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katiexpunk · 7 months

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Diner Girl | Pairing Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Summary: You frequent your local dinner pretty often, not just because you love their pancakes with extra syrup, but because your best friend Sydney is a waitress there. You've heard her talk about her hot boss, Joel, every now and then but you've never had the pleasure of meeting him; that was until one morning, after getting unexpectedly laid off, you decided to drown your feels in syrup and love from your bestie. Joel offers you a job, and he shows you the ropes in more ways than one. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~7.3K Warnings: Pining, flirting, hard core tension, age gap (unspecified, reader is 30), 2000s style (needs a TW lol), 2000s texting, Joel is a little rough/bossy, Joel is actually readers boss, unprotected p in v (wrap it up, folks, or don't idk you're not gonna listen to me anyways), no creampie (a katiexpunk first, weird, I know), rough blow job, oral (m and female receiving) pet names, cum swallowing, praise kink, inappropriate use of syrup, one tit slap, Joel rips readers uniform off of her, readers former boss is an asshole, reader gets fired from her job, eating/references to food, did I already say flirting. Joel and reader fuck on a table in the diner. References to a health scares (for readers coworker). A bit of a dom/sub dynamic. Fluff. Porn with plot. Joel calls reader slut twice. Hilary Duff/A Cinderella Story gets mentioned, as does Jennifer Coolidge yelling for more salmon. Authors Note: The fact that I'm posting this doesn't feel real. This idea has been in my brain for so long, and I am happy and relieved to have it out in the world. Special thank you to @endlessthxxghts for holding my balls, brainstorming with me, and beta'ing this. And another thank you to @sydneyinacoma, my inspiration for readers bestie -- thank you for being my slutty, smutty, sister and for saving my ass with the first blowjob scene; I owe you one. ILY both. And to @hier--soir, Jessie, your beautiful way of storytelling inspires me and I often find myself HWJWTS (How Would Jessie Write This Smut). Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

November 2004

The blaring sound of your alarm disrupts your slumber, and you jolt awake with a sense of urgency. Shit. You’re gonna be late. Again.

You stumble through your routine. You splash cold water on your face in an attempt to remove the pillow marks left behind on your cheek and smear on a mixture of lotion and face oil the saleswoman swears will make you look like you’re in your 20s again. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that that was only a year ago. You can see why she would have thought you were older as you look at your reflection in the mirror and the dim light from your tiny 1950s bathroom illuminates the bags under your eyes.

God, you’re tired. Truthfully, you’ve been tired for months now; no amount of caffeine can seem to make up for your lack of sleep due to the demands of finishing up your Master’s and your boss who keeps you late at work what seems like every night now.

You hastily get dressed and attempt to gather your thoughts. As you step outside into the cool November morning air, you bristle at the wind cooling the still-damp hairs that frame your face. You unlock the door to your beater and slip the keys into the engine. A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach when a soft click, click, click, click noise reverberates through the air; the stubborn engine refusing to turn over.

Shit. Not again. No!

Frustration mounts with each futile attempt to bring the engine to life. You slam your palms against the cool leather of your steering wheel, a long sigh escapes your lungs and your forehead meets the top of the wheel in defeat.

You reach into your purse for your phone and quickly compose a message to your boss, explaining the situation. "Car won't start. Trying to figure it out. Going to be late. Sorry." With a sigh, you hit send, hoping for a sympathetic response.

The minutes crawl by as you anxiously await a reply. The familiar chime of your phone signals a message, and you eagerly check it. However, the words that flash across the screen only deepen your frustration: "This is unacceptable. You’ve already been warned twice. Don’t bother coming in, and consider this your termination."

The shock of the message hits you like a ton of bricks.

Sure, you had been late a few times in the past year, but you figured your staying late almost every night would make up for it. Maybe if he paid a little more you could afford to fix your piece of shit car and you wouldn’t be late in the first place.

Your eyes sting with disbelief, and your hands tremble as you clutch the phone. Anger and desperation dance the waltz in your mind as you fight to hold back the tears threatening to spill over.

You sit in your silent car, the quiet sounds of morning make you feel frozen in time, unsure of what to do or where to go from here.

You look back down at your phone again and type out a quick message to your best friend Sydney.

“U working this am?” before you can even put the phone down, it’s chirping to life with her response.

“Hi babes! I am. R u?” her response reads.

You don’t want to give her the full details over text – too much to type out – and instead, you settle on a short response.

“No. Long story. Coming in 2 c u.”

“Kk! C u soon <3”

Your day was quite possibly off to the shittiest start ever, but you know there are three remedies to that situation.

Your bestie, pancakes, and syrup.

Lots and lots of fucking syrup.

++++

The early morning sunlight spills through the diner's large windows, casting a warm glow on the worn checkered tiles. The aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee envelops the air, creating a comforting ambiance that feels like a hug. The clinking of cutlery against plates and the low hum of conversations provide a soothing soundtrack to the chaos of your morning.

Your usual booth is taken, so you settle for a seat at the bar. The stool is a little wobbly, but you have a nice view of the bustling kitchen and the seats next to you are empty.

You watch Sydney pour a coffee refill for the older couple at the end of the bar before heading over to you. As she approaches, her infectious smile illuminates the space. Her apron, adorned with a patchwork of food stains and coffee spills, hints at the countless meals she’s already served this morning.

"Morning, sunshine! You’re here early, you miss me?” she greets, grabbing a mug from the counter behind her before placing it in front of you and pouring you a steaming cup of coffee.

You let out a little chuckle at her remark, knowing you just saw her last night.

You grab the mug in front of you with both hands, wishing you could shrink yourself and jump into the hot liquid like a hot tub; your bones cold from your long walk to the diner. Stupid car.

"No really, what’s up? Everything okay?” she asks, a hint of concern behind her words.

“Not really. My car wouldn’t start this morning again, and John fired me after I told him I was gonna be late,” you respond, feeling the warmth of your frustration beginning to build in your chest once more.

“What an asshole,” Sydney responds, “I’m sorry that happened, babe. He’s a real piece of work, you’re better off without him,” she continues.

“I guess so. But I need a job, Syd. I don’t know what I’m gonna do now,” you respond, defeated. Your cheeks begin to heat and you think you might actually cry this time. You move the menu out in front of you on the counter to the side, and Sydney picks it up and removes the pen from behind her ear.

“I could talk to Joel,” she offers, scribbling your order down on her notepad. You don’t have to tell her, she already knows what this situation calls for – pancakes with a lot of fucking syrup.

“Joel?” you ask, leaning over the counter and looking both ways before you whisper to her, “as in the hot boss you won’t shut up about, Joel?”

She lets out a little chuckle and you see a little twinkle of bashfulness in her eyes.

“Yes, my ridiculously hot, mostly unreadable, but hot, boss Joel,” she replies. “Martha quit last week, something about wanting to spend more time with her grandkids, so we’re down a waitress.”

You look at her face, pondering her offer as if you really have another option at the moment.

“He’s here this morning, he’s in the back doing paperwork – I can go grab him and have him talk to you if ya want,” she says, nodding to the woman who just sat down at the bar, giving her a soft be right there hun.

“Plus, it’ll be so fun to work together!” she says, her voice more energetic this time, preparing to go back into customer service mode.

“I – yeah, alright, yes, I’ll talk to him,” you agree.

She does a little jump and says “YAY!” and then gives you a big smile before pouncing off to greet her next customer. Where does she find the energy?

As you wait for your emotional pancakes to arrive, you cradle your mug, the warmth seeping into your chilled skin, while you gaze through the window into the kitchen. Amidst the orchestrated dance of chefs and waitstaff, there stands a figure that looks like he doesn’t belong in the greasy kitchen of a diner – a towering presence, broad and resolute. His flannel shirt clings to the sculpted contours of his muscles and the determined furrow of his brow accentuates the intensity he’s directing to the clipboard in his hand.

That’s him. That’s gotta be the ridiculously hot boss. That’s gotta be Joel, right? You feel a little tickle in your belly at the thought.

You try not to stare too much, not wanting to be obvious, but like passing a car wreck on the freeway, you can’t seem to look away. You smile at the way he bites the cap of the pen in his mouth, only dropping it on occasion to make little notes or checkmarks. As you look at him doing his work, his eyes flutter up and meet yours. And in that brief moment, you feel a connection. The corners of his lips curl into a friendly smile as he stares back at you briefly, before once again dropping his gaze to the papers in front of him. Sydney did say he was unreadable; now you see why.

Before you can process further, Sydney returns with your stack of pancakes and places them in front of you. “Thanks, can I have some syr–,” but before you can continue, she’s placing the container of the sweet liquid in front of you with a wink.

As you dive into your comfort food, savoring each bite, the door to the kitchen swings open, and Joel emerges. Tall and confident, he approaches your seat, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. Of course, he would come to talk to you now, right as you have a giant bite of pancake shoved into your mouth like an animal. The cherry on top of your already shit day.

"Sydney's been raving about you," he admits, a friendly smirk on his face. "Say’s you’re lookin’ for some work,” his voice is low and even, and his eyes briefly scan over the patrons before coming back to land on your face. For as hot as Sydney has been describing him as over the past few months, she forgot to mention how fucking sexy he sounds.

You stare back at him, gulping down the remaining pancake in your mouth.

Joel's eyes are trained on your face. What he really wanted to say was Sydney’s been raving about you, but she didn’t tell me how pretty you are. That was all the more apparent to him now that he sees you up close.

“We’re down a waitress, and we could use someone with your taste in breakfast and impeccable timing, if you’re interested?” he says, watching you fidget with the napkin in your lap.

“I – yes, yes I am very interested. I’ve never been a waitress, but I have great attention to detail and I’m sure I could pick it up quickly with the right guidance,” you say, straightening your posture, attempting to look more composed than he has you feeling right now.

“Well great, we’ll have you trained up in no time,” he says, his gaze lingers on your features for a beat longer than expected before he swivels on his heels, heading back to the kitchen. However, after a few steps, he abruptly pauses, pivoting back around with a thoughtful expression, as if there’s more he wants to share.

“Oops, my bad, sweetheart. Almost forgot my manners. I’m Joel, by the way. This is my diner,” he says, gesturing with one hand as if to show the space to you like you were seeing it for the first time, before offering his large hand toward you. You meet it with your own, giving him a firm shake while sharing your name.

"Can you start tomorrow?" he asks, and you respond with a satisfied "mhmm," sealing the deal with a wink from Joel. "Great – be here around seven in the morning then, and we’ll get cha all trained up" he adds with a grin, one that teeters the line between professional and flirtatious.

And just like that, in the midst of your syrup-drenched, emotionally charged morning you let out your first real smile of the day.

So there were four remedies to your situation.

Your bestie, pancakes, syrup, and Joel.

You finish your remaining pancake, letting your mind wander off, secretly hoping Joel will be showing you the ropes in more ways than one.

++++

The next morning, you get to the diner just as the sun is starting to rise, and you can't help but draw a parallel to Hilary Duff in A Cinderella Story, except now you’re the Diner Girl.

While you may not be gliding around on gaudy rollerskates, and Jennifer Coolidge isn't screaming at you “MORE SALMON! We need more Salmon!” there's an undeniable charm to the whole scenario that makes you chuckle. The uniform Sydney handed you on your way out may not be the stuff of fairytale gowns, but the fabric that clings to your skin is a tangible reminder that you're stepping into a different narrative today, a narrative where you’re employed and your boss isn’t a total jerk.

As you step into the diner, the familiar calms your nerves a bit. Joel, seemingly in tune with your arrival, glances up from behind the counter and shoots you a playful wink. Does he wink at all his employees?

"Morning, sunshine! Ready for your grand debut?" he teases, flashing a bright smile coupled with an adorable set of dimples. You manage a shy smile in response, feeling nervous once again, but it has nothing to do with learning your new job and all to do with the beautiful man in front of you that you’ll be close to the entire day.

