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swiftispunk · 10 months

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in my hometown, part iii | joel miller x f!reader

series masterlist | series playlist

pairing: neighbour!dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!actor(ish)!reader (+ platonic!tommy and platonic!sarah)

rating: 18+ minors dni

word count: 10.7k

summary: pre-outbreak/tlou. joel finally accepts his fate and comes to see you in LA but he’s not prepared for what he finds (or doesn’t find) when he gets there.

*takes place after the events of come back, be here (no avoiding it, folks, you’re going to need the context - and all the foreshadowing)

warnings etc: set in 2002. smut, angst, fluff - aka PURE ROMANCE, alcohol use, drug use, unwanted sexual advance (not by joel), hurt/comfort, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, 10 year age gap (joel is 35, reader is 25), OC!adam (he deserves a warning), food, smoking mention, me making things up about hollywood. NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: well! here we are! i don’t know what to say other than thank you to every single reader who made this series what it is. i hope you feel this is a fitting end for joel and superstar, my favourite babies. dedicated to ziggy @johnwatsn who came into my life because of this fic, katy @midnightswithdearkatytspb for supporting this series from the start, and cat @joelscruff, without whom i'm not sure anyone would care about this story at all

You

I resolve to make new friends I liked my old ones But I fucked up so I'll start again What's the worst that could happen?

Is there anyone here you know?

You look around the room from your place against the off-grey wall. Adam's posh apartment in West Hollywood is filled to the brim with a sea of strangers, a collection of wannabe C-listers, supposedly there to celebrate you, haphazardly assembled by somebody else. Whatever, you let it go.

You have to start making new friends eventually. And you have to admit that your agent's assistant has some fairly notable connections. Around here, that's all that matters.

You clutch the drink Adam had made you (something far too bitter and heavy on the bourbon, not your thing at all). The darkened space overlooks a wall of windows and a sprawling balcony, forty-eight floors above the city below. Bright lights and freeways pierce the black, starless sky.

Los Angeles. Home. Or something like it.

All the while, the memory of your earlier conversation with Joel hangs over you like a rare California raincloud, ominous and debilitating.

"Okay - um, shit - it's asking me for more quarters, I'm all out. Can I call you tomorrow?"

"You can call me any time you want, darlin'."

"Bye, Joel."

"Bye - "

But he'd been cut off all too soon, dial tone ringing out through the speaker of the heavily vandalized payphone.

You'd rejoined the agency brunch party, dazed and depressed.

You'd thought Joel would have been happy for you, now that you'd finally accomplished something worthwhile. He's only heard you crying your eyes out over the phone for the past six months - although admittedly you've been calling less lately - so you’d assumed he'd have more to say than an offhand, "That's amazing sweetheart."

Sure, you'd caught him at work but that didn't justify the worst part of all; Joel had been, of all things, petty.

"Seems like Adam already knew."

Cold, unflinching jealousy, palpable even through the phone, hundreds of miles away. It had left a bitter taste in your mouth, unsure at first how to respond. What the hell did Joel have to be jealous of?

Maybe you have been calling less recently, but you've had good reason. You've actually been trying to accomplish what you came here for, auditioning constantly and working non-stop at a smoothie bar in the meantime just to pay your damn bills. You'd been on the verge of giving up entirely until the TV offer had come, the opportunity finally breathing some hope back into your miserable day-to-day life.

Other than that, it's been nothing but boring, repetitive, exhausting.

You hadn't wanted to burden Joel with that.

Somehow, after filtering through all of that, you'd landed on feeling hurt - hurt because you'd upset him, hurt because you'd made him think for even one second that you wouldn't rather be back home with him than at some meaningless agency party being showered with mimosas by a too-drunk-for-noon Adam.

But that was hours ago. Now Adam's brought you here, to what he'd affectionately referred to as a "real party," not unlike all the other ones he's been dragging you to the last couple of months. Overcrowded, late-night gatherings at his pristine apartment, unrecognizable music blaring, drugs and alcohol abound. It's always the same.

You can’t say you like the guy all too much. He's constantly overdressed to an obnoxious extent, lanky and tan with brown curls that would remind you of Joel's if they weren't constantly loaded with greasy product.

He's older than you, but not so old that he should be as cocky and confident as he is, as though he's somehow wiser to the world than you are. He's just a guy - a guy with good connections and an easy high-paying job. You've met countless people like him since you came here, talentless drifters who cling to the rich and famous, desperate for a shred of their success.

Problem is, you've also seen how much it helps to have people like that in your corner. Knowing people here is everything.

And you know for a fact there are people here tonight that are worth meeting, higher-ups and producers that you should really be shaking hands and making nice with. Instead, you pull your cell phone out of your pocket and flip it open, scrolling absently through the list of recent calls - every one of them incoming from Joel. You sigh.

"You good, Texas?" Adam's voice is saying then, catching you gloomily musing away on the fringes of the crowd.

"I'm fine," you assure him, but your voice wavers, giving you away. Stupid.

Adam smirks knowingly, eyes flitting down to the phone in your hands before you snap it shut. He slyly loops an arm over your shoulders and guides you into the throng of bodies.

"Come on and join the party, what are you hiding for?"

He leads you through the crowd to the plush, ivory couch in the centre of the open room. It's situated around a massive glass-top coffee-table, barren of any notable décor. The couch is large enough to fit you and him snugly between the bodies of four other partygoers. Booming electronic music blares from his sound system so he's forced to lean in close when he asks,

"Who's Joel?"

Fuck. How did he...?

Adam sees the question in your eyes, nodding his head towards the cell phone still clutched in your hand, presumably having caught a glimpse or your caller list. You hastily shove it in your pocket.

"He calls a lot," Adam observes. "Was that him on the pay phone earlier?"

"Uh, yeah," you finally admit.

"So...who is he?"

You freeze again. The question should be simple enough to answer, but you find yourself stumped – who is Joel? Who is Joel to you?

"He's, um...my neighbour."

Adam bursts out laughing, appropriately so, you think. It sounds ridiculous to your ears, too.

"Who calls their neighbour from a fucking pay phone?" he demands. "Who calls anyone from a pay phone, honestly? You're living in the past, Texas."

Yeah, that's probably accurate.

"Well, he's a - a family friend."

It's somewhat more accurate, but Adam's not satisfied.

"Nu-uh, it's more than that."

Your brows furrow, annoyed. You sip your disgusting drink to buy you some time while you decide if you really want to get into this with him. You don't know Adam that well, only brought together by your agent in the last couple of months or so. He's seemed far more interested in you than you have in him, often visiting you at the smoothie bar or parading you around parties just like this.

You've also noticed a sharp increase in his interest since you'd got a callback for the TV job.

So yeah, not really the first person you want to be talking to about Joel but he's kind of got you on the spot so -

"Fine, I mean, we hooked up," you concede at last. "A couple times."

"And?" Adam says, staring you down expectantly, eyebrows raised. You'd hoped your answer would have sufficed. Maybe back home, but not here apparently. You sigh.

"And now it's complicated, I guess."

"Ah, complicated," Adam nods. "You guys, like boyfriend-girlfriend now? You caught feelings? That why it always seems like you're only ever half here?"

How can one man be so fucking patronizing?

"No, we're not boyfriend-girlfriend," you roll your eyes, frustrated. "And I'm not half here. I'm here. All in."

Adam blissfully, doesn't know you well enough to catch you in the lie. Joel would have caught it.

You watch then as Adam reaches into the pocket of his shiny grey blazer to retrieve a small plastic bag filled with white powder. You pointedly avert your eyes; it's not the first time you've seen coke at a party since you got here - and certainly not the first time you've seen Adam do it - but you've still yet to indulge. Frankly, the sight of the stuff still puts you on edge.

You silently sip at your drink while Adam leans over the tabletop and empties the bag's contents directly onto the glass. No one around the table even bats an eye; this is standard for a party at Adam's. He pulls an Amex card from his wallet and crushes the minute clumps into fine dust, lining up two thick, precise lines before inhaling the first into his nose with a hundred dollar bill.

Eye-roll.

The size of the bill you snort coke with is like a dick-measure here, you've noticed. The richest, coolest, hottest men breathe in their poison with the most expensive paper, then they expect you to be impressed when they hand the rolled up bill to you, as if they're offering you the greatest gift in the world.

You shake your head when Adam does just that, leaving him to breathe in the other line himself.

"Sorry, forgot you're not into it," he grins but you don't think he sounds sorry at all.

He leans back into the couch again and swipes at his nose, leaving the bill on the table along with the remaining pile of coke.

"So, what's this guy's deal?" he asks you, pupils now shot as he stares you down with exaggerated interest.

"Joel? What do you - "

But Adam cuts you off, louder and brasher than you at the best of times, but especially so now.

"You said it's complicated, but he's not your boyfriend," he pries. "So...what's the issue?"

"I don’t know, we left things kind of…open I guess. "

"Open's fun. What's the real issue?"

You sigh again, struggling to think of the real answer to his question. Because he's right, there are a million more reasons why it's actually complicated. The hard part is trying to remember why any of them matter.

"Um...well, he's also a bit older - " you start but Adam cuts you off again with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Non-issue," he says decidedly, before he thinks of something that makes his features contort into a frown. "Unless he's like, fifty. He's not fifty, is he?"

You shake your head - though you have to admit that even if Joel was fifty, you'd probably still feel the same way about him.

"He's got a kid," you admit.

Adam grimaces - a nasty, ugly expression that sparks a sudden wave of protectiveness in your gut.

"That's a problem," he gripes.

"No," you push back. "No, I love Sarah."

Adam laughs disbelievingly, condescending.

"Who you tryna convince here, babe?"

Tragically, it's a good fucking question. You cross your arms over your chest and sit back into the couch, glaring at the table before you.

"Why don't you just tell them to come out here?" Adam suggests simply. Like it’s that fucking easy.

You shake your head again. "I couldn't ask them to do that."

He shrugs then with another patronizing laugh that makes your skin crawl.

"Then go home," he says bluntly. "Forget about the show. Follow your heart."

He places a dramatic hand over his chest, pulling a put-on sentimental face.

It's your turn to laugh now, one bitter exhale that in no way indicates humour. It's clear he doesn't see the complexity of your situation, could never understand the turmoil you've been living under for the past year, how your heart can be in two places at the same time.

"You're making fun of me," you say and he just grins triumphantly, throwing an arm over the back of the couch behind you and leaning in close to your face. You can smell liquor and the distinct scent of something chemical on his breath.

"No, but you see how crazy it sounds?"

You have to chew your lip to keep from biting his head off. You burn in your seat, shifting uncomfortably, utterly cornered between him and the back of the stranger sitting beside you.

He's right, you realize, it does sound ridiculous.

"You should be stoked you got this gig," he says, oblivious to your quiet fuming. "Do you even realize how lucky you are? You'd give it up to go play stepmom for your - fucking - neighbour?"

You hate the way his snarky voice envelops the last word so cruelly. You wish you'd never described Joel that way, reduced him to something so benign.

"I didn't say that," you argue. "I do want it. I feel lucky. It's just been...a whirlwind is all."

It's all mostly true.

Adam grins. "That's how it happens, baby. It's exciting." He places a hand on your knee and shakes your leg, cocking his eyebrows at you till you reluctantly smile back at him.

Maybe he's right. It's not that you don't want the opportunity - of course you do - it's just that you can't let go of all the ways things could be better. Namely, if Joel was here. Or maybe if all of Hollywood was in Austin.

"And I mean, three episodes..." Adam goes on, suddenly sitting up straight and talking with his hands erratically. "That's enough time to establish a fan base. This part's memorable as fuck, it's a popular show; you'll be getting calls, trust me. We'll get you a publicist, send you out to some red carpets. They're gonna eat you up, baby."

He shoots you a wink and you find yourself smirking again; he does make it sound pretty intoxicating. And it is why you came here after all. Still, it's definitely not lost on you that Adam seems far more concerned with your potential notoriety than your actual craft.

Such is the way here.

"Well," you nod, trying to absorb some of his enthusiasm. "Tomorrow I sign the contract officially so maybe it'll feel more real then. But I am...I'm excited."

It could be a trick of the light - it's gone so suddenly - but you think you catch something pass over his features then, a glint behind his eyes and the subtle twitch of his lips upwards.

"You haven't signed the contract yet?"

You shake your head, eyes narrowing at the strange edge his voice seems to take on. You can't decipher what it means.

You should have left a long time ago.

The only people still hanging around the apartment are the ones fiending around the remaining drugs, most of the notable guests having left at a reasonable hour, only Adam's closest entourage still hanging around; about six other men just like him, neatly dressed and high off their minds.

You've stayed fixed to your place on the couch beside Adam all night, watching and listening to his boisterous, meandering conversations, shrinking uneasily each time he places an arm over your shoulder or absently touches your leg.

He's been getting more and more blatant with it, his side firmly pressed into yours for the last hour or so, even though there's only the two of you on the couch now, more than enough room for him to move away. You're too nervous about how he may react if you try to move yourself.

You were never a nervous person till you came to LA.

You wish there was somewhere else you could go, someone else you could cling to. Or maybe that you were brave enough to not have to cling to someone at all.

It's past 2 a.m. when you finally consider calling it a night. But then, as if he can sense your imminent departure, Adam turns to you with wide, beseeching eyes.

"Have you checked out the view yet?" he asks.

You look over your shoulder at the wall of windows.

"I mean - I can see it."

Adam grins.

"Come see it for real," he suggests, standing and holding out a hand out to you. You reluctantly take it and rise to follow him to the balcony.

Goddamnit. It's what you've been avoiding all night, having to be alone with him. You steel yourself as you subtly slide your hand out of his, letting him lead you out through the sliding glass door into the warm, night air. He leans over the ledge while you stand several feet back, cautious.

"Nice, right?" He glances back at you, cocking his head and imploring you to move closer.

You nod, inching forward enough to rest your fingertips on the balcony's edge.

A few seconds of awkward silence pass and then -

"So, be honest," Adam starts. "Like deadly, seriously honest."

"Okay."

Adam turns to face you, leaning coolly with one arm against the ledge.

"Do you actually want this part?"

Your brows furrow, indignance painting your features.

"I have the part," you protest.

Adam shrugs. "Well, I mean, if it's not in writing..."

The fuck?

"What are you saying?" you demand as annoyance begins to prickle hot under your skin. Adam, on the other hand, appears cool as a cucumber.

"I'm just saying, if you wanted to back out, it's not too late. You could still go make your little Joel the happiest man in the world."

You guess it's what you get for confiding in him.

"I'm not backing out," you argue. "I want it, okay? Joel...Joel's not important."

It's a big, stupid fucking lie but it has to be true. You have to let him go eventually, that much is clear.

Adam's shrewd grin widens as he reaches a hand out to move your hair behind your ear. Warning signs shoot you through you at his touch, but it's his next words that truly send you into fight or flight mode.

"No?" he hums, moving in closer. "So he wouldn't mind if I kissed you right now?"

Oh. Fuck.

"What?" Your voice is flat - too flat. Weak with shock even though you could have seen this coming.

"Joel's not important?" he presses, his lips making contact with your neck. Your stomach turns.

"Adam..."

His fingers trail over your collarbone - featherlight and threatening all at once.

"How bad do you want that part, sweetheart?" His breath fans out over the skin of your neck and -

Oh, fuck this.

You push against his chest with all the force you can muster.

"Stop," you tell him, voice finally gaining some power as anger takes over. Anger at the fucking...predictability of it all. The only thing men like Adam crave more than fame is the chance to get their stupid fucking dicks wet. "I'm not doing this with you."

He shakes his head, that same cocky expression glued to his face, however tainted by the film of outrage at your rejection.

"You really don't wanna say that, sweetheart."

"Yeah, actually, I really fucking do," you rage in return. "I'm leaving."

You turn on your heel and escape through the glass door, leaving it open behind you. Adam yells something after you that you barely catch as you storm through the dwindling party and out the door, descending from the forty-eighth floor into your own personal hell.

How bad do you want that part, sweetheart?

His words echo in your mind as you fight for sleep that night, waves of tears and nausea, nausea and tears keeping you awake until the sun rises. You consider calling Joel but what could Joel do? He can't protect you now, he couldn't save you then.

You have to let him go. One way or another, you have to let go of Joel Miller.

And besides, surely what Adam had said hadn't been a genuine threat. Surely he doesn't have that kind of sway.

No. You have the part. You’re fine. You're okay.

And they tell you that you're lucky, but you're so confused 'Cause you don't feel pretty, you just feel used And all the young things line up to take your place

Joel

I bet she told a million people that she’d stay in touch, But all the little promises that don’t mean much, When there’s memories to be made

You only ever sent Joel one postcard. He'd always hoped more would come, but they never did. Just the one, some time in March. He'd been working late, hadn't remembered to check the mail. Sarah hadn't forgotten, though, of course not. He'd come home after ten o' clock to find the glossy image of a California beachside sitting on his kitchen table.

He'd curiously read your little message before folding the postcard in on itself two distinct times and slotting it into his wallet with a sigh and a faint smile.

It's stayed there ever since, though, he can't say he's looked at it again.

At least until today.

Now he examines it carefully in the driveway, glancing over the return address in the corner, burning the information into his brain and committing it to memory.

"You good to go?" Tommy says, finding Joel with one hand on the door of his pick-up.

"No," Joel tells him truthfully, cracking the driver's side door and tossing the postcard onto the passenger seat, right next to his map.

"S'alright, I'll hold down the fort," Tommy assures him with what he probably thinks is a comforting hand on Joel's shoulder. "Get Sarah to soccer camp on time and all that shit."

Joel just gives him a skeptical stare. Like Tommy has any idea what "and all that shit" entails. If Sarah wasn't so self-sufficient, Joel would never feel so comfortable leaving. He barely feels comfortable as it is.

