting on your shoulders.

"You look amazing," she says.

"Thanks."

"I don't even know where to start," she shakes her head. "Thank you for seeing me."

"Of course." Like you hadn't stewed over it for literal weeks.

"Why don't I just–I mean, I have to–"

You can see her struggling, and you can't help but sympathize. She was always the more confident of the two of you, always more direct and brave–but in that warm kind of way that used to always put you at ease. Now, she seems completely lost, awkwardly taking a seat and waiting for you to do the same. She clutches her hands around her coffee cup and you don't think you've ever seen her look so small. 

"I am…so fucking sorry," she finally says. She doesn't shy away from you when she says it, and you have to respect her courage for that. She looks you dead in the eyes and doesn't avert her stare even once. 

You swallow tightly. "I know."

"Can I…would you let me explain?"

"Actually, Heather," you say, straightening in your seat a bit to steel yourself. Heather's face falls, until you go on, "Can I go first? I just need to say my piece and then, yes, you can explain."

She's nodding furiously before you even get the words out.

"Of course, yes, oh my god, please."

She sits back, probably gearing up for the lashing of a lifetime. It's not quite what you have planned but–

"You really hurt me. You and Chris. Whatever the story is, whatever went down, it doesn't change the fact that what you two did just... completely fucked me up. My entire life changed overnight because of you. I spent so many days crying, screaming, trying to just...figure out what I'd done to deserve that. Why wasn't I enough? Why wasn't I good enough for Chris? Why wasn't I a good enough friend to you? Like, if I was a better friend to you maybe you wouldn't have done that to me, you know?"

Fat tears slowly well in Heather's eyes as you speak, finally spilling over as you near the end of your monologue. But she doesn't interrupt or argue, and for that, you're grateful.

"I wondered about all of that for a really long time," you continue. "In those first few days when it was hardest...and for so many months after. But...I'm okay now. I think actually it all kind of worked out in the end, as crazy as that sounds."

At least it had all brought you to Joel.

"But I just needed you to know what it did to me. I think it's important that you know."

Heather hastily swipes at her tears, blinking them away and nodding her agreement.

"And that's it, that's all I have to say," you conclude. The weight on your shoulders feels lighter already. "You don't have to say anything back but...I do want to hear you out. You can...you can tell me what happened now."

That was the point of all this after all, you guess. 

Heather takes a deep, shaky breath. You sip your coffee. 

"Okay. Well, fuck. Okay. I had feelings for Chris," she begins. "But I never–I never dreamed of acting on them while you two were together, you have to know that. It wasn't premeditated or-or-or something I actively thought about–"

"I never thought that."

It's true. Heather's a lot of things, but she's not conniving. 

"Okay," she nods, seeming genuinely relieved. "Good. I mean, it still doesn't make it right, I know that. But he–"

She cuts herself off, a nervous shiver passing over her. Her courage wanes, and she looks down at the table as she dives into the part of her story that neither of you wants you to relive. 

"That night at your birthday party, he started telling me things. He…"

Her voice trails off again, and you can understand her fears, but you need to know this. Whatever it is.

"Heather, it's okay, you can tell me."

She glances up at you. You make your resolve as clear as possible on your face until you see her nod. 

"What happened was…I was drunk and I-I told him how I felt," she continues. "I shouldn't have done that, I know that. But that's when he started saying all this stuff about how he wasn't happy and how he was planning to break up with you. He-he said he'd always wanted to be with me instead."

She stops, peeking up at you, but the only response you can offer her is a curt little,

"Oh."

Interesting. He'd made no indication of his unhappiness to you. 

"In that moment, I just…I believed him. I should have just come straight to you but I let my stupid feelings get in the way and I–"

"He can definitely be very convincing," you say bitingly. Heather almost laughs, but quickly reins herself in. 

"It's no excuse, and I know that," she says. "I just really thought he meant it. That he was going to end it with you and choose me instead. Not that that would have been okay either, but. God, in hindsight, I just was not thinking clearly at all."

Heather buries her face in her hands but it's getting hard to focus. You're flitting back through memories, trying to piece things together. Had there been signs? Since meeting Joel, you're acutely aware that you hadn't been as happy as you could have been with Chris, but you can't ever recall letting that on at the time. And you certainly can't recall Chris ever letting on his unhappiness. It doesn't add up. 

"Then he did end it with you and you went to Costa Rica and I felt like, 'Okay, this is what he'd promised,' but…I could tell right away he was having second thoughts. All of a sudden, he's changing his tune, saying he wants to get back together with you and basically telling me I could just be like a-like a side piece or something."

At that, you scoff mirthlessly. Of course.

That's why he hadn't let anything on. He'd been trying to have his cake and eat it too. Motherfucker. 

"Yeah," Heather goes on. "So I said, 'Fuck you' and I walked. I was already feeling terrible about what I'd done to you and that just settled it for me."

"Fuck," you sigh, pinching at a pressure point between your eyes.

"And I haven't talked to him once since then," Heather insists. She reaches across the table and wraps a hand around your wrist, and you let her. "I promise."

You place your own hand over hers–again operating on some kind of deep-seated instinct. 

"Thank you," you tell her. "For–I don't know, for being honest."

"I would've told you everything sooner if you'd have let me–"

"I know."

"But I know–I know you needed your time. You didn't have to hear me out at all, and I would have deserved that. I take full responsibility, I do, but, my god, babe–," Heather's lips pull up in a smirk and you share a knowing glance, "–that guy fucking sucks."

You could try to fight the way your own face contorts into a grin, but you don't. 

"Yeah," you agree. "He really fucking does."

There's a short beat of silence, filled with the sounds of your uncertain, quiet laughter.

"Are we okay?" Heather finally asks tentatively, letting your arm go. "Or–shit. Sorry. You don't have to answer that."

"No–it…I don't know yet," you say truthfully. "But, you know, I don't think you deserve what he did to you, either. And I'm sorry."

"I'm okay now. All I really care about is you."

You smile at each other tightly–uncertainly–and sip quietly at your coffees. She doesn't demand forgiveness or push the subject further. You think the air feels just a little clearer now, a little more like before.

"So what's new with you?" she chimes in after a moment. "How've you been? You never post on Instagram anymore."

Your smile turns a little shy as you debate telling her about Joel. But her gaze is so earnest and curious, it makes you want that normalcy, to be able to gush to your best friend about the man you've fallen in love with. 

"Well," you shrug, sitting up a little straighter in your chair. "I'm seeing someone."

Heather's jaw drops in genuine delight, her eyes going wide with wonder.

"No way! Tell me everything."

And you do. You tell her all about Joel and Costa Rica, and every perfect moment since. Heather gasps and squeals at all the appropriate times and you find yourself remembering why it feels so good to have someone to talk about these things with. It's so validating to watch someone be as excited about your love life as you feel about it. 

"Wait," she interrupts, early on in your retelling, "If he's your dad's friend–how old is he?"

You bite your lip, hardly bashful about it these days, but after the disaster that was telling your parents, you never know how someone could react anymore.

"He's in his fifties," you confess.

Heather's hands come up over her mouth, but her eyes are swimming with barely-contained glee.

"Shut up, oh my god," she exclaims. Her initial shock fades into awe, and when her hands fall from her face, you think she looks kind of impressed, "Damn, girl. That's hot. Is he hot?"

You smile. "He's so fucking hot."

When you're home later, you'll have to remember to tell Joel how good it had felt to brag about him. You're sure he'll act coy, but you know it'll make his ego bloom, just a little bit.

It goes on like that as the minutes pass, you catching Heather up on the whirlwind that the last eight months or so have been. She looks kind of proud, and that feels good too. You're so proud of Joel, proud of the life you've built together, the way he's taught you so much about yourself and helped you grow into this new, happier person. It's nice to have someone else see that.

"So, your mom still doesn't approve?" she asks once you've got her fully up to speed.

You shrug. "Not as far as I know. I haven't spoken to her since that night we told them."

"Oh, babe."

You just shrug again, pushing back on her sympathetic gaze. 

"Maybe she just needs some time," Heather posits, "I mean, you seem so happy. She'll see that eventually."

"Maybe, yeah."

Heather offers you her own scoop after that, telling you all about how she's been busy working on herself, taking courses to get her yoga-teaching license and enjoying being single for the time being–though she does work in a few stories of some particularly exciting hook-ups. She seems well, and in spite of everything, you're happy for her. 

What's more, you kind of don't want your time with her to end. She seems to sense it too.

"Hey, do you want to maybe grab a drink? Like, a real drink?" she offers once your take-out cups are empty and the cafe's traffic has slowed to an early-evening lull. 

"Yeah, okay, fuck it," you agree with a shrug. Heather smiles excitedly before excusing herself to the bathroom, leaving you to check your phone for the first time in hours.

Everything good? reads a text from Joel. 

all good, you reply, i'll be a little later than i thought. 

Take yr time. Love you.

love you too.

-

A cocktail deep, pop music blaring, and a plate of nachos between you; this is true familiarity with Heather.  

You're finally starting to feel some semblance of comfortable, and it feels fucking good. To laugh with an old friend, even if there's still that faint undercurrent of distrust there. You imagine it won't ever fully go away. The minutes tick by, and while that distant uncertainty never fades, it gets easier. It gets fun.

"So, be honest," Heather says, diving headfirst into her second blended margarita. Her eyes sparkle with a devious little glint and you already have a feeling what she's going to ask. "This guy…he's in his fifties, right?"

"Right," you grin. 

"So like…what's the sex like?"

Your grin widens as a warmth floods your cheeks. You think about Joel, his patience and his generosity, his big cock and his skillful hands. His curiosity and his devotion, every new experience he's offered you and how genuinely thrilled he seems to do so. You try not to think about it for long, though, because your tummy is already fluttering in a way it really shouldn't be in public.

"Honestly," you say, sipping at your drink coyly. "I don't think it could possibly be any better."

Heather makes a delighted little noise, practically bouncing her chair. 

"Oh my god, okay…but what about like, his stamina?"

"Um," you laugh. "Hasn't been an issue yet."

"I love this for you so much, babe," she smiles and it sounds like she really means it. "Can I see what he looks like?"

You have no qualms saying no to that. You may be stupidly in love, but you don't think it's biased of you to find Joel Miller beautiful. It's simply an objective truth. And it feels good to show him off.

You pull your phone out of your purse and flash Heather your lockscreen–a picture of Joel on the beach in Costa Rica, salt-and-pepper curls tousled in the breeze, soft belly poking out over his swim trunks, smiling at you over his broad shoulders.

"Oh my god," Heather repeats, yanking your phone right out of your hand for a better look. She taps the screen to keep it alive as she stares between the picture and you, smiling triumphantly across from her. "Whoa."

"Mhm," you smirk, your chest swelling with pride. 

“That's a man, baby," she commends you, handing back your phone. You sneak a parting glance down at the image of Joel on your screen before locking it. Heather sits back against the booth behind her, shaking her head in wonder. "And he sounds like he's so good to you."

You nod, sighing dreamily. "Yeah...he's the best."

"Good. You deserve that."

It's honestly a touching sentiment, one that makes you warm and soft. You didn't know how nice it would feel to have just one person in your life accept your relationship with Joel without any convincing at all. You share a smile and clink your glasses. 

"I need an older man," Heather jokes, the sincerity of the moment quickly dissipating. "I'm so sick of boys."

"Joel certainly puts Chris to shame, that's for sure," you admit candidly. 

Heather huffs. "Yeah, well, that's not saying much, is it?"

You almost squirt your drink out through your nose. 

"Sorry, oh my god," Heather laughs, but it's too late. And it's probably wrong, but you don't care. You both descend into a fit of giggles at your ex's expense, and something about it feels weirdly cathartic.

-

It's like old times after that. Easier to forget the drama when you're three drinks deep and laughing so much. You're comfortably drunk in a way you haven't been in a while, falling quickly back into your usual repartee with Heather. You feel lighter–freer–as you and Heather find your way to the dance floor and pick up basically where you'd left off nearly a year ago.

You also miss Joel.

He's being respectful, clearly trying to give you space, texting you to be safe when you'd let him know you'd be staying out a little longer. And that's nice and all, but you've talked about him so much tonight, and for all the fun you're having, you just want his arms around you and his lips on yours again. 

"Didn't we go to high school with that guy?" Heather leans in close as you dance, effectively distracting you.

You follow her stare across the bar, averting your gaze the second you lock eyes with a handsome stranger leaning against the far wall. He's with a friend, and the two of them eye you and Heather with unabashed interest.

"Which one?" you giggle. 

"The one on the left!"

You peek over at the men again, honing in on the one on the left. He does kind of look familiar. He's also still watching the two of you curiously.

"Uh…" you wrack your brain, trying to recall. It feels like a lifetime ago.

"Tom!" Heather exclaims. You shake your head. 

"That doesn't sound right."

"No, it is! Tom from the basketball team, remember?" 

You look over again, but it's still not clicking. Maybe you're drunker than you'd thought.

"He's kinda cute," Heather murmurs slyly in your ear. You grin. 

The man is tall and lean, light-haired and certainly good-looking enough. A little older than both of you, but younger than the broader, burlier man beside him. You think maybe they could be brothers. 

"Do you want to say hi?" you ask her. 

Heather shakes her head.

"I have a better idea," she winks.

She grabs your hand and guides you to the bar, leaning against it and lengthening her body ever so. It doesn't take long before the men are coming up beside you like clockwork. 

You could always count on Heather to find a way to get free drinks.

"What are you drinking, ladies?" the younger one implores confidently, placing an elbow on the bar top beside Heather. "Oh shit, do I know you?"

"I want a shot," Heather says, ignoring his question. "You guys want a shot?"

"Fuck, yeah–whiskey alright?"

"Tequila," Heather smirks definitively.

-

Despite being out of practice, you haven't lost the ability to recognize good vibes from bad. And the guys give off good vibes. Especially once you all collectively figure out that you did indeed go to high school together. 

You shoot a pointed look at Heather when the younger one tells you his name is, in fact, Tim. 

"From the basketball team, though, right?" Heather asks. Tim frowns.

"Actually, it was water polo," he says.

"Water polo!" Heather repeats, looking at you with open arms and winking. You try to conceal your giggling. "Of course, I remember now."

Tim grins bashfully, even though you are sure Heather most certainly does not remember. 

You cheers to the Ravens and down your shots and then Tim ushers Heather back to the dance floor. You happily let her go. Tim seems kind of goofy, consistently making Heather throw her head back in laughter and it honestly feels nice to watch her look so content. You think about how Joel had made you feel those first few days in Costa Rica, when you'd still been reeling with all that heart ache. 

You think about how much resentment you'd harboured for Heather back then, and while it's not totally gone, there's a sense of kinship there now too. Chris had hurt you both, and you know all too well how healing it had been to find someone willing to stitch up the wounds he'd left. You want that for Heather. 

Goddamnit, you miss Joel. 

You imagine showing him off to all your old high school friends like he was some kind of trophy husband at a class reunion. You'd walk into the gymnasium, hanging confidently off his arm and everyone there would turn and stare. They'd all whisper about his age, you bet. Call you mean names behind the bleachers and gossip about whether or not he was your sugar daddy. Thinking like that used to make you anxious, now it makes you grin. 

"You want another drink?"

The other guy, Mike, is still sitting with you at the bar. He is Tim's brother, though you don't recognize him at all. Two years older and visiting from Philly, he's pretty clearly into you. But the conversation has been easy and he hasn't tried anything weird, so you don't think too much of it. You regale him about all your favourite local taquerias and what you studied in college, conscious of the way he seems just a little bit too interested in all of it. 

But you definitely don't need another drink, bordering on the better side of too drunk, and as nice as he is, you think it's probably best not to lead him on any longer. 

"Actually, I think I might head out soon."

"That's cool," Mike shrugs, polishing off the beer in his hand. "Wanna go grab a bite? Keep hangin' out?"

He sounds casual enough, but there's also an air of hopefulness in his voice. 

"Oh, that's okay." You clear your throat, suddenly nervous at the thought of quashing that hope. "I'm, um, I'm actually spoken for."

Unconsciously, your fingers fly to the shell around your neck, fiddling idly with the chain. Mike's eyes follow the motion.

Much to your relief, Mike smiles, seemingly unbothered. 

"Makes sense," he nods. His eyes trail up and down your body in a way that makes your cheeks burn. It also really makes you miss Joel. He's the only one you want looking at you like that. 

"Well, he's a lucky guy, whoever he is," Mike says with a wink. 

"Yeah," you agree fondly. "He is."

-

It's a quarter past eleven when Joel finally hears a car pull up outside. Two minutes later and your key is turning in the door, Henry bounding off the bed beside him to greet you downstairs. 

"Hi, baby boy!"