Joel wastes no time guiding you through the diner's rhythm. With each task, he effortlessly blends instructions with charming banter, making the learning process feel less like work and more like a shared secret between the two of you.

"Here's where the magic happens," he says, gesturing to the row of gleaming coffee machines. "And trust me, making a perfect cup is an art; takes a lot of love."

“Aren’t these like super-fast automatic coffee brewers? You just load the beans and water and hit start?”

"Alright, smartass," he retorts, a playful glint in his eyes, "Yeah, they are, but you gotta press that button with love, baby. That's what makes it good."

Your laughter harmonizes with his, and you catch the infectious mirth in his expression – one hand on his hip, the other casually resting on the counter. Your eyes trace the veins on his forearms, distinctly visible beneath the rolled-up sleeves, and you can't help but admire the effortless confidence he exudes.

“Do it with love. I understand,” you respond.

“Good girl,” he responds. “Alright, next up – silverware rollin’, ya ready?” he asks.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you reply, a playful smile dancing on your lips, as you follow him to the back of the kitchen to grab a tray of freshly washed flatware. Returning to the dining room, he leads you to an empty booth tucked away from the prying eyes of coworkers, giving you the first taste of true solitude with him all morning.

"Now, watch and learn," he says, demonstrating a silverware roll that rivals any seasoned server. "The key is in the wrist action. It's all about finesse."

You mimic his movements, chuckling when your first attempt doesn't quite match his polished technique. He leans in a little closer, his warmth and encouragement almost palpable.

"See, you've got the basics down. But let me show you a little trick," he says, guiding your hand with his own. The close proximity sends a delicious shiver down your spine, and you can't help but revel in the extra attention to detail in his guidance. As he imparts his expertise, the thought of him taking charge and instructing you in other ways goes straight to your core.

“You’re a natural,” Joel says, responding to your growing stack of rolled silverware.

"You like taking orders?" he inquires, his gaze intense as he places the second-to-last rolled set in the pile you both created, and you complete your own. The implication behind his words hits you, and your eyes widen with surprise.

"Do I what?" you ask, a hint of uncertainty in your voice, unsure if your mind has ventured too far into the realm of innuendo to fully grasp his meaning.

"Taking orders – you seem like you'd be good at it," he says, pausing deliberately, well aware that he's causing a stir within you.

"You know, from customers?" he adds with a smirk, putting you out of your misery.

“Oh. Oh – uh, well, I’m not sure, I’ve never tried it,” you respond.

“First time for everything, darlin’. We can practice. I’ll be the customer, and you can take my order.”

He flashes you a charming smile, making it hard to resist. "Alright," you agree with a shy grin, readying your notepad. You start “Good morning, Sir! Can I get you starte–”

"Now, sweetheart, we've gotta do this right – stand up now, take my order properly," he interrupts, a playful tone in his voice. You shoot him a teasing side-eye, and he smirks, attempting to hide it by bringing his hand to his beard.

You rise and straighten your apron, and turn to face him at the table.

“Good morning, Sir –” you begin again, “what can I get started for you?”

"I'll have the classic bacon and eggs, toast on the side, and a steaming cup of your finest brew. Oh, and a side of your million-dollar smile, please."

You laugh at the last part, realizing this is exactly the kind of practice you need. "Got it, one bacon and eggs, toast, coffee, and a million-dollar smile," you repeat, jotting it down.

Joel nods approvingly. "You're a quick learner. Now, let's spice it up a bit. What if I want my eggs sunny-side-up, the toast lightly buttered, and the coffee extra strong?"

You take a moment to absorb the details, determined not to miss anything. "Sunny-side-up eggs, lightly buttered toast, and extra strong coffee," you recite confidently.

Joel grins. "Not bad, darlin’ – you’re a good listener.”

“Maybe you’re just a good teacher,” you playfully retort.

You don’t see it, but Joel palms himself beneath the denim of his jeans, attempting to adjust from the growing lack of space in them.

As the morning rolls into the afternoon, you finish out the rest of your shift at the diner and make the walk back home.

As you lay in bed, you try to rationalize all of your flirting with Joel.

He’s just nice. A Southern gentleman. He’s probably like this with all of his employees.

Unbeknownst to you, Joel lies in his own bed, also attempting to rationalize all of his flirting with you. He knows it’s wrong, but that doesn’t stop him from taking his heavy cock in hand to the thought of you that night.

++++

After nearly a month of seamlessly navigating the diner routine, you've become a fixture in the cozy ambiance. The playful banter between you and Joel has escalated to shameless flirting – a subtle touch from a passed laminated menu, an intentionally clumsy moment with the cash register as an excuse to get a little closer, and the unmistakable sensation of his gaze lingering on you as you lean over to wipe down the booths.

You even find yourself yelling out “Corner!” less than you should, hoping it might lead you to accidentally bump into him.

It's not exactly backbreaking labor, though it can take a toll on you physically. But you find yourself enjoying it—the thrill of pushing through a lengthy shift, the rush that accompanies swift movements and juggling various tasks during the bustling hours, the familiar faces of regulars who now greet you by name, and the bonus of spending extra time with Sydney.

For now, it's fulfilling enough. However, the more moments you share with Joel, the more it dawns on you that, at least when it comes to him, "enough" might never quite be sufficient.

++++

You normally work M-F, during the morning shift, and you’re grateful for the extra time on the weekends. You’re starting to feel like you might not actually need that facial oil now that you’re getting adequate rest. Take that, Mary Kay.

One Saturday night, as you’re sitting on your couch watching Kill Bill, your phone buzzes with an unfamiliar number, and curiosity pulls you in. Joel’s husky voice on the line tells you who it is, but he introduces himself anyway.

“Hey, darlin’ – it’s Joel. Listen, uh, I know it’s your day off but I was wondering if you might be able to come in to work tonight?” he asks.

Without pausing to let you respond, he lays it on thick, making a persuasive attempt to nudge you into saying yes, "The other servers are all tied up, and Suzanne had to call out, something about Mike not feeling right tonight, tight chest and all, so I told her to make sure he gets checked out."

"Oh no, that's awful. Yes, yes, of course, Joel. I'll be there in 15," you reply, hearing a sigh of relief on the other end.

"See you soon," he says.

"Oh? You're coming in, too?" you ask, trying not to sound overly excited.

"Well, someone's gotta make the food, right?" A little chuckle carries through the phone.

You remember it now; he had shared with you during that first day that working in the kitchen at night was one of the reasons he decided to take over owning the diner, his decision in part was fueled by his love of cooking. “Helps me remember why I started doing this in the first place," he had said. You were listening, but you were also distracted by him fidgeting with his coffee cup, watching him make small circles around the rim of it.

++++

As the night descends, the diner transforms. The hustle of the day gives way to an intimate, dimly lit ambiance. Joel, donned in his chef's coat, greets you with a sly grin, "Well, look who's gracing the night shift. It's just you and me tonight, darlin'."

"Think we can handle it?" you respond, not really talking about the dinner rush, and he knows it.

The air crackles with sexual tension as you and Joel maneuver through the shift. The need between you two is palpable; a desire only one thing could satiate, a hunger no amount of breakfast food could resolve.

The hours tick by, and the tile inside is illuminated by the soft glow of the neon sign outside. With the last order served, you both lean against the counter, a comfortable silence enveloping you.

Joel breaks it with a casual remark, "Hungry?"

"Starving,” you respond a playful edge to your voice, biting your lip. Joel’s eyes go dark as he stares at your plump flesh.

You are hungry, but not for food.

++++

Joel guides you to the prep station for a crash course on chicken and waffles.

“Now, I know you’re a pancake kinda girl, but trust me darlin’ when I say these chicken and waffles will make you fall in love,” he says. Yeah, they just might.

Joel, sleeves rolled up and a chef's jacket in hand, hands it over with a grin that hints at more than just a cooking lesson. The oversized jacket drapes over you as he gives a quick once-over. He chuckles, “you look cute like this, sweetheart,” he says before he heads to the fridge for supplies.

Returning with a bunch of ingredients, he starts showing you the ropes of making waffle batter. "You like to cook?” he asks, pouring flour into a bowl. His hands move with ease, adding baking powder, a pinch of salt, and a dash of sugar. You crack the eggs into the mix, and he throws in some vanilla extract, giving the batter a fragrant twist.

“I mean, I don’t not like to cook, but I can’t say I’m very good at it. I think I’m better with instruction,” you answer. You notice his gaze deepen, going darker almost, as he hands you a whisk. “Mix it up then. Give it your all,” he says, and you start blending.

As you stir the batter, you sense Joel subtly adjusting his position until he's right behind you. He towers over you from behind. His arms gently encircle your body, and his backside hovers just an inch away from yours. He’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. "The secret," he murmurs in a low, almost whispered tone near your ear, "is to whisk it just enough, not too much. The air bubbles make it fluffy." His voice carries a blend of guidance and desire.

His hand moves up to sweep your hair away from your neck, causing your mixing to slow as his fingertips graze the sensitive skin. Goosebumps erupt across your entire body, and he presses his lips to the soft skin behind your ear.

“Joel,” you whimper, tilting your head to the side, giving him more access to your neck.

“Keep mixin’ darlin,” he commands. You try, but the distraction of him on you makes you forget the simple action altogether.

You close the gap between your bodies and take a small step back so your backside is firmly pressed against him. You let out a gasp as you feel the thick shape of him on your ass. He continues to nip at your neck, grazing his teeth along the sensitive skin there. You grab the counter in a poor attempt to steady yourself, and press into him harder, and he responds pinning your hips to the counter until his growing cock is all the more noticeable.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he lets out a little hiss. “Can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to get you alone like this – haven’t been able to get it out of my head.” A soft moan escapes you, and in the blink of an eye, his hands find your hips. Before you can react, he swiftly turns you around to face him.

“You like being told what to do, baby? I’ll tell you what to do, but I’m not gonna tell you twice,” Joel says as his large palm comes up to hold the column of your throat, his thumb just under your jaw, tilting you up to face him.

“So if I tell you to get on your knees, you’re gonna do it,” he says, voice low. “If I tell you to look at me, you’re gonna do it,” he continues, “and if I tell you to swallow, you’re gonna do it like the perfect little slut I know you are,” he says, dipping his face lower to you. You wonder if he can feel your pulse quickening under his hand, caught in a lusty daze fueled by hot breath and the sight of his blown pupils.

“Tell me you understand,” he commands, not really questioning.

“Yes - yeah, I understand,” you say, tightening your grip on his forearm, feeling the strength of his muscles still grasping you, pulling you closer to him.

You think for a moment he might kiss you, his lips barely an inch from yours, but he doesn’t.

“Good girl,” he praises, “since I know you’re so good at practicing, let’s do it again,” he suggests, releasing his grip on you.

“Get on your fucking knees, baby.”

You fall to your knees and feel the hard, cold tile against your bare calves. You position yourself beneath him and fold your hands in your lap, waiting for him to give you further instructions. He reaches down and brings his pointer finger down to lift your chin up to face him. He runs his thumb over your lips.

“So pretty like this, baby.” He thinks you're pretty.

As he releases you, you take that as permission and reach out to undo the buckle of his belt. You fumble with the cool metal momentarily, until it’s completely unbuckled before you begin to work with the zipper on his pants. You tug both his pants and his underwear down just below his hips, and his thick length springs to attention.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the size of him. He’s big. His cock is already at full attention, red and weeping. Your mouth waters at the sight of it. You look up at him, silently asking for permission to touch him, and he nods. “All yours’” he says, and your hand comes to wrap around the base of him. The thought of all of him being yours stirs something low in your belly.

Before you can put him in your mouth, he grabs your wrist to pull you back up to your feet.

