#( and yet i got sucked into sALT instead )

[gutsby]

Stupid Prizes

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Before you head back to college, your dad wants to go on one last family outing: the county fair. The only problem? Your secret fuckbuddy, Joel, is there.

Warnings: 18+. Sneaky, unprotected p-in-v. Joel pining for you while your dad is beside him, oblivious for now. Semi-public sex (on a ferris wheel—don’t ever do that). Gross misuse of a candy apple. Age gap. Jealous Joel. Teasing. Angst(!) Mentions of infidelity/abandonment.

Word count: 10.0k

The gingham dress was your best idea yet.

For Joel, nothing could’ve been worse.

He’d cum down your throat no more than ten minutes ago, and with just a glimpse of your new getup bounding down the stairs—you’d had to change after he painted your last one white—Joel almost inhaled his Heineken.

He coughed and sputtered and hacked the beer back up while you strolled past the sofa and grinned at your dad.

“Ready to go, old man?”

It was just a short red frock with a sweetheart neckline.

The fabric cinched at the waist and flowed with every step you would take. Turning slightly to toy with the hem, and teasing the only eyes on you, you corrected yourself:

“Sorry…old men, I mean.”

Something like amusement flashed in Joel’s eyes.

Didn’t seem to mind this old man’s cock down your—

“I was born ready, kid,” your dad answered, still messing with something on his key ring, “How ‘bout you, Miller?”

“Yessir.” Joel stood.

He recalled you saying something similar before opening your mouth in the guest bathroom just fifteen minutes earlier. Joel’s cock twitched in his jeans at the memory, and his cheeks might’ve tinged a little, remembering how fast he’d cum. You’d only smiled and sucked your thumb, getting a taste of the residue that had missed your chest.

“Quite a mess you made there, Joel.”

And you repeated those words, at length, with only you and him to know what it had meant to you both before.

You gestured to the smattering of crushed potato chips on his shirt, and your grin got bigger. Joel grew redder.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, brushing the crumbs off his front. He wasn’t nearly as fast with the comebacks as he was with other kinds of comings and goings, and he knew it. He set the bag of Lays aside and seemed ready to leave.

But when he’d licked the salt off his lips and caught you staring—when he saw his friend go back to the kitchen:

“I had to be quick,” he said. Then, lowering his voice, “You know better’n anyone what a messy eater I am.”

Of course you knew that. Joel winked at you, and you winked back, mostly making fun of the boomer move. He reached for you—the edge of your skirt scarcely hanging a fraction of the way down your thighs—and he opened his mouth to speak again, when there was the sound of heavy boots at the threshold of the room. Joel leaned past your body and snagged the bag of chips instead.

“Food for the road?” He turned to his friend.

“All you,” your dad replied, smiling and waving the chips off as he went for the front door, “I swear your stomach’s a bottomless pit, man. Eatin’ me outta house and home.”

Joel looked at you when your dad was past you both.

House and home ain’t the only thing I’m gonna—

“Let’s go,” you chirped, fast, “I call shotgun!”

This would be a long, long day, no doubt.

The county fair had been his friend’s idea. One last day of ‘family fun’ before his little girl went back to school out East, and Joel hadn’t seen Bellville in years, so he’d asked him if he wanted to join. After a shared, brief stint in abstinence camp, the answer should’ve been clear:

‘NO.’

But Joel hadn’t learned very much from the Fireflies in the less than 72 hours he’d spent living—and also fucking you—there, so he’d nodded and said ‘Okay.’

Now you were twenty minutes out from the fairgrounds with a near-depleted tank of gas in the truck, obliged to make a quick pit stop at a Texaco. It was the first time he’d been alone with you since you’d set off from Austin. The second his friend was gone and headed inside to buy a pack of smokes, he heard a seatbelt come undone.

Earlier, he had raced you and beat you to the car to lay claim on the passenger seat, so you’d been in the back this whole time. He barely saw you before he felt you, climbing over the center console and then into his lap.

Straddling him while the Eagles played faintly overhead.

“Feel fucking insane not being able to touch you right now,” you huffed against his lips, kissing him hungrily.

Joel groaned. Felt your lower half grind into his. Almost rutted his hips up and yearned to have you seated on something other than just his denim-clad crotch when he sucked in a breath and remembered where he was. He nudged your hips and fisted the fabric in his hand.

“You in this dress ain’t helpin’ me either,” he growled.

You grinned against him, then hiked the red-and-white material up your legs a little more. Joel felt something like a shockwave when he saw what was underneath it.

Or, rather, what wasn’t there at all: your panties.

“Bathroom quickie?” you said, already breathless, “I’ll tell my dad I got cramps. I’ve been so wet this whole ti—”

“Darlin’.”

Joel’s eyes had drifted down to the place where your body and his were touching—rubbing—now. Even from this limited vantage point, he could see a glistening patch sticking from your bare seam to his jeans, and it was pooling on the fabric. Practically oozing out of your cunt while you rocked your hips and begged him please.

“Please, just one. I’ll be good the rest of the day, daddy.”

“Fuck,” Joel hissed.

His pupils were wide, and his mind was seriously considering it. Stupidly so, he reckoned; your dad was bound to be back any second, and surely you couldn’t both be gone for more than five minutes without raising suspicions. It was a reckless endeavor, he already knew.

And when he saw his old friend strolling out the front doors of the Texaco, his decision was made for him.

He watched you scramble off his lap and back to your seat, body quick and lithe and giggling the whole way.

“Gonna get me murdered, girl,” Joel panted, gruff.

Your own smile didn’t waver; you just settled back into the middle seat and let your gaze trail out the window, trying to fix your eyes on something to calm you down.

You already had the sense that nothing would. Your teeth bit your bottom lip between them to forestall the threat of another laugh while your dad approached the vehicle.

From the radio, ‘Life in the Fast Lane’ kept playing.

As old as they were, Joel Miller and your dad had a funny way of acting more like kids than you ever had, at any age. As your trio approached the wide, gleaming gates of the Austin County Fair, you saw your dad nudge Joel, and Joel shoved him back, and somewhere in the midst of all the ribbing, you heard your dad say, clear as day:

“If I’m takin’ a whole day off work, I’m gettin’ hammered.”

You knew by that tone this would an interesting afternoon, to say the least. You held your ticket tighter.

And for a moment, you wished you’d worn underwear. It’d been a split-second decision to peel them off before skipping downstairs, and it had worked well enough—Joel walking with a limp all throughout the parking lot and trying to shield the tent in his jeans—but now you were the one in greater danger still. Seeing your secret family-friend-with-benefits in his tight, light, heather grey shirt and jeans, hips adorned with a hefty belt and moving deliciously with each new step he took, you were transfixed. Left to watch him and gawk and grow wetter between the legs with every passing second, there was nothing you could do about it now. Likely sensing this, Joel raked a hand through his grey-flecked hair and hummed to himself. His bicep bulged through the sleeve.

“Nice little view, ain’t it?” he asked, nodding to the outline of a dozen shining rides and attractions ahead.

Go fuck yourself, Joel.

“Can’t wait to ride that.” You pointed to the ferris wheel, though the finger in your mind was aimed closer to him.

“Funnel cake,” your dad beamed, eyeing a nearby stand.

The three of you weren’t walking for much longer before he insisted on buying one. Joel had had a hankering for lemonade himself, so he’d fallen in line behind you and your dad. When it was your turn to order, you paused.

Then, pointing again:

“Can you get me one of those?”

You’d had to stand on tiptoes to see it inside the display, but from Joel’s own height, he was certain to have seen what you meant. While your dad shilled out the cash, not batting an eye, the man behind him clenched his jaw.

Candy apple, hon? Real fuckin’ mature.

Your eyes met his as soon as you’d turned, treat in hand.

I thought you liked seeing big things in my mouth, Joel.

He would’ve scowled if he wasn’t next in line—and your dad wasn’t walking so close behind, sniffing his food.

Joel ordered his drink, drank it fast, and found his thirst no better quenched than when he’d started. You’d sat across from him at the table and made sure of that.

