#like if you think a teenager and an adult should fuck there's something wrong with you. full offense
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okay now we NEED to know how you ended up on an anti Tony Stark blocklist - a Tony Stark hater
ok so i used to be super into m*rvel when i was a teen but i fucking HATED that guy's guts because 1) he's annoying 2) he's everywhere all the time and 3) i don't like the actor and 4) there's many in-universe reasons that i won't go over right now because i don't have time or energy for that but long story short: i hate his ass
and i was vocal about that on my blog because i wanted to just have fun with my friends on my dash but there's people out there looking for content like that specifically to get mad at people and that's how i ended up on a blocklist <3 love and light
#asks#anon#i'm not into petty fandom bullshit but in fandom terms i never cross tagged or anything i was just minding my business#and that's all i'm gonna say on it because i'm 23 and i'm not going to be arguing with more 30+ year olds#about how you probably shouldn't ship a teenager with a 50+ year old man#because yes that's also what happened to 16-17 year old me. for some fucking reason#like if you think a teenager and an adult should fuck there's something wrong with you. full offense
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hi im lost in the kon & clark + kon & the kents sauce today.
thinkin about how clark takes him to live with ma and pa shortly after "our worlds at war" - after kon has lost guardian, and now mickey and dubbilex and everyone he knew at cadmus has vanished and left him on his own. after he's been used and discarded by knockout, tana, and rex leech. he's not even two years old and there is a whole list of adults who he relied on and who he's already lost because, as he believes, of his own inability to be what they needed him to be. he wasn't savvy enough to realize rex was using him for money, he wasn't heroic enough to save knockout from herself, he wasn't mature enough for tana to love him, he wasn't good enough of a superhero to prevent guardian from being killed in the leadup to everything with apokolips...
anyway, what i'm getting at is that he's used to nearly all of his relationships with adults having a time limit, and to being left alone to fend for himself when that time limit runs out. so, uh, the first time he has any sort of argument with clark, or clark expresses any frustration with him...
which, imo, is extremely possible because, like. kon's an impulsive kid who doesn't always listen to others or ask for help when he needs it (partly because he's so used to fending for himself!) and clark definitely has a protective streak, and i think it'd frustrate clark that kon didn't even tell him he had nowhere to go after cadmus went underground. like he gets that kon's got issues but also Please For The Love Of God. People Who Love You Want To Help You But You Have To Tell Them You Need Help. he wants to help and protect kon but kon doesn't even realize the things he's gone through are fucked up and that he shouldn't have had to deal with them, let alone on his own. suggesting that he should lean on others would make him bristle. and he definitely doesn't want to be a bother or a burden on superman.
so it's a point of contention but like, the love is there. it's a point of contention BECAUSE the love is there.
anyway i'm just thinking of the first time clark tries to talk to kon about opening up and asking for help and telling him or ma or pa or lois when something is up, and kon getting mad at him because he can handle himself and he's not incompetent, and clark being like that's not what i'm trying to say at all, i'm plenty competent and i lean on people when i need to and so should you. but kon's a traumatized and headstrong teenager who doesn't want to hear it, even (especially) from his idol, and clark gets a little frustrated, and then kon ??? stops arguing and just gets really disproportionately upset out of the blue??? and shuts down and then runs off??? and clark doesn't understand what happened exactly but clearly SOMETHING is wrong. figures he'll give kon some space and talk to him again in the evening when he's had a chance to cool off.
instead not even an hour later martha kent hollers for clark to get over to kansas and explain his side of things because she KNOWS the boy she and jonathan raised would Never have told kon he's sick of cleaning up his messes and wants him out of his parents' house and might even be planning to take his name back from him. (clark, hearing this: HE THINKS I WHAT???????? D: D: D:)
(ma sent pa to check on kon when he didn't come down for dinner and pa found him sniffling and stuffing clothes into a suitcase. he said clark hadn't told him to get out yet but it was only a matter of time. they are gonna have a nice long family heart-to-heart and at the end of it pa is going to have to talk ma down from hunting down rex leech with a shotgun.)
anyway kon gets a Really good family group hug that he TOTALLY doesn't cry about (he's cool as a cucumber about it!! really!!) and gets whacked across the head with a boatload of affirmations and reassurances that even if any of them ever argue, his place here and his name and status as part of the family are never going to be in question. (ma wants the shotgun again when he seems genuinely surprised by this.) it might even be the origin of them coming up with "conner kent". a second name just for him, as part of clark's family on earth too.
i am just. so not immune to stories about a little guy who's not used to having a family Getting A Family you know?????
#rimi talks#rambles#its a fic idea technically but i still want to workshop it more. its about how kon is 16 and not good at healthy communication#hes a kid who's used to being a commodity first and foremost not a kid and it fucks with his perceptions of his relationships esp w adults#also for the record i do think martha kent should be allowed to go after rex leech with her shotgun if she so desires#but mostly its about kon getting a big family group hug. you know his touch-starved ass will cry#kon#clark#ma kent#pa kent
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heyyyy bonefallll!!! So uhm. Wind released. And if you read it, what do you think of it?
hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
I started ASC off with a lot of excitement. I had known to not get my hopes up, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like they actually had something meaningful to say about the problems in Clan society. For once, it felt fresh.
A conflict based on a murder mystery and a power struggle, political radicalization within another Clan with anti-Clanswapper bigotry turning violent, and the reluctant heir of a legacy sprawling several generations. Like a dark echo of TPB, implying the root issues had never been truly addressed by Darkest Hour. The Clans still have a terrible ruling system. The culture is still bigoted. Firestar failed to destroy the obsession with legacy-- he just founded a new bloodline.
And even if it wasn't THAT deep, it was at least a grounded plot that was based in the characters more than faith in StarClan. If Nightheart's arc about legacy fell apart, I'd still enjoy watching him struggle, lose people, grow, and find his purpose. Or seeing Splashtail juggle the power he'd managed to snatch and was just not smart enough to hold onto. Or the cool fights that would surely result from an invasion of RiverClan.
Wind tossed it. It was already having a downturn in the previous book, but this is a book that seems so afraid of having interesting conflict that it spends 75% of its time debating if something interesting should happen, and 25% of its time barking, "EVIL HEATHENS WHO HATE GOD WILL DESTROY OUR SOCIETY!!"
I can't get over how awful Splashtail's "descent" is. He's having a dumbass atheist stoner debate with Podlight when they go to the Moonpool, musing that maybe you have to eat 9 mice to get 9 lives, and then 2 appearances later he's foaming at the mouth with a dictator speech and kills harelight no miss.
They even seem to have tried to replicate Stonefur's execution but badly. It's jarring. Splashtail had a big dictator speech, killed the beloved deputy suddenly, and the whole camp looks Super Scared and Upset so that you know it's the Evil Leader and not a systemic problem.
His "TALENT FOR MANIPULATION" is saying he heard Curlfeather murmur evil plans in her sleep and (apropos of nothing) accusing her teenage daughter of "getting the wrong idea" about his adult romantic interest in her. I keep coming back to this because the ENTIRE book's plot is based on this successfully smearing Frostpaw's reputation.
you may be tired of hearing it, but I'm definitely more tired than you because I had to read and analyze an ENTIRE BOOK founded on it.
The plot is endlessly arguing over if they can trust Frostpaw or not, gathering "evidence" to this end, while Sunbeam and Nightheart's POVs uselessly languish in ThunderClan doing mentoring stuff.
Im SO sick of being forced to sit in thunderclan while more interesting things happen offscreen. stop adding MORE cats to ThunderClan, you already have Stormcloud and you do NOTHING with him why are they also getting WAFFLEPAW
Everyone's praising the fact that the book can remember previous entries, but actually, I'm going to drop a hot take; It's actually bad if they CAN obviously reference old material, and then it doesn't influence the actions the characters take. They namedrop Nightstar several times and then come up with excuses for why they still need to sit around and do nothing!!
THAT'S WORSE, ACTUALLY.
SCALDING TAKE, I'd RATHER see the cats have the memories of goldfish if the alternative is "We remember Nightstar! We're simply going to purposefully disregard Nightstar, because the plot needs to happen"
They also muse that maybe Splashtail's evilness is making all the RiverClan cats act evil, and they'll go back to normal once he's removed. This has been implied before, but never so blatantly stated.
But most of all, I can't stop going back to "Godless Heathen Bloodlust." What a fucking joke. For a shining minute it looked like we were going to have interesting villains, but no, they really are just coming out and saying that lacking faith is an indicator of a moral failing. What makes Splashtail so uniquely bad and scary is that he "disrespects the ancestors" (hey podlight. what if eating 9 magic mice gives you 9 lives? woah dude look at this. the bugle chips look like claws. lol haha) and hates love and peace and won't even let Jesus guide him.
The scenes with Frostpaw and her allies are the only parts of this book worth reading. Shadowsight, tigerHeartstar. Clinging to Whistlepaw like she's a life preserver. save me windclan
#asc spoilers#warrior cats analysis#So uh.#my thought is that it is Bad.#I did not Enjoy it#I can FIX IT#I WILL FIX IT#I CAN MAKE THIS WORK BUT JESUS CATS.
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My dad's neighbor is a dilf
Chapter 2
Joel Miller x you
Summery: You had decided to spend your summer in Austin with your dad. You used to spend almost every summer there, but hadn't spent a summer there since you were a teenager. Which means you hadn't seen a certain Joel Miller in years..
Warnings: Verbally abusive boyfriend. Talks of mental health and self harmI will put a sign for what paragraph to skip if you want to avoid that content
Of fucking course Ben would call you... your rub your temple and groan. "It's too late for this shit" you mutter to yourself and flick off the light with a little more force than you intended.
Sunday morning you slept in. It wasn't until about 11:00 that you heard your dad banging around in the kitchen downstairs. You drag yourself out of bed, highly motivated by the smell of coffee making its way to your nose. As your feet hit the landing toilet freeze, the fog of sleep dissipates instantly and your insides turn to liquid. "It's really no problem! I can have it fixed in a couple hours, plus you don't want to wait around with that kind of shit. It can turn into a much bigger problem real quick if you don't take care of it soon" that was Joel's voice. What is Joel doing in your kitchen at 11am on a Sunday?!! Especially when he was just here..last night? Do him and my dad really spend that much time together?? You contemplate running back upstairs but then your dad catches a glimpse of you before you can execute your plan. "Well hey babydoll! Didn't know if you were still alive up there" you offer him a grunt in response as you make your way to the coffee pot. "Good morning to you too" he laughs. "Oh hey, the water is going to be shut off in a bit because there's a leak in the water pipes upstairs. Joel said he would take care of it so water should be back on in an hour or so." "Do you just call Joel instead of a plumber these days?" You question your dad with a raised eyebrow. He chuckles "no, I basically sent him a text this morning asking for his opinion on whether or not this needed to be fixed asap or it was no big deal. I was going to call someone on Monday, but he insisted". Your dad lowered his voice slightly as he then said "between you and me...I think he's trying to stay real busy these days. I know having Sarah with her mom for the summer has been a really hard adjustment for him" that seemed logic enough to you and you said as much to your dad before Joel came back through the front door carrying several tools.
"Well good morning sunshine" he said with a smile that stirred inside of you. "One of these days I oughta teach your dad how to be useful around the house so he can carry on without me" "yeah you two are like a married couple" you joked. Joel chuckled "mmm well who could resist this handsome man" he said gesturing to himself. You rolled your eyes "you're old" it was a cheap shot, but also you secretly would admit his age because you were curious. He laughed and said "yeah Sarah says the same to me" but he didn't say anything else. He walked out of the kitchen and began up the stairs towards the leaky pipe or whatever the hell he was here to fix. As soon as he was out of sight you flung your head back "why...why couldn't dad just call a freakin plumber" you resolved to deal with the Ben situation after you had some breakfast in your stomach. It was not something you were particularly looking forward too, but you knew he wouldn't let up until you responded. Sure you could block him, but it wasn't like he was some tinder date gone wrong. You two had spent years together, not to mention you were adults who needed to handle the situation like adults and not take the easy way out.
After breakfast you found an outfit that wasn't an old t-shirt and shorts with little owls on them. You were still mortified that Joel saw this look. "Okay you can do this" you breathed, picking up your phone and tapping Ben's name." Of course he picked up almost immediately. "Hey.. how are you?" You responded politely, but quickly veered the conversation to what he really wanted to talk about. "Well, I've been thinking. I really think you and I are meant to be together. It just feels right, and I know I haven't always been the best at showing up or just being a good boyfriend in general, but now I really feel I'm ready for that level of commitment" there was a short pause
"listen, Ben ... I just don't see it that way. I've spent too much time over the years being disappointed by your actions. I've broke my own heart so many times because I convinced myself you were really going to change and then to I didn't. I can't do that anymore. We're too old for this. I'm glad you feel like you're ready to commit and I hope you find a girl who is too, but at this point in my life I just can't offer you that." You had feared he would be angry, but weren't prepared for what came next.
⚠️CW⚠️
"Are you fucking serious?? Like after all these years you're just going to throw all that away?! Like honestly I didn't need to come back and give you another chance but I did and" "GIVE ME another chance?!! What the fuck Ben..HOW do you even see it that way??" "WHAT DO YOU MEAN??" He shouted back "babe I have put up with so much of your shit over the years and now I'm saying that it doesn't matter and I'm going to stick around regardless of all that!" Oh now he has crossed a line "MY SHIT?! WHAT, PRAY TELL ARE YOU REFERRING TOO?!" "I have had to do SO MUCH for you like when your mental health is bad you just shut off completely. It's like trying to be in a relationship with a fucking wall! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD THAT IS...WHAT KIND OF TOLL THAT TAKES ON ME." Hot tears of anger were streaming down your cheeks. "I CANNOT believe you said that! Did you ever consider how hard it is FOR ME in those times?! Like honestly Ben you only think about yourself."
"Oh really is that why I took off work so I could drive you to the hospital when you slit your wrists and you called me, crying?? Obviously that shows I care for you! You cannot tell me I only care about myself when I had to do that kind of shit for you!" Your chest was now rising and falling very rapidly. You certainly were not thinking about how loud you were being right now, but luckily your dad was outside mowing the lawn, well out of earshot. "Ben that is the bare MINIMUM A PERSON CAN DO. Like you're really hanging that over my head??! fucking grow up! God FORBID YOU TAKE THE TIME TO DRIVE ME TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM DURING THE WORK DAY. How about we talk about all the shit I've done for YOU over the years." You could now hear him laughing. A hollow laugh, but a laugh all the same. "Oh DONT EVEN. What could you POSSIBLY have done to compare to me being your GODDAMN NURSE when you're a grown adult." It was all too much. You were all but sobbing at this point. "You are such an ASSHOLE Ben! Don't EVER call me again! THIS IS OVER. I will NEVER love you and you will NEVER speak to me this way again. If you so much as text me...I'm going to get fucking restraining order!" You choked out. "A RESTRAINING ORDER ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?? My dads a literal LAWYER you know that right babe?! I'm NOT going to let that happen!" "Do you even hear yourself right now??! LEAVE ME THE. FUCK. ALONE."
End of CW
You hang up the call and crumple to your bed with heaving sobs. You are interrupted by a knock on your door. Presuming it's your dad you walk over to open in and all but fling yourself out the door way knowing he's standing right then ready to hold you. Hug you and tell you everything will be okay like you're 13 or something. The blurred your vision and it was not your dad on the other side of the door. Your head hit his chest and you flung your arms up around his neck. "Dad I hate boys!" You sobbed. But then you realized the height wasn't right, the smell wasn't right, the arms and chest weren't right...
you practically jumped backwards and to your horror saw Joel Miller standing before you. His soft puppy dog eyes heavy with concern and care. "I-um sorry. I assumed it was my dad or I never would have" Joel held up a hand to cut you off. "It okay, you don't need to apologize...I've got a daughter of my own don't think I haven't had the same hug and those same tears." His voice was soft and gentle, and he smiled at the last comment. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay." You could only nod. "It's none of my business, but this guy sounds like bad news and it's a matter of your safety...does your dad know about all this?" You nodded again. "Yes he knows about Ben...although I'll need to update him on the new low that Ben stooped to today. But my dad knows and I feel safe...and in blocking Ben's number." Joel's brows were knit together. "Okay...I don't need to know about but your dad does and it sounds like you've got a good thing going there." You felt awkward and more than anything wanted to disappear and forget this interaction ever took place. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and picked at your fingers "um yeah I think everything with be fine now" you said awkwardly. "Alright well I apologize for intruding into your private life, but I'm glad you're safe and under your dads roof." He started to walk away when you heard yourself say "Thank you Joel..I really appreciate it."he smiled at you and said "don't mention it"
"You better finish up fixing that leak before my dad finds something else to break." Joel laughed "don't worry I'm just about done and I'll be out of yalls way in a jiffy."
What a day... and it's only noon
#lovers#joel tlou#joel miller#smut#fanfic#joel and ellie#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller fluff
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for all the right reasons ((g)i-dle miyeon)
(smut, former teacher/student, public sex, facefucking, breeding kink, brief mention of blood, age gap [both consenting adults though obviously], fluff? lmfao there are feelings involved, 12k words)
Oh, it’s probably morally reprehensible, or whatever. She’s too young. She’s your student - or she was, once, and that should be enough for you to never, ever lay a hand on her, for you to file away those Bambi eyes and all that blonde hair and every soft, delicate curve of her body in a folder labeled one-way ticket to hell - that’s what it should be, but-
“You want me,” Miyeon says, the first day you two ever start. She’s smiling like the princess everyone thinks she is. “I think you’re gonna, like, die if you don’t touch me.”
She’s evil for saying it, but you’re evil, too, because she just happens to be right.
-
It’s a fluke, or something of the sort. Fate hates you, or some other bullshit. You’re in a bar on a weekday, and you’re not looking for company - just a little reprieve. You’re a high school language teacher and you write, sometimes. You’re here for some inspiration.
It doesn’t take long at all for you to find it: twenty minutes, thirty. You’re sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, and like something choreographed from a movie scene, she walks right in.
You don’t realize who she is at first, obviously. You hear the footfalls of heels, see the swing of long hair - you’re not about to dwell on it, but she sits down right next to you, and - yep, you’re dwelling. You hear the sweet voice as she talks to the bartender, see the dainty, graceful way she moves. She’ll be your muse for the night, you decide. You tilt your head, and you drink her in instead of your whiskey.
See, she’s perfect, from the jump; that’s where it all goes wrong. She’s the kind of girl people write songs about - sonnets, scriptures - and it’s all downhill from there.
Your gaze starts at her shoes first, and that’s the first mistake - they’re ridiculous, black and patterned with butterflies, a thick, platform heel; oh, it’s a fairy, a manic pixie dream girl come to life, you can work with that - and you find the second mistake as your eyes trail up: white thigh-high stockings, lace at the top, delicate and pretty against slender, creamy thighs - a fairy and a wet dream walking, that’s a killer combination. The third’s as you reach the blue dress, patterned with white flowers: the tiny waist to go with it, the halter neckline and the sharp collarbone, and all this silky, wavy ash-blonde hair, and then-
That fourth mistake, the nail in the coffin. You look at her face and your voice gets promptly stuck in your throat.
Cho Miyeon’s been watching you watch her, and she must see the exact moment you recognize who she is, what you’ve done, because when you meet her eyes, horrified, she’s smiling.
“Oh, hey,” she says, all too casual.
“Hi,” you say, and she crosses one leg over the other in those fucking thigh-highs. You don’t look. You can’t. “Miyeon. Hi.”
Miyeon tilts her head, and that curtain of blonde hair tumbles with her - she’s blonde now, and it’s such a good look on her, and you shouldn’t be noticing how good she looks - and says, “You remember me.”
She doesn’t seem like she’s really surprised. “Of course,” you say, and immediately realize how it sounds. “I mean - it wasn’t that long ago, was it? And you were always an excellent student. A - a real joy to have in class. You know.”
You’re just saying it because you don’t know what else to say - but it’s not like it’s untrue. Every memory you have of Cho Miyeon in your class is her sitting off to the right, by the window, dark-haired and with this air of benevolent elegance, something of teenage royalty. All her classmates called her a princess - you remember that. An inside joke; here's Princess Miyeon, acing the test again, asking all the right questions, helping everyone with their assignments. It was fitting enough for you to let it slide.
Now here she is, in front of you, suiting the title more than ever. She’s so beautiful - and that’s where you stop yourself, because - really, it hasn’t been that long since she was that brunette girl in your classroom. Less than five years, certainly. Or more? Fuck, time, teaching; it all gets away from you, and she’s wearing those stockings-
Miyeon’s smile slants, turns to something more mischievous.
“I know,” she says, and it sort of feels like she’s making fun of you. Well, she’d have the right. You sound like an idiot. Just because you were her language teacher doesn’t mean you’re anywhere near eloquent. “Thanks. For the record, you were always my favorite teacher, sir.”
There’s a spin she puts on the last word - or maybe you’re imagining it. She blinks at you, sweet-faced, all doe-eyed innocence. You’re imagining it. You have to be.
“Oh,” you say, and your voice comes out odd, thick. “Well, you don’t have to call me sir anymore. It’s not like I’m still your teacher.”
“Right,” says Miyeon, eyes twinkling. “But you still are a teacher, aren’t you?”
You stare, puzzled, still thrown by her very presence. “What?”