“Too many clothes, sweetheart. Need to see those fuckin’ tits,” he growls, tearing your uniform off, almost bare save for your bra. You’re gonna need a new one. His eyes are glued to your chest, admiring the red bra you’ve been hiding under your uniform.

“As much as I like the way this looks on, I’d like it a helluva lot better off,” he says while hastily unclasping your bra, letting it fall to the kitchen floor. Your nipples harden in the cool air, entrancing Joel. “Gorgeous fuckin’ tits,” swatting your left one, in awe of the way it bounced on impact.

“Back on your knees,” ordering you once again. You obey without hesitation, almost automatically.

You stroke along his length, feeling the silky warmth of his skin, the heat, and the thick veins that add texture to each pass of your palm. You pause at the top of him and let out a little squeeze, until a small bead of precum forms at the tip. You lap it up, and Joel lets out a groan and his hands fall to grab the back of your neck.

“Keep that mouth wide open for me, baby.” I’ll do anything you want as long as you call me baby, you reply in your head.

You part your lips and tease your tongue around and then start sucking on the tip, slowly taking more in until you’re sucking on the full head of his cock and your tongue is whirling around it. Joel’s grip on the back of your neck tightens, and he gently cants his hips forward, urging you to take more of him.

You’re barely halfway down and the back of his cock is already on your throat. You start bobbing your head up and down, and Joel mutters a little curse under his breath and bites down on his lip.

“Such a good girl f’me, takin’ this cock down your sweet little throat,” you moan around him, the sound reverberating against him, “yeah, this what you wanted, hmm? Needed your throat fucked like a slut?”

Your thighs clench together, a syrupy mess of your own slick smears on your skin, and his filthy words add to the roaring ache in your cunt. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel as you notice him stiffen just a little more. How is that even possible?

You pick up your pace, pushing yourself to take more of him. He thrusts shallow but firmly, meeting your movements along his shaft.

“Tha’s it baby, just like that…” his groans are lecherous, coupled with the profane sounds of you gagging on his cock. You’d listen to that on a loop if you could.

He tightens his grip on your hair and pulls you off him. There will be plenty of opportunities for him to fill your mouth up, but right now, he has other priorities. He does take an extra moment to watch you wipe the saliva and precum from your mouth with the back of your hand. It’s a vulgar sight and he commits it to memory.

He helps you to your feet, and your knees on fire from the harshness of the floor. You’ll pay for it later, but for now, the soreness is a small price to pay for the exhilaration you’re experiencing with your super hot, hung boss.

Without warning, he scoops you up in his brawny arms and carries you off to the closest booth adjacent to the kitchen. With your back flat on the table, you feel the cool laminate tabletop on your skin and it adds a stark contrast to the warmth of Joel’s chest pressed against yours moments ago.

Your upper back is on the small table, leaving just enough room for your hips to slightly dangle off the edge, Joel’s hips between your legs. Your head ghosts the condiment bottles at the edge and he holds you in place there, teasing you.

He pauses to admire the way you look up at him, your chest rising and falling rapidly, your perky tits slightly falling to the side, a little sheen of sweat on your chest. He pauses to admire the way you still look flustered, but composed, knowing he’s going to fuck every ounce of that right out of you.

Joel wants to untangle you like a knotted ball of yarn, he wants to claim ownership of every inch of your body, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer.

He drops to his own knees this time, hooking his thumbs into your underwear to pull them down with him.. His face immediately finds your cunt, and he wastes no time before he lays a trail of soft kisses over your wet and waiting folds. He starts slow, a kiss here, a lap there, and eventually begins to pick up his pace.

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your hips cant up at the welcomed intrusion and your back arches, unable to stay on the table. You feel his hot breath on your cunt, and let out a small mmm at the way he presses his forearm across your lower half to lower you back down to the table, to keep you still.

His mouth returns to your clit to work you, and he adds another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so fucking close – your slow crawl to the cliff of your orgasm turns into a full-on sprint.

You’re so close, and he can tell by the way your body tenses under him.

“Please,” you moan. “Please – ugh, neeeeed to come, please let me come,” you beg.

“Just a little longer, baby. You can come when I say you can.” Joel says, voice slightly muffed against your wet skin.

He presses his lips against your clit, but doesn’t give you enough tongue to get you where you need to go. You’re already so swollen, sensitive – you know all you’ll need is a little suck and you’ll be gone.

You don’t know how much longer you can stave off your pleasure, but you want to be good for him, to listen, to obey.

He knows you want to come, that’s obvious, and god does he want to know what you look like when you do, to feel it, to be the reason; but still, he continues to tease and let it build. Your face twists, your jaw goes slack, and your eyes close and it all but screams I’m close, make me come, make me come.

He sucks your clit into his mouth and he grazes it with the top of his tongue and closes around you. You flutter your eyes closed. You warn him that you’re close, “Joel, fuck, please let me come. Please, please, please,” you rasp out your pleas with a symphony of moans.

Satisfied with your pleading, he decides to take mercy on you. He looks up at you through his thick lashes, drinking in the way he has you melting, the way he has you begging.

“You can come, baby. Go ahead, want you to soak my face,” he says, voice hoarse but still smooth like velvet.

You obey and feel the taste of your sweet release rush through you like a warm summer breeze on a hot day. Your vision goes white, and your whole body tenses with pleasure as he works you through it.

“Fuck, so pretty with you come f’me, baby. Being such a good girl, listening to my every command,” he says and lifts his head. His dilated pupils tell you he’s high on it; on you.

Your slick shines on his beard, illuminated by the atmospheric glow of the streetlights peering into the dark diner. He looks at you, breath slightly ragged, and brings his fingers to his lips to smear the remaining slick from his face onto them, and he pops his finger in his mouth like he’s savoring the last bite of the best meal he’s ever had.

“Taste so fuckin’ delicious, baby. Must be from all that syrup you eat.”

And shit, it’s filthy. He looks indecent in the most delectable of ways.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, grabbing his thick cock in hand and lining the head of it up against your wet and waiting hole, pausing there before pressing in. You let out a little whine.

‘Shh, baby,” he coos, “‘m gonna give you what you need, don’t worry,” he says. Both of his hands come to your hips, surely leaving little bruises under his strong grip. Your slick makes it easy for him to bury himself in you to the hilt, even with the size of him. Your greedy cunt taking every inch of him like it’s your fucking job, like it was made for him.

He pauses for a moment to give you a second to adjust; you feel so full, you swear you feel him in your lungs.

He begins a relentless pace, thrusting his cock deep inside of you, the obscene sounds of the clapping noises, a wet and wanton song made as a result of your wetness keys you up.

“Fuck, yes, Joel – YES,” you cry.

“Yeah? Say thank you to me, baby. Say thank you for giving you this cock, for fucking you dumb,” he commands.

Thank you – thrust – tha - thrust – thank you, fuck, thrust.

He fucks into you so hard that your head hits the condiments, knocking them over. The ketchup bottle falls, the sugar packets scatter, and the syrup tips over. A slight ooze of the viscous substance starts to pool on the table and get into your hair, but you don’t care, this feels too good to care.

Just as you’re about to come, Joel notices the pool of auburn liquid running over the table and onto the red booth below.

“Tsk, tsk, baby – makin’ a mess – creaming on my cock, and spilling syrup on the floor,” he says, continuing his pace. You feel your walls clench around him. Just as quickly as he entered, he retreats, and you whine at the loss. “Get up,” he says.

You do as he says and rise onto your legs. They’re shakey like Jell-O. You watch as he reaches over the table and grabs the sticky glass bottle from the table.

“On your knees again,” he asks of you for the third time tonight. You pause, your body sore and your knees aching. “You hear me, baby? I said get on your knees.”

You do as he says, and kneel before him, once again worshiping at the altar of the man above you.

You look up at him with bated breath and watch him use his free hand to rip off his shirt and throw it onto the booth beside him.

“Come closer,” he says, “and open,” you kneel before him with your mouth open, your inviting tongue waiting to be used. He uses his hand to grab the base of his heavy cock, and he taps it on your widespread tongue a few times before holding the syrup bottle high in the air, centering it above his cock and your open mouth.

You watch with wide eyes as he tips the bottle over just a smidge, and a long, thin, sticky stream of syrup begins to rain down onto his hardness, falling off the sides of it, down to the floor, and all over your chin.

“Clean me up, baby,” he says, and your lips close around him. You begin to suck and lick every inch of him, savoring the golden liquid that creates a tantalizing mix of sweetness from the sugar and salt from his pre-cum. You hum as you work him, savoring every bit, and eventually, the skin on his cock is syrup free and you take him at a more consistent pace. You hear Joel groan, and it encourages you to take him deeper, harder, faster.

You look up at him through wet lashes, tears forming in the corners of them, as he holds your now sticky hair into a makeshift ponytail and uses your mouth.

“Such a good hole for me,” he says, “so fucking good, baby, you’re so perfect.”

You let him chase his high, and open wider when you see his jaw tighten and his tight core tense, the grip on your hair pulling tighter.

“You’re gonna swallow,” he says. “All of it,” he commands, and his jaw goes slack and he releases a rush of warm cum down your throat. It tastes musky, but a little drop of syrup you missed during your cleaning job makes it sweeter.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he says, panting heavily, holding you on his cock as he throbs out the final pumps of his release.

He lets go of your hair and you pop off of him and use your fingers to clean off the rest of the syrup from your chin and smile up at him. God, you must look like a wreck.

He extends out his large palm in a gesture to help you off the floor. As you rise to stand, his fingers find the underside of your jaw and he tilts you up to look at him.

He looks at you, the darkness behind his eyes has been replaced with someone else; pride.

“You really are a good listener, baby.” He says. He gazes down at you, his thumb delicately tracing the contour of your jaw. This moment feels significant.

Leaning in, he tenderly places his lips on yours. The sensation takes your breath away, and as he intensifies the kiss, you willingly welcome the exploration of his tongue, relishing the warmth and savoring his taste. Tonight, you've experienced every other aspect of him, but in this moment time seems to stretch as your lips remain locked.

As he breaks the kiss, a contented smile graces your face, and you feel as if you could float away.

“Now really, let’s eat some food,” he says, letting a low chuckle escape from his lips, “I still owe you some chicken and waffles.”

“And you owe me a new uniform,” you say, grabbing his hand to follow him to the kitchen, totally naked.

Joel actually teaches you how to make the meal this time. He offers you another chef's coat to cover your body, but he doesn’t let you keep it on for long. As your breakfast-dinner cooks, he hoists you up on the counter and eats you again. He makes you orgasm more times in one night than you think you ever have with any of your previous partners.

You were right in your initial thinking. Enough will never be enough when it comes to Joel.

You’ll always want more.

More of this, and more of him.

And the one thing that’s the most certain is that you’ll most definitely want more fucking syrup.

Good thing you work at a diner.

END

Bonus Drabble Coming Soon: How will Sydney react when you tell her about your steamy night with Joel?

Tagging moots and those who showed interest in the preview: @nosesitter @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81 @lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @lovebandrry @dugiioh @frodo-jojo @ghostwritesthings @planet-marz1 @josephquinnswhore @cinnamon-gurlll @dragonfire @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring @darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @dins-riduur-anthe

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fluff #joel miller #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #syrup #early 2000s #pedro pascal

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14dayswithyou · 19 days

Note

Meowdy Saint! ^^ lolol hello hello o/ hope you are doing good!!