Your voice, high-pitched and much too loud, cuts through the quiet of his home. He smiles to himself as he listens to you kick your shoes off, murmuring unintelligible nonsense to Henry as you both make your way back up to the bedroom. Joel sets his book on the nightstand and tilts his glasses down his nose, sitting up straighter until you emerge in the doorway with Henry in your arms and a crooked smile plastered across your face. 

"Hey, sweetheart," he smirks.

You visibly soften at the sight of him, Henry spilling out of your grip.

"Hi," you whine.

Joel can't quite get a read on your energy, watching you curiously strip off your jeans and crawl up the mattress till you're splayed out on top of him.    

"Mmmm, Joel," you sigh dreamily as you make yourself at home across his chest. 

"I take it that went alright?" he asks, wrapping an arm around your neck to stroke the back of your head. You practically purr into his sternum and the sound makes his insides turn.

"Yes," you nod, before pressing both hands into his shoulders to push yourself up so you're straddling him, "But, Joel…"

Now face to face, you appear a bit dazed as you blink down at him, an adorable little pout painting your features. Joel smirks, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he waits for you to finish your thought.

"I missed you so much," you conclude, catching him off guard when you fist the front of his t-shirt and dive forward to slant your mouth over his.

You plunge your tongue between his lips and Joel can taste tequila there, can feel it too in the way you're kissing him; sloppy, hungry, eager. 

"Only been gone a few hours, sweetheart," he chuckles against your lips.

"I know, but…after the cafe, we went drinking and–"

"No shit."

With what appears to be considerable effort, you push yourself off his chest and point an accusatory finger in his face. Your eyes narrow and Joel thinks you look a little too adorable for your own good. 

"Watch it, Miller."

Joel grins. 

"Mmmm, or what?" he hums, tracing his palms up and over your sides, which seems to distract you for a moment, your eyelids fluttering as a minute shiver visibly courses through you. You quickly pull yourself together.

Your blissful features quickly dissolve back into an overdone pout and Joel watches with amusement as you pry his fingers off your body. He could resist, but he doesn't, honestly just curious–and maybe a little turned on–as you collect his wrists in your hands and pin his arms down on the mattress beside his head.

Seemingly content with your work, you hold him there with eyebrows raised–and Joel decides to let you have the win. 

"Can I finish my story, please?"

"Yes, ma'am," he smirks. You bristle at that but otherwise manage to stay on track.

"We went drinking, and it was really, really fun," you go on. You shift your weight slightly, and Joel smirks when he catches the moment you lose your train of thought at the feeling of his hardening cock beneath you. 

"And?" he presses.

"I-I think I'm still mad at her…but it was…nice."

"That's good, baby," Joel murmurs, experimentally rolling his hips upwards just to watch your eyelids flutter. "I'm real proud of ya."

You exhale, making a sound that's almost a sob as you abandon your grip around his wrists to fold yourself over his chest again. You greedily kiss his neck and his ears and his face, and Joel lets you. Your drunken desperation is making him harder than he'd like to admit, and it's pretty fucking endearing to watch you suck your little marks into his skin with no inhibitions whatsoever.

"I talked about you a lot," you smile, clumsily resituating yourself so you're lying against his side, folding yourself in half so you're speaking the words against his belly. 

"Yeah?" He rests his hand on the back of your skull, chuckling at the way you keen into his touch. "Talked about me how?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," you sneer just as you curl your fingers under the waistband of his boxers.

"What're you doin' there, baby girl?"

You peer up at him with a devastating puppy-dog stare, all wide-eyed and needy. "I missed your cock. I just wanna suck on it a little."

"Jesus," Joel breathes. He's powerless to fight you then as you tug his boxers down his thighs to reveal his semi-hard cock. He really shouldn't let you in this state but you're already wrapping your fingers around him and tonguing at his slit and it's too fucking late now. He stiffens fully in your grasp and promptly loses any will to stop you.

Then you close your lips around his length and take him as deep as you can, moaning like he's just given you the sweetest gift in the world. 

"Fuck, yeah, you missed it," he grunts as you begin to bob, downright eager with it, if not lacking some of your usual finesse. You coat his cock with sloppy strings of saliva and move on him in an uneven rhythm but Joel's not gonna argue with a hot, wet mouth. Joel is more than happy to watch you take what you want from him. 

"Messy girl," he remarks affectionately, stroking a palm down your spine to your ass, firmly cupping your cheek in his hand. "This all you wanted? Just to come home and let me stuff that pretty little mouth?"

"Mhm," you hum blissfully around him, spluttering a bit as you swallow him down again.

"Fuck, that's a good girl," he groans.

At that, you whimper, your cheek falling into his belly with your mouth still closed around his cock. You keep up the motions of your mouth for a moment, humming and moaning around him as you draw precum from his tip and suck it down greedily until he feels your jaw slowly begin to slacken.

He pets your hair and your body goes loose, heavy where it lays across his middle.

Joel can sense a shift in you then, your eagerness fading even as you continue to lap at his tip. Your fingers feel a little weaker around his shaft but you don't let up, lazily jerking him until he feels your hand go still, your lips barely grazing him anymore. You offer him a few wet, open-mouthed kisses to the head of his cock and then you go limp.

Joel waits a moment to be sure, peeking down at you questioningly.

Sure enough, you're asleep. 

"Oh, baby," Joel sighs fondly. He squeezes your ass but you don't stir. Your slow, steady breathing lets him know you're really out, his hard cock forgotten in your grasp. You'll probably be embarrassed in the morning, but Joel's just stupidly endeared, hoisting you up into his arms and ignoring your half-conscious sounds of protest. 

"C'mere, sweetheart, there you go."

He nestles up behind you, cradling you into his chest with his cock pressed against your ass. You shimmy back into him and Joel tries to ignore the ache, tells himself it'll feel better to fuck you in the morning when you've sobered up anyway. He reaches back to turn off the lamp on the nightstand and you whine at the loss of his body against yours. 

"Joel," you whisper as he retakes his place behind you. "Did you come?"

He fights for his life not to burst out laughing. You're so goddamn cute.

"No, baby," he murmurs, kissing his favourite spot behind your ear. "Made me feel real fuckin' good, though. You can make me come tomorrow, alright?"

You hum contentedly, already drifting back to sleep. Joel pulls you in tighter, whispers that he loves you even though he doesn't think you can hear him, and it's not long before he's following behind you.

-

His alarm wakes him just as a beam of sunlight passes through his window, but it doesn't have the same effect on you.

You snooze peacefully with your back adhered to his chest, the gentle curve of your ass still flush against his cock. Your panties are gone; had you gotten up in the night? He can't remember now. It doesn't matter anyway, not when he can feel the heat of your body this close, bare flesh all soft and warm against him as the memory of the night before floods his senses. He'd fallen asleep with his dick still hard–aching–and within seconds of being awake, he's right back where you'd left him last night. 

Not that it's uncommon for Joel to wake up horny when he sleeps next to you, but it's worse like this, worse that he's already felt your lips on his cock just a few hours prior, without getting the chance to come down your throat.

"Hey," he murmurs into your hair, but you don't wake up. You just move your hips backwards unconsciously, the hard length of his cock pressing warm between your cheeks. Driving him fucking crazy and you don't even know it.

Joel growls, a low, carnal sound he barely recognizes as he trails a hand down the side of your body. He cups your ass in his palm and spreads your cheeks apart, the tips of his fingers just barely grazing your hole. You shiver and Joel smirks. Sound asleep and you still respond to having your ass played with. Something about knowing you so well makes him that much harder. 

Pliant and gone, you let him play with you, hands traversing every inch of your skin, up and over your belly to cup your breasts. His breath ragged in your ear, he gently twists your nipples just to feel them come alive under his touch. You squirm for him and Joel responds in turn, unable to help himself as he begins to slowly rut his hips against you. 

"Sweet thing," he husks, feeling his touch grow rougher on your hipbone, your ass flush against his bulge as he grinds into you like a fucking teenager. "You don't even fuckin' know. Got no idea what you’re doin' to me, do you?"

He knows you can't hear him. Right now, he doesn't care. 

He's wanted you like this since Costa Rica, too nervous to ask until you'd given him the okay all those months ago now. He's had you so many ways, and still you say you want more. He's not sure what he ever did to deserve you, but if one thing's been true from the start, it's that Joel Miller is not strong enough to deny you anything. 

Something about this, though, feels decidedly selfish. His hand on your thigh, positioning your pliant muscles to his liking, bending your leg at the knee just so he can spread you open wider, slip his fingers between your ass cheeks and scrape them over your bare pussy; that's for him. 

The sticky wetness he feels there–that's his. 

Your spine arching in your sleep when he sinks two fingers into your warm, dripping hole–that's because of him. 

"Still want it, baby?" he hums as he pumps his fingers in and out. "Still want this cock?"

He doesn't wait for you to answer. For once, he just takes. 

You put up no resistance as he replaces his fingers with his cock, pulling your body back into him until his hips meet your ass.

"Fuck," he hisses as he bottoms out.

You're so warm, so tight and inviting and perfect around him.

You're so wet, slick pools of arousal coating the hairs on his lower belly, sticking to your skin where it touches his.

And you're so soft, all gooey and loose in his arms as he slowly rocks into you, as close as he can possibly get and somehow never close enough. 

"S'my good girl," he breathes, "Take it just like that for me. Finish what you started, huh?"

He moves without haste, content just to feel you like this, close and confined under the covers. Experimentally, he reaches around you to touch his fingers to your clit, sighing in amazement when your pussy clenches on his cock, a wave of slick gathering at the place you're connected.

"Yeah? That feel good?" he says to no one as he gently circles your pearl. He's rewarded with a breathy little moan, the prettiest fucking sound he's ever heard. His hips snap against yours with more force now, jostling you with you every thrust. He can feel his control waning, and he's gonna wake you up soon if he's not careful. 

Maybe he's done being careful. 

Cock still buried inside you, he rolls you both so he's lying above you, your body prone to the mattress beneath him. Your fingers curl into little fists and then you gasp, eyelids fluttering against the light of morning. Something dark and animalistic twists in him when he watches the awareness creep across your face, the way your features contort and you strain to look back over your shoulder, piecing it all together. 

"Oh my god," you whine when it clicks. "Joel, fuck, fuck–ohmygodJoel–"

"Shh, I know, baby, I know…I got you, you're okay," he babbles, folding over you to nip hungrily at your shoulders. You throw your head back and expose the column of your neck to him and Joel bites down there too just because he can. "Just had to feel you like this. You were so wet."

"Oh, fuck," you cry, voice still hoarse with sleep as Joel pounds into you harder. No reason to hold back now. "Fuck yes, Joel, take it."

"Yeah?"

"Please."

That's all he needs to hear.

With his arms wrapped firmly around your middle, Joel sits back onto his knees, taking you with him as he drapes you over his thighs and pulls you down onto his length. Your body still feels weak with sleep, almost passive in his grasp in a way he's not sure he should enjoy so much. He doesn't overthink it. 

What he does is find your clit again, massaging his fingers over the bundle of nerves while he thrusts his cock up into you. A wanton moan pours from your throat and Joel catches it in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. 

"There you go, there you go," Joel rambles when he feels you start to quiver, your pussy constricting around him as you spill listless, needy sounds of pleasure onto his lips. "Feels so good, don't it? Wakin' up with a cock inside you. This is what you wanted. Yeah? You gonna come?"

"Yesyes, fuck, yes Joel, I'm coming–"

"I know," he grins, "I know, baby."

He knows because he feels it. He feels you pulse around his length, feels your muscles seize and loosen, feels your little clit twitch beneath his fingers as he coaxes you through your high. He also feels something new, something wet and warm and sinful. 

"Oh, good girl," he groans. "Fuck–look at that."

You're gushing for him, liquid pouring out over his fingers and his cock and his balls, staining the sheets beneath you. You writhe in his arms but Joel just keeps fucking you, fucks you until he's drawn every last drop from you. Fucks you until he's coming too, clutching you against him as his cock spasms between your walls and paints your insides with spend. Hot cum leaks out around his length, drips down your inner thighs, and makes a mess of your already messy pussy. 

He comes and comes and then it ends, strangled moans fading into ragged breaths and heady grunts of release. 

"Jesus," Joel pants into the hollow of your ear as he slowly comes down. "You alright?"

"Yes," you sigh. "Holy shit, thank you, Joel. Thank you."

He's got no fucking idea what for. 

He pulls you off his cock and turns you in his lap to face him. Your arms coil around his neck and you cling to him like a koala, your face buried in his chest. He holds you there, because he thinks you might need that–and also because he wants to. 

"How'd I get so lucky, huh?" he ponders as he gently strokes your hair.

"I'm lucky," you protest softly. "I was trying to tell you that last night."

"I thought you were tryin' to suck my cock."

You laugh breathlessly, unravelling yourself from him just enough to let him see your face. You curl your fingers into his hair in a possessive sort of way that would probably make him hard if he hadn't just come so thoroughly. 

"That was supposed to be an act of gratitude."

"For what? I didn't do nothin'."

He tries to keep his tone as light as yours, but his insecurities always bleed through no matter how hard he tries. You sense the earnestness in his voice, and match it head on. 

"That's not true. You've made everything better," you whisper, touching your forehead to his. "I'm so fucking happy you're in my life."

He's gonna have to ask you exactly what all went down with Heather. He figures for now it can wait. 

You kiss him and he kisses you back, his furrowed brows softening as your lips move against his in a now-familiar dance. The sun rises over Austin and though he's not sure he'll ever have the words to tell you, Joel thinks he's pretty damn happy you're in his life too.

-

"So I was thinking," you say around a mouthful of eggs the following Saturday.

"Uh-oh," Joel grins. 

You fix him with a look and his grin only widens. 

"Anyway," you continue pointedly, shovelling another forkful of eggs into your mouth. "I was thinking–I'm kind of on a roll here. You know, in terms of, like, building bridges or whatever."

"Sure," Joel nods.

"And I'm thinking that…maybe I'm ready to talk to my mom."

Joel's eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, like…" you shrug, focusing on your breakfast as you talk out what's been on your mind since you'd seen Heather last weekend. Being with her and hearing her side of the story had given you some foundation with which to forgive her. It's been gnawing at you that you haven't really given your own mother that chance. Perhaps if she could just see how happy you are, she'd eventually come around. 

You explain all this to Joel, who nods along and hums his agreement. 

"I just feel like I've…closed myself off to her and it's not really fair for me to just expect her to magically see the light, you know? I mean, look at dad. He's been coming around more, he's been seeing us together. And he's basically okay with it all now. Maybe it's just me, you know? Maybe I need to let her in."

Joel shakes his head, smiling at you affectionately. "You're too good for your own good, you know that?"

You scoff and wave him off. 

"Whatever. But don't you agree?"

He appears to mull it over, sipping his coffee for a long moment before eventually sighing. 

"I do," he nods slowly. "But I also think…you got a right to protect your peace. Lettin' her in means exposin' yourself to all the shit that might come with that."

You bite your lip and nod. You know that. You know he's right. You know it might blow up in your face to try to repair that relationship. But some little voice in the back of your head keeps telling you to do it anyway. A cloying, aching need to just…put things back in place.

"I guess I'm just tired of feeling so angry all the time," you confess. "I'm just…walking around with all this unresolved bullshit hanging over me and it's…I mean, it's exhausting. I didn't realize how exhausted I was until I saw Heather, you know? If I potentially have the power to do something about that, then I think…I think I should."

Joel smiles, his sweet brown eyes crinkling at the edges. 

"Then I'm with you, baby," he says, reaching across the table to cover one of your hands with his own. "Whatever you gotta do."

You nod resolutely, spurred on, as ever, by his unwavering support.

-

On Sunday, it rains.

Heavy showers pelt against Joel's windshield, his truck parked in the driveway of your parents' home. A quick text to your mom the day before had confirmed she'd be home around this time and that she'd be more than okay with you stopping by for an afternoon coffee. Unlike when you'd sat outside the cafe in this same truck a week ago, you don't feel nervous to see your mother. Instead, you feel a strange sense of duty and an unflappable air of confidence. All you have to do is show off how happy Joel makes you for a couple of hours. What could possibly be easier than that? 

Plus, you're not really worried about your mother coming at you with any kind of outward disdain. She can be oddly cordial when she thinks someone is mad at her.

"I'll stay close by," Joel tells you. "Take you home when you're done."

You frown. "What? You don't have to wait for me, that's silly."

Joel just shrugs. "Ain't no thing. Don't want you takin' the bus in this weather."

And Joel thinks you're too good. 

"I wish you could just come in with me."

It had been the only stipulation your mother had outlined, or at least that's how you'd interpreted her text asking, It's just you coming, right?

You'd burned with rage at that, typed out an entire message in Joel's defense, but he had insisted it was fine. One thing at a time. He could sit this one out. 

