Pope wasn't sure if he hated the summer or loved it.

He hung out awkwardly in a chair by the pool, cold beer sweating in his hand under the glare of the early summer sun. San Diego had a habit of being hot nearly all year round, but there was something about the end of spring that had everyone and their mother calling the Codys for a party. Bikinis, drugs, old friends of his brothers he barely talked to. All in the name of summer. By noon the backyard already smelled like chlorine, sunscreen, cigarette smoke, and grilled meat from the burgers Deran was flipping on the grill. Music blared from the speakers mounted under the patio awning so loud it vibrated the large floor to ceiling windows of the house.

With J taking college classes too, there had been more people around. Pope always figured his nephew was more the loner type, same as him, even if girls seemed to flock to the kid anyway. But college had done something to J—it seemed to draw him out of his shell a little. He had more friends around the house, more nights out, more people filling Smurf’s backyard until Pope barely recognized half of them anymore.

That's how they'd met you, too.

You—just a friend of J's, you'd clarified more than once to Pope—who looked so fucking cute in that little red bikini you had on. He could just see the red ties of the bottoms poking from cutoff shorts with the frays brushing your thighs every time you moved. A can of Diet Pepsi sat in your hand with one of those little pink straws poking out the top so you wouldn’t ruin your lipstick. Pope always made sure they stayed stocked in the garage fridge, even if he didn’t spend as much time at Smurf’s house anymore. But when he knew the guys were throwing something, when he knew J would be here, he somehow always found his way back over. Because if J was here, there was a good chance you’d be trailing in behind him sooner or later.

But he often wondered what you and J truly were, no matter how many times you said he was a friend. Why were the two of you tied at the hip so god damn much? It made Pope's knuckles blanch when he thought of all the time his nephew got to spend with you.

Now you were standing across the yard with your head tipped back laughing at something J said while Nicky stood beside you smoking a shared joint, the end burning bright orange each time she inhaled. Smoke curled through the air around all of you, mixing with the sharp chemical smell of pool chlorine baking under the heat. Pope watched J lean down closer to hear whatever you were saying over the music and felt his jaw tighten hard enough to ache.

"Hey—"

He looked over to see Craig handing him a fresh beer. Pope hadn’t even realized the one in his hand was empty already, his knuckles white around the neck of the bottle.

He merely grunted, taking it from his brother.

"You look like you need something harder than a beer, but I know you better."

Pope's lip twitched, hardly stealing a glance at him.

Craig let out a low whistle. “What’s got your panties in a twist today, huh?”

Pope finally looked over at him then. Craig had his sunglasses shoved up into his hair, dark locks tucked behind his ears, blue eyes narrowed with curiosity and amusement.

"Go away." Pope said simply.

"Oh, now I really wanna know." Craig grinned as he sat down beside him.

Pope clicked his tongue against his teeth and twisted the cap off the beer, taking a long drink of the cold amber liquid while his eyes drifted back toward you again. By then the back gate was opening, and he watched your entire demeanor change.

First, it was your smile that slipped. Then your eyes flicked toward the guys coming through the gate, then over to Nicky beside you, and you murmured something to her, but Pope was too far away and it was so fucking loud out here to hear anything. His attention sharpened immediately anyway, ears pricking up like a mutt waiting for a command.

The guys spilling into the backyard were long and lean in only that college-kid kind of way. Floppy hair, muscle tees loose over wiry arms, sunburnt shoulders, a thirty pack of Bud Light swinging between them. Pope knew the type without ever stepping foot on a campus himself.

"Oh, shit." Craig muttered when he followed Pope's hardened gaze.

One of the guys had walked right up behind you, tossing an arm over your shoulders familiarly, and yet Pope saw your whole body go still under it. He couldn’t see your expression from here, only the way your head turned slightly toward Nicky. Across from you, J stood with his beer hanging loose in his hand, watching quietly, his face flattening out into that cold look he’d gotten better at lately. The Cody look.

"Easy, man. She's fine." he heard his little brother say beside him.

Pope felt like he was vibrating as he watched, ready to jump at any sign of this asshole giving you a hard time. He knew you could handle yourself too, but there was something about this guys confidence, how he thought he could come into his house and prey on his girl.

Pope stopped himself there. Not his girl. Not his house, really, either. He bit down on the inside of his cheek until his mouth filled with the taste of iron.

Then you slipped neatly out from under the guy’s arm, moving away from the group while lifting your drink toward the questioning looks they threw after you. Gotta get a refill. you called over your shoulder, as you walked away quickly.

But the second your back turned to them, your expression dropped. Plain annoyance sat across your face clear as day. Your shoulders folded inward a little while you crossed through the yard, weaving between people with your drink clutched against your stomach, making yourself smaller.

A little bit later, when you came back out into the yard with a new cold drink in hand, Craig was talking about some job he'd found—some mattress warehouse with a safe stacked with cash. Pope was only half listening. His attention snagged the second you stepped through the sliding glass door barefoot, little beads of condensation sliding down the side of your soda can onto your fingers.

You paused halfway across the patio, clearly intending to head back toward J, but the view of all those guys still talking around him seemed to make you pause. Your fingers tapped the side of the aluminum can in your hand, and then—to his surprise and horror—your head swiveled, and you were looking at him.

At Pope.

And now you were walking towards him. His heart lept in his chest.

Craig noticed immediately, straightening up in his lounge chair with that easy grin he wore around pretty girls.

"Hey—" Craig started, but you weren't even looking at him.

“Do me a favor?” you asked Pope quietly. He didn't even register the question—the answer would always be yes for you. He was nodding before he knew what you needed.

Your gaze flicked over your shoulder at the sound of footsteps coming across the concrete.

It all happened very quickly, and yet—he remembered it as if it was slow motion.

You bent toward him, fingers slipping around his wrist first, then into his hand—cold and wet to the touch from your soda—and his callouses scraped against your soft skin. You lifted his hand carefully, guiding his arm out of the way so you could turn yourself between and sit down onto his lap. The soft wash of your shorts brushed against the black denim of his jeans, your weight settling over his left thigh, and Pope stopped breathing for a second.

You—you were touching him. Sitting in his lap. In front of everyone.

His hand stayed where you’d moved it, hovering awkwardly over your hip, fingers flexing in midair, his brain choking on what to do next. He could smell your green apple shampoo when you leaned back into him, could feel the heat of your legs through his jeans.

Was this a joke? Had you planned to make fun of him? To show all your little friends how much of a freak he was?

"Just go with it," you whispered into his ear, your hand coming up behind his neck, manicured fingers delicately cupping his skin. Despite the heat, his flesh rose up in goosebumps. You were balancing your soda awkwardly in the other hand while reaching back for his still-hovering arm, guiding it around your waist yourself. Your fingers pressed gently against the back of his hand until he held you properly, as if soothing him.

Most of his palm landed against the rough denim of your shorts, but his fingertips brushed frayed fabric and warm skin underneath. The bare top of your thigh. He wouldn't let himself look at you properly— the skimpy red bikini top showing more skin than he could handle so close to him, bare shoulders shining with the glow of sunscreen and your chest dabbled with sweat. He swallowed thickly.

Your head turned towards the guys who were walking over, and the one in the middle—Asshole who put his arm around you—had stopped completely. His shoulders were tight, his glare ice cold.

But Pope was meaner. He knew how to do this, at least—how to play the guard dog, the meanest, eldest Cody brother. It was a role he slipped into easily, like second nature. The two of them stared at each other for a long minute.

Then J appeared beside the kid, clapping a hand onto his shoulder and saying something about putting their beer in the fridge. The group drifted away slowly after that, disappearing through the sliding door.

You let out a long sigh, your shoulders lightening as your fingers unlatched from Pope's neck. He missed the touch almost immediately.

"Thanks," you said.

Pope looked up at you. You were smiling gently down at him, casual as anything, but he soon realized that you weren't making any moves to get up. Your arm was still around his back, his still on the top of your thigh, but neither of you seemed eager to move away.

He just nodded stiffly. "Sure."

Your smile widened as the two of you studied each other. He watched you lift your soda, bringing the pink straw to your mouth. Pope did his god damn best not to let his eyes flit over your lips as you took a long sip.

He heard a huff of breath beside him suddenly.

"Well, that guy seemed like a dick."

You startled a little, turning your head like you’d forgotten Craig was still sitting there at all.

"Oh, hey Craig, I'm sorry—" you said, and you moved to finally get up, but Pope held on fast. He wouldn't let his baby brother take this from him.

When you looked back at Pope, your brows pulled together faintly in question. Something curious flickered there for a moment, but then your expression softened, like you understood anyway. You leaned down, lips to his ear, "Let me just switch sides, that okay?"

Pope's lips tightened. He suddenly became painfully aware of every awkward thing about himself. The way his hand probably sat too stiff against your waist. The fact that your breath sent a tingle down his spine, making his jeans suddenly feel too tight. And the fact he hadn’t said anything smooth this entire time. Anybody else would've known how to play this—smile, flirt a little, maybe make you laugh. But no, you were the charming one. The one who knew how to flirt, how to handle him.

So, he let go.

You kept your promise, only switching to his other thigh, letting his brother get an eye full of you now. You did the same thing again—bringing your hand around so you could take his, pulling it against yourself without even a moment of hesitation while you looked at the tallest Cody.

“Sick party,” you told Craig, lifting your drink in distant cheers. “How are you?”

Craig smiled back, all shiny teeth and charm as he held his beer up in salute, "I'm doin' good. What's up with your little friend?"