She asks again, patiently, and you give her the answer - yes - and then out of nowhere she’s managed to coax you deeper into conversation - do you like it, what’s the best part, what’s the worst, what else are you up to - and it’s a foregone conclusion. Someone gets her a drink and she gets chattier when she’s tipsy, still sweet and friendly and gorgeous, cheeks flushing in the dim light. She talks about herself, a little - she’s in college, she’s thinking of taking a trip, she’s single. You don’t remember how you landed on that last one but once it’s out there it’s basically all over, from there.
It definitely crosses a line, between former teacher and student. It’s somewhere in there. She nudges your arm when you make her laugh, then grips it loosely when you add something that makes her laugh harder. Her hair falls in her face and you don’t push it back for her but she looks at you like she knows you want to. You forget things like she’s so much younger than you and you aren’t allowed to stare at her thighs in her stockings and wonder if her underwear matches.
She’s a perfect conversationalist like she might’ve been trained in the art form; that’s how she gets you, reels you in. She’s clever without being cutting, witty without being condescending. Princess, indeed - it’s the kindness, it’s the bright eyes and the lace. No - not the lace. You should really stop thinking about the lace-
“Hey,” Miyeon murmurs. Neither of you are fully drunk, but you’re playing into it, pretending like that’s the reason you’re crossing boundaries. Miyeon’s playing with the cuff of your sleeve. One of her ridiculous boots is balanced on the rung of your stool, brushing your ankle. “We should go to the bathroom, or something.”
She flicks her eyes up at you through her lashes, and there’s a curl to her mouth.
“Miyeon,” you say, acting like the room didn’t just get ten degrees hotter, your pants ten times more uncomfortable.
“You were wrong, before.” She leans in close, and you inhale her perfume - something sugary, intoxicating. Her lips are wet from where she’s been biting them. These are things you aren’t supposed to notice, but rules and regulations are long gone by now. “It’s been forever since you were my teacher.”
“Watch it,” you warn her, kind of sharply.
It’s a mistake, being firm with her - her eyebrows lift with clear interest. “Yes, sir,” she says, somehow self-satisfied, and leans back; it’s not far enough, and you can still smell her, can still see the pleased glint hidden in her irises.
“Miyeon.” Your throat dries up.
“Oh, come on,” she says mildly, and brushes her hands over the lace decorating her thighs. “We’re both adults now. You’re not even that much older than me. Ten years at most. Less than that, probably.” You’re staring at her stockings again and she notices. “Plus,” she continues, humor lilting her tone, “You want me.”
You can’t take her eyes off her thighs, can’t stop thinking about shoving up her dress and bending her right over the bar, can’t stop fantasizing about the faces she’d make as you fuck her, the noises, the slick sounds of her pussy. You can’t admit it, because it’d be fucked up. You can’t deny it, because you want her too bad to lie. You don’t know how you got here so fast, and-
Miyeon’s grinning like she can read your mind, and she’s close again, fingers skimming down your shirt.
“I think you’re gonna, like, die if you don’t touch me,” she says, conversationally.
She’s got it right on the money. You can’t say anything, and all of a sudden both of your hands have found the curve of her waist, and she’s out of her seat, standing between your legs. She’s an angel you’d give your whole life to worship, her blonde hair, her eyes, her body - she’s a dream, and she’s leaning in further, breath hot as she whispers in your ear.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Miyeon says, lowly, and the airiness in her voice goes straight to your dick. “The feeling’s very mutual.” You can almost hear the smirk in her words, something fanged and predatory. You might have to rethink her divinity. “You wouldn’t fucking believe how wet I am right now.”
Oh, that’s it. There are no angels in the room, here - the devil’s clever like that, hiding itself in pretty blonde princesses. You’d die to worship her, die to sin for her: it’s all the same.
“I’m right with you,” Miyeon says, steeped in suggestion, in implication - on her inflection alone you can hear how she’d sound moaning around your cock. “I wanted you to fuck me the second I saw you. If you don’t get that dick inside of me right now I think I’m gonna drop dead.”
It’s a threat, it’s a promise, it’s theatrics - and how could anyone refuse her, when she puts it like that?
“Well,” you say, and you stand, struck and burning. You’re giving in. You’re a man, you’re weak; you’re no match for the devil in a dress like that. “I’d hate for you to die so young.”
You’re playing into it, and it’s still fucked up. You’re ten years older than her, or something like that. She’s calling you sir and you’re seconds away from calling her a nickname you shouldn’t. You wanna pull her onto your lap, onto your cock, tangle your hands in her hair, get her screaming and squirting, make her yours and yours alone-
“Well,” says Miyeon, mimicking you. “Then we agree.”
She’s all of your filthiest fantasies wrapped up in one. You’re hopeless. That’s sort of how the story starts.
-
Miyeon drags you to the bathroom, and puts her money where her mouth is. Well, so to speak.
Actually, you’re the one using your mouth - you lock yourselves in a stall and a beat later you’re sunk to your knees, pressing Miyeon against the door. Those fucking thigh-highs, driving you insane - you grip her thighs hard, force them apart, sink your teeth into the skin right above the lace. You’ll leave bruises and you already know it. You’ll leave more.
“Fuck,” Miyeon whines, and it’s like all her bravado has waned, all at once. You shove her dress up around her waist, and you had it dead-on: her panties are white and lacy like her thigh-highs, and you can’t believe she wears shit like this casually, can’t fathom how she walks out of the house without men throwing themselves at her feet. “Fuck, fuck-“
“Dirty mouth, huh?” you mutter, and sneak a glance up at her face. Oh, that’s a vision - the way all her delicate, angelic features contort as you drag a finger across the crotch of her panties, find her so wet she’s soaking through the fabric. She’s sensitive. It’s irresistible. “Shit,” you say, and you almost laugh, but you’re too worked up to get it out. “You weren’t lying - you’re soaked, baby.”
“Obviously,” bites out Miyeon, but the frustration both drains and builds to a point as you hook your fingers in the side of her panties and pull them down around her knees. “Oh - please, please, touch me-“
You sink your teeth into your bottom lip. “Look at that,” you say, and slip your thumb across her clit - she’s so turned on that just the graze sends her shaky, knees wobbling. One of your hands slides to her hip, steadying her. “You’ve got such a pretty pussy, Miyeon, you know that?”
It’s the praise, it’s like it kills her: Miyeon makes a high, keening noise that can’t classify as a response, and her cheeks are so red. You’ve barely touched her and she’s debauched, falling apart - “You’re so needy,” you add, enjoying the way she blushes hot. “You want me to take care of you, huh? That’s all you wanted?”
“Yes, please,” she pants, and when you slip a finger inside of her she moans so loud you’d be surprised if you two got out of this unnoticed. “Please, I just want more, I need more-“
“Be patient, princess,” you murmur, and she stills completely.
Fuck. Fuck. Well, it’s one hell of a slip-up.
Immediately you stop your finger inside of her, but then you feel her cunt clench, and she’s so, so wet - and just like that, you know.
“Miyeon,” you say, and your voice comes out gravelly.
“No,” she says, breathy, petulant. You can’t come back from this - that’s where you’re at. Your students used to call her this in your classroom. It’s sort of fucked up. It’s so fucking hot. She bucks her hips, and you’re finger-fucking her again, and she whimpers, ducking her head.
“Princess,” you start, and the cry she makes is like music, like gospel.
“Yes,” she chokes out, and you can’t believe this was the same girl leveling you with a stalemate back at the bar, challenging you toe-to-toe, weapons locked and loaded - can’t believe she’s now leaking all over your fingers, whining and desperate, begging please, please, please. Maybe you should’ve known. The brattiest girls love to get the most submissive. “Please - I need more, I need your cock - please, sir, I’ll be really good, my pussy will be so good for you, I swear-“
It’s the sir that gets you, but also everything before and after. You haven’t asked her to and she’s already begging; it’s adorable, it’s got you so hard your self-control’s rapidly slipping out of your hands.
“Alright, alright.” You’re unable to deny her anything when she talks like that, looks at you with those eyes. You rise, slowly - and then before you turn her around, grant her every wish, you take her gorgeous face in both hands and ask, “You’ll be good? You promise?”
You’re teasing her, but she’s so far gone she doesn’t even seem to notice. Miyeon nods rapidly, opens her mouth to say something - it’s not an invitation you’re about to pass up; you have to kiss her - so you do.
There’s something sweet about it, something filthy - you’ve never had a kiss so consuming and hot and wet, not during any fuck, any hook-up - and Miyeon makes small, whining sounds as you lick into her mouth, and you’ve got her cheeks in your hands, gripping firm as you kiss her. She’s tiny against you, her body all slender and slight and soft, and maybe that’s what makes it so hot; you have her like putty in your hands, like you could mold her, break her. Like you could do anything at all to her - to her mouth, her hair, her throat, her tits, her hips, thighs, cunt, ass - and she’d just let you. You kiss her and it’s like she lets you own her.
“Good girl,” you say into her mouth, and you know you do by the way she melts. “So good. I’m gonna fuck your little pussy now, okay? I’m gonna give you what you want, baby. You’ve been so patient, princess.” It’s a lie - you’ve never seen anyone so desperate - but when you flip her around and get to work on your zipper, you doubt she’ll bother with technicalities.
You slide your dick inside of her, and she collapses.
Her pussy is like heaven, and it’s the only word for it - it’s tight, but she’s so wet that you slide in like her cunt was made for you, made to form-fit your cock - maybe it was some twisted hand of fate after all, that led you here. Maybe you were always going to end up fucking her in a filthy club bathroom, calling her princess, wrapping your hand around her neck - maybe even since the first time she walked into your classroom, this was the inevitability, the only way it could ever go.
It’s a thought that’s pretty and fucked up in the same instant. Well, that’s Miyeon - well, you think, at least it fits.
She looks like an angel and she submits like one, too: knees buckling, leaning into you like she wants you to eat her alive, sink straight into her skin. You’ve got one hand on her hip and the other carding through her silky blonde hair; where she ends, where you begin - ah, it’s all the same. It’s corruption, it’s damnation - this girl never could’ve been the devil, not with this perfect pussy, not with her moans ringing out like music - and you get the feeling you’re ruining her, wrecking her. She turns her head halfway and there are tears in her gorgeous eyes, decorating her lashes. She’s never been quite so stunning.
“Fuck-“ All Miyeon’s words are slurring, loosening around the edges - you tug on her hair and if you weren’t holding her up, around your cock, around your fist, you know she’d fall right to the ground. “Thank you, sir - fuck - your cock feels so good, thank you, thank you - my pussy really needed it-“ She’s babbling, drooling, her tears smudging her eyeliner, her mascara. Her eyes squeeze shut and she clutches at the door, hands pressed flat, and lets you sheath your dick inside of her, again and again, rougher than you should be, so raw it should be criminal - her pussy is holy, or you’ve got Satan wrapped around your cock. Duality of woman; Miyeon’s got many talents and getting fucked into oblivion must top the list.
She cums; she’s too incoherent to warn you, but you feel it. You yank her hair and keep going. She’s fully crying now, pleas slipping from her mouth like wine, like water, like the way her cunt’s leaking all over you like a faucet, and you bury yourself inside of her, turn up the tap - she cums again, again-
“You like me ruining your pussy, huh?” you growl right at her ear, biting at her neck. It’s animalistic, it’s leaving your mark - well, one of them, at least. There’s her thighs, there’s how it’s not likely she’ll even be able to walk after this - okay, you’re leaving several. “Slutty little princess. You’d take whatever I’d give you - you’d let me drag you out there and fuck you in front of everybody, wouldn’t you?”
Miyeon loves the idea so much it’s like she’d give up religion entirely; you can tell by the way her back arches, by the way her whines get even less comprehensible, her perfect face crumpling in pleasure. It’s a plan for another day.
“You want everyone to know,” you hiss, “that you’re just a perfect little cocksleeve for me. I know, baby. I know.”
Oh, a face like that - you should be worshipping her, should be soft and gentle, wary of bruises and breaking - and you’re sure every other guy treats her like a goddess, something to revere and please.
For what it’s worth, you do, too - it’s just that you’re pleasing her by fucking her so hard she’s a sloppy, sobbing mess, pleading yes, sir - more, harder, fuck, fuck - you’re paying her reverence by leaning in close and saying in her ear-
“I’m gonna cum inside you, princess.” It’s not a question, not a request. Miyeon’s already nodding her head wildly, tears streaming down her cheeks - she’ll give you an answer anyway. Facets of royalty; she knows her manners, her lessons. “I’m gonna fill up that tight cunt, make that pussy cream - tell me how much you want it, baby.”
Your voice comes out through gritted teeth; the demands release harsher than the way you’re fucking her, and you think you might be tearing her pussy up, might be destroying it. She’s crying and blubbering and moaning, tripping over that tongue in her mouth trying to respond - your thumb’s fast on her clit and it’s double the stimulation, and it’s pushing her over the edge again - she puts so much effort into being good, and-
“I need it.” Miyeon reaches a hand behind herself, scrabbling blindly for your back, your ass, like she actually thinks you’ll pull out if she doesn’t beg hard enough. You’ve never seen someone so openly needy with such little coaxing - oh, your little princess. No one’s ever been able to satisfy her. “Sir, please - I need your cum inside me, I need to feel it, I need to be filled up, need you to breed me - I was really good, I deserve it-“
Her words break off, shatter on the floor; you think she cums again but you can’t be sure. It’s the words breed me that do it - that’s another thing to revisit, to play into and taunt her with, but she’s right, too: she’s been so, so good. You’ve never had a better pussy, never had something more perfect enveloping your cock - she’s sopping wet, so much you can hear it every time you thrust into her, can hear how her cunt gushes as you rail her. She’s engulfed every one of your senses - the sound of her, the smell of her, the feel of her, all silky skin and hair and a vice grip on your dick - it’s an overload, it’s overwhelming-
You bury yourself inside of her, right to the hilt, and you cum.
It’s a flash flood, wave after wave - you cum, and then a split second later it’s as if Miyeon turns to liquid herself, all her muscles giving out - and you grab her firmly around the waist, let her sink to the floor. It’s probably disgusting, it’s no place for an angel like her - but there’s nothing else to do. She spills herself into your lap, breathing hard into your shoulder, trembling like an earthquake’s just swept through her, wrecked all her bones and nerve endings like it’d decimate a city.
“Princess,” you whisper, and move her off of your cock, gently. You feel just as exhausted as she looks - you can't remember the last time you came that hard.
She doesn’t say anything, and just clutches at you tighter, pressing herself to your chest. One of your hands skates to her back, rubbing smooth circles.
“Miyeon,” you murmur, and she hides her face in your neck. “You okay?”
“Shh,” she says, lips against your skin. “Yes. Perfect. Full. I - give me - a minute.”
You get the message: she’s too well-fucked to move, to speak, to stand. “Alright, baby. Take your time.”
She hums right under your ear, tired and pleased and spent, and you cradle her slight frame in your arms, mindful of oversensitivity. You don’t know how many times she came - you’ve never seen a girl do that before, snap and start cumming over and over, clenching tight like she couldn’t stop. You’ll ask, you will. But, first-
You don’t know exactly how long it is, with Miyeon attached to you like this, the smell of sex and the sugary-sweetness of her blonde hair drenching the air: could’ve been weeks, you think, half-delirious. Eons. The world could’ve ended and you wouldn’t have changed a thing: the girl in your lap’s gotta be an angel, like you said. She has connections with a higher power. She’d handle it.
(That, or she’s got the devil on the other line, willing to bow down and serve her. Well, you’d understand. You doubt any deity could ever resist her.)
Eventually, Miyeon extricates herself from your body, slumping back against the door of the bathroom stall. She pulls her knees up, parts them - her eyes are shut, but you can see her defiled pussy, lips swollen, thick white cum drooling from her slit to the floor.
“Fuck,” you exhale without thinking, and see a small smile flicker at Miyeon’s mouth.
“Hey,” she says, and parts her legs wider. More of your semen leaks out of her. “Can you-“ Her words are still shaky, unsteady, shot through with fuck-drunk slurring. “Give me it. Your cum.”
You cock an eyebrow at her, even though her eyes are still firmly shut, sleepy. “I think I already did that, princess.”
She pouts at you, peeks open one brown Bambi eye. “No,” she says, inching towards a whine, and taps her full bottom lip. “I wanna taste it.”
Oh, she’s gonna be the death of you - but you kind of figured that out, already.
“Cumslut,” you say, and she smiles prettily, and you’d never be able to deny her a damn thing.
You take two fingers and ease them just inside her pink, puffy cunt, scooping out your own cum. Miyeon hisses air out through her teeth, on edge and tender, at every part of her, but scoots closer anyway; parts her lips, sticks her tongue out like some rabid animal, desperately, greedily in heat.
“Christ,” you mutter, and you take her chin in one hand, and feed her your cum with the other.
The moment your fingers slip past her mouth it’s like she’s been starving all day: her slick little tongue laves over your skin, curling hot and wet as she licks and sucks your cum off your fingers - and there’s no way she’s not tasting herself, it’s straight out of her pussy - and she’s blushing again, aware of her own wantonness but powerless to stop herself. Still, Miyeon makes no apologies, no take-backs for her desperation. She eats your cum off of you, swallows it down so easily.
Her white panties are tangled around her ankles, and you pull her feet into your lap, beginning to work the lacy underwear from around her ridiculous shoes. “Good?” you ask, amused, horny - but you’re past that. You’ll let her wind down.
“I am kind of a cumslut,” Miyeon says dreamily, head lolling. She rubs her thighs together, dress still shucked up around her hips. “I love your cum inside of me, sir. Feels - feels really good. All warm and-“ She’s speaking in half-sentences, still thoroughly fucked out. “Nice. And perfect.” She passes the heel of her hand over her clit and winces, raw, sore, satisfied. “Like… fuck.”
“Fuck indeed,” you say, pleased at your handiwork. You finally wrestle the panties from the platform heels of her boots, stuff them in your back pocket. At first you think she doesn’t notice, but she peers up at you with those dark, irresistible eyes, and you realize she’s allowing it.
Ah, well. You’re all playing games, in the end. “Hey,” you say, switching tone to soft, wiping at her face with your knuckle. Her makeup’s a lost cause, her eyeliner smeared and lipstick a wreck from where you kissed the life out of her, from where she slobbered around your fingers, tasting your cum - her hair’s long gone, too, a disaster thanks to your tugging and pulling. She looks exactly like everything you’ve been doing to her. “You’re okay, right?”
Miyeon blinks, reaching up almost absentmindedly to place her hand on your arm, thumbing your wrist. So - maybe it’s not quite the game you thought it was. “What do you mean?” she asks, clarity returning with each flick of her fluttering lashes.
“You…” You swipe underneath her eyes. “You were crying. Like, really, really crying.”
Miyeon tilts her head, like she’s confused - but then a smile plays at the corners of her mouth, finding ground and spreading.
“Oh,” she says, startled, entertained. “You’re worried about me.”
She’s teasing you. She’s so adorable that you kind of allow it. “Old habits,” you say. “I mean - you were my student. It was in the job description.”
It’s a filthy point, and her nose scrunches, delighted. Miyeon scoots closer to you until her knees bump yours, and you’re still stroking your fingers across her high cheekbones.
“Hey,” she says, more serious. “I’m fine, I’m amazing. It’s sweet of you to worry. It’s just, like-“ You slip a hand into her hair and it’s gentle this time, caring; her chin tips, eyes closing slowly, like she’s a puppy and you’re hitting the exact right spot. “It was so intense - in the best way, obviously - and it was like… you were fucking my pussy, but I was feeling it everywhere.” Her palm drifts to her heart, rounds to a fist. She’s still smiling, nearing rueful, like she’s well aware of her own dramatics. “It was like - I think I’m in love with your cock, or something.”
“You’re cute,” you say, helpless.
“I know,” she says, and she’s looking at you again with those wide, doe-like eyes. “I think my pussy was made for you.”
It’s a dirty sentiment - and it’s one you agree with wholeheartedly, thinking of the impossibly tight, wet heat of her cunt, drinking you in, the perfect fit, the way she stretched and swore and took it - but there’s something in the sweetness in her eyes that makes you think of nuance, of hidden implications. You’ll get there, one day. You’ve barely begun.
“So,” you say, snapping the tension that’s gotten too affectionate for the moment. “You want me to breed you, huh.”
Miyeon gapes at you, then flushes pink, shifts forward so she’s almost in your lap again. “Shut up,” she says, tracing your jaw with a manicured nail. “I don’t - I don’t even know where that came from. I’m on birth control. And I’d fucking kill you if you actually got me pregnant. I just - I think the idea is hot, that’s all.”
“Alright.” You lift her hips, smoothing down her dress and placing her in your lap all in one motion. You’ve zipped up your pants, tucked away your cock - it’s like pillowtalk but you know you’ll have to wrap it up. “Just trying to see where I’m at, with you.” You settle a hand around her tiny waist, skimming her ribs. “You like being called princess, you like calling me sir, like pretending to be bred but would hate the real thing-“
“Right,” says Miyeon, suddenly sort of sleepy again, nudging her face into the crook of your neck.
“You’re a cumslut.” The words are nasty but the way you’re saying them, smoothing a hand over her hair - it’s all fondness, all feeling. Oh, you really dug yourself a hole here with this one. There’s no coming back from it. “And your pussy is incredible. And you sob like you’re dying when you get fucked good enough.”
“Yep.”
“Am I missing anything?”
Miyeon doesn’t emerge from your neck, just holds out her hand, curls it in a grabbing motion. “Phone,” she says, muffled by your collarbone.