"Next time," he murmurs, leaning across the centre console to kiss your cheek. 

"Yeah," you nod. 

He wishes you good luck, offering you a goodbye kiss before you're pulling your hood up over your head and bounding through the downpour to the front door. Your mother is pulling it open before you've even stepped onto the welcome mat. 

"Quick, quick, come on," she hastens you with a hand around your shoulders, guiding you inside and out of the pouring rain. You catch her look back at Joel pulling out of the driveway before she's closing the door behind you both. 

"Oh, shoot, look at you," she tuts, prodding at the wet fabric of your hoodie. "Let me get you something else to wear–"

"It's fine, mom," you insist before she can go pulling you something hideous from her closet. You pull your damp sweater up over your head so you're in just your t-shirt, noting that hardly any of the rainwater had managed to leak through. "This is fine, see?"

"Alright," she smiles, sort of shyly. You've been apart so long, and it normally doesn't feel so weird falling back into that mother-daughter routine. Extenuating circumstances, you suppose. She glances down at the hoodie in your arms.

"Do you want to hang it up in the bathroom and let it dry? I'll get some coffee going."

You return her smile as best you can. It certainly sounds like she's trying. It certainly sounds like something a mother would say. 

"Yeah, sure," you nod, already skirting around her to your way down the front hall. "Thanks."

You vaguely hear her hum something in response as she makes her way to the kitchen. 

The main-floor bathroom is just down the hall, a renovation project that's been half-in-the-works for years, basically abandoned now that your parents almost exclusively use their en suite. Maybe they'd have finished it by now if you still lived here.

You flip the light on to find it looks much the same as it did the last time you were here; tiles partially laid, sink without a hot water knob. You carefully drape your hoodie up on the shower curtain rod still noticeably lacking a shower curtain.

You're flattening out the sleeves when you hear the doorbell chime. 

Having grown up here, you respond instinctively to the familiar melody, poking your head out of the bathroom just in time to see your mother beat you to the door. She swings it open, and there on the front porch, soaked from his head to his shoulders, is Joel. 

Your heart just about stops.

"Oh," your mother greets him, uncertainly looking back over her shoulder to where you're standing wide-eyed in the hallway. 

"'Lo, ma'am,” Joel says. From here, you can barely hear him over the rain outside. "I don't mean to intrude. Just wanted to leave this."

You frown as he holds something out to your mother, something you can't see from this angle.  

"Oh," she says again, sounding theatrically surprised. You roll your eyes. 

"She left it in the truck. Just thought she might need it. That's all. I'll get outta your hair now."

He catches your eye over her shoulder then, quickly shooting you a sweet, heart-breaking smirk that makes your chest swell. 

"Thank you, Joel," your mother says. "I'll, uh, make sure she gets it."

He smiles at her politely and offers her a parting wave, taking off at the same time she begins to close the door after him.

"What is it? What was that?" you ask, hurriedly emerging from the hallway to meet her in the entryway. 

"Your umbrella," she tells you, hanging it up on a coat hook. "That was nice of him."

She says it absentmindedly as she makes her back to the kitchen, this time with you in tow. 

Huh.

"Well, he's a really nice man," you say simply, leaning your elbows on the island while she tends to the coffee pot. 

"Hm," she nods.

She busies herself, deep in thought in a way that makes you uneasy. 

"What?" you press her.

She pours you a mug of coffee, preparing it just how you like with cream and sugar–the same way you've taken it for years. She hands it to you over the countertop, brows still furrowed together in apparent confusion. 

"He drove you here?"

You frown. "Yes?"

"Kind of a far drive in the rain."

"So?"

She ignores you.

"What's he doing while you're here?"

You're struggling to follow her train of thought. But you think maybe you know what she's getting at. Why she can't understand Joel doing something so selfless, why she probably can't seem to understand you and Joel at all.

The thing about your mother is that there always needs to be something in it for her. Every favour, every helping hand; it can never be truly inconvenient for her, and it must always somehow benefit her in return. You know of people out there with mothers who are truly selfless, mothers who are there for them, mothers who would drop everything at a moment's notice if their children so much as asked.

But that is not your mother. That has never been your mother.

You'd forgiven her for that long ago, convinced yourself it had just made you that much more independent, that much more self-reliant. And it did, but at a cost. That cost being someone in your life you could always safely count on, someone you could always trust to be there when you needed them.

Someone who would drive you in the pouring rain to a house he could not enter, just so he could wait for you outside and bring you home when you were ready. 

"I don't know," you tell her honestly. "He just said he'd stay close by and that he'd pick me up when we're done."

She's still frowning, seemingly perplexed at the notion. "He's just waiting out there in his truck?"

You shrug. "I told you, mom. He's a really nice man."

"Hm," she says again, staring down at her coffee and taking a long, contemplative sip. "I guess he is."

You grin. It's not much. It's hardly anything at all, really. But it's a start. A seed you're more than willing to water in the hopes that eventually, maybe, she'll come around.

-

A/N CONT'D: thank you for reading! and now...a special sneak peek of the upcoming summer season. continue reading for the first 500 words of the next and final chapter of your summer dream. i love you all.

chapter vibes:

Sometimes life really feels like a dream. 

Even in the monotony, even in the mundane. The morning commutes and the tins of cat food, the Sunday afternoons spent cleaning and the Tuesday nights spent falling asleep on the couch. And it's funny, how just like a dream, you move through the days as though time means nothing at all, everything blurring together until all at once, a year has passed. 

Summer blooms, softens and warms you from the inside out. The fan beside the bed blows cool air against your clammy skin, but is no match for the heat between your legs, the overwhelming sensation of Joel's mouth fused wetly over your cunt. 

He drinks you down like you're his morning coffee, ravenous and greedy as he hooks your legs over his shoulders and snakes his arms around your thighs. But he is in no rush, languid in the way he makes out with your pussy, whimpering and groaning at every soft, needy moan he manages to draw from you. 

But then you claw at his scalp, tug on those gorgeous greying curls and whine. Joel smirks.

"Impatient," he mutters. 

He's been lapping lazily at your cunt for the better part of twenty minutes now. You are not impatient. Luckily, as you've come to discover, Joel will never tell you no unless you ask him to. 

"S'alright," he whispers, barely letting his lips leave you as he sinks two thick fingers into your core. You keen at the welcome stretch, and Joel purrs between your thighs. "Yeah, there she is. There's my fuckin' girl. You want me to make this little pussy come? Never can just wait, can ya?"

"Waited–long enough," you groan weakly as he nudges at that perfect spot inside you. "Please. I've been good."

You feel him smile again before he's pressing a chaste little kiss to your clit, his moustache tickling your skin.

"Yeah, you have," he breathes, and then he gets to work. 

His tongue moves in tandem with his fingers, expertly finding a familiar rhythm he knows like the back of his hand by now. In no time at all, warmth pools down your spine and settles in your tummy, courses rapidly through your veins and tenses all your muscles. You come with dazzling force, grinding your clit onto his willing tongue with that insistent fist still tangled in this hair. Joel loves that. 

In these moments, the dream comes alive. The mundanity of every-day life splits open and you realize, there is in fact nothing monotonous about this life at all. How could there be? Joel is here–Joel is still here. A year since you first shook his hand in an airport parking lot, a year in which it feels as though everything changed; through it all, Joel remains. Like a tulip in soil, perennial.

"Wanna take you away somewhere," he rasps as he climbs up your body to kiss and nip at the side of your face. "What do you think? Wanna come away with me?"

You're not sure if he means forever or a day.

"Yes, please," you tell him either way. 

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #dbf!joel miller x reader #vacation!joel #your summer dream #joel miller one shot #joel miller series #dbf!joel

[presleyanswrites]

Hey I got a request for jj

That jj is a single dad to a baby girl and he is to scared to hold because he will think he will drop her and John b everyday will try and get jj to hold her then one day jj was holding her on his chest then he takes her everywhere With him hope that make sense

Koala Care

dad!jj x fem!reader x daughter

a/n ahh this is so cutie! thank you for the request anon, love you bunches!

desc JJ holds his baby girl for the first time

wc 1.2k

warnings cursing, grammar, fluff

"Peaches?" JJ comes in through the back door of the chateau, carefully shutting it behind him as he walks through the kitchen to set down a box full of baby supplies.

The usual. Diapers, baby food, her favorite yogurt melts, more of his old band & surf t-shirts to wrap her up in.

He notices Aria crying her eyes out behind him in between the white rails of her bed. he must have forgotten to change her when he left. He also noticed it was pissing off John B who was trying to work on something probably useless and he caught the hint that he's been listening to her cry for at least an hour.

"Shit," he mutters, messing with his backwards hat as he turns his attention away from Aria for a split second to glance at John B. Turns out he was fixing a cooler for the boat.

"Bro." he goes over to him, kicking him in the leg slightly, "You seen Y/n? I really need her help knowing what measurements of tit milk I'm supposed to feed mini me."

John B rolls his eyes to the ceiling as he screws in the side of the cooler handle.

"First of all," he says through a gritted tone from a bolt in between his teeth.

"You gotta stop with the teenage boy, language wording shit."

He spits out the bolt and screws another nail into the bottom.

"You're like a dad now. Its your dick and your daughter, buddy. You really want your kid to go around saying, tit milk?"

JJ tuts. "Bro she cant even talk yet. Plus, I don't remember half the shit i said as a fucking baby. Maybe thats cause my dad probably beat the shit out of me where I like- lost half my cells, but i ain't changing. Plus, daddy will raise her to be the best hooker of man kind. Shes a Pogue, shes not gonna be a goody two shoes if my life depends on it."

John B turns his head around and gives him a look.

"Jesus Christ JJ, did anything click when your girlfriend popped a living thing out of her ass?" He purses his lips.

JJ points his lips downwards and shrugs.

"Or are you always gonna be known as the dad who raised a stripper?" John B rolls his eyes again, taking a weird clear plate out of his box, "Y/n is a doctor for fucks sake, she's the only hope for raising her I swear to God."

John B shakes his head, "I've told you everyday now. You haven't even held her yet."

JJ grips his hat, "Thats because im gonna drop the kid!"

John b slaps his forehead.

"You're litterally her DAD, JJ! Y/n popped a baby out of her kitty sack and you seriously didnt even touch her the day she was born." John B raises his eyebrows. "Do you remember that? Y/n cried in Kie's room FOR AN HOUR thinking you didnt want the kid!"

JJ opens his mouth to respond then stops.

"Whatever. Go back to fixing your cold box and shit," He turns his back to walk away.

John B changes the tip on his screwdriver, "You're gonna have to hold your own ass daughter eventually, dude."

"I hope you screw a nail in your dick!" JJ calls out and tuts again, mumbling under his breath, "teaching me how to handle my own kid..."

"im the one fixing this goddamn cooler so you can drink your shit ass blue moon chilled!" John b yells back, JJ opening the door and slamming it shut to try and find you again.

"y/nnnn," he groans, calling out your name, finding you sitting on the steps outside.

He kneels down and wraps his big arms around you, kissing the side of your head gently.

"Hi baby," he mutters, "How was work?"

you felt your head pulsating before forcing yourself to give a response.

"Hmmm fine. it was busy."

"Yeah?" he strokes your head, "Real quick."

You sigh slightly, "Hmm?"

"how much ti-" He stops, and clears his throat.

"How much milk do I need to feed Ari?" He says in a soft voice, knowing you had a blaring headache from your shift.

You exhale, leaning your arms on your knees.

"theres about 7 oz in the fridge."

He nods, "thank you sweets," he kisses your hair one last time before leaving you in peace to rest your mind.

He goes back inside the chateau, opening the fridge and taking out the bottle, reaching over Aria's crib and putting the tip to her mouth.

"there we are, sweet girl.." he holds the back of her head while she drinks gently, her cries settling down.

After Aria is finished, he stares at her for a moment.

Why was it so hard for him to hold his own daughter? He feels a wave of guilt floods over his spine.

He reaches his hands out, then stops.

"God damnit," He sighs.

"Okay." He stares at Aria one more time. "3, 2.."

"Fuck this."

He picks Aria up gently in his arms, his heart jumping as he does so.

"Holy shit," he breathes. "Oh my God."

He holds her to his chest, making sure to support her back, something he learned in a parenting book he found online as he feels his soul melt in his stomach.

"There we go," he coos softly, rocking her up and down gently.

"Hi love." he holds her up to look in her eyes with the biggest grin on his face.

"You have your mommas eyes, don't you?"

It's like he fell in love with you all over again. Just this time, it was a baby. And it was his baby.

He holds her to him again, hearing you opening the screen door to come back inside the chateau as he looks at you with the stupidest smile on his face.

"JJ.." you breathe, a grin full of your white perfect teeth filling the room as you jog over to him.

You rub his arm gently as you stare at Aria in JJ's arms.

"im so glad." You said, tears slightly filling the bottom of your eyes as your breath catches in your throat.

"She has your eyes," He repeats the observation he made earlier.

You nod with a sniffle, chuckling slightly.

"She has your lips."

JJ presses another soft kiss into the side of your neck.

A few days later, you noticed that JJ dorkily bought one of those baby carrier things to attach to your chest, and you had to admit it was pretty cute seeing Aria giggle with him, taking her everywhere he went.

John B was relieved her finally built up the balls to hold his kid, and if you were honest, you were relieved too.

Kiara bullied him everyday for taking Aria with him everywhere because the baby holder he chose was literally hot pink. Really hot pink.

He was so happy everyday. To be the dad that he never had. The one he had prayed and wished for everyday as a kid.

JJ was such a tough guy, tough face, tough love, tough soul.

but I guess not when it came to you and Aria. You and her were his new world and there was nothing in the entire universe that could take that away from him.

☆ divider & gif credits to @viixcyre @baby-bearie

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[diazsdimples]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

I'm getting to everyone's snippets tonight, I promise! I'm a few days behind cause lectures have just started up again 😬 tagged for Tuesday by @thewolvesof1998 and @elvensorceress thank you friends 🫶. Also I'm updating my taglist for the first time ever so please interact with this post if you want to be on it!

Figured I should probably get cracking on my 7x06 spec fic before the episode comes out so please enjoy a bit of Buck getting roasted by his best friend and boyfriend.

Eddie frowns, looking a little confused. “I thought you guys were all good?” “We are,” Buck replies, his eyes never leaving his parents as he watches them greet guests, both looking the brightest and bubbliest he’s seen them in years. From afar he’s sure they look like a regular, happy older couple enjoying their daughter’s wedding, but Buck can’t hide the way seeing them still makes his gut twist uncomfortably. Tommy snorts beside him, bringing him back to reality. “Except Evan decided it was a good idea not to mention me until today” Eddie does a little double take, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline. “Wait, you haven’t told them yet?” “I’m gonna go find Denny,” Christopher announces, bored of listening to the adults. “Is that okay, Dad?” “Yeah, of course bud. See you in a bit,” Eddie says, ruffling Christopher’s hair. The three of them watch as he shoots off, making his way towards Hen, Karen and Denny as fast as his legs can carry him. When he’s safely out of earshot, Eddie rounds on Buck again, fixing him with an incredulous look. “Seriously, Buck, in what world did you think springing this on them today was a good idea?” “That’s what I said!” Tommy says, flicking Buck a smirk as he squeezes his side. “Hey, you’re meant to be on my side!” Buck protests, elbowing Tommy in the ribs, but it’s all forgiven when Tommy brushes a light kiss against Buck’s temple.  “And I didn’t want to tell them in person, I thought doing it like this would be… easier,” Buck finishes lamely, aware of how delusional he’s sounding. “Uh huh, cause telling your parents big, life changing things has always been easy in person hasn’t it,” Eddie deadpans, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrow at Buck in a way that screams you’re an idiot and you know it. “Listen, I wasn’t exactly thinking -” “Clearly,” Tommy and Eddie say in unison, turning to one another with shit-eating grins as Buck gives them both a flat look, before continuing.  “- but, I didn’t want them to gripe at me and say they would have rather heard it face to face than from behind a phone.” “I think they probably would have had a go at you either way, honestly,” Eddie says with a sympathetic shrug, and he reaches over to squeeze Buck’s shoulder. Buck sighs and burrows closer into Tommy’s side, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Tommy runs his hand down Buck’s spine, rubbing at each spinous process as he encourages Buck to relax. Buck softens a little, biting back a whine as Tommy nuzzles his nose against Buck’s hairline.  “You’re probably right,” he admits with a sigh. He’d really wanted nothing more than to heal his relationship with his parents but turns out it takes more than a little lightning strike and some shitty therapy sessions to mend years of trauma.