You rolled your eyes, "The guy has been trying to get me to go out with him for weeks." you sipped your drink again, eyes flickering over into the glass windows of the house, watching Asshole and his cronies from afar, "Except his version of taking me out is fucking me in the back his mom's BMW."

Pope was in the middle of taking a sip of beer when you said it, nearly choking.

"What the fuck did you just say?" he demanded. It was probably the most words he’d strung together to you all day. Hell, maybe all month.

But suddenly his head was making up different scenarios, none of them involving you in the back of Asshole's car, instead, he was wondering what the kid's head would sound like bouncing off the concrete when Pope's fist met it.

Your brows jumped a little at his reaction, but you only shrugged, unbothered. “He’s a dickhead. I’ve been trying to tell him I have a boyfriend, but he doesn’t believe me.”

"Do you?" Craig asked.

Pope thought maybe his little brother wasn’t completely useless after all.

He saw you shake your head in his periphery, and his heart, the traitorous thing, began to pound in his chest a little.

“No,” you admitted softly. “And I don’t think our little performance convinced him much either.”

Your gaze drifted back toward the sliding doors just as the group started filing outside again. Pope felt your body tense slightly on his thigh before you muttered a quiet, Oh, fuck my life under your breath. The asshole slowed when he passed, taking another long look at where you sat in Pope’s lap.

And Pope stared right back at him, lip curling.

Once they had gone towards the other side of the pool, he heard his brother say lightly: “I bet if you made out in front of him, they'd buy it.”

"Shut your mouth." Pope snapped, his hard glare turning on his brother.

But you barely seemed to hear either of them. You kept looking over your shoulder toward the yard, eyes skimming from Asshole to J and Nicky talking nearby, chewing lightly at your lip while you thought about something.

When you turned back to Pope and his brother, you had a funny look on your face.

Pope frowned slightly. “What's wrong?”

You hesitated, studying his face. You had lost that easy confidence from a moment before, fingers playing with your straw as you looked at him.

"Would that… ? No, no nevermind." you said, shaking your head. You cut yourself off by lifting your drink to your mouth again, shifting a little on his thigh in the process. The movement dragged your hip against him, making him painfully aware of just how much he was affected by your closeness.

Beside him, Craig made a strangled noise trying not to laugh. When Pope looked over, his brother was practically vibrating in his chair, eyebrows climbing halfway up his forehead while he grinned like a complete asshole.

"Get outta here, go—" Pope barked.

Craig finally lost the fight against his grin. He held both hands up in mock surrender while getting up from the lounge chair and walked away, shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Sorry,” Pope murmured once his brother was out of earshot.

He took another swallow of beer and leaned down to set the bottle carefully beside the chair, his movements slower now, more aware of you sitting there against him than anything else.

You shrugged, "It was…a good idea."

Pope's brows pulled together when he looked at you. God, you were so fucking close. The feel of your warm, soft skin against him, the smell of your apple shampoo mixing with sunscreen and the syrupy fake-sweet scent of the Diet Pepsi in your hand. He still couldn't believe you were sitting on his lap. Touching him. Pulling his arm around you as if it natural, like there wasn’t anything strange or dangerous about him to hesitate over.

And now you were looking at him with that look, something behind your eyes he couldn’t immediately sort out, and the fact he couldn’t sort it out made his stomach knot. As uncomfortable as he made people feel sometimes, Pope could still catch onto things. Patterns. He was always used to the way people acted, knew if they were lying because they started acting differently around him. But you never did that with him, and you never looked nervous around him like this before.

A thought occurred to him, one that made his stomach hurt even worse. Maybe you saw him for what he was—scary, mean; Smurf's dog made to heel and bark and bite when she commanded it. He became horribly aware of himself under your searching gaze—how tightly his hand was holding your thigh, how he could still just feel the top edge of your skin, your shoulder bumping into his chest when you'd shift.

And maybe you'd just realized whose lap you were in.

"Andrew…" you murmured, "Are you okay?"

He nodded.

You set your drink down in a hurry, cold aluminum knocking lightly against the concrete beside the chair before both your hands came up to his neck, fingers spreading against his skin as you tipped his face upward toward yours. Your touch was cold, wet from the soda.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I'm sorry."

You were touching him again. Both hands on his neck. Your face was so close to his. Noses nearly bumping. He could make out every clump of mascara around your eyes, your smudged lipstick. It made him nearly nauseous with want. Your eyes—they were worried. Why were you so worried to be around him now?

"I shouldn't have asked—or even—I don't know, Craig said it and for some reason I thought maybe—"

The gears in his brain finally started catching up after spinning uselessly for the last few minutes, thoughts grinding slowly into place one after another while he stared at your mouth moving so close to his.

What Craig had said… What had his brother said?

I bet if you made out in front of him, they’d buy it.

“You…” he managed finally, his mouth dry as cotton, heart thudding so hard it hurt. “Want to…?”

You licked your lips nervously, and the movement nearly derailed his thoughts again immediately.

"Not if it makes you uncomfortable. I just…” You sighed and glanced over your shoulder toward the yard. Your hair brushed lightly across his nose before you looked back at him again.

“I’m gonna lie to you and tell you it’s only to make this guy get off my back, okay?”

“What’s the truth?” he asked quietly, somehow finding enough nerve to force the words out.

Your teeth caught your bottom lip. “I just need you to tell me if it’s okay to do this—”

You leaned closer.

Pope’s hand moved before he could think better of it, wrapping carefully around your wrist to stop you there. So soft—the delicate bones of your joint in his rough hand.

"Y-yes but—what's the truth?" he echoed. He had to know. He had to.

You were hardly listening now, your attention splitting somewhere between him and the movement in the yard behind him, and Pope’s brain kept trying to grab onto something solid, some version of this that made sense, because he had to be out of his fucking mind to think maybe you meant what he desperately wanted you to mean. Maybe you actually—

But then your eyes flicked over his shoulder again, and Pope’s gaze followed yours automatically, catching the group of guys heading back across the patio towards you with J in tow, and suddenly your fingers tightened against Pope's face.

And then you turned into him, and kissed him.

You tasted like aspartame.

That syrupy sweet taste from the soda, like the waxy, cherry lipstick that you kept in your pocket. The smell of apple shampoo and sunscreen filled his nose while your lips pressed hard against his with a little gasp that went straight down his belly and into his dick. You didn’t kiss him shyly either. Pope could tell immediately you were trying to make a point, trying to push this far enough that anybody watching would understand exactly what they were seeing.

When he felt your tongue trace the seam of his lips, he didn't care anymore. He didn't care if this was some ruse to get Asshole off your back, he didn't care if you didn't actually like him, because fuck your tongue felt so good against his mouth. He was opening for you, tasting you back, and he could've sworn—under the noise of the music blaring, of the pool water splashing and people talking over one another—he heard a small, little helpless moan from your throat when he finally kissed you back properly.

His hands tightened around you immediately, both arms circling your waist to drag you closer against him until there was hardly any room left between you—your shoulder pressed tightly into his chest, a little awkward with the way you sat sideways across his thigh, but he didn't give a shit.

It felt endless and too short all at once, your tongues sliding together smoothly while you held his face so tenderly it made his throat tighten, and then little by little that tenderness started disappearing into want and hunger. Your fingers pushed into his hair harder now, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, making his breath stutter against your mouth.

“Holy shit.”

The voice cut through the air beside you like a gunshot beside him. The party seemed to rush back in all around at once—the sounds of people shouting scores for dives off the pool house, music blasting, the sliding door opening and closing.

And then you were pulling back, lips unlatching from his. To Pope’s immediate disappointment it was Deran standing there frozen beside the cooler with a beer halfway out of the ice.

He licked his lips automatically even as he glared at his brother, catching the lingering taste of you on his mouth, and when he looked up at you again your lips were swollen and shiny.

You glanced toward the group of guys across the yard, then Deran with a quick, oh-- hi, Deran, before looking back at Pope. Your hands were still around his neck, and you were leaning in again. But this time, your lips went to his ear.

“The truth is, Andy...” you murmured softly.

Pope felt another shiver move through him at the feel of your breath against his neck, and his grip tightened on your little denim shorts as you said, “…I've wanted to do that for a long time.”

And then, as if you'd merely said thanks, pope, bye! you were pulling away from him, brushing your thumb across his top lip, wiping away whatever lipstick you'd left him with, and you were standing from his lap and walking off through the yard like you hadn’t just detonated his entire fucking nervous system in front of half the party.

Deran let out a low laugh beside him before grabbing a pool towel from the chair nearby and tossing it at Pope’s chest.

“You’re gonna wanna sit there for a minute,” he said. “Wait out that, uh… problem.”

Pope glared at his brother over the towel clutched in his lap.

Chapter 1: In The Mood For Solitude [coming 23-May-26]

Chapter 2: Armless, But Never Harmless

Chapter 3: Confidential Potential

Chapter 4: Built To Uncover Our Guilt

Chapter 5: It’s My Purview To Serve You

Chapter 6: Secret Sex Isn’t Complex

Chapter 7 (part 1): My Undercover Lover

Chapter 7 (part 2): Exceptions and Deceptions

Chapter 8: Keep Going, It’s Mindblowing

Chapter 9: Guess What I Heard, Little Bird

Chapter 10: Encore! So Much More In Store

Chapter 11 (part 1): Don’t Smirk, I Work Here, You Jerk

Chapter 11 (part 2): Not A Stranger To Danger

Chapter 12: Let’s Trade – Your Blade, My Charade

Chapter 13: The Sweet Abyss Of Your Kiss

Epilogue: Renowned, Crowned, Now Homeward Bound

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry..” andrew sobs, voice muffled between your puffy folds.

he’d really done it this time. literally will not pull away from you. you would’ve thought his palms were glued to your thighs if his fingers weren’t digging into the flesh. the endless wetness seeping from your pussy was mixing with andrew’s salty tears falling from his eyes.