You fish it out of your pocket, charmed. Miyeon adjusts herself in your lap, and you let your hand drop to her hip, balancing her; it’s worse, it’s all falling into place like puzzle pieces. You kiss her hair and she begins to enter her number into your phone. There’s something strangely domestic about it, and it’s such an awful idea, to think it - more damning than the sex, than the cum still dripping out of Miyeon’s pussy. It’s sweet. It’s comfortable. That’s the first - the second - the tenth problem, at least.
“There,” says Miyeon, and hands your phone back to you. “I gave you my number and texted myself.” Her eyes glitter as she tucks her knees up to your chest. “Now I’ve got your number. That means you can’t accidentally grow a guilty conscience and forget about me.”
“Thanks.” You can’t stop looking at her - she’s so gorgeous, so wrecked, your pristine little princess fucked and filled and wrapped up in your arms. “And there’s no way in hell I’d ever forget about you.”
You’re just bouncing back her own words at her, theoretically, but Miyeon beams like she knows you mean more than that. Hey, you did say she was always your best student: she knows how to read between the lines.
-
You’ve got a wet spot on your pants and Miyeon’s wobbling on unsteady legs, so badly that you basically have to hold her up around the waist - but your pants are black anyway, and you’ve cleaned most of the ruined makeup off of her face. There are efforts made to be presentable. Miyeon tilts her cheek into your shoulder and won’t make eye contact with anyone. The bar’s busy. You pretend not to notice, tug her closer. You grin at the bartender, who raises his eyebrows like he’s impressed - well, he should be.
It’s cold outside - you think Miyeon will freeze in her tiny dress, so you keep your arms around her, and kiss the top of her head. Miyeon smiles at you, all teeth, all tenderness. Her eyes are warm, radiant, softening every edge of the night; she stands on her tiptoes, slots her mouth to yours.
“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” you murmur, fingertips dancing down the curve of her back.
“Probably,” agrees Miyeon, and lets her nose brush yours. “Take me home.”
-
You do. She doesn’t let you into her apartment - my roommate’s a whore who will try to jump your bones, she tells you matter-of-factly, and doesn’t elaborate, so you let that one go - but you walk her to the door - you’re a gentleman - and then you pin her up against it and slip your hand up her dress, get your fingers on her clit, inside her, cover her mouth as she cums - okay, so maybe you’re not.
“I’m keeping your panties, princess,” you say, after. It’s a fair trade.
Miyeon’s cheeks are flushed pink, and you’ve never found the phrase post-orgasm glow quite so apt. “Okay,” she says, voice softer than her skin as you rub between her shoulder blades, tangling her blonde hair.
You laugh out loud. “There’s no way you’re being shy right now,” you say. “I just fucked you in public-“ You gesture out at the open night, at the occasionally passing cars- “for the second time in an hour.” Your cum from earlier is now dripping down her thighs, too, but that one’s almost too obvious to call attention to.
“A bathroom stall is not public.”
“It was a public bathroom, Miyeon. It’s in the name.”
“You’re lecturing me on semantics?” Miyeon asks, eyes narrowing, a playful slant to her lips. “What are you, my teacher?”
Oh, she loves this - and at this point, you’re too far gone to pretend you don’t kind of love it too. “Shut up,” you say, forgoing maturity, and kiss her one more time, because you have to.
It’s all such a disaster, and you already know this: because it’s too casual, too comfortable, too easy - to kiss her like you’ve got a claim to her, to cum inside her pussy like you own it. You think of framing her fluttering eyelashes and sated, tiny smile as you pull back, think of her in your bed, on your kitchen counter with her legs spread, in the passenger seat of your car with her hand wrapped around your cock. She’s got all the dirtiest parts of your imagination on lock with that face alone. It couldn’t be worse.
“I’ll see you later,” you say, suddenly breathless.
“See you,” Miyeon says, grinning at you - and you know right then that you’ll never be able to leave this alone.
-
You’re right. It’s a whirlwind. That same weekend, you call her, give her your address, ask her to come over - you accidentally end up on the phone for two hours before she even leaves her apartment, and nothing in the conversation ends up being about sex. You tell her about a new story you’re starting. She tells you about a class she’s taking that she hates, about a gig her friend Yuqi’s band is doing. It’s so easy to get caught up in conversation with her, to tell her about every thought that pops into your head, to listen as she tells you hers - there’s that word again. Easy. It’s bad.
Eventually, Miyeon says, “Oh, I was supposed to come over to fuck you, wasn’t I?”
It’s cute, it’s adorable, even when it shouldn’t be. “You forgot?” you ask, teasing. “I thought all this talk was just foreplay.”
“Yeah, I’m, like, dripping. Talking about how Yuqi’s gonna have to find a replacement for her notoriously flaky keyboardist really got me going.”
You never expect Miyeon to get sarcastic, to get snarky and dry, but it’s always so charming when she does. Even more charming when every time, without fail, she always follows it up with-
“Sorry.” Miyeon breathes out on a giggle, bordering bashful. She can rarely be sassy without apologizing for it immediately after. Oh, it’s her pedigree, it’s the nature of a monarch, all her humility, her politeness - she can never keep a bit running for long.
“You should be,” you say. “Get over here, princess.”
A smile seeps into her voice. “Yes, sir.”
“Oh, my god.” There’s a loud, feminine voice on Miyeon’s end, somewhere in the background, crowing with open delight. “Cho Miyeon, are you having phone sex right now?”
“Nicha,” Miyeon says sharply, clearly scandalized.
“Oh my god.” The word’s a switch flipped: now the voice sounds equally scandalized. “You’re bringing out my government name? Is it that serious?”
Apparently, it is. “Ignore her,” Miyeon says, to you this time. “See you in fifteen minutes.”
You can’t back down from the opportunity to provoke her, especially when you’ve never quite seen her on edge, not the way she sounds right now. Whoever this Nicha person is - she knows exactly how to push Miyeon’s buttons. Well, you’ll take a page out of her book.
“Hey,” you say, grinning, “speaking of phone sex - you know, I wouldn’t be opposed-“
“Ugh!” You can practically hear Miyeon’s flustered expression through the phone, can see the pretty, flattering way she’d blush and pout and slump her shoulders. “You’re - you’re fucking impossible. Bye. Bye!”
“See you in fifteen minutes,” you echo, and laugh out loud when she huffs one more time, and hangs up the phone.
-
Look, your apartment’s nothing special - you’re on a teacher’s salary, for fuck’s sake. It’s serviceable, bland. You’ve got some plants, you’ve got well-kept bookshelves, you keep it clean and uncluttered. You’ve got some recessed lighting and a vintage sofa. Needless to say, your apartment’s never seen a lot of luxury. The walls, the furniture, the floors - they’re patently unused to pretty things. You don’t have the means, or the motive. It’s just you. There’s no one to impress.
Okay - until now, at least, because you’ve got-
“Oh, look at my girl.”
You’ve got your fists wrapped in blonde hair, got wet, vulgar gurgling sounds bouncing floor-to-ceiling, got the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen on her knees in front of you with your cock shoved down her throat. It’s all so new. If these walls could talk - but they can’t, so she’s all yours. You’ll live with it.
“You’re so good for me, princess. You love choking on that fucking cock, huh?”
You can’t believe Miyeon’s face: her fine eyebrows upturned, the tears streaking down her face, running dark with eyeliner, mascara - the way she’s slobbering around your cock, drooling. The way she tilts her chin back, breathes through her nose, relaxes her throat; the way she lets you grab her head and fuck her face like you’ve got the right to.
(Well, you do. She’s yours. She sure as hell feels it with your cock knocking right into her gag reflex.)
“You’re mine,” you say, and it’s so soon, so possessive. Miyeon, on her knees in front of you, a vision when she’s being fucked out and used. “This throat belongs to me, baby. I’m gonna fuck it whenever I want, okay?” You pause, give a particularly violent thrust, bite back a moan. “Don’t pretend like you don’t fucking love it.”
Miyeon’s not pretending at all, actually; she’s too far gone for that. Her top is already tugged up, her tits heaving with each wet, strangled breath, with each time you grab her skull and bury yourself into her throat - and then there’s the fact that her knees are parted, her underwear long gone, her own fingers deep inside her pussy.
No point in any pretense. It’s all out there on the table - oh, that’s an idea, bending her over every flat surface of your house; every piece of furniture can see this new, pretty thing you own - and she’s got nothing to hide. She’s so turned on just from letting you use her like your own personal fuckdoll. There’s no coming back from this, either.
It’s those Bambi eyes, wide and watery. She’s staring rapturously at you like she’d do anything for you - and only Cho Miyeon can turn a blowjob - well, a full facefuck, really - into something holy. She’s the one on her knees, sure, but there’s no other way to put it: she lets you ram your dick down her throat and you swear you’re seeing Jesus.
She’s got this expert mouth, the way she knows all the right things to do to take a cock like yours - she gags like it’s something purposeful, performative; even the way her spit dribbles down her chin seems choreographed.
“I’m gonna cum now,” you exhale, and it’s not a request, “down your fucking throat, and you’re gonna swallow it all because you’re just a hole for me to use, yeah?” You see Miyeon’s fingers moving faster in and out of her pussy, her rhythm turning sloppy, irregular - the way she gets off on being treated like your property is unbelievable, it’s godly. “Nasty fucking cumslut.” It’s a way to up the ante: she loves the praise, but she loves the degradation, too - she really will take whatever you give her and love it. “Gonna fill your throat with my cum, gonna make you fucking take it-“
You cum down her throat, buried completely, and feel her swallow over the head of your cock, gulping down all your cum. It’s a concerted effort, it’s somehow with all the focus in the world despite how she’s got her cunt stuffed with her own fingers, practically humping her own hand, leaking all over your floors - and when you slowly unsheathe yourself from Miyeon’s hot, wet mouth, her eyes fall shut, her jaw still half-open.
“Look at you,” you murmur, spent and a bit mesmerized - it wasn’t a small load, and you’re not an easy cock to take. You lower yourself to the ground next to her, stroking your thumb across the soft curve of her jaw. “Oh, princess.”
Miyeon opens her mouth, sticks out her pink tongue, shows it clean and cum-free.
You grin, a little wildly. “Good girl.”
“Thank you, sir.” You take her delicate wrist in your hand, bring her cum-slick fingers to your lips - you’ll have to get your mouth on that pussy eventually, but this’ll do for now. Miyeon doesn’t even make any effort to stand, just throws herself half in your lap, her bare thighs grazing your cock. She looks up at you with those glassy, hypnotizing eyes as you suck her own cum off of her fingers, trembling, oversensitive; you’re sure she made herself cum probably more than once. “You liked fucking my mouth?”
It’s the way she asks it, all this faux-innocence: she obviously knows you loved it and she’s just fishing for compliments. Well, you’ll indulge her.
“Of course,” you tell her, bemused by her transparency, and skim your thumb over one of her nipples, making her shiver. “You’re - you’re really good at that, you know.”
Miyeon tilts her head, tongues the corner of her red, well-fucked mouth. “At sucking cock?” Her expression shifts, takes a turn - there’s a wit hiding in the whole virtuous act she likes playing so well. “I’m just a natural, I guess. I’ve never sucked a cock before in my life.” She nods, all false humility. “That was my first time, actually.”
She’s fucking with you, but you’d probably never be able to catch it if you hadn’t picked up on at least a few of her tells by now. “Shut the fuck up,” you say, and all of a sudden you’re laughing, defenseless after your mildly world-shattering orgasm. “You’re so stupid.”
“No, you want the truth? I was a virgin before that night in the bar. You totally deflowered me.”
“Miyeon.”
“I’m being serious.” Miyeon’s smiling sweetly now, always ready to run a joke into the ground. She’s mostly naked on your lap, and she’s leaving a wet spot on your jeans from god knows how many times she came just from fingering herself, just from getting her throat fucked. It’s insane how she can still bring out this virginal angel just to mess with you. “I’m a good girl, like you said. You corrupted me. All of this sluttiness is entirely recent and completely your fault.”
“Shut up,” you complain, but you’re still laughing, and now Miyeon’s breaking character just to laugh at you, too.
“Sorry,” she says, and she’s burying her face into your neck, slightly delirious, her shoulders shaking with her giggles. “Sorry. You’re right. You caught me. I’ve been a whore this whole time.”
“I know, baby,” you tell her tolerantly, and kiss her temple, move some of the damp, unruly strands of hair off her cheeks. After a face-fuck that rough, it’s almost unfathomable that the energy between you two ends up getting too sentimental for the moment, but maybe it’s just the way things were always meant to go.
-
Like you said, there’s this new story you’re starting. It’s nothing long-term, nothing especially complicated. It’s about a girl, so it’s the oldest story ever told. It’s about longing, so you’re leaning into the melodrama. It’s all about the feeling, and where you’re at in your life, right now, you’ve never quite lived through the kind of love that’s in all the novels, so you’re mostly making it up, playing it by ear, pulling fiction from fantasy.
(That’s what you’ll tell yourself. It’s really too soon for it to be anything else.)
-
Things escalate, fast. Miyeon’s over at your place all the time. Sometimes you pick her up from some of her later classes, take her out, take her back to your apartment. They’re not dates, exactly. You both just have a love for cinema, for new bestsellers that you discuss like you’re middle-aged wine moms at a book club, getting too into it. Also, once you two get wrapped up in conversation, it’s almost impossible to just drop it there. You and Miyeon start talking and you never really stop.
It’s like you blink and suddenly you’re two months in - and it’s not like you’re in a relationship, but it’s pretty clear that you’re exclusively fooling around, and you also spend so much of your time together that you know what’d it look like to an outsider. You talk to Miyeon about pretty much everything, but you avoid any mention of making it official. You’re two months in, and she finally invites you over to her apartment.
“I know,” she says, the first time you come over. “It’s egregious. I get it.”
You haven’t even said anything, but she’s not wrong. Her apartment’s gorgeous once you see it on the inside, and way bigger than you thought it was - ridiculous, considering it’s just her and her roommate. Nothing like what you’d expect the average college student to be able to afford, but-
“My family,” Miyeon offers, by way of explanation. “They like to spoil me.” You’d kind of already known that, though. The high school you teach at is this swanky private one, and it wasn’t unusual to have the children of business tycoons, lawyers, doctors, the like - and she’d graduated from there, so it’s not quite out of left field. “And my roommate’s descended from Thai royalty, or something. She’s not exactly hurting for money, either.”
“Naturally,” you say.
So her apartment becomes fair game, too. She gives you her spare key like it’s nothing - easy access, she tells you, covers up the intimacy with innuendo. She forbids you from coming around when her roommate is home, but that ends up being a lost cause. You’re bound to have run-ins with her friends, you realize that - Miyeon’s always been exceedingly well-liked, notoriously popular - but it doesn’t fully hit you how seriously close you’ve gotten until it actually happens.
You’ve somehow managed to fuck her almost everywhere in her apartment without running into her roommate until it’s a Sunday, almost three months from that first day - and everything about you and Miyeon together is sacrilege, you know that; maybe it’s a sign - and you’re coming to take her out to this sale at your favorite bookstore, and probably fuck her in the bathroom of the coffee shop next door. It’s a toss-up, it’s all going according to plan-
That is, until you step into the kitchen, and there’s a girl standing at the counter who is decidedly not Miyeon.
“Uh,” you say. “Hello?”
The girl glances up at her phone, immediately gets this curl to her red-lipped mouth, and - oh.
This is the roommate. It’s clear, in an instant: you’ve heard how Miyeon talks about her roommate, you’ve heard her voice on the phone - you’re not a fan of using any derogatory language towards women you don’t know, so you’ll put it like this: she’s got a reputation already. She smiles at you coyly, puts her phone face-down on the counter; she’s living up to it.
“Hi,” she says, voice smooth, velvety. She’s got these unreasonably gorgeous eyes, accented with thick eyeliner, mascara: they’re a striking, arresting pale green, at odds with the fairness of her skin, the jet-black of her hair. “You’re Miyeon’s boyfriend, right?”
“Um,” you say, intelligently; so, that’s a label you two still haven’t discussed. You should get on that, maybe.
The girl’s smile widens, like she’s taking your hesitation as a go-ahead, a green light. Oh, this one’s trouble. You know it without even knowing her.
“Well,” she says, propping her elbows up on the kitchen counter. She’s wearing a tight, low-cut shirt - it’s insanely flattering, and, hey, you’re only human. You notice but you’ll pretend that you don’t. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Minnie.”
“Nice to meet you,” you say, a little amused by the performance of it all.
Minnie tilts her head, looking you up and down. Her eyes fall half-lidded, in this sleepy, sexy way that seems unintentional, but you’re already getting the sense that nothing Minnie does is unintentional.
“Hey,” she purrs, and it already sounds like a proposition. “You’re kind of hot, you know.”
“Oh, am I?” you ask, humoring her. She’s just so obvious. It’s sort of fascinating.
“I’d say so.” Minnie rounds the counter, and she’s wearing this short skirt, legs bare and slender, all toned. Her hair brushes just past the high line of her collarbone. There's something about her that oozes sex appeal - it’s impossible to ignore.
“Just a heads-up,” she says, “if you ever get bored of Miyeon and her whole princess thing, my room’s right down the hall from hers.” Minnie smiles, devilish. There’s an irony about it that makes you wonder if it’s a genuine offer or some sort of private joke she’s making, something you’re not cool enough to be in on. “So - you know where I am.”
It’s more than slightly hilarious that you met thirty seconds ago, and she’s already offering up sex like it’s nothing - if she were less gorgeous, you’d laugh out loud, but Minnie wears her allure like jewelry, something to show off and brag about. This is definitely a girl who’s used to getting what she wants.
It doesn’t escape you that Minnie’s the polar opposite of Miyeon, who wields her beauty with all this innocence, all the false wide-eyed naïvete in the word - she’s a good girl, that’s her starring role. This girl - Minnie - nothing about her’s innocent, not in the least. Her tongue darts across her bottom lip; she looks like she’d eat you alive, if given the chance. She’s hot. She’s also not even remotely your type, because that’s obviously-
“Oh my god,” says Miyeon, rushing down the stairs, feet hitting the hardwood as she practically jumps off the last step. “Oh my god. Nicha, I swear to god, if you’re trying to fuck him right now-”
Minnie actually looks mildly pained. “Please chill with the government name.”
“You’re such a whore,” grumbles Miyeon, bounding towards you to clutch at your hand. It’s a side you’ve never seen of her: jealousy. It’s adorable, but everything she does is adorable. Miyeon glares pointedly at Minnie, tells you, “The eyes are fake. Don’t fall for it.”
“What?” you ask. Minnie blinks at you, grins.
“They’re colored contacts,” says Miyeon, scowling. “Fake. So fake. She’s not even that hot without them.”
“I’m very hot without them,” argues Minnie, but she leans back, brushing her hair over her shoulders - it’s a clear surrender, a white flag waving. She’s backing off.
“Sorry,” she says, and barely sounds like she means it, but her smile’s charming enough for her to pull it off. “Didn’t mean to be a homewrecker or whatever.”
You’re not really sure what it is, but it takes a second, and it’s like you’re looking at someone totally different. Minnie’s whole sensual persona slips away, vanishes entirely - now she’s just got her head tipped like a puppy, watching the two of you with curious eyes. Even her voice rises in pitch - so there’s the behind-the-scenes, the performance dropped. She’d probably make a killing as an actress. It’s actually almost impressive, how she can turn the seduction off and on like a switch.
“Liar,” says Miyeon, detaching herself from you, but the venom’s drained out of her voice. She goes to Minnie, winds her arms around her waist, kisses Minnie’s cheek affectionately. “She’s a natural slut,” she says to you, but now she’s smiling too. “She can’t help it.”
“It’s in my genes,” agrees Minnie, pressing her lips to the top of Miyeon’s head.
“Right,” you say. You’re getting the feeling the bickering is just a facet of Miyeon and Minnie’s friendship, because they very clearly adore each other. Oh, well. It’s cute. You won’t question it.
“And she likes to take things that belong to me,” adds Miyeon, a certain wickedness to it, a threat.
You raise your eyebrows at her; possessiveness looks great on her, but then again, so does everything. Minnie shrugs, doesn’t even bother to deny it. Clearly, it’s an old fight, a score they’ve far past settled.
“Good to know,” you say, and hardly lift a hand in Miyeon’s direction - she comes to you as easy as if you’d given her a verbal command. It’s not exactly subtle, how she slips under your arm like it’s an order she’s following.
“Oh,” says Minnie, and it sounds like oh, I get it - it’s like that. Like she’s got you two pegged instantly. Maybe she does. “You guys are dating.”
“We’re not,” says Miyeon, boredly. The disinterest’s entirely an act, but an excellent one.
“Baby, it wasn’t a question,” says Minnie, wry like she can read Miyeon’s mind. There’s something so intense about her eyes, no matter how false they might be - the way they flick from you to Miyeon, drawing lines, dynamics. You don’t know how much Miyeon has told her, but she observes the two of you like she knows everything and then some. She purses her lips, then packs it up. You’re not sure what she’s seeing when she looks at you and Miyeon but you think you’ve got an idea.
“Have a good night,” Minnie tells you, and the smile that follows is secretive, enigmatic. “And it was so great to finally meet you.”
-
“She seems nice,” you say.
“She’s a whore,” says Miyeon, rapid-fire, and then laughs a sudden, musical laugh. “She’s also, like, my favorite person in the world. I didn’t think you’d meet her like that - I swear I thought she wasn’t home.”