"I mean it, you don't gotta worry," the younger Miller continues, pulling out a smoke from his pocket nonchalantly. "Just go do what y'gotta do."

Jesus fucking Christ.

"Rule number one," Joel grumbles, snatching the cancer stick out of his hand before Tommy can light it. "None o'this shit in front of her."

Tommy holds up two hands innocently. "Alright, shit."

"Don’t see her around right now, but okay…" Tommy mumbles under his breath. Joel pretends he doesn't hear it.

"To be honest, Tommy, I kinda got no fuckin' idea what it is I'm doin'."

Joel leans into the side of the truck, running a tired, nervous hand over his face. He'd barely slept last night, too keyed up after his 2 a.m. epiphany and a decision set in stone after his call to Tommy.

"Well, you got about twenty hours to figure it out, brother," Tommy quips, holding his palm out for the cigarette. Joel deposits it there reluctantly.

"I'm actually askin' for your advice, for once," Joel admits, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at his shoes.

Now he knows he's really hit rock bottom.

"You think I fuckin' know?" Tommy laughs, echoing Joel's thoughts. "I'm worse at this shit than you are."

That's...true, Joel realizes. Still.

"Just...I don't know, tell me if I'm punchin' above my weight here," he shrugs. "M'I wastin' my time? Just forcin' something that can't - or - that - that isn't - ”

He sighs frustratedly, losing his words. He can't even get it right now, here, in front of Tommy. What the fuck is he going to do when he gets to California?

Tommy seems to sense his brother's mounting dismay, his firm hand once again coming down on Joel's forearm.

"I saw the two of ya at Christmas, Joel," Tommy says, finally sounding some semblance of sincere. "Looked pretty damn natural to me. Just go say your piece and if it works out, it works out. If it don't, then, you know...you tried."

The two Millers lock eyes before Joel nods stiffly. It's not much (and it’s hardly the most soothing sentiment) but it's all Joel needs to finally get behind the wheel, to slam the truck door behind him and pull out of the confounded cul-de-sac.

Sweeping desert passes him by as he guns it west on the two-ninety. He barely had time to construct a plan beyond drive, the reality of his decision now setting in with each click of the odometer.

The memory of his pep talk with Tommy fades quickly. He's been grumbling since Fredericksburg, miserable musings that range from, "What the fuck are you doing?" to, "Turn the damn car around, idiot." Of course he doesn't, stubborn to a fault, repelling the urge to back out now that he's committed to whatever the fuck it is he's committed to.

'Course, he makes it as far as the state line before he really begins to question his choices.

He should have called. He should have asked first. He should have waited.

He's tired of waiting.

Eventually (inevitably), his emotions catch up with him. Joel's not ignorant to the way his breath has started to come in heaving gasps, hard as he tries to pretend it's not happening, even as his chest pangs painfully with each ragged inhale, intrusive thoughts moving in faster now.

Would you even still want him? When he shows up on your doorstep, will you even care? Or is he already out of time?

Fuck.

Joel's powerless to stop the tears that well in his eyes then, hot liquid salt streaming out over his cheeks and into his lap, blurring his vision.

"Shit," he curses, voice thick as he wipes the wetness out of his eyes. But the tears don’t stop; he's forced to succumb. He pulls over, hazards flashing as he parks on the shoulder.

Safely off the road, he buries his head in his hands, leaning into the steering wheel as sobs flow freely from deep in his chest. A continuous refrain of, stupid stupid stupid rings out in his mind -

This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever fucking done.

Or maybe, he pushes back on the thought, maybe the stupidest thing he'd ever done was letting you leave in the first place.

He chases the setting sun as far as Phoenix before he finally decides to call it a day. He sleeps in the cheapest motel he can find, in the driest heat he's ever felt, cloying anxiety cloaking his dreams on what he hopes is last night without you.

Dear Joel,

This is NOT the view from my apartment…but you get the idea. Maybe you’ll see it for real one day. I hope so. I miss you.

The postcard sits in the passenger seat, that little return address his only compass as he crosses into The Golden State. There are still miles of desert before he reaches LA, but the hours pass faster now the closer he gets. He's gridlocked the second he enters the city, naturally. The clogged motorways and smoggy skies of Los Angeles only further fog his troubled mind, knuckles white on the steering wheel as he navigates his way through the dense traffic.

He follows the postcard like a North Star, exiting far outside the city centre, in a neighbourhood he'd likely never venture to otherwise. You'd been telling the truth, it's nowhere near any balmy beach. He's not judging, of course (Joel'd never judge someone for having less than someone else, as someone who's barely got much to begin with) but he can't deny the tinge of protectiveness that bubbles in his guts at the sight of the pot-holed roads and condemned apartment buildings that lead to your place; surely this isn't the safest place for you to be living.

Finally, he finds your address - a small one-storey home with a lawn unattended and only two cars parked in the driveway.

He notices, uneasily, that yours isn't one of them.

He checks the postcard for the hundredth time - it's definitely the right place. He takes a deep breath and parks uncertainly across the road, folding up the postcard and stuffing it back into his pocket before taking those final, crucial steps to your front door.

He's imagined every possible scenario - from the most painful to the most perfect. Maybe you'll swing open the door and pull him right into your arms, maybe you'll tell him to fuck off, maybe you'll cry or scream or smile or all of the above.

Turns out, he needn't've worried about any of that, because instead, he's greeted by a face that's not yours and three words he certainly had not prepared for when he asks for you by name:

"She's not here."

He deflates in the doorway, his mind going temporarily blank. He scrambles dumbly to understand.

"'She's not here,' like…she's out for the day - or...?"

The girl stares back at him with confusion.

"No, as in, she's gone,” she says very slowly. "She left. She went home."

"What? When?"

"I don't know, last night?" she muses offhandedly, uncaring. "She got home late and just packed a bunch of shit and left."

Joel's blood begins to boil as she speaks, concern melding with rage at the girl's indifference while his brain tries to catch up with the reality that you aren't fucking here and he is.

"And none of you tried to stop her?" he demands, his voice rising with obvious frustration. "In the middle of the fuckin' night?"

The girl just shrugs. Another girl appears behind her then, blonde and piqued, looking on with dubious concern and a hand on the other girl's shoulder. Joel runs a palm over his face exasperatedly and tries to reign himself in before one of your roommates calls the cops on him for making a scene on their front porch.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me..." he mutters to himself.

That's when the other girl pipes up, voice high-pitched and cutting, an undeniable fry coating her words.

"Wait - you're not Joel, are you?" she asks.

He sighs, "Yeah, why?"

The two girls exchange a knowing look that makes Joel's skin prickle.

"Well, I see why she can't shut up about you," the blonde one says and the two girls snicker. Joel sighs again, he really doesn't have time for this.

"Have you tried to call her at all?" he presses.

"Why would we do that?" the blonde one ponders cruelly.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, to check on her?" he growls. "You got a phone?"

A moment of hesitation as they consider letting him in - a moment that ultimately ends when the two share a cursory nod and step aside to let Joel through.

It's a pretty small place, three bedroom doors siphoning off from a shared living area and open kitchen, mismatched furniture and a clunky TV set. Tattered movie posters and a big calendar marking the dates of various upcoming auditions line the walls above beige carpeted floors, stained from the current tenants or past ones, Joel's not sure. There's no sign of you here, no mark that tells him you once dwelled within these walls. Like you'd barely ever settled there at all.

That is, except for the room to his immediate left with the door swaying ajar, giving him a view of the space he now recognizes as undeniably yours. An all-too-familiar purple bedspread lines a twin bed that's not unlike the one you have at home. The cheap IKEA dresser that stands against the other wall though is totally alien, nothing like the one he'd built you, the one that still sits in your childhood bedroom with his initials carved into the top drawer. Discarded t-shirts and a pair of forgotten tennis shoes litter the floor.

He can almost picture you, hurriedly buzzing around the shoe-box-sized room, packing a suitcase and leaving the door swinging behind you. He'd been so close...if he'd have just gotten here that much faster maybe he could have caught you.

Most concerningly though, Joel wonders what it is exactly that could have caused you to leave in such a rush.

He swallows back a sudden lump in his throat, pulled from his reverie by the grating voice of your roommate.

"Over there," the blonde one tells him, nodding her head towards the holster on the wall in the kitchen. The two girls hover for a moment as Joel punches in the number for your cell phone, till he shoots them a disapproving glare and they - finally - scatter.

Well, he sees why you hate them so much.

He holds the receiver to his ear and listens as the line rings once, twice, a third time - fuck. Dread sets in; what if you'd let the damn thing die again?

A click, then -

"Hello?"

Thank fuck.

"Hey!" he exclaims, relief washing over him momentarily. Not for long though. "Jesus, are you alright? Where the fuck are you?"

"Joel?" you ask timidly. He thinks your voice sounds a little tight, like you've been crying. He's heard the sound through the wire enough times to recognize pain in your tone.

"Yeah, it's me, just - where are you?"

"I don't know - I don't know, somewhere in Arizona," you stammer. "I - wait, where are you?"

"I'm in LA."

"What?"

Your voice rises several octaves, piercing Joel's eardrum. He winces at the sting but works to stay focused. You're not far. He can still catch you. He can still get to you.

"Do you see anythin' around you? Anywhere you can pull in?"

"I don't - no, there's nothing, it's just desert I - what do you mean you're in LA?"

"Fuck - "

Depending on where you are, he could get to you in five hours or less...but he can't track you down in the middle of the fucking desert. He presses his hands into fists, prodding his knuckles into the kitchen wall as he wracks his brain for a solution, a way to find you before you got too far - again.

"Wait," you say then and Joel's chest hammers with a brief flash of hope. "There's a - a truck stop and - motels and stuff. Coming up, um, Benson? Does that sound right?"

As you speak, Joel pulls your postcard from his pocket while he feverishly hunts for something to write with, pulling open drawer after drawer in the kitchen, leaving a tornado's worth of disaster in his wake till he finally finds a dull golf pencil buried under a stack of audition sides.

"Just tell me the exit number," he says. "You're on the I-10, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, the I-10...um..." your voice trails as you assumedly scan for the answer. "Three-oh-two, exit three-oh-two."

Joel jots it down on the postcard, a messy scribble beside your original note.

"Get off there," he commands.

"Joel - "

"Get off there and wait, okay? I'm on my way."

There’s been no way for me to say That I felt a certain way in stages, oh I think the story needs more pages, 'cause...

You

I’m coming home from that hardest year, I’m making plans not to make plans while I’m here And this life has been no holiday, a complicated situation I’m fine all my memories, still I could use vacation

It's not romantic. It's not beautiful. It's nothing like the movies.

It's sitting on a bench at a truck stop somewhere in the middle of the desert. It's leering eyes and curious stares from onlooking men and passersby. It's cold gas station coffee, your third since you pulled in.

It's waiting. Waiting for Joel. Hours and hours and years and years of waiting, waiting, waiting for Joel Miller.

Your eyelids are drooping by the time the sun starts to fade behind the vast horizon. You've lost count of how many cars have passed you on the interstate. The cell phone hasn't buzzed since Joel'd called earlier.

You hadn't thought any part of it through last night, just packed all you could as fast as you could and driven out of town. You hadn't even consciously decided you were going home until you'd found yourself driving east on the interstate, crossing into Arizona long after midnight. You'd crashed in the first major city you hit, when the wetness in your eyes had made it hard to see in the dark and the weight of your anguish had grown too heavy to ignore.

You'd slept in too late this morning, only on the road for two hours before that call from Joel had come. You've been here ever since.

"You get stood up, gorgeous?" a brave trucker sneers, demanding your attention, his buddies looking on with vile judgment, mocking you.

"Fuck off," you shoot back, not for the first time today. Not for the first time in your life. Fending off men and the things they judge you for, the things they try to take from you, the life and joy they suck from you so carelessly.

You'd never stood a fucking chance.

Maybe that's why you'd always loved Joel, you muse to yourself as a fresh wave of tears spill from your eyes. Joel takes nothing from you, Joel wants you to live. Joel let you go even though all you'd ever wanted was for him to ask you to stay.

It's dusk now, you notice offhandedly, the air cooling as a canopy of thick, milky stars begin to coat the sky above, the neon signs and headlights dulling their shine from where you sit.

You consider walking out into the open desert, till you're far enough away from Benson that you could clearly see the Big Dipper. Better yet, you could walk north until you see the Aurora Borealis or hit the open ocean and just disappear forever into the frozen water. It would probably feel better than how you feel right now.

But no. You can't. Joel could never find you there. And Joel has to be able to find you.

As if on cue, a familiar truck comes into view, cracking open your reverie and blasting down the interstate at a dangerous velocity. You practically jump to your feet as Joel's truck comes to a grinding halt, sandy dust clouding the air around you as he parks across two spots before you.

You watch, heart in your throat, as he leaps out of the front seat. You're not sure what you're expecting - a longing embrace maybe? A cinematic kiss perhaps. A heroic Joel scooping you into his arms and carrying you home, a vision you'd dreamt about dozens of times since Christmas.

It’s none of the above. Because as quickly as Joel gets out of the truck, you notice the look on his face; jaw clenched and brows furrowed, lips melded into a hard line -

Joel is livid.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell were you thinkin'?" he demands, approaching you fiercely before stopping suddenly, still several feet away, not close enough to touch, as though he's not sure if he's allowed. But he's there - Joel is right there.

The last of the ogling men disperse cautiously, Joel's rage apparently far more frightening than yours.

"What?" you shout back at him, matching his energy instinctively. Exhausted and heartbroken, anger comes easily.

"Drivin' through the night like that? Are you insane?"

You scoff. You're a good driver, more than capable of driving at night. Plus -

"I had a reason." You hate how cracked your voice sounds from crying and lack of sleep. "And I didn't drive all night, okay? I stayed the night in Phoenix."

"Are you fuckin'..." Joel shakes his head in disbelief.

"What?" you press him.

"I was in Phoenix last night," he huffs exasperatedly. "We went right passed each other."

Fuck. It would be funny if it wasn't so goddamn heartbreaking. Joel had been in the same city as you and you hadn't even known. You could have stayed in the same motel. Could have gotten breakfast at the same drive-thru before leaving in opposite directions.

You're at a rare loss for words. Joel sighs and presses a tired fist to his forehead.

"You should've called m - someone," he says finally. "You should've called someone."

You catch the slip-up, of course you do. And you can't even argue because you know he's right. You feel your face crumple, feel that familiar slump of defeat in your shoulders. Meanwhile, Joel is right fucking there, the closest he's been to you in months and for some reason you're still not touching him.

"I'm sorry..." you croak. "I'm sorry, Joel."

Joel's ire dissipates in an instant, his features softening as he finally closes the space between you and pulls you into his arms in a bone-crushing hug. The second he wraps you in his embrace, the sobs you've been containing break free, shaking against his chest as your tears meet his t-shirt.

"Oh, babygirl, it's okay," he murmurs gruffly into your hair, pulling you in tighter. You can hear the strain in his voice, his ragged breath on your bare skin. Joel is just as overcome as you. Sensing it only makes you cry harder.

"What happened?" he asks.

Where do you even begin?

It's too late to get back on the road, Joel decides.

"We'll just stay here tonight, okay?" he suggests. "You shouldn't be drivin' like this."

You don't disagree. He books you a room in the adjacent motel. You park your vehicles side by side out front. You sit with him on the springy mattress while Joel holds you till your tears subside. Several minutes pass like that, Joel lightly rocking you in his big, comforting embrace.

It’s the safest you’ve felt in a long time.

"You ready to tell me about it, sweetheart?" he asks softly, pulling back to wipe the last of your tears from your cheeks before clutching your hands between your bodies.

You nod. He waits.

"Don't get upset, okay?" you begin. His lips instantly turn down in a frown - so much for that.

"Okay," he says anyway, voice hard and flat.

You take a deep breath. "So you know Adam?"

You feel him stiffen, catch the way disdain flashes in his eyes at just the mention of the other man's name. If Joel's jealousy had been palpable through the phone, it burns like a wildfire in person.

"I guess."

"He - kind of tried it with me. That day I called you."

You watch Joel's face carefully. A terrifying muscle clenches in his jaw and he swallows harshly. His grip on your wrists tightens as he nods stiffly but says nothing.

You can probably imagine what it is he's holding back.

"Nothing happened," you go on. "Like, really, nothing. I turned him down and I thought that was the end of it."

Joel listens intently, waves of quiet rage rolling off him while your hands burn in his grasp.

"But then yesterday..." you continue, taking a steadying breath as emotion pools in your stomach again. "When I went to sign the contract for that job - you know the one I told you about?"

Joel nods once.

"They told me I didn't have it anymore."

Joel's brows furrow. "But I thought you already had it?"

"No...I guess...it was never in writing," you shake your head. "Adam - um - he went behind my back. He told my agent I'd backed out before I could sign anything."

"Why would he do that?" Joel asks through his teeth, sounding very much like he already knows the answer.

You don't respond, just stare at your conjoined hands, confirming his unspoken assumption.

"I'll kill that fucker," Joel gnarls then and you think it sounds like a genuine threat.

You snicker coldly. "Not if I kill him first."

He clears his throat, shakes his head and - rather pointedly - changes the subject.

"But there'll be other jobs." He squeezes your hands, this time with more soothing intent. "You didn't need to leave."

You sniff lightly and shake your head, glancing up at him from under your tear-soaked lashes.

"Well, no, actually," you press, gearing up for the pièce de résistance. "My agent dropped me. Said it didn't reflect well on them if I've got 'one foot out the door.'"

"Fuck," Joel breathes.

"Yeah. And, anyway, is that why you came to see me, Joel? To tell me to keep at it? Just keep goin'?" It's a weak impression of his low, gravelly drawl but it makes him fleetingly smile in spite of it all.