“‘can’t stop,” he whines, tongue flattening over your hole to try and trap any of your juices from escaping him. “ohmygod i really can’t stop.”

“popey,” you cried out, back arching from the vibrations of his voice. “baby, pleaseeee ‘ts enough! too much!!”

andrew’s head shakes, a choked sob leaving his mouth. he felt horrible. not really. but seriously. it was pathetic. the taste of you was addicting. like some perfect drug that not even craig could find. nobody has ever had him like this.

suuuuuucking your clit into his mouth, he tightens his grip around your legs so you’re unable to move. he knows you. he knows when you squirm. just can’t help it.

“i know, i know it..” he says quickly when he pulls away, pressing his nose against your pussy and huffing. a guttural groan left him and you could see through the tears that his eyes rolled back. “fuck, fuck fuck.. oh god- i’m so fucking sorry.. you taste sooooo good.. my perfect fuckin’ pussy..”

“i feel like ‘m gonna- ah!- pass out, pleaseee!” you shimmy your hips, trying to run away from him.

it was all too much. your eyesight was growing spotty and every inch of your skin was prickly. it was like modern torture. torture that felt unbelievably good.

god knows where he learned this from. but, truly, you don’t think he even knows what hes doing. no thoughts in those pretty wet eyes.

you can’t bring yourself to be mad at him. he doesn’t mean to torture you. maybe it’s in his nature. or maybe he’s just so in loooooooove.

“‘t’s okay, baby,” he whispers, voice shuddering. “‘ll take care of you.. mhmmm.. omigod- yeah- yeah.. i’ll take care of you..”

and just like that, one flick of his tongue against your swollen clit and you were out cold, body convulsing as you came unconsciously. his tongue lapped up every bit he could get from you.

sniffling, he wiped his nose and his eyes with the back of his hand. his eyes flicked between your passed out face and your glistening pussy. his bottom lip wobbled.

you didn’t say he had to stop.. right??

(google doc link)

“It’s your darling’s birthday,” she said enthusiastically, her teasing smile emphasizing the word ‘your’.

He loved how Sarah called you, using one of the pet names he gave you, adding a possessive touch to it. God, he really loved that, and he was grateful that you two got along so well.

“Birthday? Is it really?” he asked, frowning.

His daughter's smile dropped, her shoulders slumped. “Dad?! Tell me it’s a joke. It’s a joke, right? And please, tell me you didn’t forget the cake…”

It was impossible to continue the teasing, seeing  her crestfallen face and a pout, and Joel couldn't help but laugh.

“Of course I’m joking, baby girl. Ain’t gonna forget this special day. And yes, I got the cake. Bought it yesterday on my way back from work.”

“Her favorite cake?”

“Yes, her favorite cake,” he smiled, touched by Sarah’s thoughtfulness and attention. 

“Great. And I’m too old to be called a baby girl, by the way,” she said, flashing a smile at him before rushing downstairs. 

She was growing up way too fast for his liking.

Joel got up and glanced at his wrist, then remembered his watch was broken, left in the dresser drawer. He told himself he really needed to get it fixed when he'd get the time, but the thought made him sigh. Too many things to do in a day, and not enough time for all of them. His watch would wait.

“Dad!!! Breakfast’s ready!”

“Coming!”

They were finishing breakfast when Tommy arrived, patting his brother on the back.

“You’re late, no more pancakes,” Joel said as he glared at Tommy.

“It’s ok, already ate. And I thought you didn’t like them, by the way?”

“Your niece is torturing me, forcing me to eat them,” he said while taking one last bite, making Sarah giggle, and his heart melted. As much as he loved to play a grumpy dad, the way his daughter cared for him always moved his heart.

“So… big day, big brother, uh? What did you get your girlfriend this year?”

“A uh… a bracelet,” Joel replied, feeling himself blush, knowing too damn well that he looked like a teenager every time someone talked about you. 

It was a feeling forgotten a long time ago when he became a single father and threw himself headlong into Sarah's well-being while men his age were partying or doing sports. 

But not Joel. He loved to rock his daughter when she was little, her eyes fixed on him until she fell asleep, as if he were her anchor in this world, when in reality, she was the one who kept him afloat. Running to get her meds to help relieve whatever pain was affecting her. Watching her smile, two little teeth peeking, the same dimple he had printed on her cheek. Standing behind her during her first steps, ready to catch her each time she wavered. Teaching her to swim, ride a bike, fly a kite, skim stones and so many other things. Making sure she had everything she needed, even though he could never totally fill the void her mother had left. But he was committed to always trying his best, as long as he'd be able to.

He was so focused on Sarah that he didn’t notice women’s gazes fixed on him, at a grocery store or when he picked her up at school. Indifferent to them hitting on him shamelessly at his daughter’s soccer practices, where he only had eyes for Sarah. 

He went on a couple dates, but they didn’t go anywhere. He just wasn't into starting a relationship.

Until he met you, a woman who stirred up a tidal wave in his dormant heart. 

Things were so easy and natural, without a rush, without a demand from him to sacrifice his time dedicated to Sarah. Unlike you, other women had often asked Joel to leave his daughter with a babysitter for a night. But he didn't want to. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with her, until she grew up and became a teenager of 14 or 18 who’d prefer to hang out with her friends rather than with her dad. Of course, that would be her choice, it was a natural order of things. But until she needed him he wouldn’t make that decision. He’d already spent too much time working, building his own company, making more money for Sarah, for her education.

You made Joel’s heart come to life again, his feelings growing stronger for months, and now he was wrapped around your finger, his heart racing each time he saw you. Thought about you. 

Everything was going wonderfully with Sarah. You knew the movies she liked, often discussed them with her, while Joel had trouble even remembering the title of the newest movie she wanted to see. "Dawn of the Wolf!" you and Sarah would repeat in unison for the tenth time, laughing. You naturally came not only into his life but into his daughter’s too, and now he couldn't imagine living without you. He hated when you didn't stay over, yet kept his biggest wish a secret from Sarah for now — you moving in with them.

“A bracelet? Mmmm… no ring?” his brother chuckled, looking at Sarah.

“What? No, not a ring.”

“But you’re thinking about it, right?”

“They have to live together before he proposes to her, uncle Tommy,” Sarah said, making Joel choke on his pancake. “What are you waiting for, dad? She sleeps here more and more often, which is cool, because when she doesn’t, you're extra grumpy.”

“That’s my niece,” Tommy grinned.

Joel glared at him then lowered his gaze, twirling the fork between his fingers, then looking at his daughter.

“You uh… you wouldn’t mind? If she moved in here with us?”

“Of course not, she's cool. And you could watch Curtis and Viper with someone else and not me, all benefits!”

“What, you’re telling me you’re not into Curtis and Viper?” Tommy asked with a smirk, to which Sarah replied, “oh yeah, I am, top action movie,” making Tommy snicker. But Joel didn’t react to their banter because

a) he knew that she loved the movie as much as him and was only teasing him as usual, especially when Tommy was around. They both loved poking fun at him

b) he could only think about the prospect of you moving in.

“You’re sure? It's always just been the two of us. I don't want... I don't know, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.

“Dad, I told you, she's cool. You’re happy with her, you love her. She should move in.”

“Not to mention that she’s really special, for loving a fucker like you,” Tommy added, making him and Sarah laugh again. 

“Jesus… Okay, if that’s alright with you, I’ll ask her.”

“Now let’s hope she won’t say no,” Tommy smirked before they heard a knock on the door.

“Behave,” Joel mouthed to his brother, his frown vanishing instantly when he opened the door and faced you. He pulled you into a hug, murmuring a soft “happy birthday, darlin’. I missed you last night,” in the shell of your ear.

“I missed you, too. Thank you, baby.”

You slid your hands down his back, pressing yourself to him, his broad shoulders and reassuring chest against your body, as you breathed in his scent, his cologne and shampoo. He pulled away after several seconds, cupped your cheeks in his large hands and kissed you. 

“You get more beautiful every day, how is it even possible?”

“I guess your eyesight is probably going every day, baby.” You gave him a smile that lit up his heart, like it’d always done.

He scoffed with a fake annoyance and invited you to come in. 

“Happy birthday, darlin’!” Tommy and Sarah cheered together, making you laugh when you noticed Joel’s face at their greeting. 

“Thank you, guys! Hey, sweetie,” you said, hugging Sarah. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good! Are you ready for your special day?”

“Of course, I’m so excited! Hey, Tommy.”

“Hey, sweetheart. It was about time you arrived, Joel is all grumpy this morning.”

“No, I’m not! But stop calling her darlin’,” he said, pointing his index finger at his brother, then grinned.

The three of you laughed and you pressed yourself against Joel, murmuring a soft “I’ll always be your darling,” that only he could hear. It filled his heart with a rush of heat. Then you all left the house, got in his truck and headed to the lake. 