So this masterpiece of a game has been invading my mind with ZERO chill lately which directly translated to me coming up with a TON of questions orz I really didn't realize how many I ended up compiling lol

If you don't feel like answering this many please feel absolutely free to ignore this ask or only answer the ones you like the most, the last thing I want is for you to feel overwhelmed! ^^

ALRIGHT LET'S-A GO

-does he know how to give massages? :00

-during day 1, how did Ren come up with a book on the local flora?? It seems like such a random topic to pick when put on the spot without already having a genuine interest in it lmao

(I am not sure if this⬇️ questions falls under character deaths, if it does I really apologize and absolutely feel free to ignore it ^^)

-uuhh I know there is already a lot in this ask(im seriously sorry orz), but I was wondering if we will eventually get an SFW alphabet for Ren/[REDACTED] for the folks who don't care about the nasty 👉👈

-THIS IS THE LAST THING I PROMISE 👹 will there be a guide to get all the endings? I'm not sure if there is one already and in that case I missed it 100%

Also I find it ironic how the fandom is trying to find out every single aspect of Ren/[REDACTED]'s character the same way he must do with angel lmao

ALRIGHT THATS ALL IM SO SORRY FOR ASKING SO MUCH THE REN BRAINROT HOURS ARE SO REAL IM LOSING BRAINCELLS orz Remember to take care of yourself drink water and take breaks!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

(Also sorry if some phrases don't make sense, english isn't my first language as I am 🤌 lolol)

✦゜ANSWERED: Under da cut because this got long >:3

-do Rendacted's memories remain intact when he resets the day or do his wipe too with everyone else's? Also is there an in-universe answer for why he has these glitchy powers or is he just Built Different™? Ren's memories remain intact!! I mean... He remembers each time you get a bad end and sometimes says something different... >:3 There is also an in-universe reason as to why he has his abilities — I won't spoil anything, but his real name (along with River's and one other character) have a reeeeally big tell. But what this tell is is for me to know and you to find out >:3

-if angel made it VERY clear that they would be mad asf and prolly even start hating and leave Ren/[REDACTED] if he were to hurt their friends(or killing people bc this man needs to chill fr), would he listen to them? Bc I know that if he touches Violet, Elanor, Kiara or god forbid Moth I'm personally deleting his kneecaps 🥰 Ren (and by extension [REDACTED]) knows not to harm anyone if he knows you won't like it — and even then — he won't actively show that murderous side of him in the first place. To Angel, Ren is just a timid, normal guy.

-since it seems to me that Ren/[REDACTED] is only kinda meh at cooking I was wondering if he actually made the not burnt pancakes in day 3 or if he had some store bought ones that he passed off as his own lol Ren is actually good at cooking, he's just a bit out of touch since he doesn't normally cook for himself! It's normally microwave meals or takeout for him... ^^; And yes, Ren did burn and burn the pancakes in Day 3 — he was distracted by something on his phone :3

Bonus cut Day 3 content: I took out the scene where Ren started to profusely apologise for burning the pancake because he often had to cook when he was younger. Given the dynamic of his family and the environment he grew up in, Ren didn't have much room to make mistakes ;n; I cut this scene out because I felt bad ksgskd So y'all get to have flustered, happy Ren instead!!

-does he know how to give massages? :00 If that was one of Angel's interests or desires, then sure!! ^^

-during day 1, how did Ren come up with a book on the local flora?? It seems like such a random topic to pick when put on the spot without already having a genuine interest in it lmao Someone else likes flora too, and it sure would be funny if Ren (eventually) starts to mimic certain traits and interests of the person you have the highest affinity/relationship points with in order to make himself look more appealing… >:3c

-if I understood correctly Maple should be Jae's dog right?? Did you have a specific breed or age in mind when creating her? I got curious because in my head she automatically popped up as a young australian shepherd to match with Jae's hyperactive dumbass energy lol❀⸜(˶´ ˘ `˶)⸝❀ It was mentioned in Jae's lore post (I'll link it here once I find it), but Maple is a Labrador! (Leon would be Jae's Australian Shepherd hehe) In my mind, Maple is only 2 or 3 years old, but that wouldn't really fit the official timeframe... ^^; Jae adopted Maple during high school so he wouldn't feel lonely at home, and it's been over 6+ years since then.... hgdshjg

-staying on the dog topic lol, in day 1 when angel gets up from the couch to get Ren the inflatable mattress(iirc) and he follows right behind them i immediately thought he acted like a puppy lmao. So would he mind being called 'puppy' as a pet name? Angel affectionately calls Ren a puppy during the scene in Day 1 where they meet up after work, so that nickname definitely could work!

-from an ask from last year it seems [REDACTED] would ultimately kill angel if there was ultimately not way to enter in their life?? Gotta say I was very taken aback by this, would this still be the case after a year of building more to his character? (Ok I went back to check the ask again but I can't for the life of me find it anymore maybe I dreamt it up idk😭😭 im really sorry if that is the case jdkslajdl) aaa I think you might be mistaking that ask for something else? ;v; [REDACTED] would NEVER harm Angel in any capacity, and they're a very patient person. Even if it took decades for Angel to fall in love with him, they'll wait.

-THIS IS THE LAST THING I PROMISE 👹 will there be a guide to get all the endings? I'm not sure if there is one already and in that case I missed it 100% I've shared a spreadsheet that lists all the available choices, the points you earn from each of them, and the endings you can get — however it's only available on Discord and I don't really want to share it outside of the server and potentially put it in the hands of minors. Sorry!!

Also I find it ironic how the fandom is trying to find out every single aspect of Ren/[REDACTED]'s character the same way he must do with angel lmao Hehe >:3 There's a loooot of lore that won't ever be mentioned in the game (since it doesn't seem fitting/I don't see a reason to), so I'm happy to provide it here!

#💌 �� answered.#💖 — 14 days with queue.#to be tagged later #icant-pickthenameiwant

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soubi122 · 1 year

Note

Heya hope ur doing great so here's another one of mind dumps

So rindou x a very laid back reader who's very chill and cool with everything and has a bit a hobby for figure skating ( the figure skating is optional)

So he was invited to a friend's house to hang and smoke weed/and drink so he went to the basement and saw you with the weed pot (idk what's it called:']) and decided to join in and u guys were having small talk and rin felt very comfortable with you and had he's arm wrapped around your waist and playing ur hair (y'all got teased a bit but didn't mind it all) late reader helps rindou get to his but was clingy ( horny (⁠☞⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)⁠☞) so reader being chill about took him home with and yk what happens ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ (btw sorry for the bad grammar)

—☁️

Hello my love! I'm so sorry this took a really long time to write. It is finally here, I hope you like it! ❤️

Highs

Rindou Haitani, smut, drug use, alcohol use, unprotected sex, slightly rough. ALL ADULTS, MINORS DO NOT READ!

"So, remind me again…who is going to be there?" Rindou asks a friend who was taking him to a party. As much of a partygoer he was - he still remained cautious. "You know, just chicks and some guys." The friend replies with a carefree tone. His goal was to score a chick and Rindou was the bait. It beats bringing Ran's womanizing ass to the party and having him steal all the women for himself.

Heading into the house, Rindou noticed that there were a bunch of people he was familiar with - the same people that hit up Roppongi on weekends. Good, so I don't have to watch my back. He thinks to himself. Being taken to a Yakuza hideout once by accident was enough for him to be careful about where he's going, compliments of Kakucho of course. The music was loud, the drinks were everywhere but he had yet to find anyone that could hold his attention. He thought it was going to be a small party, this was quite the crowd.

Some time passed and he was getting rather annoyed that his friend would ditch him every 5 seconds to chase a piece of ass. After being turned down by half of the party girls, they decided to head to the basement to take a break. Usually the chill folks are down there and would have some aromatherapy to help relieve some stress. "Man, those girls are fucking stuck up." His friend complained as he was walking down the stairs. Rindou could only chuckle at his friend's defeated attitude. The scent of Mary Jane hit them square in the face the moment they were headed down. A small group of people were just chilling on a sofa and floor, completely unbothered by the loud noise upstairs and vibrations of the music.

Rindou recognized one or two people but the others were complete strangers to him. The strangers began to almost chant "Toke! Toke! Toke!" over and over again when someone was taking a hit of the bong. Rindou's eyes looked over to the person whose head was tilted down and he could hear the bubbling of the water and the sound of someone inhaling. Everyone paused when the bubbling stopped and everything in the room almost went dead silent. When you lifted your head and exhaled through your nose, everyone cheered and yelled. That was the longest Rindou has ever seen someone hold it before.

"Did you see that shit? That was a good fucking hit." His friend says and introduces himself and Rindou to everyone. Your eyes met his and you smiled while waving your hand at him. The hazy look in your eyes and that cute smile on your face made some warmth creep up his face. They were welcomed into the circle, "Take a seat anywhere you like." You say and reach for the red plastic cup that had beer in it. "You've been babysitting that beer (Y/N)." One of the guys says and throws you a cocky grin. So that's her name. Rindou thinks to himself and plants himself right next to you. Taking it as a 'drink up' hint, you chugged your beer, impressing both guys that just walked in. “So, what brings you two to this lonely little circle of ours?” You say with a hint of playfulness on your tongue. The man sitting next to you was absolutely handsome - you could tell he works out by how the lines of his muscles show through his shirt.

When his friend took a seat across the floor, you passed the bong to him and the moment his eyes met your face - he paused. The awkward pause made you clear your throat. “Umm, so are you taking a hit or…?” You ask. “Aren’t you that chick that’s constantly on the ice?” He asked and piqued Rindou’s interest. Ah yes, your little hobby painted you as a goody two shoes but in reality you were nothing like that. “You are! Rindou, this is the chick who’s always in the rink at night.” You had no intention of going pro for figure skating but still practiced to get some exercise in. “Ah, the figure skater, right?” Rindou asked and proceeded to take the bong out of your hands. He was so close, you feel the warmth radiating off of him. Those beautiful lavender orbs were scanning every inch of your face behind his frames.

“Oh - what’s this? You have an admirer (Y/N).” One of your friends said out loud. There was no mistaking it - Rindou was showing his interest in you. The little comment made some pink dust your features. He proceeded to take a hit and keep eye contact with you while he did so. Looks like he was trying to hold it in just as long as you did, and of course - he did. The ambience was super relaxed by the time the bong made its way around the entire circle. Throughout the night, the conversations and jokes allowed Rindou to feel comfortable and rather bold around you.

“Aren’t figure skaters supposed to be good girls?” He asks and starts lightly toying with the ends of your hair. His finger wrapped itself around the strands and your heart skipped a beat. The first touch gave him an idea of your comfort levels, does he proceed? Your sultry laugh made him want to dive deeper into the rabbit hole with you. “And who says I’m a good girl?” You ask and look at him, both your eyes are glossy and hazy. “Get a room you two. You’re practically fucking each other with your eyes.” Someone says. Both you and Rindou cracked up, it was true - the things you both were thinking about were communicated in looks rather than words. Now that it was out in the open, he slithered his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. The butterflies in your belly were starting to run a little rampant the more he touched you. Rindou kept toying with your hair or lightly brushing your hair back to get your attention back on him when you would talk to someone else.

Several hours of lightly teasing each other and messing around with friends, the sounds of footsteps slowly started to dwindle down, it sounded like the party was coming to an end. Little by little, the circle began to get smaller. People were heading home as it was already 3:00 am. It gave him a little more resolve to continue running his hands alongside your waist and making subtle moves that sent chills down your spine. His large palm began to gently squeeze your thigh, almost as if signaling something to you. You bite your lip and turn to face him. He was not expecting you to tease him in return. “Too bad the night's over.” You say and reach over to take one last hit of the bong before heading out. Inhaling, you closed your eyes and leaned back into the couch - wanting to take your time before exhaling in bliss. Right as you were beginning to exhale, Rindou leaned in, parting his lips and inhaled the smoke that slowly came out of your mouth. He cupped your cheek and connected his lips to yours, giving you a shotgun kiss. Rindou was feeling more than just the effects of weed. He was feeling a tight sensation around his cock.