You dragged your tongue up the sugar-coated apple just like you’d done to his shaft that morning and blinked, savoring the taste. Feigning innocence as he looked on.

And what else could he do? If not watch you, then peer at your father, furtively, and make sure he wasn’t able to see so much as a second of this little show you were putting on now. Joel glanced around you, too. No one else seemed to notice what was going on, even when your lips left a soft, sweet suction near the top of the apple, and he could’ve sworn he’d heard you moan.

It was just in his head. He was remembering how you’d done it that morning, mouth sinking down his length and whimpering when you’d reached the base. The way your eyes had watered, your free hand had reached between your legs, and your lips had welcomed him in; it was all burned in his memory, and not retreating any time soon.

Neither was the blood rushing to his dick, he reckoned.

You didn’t seem to care. Even when a bright pink river of spit and sugar trickled out of your mouth, you didn’t flinch. You let it slide down to your chin. Right before it reached the end of your face, and you were certain Joel’s gaze was glued to the spot, you licked a little bit of it off. You didn’t get it all in one go, so you shifted your snack to the other hand and then swiped your thumb under your lips. You brought it up to your mouth and sucked it, just like you’d done with Joel’s cum on it earlier that day.

Joel chucked his cup in the trash. Your dad took another bite of his deep-fried pastry and, talking between chews:

“That was fast.”

“Need’a stretch my legs,” Joel announced, abrupt.

He turned to you, and your thumb came out of your mouth. The frown on his face was unmistakable, though your father probably thought it was just from having to squint against the sun. Not because he was incensed.

Out for revenge.

“Ready to get wrecked, kiddo?” he asked you.

Your eyes widened, and your tongue quit licking.

What?

Then you saw him nod to some spot over your shoulder. You didn’t have the nerve to follow his gaze as he did.

Faintly, you could make out a smirk crossing his lips.

“Arcade’s over there. Unless you’re too scared.”

Your dad raised a dumbass, not a quitter.

You’d accepted Joel’s proposal without a second thought, and your father seemed pleased to have the chance to peruse the food stands and beer carts to his heart’s content. You’d set off quickly. Your candy apple was still in your hand when you saw your friend lean over.

Joel opened his mouth, and he took a big, angry bite.

“You’re insane,” he said after, words muffled by fruit.

You took your first steps inside the dark, cool building littered with machines and fun activities of every kind, and deep down, you were happy you’d had that treat. You took a bite yourself, then discreetly patted his ass through his jeans and told him, ‘Only for you, Miller.’

You weren’t sure why you’d said it. As soon as the words came out of your mouth, you regretted it, no matter how stupid and playful the message was meant to be read. But then Joel nudged you back—actually wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side.

His mouth was close to you, and you could feel the smile:

“Just how I like it.”

Your cheeks heated a little. You weren’t so fond of the intimate move—in public like this, even as dark as the arcade happened to be—but you couldn’t deny the flutter in your stomach. You swallowed the rest of your apple, and with it, any shred of emotion, or so you were hoping. You nudged Joel off of you under the guise of trying to point to something new, and his eyes followed.

“C’mon. At least pick something you’ve got half a shot of winning,” he said, swiftly. Sounding smug as he spoke.

You plodded on anyway, not hesitating at all.

“I’ve got more than half a shot,” you assured him, tone arguably twice as conceited, “Now if you’re scared—”

“You can’t use my own lingo against me, little girl.”

“Then nut up or shut up, old man.”

Joel scoffed. You chewed. The two of you approached the Skee-Ball machines with near identical looks of ambition and zeal, and sensing this tension wouldn’t dissipate with any more shit-talking, you got to work.

The first game was close. You beat him by less than ten points, and you guessed that that had been due in part to Joel’s own will. You saw him make more than two pitches so outrageously bad that you’d had to have guessed he was going easy on you. As soon as you felt that, you’d scowled. Pointed angrily at the scoreboard.

“You can’t just let me win, Miller!” you said, shrill.

Joel’s hands went up, and you knew he’d deny it all.

“No need to gloat, now, honey—”

“Fuck off,” you snapped, all while fighting back a smile, “Gimme your A game or don’t bother playing, honey.”

And he did.

The next game left you destroyed, roughly 900 to 320. You stepped back from the machine, feeling a frown start to form on your lips but knowing you’d asked for this, and just as Joel was about to lean in to offer a conciliatory hug, he had to stop. Both of you turned.

Somewhere behind you, you’d heard a voice.

It was young, male, and audibly amused.

“He really whooped your ass, huh?”

Your eyebrows raised as soon as you saw the source. Your scowl morphed into a smile, and your eyes were bright—too bright, almost. You ran over to hug the boy.

He was a boy, after all. Likely no more than half Joel’s weight soaking wet and wearing the biggest, dumbest grin that could only belong to a guy your age. He hugged you back, and his arms tightened around you. Comfily.

“Wade!” you gushed, squeezing him hard. You stepped back and looked him over, as if in shock, “It’s been…”

“Forever,” Too-comfy-cozy Wade finished for you.

Joel frowned.

“And here I thought you were gone away for good!” you laughed, “Went off to get that fancy Stanford degree—”

“—and you, in Boston—” the boy chimed in.

Before the reminiscing could go on much further, you remembered yourself and turned back to Joel. Still beaming as bright as you’d been when you first saw the kid, you gestured indistinctly, tongue-tied for a second.

“This— Joel, this is Wade Pritchett, one of my friends from high school,” you introduced him. Letting the two men—or, rather, mustached boy and muscled man—shake hands. Evidently, you were too stoked to notice.

“He moved out to Sacramento our senior year, and none of us thought— well, we— we figured we’d probably never see him again. Fuckin’ west coast hot shot he is.”

You smirked as you nudged his ribs, and something in Joel turned to month-old milk: sour, rancid, and heavy. His stomach turned inside him, and he hardly knew why. All he noticed was that he didn’t like the eyes you were making at him, and he hated the face Wade had for you.

Joel was just looking out for you, really.

You could do so much better than this douche.

“This is my friend,” you said to Wade, motioning back. Then, reconsidering just a second, “My dad’s friend.”

Joel didn’t like that.

Wade gave him a brief once-over and hardly seemed to see him at all. In that millisecond of a look, Joel saw it:

‘Old family friend. No worries there.’

Foolishly, Joel wished the chump could’ve seen what you’d been doing the night before—impaled on his cock and riding him as hard as your knees would allow you:

‘Daddy, please, daddy, daddy, daddy.’

“Joel?” Your voice cut in his mind like a knife.

Joel blinked.

“Yeah?”

“Okay if Wade joins?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah.”

Not that it mattered now. Royal pain-in-the-ass Pritchett was already getting the machine next to yours set up.

Joel eyed him once more and tried to swallow his pride.

Somewhere along the way, it got stuck in his throat.

Three rounds was all he could take.

You on Wade, Wade on you—goading each other on in the most sly, flirtatious ways. Or maybe it was just Joel imagining that. Regardless, the man didn’t feel guilty at all when, at the conclusion of the third game, he’d tried to feign a casual tone and told you your dad would be expecting you back any minute, better wrap things up.

“He texted me like twenty minutes ago saying he’d be neck-deep in craft beer for an hour. I think we’re good,” you replied, and the indifference in yours didn’t have to be faked. You grinned at Wade, and Wade grinned back.

“Well, he texted me a second ago that he was holding a spot for us in line at the ferris wheel, so let’s roll, kid.”

That was a lie.

Joel didn’t like himself for doing it. But, again, he didn’t like Wade Pritchett even more, and he reasoned that he was doing you a favor, anyway. He searched for the exit.

“It’s alright, my mom’s probably looking for me, too.”

We get it, Pritchett. You’re a mama’s boy.

“Ah, okay.” You almost sounded sad.

Don’t be, baby. You’re daddy’s girl, remember?

Wade pulled you in for a hug; Joel wanted to deck him.

“I’ll be in town all week if you wanna—”

“I wish. My flight leaves tomorrow,” you cut in. Now your tone was really despondent. Your mouth was pouting.