“So crazy that she thought we were dating,” you say, dryly.
“Yeah,” Miyeon replies, in your car, pretty in a pink dress as you’re taking her out. The sarcasm’s too thick to call out. You both know what game you’re playing, by now. “Who could’ve ever come to a stupid conclusion like that?”
-
You two are able to talk about anything, you settle on a handful of books to buy, you don’t even have to go next door because you get Miyeon’s panties off in the dark alleyway, sink to your knees and eat her out. She squeals and mewls and sucks at keeping quiet. Her pussy’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted, but you’ve learned by now that Miyeon’s the kind of girl who’s impossible to compete with.
“I’m fucking obsessed with you,” she tells you, shamelessly, as you wipe her cum off of your chin.
“Right back at you,” you say, and kiss her until she’s gasping for air. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be but with her, and you don’t have to ask - she kneels to return the favor, and you know she feels the same.
-
Minnie actually ends up having a running commentary on your relationship - you’ve realized by now that she’s Miyeon’s best friend, which means she doesn’t believe in boundaries, or mincing words. Case in point - well, there’s several, but you’ll settle for this one:
“Jesus fucking Christ,” says Minnie, one evening, when she catches you and Miyeon on the couch in their apartment. “You two are disgusting.”
It’s a big reaction, considering you and Miyeon aren’t anywhere near having sex - you’re hotly debating the quality of an Netflix miniseries you just finished binge-watching together, discussing themes and plot points and character arcs. Miyeon’s defending it to the death, calling it camp, pulling up comparisons to cinematic masterpieces on her phone. You hate it; you’re arguing that it’s trite garbage, clinical and passionless and dumb.
“What?” says Miyeon, confused. “We’re just talking.”
“Yeah,” you say. “We’re fully clothed and everything.”
“It’s disgusting that Miyeon somehow found someone just as pretentious as she is to argue about her dumbass TV shows with,” clarifies Minnie, her arms crossed. “It’s gross. You two are gross. Like - we get it, you’re made for each other because you both take media analysis way too seriously.”
Miyeon stares at her, mouth agape. Minnie turns on her heel and walks right out, apparently too nauseated by you both to tolerate your presence any longer.
“Um,” you say, a little lost for words.
Miyeon’s discarded her phone on her coffee table, and now she’s watching you, eyes suddenly soft. You raise your eyebrows at her, can’t fight the smile at how she scoots closer to you, tucks her thighs up to her knee. “Yes?” you ask, expectantly.
��Nothing,” Miyeon says, tapping her dainty fingers along your wrist, thumb skipping across your pulse point. “But you’ve thought about it before, haven’t you?”
You don’t pretend that you don’t know what she’s talking about - you respect her too much for that. You nod, watch her throat bobs when she swallows, looks up at you carefully, like she’s trying to memorize the look on your face.
“Alright,” says Miyeon, finally. “It’s just - we kind of work, in a weird way.”
It’s cute, her restraint. You slip a hand in her hair, bring her close so you can kiss her forehead. “We kind of do,” you tell her, and you have faith that you’ll get there. It’s only a matter of time.
-
You’re still not really dating, but - so, it’s complicated.
It’s a Tuesday when you’re both out getting coffee together, and it’s under the pretense of sex, because it always is. Miyeon likes getting fucked where she knows she can get caught, and it’s her thing, it’s a pattern: public bathrooms, parks, alleyways, dressing rooms. There’s something so filthy about it, the juxtaposition - your perfect, pristine girl, begging for your cock in the nastiest places, biting down on your fingers to keep from screaming, walking out with cum dripping from her cunt like it’s nothing. It’s worse because nothing about her’s inconspicuous, after this - she walks out of every round looking exactly like she just had the best sex of her life, and nothing less. Everyone who sees you two together knows what you’re up to. It’s just that much hotter.
So - that’s the thing. It’s easy for you guys to spend all your free time together - between the college classes she’s taking, between the high school ones you’re teaching. You call her on lunch breaks, after you’re done for the day, say all sorts of suggestive things; she responds in kind, all dirty texts and pictures. Her pussy takes up half your photo gallery. See, it’s not romantic, at its core; it can’t be. It’s too dirty. There’s nothing sweet about it.
Except-
You’re supposed to be having a hook-up, right now. You’re supposed to be fucking her in the bathroom of this coffee shop. That was the proposition when she texted you i need your dick now with absolutely zero shame, along with pictures of her outfit, her tiny white top pulled down to expose her creamy tits, her hard nipples. That was the entire idea.
“I love that book,” Miyeon’s telling you now, splitting a slice of coffee cake with you across the table. Best laid plans, or whatever. Somehow you two always get distracted by conversation first. “Well, that’s the thing about you and me. Nobody my own age appreciates classic literature.”
“That’s such a lie,” you say, endeared. “You’re flattering me.”
“None of my friends know them front to back like you do,” she points out, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her stunning eyes are bright, her words fast and passionate - she always gets like this when she’s excited, animated, dialed up to eleven. You shouldn’t find it as adorable as you do. “Because you’ve taught them. You’ve studied them - you get all the nuance. Also, you’re old.”
She’s making fun of you. “Cool it.”
“But it’s true,” Miyeon laments, pushing buttons on purpose. “Of course you know the classics - you’re, like, ancient enough to remember when they all first came out.”
“I’m seven years older than you.” It’s been established, by now. Miyeon still gets off on the gap between you two, even though it’s nowhere near as wide as she likes to pretend it is. “Calm down.”
You’re smiling, though. Miyeon grins, takes a bite of her cake. “You get me, is my point,” she says, dropping the dramatics. “That’s all I’m saying.”
You’re supposed to be fucking her half to death in a public bathroom by now, and you probably will, after all of this. It’s just - you’re blurring lines. You’re not dating, not really. It’s just that you can talk to her for hours on end without getting bored, and sometimes all you have to do is look at her to know exactly what she’s thinking, exactly what dumb joke she’s about to make, exactly what face she’ll pull at something you say. It’s just supposed to be sex, but she’s all you ever think about. It’s nothing serious, but you get the sense she feels the same way.
“I do,” you say, softer than intended.
There’s this way Miyeon smiles at you, sometimes. It’s the same look she gets on her face when you’re watching one of her favorite movies together, something woefully pretentious and deeply romantic, something that’s bound to get her teary-eyed and laughing at the same time, curled up in your lap. Like she’s looking at something she’d never want to look away from.
“Well,” she says decisively, and under the table, her hand finds your thigh. You’ll put a pin in all those feelings. They’ll come back around eventually. “I’m glad we agree. Wanna fuck me senseless in the bathroom now?”
Even now, you’ll never be able to refuse her, but you’ll play nonchalant. “Tempting.”
“I know,” Miyeon says, doe-eyed, and her mouth tips to a smirk. She’s so sentimental until she isn’t. “You can’t resist me.”
“Nope,” you comply, giving in like it’s nothing, and then you’re tugging her right out of her seat. Well, it’s par for the course. When it’s you and her together, neither of you can keep up an act for long.
-
You’re not dating, and it’s not sweet, it’s not romance. It actually gets kind of extreme, there in that one-person bathroom, where you’ve got her back against the counter and one of her thighs tucked to her chest, and you’re pounding her pussy so hard it’s bordering violent. She’s sniffling, tears dribbling down her cheeks, and that’s all her signs at once: she’s only this much of a mess when she’s loving it.
“Look at you, princess,” you murmur, and she gasps into the fingers you’ve got stuffed in her mouth, drooling all over you. “You’re just addicted to this cock in that tiny little pussy, aren’t you? You’d let me keep you like this for fucking days, just being my pretty fucking cockwarmer. You’d die for it.”
Miyeon grips your wrist, spits your fingers out from between her lips. Her eyes are mesmerizing, glassy and lined with newly mussed makeup from how she’s crying - she’s become such a disaster, so fast. This is always the best part: how you wreck her, how she lets you.
“Yes,” she pants. “It’s yours, it’s all yours - feels so good, sir, my pussy belongs to you-”
“I know, baby.” You grip your hand in her silky blonde hair, and the whimper she lets out is from the pain, from the pleasure - for her, it’s the thinnest line, it’s already overlapping. “Let me keep you on my cock for a weekend, cumming in all your holes…” You lean in close, nip at her ear, yank her head back. “Imagine it,” you hum. “Imagine just being my cumdump for days, just taking load after load in that little cunt. Keeping you on my lap, all that cum inside you, plugged up by my dick…”
Miyeon knows it’s coming. You can tell how her eyes fall shut, how her tiny body trembles, how she clenches around your cock - she’s trying so hard to keep quiet and only half-succeeding. Well, you’ll push her over the edge.
“How long do you think it’d take to get you knocked up?”
“Stop,” she whimpers, but she darts a glance up at you in the mirror, eyes glimmering. You’ve got your boundaries, your safewords - you know it’s not an actual rejection.
“Stop?” you ask, and there’s danger in the way you laugh, a warning. Miyeon catches it, whines and writhes and only gets wetter. “Please. Don’t act like you don’t love the idea of me breeding that slutty fucking pussy. Cumming all the way inside your womb, filling you up with my load - you’re young, Miyeon, you know what you are.” It’s two hits in one, and she bites so hard into her bottom lip you’re shocked she’s not drawing blood. “A tight little body like this is fucking made to be bred. You’d be so fucking lucky if I got you pregnant, wouldn’t you? If I used you as a fuckhole to breed and nothing else - if I fucking owned you, made you belong to me, used you like my fucking property-”
Miyeon’s breathing stutters so badly you think she might be on the verge of hyperventilating - but you’ve also never seen her so ruined, so consumed by your cock in her, by the fantasy you’re painting. “Oh my fucking god,” she chokes out, and she keeps it as quiet as she can - you’re still in public, and the pressure’s only getting to her more, getting her hot and riled and helpless - but she’s too far gone for composure. “Oh my god. Oh, fuck-”
“Say it,” you snarl, right at her ear. “Say it, princess. I know you want to. Tell me what you want me to fucking do to you.”
There’s no stopping, no stalling - you’ve pushed her right to the edge, and she’s past pretending like she doesn’t want exactly what you’re giving her.
“I want you to breed me.” Miyeon’s sobbing, lost in the euphoria, in the very thought of it - the way she lets you break her so completely, in public where anyone would catch her: it’s criminal, it’s tugging an angel out of the sky just to fuck her down to hell. “I - just need you to fuck me, breed me, use me - do whatever you want to me, I just need you, sir, I need it - you’re right, I’m just a fuckhole, you own me, I belong to you-”
“That’s my girl.” Your hand drops to her clit just as her elbows hit the hard surface of the counter.
When she cums, now you know she draws blood - she’s got her knuckles at all her pretty white teeth, and the way her body contorts as her orgasm overwhelms her is something animalistic, feral. You’re cumming with her, but you can’t take your eyes off of Miyeon’s reflection in the mirror, off of the straps of her top hanging off her slender shoulders, the mess you’ve made of her hair, the destroyed makeup dripping from her eyes - there’s something so aesthetically flawless about the crease between her eyebrows, the heavy rise and fall of her chest, the way she spits scarlet blood into the sink in one quick, debilitated move. It’s like she’s a masterpiece, fucked out, fucked up. She's a portrait made to be ogled, observed and fawned over. Every detail’s goddamn perfect.
You catch her around the waist, slide your cock out of her as she whimpers. Her pale knuckles are beading with blood, and she’s still got some between her teeth. Miyeon turns her head again, spits, but it comes out weaker, drool slipping from the corner of her mouth.
“Miyeon,” you mumble, and go for her purse on the counter instead of the paper towel dispenser - when you’ve got a girl who likes being fucked in public as much as Miyeon does, you’re a pro at damage control by now.
The sound Miyeon lets out isn’t even close to anything coherent, any full words or sentiments. You take the package of makeup wipes, pat Miyeon’s hip, turn her around. “You’re okay,” you tell her, gently getting to work at the eyeliner, the bloody spit at her lips. “Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay. I got you.”
Miyeon still can’t speak, but she leans her lithe body into you, lets you take her jaw in your hand. There’s something so careful about the way you clean her up, take care of her after - that’s the thing about fucking a masterpiece; there’s an upkeep to it, a science in the art.
You toss the used makeup wipes in the trash when you’re done, then spin her around, smooth your hands through her hair. “Alright,” you say, and you go for her panties, tugging them back up around her hips. Your cum will be leaking out of her the whole way home, but it’s par for the course. “How are we holding up?”
There’s always this disparity between the two of you - she can barely walk after cumming, you’re mostly functional. It’s how you work, you think. She’s your girl, your baby; it’s the point. She knows you’ve got her, no matter what you do to her.
Miyeon meets your eyes in the mirror, breathing evening out, completely spent. She curves into you, into your hand on her tiny waist, and presses her lips to your cheek.
“You already know this,” she says, voice hoarse. You flip the tap on to wash her blood out of the sink, go for a tissue in her purse. “But no one compares to you, ever.”
It shouldn’t get to you like it does, but it does.
You press the tissue to Miyeon’s bloody knuckles, kiss the high point of her wrist. “Well,” you tell her, unable to drag your gaze away from those gorgeous eyes, looking at you with all the open devotion in the world. “It’s a good thing the feeling’s mutual.”
-
You run into one of the employees outside the bathroom, but there’s not a line, thank god. Well, it could be worse.
The employee’s staring at the two of you like she’s suspicious but too grossly underpaid to call you on anything. “Um,” she says.
“Sorry,” you say, and pull Miyeon tight to your side, slipping the palm of your hand over her stomach. “My wife - she’s pregnant with her first. Morning sickness.” You kiss the top of Miyeon’s hair. “Takes a lot out of her.”
Miyeon’s gawking at you with wide, shocked eyes. You ignore it, smile beatifically.
It’s not a bad act, on your part. The employee says, “Oh, yeah, okay. You were just in there a while, so I was - well, congrats, on the baby.”
“Thanks,” you say politely, and slip past the employee, Miyeon tucked under your arm. “That’s kind of you, really.”
The performance comes unraveled the moment you leave the coffee shop, and Miyeon’s half-irate, slapping at your chest, wavering on unsteady legs as you step out on the sidewalk together. You grin down at her, play dumb. “What’s wrong?”
“You are so fucked in the head,” accuses Miyeon, but then she’s laughing so raucously that she almost tumbles to the concrete in her platform sandals. You steady her waist, rein her back in. “You’re so - your wife? Pregnant? You’re such a - I hate you, I seriously-”
“You seemed to like the idea when I was fucking you.”
Miyeon’s been railed a little stupid, still, so she’s sort of slow on the uptake, can’t find a good comeback. She flounders, then says, “Um, no,” and it’s the weakest lie you’ve ever heard.
“No?” You crack up, lead her towards your car. “Need me to refresh your memory?”
“Maybe,” says Miyeon slyly, not even hesitating, and you roll your eyes and open the car door for her. You’ll circle back to that plan another day.
-
“So,” says Miyeon, later, in the passenger seat of your car. The window’s rolled down and the wind is throwing her blonde hair into disarray, sending her cheeks pink and lips bitten from the cold. She’s a vision, but she always is. “Cockwarming weekend? Or are you just all talk?”
You risk a glance over at her, pretend like you wouldn’t stop traffic just to stare. “Don’t be a brat.”
“You love it when I’m a brat,” says Miyeon, correctly, shuffling in her seat. There are bruises on her thigh from how hard you gripped her when you fucked her, hickeys decorating the delicate rise of her collarbone. She’s filled with your cum, but that’s nothing new. “So? What do you think about next week?”
“Miyeon,” you say, unable to tell if she’s actually serious.
“I trust you’ll handle the logistics,” she says, her voice lilting, melodic, and her hand grazes your cheek, tangles into your hair. She says it like I trust you, like do whatever you want to me - I’ll let you.
It’s a dirty proposal, but she manages to sneak sweetness in there anyway. There’s sincerity, between the lines of all the filth. It’s a running theme.
“I’ll ruin you,” you warn, and it should send alarms blaring.
Miyeon smiles like they’re the best sound she’s ever heard. “Oh, no,” she says, thumbing the side of your mouth, and she’s laughing. “I think that ship has already sailed.”
-
You make a lot of progress, on that story of yours. There’s no real reason: it’s just that you’ve found a muse who’s always content to be right by your side, clothed or unclothed, cumming or laughing or talking, wrapped up in your sheets past all the orgasms and far into the night.
(Miyeon stays, against all odds, even when you both know she doesn’t have to. Maybe, for you, there’s just a lot of inspiration to be found in that.)
-
planning for a part 2... eventually... but we'll see lmao
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I'm going to toss this out: I read a lot of Anti Bakugou fics and I always end up stumbling upon All Might Bashing or Eraserhead Bashing with it. Both of these always get me mad. Not because I love them (and I do), I do acknowledge they fucked up a lot in canon. All Might less so then Aizawa (and I have OPINIONS on why people always make All Might out to be this Quirkist bigot) but still.
My issue comes when the consequences start and Bakugou gets off with a slap on the wrist compared to Aizawa or All Might. It doesn't make sense.
Bakugou is not some six-year-old child being led around by adults. He's a teenager who was exposed to the real world. In canon we know he wants to keep his record clean so he can go to UA, we know he's aware he could have killed Izuku if he didn't dodge. We know Bakugou bullied other children and not just Izuku.
Bakugou is fully at fault for his own actions. There's this one fic I read where it's pointed out that like in our world, statistics and gofundmes for discriminated people would be common, and as Quirkless people are discriminated against, they would be part of this. So the argument: I was told it was okay because he's Quirkless falls apart because Bakugou isn't stupid. He isn't.
Did Aizawa fuck up with Bakugou and Izuku? Yes. Did All Might fuck up? Yes. But Bakugou is the only one truly responsible for his own actions.
People like to say Aizawa’s trauma is no excuse but then Bakugou’s trauma is an excuse. All Might telling Izuku he can't be a hero without a Quirk is somehow worse then Bakugou saying Izuku should kill himself because of him being Quirkless.
So… yeah. Sorry, bit of a rant but I was thinking on it. I can easily fix or adjust Aizawa and All Might to be better characters without sacrificing so much of their canon selves. Yet with Bakugou? You literally have to make things up. ‘Hes abused.’ not canon. ‘He was called a villain by society!’ only as a teenager when he was acting like one. Everyone else has only praised him. ‘He wanted to protect Izuku’ how? By getting Izuku to jump off a roof?
Bakugou can be redeemed and changed. I do think that. It's just canon isn't doing it and people in fanfics always just let him get away with a slap on the wrist. ‘Anger management’ okay yes but what else? ‘Therapy’ what else? ‘Going to 1B’ WHAT ELSE.
Redemption is something you have to work for, not get handed to you on a silver platter. And Bakugou hasn't worked for it yet. As well, I've always firmly believed that the victims should never have to be their abuser's friends. And the idea Izuku HAS to be Bakugou’s friend for redemption to occur is just plain wrong.
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Let’s talk about Mr. Keng
There’s something I found really odd about the interactions between Non and Keng, besides the whole fucking each other thing. I’m not downplaying the misuse of power and the inherent wrongness of the teacher/student relationship here, but I am used to seeing it over the years in queer media so I wasn’t shocked by it tbh. I don’t know why but there are a lot of queer media over the many years I’ve been watching it that seem to pair an exceptional student with a teacher, or even adults with barely legal teenagers. It’s some weird taboo in queer media and I honestly think it’s because of how common age gap relationships are in the queer community, but we’re not here to dissect that.
So going back to Mr. Keng’s interaction with Non, in episode five, six and seven. It’s clear that he zeros in on Non’s exceptionality, the only student to actually understand his question and Non was barely paying attention. Mr. Keng’s interest was piqued right then and there, and my first thought was that they were going to make him a total creep. Which they seemed to be leaning toward when he put special interest in Non, then in episode six we get Non breaking down and finally admitting to him what was going on and why he needed the money. Mr. Keng offering the money so readily also made it seem again that he was a creep, it was a clear grooming tactic. Making Non feel like he owed him something without Keng even having to say; you owe me.
You could say that Non was a willing participant in their first sexual encounter as he was the one who went in for the more passionate kiss, but again that is what grooming does. And while yes Non is sexually active, he’s 16/17 at the most, sleeping with Phee is completely different. Phee is older by less than a year considering he finished off 12th grade with the other boys after Non ‘disappeared’. Being able to consent to sex with an equal is completely different than ‘consenting’ to having sex with someone who should know that what they’re doing is not right!
Moving onto episode seven, there’s a new level to Keng, he’s working to bring down the illegal gambling ring with an undercover reporter. So he’s just using Non, right? He found out what Non was into and saw it as an opportunity to get names and information, so he’s a groomer and a manipulative liar. Great, send this fucker straight to hell!
What I found interesting though was that by the end of episode seven, we find him comforting Non about the video, Non sobbing in his arms and Keng reassures him that things will be okay. That… doesn’t seem like the reaction of a man who’s just found out that his entire career might be over, that he could very well face jail time. There was no blame, no anger directed at Non, just concern. And then Phee showed up, he attacked Keng, rather violently if the bruises on JJ’s back are anything to go by. Phee kept telling Keng to leave, to fuck off, to just go! He kept shoving him into chairs and walls, but Keng never once left. He stayed there, quietly, not trusting Phee to be alone with Non.