During the ride, Joel’s large hand remained on your thigh, possessive and protective, squeezing it lightly when his fingers weren't brushing your inner thigh. Your eyes met again and again, and you smiled at each other, your hand placed on his. Your gaze always fell on his plushy lips, bringing your thoughts to him settling down between your legs, his broad shoulders spreading them before he’d go down on you, his lips on your cunt, his hands on your hips, as he would eat you out perfectly until you came on his tongue. 

Heat reached your cheeks when you felt his eyes on you, fully aware that he knew what you had in mind.

“Tonight,” he murmured, making you soak your panties even more than two seconds before.

You couldn't believe this perfect man was your man. He was sweet, protective and caring. So sensual and hot when you two were together. And gorgeous, as if his face and body were carved by a sculptor.

The lake was one of your favorite spots, with wildflowers along the water's edge and birds singing in the trees. 

You kissed Joel before going to the dock with Sarah, to skim stones in the water and try to make them bounce as many times as possible.

“You’re way better at this than me,” you said, watching her grab another one. She was beautiful, smart and sharp, a ray of sunshine, with a radiant and contagious smile. Your heart sank when you thought of Joel who had raised her alone, making sure she lacked nothing and surrounding her with love.

“Dad!” Sarah shouted. “You have to teach her your trick!” 

Joel and Tommy joined you, the game quickly turning into a competition between the two brothers while you and Sarah watched and cheered, then you all ate the picnic lunch you'd packed before you went to Joel and Sarah’s house in the morning, blew out your candles, and opened presents.

Tommy’s gift was a book that you were sure you'd only mentioned to Joel, so he had probably told his brother about it while Tommy was searching for an idea. You hugged the younger man to thank him, glanced at Joel and mouthed a ‘thank you’. He smiled, a grin so wide and beautiful that your heart exploded, overflowing with love you had for him.

"So, did I choose well?" Tommy asked with all the confidence and smugness a younger brother can possess, and you told him it was perfect, making him swoon without a hint of shame. He was always funny and warm, the best brother-in-law you could dream of.

Sarah's present was a framed print. The two of you talked about poetry and painting a few times, and a couple weeks earlier while you were in a shop in front of some reproductions of paintings, she asked if there were some favorites of yours. You weren’t surprised that her compassionate and generous nature led her to choose such a mindful gift. You hugged her and said, "thank you so much, sweetie, I love you." You felt Joel's soft and grateful gaze on the two of you. You didn’t look at him this time. You were too emotional.

Joel gently squeezed his daughter's shoulder, then handed you his package, a rectangular shape with dark-colored paper and a silver bow tied with two loops. You unwrapped it, revealing a velvet box which you delicately opened. It contained a silver bracelet, so pretty and perfect for your taste.

"Oh my god, Joel! It's so beautiful!" you exclaimed as he put it onto your wrist.

“You like it?” he asked.

“Are you kidding me? It’s perfect!” You kissed him and snuggled up to him, looking down at your wrist, your back against his chest, his arms around you. He was your happy place. You always felt safe around him, joyful and loved.

You took several pictures that day, Joel and Tommy drinking a beer, Sarah kissing her father on the cheek, his gaze fixed on you, the three Millers jumping from the deck. Then you put down your camera and joined them in the water where you all splashed each other, before it quickly turned into a girls’ team vs boys’ team. You laughed so hard that your jaw ached. 

When it started getting cold you all got out and dried off, Tommy made a fire and Joel took his guitar case out of the truck. He played several songs that you all sang together. It was a perfect day, surrounded by the people you loved most in the world.

When you came back to the Millers late afternoon, after dropping Tommy off, and Sarah went to her room to listen to music, Joel told you he had another present for you. You raised your eyebrows as he put something on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, Joel, you didn't have to…”

“Baby,” he said. “I want to wake up every day with you. Fall asleep with you. Watch TV with you. Shower with you. I’m not always easy, but…”

He slowly removed his hand, revealing a key, and your eyes widened.

“Joel, are you… asking me to move in with you? With you and Sarah?”

He nodded, then added, “I love having you here. In the morning in the kitchen, drinking coffee. At night. I want the bed to smell like you every day, for the rest of my life. I want to live with you, have you all by myself, every day and night. My work hours are shitty, but I wanna take care of you. Every week, every month, all my life.”

Hearing his confession, you felt like your heart was about to jump out of your rib cage. You were moved, but you thought about Sarah, and the implied changes in her life. Their lives.

“Is… is Sarah okay with this?”

“Yes, she is. I've been thinking about it for a while, but I didn't know how to tell her. It's always been just the two of us, you know? Even though I knew she adores you, I didn't know… and then this morning it came up in a conversation, she asked me what I was waiting for, so… Here's a duplicate key I made several weeks ago, if that's okay with you.”

“Of course, it is, oh my god, Joel,” you cried, throwing yourself into his arms.

He chuckled, hugging you tight.

“Welcome home, darlin'.”

That night, he sank between your legs, just like he'd promised in the truck. Eyes dark, full of desire and need, he lapped at your cunt until your thighs shook on his shoulders, your fingers grasping his curls. After he had crawled on top of you and kissed you, he brushed your wrists and the bracelet with his calloused fingers, as soft as velvet on your skin. "These wrists... are mine,” he murmured, gaze lowered towards you, full of self-confidence. The same one you discovered the first time he fucked you, watching the way your body was shivering, touching you the way you needed it, as if it was the hundredth time and not the first one. 

“What else is mine, sweetheart?"

“Me. All of me.”

“That’s right,” he said as he pushed in and kissed your neck, making you arch your back and bite your lip, brushing your g spot slowly, again and again, until you came on his cock, his eyes fixed on yours. He followed right after, groaning, his forehead against yours, sweat dripping down his curls.

Mornings with Joel were always special. Precious. From the very first one, then when you slept at his place once a week, then twice. They still were special, several months after moving in. Maybe more than ever. 

Sometimes you woke up first, the daylight bathing the room in an orange hue as the sun kissed the foot of the bed. Whether your back was to him or you were facing him, you would snuggle up to him, seeking the warmth of his body against yours. Pressing your back against his broad chest, settling into his arms like a cat in its favorite spot. You could hear him moan, half-awake, as his arms tightened around you. Often falling back asleep.

Sometimes he would wake up first and watch you sleep. As he looked at your hand resting on the pillow, he’d imagine a wedding ring around your finger. He wanted you to be Mrs Miller, to hear people call you this way. 

Then he would lean to you and kiss your cheek, or your forehead, or both, slowly and softly, until you’d wake up and bury your fingers in his hair, drawing your body towards his, throwing your leg around his thigh.

Sometimes you didn't really know who had woken up first. Your bodies finding each other, the warmth of one melting into the other, hands searching for fingers, lazy kisses on a patch of skin, before finally finding lips. He would lower his boxers, or you would, just enough to free his cock, and he’d push in after pulling your panties to the side. He would thrust gently, just to feel you, just to make you feel good, and be as close as possible, both of you only half awake.

His eyes barely open, he’d look at you, searching for you, as your fingers slid over his warm, tanned skin, letting him control the rhythm of his hips against you.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he always said, in his sleepy, hoarse and warm voice.

“Morning, baby,” you would reply between moans.

These were your mornings with Joel, before your day would start. And you loved every second of it.

Nights were just as special as mornings, your bodies needing to be one.

“You make me feel like I’m the only woman in the world,” you breathed, your forehead against Joel’s, who was kneeling on the bed, his cock buried inside you as you were seated on him. He was caressing your back, pressing you against him, your breasts against his chest, radiating heat, that was mingling with the burning sensation in your lower abdomen.

“That’s because you are,” he replied, pulling away to look at you in the moonlight. “You are, you hear me?” His soft eyes were locked with yours. “Most beautiful woman in the world.” He caressed your cheek, his fingers always so soft against your skin.

“Will you still love me in 20 years?”

“Oh, darlin’. You'll never get rid of me. Not in 5 years, not in 20 years, not in 50 years.” He lowered his gaze, then chuckled, “was that creepy?”

“It could be, but it’s not,” you laughed, brushing the curls at the back of his neck. 

“You're the love of my life, sweetheart.”

“And you’re mine.”

You felt his cock twitch inside you, and he slid his hands under your asscheeks, slowly moving you up and down his shaft.

“You make me feel so soft. I want to protect you, be there for you. Hold you in my arms, all my life,” his words and his cock made you moan, and you stammered weakly, “I’m madly in love with you, Joel Miller.”

“That’s good. ‘Cause I’m madly in love with you, too. And with these little moans, too. You always moan so prettily for me. Now, you’re gonna be good, sweetheart?”

You hummed, his cock filling you so perfectly, so slowly, spreading you apart in the most perfect way.

“Yeah? You’re gonna come on it, baby? I know you can do it,” he praised, circling your breast with his hand before taking your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it and making you shiver. 

“Come on it, baby, come on. Come on my cock. I can feel you flutter around me. Christ, it’s so good, you’re doing so good for me. Always do.”

You whined when you came, pulsing on his shaft and he followed you soon, holding you tight against him, breathing loudly in your ear.

Sundays were soccer game days, and you didn't want to miss a single one. Even if you didn't really like the jealous glances of other women while Joel was holding you against him. 

The day Sarah won her first cup you were so proud of her, you couldn’t hold back your tears when you took a picture of her and her dad, while she was holding her trophy, Joel looking at her proudly.

That day, just after you took that pic, Tommy smiled at you then said “you're good for him. For her too, and she’s everything to me. Thank you, sweetheart, for being here.”

“They’re good for me, too. I’m so lucky, Tommy.”