It was just Joel’s eyes. He was seeing things. He was thinking you cared for this guy more than you probably ever did, and he was getting himself worked up over nothing. He clenched one hand into a fist by his side and waited for the anger to subside. Sadly, it was slow to go.

“Maybe we could…go out for drinks later or something?”

That suggestion didn’t make things any easier on Joel.

“I’d love to.”

Your reply didn’t exactly set his mind at ease, either.

At last, he decided he’d had enough. Turning on his heels, he bid a terse goodbye to shithead Pritchett and walked out of the arcade. He didn’t stop until he’d hit one of the bar carts your dad had been raving about outside.

He contemplated buying a drink. Maybe two. In fact, he’d just been eyeing three cans of Coors Light and was fishing for his wallet when he heard your voice again.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?” His tone was clipped.

If you felt it, you didn’t show it.

“Are we riding the ferris wheel or not?”

He probably should’ve given a verbal answer in the affirmative. Instead, he’d just nodded his head and started off the other way, expecting you to follow.

The walk was short. You’d had to weave through a sea of fairgoers, including schoolkids, college-aged drunks, and more than a fair share of loved-up couples, but that wasn’t too bad. Joel just ignored each one and didn’t stop until you’d reached the line for the ferris wheel.

Or what was left of the line, anyway.

Unlike what Joel had told you, there was no wraparound queue for you to join. Your father wasn’t there. Once you’d passed a look over the dozen-odd people waiting patiently for it to be their turn on the ride, you felt your stomach turn. Joel had never texted your dad at all.

“He’s not coming, is he?” Dispensing with the obvious.

Joel still wouldn’t look your way. He’d just sidled up behind the last people in line—a group of older folks who all seemed eager to get on the ferris wheel. You scoffed when you saw Joel’s expression harden, and you planned to turn away. Then the people up front started to move. For a moment, you were torn between telling him off and leaving him there. At length, you settled on saying, low:

“You lied.”

Joel followed the moving line, and a few more people started to trickle in behind you. Before you could even think to speak again, you were nudged ahead by the force of that crowd, and had only to keep glaring.

“Hey—” you hissed, only five steps away from the platform now. The ride attendant was scanning the line, appearing to count the people approaching the gate, and when his eyes landed on you, you made out a little grin.

“Aww, your daughter scared’a heights or somethin’?”

He’d said it to Joel, sounding cheeky. His teeth gleamed in the light of a hundred different neon bulbs, and you had to avert your face to keep from revealing its disgust.

So everyone else still thinks he’s my dad. That’s nice.

You couldn’t see Joel’s expression, but you imagined it looked the same. You shuffled ahead, reluctantly, and heard a lady behind you laugh; the sound had a tipsy lilt.

“My kid’s the same way—you’ll be fine, hon,” she slurred.

Heights aren’t the issue here, you’d wanted to snap back, for no other reason than your own disdain for Joel and the present situation. He walked in front of you, still refusing to meet your gaze, and soon you were perched on the platform, sandwiched between two semi-rowdy throngs of fairgoers with no clear means of escape. You crossed your arms and stared up at the back of his head. The look you gave him probably could’ve burned holes in his skull if irritation had been the means of achieving it.

You were seated on the ride in minutes. The compartment was surprisingly large, and its walls high, with glass on every side. Under a waning afternoon sun, the views you expected to see were bound to be pretty. All that was left to detract from its splendor was Joel— hunkered down opposite you and manspreading. Wide.

Sitting in total silence with his denim-covered legs split in a ‘V’. Watching you and rubbing one thigh, absently.

“You’ve got some nerv—” you started in.

“Yeah, no. No. That kid was gettin’ on my nerves—”

It amazed you how fast Joel was to return your words with a hostile quip of his own, anger flashing in his eyes.

“What’d he even do?! He’s my friend— my best friend—”

Fury flitted to something like discomfort, momentarily.

“Oh yeah? Just friends?”

“What the fuck does it matter to you?”

In your own expression, rage flared unchecked. You didn’t particularly care what Joel thought now if he was immature enough to act like this, and the walls of the compartment were thick enough to prevent anyone else’s hearing a word of it. The ride continued to rumble along, letting on new passengers with each new stop.

Joel might’ve paused. Could’ve stared out the window for all you knew—everything but the wheel itself seemed to be moving at lightning speed, and time was sliding.

“Because I— I— I give a shit, kid. I care.”

“And that makes lying to me alright?”

“I was just worried for your—”

“Bullshit. What would you need to be so worried about? Me playing Skee-Ball with an old friend and maybe getting drinks? You can fuck right off with that.”

Joel opened his mouth to speak, but he shut it when the ride suddenly jolted to a stop. It sputtered. Then, after a long, tense moment, it slowly ascended again. You took this lull in speech as your own chance to re-intervene:

“That’s not ‘care.’ Or ‘worry,’” you continued, words dripping with condescension, “That’s controlling.”

“Controlling?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Joel Miller always did.

“It’s not—”

“It is—”

“Protecting you from assholes like him—”

“—he’s not—and I never asked you to do that!”

“So I just sit by and watch him touch what’s mine—”

“I’m not yours, Joel!”

Your last words echoed through the car like a shotgun’s report. You’d said it with such force—so emphatic for him not to be mistaken in what this was, or whose you were—when you hardly even knew how you felt yourself. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and one that Joel knew only too well. The last time you two fucked, he’d begged the same: ‘Say you’re mine,’ and no matter how close you’d been to release at the time, you simply couldn’t say it. Now, clear-headed and mostly clothed, you still despised those words. Emotions. Uniquely juxtaposed with Joel’s jealousy over Wade, you’d never wanted to say it louder:

“I’m not yours, and I never will be. So just stop.”

More cruel.

“Are we clear?”

The car came to a halt near the top. When Joel still hadn’t deigned to answer, you leaned in closer.

“I said, are we fucking clear, Miller?”

Then you didn’t have to wait.

“I hear you.”

Of course he heard. His face was hard. His eyes were like two brown stones in the sockets, and the line of his mouth was tight. Whatever use you might’ve had in trying to decipher that look was ignored for the time being; you were still too angry. And, perhaps owing to this state—with a white-hot look fixed on him and your head full of blinding, bitter thoughts—you were more than susceptible to surprise. You jumped when you felt it.

Felt him with a hand moving from his leg to yours.

It went quick but was almost too ridiculous to fathom—how swift Joel was in reaching for you, hoisting you into his lap, letting your limbs straddle his hips with all the ease of old, welcome habits. It might’ve worked just as well, were it not for the tension in your legs. The short, sharp, ‘Joel’ and a look flitting out to either side of you.

“What?” he grunted.

You heard a fly unzip.

“We’re on a—”

Before you could finish, and as if to furnish the answer for you, the ride shuddered back to life. Its descent was slow, but any movement now made your stomach churn. It didn’t matter that most of the cabin was encased in metal, the rest semi-tinted plexiglass, or that your space was almost entirely shielded from the view of other cars—it was too much of a risk, as was everything with him.

Joel remained blind to it all. Your cabin came to a stop, still high in the sky, and then you felt him grip something between you. In one swift motion, he had the head of his cock rubbing your seam. You sighed; his eyes were cold.

“C’mon then…show me what ain’t mine,” he murmured.

His voice was low. You hated those words. This was more than just that. Your cunt slid and accepted him anyway.

For a second, your gaze was level with his. Your hips hadn’t stirred, and he was crawling inch-by-inch inside you, pulling you down. The act could’ve been intimate, had the words that passed before not been so harsh—and the place not been a fucking amusement park.

When the ride resumed its slow, rumbling circuit, he didn’t make your bodies part, but instead flipped you around. Your back was flush with his front, and by all appearances, you were innocently perched on his lap.

What the tens, or dozens, or hundreds of strangers ambling around down below couldn’t see was that a cock was nestled inside you, too. That with every gentle bump of the wheel, a man several decades your senior was filling you to the hilt, sending waves of pleasure through your body and his while he stuffed you tight. What your dad didn’t know was that this was his friend. That the nose nudging the skin between your sleeve and your neck belonged to Joel, and his breaths were short.