But then his eyebrows furrow again and as quickly as it had come, his smile fades.

"No," he shakes his head but doesn't elaborate, his eyes fixed on the flowery bedspread.

It's quiet for a long moment then. You take a deep breath and fill the sudden silence with the truth.

"I'm giving up, Joel," you confess, hysterics rising to the surface once again. "I can't do it anymore. I thought I could do it, but I can't. I can't do it when - "

He looks up at you, fervidly attentive while he waits for you to go on, like he knows what you want to say.

You fill your lungs with cigarette-stained air and finally let slip what's in your heart - "I can't do it because you're back home and I'm not."

You can't look at him when you say it but the weight of your words hangs thick like fog around you both. He doesn't speak so you go on.

"I know it's - I know it's not right," you cry. "I should want it more, I should be - I don't know, like, fighting for myself or working harder or - or - "

You take a steadying breath and bury your face in your hands, too ashamed to admit the rest to his face.

"But I just - don't want any of it without you. I don’t care if that's or stupid or naïve or whatever. Or if you even want me like that, I just - I would choose a life with you over this any day. I'll always choose that, Joel - and I'm sorry."

It's quiet again while your confession seeps into walls around you, drowned out by the hum of the AC and the static buzz of fluorescent lighting above you. You wet your palms with tears while Joel breathes shallowly before you.

Finally, after far too long, his hands find your wrists again, this time to pry your fingers away from your face. Joel sighs, placing two big palms on either side of your face, his gaze unavoidable now.

"Sweetheart, what'd I tell you at Christmas? I never wanted you to go. Baby, I want you more'n anythin'. You know that."

You shake your head. You don't know that. You've never known that.

"Darlin' - fuck - " Joel's palms burn your cheeks as your tears collect on his fingers. His sincere, brown eyes look back at you, wet with his own overflowing emotion. "I want you to come home. So much - god, I want that so much. But you - you can't...you can't quit 'cause of me. M'not...worth it."

You want to argue that it's not just because of him - that every time you'd made any sort of headway in Hollywood something had come along to fuck it up again. That the universe obviously just doesn't want this for you. It's not not true, but it's also not nearly as important.

Because of course it's about Joel. It's always been about Joel.

You swallow back a wave of tears and grip his forearms.

"Joel you're..."

How do you even put it into words? Of course he's worth it - he's worth everything, to you. You decide to show him instead.

"Just tell me," you instruct him with conviction.

He frowns, confused, as he works to catch up with your line of thinking. "What?"

"Tell me you want me to come back. Joel - please."

Now his tears spill over, features tightening as he, not for the first time, visibly wars with himself. Always, always warring with what he really wants and what he thinks he should want.

"I can't do that, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice shattered because you can see how much he wants to.

"Then why'd you come here? Huh?" you demand, voice rising as your desperation grows. Joel flinches at your words. "This isn't the life I want. And I'm not just saying that because of what happened. Joel - there's only one life I've ever wanted."

Your gaze locks with his and you watch him scan your face for any trace of a lie. You know he won't find one.

"Tell me, Joel," you beg weakly. "Tell me to come back and I will."

Joel waits a beat, squaring his shoulders with a steadying breath and a cracked sniffle.

"Come back, superstar," he pleads then. "Come home to me."

A soft gasp and you nod fervently, breathy, "I will, Joel, I will," lost, as he steals the words from your waiting mouth with a bruising kiss.

It's like every other time you’ve kissed him, feverish and heady, always running out of time. His mouth moves against yours with intent, tongue slipping between your cracked, wet lips as his hands tangle in your hair, locking you in place. You're no less impatient, palms wandering the vast expanse of his broad chest, his shoulders, his arms, pressing closer to him with each shared breath that passes between your lips.

"Fuck," Joel groans when you climb into his lap, straddling him and wrapping your arms around his neck. His palms find the small of your back, pressing your hips closer into his, the burgeoning bulge in his jeans prodding into your thigh; materiality at last. Joel is here.

"Is this real?" you find yourself asking anyway, as your fingers coil in his curls and his lips explore your neck hungrily.

"I hope so," he murmurs gruffly into your collarbone, the faintest of chuckles coating his words. He can laugh all he wants but it's a valid enough question - Joel's been nothing but a memory for the past six months, a disembodied voice through the wire, not someone to hold and kiss and love.

He lays you back then but stays comfortably situated between your legs, his pelvis grinding into yours, another stabilizing reminder of his presence.

He's still not wasting time, helping lift your shirt over your head and unhooking your bra clumsily while you fumble with your jeans zipper. He palms your breasts roughly the second they're free, calloused fingers dragging over the soft skin of your stomach before sliding your jeans and underwear off completely.

He's burying his face into your aching heat without warning then, moaning the second his tongue swipes through your folds, already wet with need. It catches you off guard, the sudden contact on your long-neglected cunt. Your fingers scratch at his shoulders but it only seems to encourage him - he braces his hands on your thighs as his eyes flutter closed, savouring your flavour when his lips close around your clit.

"Missed this pussy so fuckin' much," he hums distantly against you. "Almost forgot how good you taste. You miss my mouth, sweetheart?"

He sounds almost needy for the assurance.

"Shit - yes," you promise him. "Thought about it all the time, Joel."

"S'right."

Amid the obscene sounds of his lips on your soaking folds, you're reminded of his needy voice through a cell phone speaker, all those months ago now -

"...Wanna get my mouth on you so bad. Wanna taste you again."

It had sounded true then. It feels true now.

He doesn't need to ask this time; you know he wants to hear you, know how much likes it. And it's hardly a stretch to give him that, the way his tongue is circling your clit has you crying out a symphony over him, quiet curses and repeated refrains of his name tumbling from your lips unabashedly. You find yourself squirming under his touch, grinding your hips upward for more, more, more.

Joel seems to get the hint.

"Let me see you, baby," he implores you brusquely, pulling back to tap your sides, gently coercing you to turn on your tummy. But then he's yanking you back by the hips so your ass is up and your chest is pressing hard into the mattress, his tongue once again invading your entrance, slipping inside with no resistance from you. Your spine arches and you push back into his mouth, his big hands fanning out over your ass and spreading you open so you're fully on display for him.

He hums a pleased little noise into your heat, vibrations rattling your bones and making you dizzy with him, before he's pulling off you with a final languid lick only to replace his tongue with one thick finger. He drags his slick-coated moustache over your skin to nip at the plush skin of your ass while he slowly fucks his finger in and out of you.

"Christ, look at you," he marvels quietly, again, like he's saying it just to himself. "My perfect girl."

"M'yours, Joel..." you vow, drunk on the way it sounds, how it feels to be his. It's all you've ever wanted. Joel, for his part, groans openly at your hushed assertion.

"Say that again, sweetheart," he supplicates raggedly. You peer over your shoulder to see him palming himself through his jeans, index finger of his other hand still slotted securely in your centre.

Fuck fuck fuck.

"I'm yours," you tell him again, breathless and truthful. "Joel - make me yours."

He grunts softly, hearing the request in your words as he quickly strips down, the clinking sound of his belt buckle sending sparks flying to your core in anticipation.

He's back over you in an instant, leaning his naked body on yours so you feel his cock, hard and leaking, against the bare skin of your thighs. You rock into him and the friction seems to effect the both of you, Joel's hands combing harshly up and down your sides, over your perked nipples and down your spine.

"You know how many times I dreamt about this, babygirl?" he breathes, planting fevered kisses down your back, one of his hands once again creeping between your thighs to sink two fingers into your heat, stretching you in preparation for him. "To have you like this again, all wet and open for me. To - fuck - to be inside you."

"Joel…" you whimper, impatience setting in as you drip over his knuckles. "Please."

It's the most you can muster and it's all you need; Joel doesn't seem to be interested in teasing you any longer. He pulls you into his chest and buries his cock into you at last, cursing hotly in your ear as his strong arms engulf you, palms grabbing at your breasts till one finds your face, tilting your chin towards him to lock his mouth with yours.

He swallows each breathless moan from your parted lips as he fucks you deeply, not slow but not rushed either, sloppy with his efforts when he reaches around you to finger your clit, desperate to make sure you enjoy it too - so very Joel.

"I wanna feel you come around me, sweetheart, can you gimme that?" he growls into the hollow of your ear and you nod -

Yes yes a million times yes.

"Good girl."

You moan out his name, his words sparking a reminder of your very first night together, how dark and commanding he'd sounded in the dim light of your bedroom, how similar he sounds now and yet so completely different.

A pool of heat begins to build in your belly, Joel's thrusts never slowing, his fingers on your clit demanding. He's all around you, everywhere, finally.

You try to warn him but it's too late, the heat erupts in your core and you quiver against him, laboured, "I'm coming - Joel," escaping your lips in the form of a high pitched groan. Joel groans too, the feeling of your walls tightening around him turning his movements messier still, his big hand on your chest locking just under your neck as he rides it out with you. He's close too, right on the edge, if the quickening of his panted grunts in your ear are anything to go by.

In the haze of your orgasm, limp in his arms, you recall again his words on the phone all those moons ago now:

"Let me hear those pretty sounds you make."

Your head falls back on his shoulder and you answer his prayers.

"Joel, baby…" you croon, velvet soft and dripping adoration. "Come inside me, please. Missed it so much..."

You feel his hips stutter as he whimpers at your words, his fingers unwittingly tightening at the base of your neck.

"Fuuuck, keep talkin'," he pleads lowly.

"You feel so fucking good, Joel," you go on. "Wanted your cock for so long - shit - wanted to - feel you fill this pussy up. Only you, Joel. Only you make me feel this good."

"Fuck me, baby, I'm gonna come," he groans, an enticing promise. "You want it inside?"

"Pleasepleaseplease."

Two more piercing pumps and then he's crushing you into him, coming with his cock deep inside you, his muffled moans getting caught in your hair and tickling your ear. It seems to last forever, Joel filling you completely with his seed, refusing to pull out until the last of the aftershocks pass through him and you've both properly caught your breath.

Then he sits back on his haunches, keeping you trapped in his embrace so you're sitting in his lap with his arms wrapped around your middle.

It's quiet for a long while as Joel plants tender kisses over your shoulders and cheeks, the back of your neck. Your eyes slip closed at some point, and you think you might fall asleep like that, safe in Joel's arms, finally back where you belong.

But Joel shifts above you to check the time on his watch before you can, stirring you back to life.

"What time is it?" you whisper.

"Midnight."

A smile pulls at your lips then when you realize the date.

"Joel. It’s July twenty-fifth."

You look up to see him staring down at you with bemused confusion. "So?"

"It's Christmas in July," you tell him, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. A full six months since you were last together.

"Shit," Joel smirks, squeezing you a little tighter into him to whisper in your ear, "Happy...birthday in July, Jesus?"

You burst out laughing, your first real laugh in months; it’s probably the funniest fucking thing you've ever heard Joel Miller say.

"I don't think that's how that works," you say.

"Yeah, that was fuckin' stupid, m'sorry. Was funnier when you said it."

But he's laughing too as he finally unwinds himself from you, only to lie back with his head on the superfluous motel pillows, reaching a hand out to you to join him. You curl into his side and he wraps a thick arm around you, both of you sighing when you settle into place.

You close your eyes again but you don’t sleep. You think.

You think about how maybe this could be life with Joel. Mind-blowing sex and stupid jokes and warm embraces. But that wouldn’t be all of it, you know that. Maybe it'll be hard; maybe he'll get distant or angry or busy or scared.

Maybe you'll be all those things too. Maybe you'll wish you'd tried harder in Hollywood or come to regret all that you'd given up. Maybe you'll get bitter or sad or stressed-out or stubborn.

Maybe, though, maybe it's okay.

Because you want all of it. The complications and the dreary Mondays. You could still work, follow your passion in a smaller way - teach snotty, suburban teenagers the Brechtian method or go back to school yourself. You could do it.

You could do it with the man you came home for, the only soul who can tell which smiles you're faking. The warmest bed you've ever known.

It's clearer now, so much clearer than before, your future and all it could be.

You're pulled from your reverie when Joel begins to snore softly beside you, his thick chest rising and falling in peaceful swells.

He's so beautiful. He's yours.

One way or another, he's finally yours.

Sun streams through the crack in the motel's mint green curtains and Joel is already awake.

"Hey," he's saying in a hushed murmur as he gently shakes you to life. You blink in the morning light until he comes into focus over you, standing beside the bed, sleepy-eyed and haggard-looking, but undeniably up.

"We should hit the road," he insists softly. "Long day."

"Mmm," you nod as you peel yourself off the mattress. You're sore, in a lot of places, hours of driving and fucking and crying leaving you achy and weak. You stretch your arms and wiggle your toes. Joel smiles down at you.

"Do we have time for breakfast?" you ask, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You really hope you have time for breakfast.

Joel's grin widens. "Not really."

"I know you want a coffee," you press him. He sighs, you've got him there.

"Come on, we're on the interstate, I want a Grand Slam," you say with finality, holding out your hand and letting Joel help you out of bed. "When in Benson, you know?"

Joel rolls his eyes. Yeah, you've got him. Welcome to the rest of your life, Miller.

Twelve-hour drive be damned, you savour your eggs and bacon at the neighbouring Denny's, tucked into Joel's side in the yellow booth in a manner most inconducive to eating. You don't care. Neither does he as far as you can tell.

Joel sips on his coffee and swipes your sausages ("It's like that, huh?" "M'not hungry, just want a bite."), placing the occasional kiss to the top of your head and stealing glances at the news flashing on the TV overhead for traffic alerts.

There’s nothing to fear. It’s all clear on the I-10, as far as Van Horn.

Eventually you have to part ways, relegated to your own vehicles for the long journey ahead. You hate it, hate that you have to be apart from him again after just getting him back. Joel seems uneasy about it too, clinging to you with an arm over your shoulder right up until he's depositing you by your car.

"You'll follow me?" he asks.

"I'll follow you."

He nods, slowly leaning in to kiss your cheek, chaste and sweet. "Drive safe."

Your eyes slip shut when his lips brush your skin; you lean into it, however fleeting it is.

"You too."

Joel takes a deep breath, looking for a moment as though he's ready to walk away, before he's crushing you into his chest for one last embrace. Just a hug - a strong, solid, lasting, fervent hug.

There's something lurking under Joel's grasp, something uncertain. You feel it in the way his arms constrict around you, the tautness of the muscles there, the way he clings to you a little too long to feel comforting anymore.

Is Joel...afraid? You'd been afraid too, in your dreams last night, that the spell would break once you'd left this place. The reality of what going home actually means has been creeping up on you since your exchange of confessions in the motel room. There's going home, then there's going home with Joel.

You still don't know what that looks like.

You hug him back fiercely, nuzzling into his chest and infusing all the love you can muster into your embrace. Whatever it is you're going back to, you're ready for it.

You hope it's enough. Because now you really have to go if you hope to beat the dark. It's already not looking good. At this rate it'll be well past dusk by the time you hit Texas.

Sure enough, the sun is long set behind you when you cross into your home state. Traffic has you losing sight of Joel's truck somewhere near Sonora and although you're not thrilled at the loss, you don't panic. You know your way from here.

It's muscle memory by the time you get to Austin, the way to that old familiar cul-de-sac etched in your mind like hieroglyphics.

You're not surprised to find Joel's beaten you home, standing in his driveway in the glow of a streetlight.

Muscle memory tells you to turn left into your dad's driveway. That’s what you'd normally do, that's what you've always done. Turning right into Joel's driveway isn't something you've ever even considered. Until now, of course.

You're taking too long to decide, awkwardly frozen in the middle of the road. You catch Joel eyeing you expectantly before he averts his gaze, never one to pressure you. Since day one that's been true; Joel's never pushed you, Joel's always waited for you to make the first move.

It hits you then - how it's not a hard decision at all. It's the easiest goddamn move of your life. There's Joel, perfect and patient and kind and caring and waiting - waiting for you. You don't have to think, you don't have to question it -

You turn right, home.

THE END.

in my hometown tag list -

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bigfatbimbo · 1 month

Note

you ask me to talk about any of the vees?

why of course. and yes it’s vox i want to talk about.

okay hear me out here…i hc him as obviously a bottom, a sub, and definitely someone needy for their partner. i want more clingy Vox!! we’re talking quadruple-texting, clinging to your side, asking to shower together purely so he can be with you, always running behind you as you flit around town running errands, etc etc.

but this side of vox obviously translates into the bedroom as well.

picture him, dick or boycunt (both are delicious), just absolutely clinging to you as you fuck the shit out of him.

we know this man has a mommy kink at this point, but just picture how well you could play to his clinginess, edging him breathless and then ruthlessly overstimulating him again and again as he clings to you, unable to form coherent words, only “mommy, please!”

and the aftercare…ohhhh, the aftercare. poor baby wouldn’t even want you to leave to get him a glass of water. you’d have to pry yourself off him just to get what you need to care for him, and even after that he’d cling to you, sleepy and needy, falling asleep atop you like a cat, rendering you unable to move for the next few hours.

anyways yeah, vox. we love him.

warnings — smut, unorganized, actually just a long ass ramble, your going to want to kill yourself by the end, dom reader, use of mommy, NOT PROOFREAD

summery — A terrible ramble because you got bimbo all worked up about clingy subby vox. Also this isn’t a drabble or headcanons, but a secret third thing (a mess.)

I AM IN SUCH A VOX MOOD RIGHT NOW!! Who’s surprised? Anyways, let me jibber jabber about this for the next few messy, unorganized paragraphs.

So I love your idea, and so i’m going to take it and put in into a more canonical in-character little ball. Let me start off with getting Vox to this point and how it would take literally forever.