“I hope one day I’ll love someone like you two love each other, and have a family like yours.”

“I’m sure you will. You deserve it.”

One week before Joel’s birthday, just after breakfast while Joel was showering, Sarah looked at the calendar on the fridge where “September 26th” was covered with red hearts, purple stars and blue butterflies that she had drawn. She asked if you could take her to a store to get a birthday card. 

You went there in the afternoon and she chose one with a dinosaur on it. She loved them since she was 3 or 4, ever since her and Joel watched a cartoon together, with a t-rex so silly that it made her laugh a lot. For weeks, she imitated the dinosaur, trying to scare her father by making what she thought were scary screams while they just were cute. Of course, Joel played along and used to get jumpscared exaggeratedly, making her laugh so hard that she always ended up out of breath.

Once back home with the card, you watched her seated at the dining room table, carefully writing something for him.

“Dear dad, let’s see… You’re never around, you hate the music I’m into, you practically despise the movies I like, and yet somehow you still manage to be the best dad every year. How do you do that? :)  Happy birthday, papa! ❤️ Sarah”

“That’s very sweet and moving, sweetie! He’s so lucky to have you,” you said, after she let you read it. “He’s gonna love it.”

“I’m going to get his watch fixed, too,” she added, her beautiful eyes fixed on you, full of trust, sharing her secret with you. She wasn't your daughter but you loved her so much, was so grateful that she accepted you into their lives.

“Oh, that’s such a good idea! Do you want me to come with you?” 

“No, it's ok, I’ll go after school, it’s on my way. I got the money, too. Do you have any ideas for his birthday?”

“Yes, the other day we walked past a music shop, and he pointed out a guitar. I think he’d really like it.” Sarah’s smile lit up. “He’ll love it!”

On the night of September 24th, you were lying on the bed when Joel came out of the bathroom, his hair still wet and pulled back, towel tied loosely around his hips and a few raindrops beading on his shoulders. The view left you breathless. He was gorgeous, more than ever, maybe.

“Do you have any idea how handsome you are?” you said after a few seconds, once you managed to breathe again.

“Shut up,” he chuckled, deepening the dimple on his cheek.

“Oh my god you’re blushing!”

“ ‘course I’m blushing, I’m not used to being praised by a woman as pretty as you.”

“Nonsense, you’re just so cute, Mr Miller.”

“Really? Well, I don’t think I ever heard you calling me cute, when i’m fucking you deep into the matress, do I? Aw, who’s blushing now, sweetheart?” he smirked, dropping the towel to the floor, his hard cock springing free. He grabbed your ankle to pull you closer before climbing onto the bed.

“You’re not playing fair!” you giggled, letting him manhandle you on all fours.

“Mmmm, you're right. Do you want me to stop?” he smugged before spanking your ass lightly, making you push against his crotch.

“Could you stop?” you asked playfully, looking at him over your shoulder.

“Damn, who’s playin’ dirty, now, baby?” he breathed, mesmerized by your drooling cunt, and you let him enjoy the view a little more by leaning on your forearms.

“Jesus christ, sweetheart…”

“She’s waiting,” you teased, still looking at him, feeling yourself dripping.

One hand on your hip, he slid the tip of his cock along your folds, covering it with your wetness before nestling it at your entrance and slowly pushing in.

“Oh, shit,” you whined.

“That’s a lot of cock for this little pussy, isn’t it?”

You only managed to moan while he bottomed out, so slowly that you closed your eyes and squeezed the pillow. It was incredibly good to feel him so deep, like he was made for you, as you were made for him.

His other hand grasped your hip, and he started to fuck you at a slow pace, his moans lulling your ears before giving way to the praise he knew you adored.

“Damn, baby.”

“My perfect girl.”

“Taking me so good.”

“So tight for me.”

“Gonna make me come way too soon if you keep squeezing me like that.”

“You wanna come, baby? D’ya want me to make you come, darlin’?” spanking you again when he only heard moans in response.

“I didn't hear you,” he growled.

“Yes, please… please, make me come.”

He leaned towards you, his chest covering your back, and slid his hand to your clit, brushing it so perfectly, peppering kisses on your shoulder, whispering in your ear “you’re perfect, baby. Made for me and for this cock. Come on it, baby. Soak me.”

“Oh my god, Joel, I’m gonna… Oh fuck, I’m coming, I’m coming…”

He spanked you, making both of you whine. “Shit, yeah, just like that, squeezing the shit outta me. Doing so good for me. Oh fuck, baby… oh…”

His words turned into moans as he came, squeezing you tightly under his fingers, thrusting deep inside you, only releasing his grip when his spasms ceased. He rolled onto the bed and pulled you towards him, holding you in his arms.

“I love you. Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“I love you, too, just as much, baby. I’m so happy, Joel. You’re making me so happy.”

You fell asleep against each other, his beard lightly rubbing against your hair.

The next day you were finishing packing your suitcase, just before Joel was going to drop you off at the airport. The idea of not being here for Joel's birthday breaking your heart, you tried to change the date of the seminar months before, then to find someone else in the company who could go there instead of you, but didn't succeed. 

Taking one last sad look at the bedroom, you noticed one of Joel's sweatshirts hanging behind the door.

"Can I take it?" you asked.

"What, this sweatshirt?"

"Yeah, It'll be like a security blanket, while I’ll be on the other side of the country for your birthday. Otherwise I feel like I'm gonna cry all day."

"Oh, sweetheart..." he said, taking you in his arms. "Remember what I told you. We'll have plenty of time to celebrate and you’ll be back soon, just in a few days, okay? And yeah, of course, you can take it. But don't you want a clean one? I wore it today…”

“No, I want your scent on it.”

“It’s kinda hot, you know that?”

You smiled at him, grabbed the sweatshirt, and you two headed to the airport.

On the morning of September 26th, you called Joel when you arrived in your hotel room, on the other side of the country, and wished him a happy birthday, trying not to show how upset you were, to not be there with him.

“Thank you, darlin’. And don't worry, really, I’m gonna be working late today. I don’t even know if Sarah will still be awake when I get home. We’ve got time, baby. All the time in the world.”

“Yeah, okay,” your pout disappearing quickly at the sound of his calm voice.

“So, tell me, darlin’. How’s Boston?”

*****

When you hung up you didn't know that you’d never return to Texas.

You didn't know you'd never see Sarah again.

Joel didn't know he'd never get the chance to give you the engagement ring he'd hidden in his nightstand, planning to give it to you when you got back from Boston.

And Joel didn’t know that Sarah had a birthday card for him in her bedroom, the card he’d never read.

Joel masterlist

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“Hey Miller!” the guard approaches him.

Joel turns and, to his surprise, finds a rifle pointed at him. Taking the usual shortcut home, a narrow back road that smells of piss and remorse, wasn’t the best idea today.

Joel clenches his jaw as he looks at the guard and then hisses, “Get this rifle out of my face.”

“Those shitty pills you sold me yesterday don’t work”.

Joel shrugs “What the hell do you mean?”

The guard slams the barrel of the rifle into his cheek. “They didn’t get me high and when I tried to fuck my woman I couldn’t cum!”

Joel turns up his nose at the unsolicited information. “It’s not the pills’ fault your dick doesn’t work”

The guard is furious, holding the rifle an inch from Joel’s nose. “My cock is good, you asshole, I know for sure it was those nasty pills. I want a refund.”

“No refunds, it’s your business,” Joel gruffs, but the guard doesn’t seem persuaded at all to let it go.

“Listen, do you want me to report you? I’m sure my boss would love to know how you sneak out of the QZ to get the fucking drugs, don’t you think?” he barks, shoving the rifle into the other man’s flesh. “What do you say, Miller, I have to put a stop to your nice black market, huh?”

Joel shifts the rifle, holding the barrel with two fingers.

“What the fuck do you want? I don't have any more pills.”

He'll break his jaw, a moment's distraction is enough to disarm him. These spineless guards don't scare him.

“I know you have more. Give them to me,” the guard orders. Joel weighs his options. He doesn't feel like breaking his knuckles and disfiguring this guy's face, and after all, he's one of his best customers. And he can't lose his cards. He needs them to get anything in this godforsaken place until he manages to slip back out into the outside world.

Joel has just returned so he should have waited at least a month to avoid drawing too much attention.

He snorts, pulling a plastic bag full of amphetamines out of his pocket - pills he would have preferred to keep for himself.

The guard catches them and threatens Joel, “Try to screw me over one more time and I’ll break your fucking bones. You can keep this crap.”

He tosses the bag of pills at Joel, spits on the ground and walks away.

Joel looks at the pills. They seem fine. The guy who sold them to him is new, he’d never done business with him before. He met him outside Bill’s house after picking up some ammo. Long, curly, graying hair, big round glasses. He looked a bit like a mad scientist, spouting big words and formulas that Joel couldn’t make heads or tails of, but at some point he mentioned Bill’s name, and Joel trusted him. Bill never talked to anyone; if he knew him, he must have some credibility. At least that’s what Joel thought, so he agreed to sell the product the guy was offering. But clearly, he was wrong.

Joel heads home, weighing the packet in the palm of his hand. He thinks back to what the guard told him—that he hadn’t been able to come all evening. He didn’t mention any other problems, so probably everything else had worked, it was just the climax that was missing. Was it some kind of edging? Joel comes to his apartment and sits in the kitchen, wondering what on earth he could do with them and whether he could make use of them in some way.