And after Phee broke up with Non, telling him to go die, Non has a full blown breakdown. He’s screaming, sobbing hysterically, hitting himself. What does Keng do? He gets down onto the floor and he grabs Non, stops him from hurting himself, shushes him, holds him, comforts him, rocks the sobbing teen in his arms. None of these things seem to be the action of a person who doesn’t care. Am I saying Mr. Keng is in the right? No! Absolutely not! The dude is a creep, he did terrible things and never should’ve done the things he did. But what I was hit with was that it seemed like Mr. Keng—in his own weird way—actually did genuinely care about Non and his wellbeing.
It was very odd to see, because for the previous two episodes there was a very clear set up of how you’re supposed to see him, how you’re supposed to view his interactions with Non. Then by the end of episode seven, he’s caring and concerned and refuses to leave Non in his moment of need even as Phee demands that he does. I think Keng genuinely liked Non, in his own weird highly illegal way. So it’ll be interesting to see who exactly kills him (my money is on Phee or Jin) and if he repents whatsoever or doubles down on his claim that he actually did like Non, as both a student but a lover.
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I was chatting with a friend recently about the ways antis operate and how damaging their ideology is and I wanted to organize my thoughts about it.
It's one thing to be like "I wish minors wouldn't interact with my work because it's got adult content" (which is not something you can 100% control short of paywalling) but it's another thing ENTIRELY to be like "minors should never look at anything sexual ever and people who think it's okay that they do are secret pedophiles."
Teenagers need to have the safe space to explore their sexuality and figure their shit out and sometimes that place is fandom. Sometimes teens are trying to deal with the fantasies they have about their hot history teacher so they consume teacher/student smut in order to work it out. Sometimes they're wondering what gives them their jollies and are just reading whatever they can to wank to, including incest and rape and other "unsavory" things just so they can get it all figured out.
Sometimes awful things have happened to teens and they're using the avenue of art and fiction to take the power back from their rapist and create a narrative they control where they are working through it safely.
And antis would see all of this and want it fucking destroyed.
I was brought up in fandom by a few of the sweetest older women (adult women!) who took me under their wings and showed me that what I was thinking and writing wasn't bad or wrong or shameful and it was all perfectly sane to have these sexual feelings because nothing makes sense when you're a kid and if you want to write Frerard where Gerard is the hot teacher to Frank's catholic schoolboy in order to deal with your feelings about the sexy sub you just got at your school then that's totally fine.
These trusted adults also comforted me when I was afraid, taught me what boundaries were (please do not actually pursue the sub!), told me what were normal interactions and what I should be wary of (do NOT let the sub pursue you), and they were proud of me as I made my way into the world as a reasonably well-adjusted adult.
(Hi, Gaja, can't wait for your Christmas card!)
Sexuality is weird and messy and whatever makes our pants tighter is all individual and equally weird. Telling teenagers to not seek out porn and to not even speak to adults is just a one-way ticket to growing fucked-up people who don't know how to operate without shame and then we have a resurgence in Catholicism and NOBODY needs that.
And the way that antis rally against this, like teenagers are Pure and Sweet Babies who are being corrupted by the Awful Adults Like Me (who are secretly child diddlers obviously) is just. So fucking damaging.
Imagine trying to handle the way your hormones are firing off at everything and you're just not sure what's going on and instead of a kind adult going "hey we were all freaks at 16 and it's totally normal to be like 'this strange thing is turning me on' I promise" you have some sniveling puritan asshole going "YOU ARE ACTUALLY A SEXUAL PREDATOR IF YOU LIKE THESE THINGS AND YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED AND PUNISHED BEFORE YOU ACTUALLY HARM PEOPLE."
Like. Y'all. I have seen antis claim that people who wrote about/drew rape in order to deal with their own assaults DESERVED IT because they chose to deal with it in this way. I have seen antis tell people they hope they get raped for the fiction they create. They wish death and harm against people who make fiction. Antis literally have a body count over this shit. And yet they want me to believe they're the good guys? Bye.
Antis will argue that it's not normal for people to think about gross and icky things. I argue that Holocaust survivors had sexual fantasies about actual fucking jackboot Nazis.
No one says you have to like everything everyone else does. We have a robust tagging system for a reason. But to behave as if what YOU like is the only thing that is acceptable and everything else is Bad and Wrong is not the business. Kink Tomato exists for a reason. We are all individuals who like different things. Get with it.
Teenagers are in a precarious time of development and if you want to shame them for whatever is going on in their heads then you are the problem, not the solution. Be the kind of adult you needed as a teenager, not some shaming, screaming Puritan trying to pin scarlet A's onto everything because it's sinful. Goody Proctor is just trying to rub one out in peace.
Get with the way fandom has always operated or go away. ACAB means fancop, too.
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Le sign... speaking of the server,
dirk is encouraging me to be more firm on my own thoughts for my comfort
i've seen ppl talk about it in stream a lil which im always like I Don't Care when it pops up but i've had Enough and i want to talk about the topic bc it's itching at my brain follicles.
since we're pretty strider-oriented, this had to happen at some point: strider cest/strilonde cest/in cest wont be allowed in the main server. if other people don't care, i might make a separate server.
-"hey why is that ^ something you would allow? pretty insane." / "are you a pro shipper then??"
no
"so you're an anti?"
also no
i dislike this argument as a whole bc i don't 'get it' i guess because im audhd. neither side is fully correct nor fully wrong.
"fiction affects reality." and "fiction is not reality." are two different thought processes that can and should coexist in the same space.
look. fiction can affect reality, but it IS also possible to separate from it. you can para or whatever responsibly. tag it. try to make sure people who don't want to see it don't have to see it. and if minors are getting sent your shit, make sure its clear that this should NOT be happening in reality.
if you're a child, keep that shit blocked. it's NOT for you and you should not be actively consuming it. (please listen to this advice bc i grew up on the internet barely supervised, from a very unhealthily early age [7-8] and then developed into a fucked up hypersexual.)
(seeing something fucked up and being like AUGH my eyes! is normal because that just. happens. thats life. you deal with it afterwards in some way. talking to someone you trust etc. you do not go back for more i am begging.)
(if someone is showing you these things on purpose then please read this website all the way through for me ok?)
you should not be looking at an adult exploring/enjoying fucked up shit
videogames are not going to make you or me more violent by having violence, gore, and murder in them.
but videogames DO make some people violent. those people should not have access to these things. but we (you and i) cannot control that beyond making sure content is labelled and set aside.
i like playing games where i assassinate people. i am not an assassin. someone could play the same game and get terrible ideas they act on. this is not my fault for playing the game.
and, if you're an adult who likes fucked up shit (me too) tag your shit or have it listed somewhere on your about that it's something you post about frequently there. and maybe reiterate that it's not real. its just toys. and should never be followed irl.
yeah, it fuckin sucks that we gotta do this shit, but kids are unfortunately on the internet, with the inability to differentiate grey from black and white. your shit might be the first exposure. which sucks!!
so it's our responsibility to try and mitigate harm on both sides unfortunately until we can convince parents to start parenting their children again. which sucks. i just wanna post shit in peace but the buzzing around from very loud teenagers makes me anxious. i get it.
it fucking sucks!!! but we can't control other people, especially if theyre malicious
but you control what YOU see on the internet. block anyone. (i blocked someone back in the day for disliking johndave. be free.)
and help people do that (control what they see) by making it very clear.
you aren't evil for not wanting to see it, and other people aren't evil for enjoying fucked up content.
also some of yall on BOTH SIDES do some truly vile shit in the name of this argument when your energy could be spent elsewhere doing shit you like or even doing things that are actually. Helpful.
so i don't like either label i dont want to be associated with either of the sides but if you want to call me one or the other then . Whatever i guess? thats your business, not mine.
just know you are not a failure or a freak for not constantly reinforcing and reassuring everyone that you think adults doing their own thing in fictional spaces with little toy dolls (that theyve been doing since the 70s-80s) is gross. you can just think that like. in general and look away because the dolls are dolls.
but don't go posting doll horn-knees untagged. that's rude as fuck.
#community infighting is NOT the way. everyone thinks we're ALL fucking weird. just IGNORE each other#timaeus posting#mumbling#dirk is holding me at gun point to post this because he's Tired tm
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Even Flowers Have Their Dangers
“Henderson! Why, pray tell, is your douchebag babysitter getting out of his douchemobile and coming this way?”
Fucking Harrington, man. Eddie felt conflicted every time the kids even said his name. His heartbeat always went a little haywire and he wasn’t sure if it was because his flight response always activated around the guy or because Harrington was so fucking hot it was unreal. Considering that Eddie had a type and that type was “dangerous and pretty,” it was probably both.
“Is he?” Dustin looks over his shoulder, grinning his goofy grin. “Hey Steve!” The kid’s hand lifts in a wave as Steve makes his way toward them.
“Henderson. Go get in the car with the other gremlins, I want to have a word with your dragon master.” Steve smiles fondly, nudging the kid toward his waiting car. Guy just screams preppy. Collar popped, jeans so damn tight that Eddie's getting a sympathy wedgie. No boxer line on his thigh which means that Harrington is a brief guy. Not that Eddie is thinking about his underwear, it’s just an observation.
“Dungeon Master, Steve. I swear you’re getting it wrong on purpose.” Dustin sighs, rolling his eyes but starts toward the car.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Steve calls back over his shoulder before turning to Eddie who hopes he wasn’t caught staring. His heartbeat does something funny before he gets a handle on himself and leans into his usual false bravado.
Swinging away from the auditorium door, Eddie throws his arms out in a full extension, lowering himself into a bow, “To what do I owe this illustrious visit, your royal highness?”
Harrington looks uncomfortable now, the ease that he’d approached with, gone, his shoulders hunched up, face looking pained as he tucks his hands into his pockets - well, he tries to - there’s not a lot of extra room in those 501s. “Cut it out. I just wanted to tell you not to leave the kids here alone if you guys get out early. Nothing that you have to do is important enough to leave them in the dark without protection.” His voice is clipped, jaw set, and Eddie realizes that he’s annoyed, maybe even angry.
What the fuck is that about? He’s all chummy when Henderson is watching but now that the kid’s gone, he’s slid back into asshole mode? Eddie knew it. He knew the kids couldn’t possibly be getting the real Steve Harrington if they actually thought he was a good guy. Wonder why he was putting on an act though - was he trying to get Nancy Wheeler back through her brother?
“Maybe I didn’t hear you right?” Eddie says with a hard edge, all flamboyance dropped. “You’re telling me? Not asking me?”
Fuck that. Who the fuck is this prep to tell him that he needs to watch over a bunch of high school kids? They’re like fourteen and fifteen. Eddie was selling drugs at fourteen, some kids have jobs, they walk home, not all of us were born with a silver spoon and a Bimmer - where the fuck does Harrington think they live that its too dangerous for three teenage boys to not stand outside for five minutes?
“Yeah.” He snaps, “I’m telling you. Don’t leave them outside without an adult.”
“Fuck you, Harrington. I’m not their babysitter. They were fine. If you’re that worried, you should be here earlier. I had shit to do.” He didn’t. Not really. He’d just had a shit day, shit week really, and wanted to go home to smoke a joint. He should have waited. He knew he should have but Harrington calling him out on it just pisses him off.
“Seriously, Munson?” Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “I knew you’d be a dick. You know their best friend is Will Byers, right?” Fuck. Eddie did not know that. Just that Mike’s best friend Will lived in California. Not that it was the Byers kid who went missing years ago. Damn. Eddie feels even worse now but fuck if he’s telling Harrington that. Steve’s voice softens though, “Just, please. If you know it’s gonna be an early night, let the kids know so they can radio me to be here earlier. I’m asking, okay?”
“Radio you? Like - you guys have walkie talkies or something?” Were they for real? What is this Cloak and Dagger?
Across the parking lot, Steve’s horn blares and they both look up to see Mike leaning over the driver seat to press on it.
“Keep your fucking shirt on!” Steve yells then grumbles under his breath, “Fucking Wheeler.”
Eddie should just agree and be done with it, he’s not gonna leave them alone after learning about Byers anyway but damn if Harrington and his pompous attitude don’t get under his skin. Instead, he says flippantly, “How ‘bout the King worries about his own court and leaves me the fuck out of it, yeah?”
He doesn’t wait around to see Steve’s reaction, just skips over to his van and climbs in. He’s got her started and is pulling out of the parking lot before he glances back at Harrington. It looks like Steve is already lecturing the kids about something. Eddie just shakes his head and drives off, leaving them to it.
As he’s pulling up to the trailer an hour later with a little more cash and a little less weed, Eddie almost expects to find a fancy rich boy car waiting for him. He doesn’t. He’s going to pretend that he’s disappointed about that because he wanted to argue with Harrington, not for any other reason.
What he does find though, is a big motherfucking dog. It’s just sitting next to the trailer steps and Eddie’s seen Cujo so fuck if he’s getting out of the safety of this metal box. Hell no. He can wait.
After five minutes of waiting, they’re still in a stand off and Eddie’s thinking about starting his van and just leaving to sleep some place else. What? He’s a coward and that dog in Cujo put him off petting dogs for weeks afterward. No way is he getting out, alone, in the fucking dark to that behemoth of a dog. No one would even come if he screamed. This is a trailer park, ignoring screams is part of the lease agreement.
Just as he puts his keys back into the ignition, the dog tilts his head to the side, tongue lolling out for a few breaths before it gets up and trots over to Eddie’s driver side door. This close, it’s not quite as big as he thought but it’s still the biggest dog he’s ever seen. Some kind of Husky mix or something. He doesn’t know shit about dogs but it looks like a really fluffy sled dog. Poofy tail and everything. It tilts it’s head again and Eddie rolls his window down slowly.
It’s ears perk up and it looks happy. Which is maybe a thing dogs do? He wouldn’t know, honestly. He’s never had a dog.
Eddie slides one hand out, curled into a fist because he doesn’t want to lose a finger to Cujo here. He needs those fingers for various reasons. Like guitar playing, dice rolling and other non sexual things.
The dog leans in, sniffs the hand, bumps it with his cold wet nose and then nuzzles it so Eddie’s knuckles graze into the soft gray fur on his forehead. Eddie’s barely breathing, his heart is racing and his legs are all clenched like he would run if he wasn’t sitting in his car. Extending his trembling fingers, he scratches the top of the dog’s head. The dog swear-to-god sighs.
“Hey there, big boy. Whatcha doing?” Eddie whispers softly, opening his door to step out. The dog shuffles back just enough for Eddie to slide out from behind the door. His fur is soft and silky between Eddie’s fingers. “Oh look at you, so pretty. You know you are, too, don’t you?” The dog seems to preen with the praise so Eddie lays it on thicker, “Yeah you do. What are you doing out here? No collar but you must belong to someone, you’re too pretty to be running wild in Hawkins.”
After a few more runs through the fur on his back, Eddie reaches back into the van, rolls the window back up and grabs his bag. He can’t stay out here all night so he heads toward the front door. The dog follows. “Uncle Wayne’s gonna kill me.” Eddie sighs, knowing he’s a sucker and he’s 100% going to let this dog into the trailer.
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Purpose
Fandom: The Last of Us
Word count: 12.7k
Rating: PG13 for violence (Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, mention of sexual harassment, minor character deaths, major character death, death of a child, grief, blood and gore)
Summary: “I think if he (Joel) could do anything or be anything, he would be a dad, raising his daughter. Whether it’s Sarah or— he can’t quite get there yet to say it’s Ellie but that's what he was put on this Earth to do. That’s why he’s been wandering around a little like a zombie himself for 20 years. He’s trying to find his purpose because it was taken from him.” -Craig Mazin
A/N: I’ve been writing bits and pieces of this for moooonths! Since the last episode aired. So I really really hope you guys like it. I love all the Joel & Ellie fics out there but there’s a hole in my heart where the Joel & Sarah fics should be. So here you go, a one shot of Joel Miller and his purpose in life, how he earned it and how he lost it.
20th July 1989
What do you want to be when you grow up?
It was a question that adults asked way too many times. Way too casually. It was as though they had forgotten what it felt like to be a teenager with a whole world of possibilities, the overwhelming feeling of wanting to be everything from an astronaut to an actor. They never accepted the answer they got from the kids. At least that was Joel’s experience. They always laughed when he said he wanted to be a singer. That’s not a real job, they’d say. So, he made up something that he didn’t even want to do.
Accountant. That’s what he told people he’d become. He didn’t even know what that job entailed. He just blurted it out, possibly because his new classmate’s dad was an accountant and that was the first thing that came to his mind. And because it was a real job unlike singer.
That also didn’t quite cut it for adults. You need to be good at math for that. They were right. He was no good at it. As he sat on the hospital chair, too afraid to move or breathe, he wished he’d been better at math. Maybe that would’ve gotten him a better job than building. He’d be in an office and make enough money for this.
The baby stirred in his arms and let out a low whine and his heart almost fucking stopped. She was so little, so fucking fragile. One wrong move and she could wake up. His mother told him to put her back in the crib, so did the mother of the girl who was fast asleep on the hospital bed. His mother-in-law. But he couldn’t. He was afraid that once he put her down, she’d disappear. She would. Both their parents were in contact with some adoption people and they were going through a list of names of respectable men and women with respectable jobs and good loving homes. There were some accountants on the list. They were probably good at math and didn’t have to get yelled at everyday for buying the wrong valves and choosing the wrong brand of grout. The prospective fathers were all at least a decade older than he was.
But he couldn’t put her down.
So he stayed awake on the chair throughout the night, his back hurting just a little but his heart full.
Wanting to be a singer was just a childish fantasy. Accounting was just something he made up to look serious in the eyes of grown ups. There were other ideas too— soccer player, fireman, cop. None of them felt right.
And what was it they always said about jobs? Do something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life? He’d never loved anything. Until now. Never found a purpose. Until now.
He cradled her close to his chest, supporting her tiny soft head with his hand. Fuck, her head was so little, so soft. His large hands already marked up by construction jobs felt unworthy of touching such pureness.
Sarah.
He can’t give her away. Not after the name popped into his head. He didn’t know why, couldn’t explain it to anyone who asked. But she was Sarah.
Sarah Miller, he thought when he realized he had a purpose for the first time in his life.
They told him he can’t do it, that he shouldn’t. They told him he didn’t know the first thing about babies. The girl he got pregnant— his wife—is hurt, said he can’t go back on their promise to give the baby up for adoption so that she can go back to school to be a lawyer. She said it will ruin her life and he had to agree. It will. The innocent little thing that continued sleeping on his lap did kind of ruin her life. She had to take a break fro, school, put up with morning sickness and bloating and back pain and fucking everything because of the baby. Raising her for 18 years? That would be the nail on the coffin of her dreams.
But he wasn’t the dreaming kind.
“I ain’t askin’. I know it’s not fair to ya. You already done everythin’, but…” I can’t imagine a life without Sarah. He had known her for less than 10 hours and life already seemed meaningless without her in it. “I’ll do it myself, okay? You don’t gotta do anything. You never have to visit. I just… I can’t give her up, darlin’. I promise I won’t rope you into this. I’ll fuckin’ disappear, never call you or write to you.”
“Joel…”
His mother thought she was a cruel girl to want to leave her baby behind when he, the father, stepped up to provide. But he had no feelings of anger towards her. They made a promise to each other. He was the one who broke it, not her. He would break all his promises to everyone in his life, no matter what, just to be his little girl’s dad.
“We’re too young.”
He nodded. He knew that. He’d been an adult for a grand total of four years and most of it, he’d spent drinking and working on construction. No transferable skills there. He was still kind of a kid and knew fuck all about raising a whole new person. The prospect was terrifying. It was even more terrifying to lose her, though. It felt like if he was taken away from his baby girl, he would fucking die.
“It’ll be harder to do anything. Parties, work, college, sleep. Everything will be harder.”
“Yeah,” he croaked, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He was only now old enough to legally get very drunk and illegally continue smoking joints in the storage shed with his friends. They had only recently bought themselves a proper plate and silverware. Eating out of the pot used to be more than enough before.
He’d just started taking care of himself. Just started doing his laundry in the local laundromat instead of driving his dirty clothes all the way to his parents’ for his mom to wash and fold up for him. He’d just started separating his whites from his coloured clothes.
It felt like his heart could fucking leap out of his chest when he wrote it down.
Name: Sarah Miller
Father’s name: Joel Miller
When I grow up, I want to be a father. This would not have been an acceptable answer to the adults. They liked hearing that from little girls, but not from boys. Adults thought boys should have more ambition than that. Fuck, he was an adult. Fuck. Fucking hell.
She asked for a divorce, reluctant and scared. He could tell she still loved him. It may have been their parents’ idea for them to marry, but they did have a good 7 months of marriage. They were friends, kind of. Despite the young parenthood and the anger about damaged condoms and who was responsible for getting drunk enough to have sex using a broken condom, they didn’t fight much. In another world, they would have been a good couple. Not this one. Losing her hurt, but he had to choose between her and his baby.
He signed the papers.
She visited the baby a few times, but never held her. Her older sister dropped off breast milk from her a few times and he was so grateful. He heard that it was very important for the baby’s health. He gave her formula, but this was more important according to the doctor. She said the mother’s milk had some stuff in it that the baby really needed. He didn’t know what the hell it was, he tried his best to remember the complicated words but they didn’t stick. He was just happy that Sarah could be healthy.
3rd August 1989
Bullshit. What a load of bullshit.
Do something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life? He wanted to backhand whoever said that.
“I got you baby, Daddy’s got you,” he said, rubbing her back as she cried into his chest. “Here’s your bottle. Just a few seconds and you’ll have your milk, okay?”