No pressure tagging @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @watchyourbuck @bidisasterevankinard @neverevan

@babybibuck @fortheloveofbuddie @spotsandsocks @aroeddiediaz @daffi-990

@jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @wikiangela @bibuckbuckgoose @exhuastedpigeon

@cal-daisies-and-briars @wildlife4life @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @evanbegins @nmcggg

@alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @weewootruck @rainbow-nerdss @kitteneddiediaz @epicbuddieficrecs

@smilingbuckley @actuallyitsellie @spagheddiediaz @loserdiaz @thekristen999

@loveyouanyway (Remember to interact with this post if you want to be on my taglist and lmk if you want to be removed)

#james writes #7x06 spec fic #bucktommy wedding fic #bucktommy #bucktommy wip #tevan #kinkley #tuck #911 abc #evan buckley #buddie #eddie diaz #911 buddie #911 fanfic #911

[echobx]

not my type 2 - Rafe Cameron x plus size!fem!reader

summary: Rafe comes to visit you unexpectedly and things don't quite go like you want them to

warnings: swearing, smut (p in v (unprotected), reverse cowgirl, missionary (it just happened, I can't explain it), fingering (semi-public), dirty talk, edging)

word count: 3.7k

author's note: part 2 because I couldn't stop thinking about it. I hope you like it. (also, if any of you have any clue about real estate, you are allowed to yell at me bc all my knowledge comes from watching those shows on Netflix...)

part 1

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“It's gonna have to work somehow,” you sigh and rub your hand over your forehead. You are exhausted, having been up all night to find a solution to the problem your team is facing.  Your head perks up at a knock on the door. “Excuse me, miss, the Cameron account is waiting in your office. He says he has an appointment, although I couldn't find it in your calendar.”  “He doesn't have a fucking appointment,” you yell in frustration. “I'm sorry,” you apologize immediately, close to tears but not about to start crying in front of your coworkers. “It's not your fault. I'll just go and send him away.”

“Why are you here?” you ask while entering your office, and he turns around to smile at you.  “I'm guessing you're not happy to see me?”  “It's really bad timing. You could've called,” you sigh exasperatedly while looking through your emails.  “You didn't leave a number,” he reminds you, and you slowly pick up your head to look at him.  “You have the office number,” you force a smile.  “Yeah, I'm not gonna call your receptionist to ask if you got time to get drunk or need a good fuck,” he says while walking around your desk and standing next to you.  “Would be inappropriate, yes,” you look up at him, but you freeze as you see your dad step inside. 

“Y/n, you didn't tell me Mr. Cameron was coming in. I would've welcomed you earlier, Sir,” he introduces himself and Rafe shakes his hand.  “It's really no issue, Mr. y/l/n. I'm in really good hands with your daughter,” Rafe charms him.  “She's the best,” your dad praises you, and you nod along, too tired to actually care. “Now, let me show you around,” he leads him out of your office and Rafe quickly turns his head to give you a slightly panicked look. You mouth a “have fun” at him, and then he's gone, and you are allowed to get back to work. 

“Listen, if we switch the staging company-”  “That's not gonna help with the interest rate, James,” you sigh, pacing the room.  “Was just a suggestion,” he mutters.  “I'm calling it. This isn't going anywhere. Let's go home and come back tomorrow morning with some new ideas on how to fix this shit,” you suggest, and the whole team lets out a sigh of relief.  “And here we have- Honey, what are you doing?” your dad interrupts you and your colleagues while packing up.  “Going home. We've been here for over 24 hours,” you explain.  “Can we talk in my office?” he asks, and you follow diligently, leaving Rafe and the others alone in the conference room while you go talk to him. 

“It's not a good look to leave early, especially in front of a partner,” he admonishes your choices.  “I honestly don't care what Mr. Cameron thinks, dad. It's my team, my decision.”  “Is the issue at least fixed?”  “No, and it won't get better if I don't give them any rest. I haven’t slept or showered since in two days, dad,” you complain, and he shakes his head but caves nevertheless.  “Fine. But you'll have to come to dinner tonight. This Cameron guy is a big part of our modern strategy, we can't let him slip away.”  “Okay,” you nod and walk back out of the office and towards the conference room to tell your team it was okay to leave. 

“Rough day?” Rafe asks while following you back to your office.  “Rough week. Nothing you need to concern yourself with,” you huff but inadvertently stop and turn to look up at him. “Look, all I wanna do is go home take a nice bath, sleep for two hours and then meet both you and my parents for dinner because apparently I don't have any fucking choice. So, just go back to your hotel or do some sightseeing, I don't care, but just go.” “Can I ask something before I leave?” A smile tugging on his lip.  “You just did.”  “When was the last time you actually had sex?”  You turn to make sure there was no one around who could've heard him before pulling him with you into your office.  “You can't just ask shit like that. Especially here,” you hit him against the chest, but he takes your wrist and keeps your hand flat to his body.  “See, I tried hooking up with someone else, multiple someones, but that just didn't hit the same way. It's purely a practical issue, all right.” God, how you hate his macho behavior as if you'd ever fall for it, or him.  “I'm still not answering that preposterous question.”  “So, you didn't? Was there no one or were they just shit?” he asks, a little too cocky for your taste.  “I'm going home now,” you tell him again and start putting your laptop in your bag.  “I didn't book a hotel room. Didn't think I'd need one, to be honest,” he admits and you laugh.  “What makes you think that?”  But he doesn't reply and just looks at you with his blue eyes, eyes that haunt your dreams and sexual fantasies.  “You think ‘cause we hooked up once, you'll get some kinda claim over me? Like, I'm supposed to throw myself at you the moment you step onto the stage? Well, you guessed wrong, darling,” you sneer and go to walk out of the office when he grabs your wrist.  “You didn't answer my question.”  “Fuck, okay, fine. It's shit. It's not- I'm not gonna fucking praise you, asshole,” you scoff and start walking again. “Are you coming or not?” 

“I'm still gonna take my bath,” you remind him as his hands find your face to hold onto it while he's kissing you and stumbling backwards out of the elevator, right into your flat.  “Fuck, you can have as many baths as you want. Just lemme fuck you,” he begs after pulling away.  “Jesus, you're needy,” you laugh as he rips your tight dress down, making your tits spill out. “You know that thing has a zipper right?” you ask as he starts kneading and kissing your tits like there's no tomorrow. You're getting wetter by the second, and he doesn't seem to want to stop and actually help you out of the dress.  “Rafe, please, just a minute,” you beg and he holds up to look at you.  “Whaddya need, sugar?” His light southern drawl is making you even needier than you care to admit.  “Can you open the zipper, so I can take this shit thing off?”  “Sure, can do, sweetie,” he puts too much weight into the pet name for it to not be a dig at your dad.  “Don't call me that again, please. Anything but that,” you sigh as he helps you out. 

“You know your dad's an asshole, right?”  “Aren't they all?” you huff walking over to the window front that looks out onto Central Park and leaning your head against the glass. “I grew up with him. Of course, I know he's an ass. You think I turned out this sweet ‘cause he was nice?”  “What would he actually say if he knew?” Rafe steps closer to you, opening the knot in your hair and kissing your shoulder.  “Congratulate me or disown me. Either way, it just proves his suspicions right,” you shake your head.  “Why? He thinkin’ you slept your way to the top or what?”  “Oh no, that's all nepotism. No, he thinks I slept with my professors because he can't believe that I made valedictorian and was named party queen of Harvard at the same time.”  “Did you?”  “Once, before he was my Professor, and it didn't have any effect on my grade,” you admit but have to laugh at how absurd it sounds.  “You feeling better now?” he asks while rubbing your arms with his huge hands. “A bit. I'm still not your friend or anything,” you remind him and he laughs.  “Business partners and fuck buddies, I'm okay with that.”  “Good. Grab that chair,” you tell him and point at a lounge chair that stands a bit off to your right. 

As soon as the chair is in place you push him down on it, straddling him in it and kissing him relentlessly. His hands are all over you, unclasping your bra in the back and making your tits jiggle as they drop.  “Jesus fucking Christ, why are you so hot,” Rafe rasps, running his hands over the fat on your belly before pressing his face into your chest to motorboat you as best as he could.  His childlike wonder, when it comes to you, makes you somewhat happy about the fact that he had dropped by unexpectedly.  “Rafe?”  “Uh-huh,” he moans against your skin.  “I, uh… I don't have any condoms here,” you admit, and he rips his head up.  “You what? Why? Why would you say that to me right now? I'm already hard for fuck's sake,” he complains loudly.  “I'm sorry that I'm inconveniencing you there, you ass,” you snap and get up, picking up your bra and dress and leaving for the bathroom.  “Fuck, sugar, just come back,” he pleads, but you don't even think about it and instead strip yourself completely to take a shower. 

“Okay, listen, I can just go down find a store, buy some and get back here. Easy,” Rafe suggests, and you roll your eyes without looking at him.  “Have you considered that I might not give a shit, jerk?”  “Oh yeah? What's your brilliant idea, miss Harvard,” he scoffs.  “How often do you get tested?” you ask and turn your head far enough to be able to see him stand behind you, nothing but tight boxers left on his body.  “Every other month,” he shrugs.  “When was the last time?”  “Week ago.”  “And?”  “Clean. I'm not risking it, with, like, quick hookups and shit.”  “Me neither. But I've never wanted to fuck a guy more than once either,” you say and turn back to the water that's steaming up the tiled room.  “You want me to fuck you raw?” he asks, sounding as if you had just offered him the job of his life.  “Jesus, don't get yourself so hyped already. I'm just saying it's a potential possibility that needs considering.”  “What about-”  “I've had an IUD since I turned 18 and it's never once failed me. I think it's gonna be fine,” you turn around to face him fully; eyes trailing down to the massive bulge in his boxers.  “So, I'm guessing you've never been fucked while looking down onto Central Park?” you ask with a wide smile, and he shakes his head. 

Rafe is back in the chair when you let yourself down on him, feeling every ridge and vein of his huge cock and you both groan at the feeling.  His hand is trailing over your back, drawing lines over it while you let yourself breathe to adjust to him just enough so it doesn't hurt too much.  You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder. “If you wanna tap out, just pinch me. I'm not gonna listen to anything else, I just wanna make that clear.” “Noted,” he grins, and you lean forward in your seat and plant your feet in the ground before starting to bounce on his dick.  “Shit, I missed looking at this ass,” he grunts, and you start bouncing a bit harsher, forcing yourself down on him while moaning loudly. 

“Talk to me,” you beg as you keep fucking yourself with his cock.  “You're a real slut, fucking your professor? I bet it turns you on to know how weak you make them. To know they have no control. Making them your little bitch,” his words are frequently interrupted by heavy pants and your excessive moaning, but he continues anyway. “Not with me. You're mine now. I don't give a shit who you were before. All you are now is my little whore, who lets me fuck her whenever I want. Right?” “Yes, daddy,” you cry out and do your best to keep bouncing on him, your hand finding your clit and toying with it.  “You'll let me fill you up with my cum, like the pretty little cumslut that you are. Isn't that right?” he asks and thrusts up into you, meeting the movement of your hips and making you scream as he defiles your cunt.  “Speak up, sugar,” he demands, pulling on your hair and bending you back.  “Gonna make a mess for you, daddy. Just for you.” The tears are running down your cheeks when your orgasm hits you, and he follows instantly, fucking his seed even deeper into you before letting go of your hair and allowing you to get up. 

“Can you walk?” he asks, and you nod while dragging yourself over to your bed and falling face-first into the fresh linen.  “I thought I was imagining it, that my memory was skewed,” you mumble into the fabric. “But my memory doesn't come even close to this.”  “Could say the same,” he praises you, and you can't help but blush.  “Have you ever tried vanilla sex?” you ask out of pure curiosity, and he shakes his head while walking over.  “Not a big fan of the lovey-dovey bullshit.”  “Same. That's why I prefer reverse cowgirl, less personal, but I'm still in control for the most part,” you say after turning around to lie on your back.  “We, uhm, could just do it. Like a bucket list thing. Just so we know how it is,” he suggests and you laugh. “Yeah sure.”  “I'm serious. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? We fall in love? As if,” he huffs.  “I'll sue you if you do,” you tell him before pulling him into you and somehow crawling backwards onto the bed. He kisses you, and you feel like you're melting into him, into his touch, his being; all of him. 

His swollen tip is nudging at your clit, and you grasp down and put him to your aching hole, pushing him into you just slightly and your eyes already roll back at the feeling. Your senses feel heightened and dull at the same time, as if you are floating while on fire.  “Look at me,” Rafe demands, holding onto your neck and squeezing just enough to make you whimper. You stare into his eyes, the blue is gone, and he starts to smile as he slowly pushes into you. Your eyes widen at the pleasantly painful stretch he's giving your pussy.  And his lips find yours, muffling the moans that threaten to slip out as he pounds into you. But he lets off, kissing your neck, sucking on it and pulling your leg up to get a better angle. 

“I'm gonna cum,” you cry pathetically and he laughs.  “No, you're not. You're mine, baby, don't forget that.”  “Please, Rafe.” You are begging once again, and his attack on your tired cunt is just getting worse with every passing minute. You had never begged for an orgasm before. Never had wanted to. But Rafe's way of fucking you is inherently different to anything you had ever felt before.  “Not gonna happen,” he grins down at you, and you whine, but he keeps you pinned down right where he wants you to be. Your hands are clawing at his back, trying to hold onto him for dear life, to not lose yourself entirely. 

“Tell me,” he slows, and it's pure torture, slowly dragging his big cock half out of you before slamming back in, giving voice to the most obscene squelching sound you'd ever heard your pussy make.  “I'm still not your type, right?” he smirks, and you throw your head to the side just for him to yank it back. “Answer, or you're not gonna cum on this dick ever again.”  “No. Still no,” you pant, and he kisses you again, pulling your hand down and letting you touch yourself.  His lips are moving towards your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. “Make daddy proud and soak his big cock, sugar,” he growls and your back arches up. Legs trembling as the tight band in your core snaps. The orgasm rips through you without any mercy, and you scream his name, actually trying to make him proud and feel worthy of the pleasure his cock’s giving you.  “Good girl,” he praises, brushing over your cheek. You're completely dazed, only paying half as much attention to him as you wanted to while watching his face contort and hips stutter with sloppy thrusts before he's releasing his hot seed into you. 

“In love with me yet?” you joke while lying next to him, and he runs his hands over his short hair.  “Nope,” he shakes his head and purses his lips.  “Good. And if you praise me ever again, I'm gonna kick your ass. Understood?” you sneer while getting up and walking to the bathroom.  “You liked it,” he calls after you with a light laugh swinging in his voice. You know he’s right, but you don't wanna admit it. You don't want to admit to the vulnerability of it all, after having spent years to build yourself up to the person you are now. No longer wasting any more time on what people think of you or giving them any time of day to hurt you. This includes not letting them close to prevent it from ever getting to such a point ever again.  “Just don't fucking say it again,” you tell him as you hear him enter the shower behind you.  “Understood.” 

You shower in silence, each of you on one end of the long shower but the glooming feeling that something has changed won't leave you. Not as you leave the shower to dry off, or as you lay down and try to relax for just a bit before you have to get ready. Not while doing your hair and makeup. Not while putting on your dress or when you call your driver.  And he's not saying a single thing. Rafe stays quiet throughout all of it, which makes you a little pissed at him, but you can't let it show. 

You arrive ahead of time, your parents not yet there when the hostess shows you to your table, and you order an extra dry martini.  The stark difference in your behavior towards each other outside and inside the bedroom is starting to annoy you. You miss how easy-going he had been that first day you met him. How charming and funny and most of all flirtatious he had acted.  “Tomorrow morning, you're gonna fly home and then I only wanna see you when there's something with the business,” you tell him, trying to get the upper hand in a situation that you had never intended to be in.  “Understood,” he mutters as you both stand up to greet your parents, who are walking over. 

The dinner is dry, and you can't wait to finally get home and just sleep. Your mom keeps making indecent jokes and comments towards Rafe, but he just laughs or smirks. And when he's not eating, he has one hand on his whiskey and the other on your thigh, slowly creeping up and making it harder for you to concentrate on what your father is telling you about.  “It's a difficult task, but we'll manage,” you say to your dad before jumping up. “Excuse me for a moment.”  You make a beeline to the restroom, trying to cool off and maybe get your act together. But Rafe won't let you. As soon as you step out of the restroom he yanks you with him to a dark corner of the hallway. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss at him, and he pushes you against the wall, caging you in.  “Why are you letting him walk all over you?” Rafe questions, his hand is trailing under the skirt of your dress; fingertips caressing the soft flesh of your thighs.  “He's my boss,” you reply.  “What else?” he taunts, his fingers are pressed against your clit now, making you gulp and bite your lip to not let out a whimper.  “My dad,” you whisper, searching his eyes for approval, but instead he slaps your wet pussy and you squirm.  “You're pathetic, you know that?” he laughs quietly, and you nod, just to please him.  “Rafe, please, just-” you claw at his wrist, but he grabs your cunt even harsher.  “You don't get to pick and choose whenever you like, sugar. You don't want me to be nice, so I'm not. But then all of a sudden, you don't want me to be mean either. Now which is it? One final answer,” he demands, and you let go of him, your hand falling to your side as you admit defeat.  “Good choice,” he growls, pulls your slip to the side and pushes two fingers into your seeping cunt while his free hand is on your mouth, muffling your quiet moans. 