Joel pours himself a glass of whiskey and sips it while watching the sky grow dark.

What if the guard had told him a lie just to get the amphetamines? He can't stand the thought of being scammed.

So Joel takes one, swallowing it with a sip of whiskey, just to see if that idiot tried to rip him off.

He hops in the shower and goes to sleep.

After tossing and turning in bed for a couple of minutes, he starts to feel strange.

A sudden wave of heat washes over him, his blood seems to be racing through his veins, his cock stirs beneath his boxers and grows hard, without him even touching it, stimulated by nothing more than that stupid pill he swallowed earlier.

His hand slides down into his underwear, trying to jerk off, but after several minutes, all he’s managed to do is get even harder, with no happy ending.

It feels like hell, just like that dude said.

He pulls down his boxers and tries to hump the mattress, rubbing his cock against the crumpled sheet.

No matter how much effort Joel puts into it, no matter how much precum he’s dripping onto the sheets, climax never comes.

Joel is in disbelief, frustrated, and drenched in sweat, his painfully hard cock shows no sign of softening.

He stays awake almost all night, in agony, lying on the mattress and hoping that the drug’s effects will eventually wear off.

By the time dawn breaks, his cock finally begins to soften.

When Joel gets up, he still hasn’t decided what to do with the pills. He hides them under a floorboard where he keeps his contraband, gets dressed, and leaves the house. He is tired, but insomnia often haunts him and he is now used to it, even though he shouldn't be.

A full day of work in the dining hall awaits him. Ever since word got out that you could get extra ration cards by shoveling out the sewers, everyone wanted to do it. The stench didn’t matter, what mattered was the gnawing hunger that gripped everyone.

As soon as he walks into the kitchen, he sees you peeling potatoes in a corner of the long metal counter.

He says hello to you, and you reply in a whisper, barely looking him in the face.

You seem very shy, reserved, and not very talkative. Joel likes that, he has no desire to listen to anyone’s chatter.

You’re gorgeous, and Joel likes that too.

He puts on one of the aprons left on the counter and grabs a knife.

He stands next to you, starting to help you peel the huge pile of potatoes in front of you.

Your hands move quickly, the sharp knife glides effortlessly between the flesh and the skin, your gaze is focused and attentive.

Every time you drop a peeled potato into the large plastic container filled with cold water, you let out a small sigh, so faint it’s barely audible.

The more Joel looks at you, the more delightful you seem to him—your eyes, your lips curled into a slight pout, your hair tied back in a bun, the scent of vanilla filling his nostrils, likely emanating from your skin.

You look exhausted, like everyone else in the QZ, but there is something ethereal and sweet about you that captivates Joel’s gaze and slows him down at work.

The surreal silence in which you are immersed is broken by a rough, boisterous man who bursts into the kitchen introducing himself as the head cook.

Joel doesn’t even listen to what he’s saying, he nods while the man’s mouth moves, babbling about stews and soups—the only bland and utterly unappetizing dishes that have always been served in the QZ dining hall.

For the rest of the day, his eyes are all over you. Kitchen isn’t so bad after all, if it means he can spend his time looking at someone as pretty as you.

He doesn’t care about other people working around him, the heat from the stoves that’s making his face flush, the smell of onions and meat that’s soaking into his shirt, or the rough-mannered man barking orders at everyone. As he’s standing next to you, as you stir the giant pot of soup with a ladle, a thought grows stronger in his mind.

________________________

Joel needs to be careful. He has to earn your trust first, and to do that, he starts showing up in the kitchen more and more often, peeling potatoes, doing the dishes, serving food. Anything to be near you. He greets you as soon as he walks in, when he finds you already there working, and throws a few jokes to which you sometimes answer shyly and other times simply giggle so softly that your laughter sounds like a symphony in his ears.

Day after day, watching you work with your head down as if you were afraid to look people in the eye, so inexperienced and vulnerable, he feels increasingly compelled to win you over.

He starts with simple questions that seem innocent, like how you ended up in the QZ, if you have any living relatives, if you live with anyone. You reply that you ended up there when you were just turned 19, and this explains to Joel your vulnerability and fragility—you didn’t have much experience of the world before, and in this one you realized it’s much better for someone like you not to draw attention.

Abuse by the guards is a daily occurrence, the fireflies are portrayed by the government as subversives and criminals, people are desperate and hungry, and on every street corner you can be robbed of the few ration cards you managed to scrape together—or worse. Much worse.

Your parents died on the day of the outbreak in a car accident while you were trying to escape, you and your brother managed to reach the QZ before he became seriously ill and died due to the lack of medicine and medical care available.

You were left alone in the world, moving like a ghost through the dirty, foul-smelling streets, trying to survive as best you could in a bare, dilapidated apartment that had been assigned to you.

Living there alone was tough, you missed your relatives and had no one who could help. But you grew accustomed to the silence broken only by alarm sirens and the screams of people in the streets.

You're a rare find, and Joel knows it.

He pretends to be genuinely sorry about your loss, praises your strength, and showers you with compliments that seem to make you melt a little more with every passing minute.

You probably haven’t really spoken in depth to anyone in years, and Joel is the first person who’s taken an interest in you in this hell.

It’s easy. He acts like a perfect gentleman, taking the heavy lifting off your hands, helping you get a few extra cards from the gruff head cook, and offering to walk you home after work to keep you safe.

“QZ sucks, I’m glad to help a friend any way I can,” he says and your face brightens so delightfully.

Every now and then he touches you, making it seem casual, a hand brushing against your hip as he passes behind you to pick up a potato peeler, your fingers casually touching as you talk, walking side by side in the street. Just a hint, but it shakes you every time. Joel is amused to see you unconsciously trembling as your lower lip disappears behind your teeth.

Day after day, he notices how you open up to him, how your smile spreads across your face when you see him, how you start the conversation yourself to find out more about him.

One morning, while peeling yet another sack of potatoes, you even venture a joke about how incompetent the head cook is.

Joel smiles smugly, watching your every reaction, metaphorically rubbing his hands together at each of your genuine attempts to get closer to him.

You're so grateful for everything he does, so amazed that he goes out of his way to protect you.

One afternoon, as he’s walking you home, he suggests you go to his place.

Just to chat, he says.

“I’ve got CDs, some tea, and I managed to snag some chocolate I found in the pantry. We could eat it together.”

“I haven't eaten chocolate since... all this started,” you say shyly, your sad eyes dropping, and Joel can't help but notice once again just how attractive you are, without even realizing it.

“Well, you work so hard, you deserve it,” he says, winking at you, and when you reply with a smile, he knows he's got you wrapped around his finger.

“Okay, thanks. I'll come by someday after work.”

When he gets home and steps into the shower, thinking about your breasts nestled in your worn-out T-shirt—which barely manages to hide your bra—about the beads of sweat he sees trickling down between them as you sweat over the stove, how they glisten on your skin, and the delicious scent you give off despite everything, his cock stirs and demands attention.

He can’t wait to have you all to himself, to feel just how tight your inexperienced pussy is, to see how wet he can make you and how you will moan beneath him as he thrusts deep inside you, your completely naked body a toy he can use for his pleasure.

Before Joel can stop himself, his cock is already in his hand, he’s jerking off hard, until he comes against the chipped tiles of his shower.

He has to make his move on you as soon as possible, he won't be able to hold out much longer.

He collapses onto the bed, exhausted, with your smile and your innocent eyes burned into his mind, and falls asleep only after coming one more time, soiling his pajamas and the sheet, losing consciousness covered in his own semen.

He doesn’t even care to acknowledge just how depraved he’s become, now that life has stripped him of the last shred of humanity he had left. He must have you, whatever the cost.

Sarah, then Tommy, then Tess. Everyone he cared about was either dead or miles and miles away from him.

He tried to protect them and he failed, every single time.

He tried to be good but life kicked his ass so hard he thought about ending it all.

He's cried enough, he's suffered enough, there are no more tears left to shed.

He’s alone in this filthy world, thoughts screaming in his head, pounding against his temples. They can be dulled with alcohol, sometimes with pills, but the only thing that guaranteed him a full night’s sleep lately was you.

Planning how to play with you is the only thing that stops him from thinking about what he’s lost, what he’s become, and how doomed his fate is.

_____________________

“Are you tired?” he asks you as you two are leaving the dining hall.

“Not much. I slept well last night.”

“Good,” he smiles softly.

As you’re walking, a man approaches you.

He’s dirty, smelly, visibly drunk, his greasy, matted hair hangs around his face.

“Hey, sweetheart, how about giving me some of your honey? Hmm?” he mumbles, his saliva flying in all directions, his arms stretched dangerously forward, reaching out to touch you. He gropes your breast and tries to pull you closer, almost touching your ass.

You pull back, instinctively clinging to Joel’s arm.

At this moment Joel can’t believe his luck, it’s the perfect opportunity to prove you can trust him.

“Get the hell out of here!” Joel growls at the man. “You better stay away!” He backs up the threat with a hard shove that sends the man staggering.

The guy raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, calm down, man. I didn't know she was your wife.”

He walks away, muttering to himself.

When Joel turns to you, your eyes are filled with gratitude, as if he was a knight in shining armor who came to save your life.

“Thanks,” you whisper, and Joel shrugs. “No problem, we’re friends, aren't we?”

You nod, struggling to hold back the wide smile spreading across your face. Your eyes sparkle, your arms are still wrapped around his, your tits pressing against his shirt.

He’s been so smooth with you that by now you’re hanging on his every word.