“Can I take you home (Y/N)?” He asked and nibbled on your lower lip. You could tell he was needy. The entire time he was stuck on you and couldn't keep his hands off you. “Will you make it?” You snicker and run your hand through his hair making him hum. "Everyone is almost gone…we can just stay here." He whispers in your ear and gives a kitten lick to the shell of your ear. "Please…" Rindou's eager tone almost made you feel bad about teasing him. Is this how he is when he's high? Horny and needy? Not wanting to get caught or kicked out, you decided to feed the monster but in your territory.

Leading him to your place, you kept doing little things like hold his hand or press your chest against his arm so that he could feel your tits. He was already falling apart for you. When you arrived at your door, he couldn't keep his hands off of you. Stepping in, you immediately led him to your room. Next thing you knew, you were both on the bed, rolling around on the mattress.

While fighting to be on top, clothes started to fly off bit by bit. Seeing the tattoos that adorned his body, you couldn't help but submit to him, he was gorgeous and toned. You were almost entranced by the fact that his tattoos extended from his collarbone to his arms and down to his legs. "Do I have your complete attention now?" Rindou asks and pouts. "You've had my attention since the moment you sat next to me." You admit and reach down south to stroke him. The way his lips parted and let a moan escape his throat - you wanted to see him completely break. The unholy amount of precum was dripping on your lower belly. He was going to fill you up and have you dripping for days.

Not wanting to waste another second, you guided him between your folds and let his tip slide in. The sweetest whimper dripped from his lips and you couldn't help wanting to hear more. "…oh fuck… you feel so good." He barely manages to say before you rip another whimper from him as you take him in even further into your core. Being pussy drunk was no joke, once a man tastes a bit of heaven - he will never want to come back down to earth. Pulling him inch by inch, you felt his cock twitch and throb, making you pant. His length alone was enough to have you clawing at his back. Slowly reeling his hips back, you could feel the difference - your walls were spasming around him and trying to suck him back in.

Rindou was gentle and passionate, kissing your lips each time his tip hit your cervix. His menacing demeanor only applied outside in a world full of strangers. Between the sheets, he was sweet and almost innocent. His lavender orbs were glossy and filled with desire, if you would have let him take you at the party - you were sure everyone would have heard his moans. You met his hips, slowly grinding with him. The more friction on your clit, the more your hips picked up the pace. “...(Y/N), can I go faster?” What a gentleman, asking you for permission to destroy your insides. You nodded unaware of what his next move was going to be. He shifted his position to get on his knees and lifted your hips to get a deeper angle. Leaning in he took your hands and pinned them above your head, there was almost a glow in his eyes when you looked at him.

In one motion he thrust so deep that you felt a numbing sensation in your spine, making you scream. “Mnh…too deep!” You whimper and try to free your hands. Rindou crashed his lips into yours to silence you. It only took one hand to pin your wrists, the other gripped your hips to keep you in place. His thrusts were hard and fast, it was making your eyes tear up. "Ngh, f-fuck…you feel so damn good." Rindou said once he broke the kiss. You could have sworn you felt your eyes roll back into your skull. The way his length kept hitting the right spot had your tongue almost lolling out. "Look at you…drunk off my cock already. Yeah?" He went from sweet to devilish the moment you gave in.

"Hah, you're fucking clenching so tight." Rindou pants as he continues to wreck your insides. The way his hand gripped your hip, he left indents in your skin - almost bruising it. It was painful but it didn't stop you from feeling the immense pleasure that he was giving you. His kisses were making you melt, his tongue was dominating yours and you felt the drool dripping down the corners of your mouth. Breaking the kiss you moan out loud, "Rin-aah! I'm - oh god!" The amount of pressure he was putting on your hips had you almost crying. Everything started to get stuporous, the combination of alcohol, weed and sex had you knocking on the white pearly gates.

Rindou felt how your velvet walls pulsed and clenched repeatedly around his cock. It was feeding his appetite but he had yet to get to the main course. Slowly he released your wrists and cupped your cheek. That sincere and tender gaze gave you but a moment of peace. Rindou pulled out sitting up on his knees - he was towering over you and you couldn't help but feel anticipation. What else can this man do to get you to scream? "Roll over, beautiful…" He says with a smirk on his face. Just as he ordered, you got on your stomach and looked over your shoulder. It felt like his figure dwarfed your own. His broad shoulders that had defined muscles had you in a daze.

Rindou snatched your hips and lifted them so that you were now on your knees. His right hand gently ran down your spine - he was giving you goosebumps. In one thrust he buried himself inside you, you screamed into the pillow and clenched the sheets. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…your so wet." He moans and keeps a steady pace. Your thighs were trembling as he kept going deeper and deeper. He was bruising your cervix. “Oh god! Rindou, I’m gonna cum!” You moaned and the coil that was tightly wound began to snap. Your incoherent babbles and whines only made Rindou go faster. The satin ring that adorned the base of his cock had him on cloud 9. He too felt his coil snap, it made him double over and lean into your shoulder. Nipping at your shoulder as he emptied himself in your womb, he wanted to keep you full and keep you for more than just one night.

When you both regained your breaths, you both turned on your sides and he wrapped his arms around you - he was still buried inside you. “Can I stay the night?” He asks and buries his face into your neck. There was no response, only soft snores and slight clenching. For a moment he got worried but when he sat up on his elbows he noticed the smile on your face. Rindou Haitani has a habit of not only knocking his opponents out but of also knocking his partners out too.

END

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goorehound · 2 years

Text

this is solely me rambling about social anxiety, adhd and König. nothing exciting sorry folks!

König’s social anxiety - my thoughts

okay so firstly my qualifications here; I am diagnosed with social anxiety, generalized anxiety and ADHD. (I didn’t end up getting into his adhd at all oops)

i just want to speak to like the experience of being a grown man with mainly social anxiety, because idk I see some posts that just feel upsetting to read? like people complaining about certain ways König is written?

like I do agree that he is not some blushing little uwu babygirl kitten (bc you know he is in fact an adult and in the fucking military), but I’ve never actually seen anyone write him as that. I think what gets me are the complaints about people actually writing him with traits of social anxiety, which he canonically has, and kind of treating it like writing him that way makes him seem weaker? Or less dominant? Or like uhh less of a man? There’s a chance I’m just taking this super personally for no reason but I’m gonna ramble about it anyway.

Just because someone has a stutter due to anxiety, or blushes due to anxiety, or gets embarrassed easily due to anxiety, that’s not a sign of weakness? Or of submissiveness?

Personally for me a huge thing with my social anxiety is getting embarrassed and feeling embarrassed. I will go to extreme lengths to avoid being embarrassed. I turn bright fucking red and I will stumble over my words and I will shut down if I feel like I’m embarrassing myself or have been humiliated by something. That’s not because I’m a soft uwu little subby bottom, that’s not because I’m a weak guy, my traits of anxiety are not anything to do with strength or dominance or that shit. It’s just because I have a fuckin disorder that has me react intensely to certain social situations. Does that make sense? I’m losing the plot a bit here. I know there’s a point I’m trying to make but I can’t seem to make it.

Treating social anxiety traits like a shameful thing to have, especially acting like it’s unattractive in a grown man or pathetic for a grown man to exhibit traits of their disorder is fucked up.

It’s hurtful. It sucks to read that. No, König is not going to show traits of his anxiety 100% of the time. Yes, people with social anxiety can be confident in some scenarios. But let’s just quickly remember this part of his cod wiki;

Severe social anxiety throughout his life. As in ongoing. Not just in childhood. He didn’t just “get over it” and suddenly become confident. Throughout his life he suffered from severe social anxiety. That means yes. He likely is pretty quiet. He likely does blush. He likely does get embarrassed easily. He likely does stumble over his words. There are things that he probably doesn’t do often (if at all) because of his anxiety. He probably still is anxious even around his partners. Hell dude sometimes I get so anxious around my boyfriend of about a year that I physically cannot speak.

Anyway idk. This shit just been rubbing me the wrong way lately and I wanted to give my two cents lol. This might not stay up long unless it hella resonates w people but yeah!!

TLDR;

Don’t be a dick. Don’t shame people with disorders for exhibiting symptoms. Even if you think those symptoms are unfitting for a 6’10” military man. It’s fucking rude.

If social anxiety symptoms are a turn off for you don’t simp after people who canonically suffer from severe social anxiety.

#konig mw2 #cod mwii #könig

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determinate-negation · 7 months

Note

do you have any resources or recommendations on where i can read more about how zionism is inherently colonialist? one of my close friends is jewish and labels herself a leftist zionist, claiming that from its origin it has always been a leftwing/progressive stance (though not in all its forms etc). it's been hard to hear her talk about what's going on in israel and palestine lately. i understand it's been hard for her as well, seeing as a couple members of her family were attending the concert that got attacked (and made it out okay), but i think i could reach her and level with her if i better educate myself on the subject first. the only reason i actively want to talk to her about this is that the family of a mutual friend of ours are palestinian refugees who came to our country before she was born and this friend has only disclosed this information to me, out of fear of what other people might think/say etc. i know the comments of our jewish friend are taking a toll on her and idk how to help. i'm sorry for the lengthy and all over the place ask, i guess i'm also just looking for advice and idk where to get it or what to do. i appreciate any insight you or other folks might have on this situation

i have some resource posts tagged as #resources and #palestine i would just look through that

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ofstoriesandstardust · 2 years

Text

chapter 2 - no such thing as a white lie (lt. bradley “rooster” bradshaw)

a/n: yeah i know everyone and their cats have written dogfight football into their fics but i eat that shit up nom nom. enjoy. also, i’m dead serious that divorce in the military is really fucking complicated. s/o to @struggling-with-nsfw for forever listening to me complain about it and helping me struggle my way through. if you asked to be added to the tag list but don’t see yourself on there, i am so sorry! some of the asks got lost in the sift of notifications so please just shoot me another message!

summary: “Why is a divorce in the military more complicated than regular divorces?”

“I don’t know, because it’s the military? Just give me these.”

The idiots realize they’re up against way more than they originally anticipated. In the meantime, there’s time for shenanigans and some good ol’ dogfight football.

folks who wanted to be tagged: @justanothermagicalsara @jake-h-ngm-n-seresin @fangirl-316 @herladyshipxx @callsign-valley @parker-natasha @myhomeworksnotdone @kyramaximoff @pulisvertz @lass-that-is-gone @frenchtoastix @coco-loco-nut @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @torresbarnes @skyes-universe @supernaturaldawning @you-had-me-at-dead-welsh-kings @katiemcrae @gretagerwigsmuse @the-winter-marvel33 @some-lovely-day @unordinare @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @annedub @hope-love-equality2 @coyotesamachado @hopefulinlove @deidreexx

warnings: swearing, angst, flashbacks, Bradley’s an idiot, y’all asked for a flirty Hangman and jealous Rooster and I’m more than happy to deliver, the movie had one job and that was explain dogfight football obviously, is this even good idk

word count: 4,478

"You’re up bright and early.” You turn from where you’re making pancakes to see a half-asleep Bradley, still in his pajamas. You try not to let your eyes trail down to where his sweats hug his waist. You bring your gaze back up to meet his eyes, where he’s rubbing the sleep out of them. You shrug.

"We’re going to the beach today, remember? Didn’t want to be running late.” Truth was that you hadn’t been able to sleep, too preoccupied as you thought about your impending divorce to the brunette who was letting you stay in his guest room and the ever-growing knawing in your chest at the thought. He yawns, settling at the table.

“Oh yeah. You don’t have to go to that if you don’t want to.” You roll your eyes as you pull the last of the pancakes off the stove.

“We do have to sell the lie Bradley. Besides, I like the beach and don’t have anything better to do.” He nods but doesn’t say anything as you set the pancakes down on the table. He smiles at you as you turn around to grab plates out of the cabinet.

“Why, thank you honey. We make such a good married couple.” He drawls and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah well, you’re getting your own coffee.” You say as you sit back down, grabbing your own cup. He sighs dramatically as he pushes himself up from the table. You snicker into your mug as he rounds the table, grabbing his own mug and pouring himself a cup. “Drama queen.” You mutter as you began to grab pancakes. He scoffs in response as he returns to his seat. “What is dogfight football anyways?”