His long fingers are curled up inside you, fucking you with no mercy or thought that someone might walk by and see. But you don't care because he's making you feel whole, whispering a plethora of disgustingly dirty shit into your ear, and always changing his technique when he feels you get closer to your release.  “Tell me who you belong to, sugar,” he rasps and you whimper silently. “I'm yours, daddy. All yours.”  “Good,” he seems pleased with himself, and you feel a sigh of relief coming as you're growing closer and closer to your orgasm. But right before you can let go, he pulls away. 

“Rafe, no- What are you doing?” You claw at his chest as he steps back and licks his fingers clean of your arousal.  “You don't get to use me and throw me away like a piece of trash. Remember who's got the upper hand here, y/n.” Then he lightly slaps your cheek two times before walking back to the table, leaving you to deal with the consequences of your actions. 

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please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @ijustwantttoread @spideysimpossiblegirl @redhead1180 @drwstarkeyy @notdxbya @sublimepenguinpeach-blog

#rafe cameron #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #obx fanfiction #~fanfiction #smut #my writing

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

hi covey !! i was wondering if you could write about daughter of poseidon and percy taking leo, jason, piper, annabeth, frank and hazel to the state fair and at the end of the night the reader kissing either leo or jason at the top of the ferris wheel

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Cotton Candy Kisses

content: leo valdez x daughter of poseidon! reader warning: language author's note: do i mention cotton candy at all in this fic??? no. is it still in the title??? yes. sue me. ANYWAYS im now yearning for my county fair so thanks for that- I GOTTA WAIT LIKE FOUR WEEKS GUYS WHAT THE FLIP I WANT IT NOWWWWWWWW anyways, this was cutesy but also i had a negative want to write it but here it is!!!

when percy and you heard the fair would be in town, you guys didn't even think twice about dragging your friends to it. chrion was quick to shoot this field trip down, something about it being unsafe. and you and percy pretended to be sad, pouting but nodding. and the second the centaur turned his hind to the siblings, the pair was racing off to find the stoll's. with some minor bribery of doing chores for a few weeks and forking over the chocolate bars the children of poseidon had been gatekeeping, they had an easy - though illegal - way out of camp.

a lot of the argo ii crew had yet to be at a fair in their lives. most notable their roman counterparts and annabeth. percy was more than happy to show his girlfriend the ropes, glad that for once he had all the knowledge. it didn't last too long, as annabeth quickly got the hang of things, but percy did soak up every minute he could.

"so...this is funnel cake," you mused, shoving it across the wooden bench with a wide smile. frank and hazel leaned in suspiciously, frank stabbing it hesitantly with his fork.

"it looks...decent?" hazel offered, glancing up at you as you snorted at her response.

"give it a shot! i'm not a big fan but percy loves it," you explained with a shrug of your shoulders, watching with a smile as they took a few small bites, which quickly devolved into huge bites.

"guys! guys! you have got to try this!" jason called as he came rushing back, leo a puddle laughs as he followed. you glanced over your shoulder, welcoming leo's kiss to your cheek naturally.

"what'd you get?" you asked, taking the lemonade you asked leo to get for you with an appreciative kiss to the corner of his lips.

"a deep fried twinkie. best thing to ever grace the planet. here," replied jason before shoving the left over half to his other roman friends. you laughed at the buzzing boy, basically tasing the electric static in the air as you took a sip of your drink. you sighed out a breath as the drink hit your tongue - nothing quite like fair lemonade, truly!

"woah," frank said as he took a bite, his eyes going wide as him and jason shared a look of understanding.

"this is the best thing i've ever seen. we should introduce them to new stuff every year," leo joked, stealing a sip from your drink. though, you didn't really count it as stealing as you presented the yellow bendy straw to him.

"it's like watching kids discover a sugar high," you muttered back, watching frank share the funnel cake with jason, who wasn't exactly a big fan.

"hey! line for the zipper is super short!" percy called as he walked up with annabeth, who was proudly snuggling a teddy bear to her chest. which she won herself, as percy was struggling to hit the balloons with the darts.

"no sir. last time you force me on that ride i threw up!" you hissed, shaking your head rapidly. jason and frank were already jumping up, eager to try more new things.

"cmon. i promise to hold your hair back if you do throw up," leo offered as he stood up, holding his hand out to you. and you looked up at him in the glittering sunlight, gnawing on your lip in false contemplation as you'd already made up your mind.

"and they say chivalry is dead," you teased, taking his hand easily and letting him pull you from your seat and towards the fair ride.

and he did end up holding up his part of the deal, his hands your own personal hair tie as you spilled your guts into a trashcan. leo didn't mind though, trying his hardest not to laugh as you cursed him and percy out between gags. and he had fading thoughts of doing this years later, in a house of their own with a new little valdez on the way.

you sat out of most rides for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening, nursing a seven-up percy got you as an apology. which earned him a kick to the shins, as you were still mad at him. leo, the great boyfriend he was, sat out with you, too, his arm threw over the back of the bench you guys took up post at. you leaned into his side without a second thought, holding onto piper, hazel, and annabeth's purses while they rode area 51 and the ring of fire.

"we're off to the farris wheel, which i figured was gentle enough for you. wanna come?" piper asked as she and the others came up to you and leo. he looked down at you, leaving the decision completely up to you.

"eh, fuck it. not much left in my stomach anyways," you shrugged, rising with a small giggled.

"that's the spirit!" cheered piper, wrapping her arm with yours and dragging you off with the rest of the group, leo rising and falling in line with the boys, your purse thrown over his shoulder without an ounce of shame.

the line wasn't terribly long as the night was starting to dwindle down and people began returning home. plus, you guys played an intense game of heads up while in line, which made the time fly. following the defeat of your high score by annabeth, you guys were next in line. naturally, the group broke into the natural couple pairs, leo's fingers instantly finding your belt loops with a large grin. piper and jason were more than happy to keep playing heads up together while on the ride. although, it was a bit awkward when the poor teen who was working the ride joked about them being a cute couple, which left the rest of the group hiding their laughs behind their hands as piper replied with a cheeky,

"yeah, his step-mom thought so, too!"

cue more laughter and the teen's face scrunching up in confusion. then the rest of you got your own seats. leo's hand never once left your thigh, his fingers tapping some unknown rhythm as the seat rocked with the roll of the ride. you kept your eyes on your boyfriend, not eager to look down as see the drop, knowing it'd just make your stomach lurch.

"you alright?" leo questioned, ever intuitive to your feelings.

"heights," you replied with a shrug and leo hummed, turning to you as a glimmer took over his eyes. a tale tell sign that this conversation would end with his lips against yours.

"wanna take the edge off?" he offered and you rolled your eyes with a small smile.

"let's see what ya got, valdez," you teased and before you could even finish the sentence completely, leo's lips were pressed against yours. your hands quickly found a home gently against his cheek while his hand slid up from your thigh to grip your waist and pulling you closer - well, as much as he could in the awkward position. he pulled back when his lungs began to beg for oxygen, smiling as your lips subconsciously chased his.

"that work?"

"wonders. but, we should try again. you know, just to make it stick."

"happily-"

"STOP MOOCHING ON MY SISTER, VALDEZ!"

"SHE'S BEEN MY GIRLFRIEND FOR OVER A YEAR, FISH HEAD!"

"I DON'T CARE! GET YOUR GRUBBY HANDS OFF HER!"

"SHE DOESN'T SEEM TO MIND-"

"EXCUSE ME, SIR, DO NOT CLIMB OUT OF THE RIDE-"

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #hoo #pjo fandom #heroes of olympus x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x oc #leo valdez fanfic #x reader #leo valdez x yn #leo valdez fanfics #leo valdez fanfiction #rrverse #pjo hoo toa #riordanverse #heroes of olympus

[letsgetrowdy43]

I want to hear more about Hayden’s birth

Okay, purr, so the second Quinn got on the flight to head to Edmonton for his third last game of the season Honey had her two best friends come over and help her take care of Warren because she knew she would be going into labour soon and wanted to make sure someone was there just in case for not only herself but also Warren.

It was kind of expected, but also she was really shocked and scared when she went into labour, mainly because Quinn wasn’t even in the same province and it was all happening so fast. One moment she was organizing the nursery with her one of best friends as the kids played in the playroom, and all of a sudden she just started getting contractions and then everything got really busy really fast. She called Quinn but he didn’t answer, cause he was on the ice, instead she left a short breathy voicemail and two short messages, and then she headed to the hospital.

She was actually pretty fine health-wise, but she was scared and felt really alone while waiting for Quinn. Even though one of her best friends was in the room she just needed her husband and a promise that he was gonna make it on time. Honey called his brothers and her family a few times to tell them that the baby was on the way and they chatted for a bit but then Quinn finally called her back and disrupted their peaceful phone call.

Quinn on the other hand was in a frenzy trying to get home. The second he read his text after doing his post-game interviews he was panicking trying to figure out the fastest route to get home.

He read the short "I'm in labour. Please come home" and immediately started to freak out that he was going to miss one of the singlehandedly important moments of his life. The second she picks up the phone he's like "Please tell me I didn't miss it" Honey just laughs at his slight panic, "Quinn I've been in labour all of an hour and a half, you have time," she laughs but then the laughs turn into tears, "I do need you to hurry up though, I really need you here," she sniffles into the phone which sends Quinn into an even deeper frenzy.

All the other dads in the locker room get it, but also are like "Act like you've been here before my god??" cause he is so all over the place and he has plenty of time to get home in time. He thankfully made it in time, and Hayden was born just a few short hours later.

Quinn definitely cried when he had his first kid, but there was something about having a little girl that had him really emotional, cause she was the most precious thing he had ever laid his eyes on. Honey had stayed pretty strong on the crying, but watching him interact with his daughter definitely had her emotional, he just kept whispering short "thank you's" and "she's perfect, you're perfect's" to his wife which had her on the brink of tears.

Honey was literally a god, she had the perfect birth and the nursing staff were literal gems and helped her through all of it.

Hayden kind of looks like a blonde carbon copy of Quinn and it's the cutest thing ever, whereas Warren carries a few of Honey's traits, Hayden is just all Quinn.

Warren got dropped off in the afternoon after everyone had had some time to sleep and the doctors and nurses had finished all of the post-birth routines. He was very excited to see Quinn again, squeals leaving his lips as Quinn retrieved him from Honey's best friend, the two of them hugging at the entrance of the hospital before Quinn told him all about his baby sister.

The little boy was a little skeptical because she was crying when he first walked in the room, but the second she was gently placed in his lap it all changed, he kept saying how much he loved his baby Hayd and how pretty she was as she rested in his arms. This had almost every adult in the room in tears as his little hands traced patterns on his sister's head, her eyes closing as she fell asleep in his lap.

it was definitely hectic, but also so cute, and everyone is just super happy to have a healthy baby and mama!!

#thelittlesthughesau!! #quinn hughes #dad!quinn hughes #quinn hughes blurb

[canmom]

reading Herbert Mason's translation of the Epic of Gilgamesh, as you do!

I went with Mason's translation after I saw it quoted here and there and seemed pretty solidly written - but it isn't precisely right to call it a translation, more a retelling of the story as Mason understands it. so it's not a line by line translation, and some major parts of it are presumably interpolations or paraphrases.

i knew the broad outline of the story but it's fascinating to put it in context, and discover parts of the story i hadn't heard about. for example, i didn't realise the concept of droit du seigneur was part of this story - I'd thought that was basically a goofy myth about the medieval period, but here in the oldest surviving written story, it's just a thing the mythological king Gilgamesh does. though the exact translation seems a little contentious - Mason writes:

As king, Gilgamesh was a tyrant to his people.

He demanded, from an old birthright,

The privilege of sleeping with their brides

Before the husbands were permitted

But Wikipedia quotes a different translation by Stephen Mitchell which says:

He is king, he does whatever he wants... takes the girl from her mother and uses her, the warrior's daughter, the young man's bride.

The general thrust is similar in both cases, but the details of the custom are different. I don't have Mitchell's translation so I can't find how he describes the moment Enkidu arrives to interfere with Gilgamesh doing one of these kingly rapes (like let's not beat around the bush here, it's a different social context and whatever but you can't possibly say no to the demigod king).

Moving on...

Viewed with modern eyes, the transition between the first chapter and the second is kind of abrupt. We've got this great establishing story for Gilgamesh and Enkidu having a rather homoerotic fight and becoming best bros, but then we abruptly skip forward to Gilgamesh declaring that they're going to go fight a monster called Humbaba, and Enkidu is all like, no, that guy is way too high level, you'll die! Modern writing advice would hold that you'd want to spend some time building up Gilgamesh and Enkidu's relationship 'on screen' here, and perhaps foreshadow the existence of Humbaba a bit sooner to build up the threat a bit - but then I'm not carving this into stone tablets, I can afford to be a little bit roundabout, and who knows what's been lost? (scholars of the Epic probably have some idea lol)

The word used for Gilgamesh and Enkidu's relationship is 'friend'. This feels like it's probably a bit of a lossy translation to me - would lover/boyfriend be projecting too much? I obviously don't know the nuances of Sumerian that well, so maybe this is the best available word, but their relationship has a lot of physicality and a lot of affection.

The woman who goes to Enkidu in the wild and has a bunch of sex until he becomes civilised is described here as a 'prostitute'. My understanding was that she belongs to a religious role here, harimtu, that's usually translated as 'sacred prostitution' but apparently this identity is contested, and also she has a name, Shamhat? I don't know why Mason doesn't use her name. Shamhat has a pretty big role in changing Enkidu and convincing him to come meet Gilgamesh, but her own motivation isn't really explored.

Still, I don't want to come off as only complaining. Whether they originate in the Epic or with Mason, I'm enjoying a lot of the poetic turns of phrase in this version - the style is just the right level of minimal - simple appropriate words, but effective for that. Mason writes in verse, but doesn't rhyme - I'm not really familiar enough with meter to say more than that. There are a lot of fairly short, declarative sentences, mixed up with an occasional much longer metaphor across multiple lines. I think you could fairly easily delete the line breaks and just have prose, but having them makes it flow in an interesting way, like waves? Poetry is not my bailiwick so I'm probably describing some fairly basic facets of the medium, but it's interesting to observe.

I'll add more when I've read a bit more, I'll be in this train a while...

#gilgamesh #epic of gilgamesh #fiction #translation

[voiddaisy]

Rank the Batfam members based on how well you think you'd get along irl

This is so fun! Okay, so my idea of canon versus fanon is kind of messed up, but I'm going to do my best to go solely off of what I know is canon. I also went a little overboard and did some character study shit because when I tell you I love the bat family, I love the bat family.

(1) Duke Thomas. From what I know about canon, we are really alike. He has a strong moral compass, wants to help people, and can be super goofy and silly. He doesn't really take things super seriously, cares a lot about his family, and is not afraid to lie to Bruce, which I am a supporter of. I think overall we would get along the best just because we are so alike. He also just seems so chill and fun to be around, and I've made a post about this before, but he is so nonjudgmental when it comes to his friends and family, so nonchalant, and literally just the cutie patootie ever, so for sure him.

(2) Stephanie Brown. I love Steph and no one can take that away from me. She reminds me a lot of one of my sisters; She is very witty and humorous, and she is determined, stubborn, and compassionate. She tries to have a positive outlook on everything, despite everything she has been through. I think we would get along well because she is kind of my opposite in a lot of ways. She is outgoing, confrontational, and rebellious, but still vulnerable, caring, and selfless. We would kind of just be a slay duo in my opinion.

(3) Dick Grayson. If I didn't relate so much to Duke, I would definitely say I am the most like Dick. He is a perfectionist, very sarcastic, caring, and literally rocks "eldest daughter syndrome," which... same. He is also such an emotional person, and most of his emotions come out in anger because he doesn't know how to regulate them, which I can relate to. He has that personality that is so easy to banter with but also gets vulnerable, which we see a lot in the comics when it comes to his brothers. I just think our personalities would blend really easily together.

(4) Barbara Gordon. Barbara is literally that bitch. She is super intelligent, determined, hard-working, and responsible while also being empathetic, funny, independent, and wise. She takes so many of the bat kids under her wing as a mentor and tries to build them up to be better people (literally fixing what Bruce messes up). She is super funny and cool, is clearly intelligent without having to flex on it, and cares so deeply for people. If I had an older sister, I'd want her to be just like Babs, because this woman is literally gold. She isn't higher on this list just because I just connect with the other characters more, but she is still just such a good character and I love her so much.