Tommy looked at him like he was a space alien. Yeah it was fucking weird, alright. He was in his shorts in the kitchen, wearing a smelly t-shirt and talking to his baby who didn’t know how to reply. But what did Tommy know? He didn’t have to be the one with no human company other than a little baby who didn’t know shit about shit.
He loved Sarah. He never knew what love was until Sarah. He thought he loved his parents, he might love Tommy just a little even though he was fucking annoying and got into trouble all the time. He fell in love a few times before Sarah’s mom and he was in love with Sarah’s mom. But maybe he didn’t love them. He didn’t love any of them. They should either invent a new word for whatever he felt for Sarah or a new, less stronger word for what he felt for every other person.
He really truly loved her. But that still didn’t make him feel like he wasn’t working. This was the most work he had ever done in his life. Even the sleepless week he spent building that shop, fuelled by energy drinks and coffee to afford baby clothes and medicines when his then wife was 8 months pregnant didn’t come close.
Sarah woke up crying all the goddamn time.
He knew babies always cried. They couldn’t talk or write or do anything else to communicate. So they cried. But it always felt like a personal failure when she did. Like he was the bad dad everyone expected a 22 year old single father to be.
“She always do that?” Tommy asked when Sarah finally quietened down as she sucked on the bottle he held to her mouth.
“Pretty much. She can’t talk or nothin’, so…”
Tommy nodded and then yawned. God, this boy. Joel had a lot to worry about now and everything he worried about involved Sarah. But he couldn’t not worry about his baby brother. Before he was a father, he was Tommy’s big brother and he will never stop worrying about him. He always got himself into trouble trying to do something good, something noble. The latest one was talkin’ ‘bout enlisting in the fuckin’ army.
He seemed to really really want to be in the army, but that didn’t say much. Tommy really really wanted to do fucking everything. While Joel was the brother with no strong ambitions other than Sarah, Tommy was the brother with too many ambitions. He fought off kids bigger than him if they bullied his classmates, spoke up against teachers who said somethin’ racist, punched a grown man for looking at his female friend wrong. And it was always on Joel to rescue him.
He would run off to a bunch of wars to protect his stupid little brother again. But for the first time he didn’t want to. He had a purpose now. His baby brother needed saving all the time, but his baby needed him for everything.
Tommy would have to handle himself. No big brother to shield him from bullets.
“Don’t fuck up, alright? Ma don’t need that now. I’m already fuckin’ up and she don’t need you to fuck up too.”
“You’re not fuckin’ up, Joel. Ma loves Sarah,” Tommy says, his voice soft as he gently taps Sarah’s cheek with his finger. She looks up at her Uncle Tommy and he swears she’s a little annoyed at him for disturbing her third dinner time. There was no way he was imagining that. He didn’t know if babies were smart enough to be annoyed, but Sarah was. She was a smart one. Tommy had to see that too.
“Yeah yeah, sorry,” Tommy laughed as he apologized to her. He could see it, Tommy also loved Sarah. He was an Uncle and shit. His baby brother, an Uncle. Wild.
Of course Ma loved Sarah. Everyone loved Sarah. He didn’t think it was possible for anyone to look at his baby girl and not fall in love immediately.
“I’m serious, Tommy. Don’t fu—” Fuck! No swearing. Ma warned that if he kept swearing around the baby, her first word might be fuck or shit or goddamn it. “Don’t mess up, okay?” He quickly corrected himself.
“Ma loves Sarah, but that don’t make me any less of a failure. I’m a twenty one year old divorced single father with no chances to go to college and no prospects other than construction. You gotta be better than that.”
He nodded, looking stern and a little too grown up for his age. He was too grown up to be an uncle, too grown to be shipped off God knows where to shoot at other kids but it was what it was. “Yeah…”
After a couple minutes of silence, Tommy spoke up again. “At least she won’t bug me for grandkids, right? You already gave her one.”
“Yeah, the perfect one. Gonna be difficult for your future kid to meet Ma’s high expectations.” He said, smirking. He was never competitive. Never did anything just to be better than someone else at it. The age gap between him and Tommy made him more of of protective older brother than a competitive one. But he was pitting Tommy’s non-existent kid against his baby and it didn’t even feel wrong.
“Fuck you, dude,” he laughed.
“No swearing ‘round her. Don’t want her first word to be that.”
Tommy burst out laughing. “It’ll be funny, though. Just imagine that in a little baby voice.”
He chuckled and conceded, “Yeah, it’ll be funny. But I’m serious. No swearing.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
25th December 1989
“Look at that! Ain’t it pretty?” He cooed, exaggerating the beauty of the scene in front of him. Her eyes were brighter than any Christmas light on the tree in the living room. They were brighter than the sun and the moon and all the stars in the night sky he pointed out to her.
She was wrapped up in several layers of clothes. For a baby, she had too many clothes and it was a pain in the ass to wash and fold. But she looked so adorable in all those layers. It was like she was a soft, formless ball.
He laughed as she moved her arms around and bounced on the couch. She was propped up by two pillows and he put a couple more on the floor just in case. He wouldn’t let her fall, but just in case. She pointed at the bauble he plucked off the Christmas tree, her baby bird-like mouth forming into a little O shape. She laughed and reached her arms out for it. He let her touch it. How could he not when she looked at it like it was the most wonderful thing in the universe.
She looked at everything like it was the most wonderful thing in the world.
He picked her up from her fortress of pillows and held her on his waist, carrying her closer to the tree. Carefully, he placed her higher on top of him, her legs on his shoulders and her hands gripping his hair for dear life. The mirror above the fireplace framed them like a photograph, their first Christmas together. One hand still on his hair, she reached out for a bauble, a present from an aunt for his shotgun wedding.
It should make him sad, but he found himself…happy. Sure, life would be easier if he had Pam to share the duties of parenthood. Sure it was shit to be a divorcee at the age of twenty two. But he had Sarah at the end of the marriage and that was worth everything.
While he was preoccupied with the meaning behind the ornament, his daughter was completely unconcerned with events that occurred before her birth. She inspected the ornament with a kind of gentleness he hadn’t seen in many babies— he remembered Tommy to be the kind to break things with his enthusiasm and cry over the destruction he’d wreaked. Sarah tapped on it gently with her hand and squealed with delight.
“It’s cool, huh?” He said, making conversation with her. She hummed in response and moved to an unusual ornament shaped like a butterfly, her eyes wide with curiosity and her fingers cautiously inspecting the antlers. Father and child stood in front of the Christmas tree all night long, inspecting every single ornament and making conversation in the language only they knew to speak.
If she loved the tree so much, he decided, he’d keep it in the living room in the fucking summer. Who said you couldn’t have a Christmas tree in June? He fucking loved being her dad.
18th January 1990
He fucking hated being a dad.
He would never let her know. God, he would never ever tell her that.
“Daddy’s got you, daddy’s got you. Everything is fine, baby girl.”
It was like she didn’t even hear him. She kept crying those heartbreaking, soul-crushing cries. He gave her the medicines that the doctor told him to buy. He did fucking everything but she still wouldn’t stop crying. He had to be doing something wrong. He told Ma that, but she said that was how babies were and he just had to take care of her, hold her close and wait for her temperature to go down.
But what until then?
“Ma! Ma, she won’t stop crying.”
“Did you give her the medicines?” His mother’s drowsy voice came through the phone. He shouldn’t be disturbing her after the day she had, but he couldn’t be bothered about her comfort. His baby was crying, goddamn it!
“Yeah, I did. Still won’t stop,” he said, his voice breaking and he bounced the baby, hoping that would soothe her.
“Did you check her temperature?”
“Yeah. Hundred and two.”
“It’s gone down then. She’s getting better.”
“Why’s she still cryin’ then?”
He was a grown man, a father, but god he felt like a fuckin’ kid again. He wanted his Ma. He wanted her to drive all the way to his place and tell him what to do to fix her, make her pain go away.
“That’s how it is, Joel. This is normal. I’ll be there in the morning when your old man can drive me, okay? She’ll get better, kid. Don’t worry too much.”
Ma was right, she did get better. But it was the worst night of his life and he would put her in a medically sealed safe room for the rest of her life just to never have to relive it.
She got sick again, of course. She was a kid and as he learned, kids were germ magnets. It was intolerable and it made him hate being a father. That made him feel guilty. It was stupid, he knew that. What could he even do? Punch germs in the face? Throw hands with the daycare mom who didn’t vaccinate her kid who ended up coughing on his baby girl?
He hated what being a father made him think and do. He felt unhinged, irrational. But it never felt wrong. And he never hated being her father. This was his purpose and he didn’t mind being a fuckin’ psycho who thought of fighting the baby who gave his baby a fever.
28th April 1991
“Can I have one, please?”
Joel brought the hammer down on the nail, looking up every now and then for glimpses of his daughter sitting on her uncle’s lap.
She looked at Tommy with her perfect angel eyes, hand messy and gripped around a disgusting soggy cookie she’d soaked with her saliva. She shook her head at Tommy before putting the cookie back in her mouth.
“Please? Uncle Tommy is hungry. And your dad won’t feed me.” He gave her his best puppy-dog eyes, but his baby girl didn’t budge. She hugged the packet of cookies close to her chest like Tommy was gonna snatch it from her and it made both of them laugh. He dropped his hammer on the floor and walked up to them.
He got on his knees next to Tommy’s chair and looked at her. “Please can I have one? Daddy’s hungry.”
She took her cookie out of her mouth and stretched her hand out to him. He leaned in, no hesitation and took the entire soggy piece in his mouth.
“Duuuude! Seriously? I bought those cookies and you’ll share it with your daddy but not with me? What a pair of scammers.”
Joel sent a smug smile his way before returning back to work. Babies were pretty selfish and Sarah was no exception, but he was an exception and that made him feel like the most special man in Texas.
“Miller,” a stern voice interrupted his family. He didn’t know whether it was directed towards him or towards Tommy, but the both of them apologized and left Sarah to her own devices before returning to work.
“Clients are such meanies, aren’t they?” He whispers to Sarah when the client is out of sight.
“Meanie!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air and lifting the packet of cookies with her. He laughed. That was a new word. She was a smart one.
They work all night, both of them. Sarah sleeps in the baby seat he bought for his truck. The daycare moms suggested it and he was so glad he bought one. It was damn expensive but ‘twas helpful for when they’re both working and Ma couldn’t take Sarah.
16th October 1992
Kids asked a lot of questions. Sarah did too.
Why is the sky blue? Why are some trees tall but other trees short? Why are soap suds all white no matter the color of the soap? What is a library? Why does Grandma have grey hair? Why does Uncle Tommy have long hair? What is a housing loan? What is concrete? Why is concrete gray? Why won’t you let me touch concrete?
He didn’t have a problem with the non-stop questions like other parents did. It was better for her to channel her curiosity into questions than get into trouble trying to find answers herself. His problem was that he wasn’t smart enough to answer ‘em.
He eventually did. Or hoped that she’d forget that he said he’ll ask someone and get back to her with the answer. But this wasn’t something he could ask someone else. It wasn’t something he could hope she’d forget. If she forgot now, she’d ask again later at some point in her life.
“What’s my mommy’s name?”
“Her name was Pamela.”
Was, he said. Like she was fucking dead. It had been years since he’d said that name. What a strange turn life took. Once upon a time, his whole world revolved around Pam and now he’d half forgotten what she looked like.
“Where is she?”
Last he heard, somewhere in New York. She became a lawyer. Good for her.
“I don’t know, baby,” he lied. What was the point of telling her where her mother was? She didn’t even know where New York was. She hadn’t even thought to ask about her mother in all these years. Well, she couldn’t even speak for a good portion of it but still…
“All the other kids have a mommy. Why don’t I have one?” Was he not enough? A lot of people reminded him that kids needed a mother more than they needed a father. That little girls needed a mother. That he wouldn’t know what the hell to do when she wanted cookies for the school bake sale or wanted a cute braid or got her period. He told all of them to go fuck themselves. Politely.
Her tiny hands held the stuffed animal he spent too much time and money on to win at the fair. Her innocent little eyes begged him for answers, reminding him where she got ‘em from. They looked like when Pam told him she was pregnant, scared and confused and begging him to do something, help somehow.
He might get a heart attack in his mid twenties.
“It’ll be harder to do anything. Parties, work, college, sleep. Everything will be harder.”
He didn’t know it would be like this. He knew the question would come up but he wasn’t prepared.
“I…”
She was patient. He picked her up from her chair and held her to his chest, wishing she’d go back to just babbling and looking cute.
“Most babies have two parents. A mommy and a daddy. Do you know why?”
She shook her head and kept her attention on his every word.
“Because they’re all so naughty.”
That got a laugh out of her. An easy smile found itself on his lips. It was hard to not smile when he saw her smile.
“Jason has a mommy and daddy,” he said, referring to the boy she had a few play dates with. “He gets in a lot of trouble so he needs to parents to take care of him. But you’re such a good kid, the best kid in the world and God knows that. So he just gave you one parent. Because Daddy is enough to take care of you.”
He was enough. He was enough to take care of her. He could pay for her daycare and clothes and health and everything. He read her bedtime stories and took her to work and kept her away from the tools.
He was enough.
“Is she taking care of another kid then? Is that why she’s not here?”
Jesus Christ, this girl.
“I don’t know, baby.”
“Oh. Can we go to the park?”
And just like that, she was over it. Thank fucking God.
He held her curls and gave her a kiss on her head. She was so special, she was so perfect. She deserved everything, deserved the whole universe, deserved a mom. He would spend his whole life and more giving her whatever she needed.
1st September 1993
“Here’s some snacks for you. I’ll leave it in your bag. Don’t forget to have it, okay?”
She nodded, munching on her cereal as he packed her backpack for her first day of school. He was nervous, but she looked completely fine. So did Tommy on his first day of school, but he ended up throwing a tantrum at the school gates and refused to let go of their parents. Joel had to promise him a full bar of candy to get him to finally walk into school.
Just so it was not too jarring for her, he made it a point to drive past her school every now and then. As they passed by, he explained to her that she would be going there everyday very soon and make a lot of tiny friends.
Construction work meant that schedules were all over the place. Sarah, having had no independent life of her own so far, was forced to stick to his messy days, waking up and sleeping at different times. Joel changed that to prepare her for waking up early to go to school.
With her bag packed with her pencil case, water bottle, snacks, color pencils and the books and notebook her school asked her to bring, it was time to move on to the next task.
“Daddy, I want the purple bows today. The new ones Nana bought.”
“I know, baby girl. I got them here already,” he said, pulling out the bright purple hair accessories from his pocket where he’d also shoved her hair brush, handkerchief and socks. He pulled her hair together in two pigtails, proud of himself for how far he’d come in doing her hair from a confused man asking his very few female friends for help to a natural dad who did this every morning.
He clipped a bow on each side, the little purple things sitting at the base of her soft rounded hair style. She climbed up the table without notice and checked herself out on the mirror nearby, grinning as she touched her hair.
“Thank you, daddy.”
“Aww, you’re welcome baby girl,” he cooed, pulling her close and placing kisses on her cheeks and forehead. He couldn’t believe she was ready for school already. It felt like she was born just yesterday. Each day was long and difficult, but together they’d all passed by in the blink of an eye. He didn’t know if she was prepared for such a big step, to be in school everyday for a couple hours without him.
“Tickles,” she giggled as his mustache scratched her cheeks. He kissed her again, making her fill the living room once again with her squeals and laughter.
“I want the orange shoes today,” she said, placing her foot on his chest.
“Sure? You picked the black socks with the green aliens. Shouldn’t you wear black shoes?”
“You don’t know fashion, daddy. You wear only boring tops without cartoon characters. And you don’t even have Barbie clothes.”
“Yeah, yeah. Orange shoes it is then,” he said, slipping the shoes she demanded on her feet. At least they were Velcro and she could remove them and put them back on easily without help.
Soon, Tommy had arrived at their door and like the menace he was, brought some candies.
“Tommy,” he spoke in a stern tone.
“Come on, Joel! It’s a big day. Our baby girl is all grown up and going to school!”
“I’m a big girl!” She exclaimed, pumping her little fists in the air like she’d won a medal.
“Yeah, very big,” Tommy laughed, putting the candies in her school backpack. “Now, be nice and share some candy with your classmates. That’s the quickest way to make friends.”
She listened to his advice intently and Joel wondered if she’d take a pen and notepad out to take his advice down if only she knew how to string alphabets together to make words.
While he usually sat in the front and let Sarah sit in the back of the truck, he chose to sit in the back this time, offering her the comfort and confidence she needed to take this big leap.
“…be a good girl and listen to your teacher. And don’t use any rude words, okay? Stuff you hear at daddy’s work, it’s only for grown ups. You understand?”
She nodded, beady eyes focused on the glittery designs of her backpack rather than his words. As much as he tried to speak properly around her, he couldn’t stop her from learning the crass words spoken by the people he worked with at the construction sites. And because daycare was expensive and he didn’t feel comfortable leaving her with strangers for such a big part of the day, she had to be at his workplaces, heart no those words.
“Don’t be scared. It’s just school and it’ll be fun. You’ll get to read new stories and make new friends. It can be scary in the beginning but it will be so much fun,” he continued on, caressing her back as he held her close.
“What do you do if you’re scared or if you want daddy?”
“I’ll tell my teacher you’re waiting outside and I want to go to you,” she repeated the words he’d been drilling into her head for months. He had taken the entire week off work to wait for Sarah outside school. Just in case she really needed him before the end of the school day. God forbid there be an injury or something.
“You’ve seen your classroom before, remember? With the colorful stickers on the walls?” She nodded, walking next to him as she looked around at the other kids and parents on the campus for their first day. He averted her eyes from the crying kids, afraid that seeing them might make her cry too.
Joel dreaded the waterworks, dreaded how her sparkling eyes would brim with tears and her little lips would pout before fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She was too precious for that and her tears always made him want to tear up anything and anyone who caused it. It didn’t matter that she also cried for the silliest reasons and cried when she threw tantrums. They never stopped having that heartstrings-pulling effect they had when she came crying and screaming into the world. Those cries that convinced him that he shouldn’t give her up, that he couldn’t trust anyone else on the planet to comfort her the way he could.
When they reached her classroom and met Mrs. Moore, he handed her backpack over to her. Kneeling in front of her, he gave her a few kisses on her cheeks. “Be good, okay? Daddy’s right outside and I’ll pick you up when school is over. Yeah?”
“Okay, daddy!” She said cheerfully. He turned his cheek to her for a kiss, but she didn’t notice, walking off in the other direction with her backpack. She dipped her bag on the table before introducing herself to another kid with her standard script for meeting others— her name, his name, her favorite cartoon characters and a handshake while she said it was nice to meet them.
“Dang, she couldn’t wait to ditch ya,” remarked Tommy as he watched Sarah socialize and show the kids the cartoon characters on her backpack.
Joel’s vision clouded with tears as he sat on his knees in the middle of the classroom. His lips trembled and his chest clenched at being left just like that by her. She never left him. Even when she was with her grandparents, she came running to their porch when she heard him and Tommy pull up in the drive.
Tommy dragged him away from the classroom when it was time for parents to leave. While he left, Joel’s heart stayed right there in the classroom.
“Goddamn,” he muttered as he wiped his tears off with the sleeves of his shirt. To think he was worried about her crying… Here he was, crying like a child while his actual child faced her first day of school with a big smile on her face.
“Can’t believe she’s in school already,” Tommy said and he nodded, not confident that he could speak without sobbing.
How was he supposed to do this everyday? Just leave her in a building with complete strangers and be confident that when he went back, she would be there, safe and happy. Other kids could bully her, her teacher might be rude to her, she might be hungry even after eating the snacks he packed her. How was he supposed to know how she was doing in all these hours she’d spend in a place with none of the friends and family she knew?
It was like taking your heart out your chest, putting a backpack on it and sending it away to fend for itself while praying that nothing bad would happen to it.
30th November 1994
Joel Miller would beat up anyone who made his baby girl cry. He didn’t care who it was. This time though, he had no one to blame but himself. She wouldn’t let him near her. She was crying, but she was also incredibly angry. Where did she even get anger from? He couldn’t believe that such a tiny little girl could have so much anger in her.
“I’m leaving the house and I’m never ever coming back!” She squeaked into the phone between sobs.
He was disappointed in himself. She was being especially difficult, yes. He had to drop her off at daycare and run to work, but she wouldn’t stop running around in the backyard in her pajamas. He’d had enough and yelled.
So here she was with her pink backpack full of her things that she packed herself— mismatched clothes, hairbrush, hair wrap, hair tie, teddy bear. She didn’t pack any underwear. She was stood on the couch to reach the landline phone, holding the receiver to her ear and asking, no demanding, that Uncle Tommy pick her up.
“Who made my baby girl cry? I’m gonna kick their butts,” Tommy declares as he walks in, popsicle in hand. He was gonna kick Tommy’s ass. She wasn’t supposed to have that shit. It was unhealthy. But apparently it wasn’t up to him anymore. It was Sarah and her Uncle Tommy’s world and he was just living in it.
“I’ll get him, okay baby?” He reassured her gently and Sarah nods before hugging Tommy.
Fucking drama queens, the both of them.
“Go wait in the truck and have this popsicle, okay? I’ll beat your dad up.”
She grinned— what the fuck. She grinned, took the stupid popsicle and ran off to the truck which neither of them asked to borrow. Fucking thieves.
Tommy burst out laughing as soon as she left.