“Want to come over to my place and try some of that chocolate?”

You agree enthusiastically.

The rest of the walk to his house is fairly quiet. The sun is setting, the streets are slowly emptying, and the soldiers on patrol are urging everyone to go home before curfew.

When you arrive in his apartment, Joel invites you to sit on the couch.

“I'll be right back,” he smiles at you. “I'll make you a cup of tea.”

He goes into the kitchen, grabs an old kettle from the pantry and a few tea bags he picked up at Bill’s house.

Once he’s filled your cup, he dissolves one of the pills he’s been saving in the drink.

_____________________

While you’re drinking tea, he lets you pick the music, flipping through the CDs he’s collected over the years. “I don’t know,” you say, “I’m not really a music expert.” You laugh nervously as you read the names on the spines.

“Okay, let me see... this is perfect.”

He pops it into the dusty CD player, and trip-hop fills the thick air of the room.

“Oh, I know this song.” A smile lingers on your lips as you sit down on Joel’s couch reaching for your cup of tea on the coffee table.

“Yeah? You like it?” Joel is methodically lurking you in, trying to ease your nerves. He can see the tension in your shoulders melt away and your whole body relax.

Just what he always wanted.

“Yeah, I do.”

"I can lend you this CD whenever you want. Massive Attack is a great band,” Joel suggests, sitting down on the couch next to you.

“Unfortunately…,” you look at the mug in your hands, “I don't have anything to listen to it on. Actually, I don't know how long it's been since I listened to music, to be honest.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry,” he touches your arm lightly. “Well, then... you can come over here whenever you want to listen to it.”

And once again, you give him that look. Grateful, almost moved by his thoughtfulness toward you.

“Thanks, Joel, you're the first real friend I've made here.” You smile and he’s quick to respond, “no problem, dear, it’s my pleasure. You should drink up, it’ll get cold.”

You take a long sip, finish the cup, and set it back down on the table in front of you.

Joel waits. He lets you talk, asking you more about your past life, your education, and what career you wanted to pursue, as well as what you liked to do in your free time.

You don’t seem to notice the time passing as you’re talking. You’re spellbound, completely captivated by him—so much so that your hands brush against his forearm more than once as you tell him about your dreams and hopes.

Dreams and hopes that no longer exist.

When Joel tries to kiss you, you pull back for a moment, confused.

“Are you sure? Me?”

And that’s when he pulls out his final move, confessing that he’s always liked you and was just hoping for you to like him back. He tells you he was afraid of ruining your friendship, but at the same time, you’re so beautiful and sweet that he couldn’t help himself.

And you believe him. You fall right into his trap.

You’re the one who kisses him first right after, your hand sliding behind his neck, your fingers playing with his curls.

He reciprocates with a sense of victory spreading in his chest, feeling your body melt for him, all pliant and needy, like he was the man of your dreams.

“Oh baby, you don't know what you're doing to me,” Joel whispers as he moves down your neck, planting little kisses on your soft skin.

And you moan, timidly, as if you can’t believe it.

“Can I keep going?” he asks, looking into your hazy eyes.

“Yes, please.”

“Come here,” he invites you, taking your hands and pulling you to straddle him.

He grabs your hips, pushing you against him, kissing you again, patiently, delicately, without forcing you.

You start to move your hips, likely driven more by drugs than by your own reasoning.

Your clothed pussy brushes against his bulge and you gasps, surprise all over your face.

“It’s so good…,” you whisper and Joel strokes your cheek, so gently.

“I know, baby. Take more…”

He adjusts his position on the couch so that you get more friction. You nod, rolling your hips again, your arms around his neck, Joel’s hands holding you tightly while you’re seeking your pleasure, grinding against him, the seam of your jeans stroking your clit just right.

You're so beautiful like this, completely captivated by him and by your newly awakened desire.

Mouth agape, your body hot, hitting the tent beneath his jeans over and over again until you squeeze your eyes in pleasure so hard Joel thinks you’re about to burst.

But you can’t. You’re on the edge and can't break through it.

Your eyes flutter open, uncertain and burning, and Joel hurries to reassure you. “It's okay, honey. Do you want to go to bed? We'll be more comfortable there.”

You follow him without hesitation.

Joel undresses you, crouches to take off your shoes, lets your clothes fall to the floor—careful, gentle, slow, as if it were truly an important moment for him.

And it is, but not in the way you think.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” Joel whispers to you, his husky, seductive voice runs into your ears and down your spine, your nipples hardening instantly as he drinks in your figure, his eyes gliding over your curves, your breasts, down your hips, until they reach between your legs.

Your tight, delicious pussy throbs for him, and the urge to fuck you hard until he can’t catch his breath hits him like a bolt of lightning.

But no, he has to be careful, you mustn’t notice, you mustn’t know how badly he wants to break your will forever.

He takes your hand, helping you lie down on his bed, and undresses in front of you. He sees longing in your eyes, your desire growing as he reveals every part of his body to you. Your body writhes on the mattress, eager, impatient. “Please, Joel,” your voice pleads, nervously, as if all you feel right now is pure want.

Your mouth twitches as his semi hard cock finally springs free, a loud gasp roaring in the back of your throat.

Joel struggles to hold back a smirk as he lies down next to you, impossibly close but not yet towering over you.

His hand cups one of your breasts, testing its softness and weight, feeling your nipple press against his palm.

You arch your back as if struck by an electric shock, moaning loudly under his touch.

“I’ll go slow, baby,” he promises you.

But you don’t want him to go slow. He can see it in your eyes, in your desperately tense muscles, in your lower lip trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I...” you try to say, but his fingers twist your nipple and all you can do is let out another helpless moan.

Oh, the drug is working so fine.

“What, sweetie? Use your words, I know you can,” he coos, gently caressing you, his fingers sliding down the valley between your breasts.

“I... I never do things like this. I don't know what's happening to me. I... I need you, Joel, so badly.” Your voice is almost a sob, hoarse and broken.

He reassures you. Of course.

“There's nothing wrong with you, sweetheart.” he says as his hand moves up to your face, cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. “That’s completely normal, you know.”

“It burns under my skin, it’s so heavy and hot it actually hurts…oh my God, Joel, please, help me!” Your voice is a cry, your eyes are filled with tears, your pupils dilated, you seem to be in turmoil just from a little touch.

Joel stops himself from breaking into yet another wicked grin while his fingers wander over your jaw, down to your neck, whispering, “I’m going to make you feel better, honey.”

Joel kisses you, and the moment your lips meet his, you cling to him as if he were your only salvation, your arms wrapped around his shoulders as tightly as you can pull him toward you with an urgency that makes Joel’s chest swell with pride.

Your tongue immediately seeks his, swirling and chasing his taste and his touch.

You moan into his mouth so eagerly Joel thinks you're about to lose your goddamn mind.

It’s carnal, messy, sloppy and it makes his head spin a little.

He moves on top of you, his hands sliding over your torso and hips, gripping you there, holding you steady as you tremble beneath him and your body arches to seek friction.

Pulling away from his lips, you start begging him again—to touch you, to kiss you, to lick you...again and again.

Joel doesn’t even know how certain things are coming out of your mouth, but he doesn’t need to be told twice. You’re making him rock hard. His lips trail down your neck, pausing at your breasts, eliciting goosebumps all over your skin. He sticks out his tongue and gently licks one of your nipples. To his great surprise, you push it into his mouth so hard that he almost bites you.

“Fuck, honey, I could’ve hurt you,” he warns you but you're as wild as an animal right now, and you cry out, “Bite me, Joel, suck it, please, I need it!”

And he does.

His lips close around your nipple, his teeth gently tug at it before he begins to suck greedily.

Your body trembles, covered in sweat, naked and vulnerable beneath his weight. Joel almost struggles to keep his composure at the stubborn way you demand to be used.

How lucky he was to have discovered that drug—he must remember to thank and give that guard a discount for this revelation.

Your skin is hot, it smells wonderfully, it feels so good under his palms, so soft as he plays with your nipple, making it hard and swell.

“Fuck, you’re so damn sweet,” Joel grumbles against your skin and all you can do is whimper.

His fingers trace a path down your thigh, brushing against it, moving upward toward your center.

He locks eyes with yours—adoring, desperate, pleading,

“May I?” He asks and lingers with just his fingertips on your mound, waiting for your all-too-obvious answer.

“Yes. Please.”

That’s all he needs.

His fingers descend to meet the mess between your legs.

It’s hot, wet, completely enveloping his fingers as he sinks them between your lips, up and down along your slit.

You writhe like a woman in heat at the sensation, your hips bucking, one hand clenching his forearm while the other clutches the sheet.

“Yes! ohmygod just like that!” You cry and it sounds like honey in his ears.

He moves up toward your clit, tracing circles slowly, applying pressure now and then, using your sweet juices as lubrication. It’s swollen and throbbing beneath his fingers, deliciously stiff and demanding attention.

His mouth focuses on your other breast, nipping at the soft skin there, his tongue swirling around your nipple.

“I need more..,” you breathe and he looks into your eyes, searching for a confirmation as he prods, “do you want my fingers, hun?”

You eagerly nod, mouthing a yes, your voice broken and trapped in the back of your throat.

“I’m gonna give you that,” he smiles, as softly as he can because he needs you to think he’s doing it all exclusively for you. He's just fulfilling your wishes.

He lingers on your slit with two fingers, while his thumb keeps working on your clit.

You take his wrist and press his fingers against your opening.