Trying to calm the flutter of his pulse and the pull of his lungs, he flattened his hands on either one of your thighs. He rubbed his palms back and forth, and you glanced down to find the insides of your legs extra shiny.

Slick, pretty, and full of him. He tilted your chin back up.

“Nice and quiet for daddy—nice and still. No squirmin’.”

He nudged your hips forward, and his cock brushed a wet, spongy ridge inside you. You had to purse your lips to swallow a noise. You felt your cunt drool even more.

The car swung low, in the line of sight of far too many eyes, and then it stopped again. You weren’t at liberty to move at all, and still, the feel of Joel inside you was raw.

Grating, almost.

It made the prospect of conversation seem the tiniest bit easier, though—forced to face away from each other and act civil now. Right before the ride started up again, you gripped the armrest and anchored your feet to his boots.

“Feels…good,” you whimpered.

“That so?” Joel murmured back.

“So—oh.”

Your words fell apart at the next brush of his hand, sliding down to your heat and taking his index and middle fingers to the precious, pulsing bud in between.

Soon the car was up at a comfortable height. You sighed.

Your legs pressed together over Joel’s, and you felt him rub the tips of his fingers even harder, circles tighter.

“I know,” he said, sensing your words before they came, “I know it feels nice, baby. Keep that chin up for daddy.”

Don’t let them know I’m inside you. Stay quiet.

But his girth was so much. The tug of his smooth, throbbing manhood between your walls was almost more than you could take. You laced the fingers of your free hand with his over your thigh, and you held them tight as your hips wriggled back. You couldn’t help it, feeling a welt of pleasure start to blossom in your belly.

“Joel—” you started.

“Don’t talk,” Joel grumbled, stern, “It’ll draw attention.”

You sensed there was more to it than that. Your fingers threaded even deeper through his, and he squeezed them back. Between your bodies, there rose a soft, gentle tap, tap, tap with the thrusts Joel was able to deliver now that you were back up high and out of sight. If there was any time to speak, this was your window.

Joel probably wished you hadn’t, but you tried, anyway.

“You know it’s been years since—”

“Since?”

Now you didn’t want to say it. But you knew you had to.

“Wade’s been my friend since—”

Another influx of something soft and tender inside you. Joel holding your hand, pushing himself deeper, and trying not to groan when you clenched around him. Hating that he had to hear that name, most likely.

You despised the words even more before you said them:

“—since my mom left.”

It was an awful time to be bringing this up, admittedly. Both of you on the brink of release with Joel’s cock buried as far inside you as it would go, his fingers entwined with yours, and the ride drifting lower.

And lower, lower, lower still. Joel’s breaths picked up.

The car shuddered to a halt almost halfway down. You didn’t have to see his face to picture it a little more rigid than it’d been before. He’d known your dad long enough to remember the time his wife had walked out on him.

“When we were, like, thirteen—” You continued, as if you needed to remind him of any of the particulars. Joel hardly knew you back then, though, “—he was my friend. Wade’s been one of my— my closest— he was there—”

You couldn’t be sure if it was the subject of discussion or simply how close you were to cumming that kept your tongue from forming a coherent string of words, but here you were. Joel’s grip on your hand had loosened, and the movements of his hips had slowed considerably. You hoped he’d be too lost in his own pleasure to care.

“I remember,” he returned quietly.

That was all he said for a moment. Out of habit, your legs parted more for his touch, and you whimpered, feebly, as the fingers kept circling your clit. The ride started again.

“You don’t have to—” And again, his voice was low.

“I’m not saying that as an— as an excuse or anything.”

You didn’t know why you were saying it at all. You just wanted Joel to know he didn’t need to be jealous. That Wade had been a friend through a dark and bleak season of your life, and that was all it had ever, or would ever, be.

While the car was still suspended in air, and the sights below all relatively small, you got the sense you’d have to deal with this budding bliss inside you a bit quicker than anticipated. Joel was all wordless encouragement. You almost wished you could’ve seen his face as he urged you to come undone, keep making yourself feel good, that’s it, cum for me, but frankly, it was probably for the best you couldn’t look him in the eye right now. Beyond just needing release, you wanted him to see you in a more vulnerable light than you’d ever been—facing away seemed the least painful position to have that happen.

With your fingers and his still interlaced and your hips moving a little more quickly, Joel could feel your pleasure soaking his jeans, and he pulled you down closer to him.

He nudged the back of your neck with his nose. He panted against it gently, tenderly. Then he kissed it.

“Don’t need’a say anything else, darlin’. I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry.

Under any other circumstances, an apology from a man would have been the last thing to send you over the edge, but today, you couldn’t help it. Just as the car started up again, you hit your peak with Joel still stuffed inside you, and you gripped his hand as hard as you could. You fought to keep the moans contained behind your lips, but it was hard—and Joel’s constant, tender caresses with his lips and fingers made it that much worse. He trailed kisses down your neck and shoulder and told you gently, ‘That’s it, good girl, that’s my girl.’

My girl.

Again.

You almost didn’t mind it being said this time around.

Almost.

In truth, you didn’t have half a mind to think much of anything in that moment. You just curled your toes and pressed your back into Joel while the warm, euphoric waves coursed through you, and you let yourself be content with what he’d said. Whatever he meant by it.

In the minute that followed, you sensed he was perilously close to finishing, too. So, as soon as you’d made it down from your high—and the ride, too, was circling back and making its way through the final cycles—you crawled off of Joel. You got on your knees. For the first time in what seemed like hours, you locked eyes with him; your mouth moved lower still. You’d barely latched your lips onto the head of his cock before he was shooting off rope after rope after rope of his cum. Warmth splattered down your tongue and throat, and you swallowed it all obediently.

You didn’t need to be told when the ride was over. You heard a buzz, felt it jolt, and, unfortunately for you and Joel, your car was one of the first to be let off. You had to hurry off your knees and back into your seat, across from your panting, silver-haired friend, just seconds before the door to your left swung open. You began to stand.

Joel followed you out. His spend was still stuck to your throat in some places, the scent of his skin and his stubble and his extra heavy load all fresh to your senses. You wiped one corner of your mouth and kept walking.

And it was in this state you remained another second or two. You were just about to take your first steps off the platform, mind floating over somewhere tranquil and warm, when your thoughts were presently interrupted.

Your steps, too, were cut short. Joel had stopped you.

Then he grabbed your face, and he kissed you.

Your world froze a moment. You didn’t have time to think, or react, or even kiss him back, so you just stood there and let him hold you to him. It was over in a blink.

And one glance over Joel’s shoulder after he did it, to the ride attendant and nearly every last person in line, said they were just as stunned. Some sick, by the looks of it.

‘He’s NOT my dad!’ you wanted to yell, out of habit.

Seeing the eyes Joel had fixed on you—the smile that followed—their suspicions didn’t matter to him at all.

You walked off together, still considering those words:

My girl.

A month wouldn’t be so bad. Two was tolerable, even.

The next few hours spent with Joel made it seem like you could go a year or longer without seeing his face, and nothing between you would change too much.

He was a friend. A good friend. Not just your dad’s old companion, but your own. Whatever else was left beyond that could be explored down the road, but for now, you were content to just let him hold your hand in places you weren’t likely to be seen, and kiss you in those he hoped your dad wouldn’t be. Maybe fuck you on a ferris wheel.

At the thought of going back to college tomorrow, not seeing him again until Thanksgiving or Christmas at the earliest, you didn’t feel too sad. You did get an extra burst of yearning when Joel’s hands would find your hips and push you off to some shaded, semi-discreet area and he’d tell you, softly, ‘I don’t know what I’m gonna do without ya, kid’ before kissing you with a hunger all over again. That made you think you might miss him a little.

You’d warned him not to lie to you again. He promised he wouldn’t. You believed him, at least as far as your general mistrust of men would allow, and you had left it at that.