“If you wanna be cool Uncle Tommy beatin’ her dad up, the least you can do it babysit her until she stops hatin’ me.”
“She doesn’t hate you!”
“You said you were going to beat me up and she fuckin smiled like you promised her a pony. Take her for the weekend,” he said, handing him the bag that he packed for her. And this one had her underwear, matching set of clothes, her favorite blanket and the story book she was currently reading.
He loved her but goddamn it, he needed a break. The teenage years were going to be hell.
26 September 1996
His hands are cover in glitter. And they’re also sticky for some reason. Something happened here. He didn’t know what, but he would find out. There’s a pair of scissors on the floor. He didn’t put them there and the only other person in the house was told very clearly to not touch them.
Rules were more like suggestions in this household.
“Sarah!” He calls out, walking around the house looking for her. Where the hell was this kid on a school day? It usually took waking her up a million times, took begging to get her to make her bed and some threats to get her outside her bedroom.
He almost yelped when a something, roughly the weight of one Sarah Miller, landed on his back and began giggling.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY DADDY!!!!” She screamed into his ear. His ears rang from the sound and his heart beat faster, but his heart also grew warmer.
He pulled her to his front and she wasted no time giving him wet kisses on his cheeks. “Thank you, baby girl,” he said, laughing from her enthusiasm. She had never remembered his birthday before, not that he expected her to. She barely remembered her own and made him count down to it from 3 months before the day. So it was a surprise that she remembered.
“I made you a gift,” she said, showing off the gaps between her teeth as she smiled.
“Whaaaat? A gift? For me?”
She nodded and wriggled out of his grip before running off. Her footsteps grew distant and then closer until she emerged with what he could only hope used to be paper. It was a sparkling red sheet. Under all the glitter, there had to be some paper left. There was paper and on it were the words ‘Happy birthday daddy’ written colorfully in crayons. He opened the card to find a drawing of him— beard, power tools, truck and all. It was labeled ‘daddy’.
On the right was a message from her, in her writing that started big and became smaller with each alphabet.
‘Happy Birthday Daddy. I love you.’
“Do you like it?” She asked, wide eyes looking at him expectantly.
“I love it! It’s perfect, baby,” he praised, picking her up off the ground and smothering her with kisses. She was the sweetest, most precious thing in the world. His Ma gave him a new shirt and Tommy bought him a bottle of good whiskey, but they paled in comparison to the card that he tucked away safely in the file with all their important documents, glitter be damned. The card collection grew over the years.
2nd February 1997
“You’ll like her, I promise!”
“Where have I heard that before?” Joel snorted, getting back under the truck to look for whatever the hell had gone wrong underneath for it to not start. They did take a bus to the construction site that morning, but they couldn’t do that again. The buses were unreliable and the walk to the bus stop took up half an hour. Sarah was already annoyed at him for not coming home on time. Last thing he wanted was to leave home earlier and come back later.
“Okay, that was one time! And she was a friend of a friend of a friend. I’ve met Judy and she’s definitely your type.”
“Sure,” he grunted, extending his hand out to get the tool he needed from Tommy.
“Curly hair, kind of tall. She’s clever. A math teacher, actually. Out of your league in that department so if you could pull her, it would be a miracle.”
“You settin’ me up for failure then.”
“Listen, she’s new to the city and she’s open to meeting people. It’s not gone be a date, Joel. Just drinks with her, a couple of her friends, my roommate and his sisters. You need a break.”
He hated to admit it even to himself, but Tommy was right. Not about dating, but about needing a break. He had been working a lot more recently. The contracting business was still in its infancy and needed a lot of his time and attention to just stay afloat. He didn’t have enough capital to invest in more monpower, so he had to take every call and make every decision and do every task he didn’t have enough guys for.
“I’ll think about it,” he said, wiping his face with the greasy cloth, getting more grease on himself than off.
“I’ll ask Ma to take Sarah. You know she’s dying to see that kid,” Tommy offered. He knew that it was meant to get him to feel better, less guilty about getting rid of Sarah for the night to get drunk. But it only made him feel worse about shirking his responsibilities to go get drunk and try to sleep with someone. The last time he did that, he became a father.
But he does it anyway because he told Tommy he would. He goes on a couple of dates with the girl and it feels nice to be around someone who is interested in him for himself, not for what he did for them or because they were stuck with him.
It doesn’t last long. Sarah and work always take priority over everything else in his life and she understandably doesn’t like being his last priority. He never tries again.
16th June 1998
“Sarah!” He called for the fourth time, again with no response. He plated the food for her, grabbed his own plate and walked upstairs to her room.
“Been calling out your name for ten minutes now, baby girl.”
She looked up at him, a weary smile on her lips. “Sorry. I was just finishing up my assignment. Didn’t hear you.”
He put the plate on the table in front of her and ruffled her hair, making her pout. “‘S nice to focus on school, but you need to keep your ears alert,” he said, sitting back down on her bed with his plate.
One glance at her books told him she was doing her math homework. Geometry, to be precise. At least it was something he knew this time. Last week, she was writing her social science essay and went on about the different parts of the United Nations or some shit. He only remembered a bunch of abbreviations and not what they stood for. She could make something up like UNCPS, call it United Nations Child Protective Services and he’d believe it. Wait, was that what UNICEF was?
Math was the only thing she learned in school that he still understood, that made him feel like a smart dad capable of helping his kid out with her homework. Not that she needed any help. She’d taken after Pam in the brains department. Thank god.
Nevertheless he checked her answers. He didn’t want to be completely useless.
She’d done well. There were one or two mistakes she’d made, repetitions of the kinds of mistakes she’d made before in long division. Just careless ones that she corrected easily when he pointed them out to her. Nothing he had to teach her.
“Oh, before I forget…” she said, pulling a plastic file out of her purple backpack. “I need your signature on this thing. It’s the permission slip for a talk from a retired army officer.”
He rifled through the pens in her pen stand, taking too long to find one that wasn’t purple, glittery, or purple and glittery. “Military? Why they teachin’ you that?” He asked, wary about his kid learning anything about wars. It’d gotten Tommy a little too excited and before they knew it, he was off getting shot at somewhere in the gulf. The dangers of that were lower with a daughter than with a son, but he was still wary. Gender equality better not creep its way into jobs that could get his kid killed.
“Yeah, you ain’t going to this thing. Take the day off.”
“No way, we might have a social science pop up quiz on Wednesday and I’m not going to miss it.”
“Aren’t pop up quizzes supposed to…I don’t know, pop up? Like surprise,” he said, earning an eye-roll from her. Wasn’t even a teenager yet and she was rollin’ her lil eyes at her dad. He’d lucked out in the baby lottery, got himself a smart, mostly well-behaved one. But it still confused a man to have the little thing that used to depend on you for everything from food to wiping her butt now rolling her eyes at you.
“Yeah, yeah. I can’t just skip classes. I’m sure this,” she said, waving the piece of paper at him. “—is just formality. And it’s just going to be some boring talk from some old guy. If you don’t sign it, they’ll still make me go and then my principal will call you up to my office and ask you why you didn’t sign the slip. Merel’s older brother didn’t get his signed and the principal asked his dad if he was a communist.”
“The worst that could happen is this old man calling me a communist? You’ll have to do better than that.”
“Uncle Tommy said that communists are evil,” she said, her eyes widening for effect.
“Your uncle also says that two plus two is five and that ice cream is good for your health.”
“Because it’s milk and milk has calcium!”
“Sure it is. And it’s a shitload of sugar.”
“But if I’m having sugar, isn’t it better to have it with milk? That way I’m also having something healthy,” she asked, showing off her missing teeth as she grinned.
“Or you can just drink milk.”
“Milk tastes like sh— garbage,” she quickly corrected herself. His little girl knew bad words. That shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it was considering how much he and Tommy cursed around her. But it was…disturbing. It was evidence she was growing up, using these words around her little friends and hiding that from him. He used to know her better, be able to read her from the smallest facial expressions. He used to be able to anticipate her needs, predict her behavior, but it was getting harder nowadays.
“And you know what garbage tastes like because…?”
“I grew up eating stuff you cook, that’s how.”
“Walked right into that one.”
“Yeah you did,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him. He chuckled at her silly behavior, pinching her nose between his thumb and index finger before letting go. Maybe she wasn’t growing up after all.
“Whatever garbage I fed ya, it’s kept you strong enough to talk crap ‘bout it.”
He thought back on the days of fighting out how to cook. Before Sarah, he’d been surviving on takeout. Having to clothe and feed an entirely new human being left little money in his wallet to spend on food. So he learned to cook. For a little thing, she’d made big changes in his life— made him a father and a man. He remembered waking up at odd hours when she so much as stirred in her crib that he kept beside his bed. He remembered how his heart would ache with her little whines that turned into cries of hunger. How he cursed her mother who was meant to be feeding her as he fixed her a bottle—a cheap substitute for her mother’s milk.
Nine years.
Goddamn.
It was hard to believe it’d been that long since she entered his world and changed everything about it. Even when the evidence sat right before him, doing her homework and doodling on her desk. Her hand, while bigger, still held her pencil the same way it did when he taught her to write. Now it wrote faster, wrote long words beyond his understanding in pretty cursive handwriting.
He waited patiently as she ate the boxed mac ‘n cheese, ashamed that he couldn’t feed her anything healthier. It’d been a long day and he didn’t have the time or energy to make something better. But she ate it up happily, not complaining even once. It induced both guilt and satisfaction, the former from the lack of nutrients in the food and the latter because he still made his little girl happy.
He covered his mouth as a yawn took over, making her laugh. “You yawn so funny.”
“I do?” He asked before faking a yawn, making silly sounds as he did. She giggled and yawned back, producing her own silly sounds. It had quickly turned into a competition, leaving father and child making the silliest sounds until the latter crumpled on him, breathless from her laughter.
“Alright. Time to sleep, okay? And remember, Grandpa is picking you up from school tomorrow. So don’t walk home by yourself.”
“Alright dad,” she said, settling under her purple blanket. He bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before turning her bedside lamp off.
Dad.
Not daddy, but dad. The little girl was adamant on growing up. He left her room, remembering that she hadn’t asked for a bedtime story in months. She read on her own, borrowed piles of books from the library and narrated the stories to him and Tommy and anyone who would listen.
She didn’t need him for that anymore. While it was a comfort in one way, to lessen the duties of parenthood, it clawed at his chest to know that one day she wouldn’t need him at all. He’d had her for nine years and in another nine, she would be off to university, leaving him alone in this house with nothing to do for the first time since she became his life.
23rd December 1999
“Ma…” Tommy called out, his voice breaking as he turned to him, tears already streaming down his cheeks. Joel stepped forward and threw an arm around his little brother.
First dad and now… His chest felt heavy and his throat prickled from all the sobs he held back. He needed to be strong. There was one more funeral to arrange, a little brother to comfort…god, Tommy had seen too many deaths in his lifetime already. This wasn’t going to be easy for him.
And Sarah. She had never seen death before. Loss, yes. Her mother, her best friend who left town, the goldfish that died because he forgot to feed it. But death in the family, that was new.
He let go of Tommy and gave him an awkward pat on the back. “I’m going to call the funeral home.”
The call had been made, their mother was taken away from their family home to join her father and he drove the two of them back to his place. It wouldn’t be wise to stay there, with all the memories of growing up with their parents, especially with the holiday decorations cheering up the place in the most offensive manner.
They were supposed to celebrate together, just the five of them. But god had other plans it seemed. He poured Tommy another drink and leaned back on the couch, mind reeling with all the paperwork he had to take care of and who would take care of Sarah when he was away handling it. Not Tommy, not in his state. He sipped on his beer, watching Tommy as he followed suit.
It had been decades ago, but he remembered quite well what Ma had said after Tommy ran off to complain to her about Joel yelling at him for scribbling on his homework.
“When your dad and I are gone, Joel, you’ll be the one to take care of him. He’s little and he will make silly mistakes. But you oughta forgive him, take care of him.”
Somehow, Tommy looked just as pathetic as he did that day. Innocent, vulnerable and needing comfort. He had seen so much, so much more than what Joel could imagine in his worst nightmares. But Joel would still see him as his little brother.
“Alright, Tommy. You’ve had enough,” he said, prying the bottle of beer from his grip and taking it to the garbage. Tommy didn’t resist, only crumpled down on the couch as he stared at the ground.
“Dad?” Said a low voice, heavy with sleep. He looked to the other side to find her, rubbing at her eyes as she walked further into the living room. He’d just tucked her into bed after she spent almost an hour badgering him about what Christmas presents Santa would bring her that years as he worried himself sick about how he’d tell her that grandpa was dead. Just the thought of her festive excitement breaking to make way for grief… That was when Tommy called him, sobbing and sputtering out the words.
He’d gone to cook something for Ma and found her unmoving on her bed.
“Hey baby girl…” he said, his voice soft as he walked to her. “Did we wake you up?”
She whined and hugged him, placing her weight on him as she let him lead her to the couch. Tommy, realizing his niece was there, wiped his eyes with the cuffs of his shirt and plastered a smile on his face. “Hey Butterfly…” he addressed her in his trembling voice.
“What happened?”
Joel didn’t know how he did it. But he did it. The girl’s eyes were wide as she listened to him, her little hands wrapped around his arms like she was afraid to let go.
“We’ll never see grandma and grandpa again?”
He shook his head, his heart breaking for her. He never had the misfortune of experiencing his own grandparents’ deaths. Half of them were gone before his parents had him and the other half passed when he was too little to remember them.
“There will be a funeral for them. We’ll all get together as a family and say goodbye at Church.”
Her lips curved down and tears brimmed in her eyes, the realization of the true nature of death hitting her. With a wail, she wrapped her arms around him, her bony knees digging into his thighs. “I don’t want them to go,” she cried, her tiny fist punching his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.
“I know, baby… I know.” He whispered into her ear, cradling and rocking her in his arms the way he did when she cried as a newborn. “It’s going to be scary because we have always had grandma and grandpa. But we’ll get through it, okay? Together. Daddy’s here. I’ll get us through it.”
“I don’t want them to die.”
“I know, I know,” he breathed and for the first time since he lost the first two people he ever loved, the sorrow caught up to him. Her innocent words, how she thought to speak them to him- as though she believed he could prevent her dead grandparents from dying. In her innocence, he finds his own. For the first time, he allows himself to be more than the responsible older brother who made funeral arrangements and took care of his grieving little brother. His love for his parents, his remaining childlike belief that they would be permanent in his life— They dug their claws into his chest and ripped his heart right out, piercing it, making it bleed.
“Does everyone die?” She asked meekly, fear and curiosity battling each other and plunging them both into the remains of her innocence.
“Yeah. Eventually, everyone dies.”
“Even you?” She asked, pulling back, sweet brown eyes staring back at him. While he thought she had her mother’s eyes, everyone else said their expressions were his. His eyes that he got from his father. For the first time, he saw what they all said. Just like dad’s eyes.
“You don’t worry about that now, baby girl,” he said, caressing her hair. “I’ll be here for a long time. You’ll be a big girl by then. Have a job ‘n all.”
“I don’t want you to die.”
“Oh, darlin’…” He pulled her to his chest and patted her back, setting a rhythm that he used when her back was the size of his hand and she needed the rhythm to fall asleep on his chest. She relaxed under his touch, the rhythm still having an effect. “It’ll be fine. Everything will be okay,” he lied, a habit that’s come easy to him with fatherhood. Lying was second nature when it came to comforting her, lulling her into a false sense of security about life.
17th May 2000
He pulled up the hem of his T-shirt and wiped his sweat, hoping to look better for Sarah’s game. He was late. By over an hour. Sarah would already be angry at him and seeing his face in the stands so fucking late would only add insult to injury. But he had to try. After all the games he missed, he had to keep his promise to be there for the final match.
He spotted Sarah instantly as he walked close to the field. But she wasn’t playing like he hoped. She was taking a towel from her friend Candace, her lips weighed down by a frown. Candace’s mother offered her a bottle of water and she accepted it politely before walking away and settling down on the stands. Alone. The back of her soccer jersey is stained with sweat and his guilty mind reads the big bold Miller on it as an accusation. Where were you, Miller? Other kids were with their families and his sat alone.
“Baby girl…”
She looked up at him but quickly dropped her eyes back down to her lap, her fingernails scratching at the label of the plastic water bottle. From the frown on her face, he guessed that her team didn’t win. Such a shame since she worked so hard practicing while also keeping her grades up.
“It’s okay you didn’t win,” he began gently, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. She tsked and shrugged his hand off her shoulder. Oh she was angry. “You came this far. Finals and all. Second place is still good, you know?”
Silence.
Maybe it would help to regale her with one of his own failures, show her she was doing much better than her old man, maybe even make her laugh. “I was always on reserve and hoping nobody gets injured so I didn’t have to play,” he said, his laugh coming out awkwardly as her frown deepened. Humor wasn’t it, apparently.
“Sarah!” An older woman called out from across the pitch and she looked up at her. From her outfit- tracksuit, whistle at the end of a lanyard around her neck, he assumed she was a soccer coach. “It’s time for the pictures.”
She put her water bottle down on the seat next to her and walked in the woman’s direction. It definitely hurt, her walking away from him without hesitation in the direction of someone who wasn’t family. Like a visible representation of her rejecting him for someone she saw more than him these days.
He let out a defeated sigh and walked up to the pitch and found the huddle of backpacks. Finding her purple one with the butterflies wasn’t hard. He picked it up and threw it over his shoulder and watched as she stood with the kids on her team for the picture. The coach brought a trophy over, big shiny one with ribbons tied to it. Her little friends cheered as the trophy was handed to the girl in the middle, the captain presumably and they all put their hands on it, smiling wide as their picture was taken. His little girl finally managed a smile too, encouraged by Chantal grabbing her shoulder and shaking her.
“She played well, huh?”
He looked to his side to find the owner of the voice, a man older than he was, wearing a red tee, the color of the opposing team.
“Tony,” he said, introducing himself. “I’m your Sarah’s math teacher. And the dad of the losing team’s captain.”
Joel squinted, confused. Sarah’s team didn’t lose? On the other side of the pitch, the red team stood together for a picture, looking a little less happy and holding a trophy much smaller than Sarah’s team.
“Joel,” he said, introducing himself. “Sorry for…uh-” he struggled to find a way to say something nice about his daughter’s performance. But he wasn’t at the game and didn’t know who the man’s kid was. “They played well, your kid’s team.”
“Oh, you’re being kind. Don’t tell my girl I said this, but they played like shit,” Tony said and he laughed awkwardly. Was he supposed to agree or disagree? Which would be more polite?
Joel instead changed the topic to school. “Is it hard? Teaching and having your kid in the same school?” He asked like a fucking idiot. Where did that come from? Why would that even be hard? He would kill to work at the school, see his kid more instead of working mad hours far away from home while she ate at the Adlers’ and went to bed alone. But the job paid shit.
“Well, a little…” he answered, scratching his beard. As the man spoke, Joel’s attention was elsewhere, on the pitch with Sarah. Her team won. The games she'd been stressing over for so long had come to an end and she had won. But she still had that frown on her face. Realization hit him like a ton of bricks.
She looked sad because he wasn’t there. After he promised he would be.
“…and you’d think she would be much better at math with me teaching her at home and another math teacher teaching her in school, but she’s hopeless. Soccer is life for Dolly. Your Sarah is very good. I’m guessing that’s why I never see you at the parent-teacher meetings. Never nothin’ to ask your kids’ teachers about if they’re doing perfectly well in school, right?”
“Right,” he said, nodding as he felt the guilt eat away at his heart. She had been raving about this match for so long, was so excited when they made it to the finals and drilled the date into his head. But he still forgot. He would lie to her on the drive home, say he had so much work that he couldn’t get to the match on time. But he would know the truth- that he forgot about it until he heard a soccer match inside the house of the client whose deck he was redoing.
“Now, I know your girl is very busy with the debate club, soccer and art. I asked her to join mathletes but she said she was too busy. I think it would be good for her. On her CV and stuff when she applies for college. Plus she needs a challenge.”
He felt smaller in front of the teacher despite having a couple inches over him. Sarah was a smart kid. Took after her mother there. But he wasn’t. He didn’t know art or debate and Sarah had long ago gone beyond the math he knew, taking advanced classes he never took and getting grades he never had on his report card. And did Tony say the math thing would help her with college?
“Yeah, she does,” he agreed, not even knowing fully what he was agreeing over. “Umm… I’ll talk to her about it.”
He traded some words with her teacher, the two of them agreeing to meet at the next game before he left to find his daughter and console her over her team’s loss. In a while, he found Sarah walking to the parking, holding a gold medal and a certificate. He followed and opened the truck door for her and she climbed in wordlessly.
“Come on, you gon’ be like that the whole time?” He asked, a couple minutes into their ride.
“You forgot about the game, didn’t you?”
“What? No!” He lied. “I wanted to come, baby girl. I swear. Just took too long at work today because of the sub-contractor. He installed the wrong plumbing for the kitchen and wouldn’t admit to it, so—” he stopped abruptly, feeling bad about his string of lies. But he did nothing to correct it. What was he supposed to say? Apologise for being a shit dad who forgot?
“I didn’t forget, I swear,” he lied again. Lying was second nature to him now. It was easier to lie than to confess to your kid that you forgot about something that was important to her. Plus, it wasn’t going to be worth the fight. She was a teenager and on a goddamn debate team. She knew how to argue. Whose idea was it anyway to teach children how to argue better? No one from the south, he was sure. Had he argued with his mama, he would’ve gotten a belt to his ass.