Because even if he trusts you, he still wouldn’t be overly clingy or submissive. I mean, obviously he’s submissive, but in a harder to break, bratty kind of way.

Well, let’s think about this; what would it take for us to get a clingy, subby Vox? It would take lots of time, and lots of building of, not only trust, but reliance. Say you’ve been dating for a while, he’s obviously subbed before, but still in that entitled power bottom kind of way.

Now, we all know his job is stressful, he’s a CEO and his coworkers aren’t the most relaxed people in the world. He’s stressed out and things go wrong. As per usual, he bitches to you about it.

But here’s where we start to break down his walls. Giving him a back massage while calmly giving him actual advice on the situation. Carefully recommending him ways to solve the problem, while relaxing the tense muscles in his neck.

Thats more than simple trust, like I said before, that establishes a small undertone of reliance. He’s independent, a control freak, but fuck, your ideas were good and now he can finally calm down. Now there’s a newfound trustworthiness that you’ll be there for him when he’s too angry or bugged out to think of a strategy.

Maybe you do little thoughtful things for him too, make his coffee the way he likes it, leaving little sticky notes around the house with sweet things on them. He thinks it dumb, probably laughs in your face about it, until he doesn’t. Because on some days, his fragile ego has taken so many hits that he needs your unconditional support and love.

That’s when we see him get more clingy. Even still, it would only show after specific situations, but it’s there. You are his source of comfort in his hectic, exhausting, businessman life. He wants to be powerful and dominant all the time, that’s a given. But it’s the fact that with you, he doesn’t have to be.

Okay enough character analysis, let’s make this interesting. Quadruple texts are very in-character because of his attention seeking tendencies. He’s texting you all sorts of things, while probably watching you on his cameras. Especially if you’re talking to someone else, then he blows up your phone to take the attention off of them.

Clinging to your side would probably only happen alone, but he would try to be so slick about it. Oh you need to get up and get water? Here, he’ll do it— oh, ouch, oh no! His back hurts. Could you maybe stop what you’re doing and come rub his back until it’s better?

Showering with you is a given. Walking behind you in the city while you’re running errands is interesting, however. Because I don’t think he would walk behind you, that’d make him look like some stupid lapdog. No, no, he’d keep up the pace perfectly, maybe even walk a little faster.

But he’d try to be slick about following you around too. Like, oh, you have errands to run? Well, wait up. Coincidentally something just popped up for him as well.

Okay, everyone shut the fuck up we’re gonna talk about sex now. Because once you get him to trust and depend on you this much, he is so needy all of the time.

I’ve talked about his mommy kink before, but this shines a new light on it. We know he’s desperate for validation, attention, and overall someone to stroke his ego, making him the perfect candidate for a praise kink. However, this paired with the fact that he’s not surrounded by the most supportive people in the world, and he’s normally stressed out of his mind and dying to be taken care off but too prideful to do anything about it mommy kink city.

And because, as we’ve established, he trusts and relies on you so much, making him super clingy, also gives him that extra ingredient to fuel his mommy kink. He wants you to take care of him and make him feel loved (fantastic when degrading him because it makes it all 100x more effective.)

So I actually think him being super clingy and needy, with zero to no reciprocation let’s be real, would for very well with this.

Imagine pegging him, as Vox sits in your lap, arms slinked tightly around your neck as his nails dig into your back while you fuck him rough. He’s came several times already and the cities power is long gone, but he thinks he’d genuinely die if you stopped.

His screaming out for you, clawing at your back while shouting anything he can think of. ‘Mommy— mzzz—more!’ ‘Don’t stop, ‘ve been so good.’ ‘Fuck, call me your g—gzzz—good boy.’

Too much praise and too much degradation both make him sob his eyes out and lowkey fucks with his wiring. If he’s getting strapped up good enough he’d probably electrocute you, all while moaning and whining for his mommy.

Sub-top Vox with a mommy kink also does something to be, ask me about it, I dare you.

And he’d be the cutest during aftercare. Still coming out of subspace, hiding his screen in your chest while you rub his back softly, wincing when you get too close to his neck where all the bite marks are.

But he’d be totally collapsed on top of you after you clean him off a little, and because of his sleepiness he’d probably still call you mommy.

a/n — this was lowkey my good night post because i’m too tired to do anything else. Looking forward to reading your Vees requests though, and writing hate sex Lute!

#hazbin hotel x reader #inbox open #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #dom reader #vox x reader #sub vox #vox x you #vox smut

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atlafan · 9 months

Text

You fucked up again. Just when Harry thinks you've learned from your mistakes, you go and do something ten times as devious. Which is why he's giving you that same glazed over look, the one where he's concocting severe punishments. It's not anger, it's almost exhaustion. It's giving, "how many times do we have to teach you this lesson, old man" from Spongebob. But unlike last time when you accidentally pushed him too far, this was purposeful.

Harry has a grueling job. He works a lot of long hours, he has to deal with idiots all day long, and he cannot stand the other partners at his firm. You were his saving grace. You, who was working as a para-legal just to support yourself while you ran your online jewelry store, started assisting Harry. You'd pull the files he needed. You could type more than 100 words a minute. And you had been so innocent. Not naiive, not a prude, but you were blissfully ignorant, and Harry found that to be very cute. So, when you inevitably started hooking up after one too many long nights together, he opened your eyes to a whole new world of kinky sex. He was so serious about it, explaining that he needed someone to be rough and mean with, but also craving to take care of someone and spoil them with affection. And because he had made you come so hard you cried, you were hooked on him, so you went with it.

You've been together a year now, you live together, and you're thinking of maybe getting a dog soon. You don't report directly to Harry anymore, though. You assist another person in another department. It was the only way you two could date without it being a big deal for the firm.

Tonight is a big night. They're announcing the new junior partners, and since Harry is a senior partner, he gets to pin the two people he's been mentoring. He's actually pretty excited about it, or he was until he saw you step out of the bathroom and back into your shared walk-in closet. He's standing there, half dressed, frozen with fury as he watches you pick out which rings and bracelets you're planning to wear. You double take after seeing the look on his face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked innocently.

"I told you not to wear that dress." He responded lowly.

"You asked me not to wear it, and I never agreed or disagreed. You can't tell me what I can and can't put on my body, Harry."

"You're making me sound controlling, that's not what this is about. You know you look stunning and sexy in that goddamn red dress, and you know it drives me insane because I know for a fact that you're not wearing anything underneath it. That's why I asked you not to wear it. I saw you eyeing it the other day, I should have known."

"I can't wear underwear with this, the fabric is too clingy and I hate having panty lines. It's just a dress. Show some self control."

And that's when the look changed. You swallowed hard and tried not to falter under his gaze. He slowly stalks toward you, still half naked, his abs and other chiseled features fully on display.

"I have plenty of self control." He said as he hooked his arm around your waist, pulling you into him. "And you know better than anyone else that I love showing you off and letting everyone around us know that you're mine and mine alone and that they'll never know you or have you the way that I do." He brings his fingers up to squish the sides of your cheeks. "You have plenty of other dresses. I'd like you to go put a different one, and save this one for my eyes only."

"No." You say through your puckered lips.

"No?"

"No."

"That's final answer?"

"It took me forty-five minutes to get ready, I'm not starting over. The hair and the makeup go with the dress. I'm not changing."

He looked you up and down, smirked, then let you go. You watched him carefully as he pulled his shirt and suit jacket on. You weren't sure what he was going to do, but you're standing your ground on this.

"Babe?" He calls to you from the bedroom, so you leave the closet with your ruby clutch in hand and meet him by his dresser.

"Do you need help with your tie, sweetheart?" You ask ignorantly.

"No, I'm not wearing a tie tonight. I'm doing the open button thing, but thank you for offering. Pull up the skirt of your dress for me."

You furrow your brows but does as he says. He gets down on one knee and starts kissing up your leg. He pulls something out of his jacket pocket and your stomach drops. He hears you gasp, and he looks up at you wickedly.

"I'm going to put this inside you."

"Harry, please, this is a work event, I can't have my come dripping down my legs."

"It won't be come because you won't be coming. I'm going to do as I please with this tonight." He turns the little egg-shaped vibrator on and holds his phone up next to it to pair to the Bluetooth. "Perfect. Alright, spread 'em." He looks up at you, his features turning softer. "Do you need your safe word? It's okay if you'd rather wait until we get home to be punished. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"No." You smile softly down at him, gently caressing his cheek. "I'm okay, daddy, go ahead."

He kisses the inside of your knee as he works the toy inside of you. He stands back up and taps one of the settings in the app to give you a test vibration to make sure it's working properly.

You're in for a long night.

What puzzled you most was that Harry hadn't done anything to you yet. He didn't turn the toy on in the car. And you've been at the party for an hour already, and he still hasn't done anything. The anticipation has been killing you. Maybe that was his plan all along. You see your boss and roll your eyes as he stuffs his face with shrimp from the raw bar. You hate him. Part of you wanted to wear your red dress tonight because you wanted to show that sweaty hog that he could look all he wanted, but he'd never be able to touch you.

It's when you're taking a sip of your martini while talking to some of the other paras that you feel the toy kick on. It's starts off with little pulsations, then moves along to steady vibrations. You pinch your thighs together as discretely as you can. You're starting to sweat, and you're starting to let little noises out. You're covering them with coughs and whatnot, but after ten minutes of this, you're starting to get uncomfortably wet. It's all so torturous because as good as it feels, you're not getting any external stimulation, which you need in order to come, so this is all just edging. And you love being edged, so even though it's torture, it's also the absolute best.

Harry knows this. He can see it on your face. You two lock eyes, and you pout at him, pleading. He can't resist you for long, not while you're wearing that dress. Before he can get to you, your boss approaches you, which makes Harry stop short. You had mentioned how he had been such a douchebag lately. He wants to watch the exchange.

"You look incredible." Your boss grinned.

"I know." You snap.

"What are you doing wearing a tight thing like that for? It leaves little to the imagination."

In your head, you don't see how that's true. It's a mermaid style halter with an open back, and the front is separated so you can just see the outline of of the inner parts of your breasts. But because it's a gown, there's an air of class to it. Your hair is up, plenty of pieces out in the front to frame your face. You look stunning. There are plenty of women at this party dressed similarly.

"Don't look at me too much, then." You respond after taking a careful sip of champagne. You're sweating while having that stupid toy inside you. You have to grit your teeth and pinch your nails into your palms to stay composed.

"I'm afraid that's impossible. I think you wore this to get my attention, not that you need help in that department."

"You're being inappropriate. I wore this for myself. I like the way I look in it. It's also one of Harry's favorites, so-"

"I can't believe you're still with that guy. He's like a lump on a log. He's only charismatic with his clients, you know?"

"We live together, so I'd like to think I know him pretty well."

"You deserve to be with someone that can make it so you never have to work another day in your life."

"I like working."

"No one likes working."

"I just said I like working."

"You like making jewelry. Wouldn't you rather do that full time?"

"I-" Your breath hitches when you feel the pulsations start to work in tandem with the vibrations. You're going to kill him.

"Are you feeling alright?" Your boss takes one of your hands, but before he can do anything else, Harry comes up and puts his arm around your waist.

"Bill, she really doesn't like it when you touch her. Look at her, she looks like she's going to be sick, so instead of continuing to make her more uncomfortable, why don't you just walk away. You get away with too many things here, but not for much longer."

"Is that a threat?"

"If you want to take it as one, be my guest." His grip on your hip tightens and you can't help but whimper. "Excuse us." Harry's hand moves to the small of your back to lead you out to the coat check room. He gets you in and locks the door behind you. "Are you alright?" He cups her jaw and looks you over."

"Yeah, th-thank you for getting me - shit - away from h-him." You grit your teeth and pinch your eyes closed, bracing your hands flat against Harry's chest. "Please, I can't...I can't take much more of this, it's been almost two hours."

"I know, and you've done so well for me. I'll turn it off and take it out if you tell me why you wore this even after I asked you not to. I know you can put whatever you want on your body. I just like it when you save certain things for me, for us."

"I hate my boss." You say, still bracing yourself against him. "He makes passes at me all the time. I just wanted to torture him a little, to let him know he'll never know what's underneath all this fabric."

"Sweet girl." He tilts your chin up so you'll look at him. "If Joe was being that big of a prick, why didn't you say something to me?"

"I don't want to run to you to fight all my battles for me. I need to be able to lean on myself."

"If he's sexually harassing you, then you should come to me so I can go with you to HR. You know they don't listen unless someone of higher rank complains. It's fucked up, but that's just how it is. I want the culture to change, but it's slow going."

"I know." You cry, almost feeling ready to drool from how worked up you are. "You're not one of the cogs in the machine, and that's one of the many things I love about you, Harry. I'm sorry I upset you by wearing this because I know you're only upset because you just want to rip it off with your teeth"

"That's right." He backs you up against the closest wall, not caring about any of the coats hanging up being knocked to the floor. He kisses you hard and hot, bending at the knee a bit to get a hand under your dress. He moans into your mouth as he slides his fingers through your folds. "You're soaked, beyond soaked."

"Please, daddy, please." You say breathlessly as he plays with you.

"You sound so good when you're begging. Keep going." He nips at your earlobe before licking and sucking at your neck.

"Please, take it out, daddy. Then you can fuck me in here and I'll do whatever you say."

"You'll need to be quiet. I'll have to stuff the toy into your mouth." He brushes your bottom lip with his thumb and you nod. "Need your safe word?"

"No, god no."

He smirks and pulls the toy out of you, pressing down on the button to turn it off. He whimpers when he feels so much of your slick drip out. He puts the toy inside his own mouth first, moaning at the taste of you, then he puts it into your mouth. He hikes your dress up and immediately gets his middle and ring fingers inside of you. You whine around the toy and clutch at the lapels of his jacket as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, beating into your g-spot. The heel of his palm works to ground down against your clit, making your head roll back. He sponges kisses to your throat as you tug at the hair on the back of his head. Your eyes burst open when you feel yourself start to get close. You're going to explode, and you're all of a sudden worried about ruining the jackets in this closet.

"Don't you dare hold back on me. Fuck the jackets, baby, make a mess." He growls, pounding into your harder.

You're moaning uncontrollably around the toy. You start gushing with his fingers still inside of you, and he doesn't let up. You're coming hard and it feels like it's going to be never ending. This is why you like being edged. You'll take a solid sixty-second orgasm over a ton of little quick ones. Harry slows down his pace, weaning you off of him, before taking his fingers all the way out. He sucks them into his mouth as he fixes your dress. He takes the toy out of your mouth and stuffs it into his jacket pocket while you take his fingers to lick and suck on.

"My good girl." He coos, caressing her cheek. "My good, fucking girl." He catches a glimpse of his watch and sucks his teeth. "Shit, we need to go back to the main room. The pinning is going to start soon."

"Okay, just, let me catch my breath." She says. "Daddy, is my makeup all fucked?"

"Only a little." He wipes under your eyes for you. "Still gorgeous as ever."

"Thank you." You wrap your arms around his neck and hug him tight. He holds you close, giving you gentle kisses and whispering sweet words into your ear. "Thank you." You whisper. "Can we go home after the pinning?" You ask as he opens the door and you walk out of the coat check room.

"Eager for daddy's cock?" He grins.

"Always."

#harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #mine #harry styles y/n #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst #blurb #harry styles blurb

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svn-bangtan · 9 months

Text

Seven (Clean version?)

»pairing: Idol!Jungkook x reader

»genre: BTS | 13+ | Fluff

»wc/date: 3.1k | July 2023

» warnings: Based on Seven music video? Mentions of smut? Jungkook being Jungkook.

»Summary: After ending her 7 year relationship Y/n shares that her breakup with Jungkook was partially due to his unrealistic desire for sex seven days a week. If that wasn’t enough, Y/n seemingly keeps seeing Jungkook everywhere. Just know a lot has happened in the seven days they have been apart

» notes: I was thinking about making an explicit version of this, but haven’t decided if I should, so you all should let me know.

» m.list | Taglist | Thoughts? Comments? Concerns

Seoul's bustling city lights painted a vivid canvas as Y/n and Jimin sat in a secret and quiet area of their favorite restaurant, savoring the delectable flavors of their homeland. The aroma of sizzling Korean delicacies filled the air, adding to the festive atmosphere of the lively eatery.

Jimin couldn't resist his playful nature, and as he took a sip of his tea, he asked with a mischievous grin, "Okay, so let me get this straight, you broke up last week with Jungkook because he wants to fuck you right seven days a week?" His laughter was infectious, causing Y/n to sigh in defeat.

"Seriously, Jimin? Is that all you think about?" Y/n rolled her eyes playfully, unable to hold back a smile. "Yes, that's one of the reasons, but it's not the only one. Our physical relationship became overwhelming, and I didn't expect that to be such a challenge in our relationship."

Jimin couldn't stop laughing, imagining poor Jungkook keeping track of his seven-day schedule. "I can't even imagine! How does he have that much energy? Is he secretly training for the Olympics?"

Y/n chuckled, playing along with Jimin's comedic flair. "You should know, you used to live with him! Maybe he's been doing some intense stamina training behind my back."

Jimin laughed heartily, "Oh, Y/n, you always have the most interesting stories. Who would've thought that 'too much love' could be an issue?"

"Do you think I'm being silly?" Y/n asked, her tone more serious.

Jimin reached out and patted his friend's hand reassuringly. "Not at all! Relationships are complicated, and each one is unique. What matters is how you feel and what you need. Relationships should have a healthy balance of emotional and physical connection. Maybe he didn't fully understand how exhausting it was for you."

"Do you think so?" Y/n asked, hoping for some insight from his ever-entertaining friend.

Jimin nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you know how guys can sometimes get carried away by their 'manly urges.' Perhaps he thought he was auditioning for a K-drama series titled 'Seven Nights of Passion.'"