Now the tips of his fingers were brushing your own, and his mouth was grinning—coated in all sorts of sauces from the barbecue you two had been devouring. It was approaching six o’clock. He held the last Carolina-style pulled pork slider up to you, and you shook your head.

“I’m stuffed,” you said, pained.

Really, you were. You and Joel had decided to join in on the fair’s 25th annual BBQ and Chili Cook-off an hour ago, and now your stomachs were suffering immensely.

You made a face in disgust when he tried to push it closer, ‘Joel, I’ll projectile vomit if you don’t— don’t—’

You squealed when he leaned in, thinking he was planning to smush the patty in your face—you’d done that to him with some coleslaw not too long ago—but instead, he dropped the burger. He pressed what non-sticky parts of his hands he could get on your face and, cupping your cheeks between his palms, he kissed you.

Then he kissed you again, and again, and again.

This time, it felt more like an attack. Not an attempt at being affectionate, which he’d shown himself amply capable of all day, but really just a way to smear your lips and chin with sauce and get you extra pissed off at him.

It worked. You bit his lower lip at the last kiss.

And, instead of wincing in pain or biting you back, Joel surprised you by groaning a little bit against your mouth. His grip loosened from your face, and he leaned back.

‘Behave’ was all he said. Smirking.

If any one of Joel Miller’s quasi-fatherly lectures had ever met with success before, this would not be one of them. You only rolled your eyes and were about to reply with some variant of ‘Make me’ when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out to see the new notification.

Nothing more than a reminder to check in for your flight. But that sight also roused some awareness in you that it was just then starting to get late, and you hadn’t heard a word from your father in hours. You and Joel had been extraordinarily fortunate that day in hearing that your dad happened to run into some friends at the livestock show, and had been occupied—plastered, most likely—ever since. You hadn’t thought to question it before, just happy to have your dad out of your hair for the afternoon, but now that it was late and all the shows were long since over, you had to wonder if it wasn’t time to shoot him that text. Bring your last happy, fun-filled night with Joel for the next two months to an end, and head home.

You started to send him a message. Joel peered over your shoulder, absently wiping his hands on a napkin.

“He said he was headed over to a concert last time we talked. Some band he likes,” he hummed, “Wanna go?”

You weren’t too keen on seeing the likes of any Creed-adjacent artist your dad so loved to listen to himself, but if it gave you an excuse to stretch your time with him and Joel, you didn’t mind. You nodded, then deposited your phone back into your pocket. You were just about to stand when Joel held you back. He’d snagged your hand.

“Hang on, ya got a little—” he said, soft. Then he lifted his napkin and started wiping at the sides of your mouth. His motions had all the crude, brute force of a man who’d never wiped a person’s face before—he seemed more concerned getting the vinegar-based glaze off your cheeks than impressing you with how tender he could be—but the gesture was received well enough. For once, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes and just smiled.

“You’re taking me to the airport tomorrow, right?”

“Long as it’s alright with your dad.”

“You could spend the night, too.”

Joel paused. He flitted a look from your lips to your eyes, then, finding a sly playfulness in both, only hummed. Stopped wiping long enough to kiss you on the cheek.

“We’ll see—”

“I’ll be real good—”

“Oh, I bet you won’t.”

But by the end of it, Joel was grinning too. He didn’t protest when your lips returned the favor from his, and they left an equally sweet and clean kiss on his cheek.

He didn’t bat an eye when your hand slid up his leg either. He just squeezed yours back and helped you up.

“Gonna get me murdered, I’m tellin’ you,” he murmured in your ear as you stood, just like he’d said to you earlier.

You figured if he’d had his pick of ways to risk his life, sneaking into your room tonight wouldn’t be the worst possible option. You threw your trash away and started off for the entertainment pavilion, following the music.

It was almost like you could feel Joel contemplating whether to sling his arm over your shoulder while you walked. Not once, but twice did his fingers twitch beside him, and he looked around you both from side to side. He decided against it, at length, and contented himself instead to just nudge your elbow and tell you that he liked that dress a lot—he hoped you would wear it again.

Come up for a football game, and you might see it then, you’d urged him back. The red of your dress wasn’t quite the perfect match for your school’s hundred-year-old crimson and black color scheme, but that was alright. You’d bend the rules for him. The two of you were just approaching the outskirts of a big, noisy crowd when Joel was about to respond. Your eyes glazed over a sea of people, surprised by its size, when you cut back in:

“We’re never gonna find him in here.”

Joel assessed the crowd. Checked his phone. Heard the wail of a guitar from somewhere up at the front and instantly surmised this was a Lynyrd Skynyrd cover band—and that your dad wouldn’t leave until he’d heard every song. Silently, he kicked himself for suggesting coming to look at all. He could’ve taken you on a few more rides, filled your overstuffed belly with a little more cotton candy, popcorn, or ice cream, if you’d been up for it, but instead, you were obliged to find your old man. It wouldn’t have been awful if it wasn’t so hot and—

“Hey,” Joel broke in, before he could think.

His eyes had landed on a person—a pair—in the crowd that you hadn’t seen, and his heart clenched in his chest.

You’d barely tilted your head to him, “Yeah?”

“We should go,” he told you. He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so rushed, or strained, but it was.

He couldn’t help it, especially when your gaze had shifted fully to him. Your eyes searched his, curious.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I…” Joel trailed off, looking around. Scrambling to procure an excuse of some kind, “I gotta…go piss.”

“Then piss. I’ll wait here,” you replied.

You didn’t get it. Really, there was no way you could. You hadn’t yet seen the short-sleeve, turquoise-colored PFG shirt at the back of the crowd, the beaming face Joel spotted above it. You hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of the man’s profile, much less the full, wide smile on his face, the beer in his hand, or the woman by his side. She was either laughing, or singing, or nudging his hip. They looked happy. And yet, you shouldn’t see it.

Joel would kiss you—that was it. It would be the riskiest thing he’d done, but at least it’d save you from seeing.

So he tried. Joel leaned in and ventured to press his lips to yours, gripping your face, but the second he did, you pushed him away. Your eyes were wide. Cheeks heating.

“What the hell, Joel?” you hissed, “Dad could be—”

Your gaze darted to the side, and then you stopped.

The eyes grew wider. Your lips stayed the course, as if to keep going, but no sound came out, and all that was left of your mouth was a round, stunned ‘o.’ You blinked, like you couldn’t believe it: the two people were kissing now.

Joel reached for your arm, but you were far too fast. You shot off to get away, toward them, and didn’t stop until you’d made it to the edge of the crowd where they stood. The music was loud, the audience was rowdy, but still, even at a distance, Joel could hear you as clear as day:

“Dad?!”

The man and the woman split as quickly as they could.

You were standing there, watching them watch you in utter shock for a second or two. Joel wasn’t counting, but he did find himself next to you before he could blink. He was reaching for your arm again, then stopping. Looking to his friend, whose gaze was plastered on his daughter with all the markings of awe. Embarrassment.

“Honey—” he started.

“What the fuck is this?”

Bad question. Terrible timing. Joel knew what it was—clearly his friend knew it too, but you weren’t supposed to find this out yourself for at least another month or two. That was what he’d told Joel back then, anyway.

“Sweetheart, this is my—this is Helen.”

You looked like you wanted to be sick.

“I know who she is!” you spat. You waved an angry, inarticulate hand in Helen’s direction. Helen looked away.

“Why don’t we go someplace quieter?” That was Joel, cutting in over the thumping bass and the strain in the air like he might’ve been a father to you himself. Wanting to shield you from what was coming next if he could help it.

Once more he reached for you, and still inflamed, you shoved him off. Your eyes were too hurt to turn away.

“What? This is y—your—” you started back, stammering.

“We were going to tell you, honey, I swear.”

In all the years he’d known him, Joel had never seen his friend look so contrite—or fucking moronic. The man had ditched his beer, was wringing his hands trying to pace a little more carefully your way while he spoke, but you weren’t having it. Or anything, really. When Joel brushed his touch against your elbow the slightest bit, about to murmur words low in your ear, like, ‘We’ll talk. C’mon,’ you’d jerked your arm away from him entirely.