“Fine,” she huffed, folding her arms over her chest.
“A’right,” he said, feeling a weight leave his shoulder. “How ‘bout we get some pizza and celebrate your win? We can watch a movie too.”
“Okay fine. But I get to pick.”
“Yeah yeah, we’ll watch Toy Story again,” he said, smiling as her grumpy face lit up for a moment before stretching thin into a neutral expression. He had watched that movie a million times because of her. Their CD had given out from scratches from the number of times they watched it and he had to buy her a new one.
“I didn’t say Toy Story,” she said defiantly. Right… She was growing up now, watching fewer movies from when she was younger to make herself look older and cooler around her friends. He remembered that stage with Tommy.
“Sure, baby girl,” he teased, driving in the direction of their favorite pizza place.
27th March 2001
“Don’t be scared, a’right?” He said, holding her face in his hands. She nodded, putting on a brave face even though she was afraid. “I’ll be right behind you. Won’t let those assholes do anything. Uncle Tommy is inside the store too. We’ll take care.”
She took his word and got out of the truck, following the path she usually took when she walked home from school. She came home crying the other day, talking about how she didn’t want to go to school anymore ‘cause a bunch of guys stood outside a store leering at her and talking shit.
He was ready to go to prison for murder immediately, but Tommy chose to be the smarter Miller for the first time in his life and hatched a plan. Nothing elaborate. Just intimidating the whichever boys dared to fuck with his kid.
He followed Sarah at a safe distance, close enough to protect her from danger while also making sure to maintain enough distance so as to not alert the guys into running away. A few minutes in and he spotted them. Not boys. Not misguided teenagers like he was expecting. Men. Grown men older than him. He caught how their eyes crawled over his kid, how she squirmed under the gaze and he immediately wants to slam the three of them into the fucking ground. Pull their eyes out and kick them to their fucking death.
She was twelve.
He stopped outside the store. A little bodega he frequented. Tommy seemed to have similar thoughts running through his head, his hands curled into fists at his sides as he burned holes into the men’s head. They communicated with just their eyes. We’ll wait for Sarah to get home.
Joel didn’t know how he managed to wait until she walked into their street. From a distance, he could see her opening their front door and letting herself in. She better have locked the door.
Intimidation would not work on these men. Not was it enough for their disgusting act. Joel’s stomach turned as his mind replayed the way they looked at her. No wonder she was afraid. His poor girl.
They took the men out back, hand on their back, words exchanged about needing to ask something. He didn’t remember how much punches and kicks he and Tommy landed, but it seemed enough. Sarah walked home peacefully again. But peace eluded Joel from then on. He was raising a girl. He could remember how his female friends in school had to keep themselves safe- keys in between their fingers, a trusted male walking them home when it got dark. He thought nothing of it then, even walked some of his friends home to keep them safe.
It was different experiencing it as a dad. Now men were part of the list of things he had to worry about- concussion from football, period cramps, eating too much chocolate, fucking terrorists taking out goddamn buildings— He cursed the part of him that once wanted his little girl to grow up faster so he didn’t have to change diapers anymore. He would take diapers over this any day.
4th March 2002
“Uh huh,” he hummed as the client hammered on about his good for nothing son who he caught smoking weed and sneaking out to some party. He would’ve whipped out the picture of Sarah in his wallet and rubbed it in the man’s face that his kid never got into trouble and was a straight A’s student. But part of being a contractor was not being a complete fucking asshole to his clients. So he shut up.
Plus he was in no mood to brag.
He returned home late. Again. It had become the topic of all his fights with Sarah. He could understand why she would be angry. But understanding didn’t put money in his pocket or food on their table. It most certainly did not go towards Sarah’s college funds. Animals were what took up her thoughts these days. She brought home a ton of books from the library, ranting off about the different animals and how she wanted to take care of them for a living.
This obsession had stayed longer than the last one. She he believed their neighbor’s dog was to blame. And the stray cat that followed her home to get some scraps of food.
He would’ve brushed it off as his sweet daughter being kind to every fucking thing all the time. Well, he did. Until she dropped the bomb.
Veterinary medicine.
Curious, he slipped into the library close to a store he was building and sat in front of the computer. The number had enough zeroes in it for him to need a doctor and since he couldn’t afford the human one, a veterinary doctor like his kid wanted to become. It wasn’t something he could afford. Not a pet to satiate her obsession with, not a doctor for himself and certainly not enough to make Sarah an animal doctor.
He had just finished paying off the house and now this… Couldn’t she have chosen a different job to do with animals? Or relegated puppies to hobby instead of career. But the puppies weren’t the problem. He was.
No matter what education she decided on, it would end up breaking his back. When at the library, he had gone over a few other degree costs. While not as expensive as medicine, they were still significant costs. There was a little bit of inheritance from his parents, he had started an account in her name and kept his share of the money in it. But it wouldn’t be enough for a college degree.
Sarah’s anger over him not coming home on time hurt. Missing her games and not cooking her the best meals made him realize the failure he was as a dad. But by god he wouldn’t fail to give her a good education. Had he had that, he would be able to give her a better life. And he would be damned if he didn’t try his hardest to give her the education to reach her dreams.
27th September 2003
Sarah Miller came into the world crying when the doctor handed her to him, small and covered in blood. He took her into his arms then, his hospital gown red with her blood and he held her to his chest. His voice trembled as he introduced himself to her.
“Oh, baby girl…” he’d said as he looked down in wonder at the person who would become his entire world. “It’s daddy,” he said as tears of joy streamed down his cheeks. There would be no one adopting her. He wouldn’t give her to anyone else. No one could care for her the way he did.
She left the world the same, crying and gasping for breaths. She was still light in his arms, too easy to carry and still so little. The blood her father gave returned to him, oozing out of her bullet wound and covering him in his failure. He was supposed to have cared for her much better than anyone else could have.
His mother had taken her from his arms then, telling him she knew better, excited to see her grandchild even though she’d thought until then that they would give her away to another family. His brother tried to take her from him now. He held her closer, a whimper akin to that of a wounded animal escaping his lips. The chaos reeling on around them and the sobs that wracked his body weren’t enough to convince him that his world had ended.
A pole marked her grave, dug hurriedly by her beloved uncle.
“We’ll be back, okay?” He reassured the girl’s father, his hands squeezing his shoulder. Stifling a sob, he removed a chain from around his neck, a pendant shining silver from the light of the moon that sat peacefully in the sky as though unaware of the chaos underneath her.
He wrapped his chain around the pole.
MILLER
THOMAS R
9913387701
B POS
CHRISTIAN
A lot would change in the next two decades. But the dogtag would stay on the pole above her. Marking the grave of a child well loved, a name she shared and the type of blood he could’ve donated to her to save her life. The little girl would rest, but the man who had to be dragged away from her grave never would. He would wander, much like the zombies themselves, trying to find his purpose.
#joel miller#joel and sarah#joel and tommy#tommy miller#uncle tommy#tlou#tlou hbo#tlou fanfiction#tlou fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller fluff#dad joel#pre outbreak!joel#pre outbreak!tommy#joel the last of us#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal#all that i've inflicted on the world
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In Defense of Dramione - an essay
Okay, time for another Ted talk/ soapbox/ pointless rambling...Putting it under the cut because I have opinions.
In Defense of Dramione - an essay
First of all, I want to say I ship Dramione. Which is a recent thing, specifically about half a year ago. I didn't always because well it never occurred to me that you could. Of course, that's how ships are. We ship some ships bc they're canon, okay, fine. But we ship a whole lot others that aren't because you name whatever reason (they've got chemistry, they WORK, they're better than the canonically approved pairings whatever the hell else, idk). My point is, it had never crossed my mind that I myself would actually like the idea of Draco and Hermione. Bc naturally, you look at them and you think, "He did insult her when they were children. He was an asshat, etc etc." But...BUT.
You know that trope Enemies to Lovers? Ever heard of redemption arcs? Yeah, those are things. Of course, I don't speak on behalf of everyone in the fandom because we all have our reasons for why. But I ship them because there is potential in Draco's character for growth, for repentance, for redemption. I believe that he's capable, when he's an adult of realizing that he fucked up and that the beliefs he was spoonfed as a child are not the law of the land. I've read more fics than I can count that describe this character arc for him and they do it masterfully. Honestly, I think he's a pretty complex character and I believe that we see a sliver of that in the last few movies. Like look, in 6th year, Harry hit him with Sectumsempra and nearly killed him. But when the Golden Trio were at the Manor and it was on Draco's shoulders to identify Harry and basically seal their doom, did he do it? Did he rat them out? Nope.
Maybe this wasn't exactly Draco "forgiving" Harry, admittedly. But Draco saw that Harry was their only hope for destroying Voldemort or for having some sliver of a winning chance, of a possibility of surviving the mess Voldemort was orchestrating. He obviously deemed it important enough to dare to lie, especially knowing that Bellatrix would have summoned the Dark Lord himself in the next few moments. If Draco really didn't care about the outcome of everything, he wouldn't have done that. If anything, we see that he cares at least about the safety of his family because that could have also been the motive. But that gets me thinking, couldn't he also have confirmed Harry's identity? Voldy would have arrived, perhaps praised Draco and spared the Malfoys to die another die. So really, Draco might have gotten more out of it if he HAD confirmed Harry's identity. Hmm food for thought.
Second point, I'm not going to judge anyone in the fandom because of reasons stated above, but I will go so far as to say, please, if you don't ship Dramione, that's okay. Everyone has their own cup of tea, but please, do NOT claim that all of us (that every single one of us who happen to support this ship) are and I quote "are just a bunch of horny teenagers desperate for some pretty boy and pretty girl sex". That isn't fair and it frankly isn't true, so please don't. I know many wonderful people who have crafted amazing stories and shown great talent through their writing to express the complexities I've just spoken about.
I'll end by saying that we all have our ships, and that's okay. There's no real right or wrong inasfaras who you ship with whom. But it's a basic gesture of respect, I think, to let others love the pairings that they love. Spreading hatred, ill-will or just unkindness toward those of us who enjoy a particular ship, that's not cool and that's what brings us down in what should be something we all enjoy and go to find joy and share that joy with others.
Okay, it seems I really defended Draco more than Hermione here but I will die on this hill and defend my dorks. Fight me on it (joking here but really though. XD) Thanks for coming to my Ted talk.
#my ramblings#dramione#draco malfoy#hermione granger#in defense of dramione#because i'm sick of seeing people throwing unnecessary shade on this beautiful fandom#thanks for coming to my ted talk
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Im the CSA victim from UniformedArtists blog and I agree with you 1000% dropping everything Vivziepop.
Like I only watch Helluva even after the shit she's done to see how far it would sink but jesus christ.
You know her just saying the counselor is 18-19 isn't fucking good enough because the show says a different thing.
Like before people bring up the argument counselors can be adults... Most TV shows in media actually have minor counselors and we know Vivziepop doesn't research shit about hell or actual royalty so why the fuck am I supposed to believe Adam or her researched counselor age ranges.
Also nobody should have a twitter to figure out if you did or didn't make a grooming subplot.
You know in Curse of Strahd there's a controversial character Gertruda who 50 (500) year old Strahd is implied to planning take as another bride because of where you find her and in the book it states she's recently a teenager. However as much as I hate this plot line due to trauma I understand why it was added because WOTC portrays Strahd as a piece of shit. Like his goal is to chase down the reincarnation of his brother's fiance throughout time until he catches her, makes her a vampire and possibly brainwash/assault her to make her love him. Strahd is meant to be a gross creep. I as a DM and many other age Gertruda up to 18 because we don't want a pedo plot line and it keeps the predatory nature of Strahd intact.
Barbie seems to be portrayed in a significantly more positive light and her grooming behavior is never called out as a bad thing. Like Moxxie should say something at god damn least since he has morals.
There are so many things wrong with the EP. What gets me is writing has multiple stages, first the person needs to come up with the EP pitch, get the directer or network's approval, finish the first draft, then revisit it for grammar mistakes and continuity, then revise it a few more times for a stronger script, and send it to the directer or network again to approve of filming the finish script and that's not even counting how long animation takes too. So during the process of writing to animating, did no one at SpindleHorse see how weird and problematic the script was? The camp for pre-teens is called, "IWannaKumMore"(Their logo being a cum splat), Millie and Moxxie's human backstories of being siblings then making out at the end was unnecessary because they could have just been good friends whose mothers sent them to the same camp, Moxxie this grown ass adult who pretending to be a pre-teen is acting sexual and wants the kids attention, Millie who everyone else thinks is a young boy is getting sent nudes from kids and adults, and Barbie saying how easy teenagers are to manipulate then flash her ass to a boy is implying she grooms kids.
To be clear, I don't have a problem when a dark comedy make these types of jokes as all as they portray the topics and groomers as bad and show they understand that. SpindleHorse did not, like you mentioned they portrayed Barbie in the positive light and Moxxie never calls out her behavior despite being the voice of reason. In fact the tone of the Barbie's scene was supposed to funny but not in a dark ironic way. I don't understand why the camp couldn't be for college students and the consolers are stated and look like actual adults. Everything about the canon camp is childish and filled with teenagers, it's very uncomfortable to see them in sexual situations. In America the youngest a camp counselor can be is 15 y/o but that changes from states to states so no body has a clue, also with the camp counselor having a pitch voice, Barbie referring to him as kid and teenager and him, not once trying to correct her about his actual age, I'm convinced he was kid but Viv had to age him up for damage control.
I'm sorry if this response is all over the place because I'm having trouble describing my thoughts but the writers are in their 30s, and they saw nothing wrong? The writing for HB has been going down for a while now and it was fun to see how the writing could get worse but never in my years of watching awful shows did the writing get so bad, the writers had to resort to terrible jokes about sexualizing teenagers, making an incest joke, and a minor getting groomed unironically. I can't support a person or company that are fine making content like that.
"Unhappy Teenagers" was the first time, I have watched a show and felt a sinking feeling in my gut so much so it still lingers even a day later. I never felt so sick from watching a show and I'm sorry writers and companies think making this type of content and jokes of your trauma and abused experience is okay to do.
#꧁rambles꧂#➥asks#helluva boss criticism#helluva boss critical#helluva critical#vivizepop criticism#vivziepop critical#spindlehorse critical#spindlehorse criticism
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Fuck It Friday
It's still Friday on my coast! So I'll drop a little snippet of Kinkley "first" date struggles. Not exactly a spec-fic because I don't think this will happen, I just wanted to write something sweet for Buck with a tiny plot line of him not being ready to come out (and that's okay!!!)
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Their second attempt at a date almost didn’t even start. Buck had double booked himself, promising Maddie that he could babysit Jee for a few hours while she and Chimney picked up extra shifts. They were saving as much money as possible for the wedding, he knew that before he even got the text two days before. He just happened to remember he had other plans for that Friday night when he got a text – just as he was sitting down at the kitchen table with his niece for dinner.
[ text | from: Tommy ] got stuck in some rough traffic
[ text | from: Tommy ] I’ll be late but I should still be able to pick you up in about 20?
Instead of going out to the bowling alley, like they’d discussed through their text messages for almost the entire week until they both got too busy with work, they spent the evening in. It had felt rude to cancel, but it wasn’t like he could bring a toddler to a date. Maddie would kill him without hesitation if he blinked at the wrong time and Jee crushed her finger under a bowling ball, or something equally as unlikely. It was better to just not risk it.
Buck still felt bad, lingering in the doorway for their goodbyes and the single kiss that he didn’t mind becoming a tradition. He felt like a teenager, kicking his date out before some adult could get home and catch them, even if there wasn’t anything going on. But there were still too many feelings rolling in his chest, too many words and labels stuck in his head, and he hadn’t even told anyone he might not just be interested in women anymore. It wouldn’t exactly go over well if Maddie showed up to pick up her daughter only to find him blushing and laughing on the couch like the only thing that mattered was a glimmer of his date’s attention.
So, they ended the night like the first, with quiet apologies and a kiss and a promise of more.
#alex writes things#evan buckley#tommy kinard#kinkley#bucktommy#911#911 spoilers#fif#fuck it friday#911 fic#bi evan buckley
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(not the same anon) i only saw the anime (not the full thing cause i hated it), ill try to keep the points neutral/factual & not let my opinion/bias shine through too much. heres some of the stuff that happens (spoilers obviously): 1. main character, adult man, works as a doctor. one of his patients is 16 year old idol Ai. she is pregnant. mc is obsessed with her throughout the show. when asked by a colleague if he'd hook up with her if given a chance he says yes. 2. a patient of his (i dont know her age, early/mid teens) is in love with him. she dies. 3. the doctor mc is killed. he is 'reincarnated' as Ai's child, while keeping his past memories, along with the teen girl patient i mentioned in (2.), now named ruby. mc is now named aqua. they are twins now. they don't know each others former identities 4. Ai is killed, which further fuels aquas obsession with her (it seems to be romantic since i believe he mentions being in love with her, her being his 'ideal woman' etc) 5. several teenage girls are also in love with him (while his 'reincarnation' is their age, he has the full scope of his past memories, making him at least 30yo in lived experience), while he doesn't seem to reciprocate their feelings (up to the point i watched the show at least), it's not treated as something he's against due to them being teenagers, moreso that he's too preoccupied with searching for Ai's killer. that's about it, im sure theres more in the manga & bits i havent seen, i personally really dislike the show but i'd understand if you were to keep up the figurines as despite those themes no actual incest happens to my knowledge (correct me if wrong or forgot stuff!), some of the designs are pretty i guess
thank you for taking the time to explain it to me anon! i'm sure there's good parts to it since it's so popular but yeah it doesn't sound like it'd be for me personally either.
i do find it hard to judge media like this without having seen it. i'm a big horror fan so i watch a lot of media that features things you should very much Not do irl but that doesn't mean all horror is inherently problematic. sometimes media is just an exploration of something fucked up without explicitly stating "this is Bad!!! Do Not Do!!!!" because they trust the consumer to realise that on their own.
having said that, oshi no ko doesn't sound like a psychological piece that explores the morals of incest and adult-minor relationships to me (from what i understand without having seen/read it! do please correct me if i'm wrong!). it sounds like it's just kinda very weird without challenging those themes much.
again, it's hard to judge that without having consumed it. i think i'll just leave up the oshi no ko posts i have and not add any more. i might have some in the queue so i'll remove those if i remember to. hope everyone is somewhat okay with that decision!
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"caleb wasnt a good guy cuz he LEFT his itty bitty brother" "caleb indoctrinated philip into the murder cult then dipped so hes just as bad" "caleb wasnt good cuz he was a witch hunter too" "philip had to survive all alone in the human/demon realm to find caleb!" "caleb made philip this bad!"
holy fuck belos apologists shut up challenge
1) caleb was JUST AS MUCH of a child as philip left in an impossible situation, saying he was 'bad' for leaving philip is basically victim shaming him because his only options were a) stay in a place he hates doing something he hated or b) risk alienating philip by move to the demon realm with a person who made him happy.
theres also no evidence to suggest he just left without a word or kept philip out of the loop. for all we know he did try to change philips mind! all we have to go on is belos's VERY biased memories and a folk-lore retelling of bare details. and seeing how evelyns name is still remembered, along with the numerous rebus found in gravesfield, their friendship/courting went on for a while, a good chunk of which im betting philip WAS in the know. at the very least, he knew evelyn as well as a human amd that something was going on.
im also pretty sure caleb didnt even leave the human realm for the last time until philip was at least in his teens if we go by hair length (hair in a ponytail = teenaged to adult)
2) philip was his own damn person and you can only take 'his brother abandoned him' so far. there was likely only 2-3 years between the two brothers ages, caleb was just as likely to be impressionable amd shaped by society. but by all rights, he chose to change. philip on the other hand, for over 300 years, killed countless witches and grimwalkers, justifying it via bigotry.
and dont come at me about caleb not giving him a chance or w/e, because we see in the memories that caleb embraced and tried to reach philip MULTIPLE times before being murdered by him.
caleb leaving philip does not justify any of belos's actions. not a single one.
society failed them both, creating a toxic environment that warped their views of what was right and what was wrong. both boys made mistakes.
the difference is that caleb recognized they were wrong and chose to leave that environment when he finally got the chance.
philip refused to accept being wrong.
what exactly should caleb have done? was his misery in the human realm unimportant? was he to sacrifice his own happiness so philip could have what he wanted? he was a victim too! he was a child just as much as philip! but because he was the older brother, he didn’t deserve a better life? he'd always have to bend to philip's desires?
caleb did NOT 'make' belos. caleb did not turn philip evil. PHILIP chose to kill, to not give the demon realm a chance. philip chose to kill his brother and make grimwalkers. trying to pass off these choices onto caleb is honestly pathetic and actively missing the true tragedy of belos's character.
he could have had a good life with his brother, he could of found happiness outside of witch hunting! but he was so unable to accept being WRONG in any shape or form, to acknowledge his own inability to see calebs suffering for what it was, that only PHILIP'S happiness mattered, that he chased caleb away.
philip is not innocent, nor is caleb. their story is a tragedy. stop acting like he is to blame for belos's actions. really, putting all the blame onto caleb and not the society that left two orphaned children thinking witch hunting was the only way to survive is. fucking bananas.
like.... you do realize that's exactly the kind of manipulation tactic belos would try to pull, right?
#caleb wittebane#the owl house#toh#philip wittebane#like holy hell how have you guys missed the point of a character so hard
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