(5) Cassandra Cain. I think I would get along well with Cass because she is a very complex person. She is silent, stoic, determined, responsible, deeply empathetic, and has self-esteem issues. I share a lot of these traits with her, but I'm more... outgoing than she is? So it would be like a bad bitch and her baddie friend situation where I am a yapper and advocate for us both when I normally wouldn't be. She'd encourage my more outgoing side to come out because of how stoic and quiet she can be. She is also like the better version of Bruce Wayne (sorry Bruce), where she still has that intense sense of justice and a strong moral compass, but because she cares so deeply about her friends and family, she puts them first, whereas Bruce kind of... struggles with that lmfao. That is just my interpretation of her, though!

(6) Jason Todd. I actually didn't plan on putting him this high on the list, but after I started typing it out, I was like... oh. I would get along with him better than I thought. Okay, so what annoys me about him is mainly his sense of justice, rebellious nature, complex moral code, and anger. However, these are all issues that stem from his insane trauma and aren't like natural-born traits of his. When he was Robin, he was very playful, witty, kind, and sweet, as a lot of people mention. Despite how he changed after the Lazurus Pit, we still see these personality traits slip through sometimes. He cares a lot about the street kids and does his best to mentor them. In the Gotham Knights cames (which apparently aren't canon but I don't care), he can be very vulnerable and kind to his brothers instead of... beating Tim half to death. Jason is a very emotional character with loyal and protective instincts, and he desires redemption so deeply that he doesn't care how it is acquired. His complexity is what makes me drawn to him, I think. To recognize him as a person who is deeply traumatized and needs positive reinforcement in his life is easy; To give that positive reinforcement is harder. But I think I could offer that to him (and I have the "I can fix him" mentality. Would I be able to fix him? No. Could I be a good friend to him? Maybe). My major qualms with him would be his skewed sense of justice and his moral code; Everything else is like typical emo behavior haha.

(7) Tim Drake. I did not expect Tim to be so low on this list, but I guess it's more of a little brother-type situation. Tim is very intelligent, analytical, determined, empathetic, and compassionate. He shares a lot of traits with Dick, where he is a natural kind of leader and has a deep resourcefulness to him. He can be very self-critical and lacks a need to take care of himself, but he is a team player and can be very responsible. He is also just kind of like... the funniest bat brother to me. It's his sarcasm and the way he picks on people, I think. While he is a good character, I just think I would get frustrated with his stubbornness very quickly. He also just has that little brother attitude that gets on my nerves. But I do think that I would be like a big sister figure to him if that makes sense? Like "you love to hate them" type of shit.

(8) Damian Wayne. Okay, to preface; Damian is just a deeply traumatized kid, so my reservations are literally just about that. I have what you would call a chronic need to fix people, and Damian would just be so easy for me to try to fix, even if I knew I couldn't. He has a skewed sense of justice, like Jason does, but is easier to convince not to kill people. He is stoic, cold, can be emotionless at times, and does not want people to take care of him. I saw some panel yesterday about Dick trying to comfort him after Bruce dies, and Damian is so choked up and doesn't want to speak about it, despite Dick being his older brother. Damian has literally been trained since birth to focus on his mission, his feelings be damned, and I would have such a hard time with that. I would just get so emotional over him and want to take care of him, and he would hate that. I just think that he wouldn't like me very much. I love Damian as a character and I love how complex he is, but he would not love me lmfao.

(9) Bruce Wayne. I knew Bruce was going to be last because there is a special place in my heart reserved for my beef with parents who fuck up their kids. Even though Bruce tries to be a good father to his kids, he is just so shit at it sometimes, and it makes me so mad. In my real life, any time my parents fuck with one of my sisters, I get so irrationally angry and want to fist-fight them. If I was around Bruce and his traumatized children, I would want to throw hands with him every time I saw him. I know that deep down, Bruce is a really good man who just wants to help people, but the way he treats his children literally just boils my blood. I would get along with him if he either didn't have children or had some deep-rooted therapy to fix his emotional constipation. I mean... we would get along fine I'm sure, I would just always have that rage, you know?

This was way longer than I intended it to be, but I have been doing so much character study lately about these people and wanted to share my opinion on each of them in a broader way. If I messed up their character in relation to DC canon... oh well. Also, I know Jason Todd is a little bitch, but he is my little bitch, so it's fine.

Thank you for the ask <3 this was so fun!!

#bat family #batman #dc comics #headcanons #character study #icarus yaps #duke thomas #stephanie brown #dick grayson #cassandra cain #jason todd #barbara gordon #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne

[silly-little-gooses]

your hc for jameson as a girls dad are so cute 😭💗💗 could you pls make hc about averyjameson as parents together? have the nicest day!!!

ofc I’d love to you’re so sweet! <3

avery and jameson have three kids - two daughters and one son.

jameson claims he can understand the language of baby talk. strangely enough, whenever his toddlers babble about something, he can always get it right what they need.

jameson cried harder then avery when he found out she was pregnant. same thing with their births.

jameson and avery got to every single one of their kids sports games and scream their head offs supporting them.

nash, xander, and grayson are the best uncles ever and are always trying to spend time with their nieces and nephews and help whenever they can.

avery can make her babies laugh with just about anything. she could make silly faces, talk to them, drop a pan on the floor, and the little kids would burst out laughing and find everything amusing.

avery and jameson hire a very large security team for their kids, like ten to twenty people. they’ve experienced first hand the affects of paparazzi and social media and they really want to keep their kids safe from that.

avery absolutely adores dressing up their toddlers in the cutest little outfits ever. boy, girl, doesn’t matter, she will find the most adorable clothing and accessories.

jameson loves to embarrass his kids in front of their friends/crushes. he never goes too far but he always likes to add in a teasing comment or dad joke or riddle.

their son looks just like jameson, the resemblance is a bit frightening. the same green eyes, sarcastic smirk, fluffy brown hair, etc.

this one is obvious but avery and jameson’s child is the most beautiful, gorgeous, majestic, ethereal being in the history of man. two gorgeous parents, how could you not?

avery and jameson have witnessed how pressuring and stressful it can be to be a hawthorne and live up to all those expectations. so, they don’t force their kids to win world records or start their own business or anything like that. they let them be kids.

I mentioned this before but jameson is not allowed to help name children. he would pick the most unserious, ridiculous names ever. fortunately, avery picks the prettiest names for their kids, with the help of max and libby ofc.

avery and jameson want their kids to feel like normal kids. they read a picture book before bed, treat their kids to ice cream, talk to their teddy bears, etc. anything to make their kids feel happy.

road trips with the hawthorne-grambs family is always absolutely crazy. there’s music blasting, snacks being eaten, sing-alongs, a bit of arguing, all the fun of road trips.

also here’s a bit of an update! six of crows content won my poll by a landslide so, please please please send in any requests you have for both the inheritance games content or six of crows content bc I do all of this for you lovely people! byeee! <3

#the inheritance games #jennifer lynn barnes #jameson hawthorne #avery grambs #averyjameson #headcanon #booktok #parenting

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Imagine Being Arthur Shelby’s Twin

Platonic!Arthur Shelby x Shelby!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, mentions of past childhood neglect, period-typical sexism. The image below is just to visualize what a twin for Arthur could look like. Very, very vague implication of Darby Sabini and Luca Changretta x Shelby!Reader.

“I’m not crying, you’re crying!”

The two of you are very sensitive, always have been. Aunt Polly likes to mention that you and Arthur used to cry at the exact same time as babies. As young children, if one of you got hurt, the other would start crying. This remained mostly the same even into adulthood. Though, you are definitely the more stable twin. 

Arthur would go to you when he needed comfort. You and your twin would draw horses together under candlelight by copying them out of books as children. It was you who first told him that he could be an artist. Arthur laughed you off back then.

Although Arthur bends the knee to Tommy, you are not nearly as submissive as him. Tommy and the others look to you as an equal to Polly. Their elder sister who stepped in when mother wasn’t feeling quite right. 

As the oldest Shelby daughter, you had a hand in raising most of your siblings. Arthur got to run about Small Heath cracking skulls while you stayed back to change nappies and read bedtime stories. Compared to the other Shelby children, you didn’t have much of a childhood at all really.

You had a reputation of being the family tattletale. When your brothers acted up, you acted like a second mother. Always chasing after the little ones and setting them straight. Aged beyond your years because you had to be. Not because you wanted to. 

By the time you were sixteen, you were working three jobs. You were a laundress, a clerk at a drug store, and waking up early to help out at a bakery. The last job worked best for you as you had a talent for baking.

Arthur was such a dreamer before the war. He didn’t have a real plan for his life, only fantasies. You weren’t anything like that. Always looking ahead, mapping out your path, it felt like Arthur didn’t take life seriously. Didn’t take you seriously. 

Before the war, Arthur didn’t fully understand that about you. It was all “women’s work,” and you seemed happy enough. It didn’t occur to him that you might have had dreams of your own. 

You were too strict, too obedient, too boring. It led to many, many fights. Mainly, you and Arthur would disagree about how he was living his life. The fastest way to get Arthur mad was to accuse him of being a bad influence. His face would go red, and he would stomp off, he never had a good counterargument for you.

Just before the war, you got into a terrible argument. You and Arthur can’t even remember what started it. It ended poorly. Both of you said things that you couldn’t take back. When he left to serve, all you could think about was how the last thing you said to him might be his last memory of you. 

The war changed Arthur in a terrible way, but it also changed your relationship for the better. You became more understanding of each other and valued the time spent more. 

Arthur made up with you not long after he came home. By that time, you were married and had fixed yourself up a quaint little home. You didn’t know that the boys were back yet. John and Tommy had gone straight to Watery Lane, Arthur went straight to you. His face was sallow, and he cried like a baby into your apron as he fell to his knees and begged you to forgive him. You started sobbing right along with him and told him that there wasn’t any way you could forsake your twin. This started a long tradition of Arthur dropping by unexpectedly to have a slice of peace.

Even if you marry and have children, Arthur is sure to pop in unannounced for any number of reasons. Your home is warm and quiet, his head is sick and loud. You understand this about your brother and do what you can to soothe him. Oftentimes, just you mentioning that one of Arthur’s nieces of nephews are nearby is enough to get him to calm down. 

Nobody is ever allowed to call Arthur “crazy,” in your presence. In your words he is, “psychically and emotionally distressed.”

Your husband had better be tolerant of Arthur, because you are not going to budge on letting him stay over. Arthur has a permanent open seat at your dinner table and a guest room just for him. Unless you can see he’s been using. That is where you draw the line. 

If you aren't married, expect Arthur to be simultaneously invested in finding you a good man while also hating anyone you date. He wants you to be happy so, so, so badly. It's just hard for him to trust people with you.

You also have a tendency to attract troublesome men. Like Darby Sabini, for instance. Or one Luca Changretta. There's just something about a motherly woman who bakes that gets these men going.

When you found out that Tommy had dumped Arthur’s medication, you gave Tommy a black eye while still dressed in your Sunday best. Everyone seems so alright with Arthur being used except for you. It has caused a rift between you and your other siblings. You try to encourage Arthur to take a step back from the Peaky Blinders, but it never stays. 

Arthur is more than a bit envious of the life you have. You’re married with children, living in domestic bliss. He’s expressed to you many times that he feels that he’s too old, ugly and mad in the head to be loved. All you can do to get him to smile is say “My twin can be old, and he can even be a bit wild, but he can’t be ugly. We look too much alike for that to be true.”

Any time you need his help, Arthur is there. He has you on the highest pedestal he can muster. Arthur hates to disappoint you and fears losing all the progress you’ve made in mending things. If he was ever to cause harm to you, even by accident, it would devastate him.

Now that you’re both grown and can see your childhood with clarity, Arthur holds a lot of guilt. He can see how you didn’t get to have fun like the rest of them and the toll that took on you. To try to make it up to you, Arthur likes to take you and your children to all sorts of things. The circus, the zoo, the funfair, anything bright and exciting. You both insist it’s for the kids… but then you’re both stuffing your faces with fairy floss and craning your necks to look at the tigers. 

All in all, you do what you can to look after your twin. 

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinders imagine #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby imagine

[wttcsms]

repeat offender, hiromi higuruma.

pairing hiromi higuruma x f!reader  word count 1.9k  synopsis vignettes of hiromi higuruma's life, featuring his inevitable early-onset mid-life crisis, his disillusionment with the justice system, and how he can't seem to shake you off. content contains law partner's daughter!reader, no curses au, corporate/big law lawyer!hiromi, bratty, always trying to get a reaction out of him reader x just trying to survive the day hiromi, slight age gap (hiromi is 26, reader is 20), eventual smut in later parts, sfw but suggestiveauthor's notes something a bit different; just wanted to test out diff narrative formats lol (and also, this was the closest thing in my gdocs to being finished & i feel guilty for not giving y'all new content)

all the wrong dialogue options were chosen here

Despite the ceiling clearance being so high that it’s enough to make a man of his stature feel small and the fact that despite all the warm bodies in this banquet hall right now, it would still be more of a challenge to bump into someone rather than avoiding them; despite the fact that the air conditioning system must be working overtime since he hasn’t felt the need to shrug off his tuxedo jacket once, despite the fact that he’s free to leave at any time he wants since he’s already gone through the obligatory introductions and the empty pleasantries—

—despite it all, Hiromi Higuruma feels trapped. The walls are slowly closing in on him, and someone from across the massive room is laughing a bit too loudly, and the ceiling, with its intricate crown molding, feels like it’s going to collapse onto him at any second. 

That’s the problem when you decide to be someone you’re not. He’s constantly on his toes, always having to look behind him, always trying to make sure his mask isn’t going to slip. Fresh out of law school. Top marks, top of his class, actually. As expected, as always. 

Hiromi is used to setting the curve, so it doesn’t take him long to learn how these circles operate. Laugh at the right jokes, order the right drink, find the right people to praise, the right suit to wear — he’s good at figuring out the right answers to everything. 

“The party’s never going to end, so if you feel like leaving, you might as well just go now.” 

Hiromi turns to face the source of that sentence, only to have to glance downwards, taking in the sight of you. Glossy lips, long lashes, slinky gold gown clinging to the curves of your body. He swallows. Hard. 

You smile. Sweetly. 

“Before you go, though, you mind getting me a drink from the bar?” You point to the bar that’s across the room, the area Hiromi just left, one old-fashioned in his hand. 

The first wrong thing Hiromi says is, “It’s an open bar.” 

Your shining smile barely falters, but he catches the subtle curve of a frown almost taking shape. 

“Do you really think I could fight off that crowd?” You give him a faux pout, one that only emphasizes the pretty shape of your lips. 

Looking like that, he thinks you wouldn’t need to fight the crowd to get the bartender’s attention. Everyone would probably be clamoring for yours, actually. He doesn’t tell you this, though. Instead, he says, “Like you said, I might as well just go now.” 

Boo. This stranger is no fun. What a waste of good looks, you think to yourself. Taking in the way his body fills out his suit, the tall bridge of his nose, the sharpness of his features — maybe it’s for the best that he’s no fun. You’re not sure how you would be able to keep your cool if he actually was interesting. 

“Don’t just paraphrase. I remember saying that after telling you you should do that if you feel like leaving.” 

He wonders what you’re doing here, at one of the biggest charity galas sponsored by the big law firm he’s going to be joining shortly after his graduation. There’s no way you’re a law student; only a select few final year students were invited in the first place. He can’t fathom you being someone’s plus-one; looking like that, he certainly wouldn’t be able to let you out of his grasp. 

He doesn’t ask you anything, though. He doesn’t compliment you, or say anything that’s on his mind. Instead, he hands his half-empty glass to one of the catering employees walking by that’s collecting dirty glasses, and he tells you, “I’ll be heading out now. Good luck with the bar.” 

It certainly wasn’t the right thing to say, but being a genius comes with some pressure. He figures he’s allowed to give out a few incorrect answers every once in a while.

apex predator 

The click-clack of your four-inch heels making impact against the tiled floors of your father’s law firm serves as a signal to everyone that they need to seek immediate shelter (read: cower in the nearest coworker’s office) and try not to make direct eye contact with you. 

When the boss’s daughter comes to visit, everyone’s on edge. 

Everyone except the new hire. 

Hiromi Higuruma is by no means slow on the uptake, but he’s clocking in the most billable hours out of everyone. Very rarely does he get a chance to take a break, and he doesn’t plan on wasting what few precious minutes of a break he can get on hiding from some brat whose single defining characteristic is sharing the same last name that’s plastered on this skyscraper of a building.