He didn’t need to see your face to hear the pain in:

“Fucking stop, Joel!”

That caught your father off-guard. He didn’t hesitate before he cut back in, looking more pointedly at you.

“Hey. You don’t talk to your Uncle Joel that way,” he said, sharp. Joel winced. He went on, “I’m the one who told him not to say anything, okay? Now just calm down—”

And whatever effect his friend had intended to produce created just the opposite in you. Instead of focusing on your dad, your eyes shot to Joel, and in an instant, your body was turning. Your face was half-hatred as you did.

“You knew?!”

“Honey, I told him—” your dad tried saying.

But your look was too enraged. Your jaw was too tight. Your mouth could barely form the words you wanted to say, and your eyes were like two bloodied daggers. Joel was amazed you could speak a syllable at all, but when he heard it, he got a sense for why that was. He had to.

“You knew?”

You were hurt.

When you left, he followed. He wasn’t sure what he’d bothered saying to your father as he did, but it sounded like an excuse—‘It’s fine. I’ve got her.’ He didn’t, though. You were gone quicker than he could turn around, and by the time he’d made it far enough away from the crowd to yell your name, you were too removed to hear it. He saw the top of your head through a whole new cluster of strangers, and he yelled it again. You kept walking.

Joel was fast, but you were adept, all things considered. You slipped through the crowd with ease and gained more and more distance than he could attain in twice the time. Joel bit the inside of his cheek and kept going. He didn’t reach you until you were approaching the front gates, when he called out for you again, out of breath.

You probably wouldn’t have turned if you’d had a choice. But as it was, you were up against a bottleneck effect of more people trying to leave than the exit could fairly handle at once, and everyone at the back was at a standstill. Your jaw tightened when he said your name.

“Darlin’— hey— baby, just let me—” Joel had weaved his way around your neighbors, but the area was cramped.

You didn’t move. Your gaze was trained elsewhere.

“—explain. Let me explain, and I promise, I didn’t—”

The line shifted forward, and you moved with it. Your body was turned; while you kept walking, shuffling, Joel earned a few uneasy looks from the people around him.

“I didn’t mean—” he forged on.

But as soon as he reached for you, he knew he’d overstepped. Confirming every onlooker’s suspicion that you didn’t want to be disturbed, you snatched your arm away, and your eyes flared with anger. You faced him.

“Fuck you.”

Before he could reply:

“Leave me the hell alone, Joel.”

And, while the words were still fresh on your tongue and no one else tried stepping in themselves, you walked off.

You left him again—for what other place, Joel wasn’t sure. You just made off the other way, breezing past carts and stands and now-shuttered booths and more faces than either one of you could count. You kept walking until you found an open space a tolerable distance away from all the noise, then went further.

Your face was fixed in a hard, immutable stare when Joel approached you again. The look behind your eyes was worse; he could tell in a second you were about to cry.

“Darlin’—”

“You knew this whole time,” you said. Seething.

“I didn’t—”

“My dad’s been dating the woman he cheated on my mom with and you didn’t think to fucking tell me?!”

“I thought—”

“Not ONCE?! Huh?” you screamed it this time, “Known you my whole goddamn life and you hide that from me?”

Joel winced. He knew the tears were coming before they even filled your eyes, but the sight still made him hurt. You wouldn’t let him near you, either. You just shook your head and swallowed a lump and blinked hard, and he felt stupid. Whatever favor he’d thought he was doing your father—and you—seemed infinitely small to him now.

That knot you’d tried pushing down in your throat kept you silent for a minute. Joel opened his mouth to insert a word or two himself, but then you looked keen to keep hold of the conversation, no matter how much it hurt, and you were starting again. Blinking harder. Hating it.

“She’s the reason mama left,” you said, hoarse, “Helen was her best friend, and then she went and— and— and— fucked my dad, and because of that, I didn’t have a family for half my fucking adolescence. You knew that.”

Another beat. Joel’s own throat constricted considerably as he considered his next words, but there was no need.

“You saw how much I hated my father, and her, and myself for years, thinking there was something just…wrong with me not being enough to make her stay. And you knew all that, and you still kept it a secret from m—”

“I know, baby. I shouldn’t have kept it from you, I know.”

He’d also known your dad was in the wrong. That hadn’t stopped Joel from trying to rationalize his friend’s actions while they happened: it was a one-time hookup with Helen, then a casual, no-strings deal that the man only indulged when he was feeling extra lonely, then a thing, a relationship of two, three, six months now. Joel had known all along what kind of profound ramifications these decisions would have if you were to ever find out. But his friend wasn’t so easily swayed from old habits, and Joel couldn’t stomach having to break it to you.

Then the roadtrip from Boston happened.

You seemed to be remembering the same.

“Was fucking me a way to make yourself feel better?”

Your words had never struck Joel with more deliberateness or force. He croaked ‘No’ in a moment. You took a step back, and there came the look again—more spiteful than before and repulsed to its core.

“Is that why you offered me a ride back in the first place? Just felt guilty for all the stuff you knew my dad was—”

“No. No, no, honey, I would never, ever—”

“Then why hide it?! Why all this? Why bother?”

You gestured between his body and yours; you didn’t seem to know what you meant. Your cheeks were wet with tears. You had to scrape your palms down your face, sniffling and struggling to clear your own vision, but the efforts appeared to be in vain. You couldn’t stop crying.

“For you,” Joel said, and he hated the way his own voice was splintered. He didn’t know how to make it better, “You were off at school when it started, then— then Boston. Just thought it’d be safer…for you…for us—”

Somewhere in his brain, he’d meant to say that he didn’t want the news of your father to hurt you, or else jeopardize a shred of something Joel had had with you.

It was stupid. Your instantaneous reaction said as much.

“Us?!”

Joel blinked. The eyes across from his were alight.

“Us, Joel?! Are you fucking kidding me? There is no us.”

Their brilliance wasn’t appreciative by any means. If anything, the words made the flow of your tears even worse. You pressed your hands to your face, rubbing your cheeks and trying to shield your eyes, and saying again, ‘There is no ‘us,’ Joel, that’s not an excuse—you knew!’

With his insides in knots, Joel wanted to hold you again. You were still in pain, and your scowl wouldn’t move, and when he tried to touch you, you stepped back in disgust.

He knew better than to think he could reach you now.

“Whole thing was a mistake,” you spat, unfeeling.

“Baby—”

“You and me. Dad and Helen.”

“You don’t mean—”

“Anything you need to keep a secret probably isn’t worth keeping at all, right?” And when you said it, he could tell you’d meant it to hurt him. As if the tears and the time and the sheer resignation in your eyes didn’t say enough.

Now Joel felt an ache in his bones, worse than it’d ever been, and he still couldn’t touch you. Where the heart demanded comfort of a kind you couldn’t give, the head knew better than to ask, and his hands fell limply at his sides. He saw you cry and had only himself to blame.

You turned back to the fairgrounds’ exit. The crowd was as big as it had ever been, but anywhere away from him seemed to be as welcome as anything else, Joel guessed

He’d try something stupid. Again. Even more desperate.

Never in his life had he said the words to someone else, and he sensed it wouldn’t do a thing to change your mind right now, but he’d say it anyway. If not to extricate himself, to let you know what he felt beyond every thing that had taken place tonight. He reached for you again.

“Darlin’, I lov—”

But before the words could register with you, the simple act of pressing his fingers to yours made you blanch. You hadn’t heard him at all, and seemed only concerned with jerking yours away as fast as you could, then shrieking:

“I HATE YOU, JOEL!”

Then you choked back a sob, trained your glossy gaze on him in one last pitiless look, and left him. He didn’t move. He didn’t try to. Sights and sounds and the ground underneath him seemed apt to swallow him whole, and still, he couldn’t move an inch. Somewhere ahead of him—too serendipitous, really—he heard you call a name.

Of course, it wasn’t his. You weren’t running to him.