“It’s football but offense and defense at the same time.” You stare at him, mid-bite.

“How the hell does that work?” He shrugs, grabbing pancakes of his own.

“I don’t know, it just does. Started out as a team bonding activity but now it’s really just a way for us to all hang out.” You nod.

“Who’s all going to be there?”

He pauses for a moment as he chews. “The whole crew from the other night, along with everyone else. So Halo, Omaha, Fritz, Yale, and Harvard are the new ones.”

“God, I suck with names.” You mutter and he chuckles.

“You’ll be okay. Halo’s the only other girl and Yale and Harvard got their names because they never shut the fuck up about their time at Yale and Harvard. You’ll get the other two pretty quickly.” You nod. “Oh, and Mav will be there.”

“Mmm, speaking of, how do you think last night went?” The two of you had gone over to Maverick’s place for dinner, and Iceman had been there. He tilts his head, a sign he’s thinking the words over.

“I think it went pretty okay. Mav loves you obviously.”

“Obviously.”

He smirks. “But yeah, I think Ice bought it?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Really?”

“Do you not?”

“Either he didn’t buy it or he didn’t like me.” Bradley chuckles.

“No, that’s just how he is. Ice is just very... stone-cold. He earned the callsign Iceman for a reason.” Bradley glances up at you, taking in the disbelief on your face, and shakes his head. “Sunshine, I’m serious. He told me last night that I did good. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Everyone likes you and no one suspects a thing.” You snort.

“Phoenix does not like me.” He sighs, setting his fork down on his plate.

“Yeah, well, that might have something to do with the fact that I told Phoenix.” You widen your eyes.

“Not that I care but doesn’t that go against the whole point of lying?” He shrugs.

“She suspected something was up anyways. She just thought we were separating.”

“Technically, that’s not untrue.” You remind, pointing a finger at him.

“Yeah, I know. But I’ve known her for a long time, didn’t feel right to lie to her.”

“So, you’ll lie to Maverick but not Phoenix?” He shoots you a look and you throw your hands up in the air in surrender. “Fine, fine, whatever.” You mumble. “While we’re speaking about it, have you actually looked into the process for getting a divorce?”

He shrugs. “Kind of, why? Shouldn’t be that complicated if it’s uncontested.”

“Okay, have you looked into getting divorces in the military?” He pauses, looking up at you.

“Is it different?” You narrow your eyes, leaning forward.

“Bradley, yes.” You sigh, putting your fork down as you grab the stack of papers you had printed off at three am last night that were sat off to the side. His eyes widen as he takes them from you, flipping through them.

“When did you have time to look at all this?”

You shrug. “Last night. Couldn’t sleep. I ended up going down a rabbit hole.”

“Why is a divorce in the military more complicated than regular divorces?” He mutters.

“I don’t know, because it’s the military? Just give me these.” You say, grabbing the papers from him. He sighs.

“Okay, okay, I’ll see if I can’t figure this out.” You sigh, rolling your eyes.

“We’re gonna need outside help. Did you know the Navy will provide us both with free legal counsel but not legal representation?” He snorts.

“That’s not a thing.”

“Yes, it is!”

“Where’d you learn that?”

“Google.”

“Google’s an unreliable source.” He says and you shoot him a look in return, tossing the papers on the counter.

“Fine, you figure it out. I’m going to get ready for the beach.”

The car door shuts behind you as you sigh, welcoming the warmth of the sun on your skin. You make your way to the group of pilots who are standing with Penny and who you think is her daughter Amelia. Bradley grabs your hand as you get closer. It’s for appearances, you remind yourself as Penny turns, waving the two of you over. He squeezes your hand as you reach the group but you’re unsure if he even realizes that he does it.

“Bradshaw! Sunshine!” Fanboy exclaims and you roll your eyes, even though they can’t see it from behind your sunglasses. The pilots exchange greetings as Penny offers you a hug.

“This is my daughter Amelia.” She says, gesturing to her daughter, who’s sat on the blankets, watching the pilots goof off. You smile, setting your bag down and sitting next to her.

“Mav said we could start without him.” Coyote says, slinging an arm around one of the unfamiliar pilots shoulders. “Something about oversleeping.” Bradley nods.

“Oh, by the way. Omaha, Fritz, Halo, Yale, Harvard, this is my wife.” You wave to the pilots and they give various greetings.

“Are we playing or what?” Hangman calls from further down the beach, where he’s already standing with Payback, Phoenix, and Bob. Bradley hesitates and turns to look at you.

“You good if I leave you here?” You nod, giving him two thumbs up. He offers you a goofy grin and jogs after his friends and you find yourself smiling at his retreating figure. You chat mindlessly with Penny as you watch the group spread out, creating makeshift teams. Penny snickers as you watch the men of the group pull their shirts off. You’d always known Bradley to be attractive and you’d known the Navy had done him favors but damn. And well, Hangman wasn’t entirely hard on the eyes either.

“You’re admiring.” Amelia teases and you shoot her a look.

“Listen, I might be married but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to look.” You say, eyes already following Bradley again as he tackles Hangman. You had overheard the two yelling about being team captains, which sounded on brand for the little Bradley had shared with you about their friendship. Your statement pulls a laugh from Penny.

“You’re only watching Bradley sweetheart.” She says, flipping a page in her magazine. You blush as Amelia snickers.

“You’d never know the two of you have been married as long as you have with the way you look at the boy.” Your cheeks grow hotter as you turn to see Maverick grinning at you. He leans down to give Penny a kiss and you turn to Amelia, sharing a knowing smirk with her.

“I thought they weren’t dating.” You fake-whisper, well aware the adults behind you can hear you.

“They’re not.” She fake-whispers back and the two of you giggle as you turn back to the couple behind you. Maverick rolls his eyes and Penny shakes her head, suppressing a smile. Maverick heads down the beach and you watch as the group greets him. You sigh, sitting up to grab your book from your bag.

“Sunshineeeee!” Hangman calls and you look up to see him jogging towards you.

“What?”

“Come play, our numbers are off since Pops joined.” You sigh, standing up.

“I guess I could, but I probably won’t be any good.” He shakes his head.

“Doesn’t matter, Bradshaw will kill us if we hurt a hair on his wife’s pretty little head.” You snort as you pull your shirt off. He lets out a low-whistle and you feel yourself blush. “His pretty little wife, who’s also got a pretty-”

“Hangman.” Penny says sternly and you snicker. You pull your hair up as you follow the blond back down the beach. The group turns to you as you approach.

“Okay, how do I play?” Maverick turns.

“You’ll be on Hangman’s team.” Bradley grumbles and you give the brunette a side glance. Probably just to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. “It’s offense and defense at the same time. We really just need you to even out our numbers, so don’t worry too much.”

“See, I watched Phoenix tackle Fanboy earlier so I think maybe I should be worried.” You say cautiously, biting your lip. She laughs, shaking her head.

“I won’t tackle you, I swear.” You’re not entirely sure you believe her but nod anyways as the groups break apart. The game passes without much work on your part, the pilots competitive streaks doing most of the work. Eventually, you and Bob call it quits and you sit down next to the pilot, a little ways away from the group. Bob snickers as you once again get distracted watching Bradley chest bump with Coyote. He shakes his head and you look at him, sheepish. He opens up his mouth to say something but he’s interrupted by Fanboy loudly announcing he’s done and the group, save for Hangman, Phoenix, and Bradley, agrees. Rooster and Phoenix are off to the side talking to Maverick and Hangman waves you over. You bid Bob goodbye as he turns, trekking his way back up the sand with the rest of the group.

“Yes Hangman?” You call and he smirks.

“We're gonna throw the ball around a little bit, figured you might want to join us.” You shrug, placing your hands on your waist.

“Sure, but I won’t be very good. Lack of coordination and all that.” He nods, handing you the foam football.

“I know, which is why I’m gonna show you how to throw it.” He shows you how to properly wrap your hands around it, positioning your feet, and even goes so far as to help guide your arms, something he could’ve easily done without putting his hands on you. It’s a move that doesn’t go unnoticed by the three a bit away from you and you certainly don’t miss Bradley’s frown at the sight of it. Once they’ve turned back to their conversation, Hangman lets you go and takes a step back. “Alright, should be good to go. Throw the ball.” You do and it hits Bradley square in the back. You wince, feeling yourself go red. Hangman’s roaring with laughter as the three turn to face you.

“Sorry Bradley.” You call, cringing at what you did. Maverick chuckles, turning to walk back up the beach.

“You’d do well to remember what I said about adultery Seresin.” Maverick calls as he walks away and you find yourself going even redder at the comment. Phoenix is laughing as Bradley grabs the football from the ground. They move towards you and you smile sheepishly at him.

The football begins to get passed between the four of you, not going entirely well. Your throw is improving bit by bit, but the catching skills just quite aren’t there. The ball almost never stays in your grasp and more often than not, you miss it entirely. There’s chatter passing between the pilots as you sit there and listen in, finding a comfort in the friendship the three seem to share.

Eventually, Hangman and Phoenix call it quits and turn to make their way back up the beach. A few more passes get thrown between the two of you until you make a particularly sweet catch and Rooster lets out a whistle. You laugh, turning on your heel and bolting down the beach.

“Wha- Hey, that’s not part of the game!” He yells behind you and a quick glance behind you tells you that despite his comment, he’s chasing you down the beach. Perfect.

“It is now!” You yell back and continuing running down the beach. You’ll never be able to outrun him but the cheers of his team spur you on as you move towards the water, hoping the muddy sand will slow his pace. It doesn’t though and all too soon, you feel a body collide with yours, nearly tipping you into the water below. The football falls out of your hands as you yelp. Bradley’s arms come out to wrap around you, lifting you up and keeping you from falling into the water. You turn your head, meaning to give him a witty comment, when you realize how close he is to you.

Your eyes flicker down to his lips and you swallow.

He’s right there.

“Gotcha.” He whispers, licking his lips.

The waves are cascading over your feet and up onto your knees and thighs but you find you don’t care.

It would be so easy to just-

Your heart is hammering against your chest and it feels like everything stops when he leans ever so closer-

Hangman lets out a yell, something distinct and in the distance but it’s enough to break the two of you out of your bubble. He slowly lets you down, feet hitting the sand, but his arms don’t move as he looks at you for a moment longer. You wiggle out of his arms, taking a step back. Moment’s over.

This isn’t real.

You sigh as you take another step back, turning to find the football you had dropped.

This wasn’t real. Get it together.

Bradley lets out a low whistle, spotting the foam football before you do. You follow his gaze, finding it a few moments after he does. If you squint, you can see the neon green bobbing in the distance, floating away from the two of you with the tide, waves carrying it further out to sea with every passing moment.

“Well, we’re not getting that football back.”

“Sorry.” You mutter, heat rising to your cheeks. If it has more to do with the moment that just passed between you and Bradley then the lost football, well then, that’s between you and the universe.

“No worries, it’s like what, $5 dollars? Footballs can be replaced.”

You nod numbly, shouldering past him to move back up the beach. Tears prick at your eyes as you let out a few deep breathes, willing yourself to hold it together as you near the group.

It’s never been real.

Bradley arrives just behind you, him arm finding his way across your shoulder as he begins discussing plans for the rest of the afternoon with his team. His hand is sitting on your shoulder, gently rubbing circles into the skin, a movement you don’t think he’s conscious of.

It makes your skin burn.

You wish he wasn’t touching you, that you didn’t have to be so close to him, to have to continue to pretend.