Y/n couldn't help but giggle at the mental image. "Okay, that's enough pun-ishment for me."

Jimin grinned. "Deal! But in all seriousness, communication is key. Have an open and honest conversation with him about how you feel. If he truly cares about you, he'll understand and find a way to meet you halfway."

Y/n nodded, feeling grateful for his friend's support. "You're right, Jimin. It's time for a serious heart-to-heart. No puns, no innuendos, just a genuine conversation about our needs and expectations."

Jimin raised an eyebrow playfully. "Wait, no puns? Are you sure you're not pun-ishing me too harshly?"

Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes in mock annoyance. "Okay, just one pun. But only if you promise to be serious when I need it."

With a grin, Jimin encouraged Y/n to continue, "Anyways, tell me more, spill the spicy details!"

"Well," Y/n began, "ever since we decided to take a break, I swear I've been seeing Jungkook everywhere. It's like he's haunting me or something."

Jimin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Everywhere? Like how?"

Y/n nodded, looking a bit flustered. "Well..."

Y/n sat on the train, her earphones on, listening to her favorite K-pop playlist. The rhythmic beats tried to drown out her thoughts, but memories of Jungkook kept resurfacing. She leaned her head against the window, feeling a mix of emotions from nostalgia to frustration.

As the train pulled to a stop at a station, Y/n glanced up from her reverie and caught a glimpse of something that made her heart skip a beat. There, just outside the window, hanging onto the train was Jungkook, his signature smile plastered on his face. He waved enthusiastically, trying to get her attention.

Y/n blinked, thinking she must be imagining things again. "No way," she mumbled to herself, her eyes widening as she looked again. "This can't be real."

But there he was, unmistakably Jungkook, waving like a happy kid. A shiver ran down Y/n's spine, and she decided to pull out her earphones to make sure she wasn't hearing things too.

The music stopped, and the train's ambient noises filled the void. Y/n's heart pounded in her chest as she stared at Jungkook outside the train. "What on earth is going on?" she whispered, her mind racing with disbelief.

She leaned back in her seat, trying to gather her thoughts, hoping that this was all a bizarre coincidence. "Okay, breathe, Y/n. It's probably just someone who looks like him," she said, attempting to reassure herself.

Summoning the courage to face the possibility, Y/n looked up once more, and her jaw dropped. Jungkook was still there, hanging on the outside of the train, waving even more enthusiastically now.

"Y/n, are you alright?" a concerned voice asked from the seat next to her.

She turned to find an elderly woman looking at her with worry in her eyes. "I, uh, I think I just saw someone I know outside the train," Y/n stammered, trying to make sense of it all.

The woman chuckled kindly. "Oh, dear. Must be your mind playing tricks on you. Don't worry too much about it."

Nodding, Y/n closed her eyes, trying to compose herself. "You're right. Maybe I need some sleep or something."

When she opened her eyes again and looked outside, Jungkook was gone. The train had already left the station, and there was no sign of him anywhere.

"Y/n, are you sure you're okay?" the woman asked again, genuine concern in her voice.

Y/n managed a weak smile. "I think I will be. Thank you for checking on me."

Jimin chuckled, "That's your mind playing tricks on you, Y/n. It's common after a breakup to see the person you were with in random places."

"It sounds ridiculous, I know!" Y/n chuckled, "But wait, there's more. Another time, when I was walking home in the afternoon, I swear I saw him lying lifeless in the middle of the street. But when the paramedics came, he suddenly got up and chased after me with flowers!"

Jimin couldn't contain his laughter, "This is better than a K-drama! You should write a romantic comedy based on your experiences! Or, you know, since Jungkook is part of the biggest group in the world, not to brag, this could make a very good music video."

Y/n chuckled, "You got jokes Jimin, I know it sounds crazy! But wait, there's more. One stormy night, I was walking home, and he was once again following me, and as the wind picked up, he flew away!"

Jimin's eyes widened with amusement, "Y/n, you've got quite the imagination! Flying ex-boyfriends are a new one for me!"

"And it doesn't end there, I also dreamt of going to his funeral," Y/n continued, "and he wasn't even dead! He used it as an opportunity to finally talk to me. Can you believe it?"

Jimin burst into laughter again, "You are one crazy dreamer, my friend!"

Y/n couldn't help but laugh along with Jimin. "I know, it's ridiculous! I must be losing my mind."

Jimin placed a comforting hand on Y/n's shoulder. "You're not losing your mind, Y/n. Breakups can mess with your emotions and make you see things differently. But you know what? Maybe all these wild experiences are just a way for your subconscious to process the breakup and your feelings for Jungkook."

"Do you think so?" Y/n asked, feeling a bit more reassured.

"Absolutely!" Jimin exclaimed. "But remember, you need to talk to Jungkook honestly about how you feel. Maybe he's been trying to reach out to you and make things right."

Y/n nodded, "You're right, Jimin. I can't keep avoiding him forever. We need to have a sit-down conversation."

Jimin smiled, "That's the spirit! You've got this, Y/n. And no more flying ex-boyfriends, okay?"

Y/n laughed, "Deal! No more wild imaginings. Just a simple, honest conversation."

Its Wednesday, and like always the laundromat was bustling with customers, and Y/n found herself in the midst of the chaos, trying to navigate her way through the maze of washing machines. Clutching her laundry basket, she sighed, wondering if she would ever get her laundry done in peace.

Little did she know that lurking behind her, sitting nonchalantly on top of some washing machines, was none other than Jungkook, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He watched her intently, ready to seize any opportunity to talk to her.

As Y/n moved to the next row of washing machines, Jungkook stealthily followed, trying to get her attention. "Y/n, please, just talk to me! You love when I jump right in, I'm offering all of me and I can show you what devotion is, " he implored with puppy dog eyes.

Ignoring him, Y/n pretended not to notice and continued sorting her laundry. She hoped that he would get the message and leave her alone, but Jungkook seemed persistent.

"You wrap around me and you give me life" he insisted, stepping closer to her, "And that's why night after night, I'll be fucking' you right!"

Y/n's patience was wearing thin, and the laundromat's chaos was only adding to her stress. She tried to maintain her cool, but Jungkook's continuous pestering was getting under her skin.

As they stood across from each other, the unthinkable happened – the laundromat started to flood! At first, Y/n didn't pay much attention to it, thinking it was just a minor issue with the machines. But as the water reached ankle-deep, she realized something was seriously wrong.

"Oh great, just what I needed," Y/n muttered, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of the situation.

But Jungkook continued to love-bomb her, completely oblivious to the fact that they were now standing in knee-deep water. "We can have the most amazing time together!"

The situation was becoming absurd, and Y/n couldn't believe Jungkook's persistence. As they continued to stand across from each other, the water in the laundromat started to rise steadily.

"I can leave you with an afterglow if you just let me." Jungkook pleaded, seemingly oblivious to the rising water.

"Do you not see what's happening?" Y/n exclaimed, gesturing to the water around them. "The place is flooding, and all you can think about is getting back together?"

Jungkook smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "I guess I got carried away with my feelings."

"Do you always have to make everything about you?" Y/n snapped, frustration boiling over. "I need space to think, and you're not making it easy."

As the water reached their knees, Jungkook's determination didn't waver. "I'll do anything to make you happy, Y/n. Just tell me what you want, and I'll do it."

"Do you really think you can fix everything with just words?" Y/n said, shaking her head. "Actions speak louder, you know."

The water continued to rise, reaching their chests now. Y/n couldn't believe the absurdity of the situation. "This is insane. I can't believe I'm standing here, having this conversation with you while we're both drenched!"

Jungkook seemed undeterred by the flood, still trying to get closer to Y/n. "I love you, Y/n, and I'll do anything to prove it."

"Do you even hear yourself?" she exclaimed, exasperated. "This is not romantic; it's just ridiculous."

As the water continued to rise, Y/n decided she'd had enough. Without any warning, she took a deep breath and dived underwater, trying to escape Jungkook's relentless pursuit. To her surprise, Jungkook followed suit, diving after her like a determined swimmer.

Y/n emerged from underneath the water of the flooded laundromat, gasping for breath as she coughed up water. She looked around, expecting to see Jungkook still pursuing her with that playful grin on his face, but to her surprise, there was no trace of him anywhere.

"Did he finally give up?" she wondered aloud, scanning the area. The water had risen considerably, and the laundromat was now a watery mess. Customers were evacuating, and staff members were rushing to address the flooding.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Y/n decided it was time to leave. She waded through the water, heading towards the exit. As she stepped out onto the street, she glanced back at the laundromat one last time, half-expecting Jungkook to pop out from behind a machine or splash around in the water.

But there was still no sign of him.

"What is going on?" She asks herself. Shrugging off her doubts, Y/n decided to focus on more pressing matters – like finding a dry place to change out of her soaking-wet clothes

As the rain poured down on the darkened streets, Y/n walked with a heavy heart, her clothes drenched from the unexpected downpour. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and she couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and amusement at the reason behind her breakup with Jungkook. Who would've thought that their love would be tested by something as absurd as seven-day-a-week intimacy?

As she trudged along, she heard faint footsteps behind her, and when she turned around, she half-expected to see Jungkook standing there, his smile cheeky as ever. But the street was empty, and she sighed, "Great, now I'm even imagining Jungkook in the rain. I'm officially losing it."

But the footsteps persisted, and to her utter surprise, when she turned back around, there he was – Jungkook, looking as soaked and bedraggled as she felt. He was panting slightly from running to catch up with her.

"Y/n!" Jungkook exclaimed between breaths, "I knew I'd find you. I can't let you walk home alone in this rain."

She blinked in disbelief, unsure if she was hallucinating or not. "You followed me in the rain to apologize for the whole seven-days-a-week thing?"

Jungkook nodded earnestly, water dripping from his hair. "Yes, I need to talk to you. I realized how ridiculous and unfair it was of me to expect that from you. I'm sorry, Y/n."

"Do you have any idea how silly that whole thing was?" she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Jungkook's eyes widened, and he chuckled, "Yeah, I know. It sounds absurd now that I think about it."

"Do you have any idea how tired I would be if we actually attempted that?" Y/n continued, unable to suppress her laughter any longer.

Jungkook grinned sheepishly, "Yeah, it would've been impossible, huh?"

"Absolutely!" she replied, her laughter ringing in the rain-soaked air. "I mean, did you think we were training for an Olympic event or something?"

"I guess I got carried away with my 'manly urges,'" Jungkook admitted with a playful shrug.

Y/n shook her head in amusement, "Well, lesson learned, I hope. Next time, let's not turn our relationship into a K-drama plot."

"I promise," Jungkook said, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. "I won't let something so silly come between us again."

"Do you really expect me to take you back after all this?" she teased, enjoying the moment of lightheartedness.

Jungkook stepped closer, raindrops creating a misty barrier between them. "Yes, I do. Because I realized that I love you, Y/n. And not just for seven days a week, but every single day, no matter the weather."

Her heart fluttered at his words, and she couldn't help but be charmed by his determination and genuine remorse. "You're lucky I have a soft spot for silly boys like you," she said, her lips curling into a playful smile.

"Then does that mean you'll take me back?" Jungkook asked, hope evident in his eyes.

Y/n pretended to ponder for a moment, then stuck out her hand. "Well, since you're already soaked and looking like a lost puppy, I suppose you can walk me home."

Jungkook's face broke into a wide grin as he took her hand, interlocking their fingers. "Deal! And I promise no more crazy demands, just a whole lot of love and laughter."

As they walked side by side in the rain, laughter and joyous banter filling the air, Jungkook couldn't help himself but playfully sing, "I'll be loving you right, seven days a week. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday."

"That would be a catchy song," Jungkook remarked, looking pleased with himself.

Y/n's eyes sparkled mischievously as she recalled her conversation with Jimin earlier. "You know," she said, "if you ever decide to make a music video for that song, I have a fun plot idea."

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh, really? Do tell."

"Well," Y/n began, "imagine this – a guy who's obsessed with the idea of love seven days a week. He tries to make his partner happy with grand gestures, but it's all a bit much for her. She's tired and overwhelmed, just like I was. And the guy, played by you, keeps popping up everywhere she goes, just like you did in my crazy imaginings."

Jungkook laughed, "So, basically a music video version of our ridiculous situation?"

"Exactly!" Y/n grinned. "It would be comedic and lighthearted, showing that love can be wonderful and fun but also overwhelming if taken to the extreme."

"I love it," Jungkook said, nodding appreciatively. "And you know what? We could even do an explicit version of the song, where I say 'fucking' instead of 'loving,' just to make it a clear representation of what we just went through."

Y/n burst into laughter, covering her mouth in amusement. "Oh, Jungkook! Only you would come up with such an idea. It's genius and utterly ridiculous at the same time."

He winked at her, "That's what I do best."

Y/n looked at him, an amused glint in her eyes, and asked, "Were you there on Wednesday at the laundromat when it flooded?"

Jungkook looked confused, "What? No, I wasn't."

With a grin, Y/n confessed, "After we separated, I started seeing you in the most weird situations, like at the laundromat, and I thought I was losing my mind."

Jungkook burst into laughter, "Really? I would love to hear about all the places you found me!"

As they continued their walk in the rain, they couldn't help but be grateful for the silliness and laughter that had brought them back together. The idea of a music video, even if it was just in jest, gave them a sense of comfort and closure.

"I'm glad we can laugh about it now," Y/n said, looking at Jungkook fondly. "It shows how much we've grown together and how we can handle anything that comes our way."

Jungkook smiled warmly, pulling her closer as they walked back home.

#jeon jungguk #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #bangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts #bts fic #jungguk smut #jungguk x reader #jungkook x you #Jungkook #seven jungkook

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veeagainsttheday · 5 months

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Ed, Killing, and the Kraken in Our Flag Means Death S1 and S2

This meta contains a whole heckuva a lot of spoilers for Our Flag Means Death seasons 1 and 2. Thanks to @petrichorca who gave it a read through and left some helpful comments!

When we first get to know Ed in s1e4, the episode concludes with him telling his first mate, Izzy Hands, about his plans to murder Stede Bonnet and steal his identity so Ed can retire from piracy. Ed and Izzy discuss the plan in a casual manner, like this act isn't shocking or deviant from previous conversations and schemes Ed and Izzy have had before. This is consistent with how other characters, especially Black Pete, have described Blackbeard in previous episodes (‘when Blackbeard kills man, woman, or child…’). While Black Pete is (probably) lying, Buttons was with him until the flip.

As the song ‘The Empty Boat’ by Caetano Veloso plays, Izzy tells Ed, 'You've still got it' and Ed says, 'I know,' turning away to face the empty deck. Only the audience witnesses his true facial expression - the Blackbeard mask falling, a kind of dead-eyed exhaustion (echoed by the lyrics of the song) taking its place.

In s1e5, we see Ed threaten violence against the French captain, but he doesn't actually hurt the man himself. We also see him act as if he's about to go kill the French partygoers before Stede steps in and 'handles it'. At this point I think we the audience would, if asked, have said that Ed seems to have a casual attitude towards killing that you would expect from 'the legendary Blackbeard'. He's scary ('next one goes through your fucking eyeball') and almost cartoonishly violent ('skin him. And use the snail fork'). So we the audience maybe make some assumptions about where the show stands on violent killing - not only that Blackbeard is familiar with it, but that it's a commonplace act for him.

Then we come to a pivotal moment. In s1e6, Izzy pushes back on Ed for not killing Stede, there’s the conversation about doggy heaven, and Ed promises Izzy that he’ll be the one to do the killing. We see Ed hyping himself up (‘You’re a killer bro. So kill.’) and then holding his knife while standing next to Stede behind the curtain in the captain’s cabin. They’re interrupted by Lucius cutting off his finger. Ed doesn’t go through with it; the moment passes as Stede exits the curtain to announce the entrance of the Kraken.

At this point, I as an audience member fully believed that Ed couldn’t kill Stede because of his feelings for him. I wasn’t yet sure what those feelings were, but I knew that Ed had a deep affection for Stede, and for a moment I believed that was all that was holding him back. Then, of course, we see Ed have a PTSD/panic attack trigger from the Kraken fuckery that sends him into Stede’s bathtub, hiding underneath Stede’s robe, where he and Stede have what I believe is the most intimate moment of the entire first season (a reading supported by s2e3). Ed tells Stede, ‘The Kraken didn’t kill my dad. I did.’ We are shown the flashbacks to the way Ed’s father abused him and his mother, and the Kraken story he told on deck earlier is shown again with the figure of the beast in the water replaced by himself, as a young teen, on the dock.

Then Ed tells Stede, ‘If I’m being honest, I haven’t killed another man since.’ Stede tries to comfort him by reminding him how much he loves a good maim, but Ed is still preoccupied with how the fact that he killed his abusive father as a child means that he’s not a good person, and that this is why he doesn’t have any friends, aka, isn’t loveable. Stede tells him, ‘I’m your friend,’ in essence, To me, you are loveable, and Ed reacts by saying, ‘No,’ and banging his head against the tub.

The next important point happens in s1e8, when Jack invites himself to breakfast and regales Stede (very deliberately, as he’s trying to push Stede and Ed apart) with the tale of Ed setting a ship alight and killing many people. (Also note - the show’s first mention of Hornigold! ‘He treated us like dogs! Worse than dogs!’ and ‘Ground us down into nothing!’) While Jack emphasises the horror and brutality of what Ed did, Ed’s demeanour completely changes - ‘No, Stede doesn’t want to hear about that.’ Jack obviously doesn’t listen to Ed; Stede’s face passes from horrified listening to Jack to squinting at Ed like, ‘Is this - true?’ Ed looks thoroughly guilty as the story continues and Stede asks him, clearly doing his best to preserve Ed’s secret in front of Jack, ‘I thought you’d, uh, given up the killing?’ Ed surges forward in his seat and, not making eye contact with Stede, says, ‘Yeah, well, technically the fire killed those guys. Not me.’ The camera then cuts to Jack looking at Stede with a bit of an incredulous expression as if he’s both gauging Stede’s reaction to the entire thing and thinking, ‘Wow BB’s in deep here if he’s making up some weird story about not being the one who lit that fire.’