It wasn’t Joel in the crowd making its way out the gates. It wasn’t him standing a little ways off to the side, eyes wide and confused as he watched you rush over. Almost stumble over yourself falling into his arms and hugging him, burying your face in his chest. Joel watched it all with a raw and hollow heart and wished it were him.

But it was Wade.

Wade hugged you back and held you close, and the look on his face was too bewildered and distraught for Joel to blame him. He hadn’t been the one to hurt you. Joel had.

He watched you leave.

There was nothing more to say.

[coff-in]

can I request an Andrew and Genderbend!Ashley (Ashton? Asher?) x younger sis reader? male!Ashley fanarts are making me act up and I need a double penetration threesome! and maybe some headcanons too? I feel like nothing would change except male!Ashley would probably be hornier than his female counterpart..

Thank you!!

notes from coff-in: i've never had sex, please take this with a grain of salt and enjoy

[fem] reader-insert, [afab] reader-insert, genderbent/male ashley graves, NSFW (vaginal and anal penetration/sex), incest, [reader] is younger than ashley graves by at least 1 year

Asher had you trapped under him as you two locked lips. His kisses weren’t as aggressive as Andrew’s, instead they were passionate. They weren’t necessarily soft though and you found yourself pulling away from your older brother to catch a breath. “Damnit, Asher, you’re going to suffocate me!”

The asshole just laughed at your face, his pink eyes shining with mirth. “Aw, but you always liked it when I had my tongue in you.” He laughed even louder as your face flushed from his teasing. You bent your neck to look at Andrew who was situated next to you, giving him a pleading look to reel in Asher. Andrew, who is also an asshole, just looked at you two with a smirk on his face.

“I’m sure she’d like it better if you kissed her other lips.” Asher’s eyebrows shot up as he looked up at Andrew, then back down to you. 

“You want me to eat you, little sis?” Asher hadn’t had his turn to eat you out yet, as Andrew usually took the first chance to make you cum on his tongue. You were then too sore for him to eat you again, usually. Maybe this time you could have Asher take his turn. You sighed and gave him a small smile, nodding at him. He perked up and got off of your body, tugging your legs apart and baring your glistening pussy to him. He looked down at you with excitement before diving down and licking a long stripe across your folds with his tongue.

“Oh fuck!” You exclaimed as you felt the broad of his tongue brush up against your clit. Asher grinned and brought one hand to spread your folds, revealing your throbbing clit from your puffy lips, and started sucking. The sounds he made were fucking obscene as he slobbered all over your sensitive area. You let out mewls and moans as Andrew watched with gleaming green eyes, silently palming himself through his jeans. Asher was a messy eater but his vigorous pace led to you climaxing way sooner than you thought you would have.  

With an embarrassing squeal, you brought your hand down into Asher’s messy black locks to keep him firmly in place as you rode out your orgasm on his face. The hands he had placed on your hips squeezed your flesh as you did so. Andrew seemed to be pleased at the sight of his little siblings having fun with each other.

You let go of Asher’s head once your orgasm subsided. He came up, heaving and panting. His lips and chin were wet and shiny with your slick and spent. “Oh, man… I can see why Andrew loves going down on you.” He brought his face closer to yours in an instant, “Here, have a taste.” He crashed his lips onto yours and forced his tongue inside your mouth. You both moaned and panted into the kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, sweet and addictive. 

While you and Asher were making out, Andrew has reached over to the bedside drawer and grabbed the bottle of lube kept there. Jostling the bed while he removed his jeans and grey boxers, he situated himself behind you, sandwiching you between him and Asher. “Do you think you could take both of us, [reader]?”

You parted from Asher as he pulled down his shorts and briefs, nodding and letting out a pathetic “yeah”. Andrew chuckled and started to coat his fingers with lube. Asher giggled in front of you, his penis veiny and standing at attention. You couldn’t help but focus on its red leaking head, dripping precum onto the bedsheets.

“You’re such a greedy girl today, sis. Have we not been taking care of you lately?”

“No– you’ve both been, ngh!” You cut yourself off as you felt Andrew’s cold and slippery fingers prod at your asshole, teasing the rim before entering your tight ring. “You’ve both been taking good care of me… I j-just thought that tonight w-we could do something new!” Your voice stuttered as Andrew pumped two fingers into your asshole. You were, however, a little nervous about how this will feel. You’ve never taken them both at the same time and you were a little worried if you would even be able to fit them both inside of you simultaneously. 

As if sensing your hesitation, Asher cupped your cheeks with his hands and kissed your nose. “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t worry. If things get too rough just let us know, okay? You know what to do?” You nodded and tapped his pale thigh three times. He smiled and kissed your lips. “Good girl.”

Andrew brought his hands under your armpits and lifted up into the air to sit you on his lap. You felt this thick cock rubbing between your cheeks. Asher positioned himself in between your legs, the tip of his penis kissing your drooling entrance. Andrew buried his nose into the crook of your neck, “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

With that, he and Ahser pushed into you simultaneously. All three of you let out a cacophony of groans and moans as your heat tried to accommodate them both. Andrew kissed your neck and murmured sweet praises into your skin. Asher looked at you with his pink eyes again. “Are you alright? Do you need a moment?”

You shook your head, “No… no you can move now.” He nodded and slowly started to shallowly thrust into your wet cunt. You and Andrew moaned in unison as you felt Andrew slightly move in you too with each thrust. The sound of wet slapping filled the air as Asher thrust in and out of you. Andrew pushed forward and caught Asher in a kiss, pressing you tightly between your brothers’ chests as Andrew then started to thrust in and out of your ass. You could feel them brushing against each other inside of you, separated by a wall of flesh and muscle. 

The hot session didn’t last too long. You came quickly onto Asher’s cock, your poor cunt overstimulated from your previous orgasm. Once you came, Asher followed suit. The sensations of you squeezing him with your tight walls caused him to fill you up with this hot seed. Andrew lasted longer than you and Asher. His thrust started to get rougher as he got closer to cumming, the grip he had on your hips bruising your skin. He came with a grunt and a loud “Fuck!” as he spilled his warm semen into your ass.

You leaned back onto Andrew’s chest, exhausted. He patted your hair, kissed your cheek, and told you how good you did for them. Asher got up and went into the bathroom, coming back out with a wet towel and proceeded to wipe your legs and pussy, which was spilling his cum onto the bedsheets.

“That was really good. We should do that again!” He said as you three settled down next to each other in the bed. You hummed noncommittedly as you wrapped your arms around him, drifting off to sleep.

----

coff-in

[lisenberry]

Haven't done a Feral Friday in a while, and I'm a bit stumped on the current chapter of BDSM Price.

So, let's skip ahead to a bit I was able to write that comes further along in the outline. Just a tease at where we're going.

MDNI/18+/NSFW

CW: Dom!Ghost, nonparticipating Dom!Price, bondage/rope play, temperature play/wax, spanking/pain play, angst, sub drop.

Was this his way of apologizing?  Or was he trying to put you back in your place?

“Don’t look at him.  Look at me,” Ghost demanded, bringing you back to your center.

And John didn’t look at you, not when Ghost tied you up and hung you from the hook in the door frame, or when you sucked his cock hands-free while he lazily dripped paraffin wax between your shoulder blades. 

“Bloody hell, Cap.  Is she always like this?  This is what I’ve been missing?  Taught her to give a good head, did ya?”

No, John didn’t look up once when his friend took turns warming your ass and pussy with a crop, as strings of drool and slick soaked the floor from both ends of you.  There was no vibrator this time.  John never used one, didn’t have one in his box of tricks, so Ghost sloppily worked you over with his fingers and his tongue before slipping himself inside.

You were used to the stretch of John, but it was something new and different from Simon.  Far from the cold and sanitized nature of your previous encounters at Life Connect 141.  He barked out oaths and moaned praises like he’d been given a gift so exquisite, he would hide it under his pillow.  Carry it with him everywhere.  Wear it into the ground.

“I knew you’d be a gem, dove.  Such a sweet little toy,” he muttered, as he pulled harder on the rope that held your hair, arching your back even further.