Joel chuckles, feigning surprise. “Easy, baby.”

“It feels so empty, please…I need…”

He doesn't let you finish your sentence, he slips a finger inside and feels your pussy clamp down on it like a vice, before it adjusts to his intrusion and lets him thrust deep inside you. “That's it, good girl...”

He curves the tip of his finger toward your sensitive spot, testing it, pressing there briefly before asking, “think you could take another one?”

Your “please” is barely audible but the grimace of need painted all over your mouth is eloquent enough for him to add his ring finger.

The more he pushes you, the more you beg for it, crying, without realizing there’s no way for you to cross that line.

And Joel relishes it. He relishes seeing you desperate, he relishes hearing your voice break, he relishes watching you strive for that pleasure with all your might while knowing it will never come—and that, at the same time, you’ll never stop asking for it.

“I can't... I can't, Joel,” and he knows exactly what you mean.

He caresses your sweaty face, trying to make his voice as sweet as he can, whispering, “Hey, it's okay, it's all okay, baby.”

You close your eyes, letting out a frustrated moan, and look at him as if asking for help. “No, you… you’re so… God… and I can’t…”

“You’re perfect. You’re perfect, sweetheart, you’ll make it.”

You’re convinced it’s your fault that you can’t come, you can’t even look at him anymore, your gaze drifts to the ceiling, to the bare walls, anywhere but Joel’s face.

He takes your chin between two fingers and draws your gaze back to him.

“Hey, look at me, baby.”

Your pout speaks volumes: discomfort and mortification.

“Maybe it’s me…” he says, working his fingers gently inside your pussy, “maybe I’m not filling you up enough like this… do you want to try with my cock?”

“Yes, please, yes... I... can't”

“Shhhh, it's okay, baby, don't worry, I'll take care of it,” he lies.

Joel pulls his fingers out of your pussy and bites his lip at your protests, he’d burst out laughing if he could. They’re soaking wet with your juices. He uses them to lubricate his cock, mixing your essence with his precum in a few lewd, squelching strokes, before lining up with your opening.

Your eyes are fixed on his cock as you exhale, “God, it’s huge”

Warm tears stream down your cheeks, trailing across your face and glistening on your skin.

“Yeah, baby, I know. It will take some time,” he tells you through this, “you know?”

You shake your head, your hands clinging to his back as you press him against you, “I can’t wait…fill me, Joel, fill me now.”

“Are you sure?”

Holding back this much isn't easy for him either. He just wants to shove his cock into your tight little pussy, ruin your hole, pump his cum inside you, but he doesn't want you to notice. He doesn't want you to think it's his fault or that he's taking advantage of you.

So he plays innocent, praising you,

“You're so good, honey, so good to me. I love that you want me so much, but I need to be careful. I can’t risk hurting this perfect pussy, babe, I want to keep sinking into her for a long, long time, yeah? And to do that, I need her to be okay.”

You give in, a faint, pleased smile playing on your lips as you agree, sobbing, “okay”

He pushes the tip inside—just the tip—while trying with all his might not to come right there, and at that moment, your pussy tightens around him, sucking him in, dripping more juices down his shaft.

“Fuck, you're so tight,” he murmurs, and you look at him with hopeful eyes, hazy with tears, so sweet that for a moment he almost feels bad about what he's doing. But he can't tell you the truth. Not yet.

The deeper he thrusts into you, the more his cock throbs against your walls, its length stretching you out, inch by inch, your body tenses and relaxes, your hips writhe, and your breath grows shorter. And yet, you’re still teetering on the edge, in that limbo he’s put you in, unable to say “enough” and with no hope for a climax.

When he reaches the bottom, your face is distraught, your lips swollen from all the biting you’ve been doing, your body twitching with lust and craving.

And that’s when Joel feels you’re about to break completely, just babbling “please” and “need you to move” and his name like a chant over and over again.

“Damn, baby, m’not gonna last if you keep doin’ this.”

“Just… fuck me, Joel. Fuck me hard.”

And with that, he starts to move, well aware it won’t change a single thing for you.

His cock is sliding in and out of you, pounding harder as you adjust more around him. You’re so wet it’s a fucking river between your legs at this point and he’s able to feel every single flutter of your cunt, sucking him in like you’d like to swallow him whole.

Your hard nipples brush against his chest with every thrust and you whine, you whine so incessantly Joel thinks it’s almost too much. He loves it though, the way you never stop asking for him to split you open.

Two of his fingers move back to your clit, circling and applying pressure over your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” he growls. “it’s been a million year since I had a pussy this good, honey. I swear you’re fucking incredible.”

You’re convulsing underneath him, incoherently, sweat drenching your hair, glistening on your eyebrows, running down your neck where his tongue savors it, salt, vanilla and the inherently unique taste of you dancing on his tastebud.

He’s near, he can feel it in his every fiber, his chest burning, his back tensing, his cock pulsing.

His load paints you a few thrusts later, filling your warm wet cunt, sticking to your walls like you asked him to.

Joel collapses down next to you on the bed to catch his breath and hears you moaning softly, now so desperately confused about what’s wrong with you.

He props himself up, resting his cheek on one hand, the other stroking your belly up and down, trying to comfort you.

“You make me feel so good, Joel. No one has ever made me feel this way, but I...”

“Can't you cum?”

Your eyes fixate on a crease in the sheet, your hand trying to smooth it out as a coping mechanism, as if fixing that could fix you.

“I just don't get it...” you say, feeling down, while his hand plays with a strand of your hair.

“You’ve done this before, right?”

“Yeah, a couple of times, with my high school boyfriend, before it all went downhill…he was nothing like you but he made me… you know”

“No need to be worried, babe. We can try again tomorrow,” he suggests “Maybe we should get some sleep.”

“Do you still want me?” you ask hesitantly, meeting his eyes again.

“Of course, I want you, baby.”

Your eyes glisten with tears, and your hand unconsciously clings to his wrist. “Oh, Joel, I'm broken,” you whisper, as if you can't believe it.

“You're not broken, sweetheart. You'll see that you can do it, and I'll help you.”

He takes you in his arms, stroking your back, comforting you, hiding a sly smile as he kisses your forehead. “Sleep, honey, I'm here.”

He can feel your pussy throbbing against his leg, dripping with his cum and your unrelenting arousal, your whole body is still tense and shaken by that limit you’ve never managed to break through.

Finally, you fall asleep, exhausted.

__________________

The next morning, you wake up with Joel’s face pressed against your pussy, his broad shoulders holding your legs apart, his large hands clinging to your thighs.

During the night he thought long and hard, as he struggled to fall asleep, lulled by your breathing finally returning to normal. He looked at your face, finally relaxed, and thought that maybe it was better to make you come once. To give you a little treat before making you swallow another pill.

Wake you up with an orgasm, make you believe you were just nervous, let you reach the peak as you desired, and then deny it to you again without your knowledge.

It could work.

So at the first light of dawn, he moves between your thighs, his legs dangling off the mattress as he looks at your sweet pussy.

It’s still wet, irresistibly swollen, and worn out from the sex the night before.

He starts slowly, using just the tip of his tongue, testing your sensitivity. You stir in your sleep, letting out a moan, a small smile on your lips.

He tries a longer lick and you seem to take it well, so he picks up the pace, tasting you on his tongue, drinking from you greedily, your juices beginning to drip down onto his lips, chin, and beard.

There’s nothing better than going about his day with your taste and scent on him.

When his nose brushes against your clit, you open your eyes.

He looks up at you, smiling, “Good morning, sweetheart.”

Your expression quickly shifts from surprise to delight.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you reply, running a hand through his dark curls, your eyes fixed on his mouth, wet with you.

You’re not annoyed that he’s started touching you while you sleep, quite the opposite. You seem relieved.

The fear of being rejected by him probably overshadows everything else, and that’s exactly what Joel wants.

Bringing you to orgasm this time is very easy, as soon as he closes his lips around your clit and sucks it, your body tenses, your legs wrap around his head, and you moan.

“Oh my God, Joel, I’m so close.”

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Come for me”

And you do. After a few laps he closes his lips on your clit and that's when you explode, wetting his chin, his neck and the sheets beneath you.

The room is filled with your moans, you convulse on the bed, pressing your hips against his face, your hands clenching the sheets, your head back on the pillow and your eyes squeezed shut.

Joel licks eagerly, feeling your pussy clamp around nothing, his fingers dig into the tender flesh of your ass as he holds you in place for him.

“I knew you could do it, you did so good for me, baby,” he whispers, resting his cheek on your thigh.

You two stay in bed a little longer before heading to the kitchen, where Joel offers you a cup of coffee. “Don’t worry about yesterday, I have plenty of pills I can give you.”

You nod, smiling gently, probably thinking about how much he cares and worries about you.

“Thanks, Joel.”

“No problem, sweetie, I’ll get them for you right away.”

He reaches into his stash, pulling out a morning-after pill that he usually sells.

“I’ll give you another one tonight. That’s how this pill works,” he lies. “Go take a shower while I make breakfast, okay?”

You thank him again as you head to the modest bathroom, closing the door behind you.

Joel smirks, putting the morning-after pills back in their place and counting his supply of orgasm-blockers.

A full bag, at least a month’s worth of sex. Just enough to turn you into what he wants. His little pet.

________________________

npt: @milla-frenchy @baronessvonglitter @mcthsman @missadangel @rosharanfiction @sawymredfox @peepawmiller @hauntedinkk @ess-evo @hanahleah @arcane-fox