When he passes you by in the hallway, you catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. Broad shoulders, slim waist, and a familiar slope of a nose bridge you’ve seen before. You almost falter in your footsteps — almost. 

bucket list idea: fuck in an elevator

There’s something intimate about being in the same elevator as someone else.

When there’s a handful of people, it’s casual. Simple. Someone who forgot deodorant, someone who’s running late for work, someone who just burnt their tongue trying to drink their coffee too fast. All of it is mundane. 

Being in an elevator where it’s just you and him — you haven’t decided yet if it’s a gift or a punishment. 

“My father loves the work you’ve been doing,” You’re the first one to break the silence. You can only hope that he’ll be the first one to break the distance between you two: a respectful four feet apart. 

Hiromi clears his throat, straightens his tie. He’s staring straight ahead, right at the shiny silver of the stainless steel doors. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me. I’m not the one who said anything about your work.” 

The corners of his mouth almost turn up at that. He fights the urge to smile. 

“Then thanks for the honesty.” 

“Do you like that?” You ask him. 

“Like what?”

“Honesty?” You ask it innocently enough, but when you give him those eyes, and make your lips form that pout, everything comes out sounding sultry. He’s convinced you could be reading his most recent M&A deal out loud to him and make it sound like you’re reading an erotic romance. 

“Well, I’m a lawyer.” He finds that he has to bite back his smile when he’s around you. He stares at the slowly changing numbers on the screen. The two of you entered from the parking garage, and the elevator’s making its steady ascent to the thirtieth floor. 

“So that’s a no.” You muse.

Hiromi makes no comment.

whatever pays the bills, i guess

Hiromi Higuruma, like every other undergrad trying to get into law school, takes some… creative liberties when it comes to his personal statement on why he wants to become a lawyer. Potential medical school students lie and say they want to “save lives” because “living with six-figure student loan debt for the first decade out of school and then making crazy bank afterwards seems like a good trade-off” just doesn’t sound very awe-inspiring, does it? 

In another life, he thinks he’s probably a defense attorney. Representing the Little Guy. Keeping alive his desire to uphold the principles of justice and that the wrongfully accused receive fair representation. Even with the odds stacked against his client, he’s certain that he’s good enough to win their case.

However, the world is unfair. Doing the good thing rarely pays off. Being a good person doesn’t get you very far, either. One of his former classmates was such a bright, kind girl. Passionate statement of purpose, too. She applied to all the same law programs as Hiromi and got accepted to exactly zero of them. 

Hiromi got into every single one, and his statement of purpose was honest, straight to the point, and damn-near clinically cold.

I need a competitive environment that takes pride in its intellectual rigor, but I have no desire to pursue medical school just to spend a decade in college and residency. Law school seems most appropriate for my needs.

who hired the intern?

Hiromi doesn’t know what you do around the firm, just that you’re constantly here. 

Even when you’re not physically present, he still finds traces of you lingering everywhere. The scent of your perfume that sticks to the elevator’s walls, your now-empty medium sized iced matcha latte in the trashcan of the breakroom, whispers of your names when his colleagues are in the mood to gossip, the click-clack of your heels that he can hear from inside his office even though his door is closed.

He can’t tell if you’re just inescapable or if he’s constantly subconsciously seeking you out. He doesn’t want to know the answer.

What he does want to know the answer to is why you’re sitting on top of his desk at seven in the morning, your medium sized iced matcha latte in all its green glory (this is the first time he’s seen it full and not as an empty plastic cup in the trash). You’re wearing a fitted white button down with a gray wool skirt that will have the HR manager doing a wide-eyed double-take when you walk past her. Your legs are crossed, and Hiromi scolds himself for noticing. 

He focuses on your face instead, upset to see that you’re still doing that unfair move of yours — that pout, those eyes. 

“What are you doing in here?” Hiromi manages to get the words unstuck from his throat. He’s not even sure how you got the keys to his office, and then he remembers who your father is. 

You smile brightly. 

“My dad says I need some ‘resume-boosting’ activities, and how convenient is it that the firm is looking for an off-cycle intern?” 

How convenient, indeed.

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re sitting on top of my desk.” During your chirpy exclamation, Hiromi manages to pull himself together. He’s getting a few steps closer to you. He’s not going to sit behind his desk, not yet, but his approach only serves to bring you two into closer proximity. If you stretch your legs, the pointy tips of your stilettos will brush against the fabric of his trousers. 

“Well, every intern at the firm is apparently assigned a lawyer to work under. Y’know, to be a mentor.” 

He can’t decide if he likes or detests where this is going.

“And,” you continue. “Dad only wants the best for me. It’d be, like, kind of suspicious to be working directly alongside my father, though.” Yes, Hiromi muses. Because getting a law internship at one of the most prestigious firms during your undergrad is certainly not suspicious at all. “So, the next best thing would be the so-called prodigal lawyer that everyone can’t stop praising. How convenient is it that you’re able to watch over an intern for the semester?”

“Very convenient.” Hiromi raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to get off my desk now? I can’t imagine you’ll be able to learn much if your back is going to be facing me when I’m sitting at my desk.” 

“Whatever you say, sir.” You hop off the desk, gently tugging your skirt down in place. He keeps his eyes focused on your face the whole time.

#hiromi higuruma x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #one shot #drabble #fluff #imagine #jjk headcanons #hiromi higuruma x you

[tacobellabeanburrito]

WEE WOO WEE WOO

Hey guys! I made playlists for both Phoenix and Miles! (Explanation for certain songs and rant under the cut)

There's some songs I couldn't add to Miles' playlist (Like the song "Decree Of A Prosecutor" from Turnabout: The Musical) that I really wanted too, but they weren't on Spotify. I got some other songs in there to make up for the ones I couldn't get in there, though.

I tried to do a thing where the songs go in the order of their lives? Like, in chronological order from when they were kids to present day? I thought it'd be cool and it's much easier to wrap my head around than just placing songs on the playlist. I like it having an order.

I also did a thing where some of the same songs are on both their playlists, and where a lot of the same artists are on both playlists because I like symbolism and shit. Some songs I took from other's playlists cause I wanted to make them have an equal number of songs and some I took from animatics and shit too.

Also, a lot of these songs aren't on a lot of the regular Miles and Phoenix playlists you see... BUT I LOVE THEM AND THEY FIT PERFECTLY OK? I also tried to do a thing where I put songs that I personally think they would listen too.

(Also lmao I took some of these songs from Stan and Ford's from Gravity Falls playlists on Spotify cause they really work together like...)

I wanna talk about their songs soooo badly guys.

I'll talk about a couple of them cause I wanna so badly.

Phoenix's Playlist:

I had an easy time finding songs for this motherfucker, and a lot of them are really good. There's a couple of songs I wanna explain though.

"The Great Pretender" is the most fucking Phoenix song ever. Like, holy shit. Kind of theater kid esc because "Pretending" yk? And it feels like he's always putting on a show and shit I don't know. Perfect.

"My Girl" and "Count On Me" are Pearl and Maya songs respectively. I see a lot of people do this thing where they make playlists for characters and only put songs based on the romantic relationships with that character and like. Uh. No? What about their family? What about their friends? People forget about that a lot and I don't like it so "My Girl" is kind of a Pearl being Phoenix semi-daughter song and "Count On Me" is a Maya best friend song.

OK SO, also "Poison" from Hazbin Hotel is on here and listen, I don't know if Phoenix would listen to this song BUT GODDAMN DOES IT GO WITH HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH KRISTOPH PERFECTLY. I put a lot of Krisnix/Kristoph songs on here ("Vampire" and "Wolf In Sheep's Clothing" mainly) because holy shit I love toxic tragic yuri.

Oh also, "Never Ever Getting Rid Of Me" is the most Phoenix/Feenie song ever. Everyone always goes on and on about how "When He Sees Me" is a Miles song and it is BUT NOBODY IS TALKING ABOUT "Never Ever Getting Rid Of Me" GIRL IT'S RIGHT THERE HOW DO YOU NOT SEE IT?

Miles' Playlist:

My boy's playlist get's soooo sad. Swear.

Ya'll don't get how much "The Run And Go" is SUCH a "Turnabout Goodbyes" song. It's so fucking good and it fits my boy so well. Just please, PLEASE LISTEN TO IT.

"Where I Want To Be" is a huge Miles song. I imagine him signing it when he's about ready to do his whole "Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death" thing it's soooo good. Also it's from a musical called "Chess" GUYS COME ON.

"Business Man" is soooo him and Von Karma.

"Wait For It" Please for the love of God that is such a Miles song. You guys don't know how much Hamilton has affected my view of these gay lawyers.

"Puppet Boy" Also slaps so hard.

"Death As A Fetish" is also a really good one for him.

Oh ok, so "Dear Sister, Your Brother" is a Miles and Franziska song that I absolutely love. People don't give this song enough credit.

Ok so "Brown-Eyed Girl" and "Vienna" are Kay and Sebastian songs respectively. Love them soooo much. They deserved a couple songs on his playlists because they are his children.

"Karma" is self-explanitory.

OK FINALLY WE'RE ON TO BOTH OF THEIR SONGS.

Fucking love putting Jet Lag on both of their playlists cause it fits them soooo well.

Also "Best Worst Mistake" from If/Then is their anthem. Like. Holy shit.

I love "If You Were Gay" from Avenue Q for them. They're so stupid and it fits them.

Um anyway, that's it.

Oh also, the friendship songs at the beginning aren't for just Miles and Phoenix. LARRY IS A PART OF THEIR GROUP TOO.

Oh also the two “Family” songs on both of their playlists is just me saying “EVERYONE IN THE WRIGHT ANYTHING AGENCY AND THE PROSECUTOR’S OFFICE ARE FAMILY”.

Also guys, I soooo badly wanted to put "Objections" on here but I couldn't find it on Spotify (Go figure) I'm guessing a lot of you haven't heard it before? Or maybe have? It's a fanmade opening for Ace Attorney and IT SLAPS SOOOO HARD. It's old but soooo good guys. Guys. Ya'll need to get in on the fan songs seriously.

I DON'T HEAR PEOPLE TALK ABOUT "TURNABOUT: THE MUSICAL" ENOUGH. Not the Random Encounters musical, but like, the actual one.

Anyway! Long rant over, tell me what you think of my playlists!

"Objections" fan made anime theme ^

And check out "Turnabout: An Ace Attorney Musical" Cause GODDAMN THAT SHIT I BALLER!

#Ace attorney #aa #narumitsu #wrightworth #worthwright #mitsunaru #miles edgeworth #phoenix wright #edgewright #Larry butz #Ace attorney playlist #Franziska von karma #maya fey #Pearl fey #sebastian debeste #Kay faraday #I wanna include them all in the cute song playlist PLEASE #people always put romantic songs on their playlsits #and like #only romantic songs #what about familial and platonic relationships huh? #those are literally just as important #there are a couple trucy songs on his playlist too #but those are probably the most obvious in terms of everything #phoenix wright ace attorney #Spotify #kristoph gavin #Krisnix #kriswright #Youtube

[all-my-ocs]

One Chance ch 1

Repost from my main account. Dividers by Saradika

After hearing that his daughter and brother were seen in a brothel, King Viserys needs to take decisive action. Luckily, his Hand has a solution.

Pairing: Daemon x FemOc

Warnings: typical era misogyny, ableist language.

One day. Not even twenty-four hours since his return from the Stepstones and he was already being kicked out of King’s Landing. 

Again. 

It had to be a record at this point.

Now (mostly) sobered up and repacked, he had suddenly been summoned to the Small Council chambers. He considered leaving his brother hanging for a while but decided against it. Viserys was already angry enough and he didn’t want their last interaction for gods know how long to just be more arguing. 

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be annoying. What else were younger siblings for, after all?

“Have you summoned me here to un-banish me, brother?” he asked with all of the cockiness he could muster as he swaggered into the room. His mood immediately soured when he saw Otto Hightower sitting next to Viserys.

“I take no joy in banishing you, Daemon,” Viserys sighed. “But I am prepared to offer you a deal, of sorts.”

He motions to Daemon’s usual council seat, and the prince plops down with as much audacity as he can muster. Viserys ignores it, but Otto glares, so he counts that a win anyway.

“I have not yet rewarded you for your victory in the Stepstones,” his brother continues. “While I will not grant your request to marry Rhaeyra, I am prepared to ask the High Septon to annul your marriage to Rhea Royce.”

Daemon narrows his eyes. His brother was a much better politician than most would give him credit for. “What’s the catch?”

Viserys starts to explain, but Otto decides to cut in (an attempt to ‘smooth things over’ no doubt). “There is no catch, Daemon. This is an opportunity. I know of a young woman who is in need of a husband—”

“So you’re releasing me from one forced marriage so you can force me into another. No, thank you.” He stands to leave, but the King raises a hand to stop him. Daemon really, really, wants to ignore it and leave anyway but there is a pleading look in his brother’s eye. So he doesn’t leave, but he doesn’t sit back down, either. 

Viserys realizes that a compromise must be made. He orders his Hand to leave the small council chambers. Otto gives little resistance other than one of his many variations of ‘Your Grace.’ Once the two brothers are alone in the room, Daemon sits back down. Viserys slumps back in his chair, looking relieved that he doesn’t have to act kingly anymore.

“I know you, Daemon,” he starts. “And I would like to think that I know you more than our grandmother. I understand the political advantage of your marriage, but I always knew you and Rhea were incompatible. You are too much alike—stubborn and proud.”

If there were other people around, Daemon would loudly protest such a statement. But it’s just the two of them and there is no reputation to uphold. His brother is right, after all, he and his wife are far too much alike in all the wrong ways.

“I also know that you are a man who needs to be needed. You need a wife who depends on you—”

“I do not need a leech.”

“—for protection. This young woman is two and twenty. She must be married to preserve her family’s reputation.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

Viserys sighs. “Nothing is wrong with her. She was… ill around the time her parents started looking for a suitable match.”

The way he says the word ‘ill’ gives Daemon pause. What kind of illness would require such discretion?

“What kind of illness?” he asks.

His brother deflects by saying, “I think it’s best for the family to explain that.”

If Viserys is presenting an illness as the issue, then there must be another catch. He can feel it. If her age and supposed illness are presented as potential deal-breakers, then the only other thing is…

“What House?” he asks.

“Mullendore.”

And there it is.

“So you intend to give me an old, sickly bride,” he growls, “from a minor House?”

And a House that is a bannerman of the Hightowers. Just when he thought his brother was making a decent political compromise, it turns out that Otto fucking Hightower has convinced Viserys to insult him thrice over.

“It is a good match,” Viserys protests.

“For Otto Hightower!”

“Otto Hightower does not wish to marry her.”

Daemon rolls his eyes. Of all the times for his brother to remember sarcasm, it’s now.

“I have already invited the family to the Red Keep.”

“Of course you have.”

“Give this a chance, Daemon. That’s all I ask. Give this an actual chance.”

And suddenly, they are boys again. There is no politics, no Iron Throne in the way. It’s just the two of them, the older brother asking a favor of the younger. And, out of respect for those bygone days, Daemon can do nothing but agree. But his pride will not let him capitulate entirely. He offers a compromise instead.  

“One meeting brother. One chance and that is all.”

The family arrived in a little over a fortnight. Daemon found this quite interesting, considering how far away their manse was. Either they had particularly swift horses or Hightower’s plan had been in motion since before his homecoming. 

To further annoy him, Daemon had only briefly seen his potential bride for a brief moment before being whisked away to the Small Council chamber to discuss the dowry and bride price with his brother and the Hand. All he saw was honey-blonde hair and a pale blue dress. At least she isn’t fat, he thought to himself.

He hoped the girl was nothing like her parents, or she was likely to be insufferable. Lady Mullendore didn’t speak throughout the whole meeting, instead staring quite pointedly at the table. Her husband was doing an impressive job of kissing ass while demanding far more than he deserved. Daemon would be impressed if it wasn’t so pitiful.

He didn’t really pay attention to the negotiations. The crown would be the one paying any bride price, after all. Lord Mullendore certainly wanted more out of the deal than he was willing to give himself. 

“Aren’t we getting ahead of ourselves?” he asked after several minutes of pointless haggling. “I have yet to meet this girl, let alone decide if I will marry her.”

“A very good point, my prince,” Lady Mullendore surprised all of them, speaking up for the first time since their arrival in King’s Landing.

Otto reluctantly agreed, though he looked like he’d bitten into something sour. Lord Mullendore, however, looked quite aggravated at being interrupted. At least Viserys had the decency to look a little chagrined. 

“Forgive me - I was so confident in this match that I got ahead of myself,” the King replied jovially. He acknowledged Daemon for the first time since this farce began. “Why don’t you spend the afternoon getting to know Lady Adelayde? We shall convene after supper to discuss further.”