I don’t think the show intends for us to believe that Ed was consciously lying to Stede in the bathtub scene in s1e6. Instead, we see the complex way that Ed - who is shown to be both brilliant and possessed of an internal monologue that just cannot shut up - has constructed mental barriers to protect himself from the trauma of killing while still achieving the highest possible status in a very violent profession and existing in a world marred by colonial violence perpetrated specifically against people like him.

S1e9 shows Ed continuing to posture to everyone but Stede as Blackbeard, seasoned killer (for example, telling Chauncey that he barely remembers killing Nigel because he’s ‘a real “life is cheap” kinda guy’). At the Academy and briefly after, in the beginning of s1e10, Ed seems set to have given up killing and violence for real, but Izzy’s threats in the cabin in s1e10 send Ed reeling back to the Kraken persona he assumed when he killed his dad. The season concludes with him pushing Lucius off the ship and Krakening up to sail, rob, and raise hell forever - but the final shot shows Ed crying alone in his cabin, his Kraken makeup streaking down his face. It’s heartbreaking, but it’s one of my favourite scenes from a character perspective. Imagine if the season had ended with Ed fully transformed into the Kraken, rather than clearly miserable and heartbroken under his mask?

Season 2 begins with Ed trying to set a record for most consecutive raids, working his crew to death under brutal and traumatic conditions. His list of crimes on his wanted poster certainly suggests a lot of violence and killing, yet the show is careful to show us Ed himself only seeming to kill one person - firing a gun into a man’s back during a raid - and if you look closely, you’ll see that the man was already dying with a dagger through his body. It feels vital to me that the only direct ‘killing’ action we see Ed taking is shooting a man who we presume he can justify as having been already on his way to death.

In s2e1 and s2e2, Ed can’t kill Izzy, though he does try desperately to get Frenchie to do it for him. He can’t even kill himself, trying to get Izzy to do it instead. When he thinks Izzy has committed suicide with the gun he gave him, he says, ‘I loved you, best I could,’ as if any love Ed could give would by its nature not be good enough.

Ed wakes in s2e3 in the care of his old captain, Hornigold; of course, he’s really in the gravy basket and Hornigold is serving as a Jacob Marley-esque psychopomp. They key to Ed realising that he’s really [Buttons voice] ‘down in the old gravy basket’ is the conversation that concludes his attempts to be Jeff the Innkeeper. Hornigold tells Ed that he’s not good with people - after all, he did strangle his father. Ed reacts first with disbelief then cold fury, saying he never told anyone that; Hornigold reminds him that he told one person and Ed flashes back to telling Stede in the bathtub in s1e6; then Hornigold reminds him that the one person he told left him, and we see Ed crying under his Kraken makeup at the end of s1e10. Later, when Ed (finally, even Calico Jack would have had it sooner) realises that Hornigold represents himself, he says that he’s unloveable. Here’s the crux of it - he believes that he is fundamentally unloveable because he killed his father, because he is the Kraken, the monstrous beast capable of lethal violence. That’s why Stede left, his brain is telling him even as he’s dying.

Then Stede actually proves him wrong by returning, saving him from death, and telling him that he ‘love[s] everything about [him]’ in rapid succession. Whether or not Ed fully accepts this information, we do see him very quickly, yes, melt back into Stede’s arms. Which brings us to s2e6, and Stede’s killing of Ned Low.

Quick digression into killing and Stede: Stede accidentally kills a man in s1e1, is haunted by his ghost in s1e2. He’s so haunted by dead Nigel that he spends a lot of s1e2 asking first Oluwande and Jim for advice on being a ‘mur-der-er’, and then asking Black Pete how his former employer, Blackbeard (!!!) handled killing. (How Pete says, ‘When Blackbeard kills man, woman, or child-’ lives in my head at all times, Matt Maher with the line deliveries of all time.) Finally in s1e2, during his court-mandated therapy with the tribal elder, Stede admits that he doesn’t feel bad about killing Nigel - he was a horrible person even when he was a child! Stede's guilt is coming from somewhere else. We see this again in s1e9, when Stede says it is time for him to face the consequences for what he’s done - it might seem like he means for killing Nigel, since that’s why he’s about to face the firing squad, but we know that Stede’s guilt is about abandoning his family (the people he’s hurt!). Similarly, when Stede kills Ned in s2e6, he seems to get over it very quickly. Ned is clearly a bad guy, and although the act of killing him was traumatic for Stede (much like the act of killing Nigel), Stede presumably reconciles it by knowing that he was protecting Ed and his crew (and avenging Calypso’s birthday). Stede as a character is shown to have a tremendous amount of natural resilience. We later see him immolate a guy and dispatch a number of British soldiers without hesitation. Stede is also one of the two main protagonists of the show, and his attitude towards killing seems to reflect the attitude of the show itself - killing colonisers and torturers to protect your loved ones is ok, actually.

(Side note but I found this idea about how zero tolerance policies actually hurt victims very informative on the topic of why it's ok that Stede killed his childhood bully; I got that link from this very interesting post where several people are in conversation about how Ed is not Izzy's abuser.)

Back to Ed in s2e6. He asks Stede not to kill Ned; when Stede does anyway, Ed is visibly saddened and ignores Izzy telling him to give Stede a moment; instead he goes immediately to check in on Stede in his cabin. He knocks on the door and in that soft voice that he only ever uses with Stede, he starts to say, ‘Hey. You okay? Look, I was a wreck after my first kill as well.’ Then he pauses, before rambling, ‘I mean, well, it was my dad, so there's that,’ which feels like a little moment of self-reflection. Like. Yeah. Ed. Baby. You might be super fucked up about the act of killing because the first guy you killed was your dad, when you were a literal child! Also, Ed has never been to (as far as we know) court-mandated tribal elder therapy, so of course his decision to kill his father fucked Ed up for decades! Also as a very clever friend pointed out, we don’t know anything about what the consequences of that were for Ed - how did his mother react, is that why he ran away to sea, etc.

There's another important thing here that the audience knows, but that Ed has never told Stede (or, we have to assume, anyone) which is that the catalyst for Ed becoming the Kraken to kill his father was abuse. The audience is shown through his panic-attack-induced flashback that Ed's father physically and verbally abused his mother and presumably him too. All Ed has ever said to Stede or anyone about it, as far as we know, was his joke to the crew during scary story hour that his dad was a dick. Stede can probably infer roughly why Ed killed his dad, but he doesn't know the details, and he loves everything about Ed anyway, and now Ed knows that Stede does too.

So Ed and Stede have sex, and as many metas have pointed out (like this one!), it's so meaningful that Ed feels safe enough to give up his Blackbeard/Kraken identity the very next morning. He attempts to get Stede to see that it might be nice to not be pirates anymore due to the high chance of death but Stede manages to completely misread it and laughs it off. (To be fair to Stede, they're both horrible at communicating and Ed is not saying what he wants in any direct manner.) Ed proceeds to have his big beautiful brain start to spiral out of control as Jackie points out how popular Stede is becoming as a pirate; Ed panics, tells Stede he doesn’t even know who he is, and leaves to become a fisherman before he can get left (again!).

As Ed rows away from his failed career as a fisherman in s2e8, his boss Pop-Pop (who he has managed to recreate a fucked up father-son dynamic with that like so many things in his show is played for laughs but has pretty dark undertones) yells after him, 'If you were ever good at anything, go and do that, you bum.' Ed rows back into the port of the Republic of Pirates and sees the destruction Prince Ricky has wrought upon the pirate community. Ed's first thought is, Stede, and then he imagines Stede calling for help before straight up murdering two British soldiers. He remembers Pop-Pop's words and says, 'Have it your way,' before diving into the sea, retrieving his leather, putting it on underwater, and emerging from the waves fully dressed. It's fantastically hot and the exact level of drama I expect from this man. The Kraken musical cue is playing as it happens.

We now see Ed murdering British soldiers in the coolest ways possible, demonstrating his skill at fighting in hand to hand combat. One way to read him taking Pop-Pop's advice is that this is what he's good at - killing and violence.

But you know what Ed’s even better at? Protecting the people he loves. His mother, himself, and Stede. Each time Ed becomes the Kraken, he fulfils that. He protects his mother from his father, himself from Izzy after being warned that ‘[Edward] better watch his fucking step’, and Stede from the invading colonisers who want to destroy their freedom. But something has changed the third time he does it - this time, he can tell Stede that he loves him and he doesn't mean it as a tainted thing, but something that he knows Stede will treasure. He's both loveable and capable of loving. He always has been, of course, but now he knows it. The Kraken, the part of him that is capable of killing, was always a defence mechanism for Ed, but the third time he understands it and himself enough to know that it doesn’t make him a monster.

#ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 meta #ofmd meta #edward teach #blackbeard #our flag means death meta #our flag means death

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chalkrevelations · 3 months

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Ohhhh, my god. Yeah, I have only myself to blame for the way Last Twilight played me in regards to the MorkDay relationship. Because the Night & Day relationship was right there as foreshadowing. And I realize that I've harped repeatedly on the way the narrative framed the accident that damaged Day's vision, but now I realize that it provides a (unintentional?) parallel to the trainwreck of Mork and Day's relationship as it actually plays out vs. the way the narrative treats it.

Day never, not once, accepts any culpability in the accident that damaged his vision, even though he was the one driving the car. None of the other characters challenge his framing that the accident was Night's fault. The narrative, itself, doesn't challenge his framing that the accident was Night's fault. Yes, his reckless driving is shown to be in response to an action of Night's, but not once is Day made to take ownership of and accept responsibility for his own actions and how he responds, which includes driving with his head practically under the dashboard, at night, with other cars on the road. Nobody made Day do that except Day, himself. Significantly, we never hear anything about anyone in the other vehicle or how they may have been injured (or killed?), and I have to wonder how much of that is down to Day's privileged socioeconomic status. (If it had been Mork driving that car, how likely is it that he would have ended up ... well. In jail?)

Neither does Day accept any responsibility for the damage to his relationship with Mork - or the emotional damage he deals to Mork, himself - when he unilaterally breaks things off after figuring out Mork lied about the job opportunity in Hawaii. None of the other characters challenge his framing that Mork has committed the cardinal sin of pitying Day. The narrative, itself, doesn't challenge his framing that Mork has committed the cardinal sin of pitying Day - in fact, it doubles down by making Mork apologize for it in the final episode. Yes, Day's response to Mork lying about the job is in character for him, but Day is never made to take ownership of and accept responsibility for how he responds, including 1) jumping to conclusions about Mork's reasons or 2) withdrawing emotional support from his boyfriend in the wake of Mork's admission of ongoing trauma. Given context clues we get prior to Day jumping to his conclusions, it's clear that Mork had unresolved trauma from his sister's death. But Day mows him down for supposedly pitying Day as surely as if he'd hit him with a car, shuts down any explanation Mork tries to give and withdraws any hope of a mutually supportive relationship by refusing to do the least bit of emotional labor on Mork's behalf, instead banishing him from Day's life. We then get an upbeat montage of Day living his best life without Mork, but significantly, we see nothing about what Mork is going through or dealing with during this same time period.

Day treats both of these men in his life - men who are in some of the closest relationships he can have: a brother, a lover - terribly, while shrugging off his own part in the physical and emotional injuries he blames them for. He never apologizes to either of them for hurting them by lashing out. Instead, he magnanimously forgives both of them for how they've hurt him and expects the relationships to pick up from there as if everything is fine. And indeed, in neither case does the narrative seem to think that he needs to do any work to make up for how he treats them.

Which also leads me to: Maybe in some ways, the accident stands in for the way that Day - and his mother - hold it against Night for not being the supportive big brother they think he ought to have been. But Mork's storyline shows us that it never would have mattered how supportive a big brother Night was, because Mork was repeatedly, exhaustively supportive of Day, and all it took was one misstep for Day to kick Mork to the curb and literally block him out of his life for three years until Mork, himself, came back and pushed the issue while accepting full blame onto himself. Sure, Day wrote that editor's note in the book, but he also doted on that gd fish that Night got him, while at the same time being the most heinous asshole he could possibly be both to and about Night. So if he's going to treat Mork the way he did, why should I think he would treat Night any differently than he did the minute Night made a single mistake, no matter if Night had been (in his eyes) perfect in the past?

I think I'm supposed to believe that Day has learned and grown during his time with a disability - I guess that's one thing I'm supposed to take away from his little speech at the beginning of the finale and maybe from him helping that dude across the street in the surprise gotcha in the last part of the ep? But if I look at what the series actually shows me of how he treats the people in his life, I have no proof that he's not just the same self-centered asshole he started out as - the self-centered asshole he admits to being at one point. Which would be fine - no disabled person is required to be a saint, purified and exalted into inspiration porn by their disability. It's just that 1) the show seems to be trying to sell me on the idea that he's not the same self-centered asshole he started out as, and 2) the show seems to be trying to sell me on the idea that any relationship Mork has with him isn't going to be toxically imbalanced.

And I'm not buying.

#day danainat #mork methas #night kopnopphakhun #morkday #night & day #last twilight #last twilight the series

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creativitysparks4everxoxo · 9 months

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Nah, but for real: WE NEED AN ANIMATED SERIES THAT FOLLOWS THE ADVENTURES OF MIRAGE AND NOAH AFTER THE EVENTS THAT TOOK PLACE IN ROTB!

I need a post-credit scene animated series follow-up!!!!

I just can't stop thinking about Noah and Mirage's interactions throughout the entire movie, and how the post-credit scene leaves us wanting more. It leaves me wanting to see just how many late nights Noah spent rebuilding Mirage from scratch. I want to see Noah's frustrated moments and his breakdown moments when all the memories of Mirage going to extreme lengths to protect him during the final battle flood his mind. I want to see an extremely exhausted but very determined Noah working on rebuilding Mirage.

I want to see the moment when Noah got to watch Mirage transform into his root mode for the first time after Noah made major progress with his repairs. (Assuming this happened before the post-credit scene) If it didn't, then instead I want to see the moment when Mirage first spoke to Noah during his repair stage and how absolutely ecstatic Noah was.

✨️ I want to see Noah's face when Mirage looks at him for the first time after his repairs. I want to see all the emotions on Noah's face and all the comfort that Mirage gives him! ✨️

Gimme all of the emotions!!!!!

But most importantly, I want to see Noah and Mirage's friendship continue to grow stronger throughout a multi-season animated series. At least 3 seasons minimum. I want to see it all!

I want to see them have those intense moments where they stare into each other's eyes/optics. I don't know how bold the writers would be for a show like this, or if they would be willing to go beyond the platonic borders of Noah and Mirage's relationship. It would be cool if there was romance between them in the show, but it might be considered "too much" to some people. Honestly though, I wouldn't mind if they took platonic relationship approach. I wouldn't mind because it works just as well and the writers could still write Mirage as the naturally teasing/flirty/over confident bot that he is and it would probably go over the bigots head. But we would know what's up. 🤭 And the extra Noah/Mirage content would give us fanfic/fanart inspo. It's essentially a win-win either way you slice it.

I just want a Mirage & Noah centric show, OKAY! 🥺

Gah! Just give us a show where we get to see Mirage take Noah on long drives to calm him down and they can talk about heavy shit. A late night drive to the beach, or even a drive to some fast food joint's drive thru, and then they go back to the garage and talk. Or they go for a walk in a secluded area.

Give us a show where Noah and Mirage get to have that "closure" and a chance to really talk about the moment where everything changed between them. The original deal was for Noah to steal the transwarp key from the museum and in return Mirage would let Noah "sell" him for cash that he could use to support his family. But instead they went on dangerous mission to Peru together and now there's no way in hell that Noah would ever sell Mirage! Not after they literally fused together to become one! I want them to talk about this! I want Mirage to tell Noah why he kidnapped him that fateful day and then Noah could chime in and be like, "I thought I was going to die, man. Your driving was terrifying!" And then of course Mirage would pretend to be offended, say his piece and humour would ensue and they would both be laughing and having a good time. Gimme a scene like that!

And give me scenes when Decepticons stir up trouble and Mirage jumps to protect Noah fiercely (naturally). And don't be afraid to give us those "Oh shit!" episodes when some type of disaster happens that's like level 3 on the "Disaster Metre", but Noah is still freaking the fuck out because he's scared that Mirage is hurt/dying, but instead he's not. He's totally fine, maybe a few scratches to his paint, but he's not in severe pain or in any pain at all. But Mirage sees his boi freaking out, so he has to gently calm him down before he spirals out of control. Yes, more fluff please!

And also, I really want to see Elena in this show! She is so awesome and needs to be in this show, continuing to bring in the knowledge and her warm heart and kindness. I need to see her interact with the other Autobots and maybe even become close friends with Arcee. I need to see Elena interact with Mirage and hear the funny shit he would say to make her laugh. I NEED THIS! And of course OP, Bumblebee, Wheeljack and other Autobot characters would need to be in the show. Maybe we could even get a few episodes featuring Charlie and Bee sneaking out to see her, or maybe not sneaking out at all.

But also, I would love to see Noah and Mirage moments where Mirage tries to get out of patrol duty and essentially leaves his post to go hang with Noah. Noah would be the "voice of reason", but he will end up caving because he can't bring himself to say no to Mirage. Not after everything they've been through together. I imagine Noah would be struggling with some PTSD and other psychological trauma, so when Mirage goes on patrols or does general Autobot stuff, Noah would worry A LOT. This would lead to fluffy scenes and angst and sweet comfort. I NEED THIS!