The sound of the group making plans is a distant noise and you only realize they’ve decided to disperse as everyone packs their things. Bradley hands you a bag to take back to the Bronco and you numbly head towards the parking lot, him hanging back to finish up his conversation with Maverick. You’re just shutting the door of the back, turning to go climb in the front seat when you come face-to-face—well, it’s more like face-to-chest—with Hangman. You don’t miss the fact that he’s still not wearing a shirt. You swallow as your back hits the side of the Bronco and you look up at him, one of his arms coming up to rest against the side of your head, sitting on the truck. You could easily move if you wanted to, and you know he did that on purpose. He leans down, hot breath fanning against your ear.

“I know.” He whispers.

“Know what?”

“That this thing between you and Bradshaw isn’t real.”

You move to jerk away but he’s faster, other hand coming down to wrap around your wrist.

“How the hell-”

“Phoenix told me. Told all of us.” He supplies, not moving his head. “You know, you’re far too pretty to let Bradshaw lead you on like this.”

“He’s not leading me on. There was an agreement made between us. It’s never been real.”

It’s never been real.

He sighs, only pulling away enough to look you in the eyes. “You really going to tell me you don’t have more than just friend feelings for him?”

Everything freezes as your breath catches in your throat.

You do successfully jerk away from him now, pushing him back. His hand drops and he lets go of your wrist. You mutter a “Fuck off.” right as Bradley’s appearing, stepping between you and Hangman, pushing him farther back.

“What the hell Hangman?” Hangman doesn’t respond, just puts his hands up in surrender as he takes a few more steps back.

“I got what I wanted.” He says and turns, walking back towards his truck where Coyote is watching him.

“Yeah, get lost Hangman! Stay away from my wife!” Bradley shouts and your roll your eyes at the words, slipping out from behind him. He turns, reaching out for you and narrowly missing your arm as you round the truck, climbing into your seat. The truck is warm as you lean back against your seat and you take comfort in the heat. You close your eyes and you hear Bradley climb into the car a few moments later. You keep your eyes firmly closed as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, heading back towards his house. Somewhere along the way, Bradley starts talking, even though your eyes are still closed.

“You asleep?” You shake your head, although you are sleepy. The day and the sun and the heat of the car is making you curl up, wanting to take a nap right there.

“Just tired.” You mumble.

“Yeah, I bet. Hey, the team is all gonna go get dinner and some drinks in a few hours if you want to come with?” You don’t say anything, not wanting to spend any more time pretending for people who already knew the truth anyways. He sighs as he makes a turn. “Well, why don’t you shower and let me know?” You shrug, eyes still shut. You drive for a little while longer and eventually, you feel him pull into his driveway. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to move just quite yet. Bradley lets out a soft chuckle and you can hear him unbuckle his seatbelt after turning the car off, leaning over the center console. He pokes your shoulder and you jerk away from him, eyes fluttering open. “Whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. We’re home.”

We’re home.

His choice of words makes your throat close up, words that in any other context would’ve sounded domestic, would’ve sounded sweet. A couple returning to their home after a day out, ready for a shower and a nap together, before getting dinner later.

It’s not your home.

You unbuckle your seatbelt, climbing out of the car and shutting the door behind you. You unlock the door with your key as Bradley grabs the bags from the back and you welcome the cool air-conditioning of the home. It ripples over your skin, creating goosebumps in its wake. You all but collapse on the couch as Bradley sets the things down, shutting the front door behind him.

“Hey, I’m gonna go shower, okay?” You nod as you shift to pull your legs up towards your chest. The sounds of the shower turn on and you sit there, eyes looking over the photos on the wall. The other night, you had asked Bradley about them while eating dinner together. He’d gotten up form the table, taking you by the wrist, going through and telling you about each and every one of them.

One of his parents. They’re young, happy, and smiling. He’d said the photo was taken the night before their wedding.

Another with his parents. Bradley couldn’t have been more than three years old in the photo.

One with his Mom at his 10th birthday, his little chubby cheeks rosy, blowing out his candles.

One from his 7th birthday, on Maverick’s shoulders, a toy plane in his hand.

Another one with Maverick from a few months ago. You had been told Maverick had the same picture in his hangar. The picture had been taken after their mission that had brought them back together.

One from his graduation at UVA, the black robe with his orange stole adorning him as he stands there with his empty diploma holder. His smile is bright and you remember that day like it was yesterday.

You had taken that photo of him.

Graduation was a busy affair and you looked around, seeing if there were any friends you hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to when you spotted him. He was off to the side, watching the families celebrate with a hard look on his face. You called out his name and he turned, a small smile appearing. He moved a few feet towards you and you picked up the pace, meeting him in the middle. You offer him a big smile, adjusting the purse on your shoulder.

“Bradley, hey, congrats!”

He chuckles, looking away from you. “Yeah, hey, thanks.”

“Can I give you a hug or is that weird?” He shakes his head, tassel knocking into his face, reaching an arm out for you. You give him a side-hug, a little too disappointed when it was over.

The two of you weren’t good friends, maybe friends of a friend, but you liked the brunette and had always hoped to get to know him better. Guess your chance had come and gone.

“Hey, you’re all alone.”

He shrugs, looking back over to the crowd outside the stadium. “Yeah, Eli got dragged off by his sister, wanted to take pictures in front of the business building.”

You nod as his gaze come back to you. “Well, do you want me to take pictures of you?” He hesitates for a moment and then nods, fishing a camera out of his pocket. He adjusts his robe and cap as you take a step back.

“Fix your stole.” You call and he look down, doing so and then placing his diploma holder in his hands. “Okay, smile!” He does, his dimples popping out and you smile as you capture a few pictures.

Graduation had been months before your marriage agreement, before a tentative friendship began to build between the two of you. But it had started there, with that photo.

If you could do it all over, would you change any of it?

“Hey, you still haven't showered.” You glance up at him, startling out of your thoughts.

He was freshly showered, brown hair still damp as it sticks to his forehead. He’s in a fresh pair of shorts, t-shirt clinging to him. Whatever you mean to say to him, whatever excuse you were going to come up with, are overriden by the words that fight their way off your tongue.

“Hangman knows.”

He pauses in his walk towards the couch, looking down at you. “What do you mean he knows?”

“He knows. They all know. Phoenix told them.”

He stares at you, mouth gaping open. “Wh-what?”

“Look, I don’t want to go tonight.”

He sighs, but nods. “That’s- that’s fine, I guess. What do you want me to tell them?”

“I don’t know, you figure it out.” You sigh, moving off the couch. “Look Bradley, if you want to lie to Maverick, keeping up some sort of story, some sort of act, for your relationship with him, that’s your business. I think it’s kind of fucked up that you’re lying to him but as your friend, I’ll support you in doing what you think is right. Because quite frankly I don’t know these people and it’s not really any of my business. But God, I didn’t come all the way out here to try and make friends with people who are just going to be ripped out from under me when this is all over, when all is said and done. When the dust settles, you’ll be fine. And so will I, but excuse me for not wanting to get attached to people who won’t be my friend in two months time.”

He gapes at you, one of his hands coming out to wave around in front of him dramatically. “Where the hell is this coming from? You knew what you signed up for. You agreed to do this for me because you’re my friend.”

You push past him, moving towards the stairs. “Yeah, and that’s the problem.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” You let out a shaky breath, grip on the staircase banner tightening and then loosening again before you turn around to face him. He’s standing a few feet behind you on the bottom step and you take a step down, semi-closing the distance between the two of you. You set your hands on his shoulders, taking a deep breath to steel yourself.

“Nothing, it’s supposed to mean nothing. Just... go to dinner, have fun with your friends. It’s fine, don’t worry about it, I’m just tired.” You swallow as you turn back around moving up the stairs and into the guest room. The door shuts behind you with a soft click and your heart clenches with the fact that he let you walk away with no protest. You didn’t know if that made you feel better or worse.

Get it together.

It’s not real.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fics #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw fics #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fics #flight risk

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mickeyzpriv · 1 month

Text

Time to use this account for what it's made forrr

Cw a biiiit of a vent, but more of a ramble sesh & request for folks who know me

I mean-

If things... don't go super well tomorrow-

There's some stuff I might have to do tomorrow that I'm not exactly thrilled about

If you know me well enough you probably know that I'm trans & all that

I try not to talk abt it too much now that it's been a while & just stick to talking abt it if someone asks.

-That being said, if the stuff I mentioned before ends up having to happen tomorrow I'm probably gonna be struggling with uhhhh

Gender dysphoria stuff

Idk this is kinda weird & awkward but basically maybe emphasize using he/him more for me whenever possible...?

Even some people who knew me after I came out have started using my nicknames & "they" more & it's really getting to me

If I have to go through with this stuff I'm worried I'm gonna feel worse- just thinking about it has nearly brought me to a psychotic breakdown/emotional meltdown multiple times tonight

Please be praying & I'm... genuinely sorry if I've been iffy lately

I'm not handling the rescheduling of the wedding, constantly getting sick, or even current state of relationships lately super well.

(Bat, Soren, & CJ you lot are good dw) 🫂

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poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow · 5 months

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Kiss in the moonlight with dot? Thanks man we stan

it’s been idk even how many years since you sent this ask originally (at least a billion); here’s the latest gift you’ve ever received bestie ily

----------

1900

They meet on the Manhattan side of the bridge, this time. Spot is standing down by the riverfront, staring at the reflection of the moon on the water. It’s nice out tonight, still warm, the last vestiges of summer beginning to give way to fall. It’s late, almost midnight, but Spot doesn’t mind. He’s always been a night owl despite his job requiring an early start, and there’s something about the night, a certain calm that’s different than that of the dawn. It’s difficult for him to be alone in the mornings, anyway, with the bustle of the other newsies, and his walks across the bridge on certain evenings allow him to sink into his own thoughts, if only for an hour or so.

He’s lost in thought now, still staring out at the water, when a hand on his shoulder startles him. He spins to see Davey, who looks surprised but is already smiling.

“Sorry. I scare you?”

Spot scoffs. “Hardly,” he retorts, but there’s no heat in it. He smiles back at Davey and puts a hand on his upper arm, giving it a fond squeeze. “Good to see ya, Mouth. Been a while, huh?”

“Yeah, too long. Sorry,” Davey says again. “It’s just… it’s been hectic lately.” He doesn’t have to say anything else; Spot knows him well enough. Davey’s dad started working again a couple months after the newsies strike ended the previous year, which meant his mother wanted him and his little brother back in school. Davey and Les still sell papers in the mornings, though, and Sarah works full time as a seamstress. And Davey has been studying much more lately, preparing for…

“So when do you start?” Spot asks.

“In a couple of weeks.” Davey sighs. “Still not even sure if I’m gonna go.”“Of course you’re gonna go,” Spot says, more roughly than he intended. “You’d be stupid not to, Dave. You’re booksmart, it’s part of your charm. Now you get to use it.”

“It’s gonna be so different,” Davey says, staring out at the river like Spot was earlier, a wistful expression on his face. “I mean, it’s college, Spot. I won’t be able to hawk papers anymore, and I won’t get to see… well, see anyone, ya know? And my folks, and Les and Sarah, what if something happens again, and—”

“You’re babblin’,” Spot says, and he places his hands on Davey’s shoulders. “Look at me, Dave.” Davey does, tearing his gaze from the water. “Your dad’s workin’ again, so is Sarah, so is Les, even. And it’s not like you’re gonna be gonna be a thousand miles away. It’s what, an hour, hour and a half walk from your folks’ place? Hell, get a job down there near the college, bring money back to ‘em, and when you get your fancy reporter job, you’ll be makin’ more than you even know what to do with.”

Davey doesn’t say anything, and Spot gives him a gentle shake. “You hearin’ me? Change is hard, Dave, I get it, but you’re gonna get yourself a good life this way.”

At this, Davey cracks a smile. “You sound so wise, Spot. You sure you don’t wanna come with me?”

Spot drops his hands from Davey’s shoulders. “Like they even would.”

“You’re plenty smart, you know that.”