With that dismissal, Viserys stood, followed quickly by Otto and Lord Mullendore. Lady Mullendore stood as well, but lingered behind her husband. She leveled Daemon with a look that only a mother could accomplish. A look that said she wanted to speak with him and expected him to listen. 

No one, much less a woman, had dared level such a look at him since the late Queen Aemma. He admired her confidence, and so decided to listen to what she had to say. She straightened her spine as he approached, looking more assured now that her husband wasn’t around.

“I wish to speak to you, Prince Daemon - not as a noble lady to a prince, but as a mother to the man who might marry her only daughter.” Daemon indicated for her to continue. “I am well aware that this is not a match you would willingly choose, but I do ask that you give Adelayde a chance. Not just one meeting, but an actual chance.”

“And what would you consider an actual change?’

“A courtship,” she replied confidently. “Court her for three months and she may win over even you.”

Adelayde waited in the palace gardens. She was nervous despite previously promising herself that she would remain indifferent to everything. There was no one else around; whether it was by happenstance or design, she didn’t really care. She occupied herself by watching a little bluejay hop along a low-hanging branch of a nearby willow.

When her father first reached out to Hobert Hightower requesting help finding her a match, no one expected it to go all the way to the Red Keep.

She would have been perfectly happy living out her days as the resident “mad spinster.” Her older brother, Kean, had already promised her a place in his home should she not marry. It would certainly cause an uproar; a bastard caring for his mad half-sister. Just the kind of chaos the two of them liked to cause.

Unfortunately, now that Prince Daemon was set forward as a potential husband, that was unlikely to happen. Her father was determined to make the match work. Still, she couldn’t complain. The Prince was rumored to be quite handsome and apparently rarely visited his first wife, and then only under duress. A disinterested husband who she rarely saw was the best-case scenario for a woman like her. 

Her inner musings were interrupted by said Prince entering the garden. He certainly was handsome. He’d cut a striking figure even if he were a member of the smallfolk with different colored hair or eyes. Not that she’d ever say anything so rude out loud. 

She watched the Prince approach with veiled amusement. He was trying to seem casual and disinterested, walking just fast enough to convey that he wanted their interaction over quickly, but not so fast that it seemed like he was eager to meet her. The bluejay flew from the branch as he got closer. Even though it swept quite close to his head, the Prince didn’t react. She must be more stressed than she originally thought.

“Lady Adelayde,” he greeted with the smallest nod of his head.

“Please—call me Addie. It’s what my friends call me.”

“We are not friends,” was his curt reply. She managed to suppress rolling her eyes, though her irritation must have shown on her face. A smug look passed over his.

“Shall we walk?” he asked before setting off without her.

She didn’t bother suppressing her eye roll now that his back was turned to her. So this was going to be his game, then? Be as annoying as possible until she wanted nothing to do with him? Unfortunately for him, she had three older brothers, all very close in age. Two could play at this game.

They walked in silence for a while. Just as it started to seem mildly uncomfortable, she spoke up.

“What’s your favorite color?” she asked with the most innocent tone she could muster

The prince’s head whipped around so fast, a piece of hair came loose from its quaff and flopped forward onto his forehead. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”

Addie cocked her head and gave him an inquisitive look. “A perfectly valid one. You can tell a lot about a person by their favorite color.”

Daemon stared at her for a moment longer, probably trying to tell if she was serious or just daft. She kept her head cocked and blinked a couple of times for emphasis. Her brothers hated that. The Prince seemed to actually give it a thought for a moment before answering.

“Red and black, I suppose,” he finally said. How predictable. 

“Those are your House colors.” She didn’t even have to fake her sigh of disappointment. “They don’t count.”

“What do you mean they don’t count?” 

“It’s just so… uninteresting.”

“Red also happens to be the color of Caraxes. My dragon,” he adds, as if the entire Realm didn’t know that already.

“Well. I suppose that’s alright, then.”

He scoffs as if to say ‘of course it is’.

“Can I meet him?”

“Meet who? Caraxes?”

“Unless you have another dragon no one knows about.”

Daemon wasn’t quite sure what to make of the woman next to him. She wasn’t bad to look at. Slim with honey-blonde hair and storm-grey eyes which were far more intelligent than she wanted him to believe. She was quick-witted and seemed to be having fun poking his buttons. At the very least, they might be good friends.

He refrained from pointing out that Targaryens can only have one dragon at a time. She probably knew that already anyway. Instead, he decided to continue with their original conversation.

“So, what does my favorite color say about me? Besides being uninteresting?”

“Well, most children like the color red . . .”

She was comparing him to a child? Never mind. They could never be friends. He was feeding her to Caraxes.

“It says that you’re passionate. You’ll defend the people you love to the death. You’re also probably quick to anger, headstrong, and violent.”

“You could have easily discovered that through court gossip.”

“But passion, anger, and violence are also commonly associated with the color red.”

“Does that bother you? That I’m passionate, angry, and violent?”

Addie took a moment to reply. It was clear that it did bother her to some extent.

“As long as you don’t harm me or any children we might have, then I will not complain.”

Interesting. A far more diplomatic answer than he might expect from a court lady.

“No lecture about how anger is sinful?” he pushed. “Or the virtues of nonviolence?”

Her lips pursed. “I have found that life is rarely so straightforward.”

An interesting answer; and not one he was entirely comfortable with. Daemon had originally intended to spend the majority of the months exchanging letters once Adelayde returned to the Uplands, but he was starting to think that this courtship might be better served in person. Besides, Adelayde was a fascinating character and it would be a shame to deprive himself of her company.

#hotd x oc #daemon x oc #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen #hotd daemon #hotd fanfic #Adelayde Mullendore

[moeblob]

In case anyone who follows me forgot or did not know. Good lord I love Saizo and bless him for finally getting an alt and also bless him for being the only reasonable adult once again (in the paralogues). This man suffers so much from the people around him and the fact even his alt isn't a vacation but more stress is really funny to me (and bad for him, sorry buddy).

Saizo Dislikers please leave it at the door I don't wanna hear it. I've read enough rude tags on my art of him to last me a life time. o7

#fe heroes #fe fates #moe talks a lot #not art #i just had to say it because i really do love saizo and i really enjoy how much he just struggles with others being themselves #never forget how mad he got at azama for wanting to abandon mitama in their fates paralogue #never forget saizo had to force that man to go help his daughter #never forget that he did name his kid after him to keep the line going but didnt get mad when his kid was like mmm not now #never forget that some of the kids in the game call their dads Father and it sounds super formal yet his son calls him dad #HES A GOOD MAN JUST TRYING OKAY #also never forget he functionally works as a retainer with his ex #come on how do people still want to slander this man just existing in a world full of .... people...... #also after rereading his supports with asugi yeah the dude jumped to conclusions AND APOLOGIZED after learning he was wrong #and yeah he said the different name asugi was much more different and asugi pointed out yet you still use it #so basically never forget that this man is trying his best to respect his sons wishes and knows to apologize when hes out of line #also never forget hes ticklish

[quietwingsinthesky]

Hiiiii! So, a few days ago you were talking about the whole thing with Amy, Rory, and River. And when I saw those posts a thought arose in my head and I wish to share it with you.

Since River grew up with Amy and Rory as Mels. And Mels was Amy's best friend do you think that they ever talked about children? Since I know that it can come up when talking with friends, and like... do you think that Amy might've ever expressed whether or not she wanted children?

And if she didn't, that Mels would've had to listen to her mother say that she doesn't want children? The idea is so heartbreaking and sooo interesting.

What do you think about it?

no, no, see, you're so right and this drives me wild.

because, the way i see it, i don't think amy wanted children. she's somewhere on the 'hasn't thought about it' to 'vaguely negative feelings about it happening' range to me, which falls sharply into 'Not Happening Ever Again' post-s6. (specifically, in terms of having a kid herself, even if she could, i really don't think she would. i do love that she and rory end up adopting a kid later, because that does make sense, for amy pond who grew up alone in one universe with her family swallowed by cracks in time before the doctor helped her set it right again, for her to want to make sure another child won't be alone in the world like she was. getting off-track here.)

and that's so. because the first real memory river/mels has of amy is of amy shooting at her. and depending on how well the silence fucked up the rest of her memory, it might be one of the very first memories she has at all. that's how she met her mother, crying for help and getting a bullet instead. her mother tried to kill her, so of course, you have to think. she must have needed to hear that she was wanted, right? even if she was taken away, even if amy shot her, at some point, melody must have been wanted?

river is good at getting people to do what she wants, but she is very, very bad at subtlety. and mels is younger, has less practice, so when she wants to know this, she's just going to ask. blunt and quick, easy enough because amy's used to the way mels will open her mouth and you just have to be ready to roll with what comes out if you want to keep up. it's why they're such good friends (like mother, like daughter.)

they're nine, and mels asks if amy wants kids, and amy wrinkles up her nose and says she won't have time for children, obviously, once her raggedy doctor finally comes back. they're fifteen, and amy and rory dance will they-won't they in a way that makes mels twitchy to watch, and taunting amy about wanting to have rory's babies is a good way to get on her nerves. but amy calls her gross, tells her she's got more life planned than children would leave room for, and besides, imagine her, a mom? it'd be a disaster.

mels does. a lot. she looks at her mother and just sees her best friend instead. she's not even sure what she wishes was there, but. maybe amy's right. and besides. imagine her, a daughter, instead of the ticking time bomb she really is? it'd be a disaster.

they're sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and on. mels stands on the outside of a love story that births a universe. and her. how do you compete with that? not that she would know, not yet, she hasn't been there. but it doesn't make her feel any less alienated when amy and rory talk in whispers about a half-remembered world that's bled through to this life, about roman soldiers and boxes and the big bang of belief.

all these memories, they never mention children. on amy's wedding day, she's different, not like someone remembering a dream but someone who lived it. rory stands straighter, won't leave her side, and they're both so much older than they were yesterday. maybe now, right? a wedding's as good a time as any to decide you want kids.

mels not being at amy & rory's wedding is such an obvious lazy way of them trying to explain why they totally didn't just throw this plot twist together at the last minute that i'm not even going to acknowledge it. of course she was at their wedding. she's their best friend. there's too many people around the doctor, and she wasn't ready today of all days, so despite this horrible burning need under her skin to strike, she stays her hand. doesn't let him dance with her because she might just tear his throat out if he gets too close. stays with amy and rory as the maid of honor should. she must have been there for the awkward questions that always gets asked, 'so, any plans for a baby?' 'when am i getting grandkids?' 'oh, you two are going to have gorgeous children together.' standing a few feet from amy in her wedding dress and watching her mother tense and grit her teeth and brush off the questions. watching her look nervously at rory but never ask if he means it when his mom asks him if he'd prefer a son or a daughter, and rory answers 'either one, some day, not anytime soon.'

god i'm just going on and on, aren't i. but really, what's it like to know that amy never changed her mind. the next time she sees them, she's already been born and stolen. i don't like let's kill hitler for. so many reasons. but there is something compelling about how recklessly river lashes out at the world, at the doctor. even her sacrifice at the end is almost suicidal, throwing all her regenerations into this man without knowing if that will even work or if it might kill her to do it. but it makes more sense in the context of someone who has reached the end of a long, long wait for some kind of indication, any kind, that her mother wanted to have her. and finally been told, no. she didn't choose melody.

#like. to be clear also: i don't think the fact that amy didn't want kids and really didn't have a choice in giving birth to river #means that she wouldn't love river. i think it would make their relationship Complicated but i do think amy loves her. so much. #that's her daughter but it's also her best friend. #but like. god. to spend your whole childhood hoping you'll hear about some little glimmer of yourself. #a dream. a passing mention. a debate on baby names. anything. and to hear nothing. #and river is. like. she is really really bad at relationships right? we know this. #the person she's closest to is the doctor and she spends most of her life believing *he doesn't even love her*. #we're talking about someone whose base assumption about everyone is that they will try to hurt her at some point so she should always keep #one hand armed. #and her mother. didn't choose to have her. didn't have that choice. that has to fuck her up a little. #(and also serve as proof that river is. so so bad at knowing when she is loved. because maybe amy didn't choose to have her but she named #melody pond after mels her best friend. she has been choosing river every day for the past however many years since mels decided to come #here and be near her mom and dad even if only as kids. but river still can't see it. #and. given the nature of how the ponds disappear from her life. and we never get any closure about them and river. #you have to wonder if she ever did. river song do you know your mother loves you? #having the melody-as-river reveal be so close to the end of the season and then getting rid of amy & rory before they can actually do #anything with the three of them as a messed up little family unit is the show's biggest crime. because i don't know! i don't know if river #knew her parents loved her! i don't know if she *ever* came to terms with how she was born and how they didn't need to choose her then to #choose her now! i don't know if river ever really felt comfortable thinking of them as her parents rather than her friends? #according to the transcripts. river calls amy 'mother' twice. (and 'mummy' once jokingly.) she calls rory 'father' once. and 'dad' in angel #in manhattan. and it just. it drives insane right? it's almost weirdly formal. like the words aren't right but she knows she should say the #and. and. i don't think i'm ever going to get over river song. #i think that's the takeaway here. #ask #doctor who #river song #amy pond #rory williams

[softquietsteadylove]

Who do you think is Ajaks favorite child?

So, Ajak would say that she loves all her children equally. She would never have favourites!

But yes she does and it's Sersi--hear me out!

It's not just the picking her to take over as Prime, because that's obvious. But I'm talking about how I think Sersi is the most human of all the Eternals.

Ajak loves all her kids. They function all together, as a family, even the cantankerous Druig and stubborn Ikaris and prickly Thena. Ajak wouldn't change anything about them.

But Sersi is different. From the moment they first awaken Ajak knows Sersi has insatiable curiosity, and passion, and love for all she does. Ajak sees how much Sersi loves life in all its forms and admires it, maybe even envies how much more freely Sersi can love without the burden of the truth weighing on her.

Ikaris is her secondhand, and he knows all that she does (mostly). He becomes a confidante to her in a way none of her other children are. And yet this ultimately dooms them both to never actually being able to depend on each other in an emotionally healthy way. Both are a pillar of the irrevocable truth and fear how it will crush their family if they move from that.

But that's why I think Thena's role in this is so fascinating (my bias is showing, I'm well aware). Because Thena also knows the truth, on some level, even from the beginning. It can be argued even before then--maybe she always gets Mahd Wy'ry, maybe she always remembers the horrors that they facilitate in their missions.

Ajak knows this. That's why she suggests erasing Thena, because she really does love her, and she knows firsthand the burden of knowledge. Thena already had wisdom, it's the knowledge that really endangered her.

I also think that's why Druig's relationship to Thena is so much deeper than what we got in the movie. He speaks up for her--he speaks up for her against Ajak, and Ikaris, and Arishem himself. He believes that Thena has a right not to want to forget their lives, and he obviously doesn't trust the answers he gets from Ikaris or their Prime.

Ajak is a very complicated character. She's not entirely right, she's not wrong either, and I do believe that she does the best with what she has. And that she loves her children. That, above all else, is what drives this person: love for her children and for people.

And that's Sersi's favourite thing: people. Sersi loves life and the people in it, and everything in between. Sersi is who Ajak could be if she didn't have the burden of their mission on her. And yes, she does impress that onto Sersi and burden her with that. It's hard to reconcile, and confusing, and it creates hardship for Sersi. But Ajak did so knowing Sersi was the right one to take this on.

Because this mother has high hopes for her daughter, and she knows what she can handle because she forged this child's soul from her own.

#Eternals #Ajak #a biopsy if you will just some thoughts of mine #also yes I saw the Barbie movie why do you ask? #mother-daughter relationships are endlessly complex #and I don't want to trivialize anything for anyone by waxing poetic about it from my own perspective #but this is what I think about Ajak and Sersi's relationship #also sorry you probably thought this would be a really fun ask and I've done...this #okay so for those who read the tags #Ikaris is her very good mama's boy who does everything right but then she finds out is wanted in six states for federal crimes #and she goes where did I go wrong??? #Thena: where could he have gone right is really the question #Thena is like Ikaris' twin they're so alike #Ajak asks how Thena is and Thena just nods and walks off #she's more of an icy teenager than Sprite is to her #but at least Gilgamesh makes Thena a little sweeter #he's also best boi so...write that down #Gil helps carry in the groceries #Sprite acts like she's too cool for it all but really she still likes cuddles and I will die on that hill #Druig is constantly bitching about 'mother dear' #while Ajak and Makkari have a great relationship! #They're obviously close Makkari is holding her in the wedding scene #Makkari is very close and sweet with Ajak but Makkari is also a wild child #she steals and is rambunctious and likes breaking the rules #Miss Goody Two Shoes is Sersi herself #Phastos too up until...a certain point #And Kingo...Kingo thinks he's her favourite #like truly and genuinely