Honestly, I just need more Mirage and Noah moments, because these two are awesome and I've just been watching Bumblebee and ROTB back to back on repeat ever since ROTB was released digitally. And now I am forever basking in the sweet glow of this Transformers reboot, that is full of action, adventure, comedy, heart and everything that we've ever wanted to see in a Transformers movie. The amount of kindness and compassion that Charlie showed to Bee is wholesome. And the amount of kindness and compassion that Noah and Elena showed the Autobots and Maximals is also wholesome. This is what being a human companion to giant alien robots should look like!

I don't know the whole creative process and other fine details that would need to be worked out in order to get a show like this on the air, but I really do think that this Transformers reboot needs to start making some post-movie shows to help fill in the gaps and give us additional content to obsess over. It's not uncommon for a movie's success to carry over into a show, so I really think we need a post-ROTB show!

~And I think that's it. For now. 🙂

I almost didn't post this 🙈

#transformers #transformers rise of the beasts #rotb #rotb mirage #rotb noah #tf rise of the beasts #mirage and noah #mirage and noah are an iconic duo #noah x mirage #noah/mirage #they need their own show!#like come on!#it would be so funny!#transformers rotb #noah diaz #tf rotb #tf rotb mirage #tf rotb noah #just my silly little thoughts

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flowercrowngods · 1 year

Text

in which i have the steddie&clarkson (wayne/mr clarke) brain worms and decided that teacher student steve should get some help from mr clarke. everyone is soft

🤍 also on ao3

Eddie grabs the massive mug Wayne just filled with coffee and leans against the counter beside him.

“Have they made any progress at all?”

Wayne just grunts and takes a sip of his coffee, neither of them taking their eyes off Steve and Scott at the dinner table. “Your boy’s stopped groaning. Guess that counts as progress.”

Eddie snorts and smiles into his mug. “Oh, that’s definitely progress.”

They watch as Steve despairs over turning the vague plan of his lesson into a detailed, fleshed out, all things considered version. He gets frequently gets lost in all the possible ways that things could go wrong that he loses track of the golden thread that Mr Clarke keeps reminding him is the most important thing.

“I’m an idiot,” Steve mumbles where he has face planted into the papers and books laid out on the table in front of him.

“You’re not an idiot, Steve, and you never were. Being overwhelmed is the most natural thing, it happens to the best of us.” Mr Clarke has a hand on Steve’s back and talks in that kind, patient voice that everyone in this house loves so much. “Do you wanna play it through?”

Steve perks up at that, lifting his head from the paper just barely to look at Mr Clarke. “How do you mean?”

“Well, you seem to worry that nobody will understand the task. Or be able to follow you. So what do we do then?”

A frown appears between Steve’s brows and he sits up straighter, looking down at the plan he’s already made. “Try again with different wording?”

“Exactly!” Mr Clarke says. “Or we look at the way your task is phrased and see if we can already find alternatives, how ‘bout that? Baby steps, sure, but everything stands and falls with your questions and tasks. And when you have the right question, you also know what exactly it is that you want them to find out and tell you. So, for now, why don’t we start with that?” He smiles at Steve and reaches for one of the sheets of paper. “You’ll be an amazing teacher because you already care whether they’ll get it. Believe me, you’ve absolutely got this.”

Seeing Mr Clarke be so supportive of Steve and never once making him feel stupid or ridiculous for getting overwhelmed warms Eddie’s heart time and time again. He even jokes with Steve that he only ever comes over to spend time with his uncle’s boyfriend instead of Eddie — and the other day he’s overheard the same jab from Wayne directed at Scott.

“They’re kind of adorable, aren’t they?” Eddie mutters so only Wayne can hear him. When his uncle doesn’t answer, Eddie looks over to find the softest of smiles on his lips, and he can’t help but join.

****

Two hours later, Steve finally has his lesson planned properly and he comes over to Eddie, burying himself in that warm embrace.

“Hi, professor,” Eddie mumbles and Steve just pokes him in the side with a light chuckle.

“Asshole.” Burying deeper into Eddie, he lets a beat pass before, “Hi.”

“You all done?” He brushes kisses to Steve’s head and just holds him.

“Really fucking done, yeah,” he sighs. “At this point I’m gonna owe Mr Clarke my entire teaching career.”

“Not your dashing boyfriend and his sanity-saving hugs?”

“Sure,” Steve laughs lightly. “That, too.”

They stay there for another while, holding onto each other, an exhausted Steve recharging before he’s ready to resurface.

****

In the living room area, Wayne places a mug of steaming coffee in front of Scott. “For your troubles.”

Scott’s laugh is like music to his ears and his smile lights up the whole room as he gratefully reaches for the mug. It’s one of the greatest gifts, Wayne thinks, the way Scott reacts to his remarks. Delight where there should be wariness, gratitude where there should be offence. It’s a gift, really, the way he just lets Wayne be himself and learned to understand, to appreciate, to… to love. Maybe.

“You’re an angel,” Scott says before taking a long sip of his coffee. “Though you probably shouldn’t support my caffeine addiction that much.”

“Probably,” he shrugs, before pointedly finishing the rest of his own coffee. “But that’d make me a hypocrite.”

“Oh, we don’t want that,” Scott nods sagely, smiling into his mug. Wayne can’t look away. His hair is a little rumpled from working with Eddie’s boy for hours, his bow-tie has come off and the first button on his white button-up shirt is undone. His eyes are closed, the mug of coffee right under his nose so he can inhale greedily. He looks like he’s right at home.

It does something with Wayne that he never really expected to be feeling. But he does. What does one do with such emotions?

He carefully places his hand in Scott’s hair and combs it into the right direction so it won’t stick out anymore. If Wayne’s breath hitches when Scott leans into his touch, then that’s his business alone.

“You need anything else?” he asks quietly, because that’s one thing he can do. Words were never his playing field — it’s, quite frankly, a miracle that he and Eddie are related. But bringing Scott coffee, combing his hair, massaging his shoulders where they’re tense from sitting in the same position all evening? That he can do. Acts of service, Eddie calls it.

“No, thank you, love,” Scott says quietly before plucking Wayne’s hand from his hair and pulling it to his lips. “I’m perfectly content.”

@unclewaynemunson it aint much but it's honest work 🤍

#clarkson #wayne munson #scott clarke #wayne munson x scott clarke #steddie #dio words #idk what this is i just needed to project my lesson planning agony on steve and then for everyone to be soft

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sarahmysweetie · 1 year

Note

Hi so I can get a rafe Cameron x reader where the reader is pregnant and we try to help him get off cocaine 🥺

You promised

Rafe Cameron x reader

Hii thank you for making a request! I hope you like this, i maybe went a little bit off script, but i liked writing some proper angst

Summary: y/n finds out that Rafe relapsed

Tw: drugs, relapsing, swearing, angst but a good ending

I walk around the house, tidying the places. The dishwasher is on and everything is clean but i just can’t seem to relax. How could i relax? I’m growing a human inside of me. Now everything i do affects two people. Being seven months pregnant is exhausting. Still, i would never change it. My fiance is at work, so i’m all alone in our house. I sit down on a couch, groaning. My back is aching and my feet are sore. I rest my hand on my stomach. This baby was a surprise to Rafe and i. It took us some time to wrap or heads around it, but we decided to keep them. We still don’t know the gender of the baby, i wanted it to be a surprise.

I start feeling cold, sitting there in a tank top. Rafe’s jacket is thrown on the couch, and i put it on. It’s way too big for me, but i’m too lazy to go get my own clothes right now. I put my hands in the pockets to warm up, when i suddenly feel something. I pull a tiny ziplock bag out of the pocket. Fucking Rafe. In the bag, there is white powder. He told me he was clean. That’s the first thought in my head. He fucking promised me. I breathe out slowly. Okay what now?

We have gone a long road with Rafe, to get him off cocaine. I’ve tried to make him think about something else, holding his hand through the withdrawal symptoms and just supporting him. I thought he was many months clean now. He said that he wanted to stop, for me and for the baby. I can’t believe he lied. He’s gonna be home soon, so i have to get rid of this now. I walk to the bathroom, holding the bag like it could explode at any minute. I open the bag and scatter the powder in to the toilet. I think for a second before throwing the bag in there too. I flush the toilet, and then flush again, just to be safe. I walk back to the couch and sit down. I fiddle my fingers, thinking about everything. I feel so angry but so sad at the same time. I trusted him.

Unaware of the amount of time that has passed, i hear the door finally opening.

“Hey darling”, i hear Rafe sounding happy. He is in the hallway, probably wondering why i’m not answering. I can hear him walk to the living room, but i keep staring forward, not looking at him.

“Shit hiding spot”, i say.

“What?” Rafe asks, sounding confused. I finally turn to look at my fiance.

“I thought you were clean”, i confront him. At first he looks almost relieved, then he looks guilty.

“I was”, he says, his voice nothing like the happy tone he said hello with.

“When did you relapse?”, i ask, my voice emotionless.

“On Saturday”, he answers. I stand up.

“Saturday? That was fucking four days ago! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me! Does that mean you were high when we watched that movie yesterday? Or when we ate dinner? When we were buying stuff for the baby? Are you fucking high right now?!” i yell at him, my voice rising at every word. Tears are now streaming down my face, and i can see Rafe internally crumbling down.

“No i’m not and i wasn’t, y/n i promise. I relapsed once. I found the bag in Topper’s car when i borrowed it cause our car was in repair. I tried to resist it, b-but i was so stressed because of everything and i just wanted to not feel that way. I-i regretted it immediately, i promise you i didn’t use it again”, Rafe explains, stumbling with his words. His eyes tear up.

“How could i trust you now, i just found your fucking cocaine hidden! You lied to me Rafe.” I don’t think i have ever spoke to him in this tone. I’ve never been this angry with him.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it! And i didn’t lie, i just didn’t tell you”, Rafe pushes his hair out of his eyes, visibly anxious.

“Oh, so it doesn’t count as lying, you just didn’t wanna fucking tell me”, i mock him.

“That’s why i didn’t try to hide it, i wanted you to know but i just didn’t have the heart to tell you. I just, kinda wished that you would find out, so i wouldn’t have to tell”, he says, a single tear sliding across his cheek. I’m about to say something, when i groan in pain.

The baby has been very active lately, and they decided that this would be an amazing time to start kicking me. Rafe leaps to me in one move and puts his hands on my waist and shoulder. He gently helps me sit down on the couch as i keep my hand on my stomach. Even now when we’re fighting and i’m yelling at him, he still runs to help me without a doubt. I breathe like i’ve run the marathon as i lean my back against the couch. Rafe kneels down on the floor in front of me and takes my hand in his. First i pull my hand away, but then allow him to hold it.

“Y/n please, i know that you don’t owe me anything, but i love you so, so much. I don’t wanna lose you, you’re the only person i want to spend my life with. I know i don’t deserve you but you make me a better person”, he almost begs me.

“Do you want to be clean? Not for me, not for the baby, do you want to stay clean for yourself?” i ask him quietly, wiping my tears with one hand. Rafe nods his head frantically.

“I wanna stay clean. It feels so much better to be with you than doing drugs. I’m so sorry for doing it and i’m sorry for not telling you ”, he whispers. I take a deep breath and exhale.

“I forgive you”, i say. Rafe breathes out, relieved. I pat the place next to me on the couch and Rafe stands up. He sits down next to me carefully, like i could get mad if he got too close. I grab his hand to relax him.

“I’m more mad at you for not telling me than about you relapsing”, i explain him. He nods.

“I know quitting isn’t easy. But i thought we were in this together! I thought you would tell me if you were struggling”, i say, my voice now a lot calmer.

“I know. I was just so ashamed. I promise i will be a better man for you, someone you could be proud of”, he says. I squeeze his hand.

“I am proud of you. But from this day forward you will tell me how you feel, so i can help you, okay?” i ask him, rising my brows. Rafe nods.

“Come here”, i whisper and pull him closer. I wrap my arms around him and he hugs me carefully. Rafe holds my body like i were glass. Hugging these days is a little hard considering my belly, but we manage to have a somewhat comfortable hug. He kisses my head.

“I love you too Rafe”, i say as we separate from the hug. He smiles and fixes my hair away from my face.

“Feel”, i advise and guide his hand to my stomach.

“Can you feel it?” i ask. Rafe’s face lights up and he nods when he feels the kicks.

“They know when mommy and daddy are fighting”, i say and look at my fiance.

“Mommy isn’t mad at daddy anymore”, i whisper to the baby. Rafe smiles and kisses my cheek. I peck his lips, but then pull him in for a proper kiss. He places his hands on the side of my face and to my back as i melt to his touch.

“You took it from Topper?” i ask when we’re curled up on the couch, watching tv. I feel Rafe shifting awkwardly but i pull his arm over my shoulders to show him that i’m not mad at him anymore.

“Yeah i did”, he sighs.

“Is he gonna want it back?” i ask.

“Probably yeah, when he notices something is missing”, Rafe answers. I sigh and shake my head.

“Too bad i flushed it down the toilet”, i say.

“Really?” Rafe asks surprised.

“Yeah, they always do it in the movies”, i say and laugh. Rafe joins me laughing, until he gets serious.

“I’m sorry again”, he says quietly.

“I know”, i say.

“And i’ve forgiven you. We are doing this together”, i hold his hand and cuddle up closer to him.

“I don’t like fighting with you”, Rafe says.

“Me neither”, i agree. He kisses the top of my head as i rest my hand on top of my stomach.

“Let’s be on the same team”, i say. Rafe nods and pulls me closer.

“I love you both”, he says and places a hand on my stomach.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #obx #obx rafe #rafe cameron fic #outer banks #obx x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron angst

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salty-croissants · 5 months

Text

Tu sais je vais t’aimer ( Bullfrog x g/n reader )

It’s been a while since I made a story unrelated to requests … I just felt like doing something a little different since I recently noticed that we have reached 110 followers , which is just -

Broo !! :,0

I really wanted to take the opportunity to thank you all so much for being so supportive of my little headcanons and stories for Bullfrog and Rayman , you’re all really amazing and kind and you’ve really made me feel like home here on Tumblr …

I may be a bit too busy and ( most of all ) shy to interact much with everyone , but I really do appreciate you guys … thank you so much , I mean it :,) ❤️

Now then , onto the actual story , I’ve recently stumbled upon this beautiful French song , and at some point a random inspiration for a Bullfrog fic hit me :

what if the reader decided to surprise their beloved frog boy by singing him this song ? Maybe for a special occasion , like the one year anniversary of the relationship ?

It just seemed too wholesome of a concept for me to let go , so I ended up writing this :,)

I also added a translation in English for the lyrics , because it’s just so cute and it melted my heart when I read it ;//;

Hope this turned out okay !

Details : use of g/n reader who likes to sing and can play piano ;

established relationship ;

no warnings needed

It had been a very long , tiresome day for Bullfrog …

The last mission the Warden had assigned him and his companions had been filled with complications , and this could easily be guessed by his bruises and ripped clothes .

Even as someone who took pride in his job , he yearned for nothing more than to find a quiet place to rest … hopefully in the arms of his beloved .

He also hadn’t forgotten about what a special time this was , so before going back to you he had managed to pass by a flower shop and buy a bouquet of your favorite flowers : the thought of your smile in front of his gift was the one thing that was keeping him from dropping on the ground for sheer exhaustion .

< I’m back mon amour ! Sorry for being late , this was a much more difficult task than I anticipated … >

Bullfrog stopped , slightly alarmed by the fact that you weren’t behind the door to greet him like usual :

you were always so happy to see him whenever he got back , so it was quite strange …

He closed the door as quietly as possible and begun to walk , attentive to every single sound to avoid anything sneaking by him .

If something had happened to you , he was more than ready to rescue you and defend you from any possible threat , exhausted or not …

But it was then that he heard it : someone was playing the piano in the living room , and when he finally reached it his eyes widened …

You were there , as beautiful as ever , and as soon as your eyes met you smiled softly at him and started to sing …

< Tu sais je vais t'aimer même sans ta présence

( You know I'm going to love you even without your presence )

Je vais t'aimer même sans espérance

( I will love you even without hope )

Je vais t'aimer tous les jours de ma vie 🎶

( I will love you all the days of my life ) >

Bullfrog wanted to say so many things in that very moment , and yet he was so overwhelmed by joy that he couldn’t bring himself to speak …

He just walked forward , sitting on a chair next to you while listening to the sound of your voice .

< Dans mes poèmes, je t'écrirai c'est toi que j'aime …

( In my poems I will write to you it is you that I love )

C'est toi que j'aimerai tous les jours de ma vie🎶

( It's you that I would love all the days of my life ) >

He looked up at you in awe , nodding his head to the beat , and as soon as the song ended and your hands left the piano you finally turned around once more to look at your boyfriend .

< Happy anniversary , love ~

God , you won’t believe how many months it took to learn how to pronounce everything correctly … buut , I just really wanted to do something special for you , you know ? I hope I didn’t butcher too many words …

Also sorry for being so quiet before , I didn’t mean to scare you , but I wanted to surprise you and - >

Worry immediately filled your eyes when you took a better look and noticed the bruises on his face , but Bullfrog shook his head , caressing your cheek with one hand …

< Don’t you think about that my dear , it’s nothing … besides , receiving something so beautiful from you as a gift was enough to make it all better . >

He smiled at you tenderly , watching you leave a kiss on his palm .

< Thank you , y/n … je t'aime tellement … ~ >

You let out a little chuckle , unable to stop your cheeks from turning red in front of his loving words …

< I love you too , Bullfrog … I’m really lucky to have you , you know ? >

Before you could even realize it , the distance between your faces diminished more and more , until eventually your lips met into a much anticipated and needed kiss .