“College ain’t for me, I don’t think,” Spot says. “And I still got kids to look after.”

“Yeah.” Davey takes one of Spot’s hands and holds it in his own. “You ever think about the future, Spot?”

“I do,” Spot admits, “but it’s not here yet, is it?”

“I guess not.”

Davey looks downtrodden. Spot squeezes his hand. “We’re all gonna be alright, Dave. You know that. Hey, how’s Jack, by the way? Still goin’ for that art school he’s been talkin’ about?”

Katherine finally convinced Jack to pursue an art career beyond political cartoons, and Governor (or Vice President now, rather) Roosevelt had put in a good word for him at one of the new private schools, practically ensuring him an acceptance letter and a scholarship.

“He’s excited,” Davey says. His smile hasn’t returned. “He won’t be selling papers for much longer either, I guess.”

“Race and Crutchie and them got those kids well in hand, though, I bet.”

“Yeah. And Jack says he wants to propose to Kath after he gets out of school.”

This surprises Spot, only a little. “Her dad gonna go for that?”

Davey snorts. “Like Katherine would care. Or Jack, for that matter. Anyway, that means they’ll probably take off in a couple years, too. Jack never did stop thinking about Santa Fe, ya know?”

They’re all growing up. It’s a sobering thought, but growing up isn’t that bad, Spot thinks, especially since there was a time when he wasn’t sure he’d get the chance.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Davey says. “College, I mean. Getting older. It’s exciting.” He pauses, like he’s thinking about something. “You’ll… you’ll come visit, right? I mean, like you said, I won’t be far away at all, ‘specially with all the walking we do anyway, but what if I can’t get to Brooklyn, or I want to—”

This time, Spot shuts him up by leaning forward and pressing his lips to Davey’s, soft and quick. When he pulls back, Davey is blushing so fiercely Spot can see it in the dark.

“‘Course I’m gonna visit, Dave,” Spot says. “See you at your fancy college, readin’ your fancy college books and everything? It’ll be like finally seeing you in your natural habitat.”

Davey finally smiles again. “Then it’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, it will.”

They stand in comfortable silence for a long time after that, holding hands and watching the moonlight dance on the water.—1905

The room is thick with cigarette smoke, and Davey feels slightly embarrassed as he suppresses the urge to cough; many of his classmates in college smoked, and most of his coworkers do as well, but he has never understood the appeal. He had tried it once, his first year at school, and immediately coughed so hard he thought he might vomit. Spot had teased him for weeks.

Davey stares into his drink, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the memory.

“Amazin’ you haven’t hacked up a lung yet, Dave.”

“...Shut up, Spot.” Davey clears his throat again in an attempt to get rid of the persistent tickle and hands the cigarette back. “Don’t know how you do it.”

“What, this?” Spot takes a long drag, smirks, and blows the smoke up into the air. “Brooklyn boys was practically raised on the stuff.”

“So that’s why you all smell so bad.” That earns Davey a punch in the arm, but he just laughs.

“Just full’a jokes, aren’t you, Mouth?” Spot flicks a bit of ash off the end of the cigarette. “Hey, wanna see me blow a smoke ring?”

“Thinking hard there, David?” Bryan Denton, editor at The Sun and Davey’s new boss, lays a hand on Davey’s shoulders and startles him out of his reverie.

“Just, uh… thinking about old friends, Mr. Denton.”

“No need for the ‘mister,’ David, I’ve told you that,” Denton says. “Old friends, you say?”

“Yeah, a kid I knew back when I was in school.” Davey doesn’t quite know how to quantify his relationship with Spot, and he certainly won’t talk about it to his boss, anyway. “We actually sold papers together for a bit before that. You remember when I told you about the strike?”

“Oh, yes.” Denton takes a sip of his own drink. “Quite an affair, wasn’t it? Shame I was overseas at the time, but that Plumber—I read her articles, you know, once I returned. Fantastic stuff. It’s no wonder she moved up into investigative journalism so quickly. At her age, and as a woman—it’s something to really admire.”

Davey smiles. “It is.” He knows Katherine travels now, selling her stories to newspapers all across the country, really making a name for herself. Jack always sounds so happy in his letters, so proud of Kath’s accomplishments.

“And how are you faring?” Denton asks. “I know sometimes everything feels like it’s moving far too quickly, but that’s the beauty of the news. It’s always moving, and it’s up to us to capture it and give it to the people who need to hear it.”

“It’s fantastic.” And Davey doesn’t have to fake the enthusiasm in his voice. It’s so strange to think that once he was just hawking the news, and now he’s writing it. And with more assignments coming his way every day, he has ample opportunities to make sure he tells people’s stories right.

“I’m glad,” Denton says. “You know, I see a lot of myself in you, David. You’re going to go far. Just make sure to keep your head up and your words honest.”

David feels heat rising in his face and takes another sip of his drink, hoping Denton will think it’s just the alcohol. “Thank you, sir.”

“Good lad.” Denton reaches over and gives Davey’s shoulder a warm, brief squeeze. “I will see you tomorrow. Early day and all that—the news never sleeps.”

“The news never sleeps,” Davey agrees. Denton gives him a nod before rising from the table. Davey watches him gather his coat and hat and leave the building. He should leave, too, he thinks, even as he orders another drink and sits back in his seat, watching other patrons come and go.

Some time later, Davey has finished his second drink, and the smell of smoke is beginning to make his head pound. He gathers his things and is headed for the front door when it opens again, and another group of men floods in.

Dockworkers, probably, Davey thinks, noting the smell of seawater wafting into the room as well. He waits for the crowd to thin so he can leave, and when it doesn’t—surely, the saloon is not large enough for all these people—he resorts to pushing his way through. He is nearly to the door when someone bumps his shoulder and he staggers.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man says, and Davey is about to wave him off when he realizes he knows that voice.

“Spot?”

They stare at each other for a moment; Spot looks as surprised as Davey feels. But then Spot’s shock quickly melts and he gives Davey a grin and a hearty clap on the shoulder.

“Dave! How are ya? It’s been…”

Too long, Davey thinks. He and Spot had lost touch somewhere in Davey’s second year of college, after Spot got a job at the docks and Davey got busy with the school paper.

“It’s been ages, huh?” he says. “It’s good to see you, Spot.”

“Wow, I haven’t heard that name in a while,” Spot says, taking his hand from Davey’s shoulder. Davey pretends he doesn’t miss the warmth. “Mostly Sean now, down at the docks.”

“You know, I didn’t know your real name for months after the strike,” Davey says. Spot laughs, and it’s a wonderful sound.

“I was probably the one who told ya, wasn’t I?”

“I think so. I asked Jack once, but he said, ‘he’ll soak me good if I let it slip, Mouth.’”

“And he was right,” Spot says, but his voice is light.

“Hey, Conlon!” a burly man close to the bar interrupts, waving toward them. “You gonna order?”

The spell of the moment is broken. Davey suddenly feels like an intruder; he’s not in Spot’s life anymore, they’ve both moved on.

“I should go, Spot,” he says, turning back toward the door. “It was, uh, it was good seeing you.”

Before he can change his mind, he gives Spot’s arm a subtle, fleeting squeeze and pushes through the crowd.

He opens the door and escapes into the crisp evening air. Winter hasn’t tightened its grip on the city yet, and the night is cool but comfortable. Davey takes a moment to breathe, pushing away the guilt that has begun to encroach upon his thoughts. But he’s only taken a few steps when the door opens behind him.

“Dave, wait.” Spot’s voice is enough to make Davey hesitate for a moment, then Spot’s hand is on his shoulder again.

When Davey turns, Spot looks sadder than he’s ever seen him, his eyes suspiciously shiny under the dim light of the waning moon. To Davey’s embarrassment, his own eyes prickle almost painfully. He glances around; for the moment, they’re alone in the street. But before he can gather his courage, Spot surprises him by leaning forward first. Their lips graze each other tentatively, and Spot starts to pull back, but now Davey is ready. He tangles his fingers in the front of Spot’s sweater and drags him closer, and this time their lips crash together. The kiss is deep and hot, desperate and soul-crushing and perfect.

When they finally separate, Davey can see the tears on Spot’s cheeks. He realizes this is the first time he’s ever seen Spot cry, but he doesn’t mention it; his own face feels damp and there’s a lump in his throat.

“I can’t lose you again, Dave,” Spot croaks.

Davey laughs, raspy and relieved. He had forgotten what this felt like—what Spot felt like. He closes his eyes and leans forward until their foreheads are touching. His hand finds the back of Spot’s neck and stays there, squeezing gently.

“You won’t.”—1910

Sean walks briskly down the street, straightening his cap for what feels like the hundredth time as he dodges another pair of people walking too damn slow. It’s his first night of shore leave, and the moon is full and high in the sky. The weather is perfect, a warm breeze carrying the promise of summer drifting between the buildings, but Sean barely notices it; he just wants to get home. He tries to resist the urge to jog, but once his apartment building comes into view, he can’t help it. He runs the last couple blocks and wrenches open the front door, nearly bowling down his elderly neighbor.

“I am so sorry, Miss Leary,” he says, taking off his cap and nodding his head in apology. But she just laughs.

“That is quite all right, son.” She gives him a wink. “I saw your friend get back just about two hours ago; he looked just as excited as you do. Better get upstairs.”

Sean feels his cheeks heat. He grins and nods again, then holds the door open for Miss Leary as she leaves. Then he’s hurrying up the stairs two at a time until he reaches the seventh floor.

He passes Miss Leary’s apartment and then he’s standing in front of the door at the end of the hall. He turns the knob and enters the small but well-organized living room, places his cap on a nearby wall hook, drinks in the sight of home. And there, in one of the armchairs that faces the large windows overlooking the rest of the neighborhood, sits David, scribbling away in one of his many notebooks. A small pile of the things has already accumulated on the floor beside his chair.

“Still working?” Sean can’t suppress his smile as David jumps, obviously startled. “I thought this was supposed to be a break.”

David recovers quickly and jumps up from his chair, dropping his notebook carelessly on a nearby end table as he crosses the living room. Sean meets him halfway, his fingers tangling in David’s hair as he presses his lips to David’s own. They take a moment like that, then David pulls away just enough to smile at Sean.

“Hello, sailor,” he says cheekily.

Sean rolls his eyes. “Hello yerself. How’s life on the front lines?” He tries to keep his voice light, but he can tell by David’s falling expression that he didn’t quite succeed. David knows his job as a war correspondent for The Sun worries Sean, and Sean’s naval duties aren’t much better at the moment. But there will be time to talk about that later, Sean decides.

“Never mind,” he says, pulling David close again. “But you gotta stop workin’ so hard; I’m sure the news can survive a couple nights with you, huh? I only got a few days on shore, after all.”

“Yeah, it can wait.” David toys with Sean’s neckerchief. “I’ve missed you, Spot.”Sean laughs at the old nickname, but it warms his heart to hear it again. “I’ve missed you too, Mouth.”

Now it’s David’s turn to laugh, and it’s the best thing Spot’s heard in months. This is the first time they’ve seen each other since their jobs took them to opposite sides of the world near the beginning of the year, and Sean is going to enjoy every moment of it. He pulls David toward the windows and they stand together, staring out into the darkness. The city looks better at night, Sean decides, when it’s lit up only by the streetlamps and the light of the moon.

“I’ve always liked this time of night,” David says, as if reading Sean’s mind. “Especially when the moon is full.” It illuminates his face and reflects off his eyes until they almost seem to glow.

“Me too.” Sean leans over and kisses David’s cheek. If he had his way, they would stand here forever, under the moonlight. “Me too, Dave.”

#newsies #david jacobs #spot conlon #dot newsies #a newsies fic? from me? in 2024? it's more likely than u think #ignore any historical inaccuracies i simply Do Not Care anymore #i just wanted to make these idiots kiss

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