You closed your eyes , letting out a sigh while holding Bullfrog in your arms , and you could feel all the tension in his body instantly melt to your touch as he gladly leaned into it …

Eventually you both pulled away , staring into each other’s eyes and enjoying that precious moment of intimacy .

< We should probably get you patched up now , sweetie … those bruises look painful . >

< Alright alright , but before that , here … >

< *gasp* - you remembered my favorite flowers ! Thank you Bullfrog , these look beautiful ! >

< Don’t mention it mon cher , it’s not quite as good as your gift , but … >

< Are you kidding ? I love them ! We should put them in some water before they start wilting … >

As the two of you carried on with your conversations , glad to finally be together , the sun started to disappear behind the tall skyscrapers of the city … some of the nightly neon lights were already starting to illuminate the crowded streets .

It had certainly been a one year anniversary to remember .

youtube

#captain laserhawk #x reader #bullfrog x reader #bullfrog captain laserhawk #captain laserhawk bullfrog #captain lazerhawk bullfrog #gender neutral reader #Youtube

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bangtanfancamp · 1 year

Text

Headed to the Mountains |KNJ

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

•one shot

•Masterlist

•pairing: songwriter Kim Namjoon x oc with chronic pain

•word count: 3,465

•genre: escapism, hurt/comfort, smut, established relationship

•rating: MATURE/ 18+

•warnings: current event commentary, somewhat anti- American sentiment (I live in Texas so I see a lot of mess first hand 🫤 it’s my country but my god, it’s messy), stress, chronic pain, high sensitivity, sensory issues, first person voice, smut smut smutty smut, oral (female receiving and male), tandem oral, smex, doggy style?, Namjoon’s big brain during smex, smut with feelings and a lot of thoughts (as usual) ((all my air sign placements really coming out to play

•a/n: idk what this is, besties, besides extremely unedited and wildly indulgent. I may change the voice out of first person and all the “i’s” to “you’s” but it’s up the way it’s up for now. 🤷🏽‍♀️The world is just a horrifying place right now, especially in the US, and I just wanted to write something that felt like a small refuge, spend a little time some place that felt better, so we’re back in Namjoon’s living room. Also, who better to escape into the woods and away from reality with than the founder of namjooning himself ((also also, that bit about Pennsylvania was 100% true. It’s wild here, man))

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“I cannot get comfortable for the life of me,” I huff grumpily.

It’s a Monday night, late in March. The threat of rain has been looming for hours. Despite its sudden absence in the forecast when I check the weather app, I can still feel it in my bones. In the raw, creaky way my joints scrape against each other. The way the inflammation in my body burns like fire ants beneath my skin.

Namjoon is quick to notice from across the room.

“This weather’s been making your body feel like hell this spring.”

“Yeah, I hate to begrudge it though. Winter was even worse.”

“Gosh, it really was huh?” He frowns at the laptop screen on his desk. He’s got the tiniest beanie shoved on his very big head but somehow, it works. The tips of his hair peak past the beanie’s brim, brushing the mussed hair of his furrowed eye brows. “God, I can’t stand to stare at a screen a second longer.”

He peels his gold rimmed glasses off his nose, rubbing the little indentions they've made along the bridge and pressing his fingers into his closed eye sockets. I can tell he’s exhausted and miserable too about how much energy life seems to require of him these days.

“I’m going to scoop you up and make you the most comfortable woman in the world, I promise. Just give me like three minutes.” He tips back in his desk chair, the spine of it sliding out to a wide reclined angle as his long legs stretch out in front of him.

“Why did we spend so much money on a couch that’s not even comfortable, joonie?” I whine, shifting once again.

“Because the last one was even less comfortable than this one,” he reminds me, “and at least this one is cognac leather,” he shrugs. “It’s comfy on the eyes at least”

“Well I need it to be comfy for my bones.” I grunt, shoving yet another throw pillow out of your way. “Maybe we should pick up and move to the shore, like in a regency novel. I think the air would be good for me. I wonder if American healthcare accepts existential dread and deep chronic pain as enough of a reason to just financially support us until I turn to dust.”

“You and your TikTok algorithm both know as well as I do that America will do no such thing,” Namjoon chuckles with his eyes closed.

“I know…. But they should take at least some culpability. God knows most of my health problems probably exist BECAUSE of them.” I slide the strap of my bra and shirt off my shoulder, not because I want to be a seductress but because the elastic is cutting into my throbbing right trap muscle and if I don’t get some of the tension off of it, I might scream.

“Right? Did you hear about the latex spill in the Delaware river yesterday? The entire city of Philadelphia doesn’t have usable drinking water right now. My friend there literally got a text message about it from the city strongly recommending every use bottled water only until

Further notice. One and a half million people woke up to that text Message! It’s insane.” Namjoon pulls his oversized hood up over his beanie as he looks up at the ceiling, ankles crossed beneath the desk.

“Lord, haven’t we lived through enough of this? I’m so tired, joonie.” I can hear how pitiful I sound. To his credit, he treats me just the same as when I sound intellectually astute and strong. I’ve always liked that about him.

“If the world is going to hell in a hand basket anyway, maybe we should look into a- moving internationally and b- signing up for a payment plan on one of those YouTube influencer mattresses,” Namjoon tips his head my way, and suddenly my heart feels a little more light.

“Ooo, the helix?“ I smile, for perhaps the first time tonight.

His dark eyes twinkle in the low evening lamplight.

“ I actually did some research and found one made out of avocados.”

“Is that as close as I can get now that my body has decided it’s allergic to Avos?”

Namjoon’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “God, your body would find a way to betray you like that wouldn’t it?”

“It’s not my fault I’m too delicate for this world,” I shrug.

“I forget you were born inside a flower that protected you from the world with its petals until it bloomed, thumbelina.”

“If I could take a nap inside a peony right now, I’d do it in a heartbeat…. The pollen might be too much though.” I sigh.

“Come here,” Namjoon laughs, standing from his chair and extending his hand toward me.

“Where are you taking me?”

I slip my knuckles between his and knock against his shoulder with my head.

“To my bumblebee. Take you on a spin around the block” he winks.

“I’m surprised you didn’t say take a ride. It’s like the only lyric you use these days” I snicker, bumping the curve of my hip into his.

“You’re supposed to write what you know,” he shrugs.” It’s not my fault your hips are your area of expertise.”

He winks at me and god, if he took every piece of clothing off of me right now, I’d ride him in a heartbeat.

Shit. Knowing him, he can probably feel my response to him without even looking at me. Sure enough, he looks down, smiling until his dimples dip in his cheeks, and damn it, I’m so captivated by the focaccia dough dips in his face that I stumble into the corner of the wall. My hip catches and I yelp, more embarrassed than in pain.

“Shh, hey, I got you.”

That calm voice of his is so low right now as his palm curves around the dip in my hip that got nicked by the wall. I tip into his long, warm torso and let him guide me into the bedroom. I’m clearly too disoriented and agitated to make it here without careening into something else and frustrating myself, so I’m happy for the assistance. Besides, being scooped up in Namjoon’s substantial hands is never a bad place to be.

“Thanks, baby. I needed that.”

I press my temple into his chest, kiss his ribs. Marvel at the resistance of muscle I feel beneath his soft green shirt. I press my nose into the fabric and let the warmth of him calm me. His other hand strokes soft knuckles along my jaw. His touch is so light and sweet - I feel my shoulders drop as he does it.

“Pick me up?” I whisper, eyes lifting softly to look up at him from where I’m pressed into his chest.

His hands slide up my sides, palms pressed into my waist as he lifts me. The soft grunt he makes as my thighs wrap around his ribs makes something in my brain feel a little fuzzy. Life is better like this, I think. Our faces nuzzled cheek to cheekbone, his hands fitted beneath my thighs, mine trailing softly through the silky bits of his hair peeking out of the back of his beanie as my arms drape over his shoulders like fabric. I can feel the knot of tension in the middle of my spine begin to untie itself as I melt into him. God, I’m so happy he exists.

“Where would you like to go, princess?”

Namjoon kisses the top of my ear, and that fuzzy tingle in my brain is back.

“What are my options?”

I press my lips softly to his throat in light, meditative kisses. They’re more like delicate exhales. My tongue barely tips out to taste his skin. Just a touch. Just a taste. Sleepy and slow because that’s all I have the energy for. His eyelids do that hazy half flutter that tells me he likes it enough to pretend he doesn’t so that I’ll keep going. I smile as he gently tips his head to the side, as if waiting for my answer, but really he’s just giving me more room to access that spot behind his ear that likes my lips. Let’s humor the man.

“We could go to the bed, the shower, the bath…” he gasps a little on the last word, the ah sound coming out too airy as I gently mouth at his pulse point and his grip on my thighs gets tense. “Or there’s a ….counter right here.” His head tips toward the half bath in the hallway as his fingers dig into the meat of my legs.

When I look up to meet his eyes, they’ve gone serpentine. Deep and dark and heavy as he holds me close. I can feel how shallow his breathing is becoming and I smile, sleepy and soft as he watches me.

“Take me to bed, Joonie.”

He’s kissing me before I can even finish his name.

He tips the door open with one of his feet before squeezing us both through the threshold of it. With his eyes closed and his tongue between my lips, he’s bound to crash into something and he does. He thunks an elbow, I knock my head, but in seconds, he’s cradling it where I’ve bumped the wall, spilling “sorry, I’ve got you, sorry,” onto my tongue as he pulls me in closer.

The spell doesn’t break.

He’s big and he’s bulky but he’s careful with me as he lays me on the bed and climbs over me. His mouth doesn’t leave mine even as he peels off each piece of my clothing. His movements are slow, his touch tender as he does.

Namjoon has learned how to soothe my body when it’s alert like this. Knows the cool air feels refreshing and crisp when my skin is hot with pain and sensitivity so he gets me naked with a deft touch. He knows the feel of his skin is grounding for me so that soft green shirt of his hits the floor. Knows I love his hair so the beanie goes next. Knows I love the strength in his thighs so his shorts are next as he tugs my hips down beneath his to let me wrap my legs around his slim waist.

I'm so wrapped up in the warmth of him that I don’t realize he’s tugged my silk pillowcase beneath my head. It’s cool when my head falls back and I smile, toothy and wide, as his plush lips sink into my skin. He’s at my collarbone now, then the volume of my breasts. His breath is warm, the air is cool and his substantial hands grip me firm like dough he’s being careful with as he kneads.

His cock brushes against me between my legs and the bright feeling it sends sparkling through me makes my breathing stutter.

“Joonie,” I shiver, and I can feel him smile against my skin. See his eyes flash up at me in the dark.

“We do too much, baby.” He breathes, voice smoky and low like the dragon he is.

I don’t know what he means. My critical thinking is losing its sharpness as he suckles warm and soft at the dip of my ribs.

“Too much?” I can feel my brows crumpling, but his tongue is so warm on my stomach that my hands dig into his shoulders without my consent.

He reaches up to brush one hand over mine.

“Shhh, easy. We’re trying to relax you, not tense you up.”

He’s smiling. I can barely see him but I can feel him and I know his grin would only dissolve me deeper into the mattress.

“We do too much, we deal with too much. God, your skin is too motherfucking much,” he squeezes me, latches his soft mouth onto my waist and tugs at the skin. I can feel the bruise blooming there, but he’s off and on to the next before I can even get words out. “Your body is always trying to process all of it, but it’s too much. Let me take care of some of it- let me help.”

When His tongue slips between my legs, his strong hands push my legs wide, press them down when he feels me buckle. His breath is so warm, his mouth is so molten, his nose on my clit is so gentle- it all leaves my body in an exhale. Tension drops off like melted wax and I feel myself go supple in his palms as I let him do what he wants with me.

“There’s been so much chaos. So much to deal with. So much to do. I just want to run away from it all with you.”

His tongue is languid as it works on me. The rush of warmth undoes the aches in my body better than a hot bath ever has.

��Then let’s go, Joonie. Where do you want to go? I’ll follow you anywhere.” And I mean it. They’re not lusty rambles. They’re not hollow words. I’d follow him to the edge of the world.

He puts that plump mouth of his over my clit and the gentle way he slurps me up melts my bones into soup broth and clears my head.

“You’ll let me take you anywhere?”

He looks up at me, his mouth never leaving his post, working me slowly as he waits for my reply. His mouth is so wet, his eyes are so sharp and my body is just another piece of music he’s learned how to perfect. I nod, bottom lip bit between my teeth and relax as much as I can as he composes a symphony between my legs. His smile folds the crinkles around his eyes, and his aura flickers between lovingly soft and steadily authoritative as he doubles down, wrapping his arms around my legs to scoop my hips up into his face and pressing into me, deeper, faster, harder.

I arch up when he does, gasping as my shoulders lift up, my fingers twist in the bedspread, my jaw goes slack. He’s really doing a number on me and all I want to do is say thank you and let him continue.

He slides up my body then, one hand behind my head bringing my forehead to his as the other grips my hip with enough pressure to split it apart as he tips his cock inside me in a way I didn’t know I needed. The sound is squelchy and wet and he smiles as his nose bumps against mine.

“You’ll follow me?”

He sounds cocky in a way he hasn’t in a while and a little piece of me loves it. His hips are fluid as his cock rocks in and out of me. All I can do is nod wildly, disoriented as I clutch him close to me. My legs are folded up, feet along his hips for purchase with my knees butterflied wide. I’d laugh at how much I must look like a frog if this didn’t feel so good. He’s got a hand beneath my bum, lifting my hips off the bend and gliding his cock so deep into me that surely my organs are all shifting wide like the Red Sea to make room for him.

“Wherever you want to go,” I hum, arms falling slack. I’ve lost the energy to hold on to him, but he’s got me held up so precious and tight that we’re still more intertwined than two fibers of thread in a tight knit sweater. I’ve fused into him and now every breath is in tandem.

“I’m gonna take my girl away from here.”

His thumb brushes my bottom lip and I feel myself flush at his tenderness.

“Yeah?” My eyes are wide, following his. He hovers above me, furrowed face sculpted with intensity and aggression as his body works mine into ecstasy. I’ve really acquiesced to the fact that I’m nothing more than a soft lump of clay in his hands that he’s working with precision. I’ve always wanted to be a work of art.

He slips my breast into his mouth like a lychee jelly, moaning at the feel of me tightening around him when he does it. Pumping harder, faster, deeper, only to pull out and dip his long fingers into the mess he’s made. He slathers it over all my sensitive bits, caressing with finesse as sparklers crackle in my vision.

When He pulls me up and into him, my face is pressed between his pecs and god, I can’t keep it together. I kiss them furiously as he works, clutching onto his arms, dragging my fingers down his abs as he slides his glossy fingers over my clit like he’s casting a spell. I can’t breathe… I can’t breathe… I can’t….

But I can because I have to- Namjoon won’t ease up until he gives me the sweet oxytocin of release by his hands and I wouldn’t have it any other way. So I dig deep and exhale slow and controlled, whimpering as he rockets past that orgasm to send me into preparing for the next one. He smirks like I’m his plaything and I comply with no resistance. I’ll have as many rounds as he gives me. I’m a big girl. I can handle- Oh!

At least, I thought I could handle anything. Naive me, I suppose.

I smile into the sheets when he tips me over onto all fours. He kisses my shoulders, kisses along my spine, brushing his thumbs on the folds on my hip, all tender and kind and syrupy sweet as the behemoth between his legs tips ever so slowly inside of me despite my incredible tightness, and I don’t know whether to breathe or scream so I press my face into the bedding and giggle like there’s something wrong with me.

“Take you somewhere quiet,” he slides in deeper. “With no noise,” he thrusts. “No news.” He thrusts. “Just nature.”

My chest feels tight with affection but my body feels limps like a rag doll as he pumps me silly. His gargantuan hands holding up my hips are the only thing keeping me from sliding off the bed and melting into the floorboards.

“Joonie, i’d- I’d love that,” soft puffs of air leave me with each fluid roll of his hips. The snap at the end of the graceful flourish knocks my skull a little loose but I don’t mind. Thinking so little is really quite nice.

“Take you for walks, lay with you in nature, fuck you like this in an outdoor bath tub while we watch the stars.”

His hand glides down my spine as he paints beautiful pictures with his words. My heart and my body don’t know which way is up.

“Escape all this chaos. At least for a little bit.” He smirks. I catch a glimpse of it as I look over my shoulder, reach back to hold his hand.

“I might never let you drag me back to the real world.” My smile is gooey, fond and so is his now. His dimples have come out - all his sincerity and heart on display, as his hips still even as he still fills me up.

“I can write poetry in the wild,” he shrugs. “My music would probably be better for it.”

He looks bashful and soft. The juxtaposition of his strong body and sweet face make me dip forward. He slides out of me, watching with confusion as I guide him to stand beside the bed.

When I flip onto my back, letting my head loll backwards off the bed in front of him, he arches a brow at me. I just chuckle and pull him forward by the back of his legs.

“Come here. I want to make my own music.”

I take the length of him into my mouth and he topples over, hands bracing on either side of me on the bed. He groans so sweet and low that I smile as I take him deep. His knees buckle when my nose tips softly against his balls as I suckle him slowly and it takes everything in me not to laugh at how happy I am.

His hands travel my body as his mouth occupies itself. He makes a meal of my breasts, takes a drink between my legs, holds my throat to lighten my breath. When we cum in tandem, he collapses to my side as we catch our breath in silence.

The night is still, the air is cool and rain is finally trickling against the windows.

Our bodies are spent and our plan is set.

We’ll run away soon enough.

But now, cradled breast to breast, we sleep knowing our world is just the smallest bit brighter.

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