His enthusiasm was so contagious that you came just like that, on his cock before he pulled out and painted your blistering ass with his spend.  You could tell the skin was split in places by the way the salt in his seed stung and burned as he spread it around like a salve.

If he touched your clit again, you wondered if you could come a second time at the fresh sensation of it.  But you were too tired to ask.  Too drained to speak.  Wrung out and soiled like a mop that had scrubbed the floor.

It was everything you’d wanted...once. 

And yet, it was John who reached out to hold you up, while Ghost carefully untied you.  Finally showing some notice, some attention.  Too late, you thought.  Once freed, you turned into Ghost instead, on wobbling ankles and numb knees.

“I’ve got you, dove.” 

He carried you to the sofa, wrapped you in your robe, and traced circles on the back of your head as you slowly came down.  You laughed into his shoulder as he joked about being ruined for the 141 for good after that and lit a cigarette.

But before long, he looked at his watch and kissed the top of your head. 

“That’s my time, hon,” he mumbled, lifting you up gently and helping you sit on your own.  The ache along your backside was not nearly as strong as the one in your heart.  It never was. 

“It was good to see you again, Simon.”  You smiled and squeezed his hand once before letting him go.  For good.

You sat there, awkwardly, in the living room you’d come to know so well while John followed him out to the hallway.  Their voices were too low to hear what they were exchanging.  A sudden, frigid dread crept along the back of your neck, despite the coziness of your thick robe. 

The chill turned to a quaking, as your teeth chattered, and you fought to still your hands.  An adrenaline crash, you recognized.  A sub drop.  You’d heard about them, but never had one.  Not with Ghost before, and never with John.

And now you were alone, with tears streaming down your face, and uncontrolled panic in your chest.

Before John could come back and see your sorry state, if he even came back at all, you fled to the shower and turned on the stream.  Willed it to heat up faster while you tested it with trembling hands. 

“You need any help in there, sweetheart?”  His voice was too soft, too concerned.  You couldn’t take it.  Not from him.  Not like this.

You didn’t want to think about what had just happened.  The consequences.  Why he’d done it.  Why you’d agreed to it.  You just wanted to go home. 

How’d things get so wrong?

It was you, you realized.  It had always been you. 

[veeluvss]

Nice Try

jemily implied smut

jj tries to top after being bottom for so long

1.5k words

cross posted to ao3 (capvenusprentiss)

“That’s it, that’s it baby girl. You’re okay,” Emiy said as JJ orgasmed all over her fingers. “That’s my girl. You did so good.'' Her words were encouraging as JJ panted, her eyes shut tight and her back arched. This was everything to Emily, seeing her girl cum all over her fingers - it was like heaven on earth for the grey–haired woman. JJ calmed down as Emily watched the emotions across her face. She laid against the bed and Emily pulled out her fingers, presenting them to the younger girl. Her mouth was open obediently, wanting nothing but to taste herself like the good girl she had to be for Emily. She sucked Emily’s fingers with vigour and Emily smiled, loving the feeling. “Oh my good girl,” Emily praised and ran her fingers through JJ’s hair. “You’re so good for daddy hm?” “Hm,” JJ mumbled around her fingers, looking up at her girlfriend with her big, blue puppy eyes. 

Emily removed her fingers and JJ lay on the bed, smiling and trying not to yawn. She was sleepy now. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Emily said softly and spread JJ’s legs again. Emily smiled at the mess before running into the bathroom. JJ lay on her back, blinking up at the ceiling, thinking it over. She really loved Emily, loved being her sub - serving her and being used like a stupid little fuck toy. But she wandered if she was capable of fucking her and being on top- if Emily wanted to lose that control her her sometime. Of course JJ had fucked Emily. She’d licked her out, rode her face, but she’d never worn the strap. She wondered what it felt like, to pound into Emily beat after beat and watch her face and entire facade crumble. She wondered if Emily ever thought about it, wished JJ would take control sometimes instead of always being so needy.

Emily suddenly appeared above her and she squealed before hiding her face behind her hands, blushing madly. As if Emily caught her thinking about THAT. “Heyyyy, no,” Emily teased and pried her hands away from her face. JJ whimpered and kept her eyes shut tight so she couldn’t see Emily, so she couldn’t get more embarrassed (if that was possible). “What’s my pretty thing thinking about, hm?” Emily asked, stroking JJ’s hair. “You,” JJ muttered back. “Me? What about me?” JJ whined and wiggled up the bed so she could cover herself in the blankets but Emily grabbed her waist and pulled her back down. 

“I’ve got to clean up your mess, take it easy, wiggle bum,” Emily teased and began wiping her down with a hot cloth. “Do you want to shower?” “Not a shower day,” JJ huffed. “Can’t wash my hair yet.” “Do you want a bath?” JJ perked up at the thought of a nice hot bath, with candles and bubbles and salts. She nodded and shot Emily a nice big smile.

“With snacks?” She asked hopefully. “If you ask nicely,” Emily teased and JJ giggled. “Can I have snacks in my bath daddy?” Emily smiled at the question and felt butterflies in her stomach. That was why she did this. She adored being in control of her JJ - looking out for her and taking care of her - spoiling her and protecting her at all costs. “Of course baby, come on,” she stood up and grabbed JJ’s robe from the side. She held it out for her girl to be wrapped up in. 

As Emily walked to the bathroom, JJ watched her from her spot on the edge of the bed. Watched the way her hips moved and her hair bounced over her shoulders in its messy ponytail. As she leaned over the bath to reach the taps, JJ imagined her over the bed, spanking her arse til it was red raw the way Emily does to her if she misbehaves. She giggled at the thought of it, unable to even take herself seriously.

“JJ, seriously, what are you thinking about?” Emily asked, almost concerned. JJ was clearly deep in her own thoughts and after such a scene, she needed to ensure it was healthy. “Hm?” JJ hummed, looking up at the mention of her name. Emily left the bath running and came closer to her girlfriend. She kneeled down in front of her and rested her hands on her outer thighs, brushing her blackbird tattoo. “What are you thinking about?” Emily asked. She reached a hand up and caressed her girlfriend’s face. “Just you, like I said,” JJ smiled. “Nothing bad Em.” “What about me then?” JJ blushed again and giggled like a school girl. “Come on, tell me,” Emily practically whined and her bottom lip jutted out, making JJ’s giggling escalate. “It silly,” JJ chuckled and looked away. “It must be if it’s making you giggle so much,” Emily teased and tickled JJ’s belly a little. JJ laughed and grabbed hold of her hands, tightly securing the tickles. “Tell daddy, Jay. You know you’re allowed to express your thoughts and desires,” Emily said in a firmer tone. JJ sighed and still refused to look at Emily. “Do you ever think- no, hm,” JJ began and then stopped. “Do I think, what?” “About me topping you sometime?” JJ spat the question out as fast as she could. Emily let a wide smile form on her face, not wanting to laugh. “I haven’t thought about it before, no,” Emily replied, as calmly as she could. “Is it something you want to try?” “I’m not sure,” JJ muttered, lowering her head. “Hey, it’s okay. We can if you like.” Emily knew it wouldn’t work out but if her girl wanted to give it a go then they’d give it a go. “I want to,” JJ admitted. “I just don’t think I’d be very good at it - but but I want to try.” 

“Then we can try it. Tomorrow?” “Tomorrow,” JJ smiled. She was glad she didn’t have to take control today, she still wanted her bath. “Bath and snack time then, come on princess,” Emily smiled and stood up. JJ smiled. She was a princess. Emily’s princess. 

The next day came around and JJ was giggly all day. They arrived home and Emily immediately went to take charge of their night but a stern look from JJ stopped her. “Oh yeah,” Emily groaned. “Take my shoes off Em,” JJ said and sat on the ottoman. Emily laughed and shrugged, this was going to be entertaining. “I do this anyway,” Emily said. “Yeah, well- I want you to do it now,” JJ replied and held up her foot. Emily laughed again and began taking off JJ’s heels and setting them nicely on the side. JJ stood up then and, being a few inches shorter than Emily, stood on her tiptoes - Emily tried not to smile at the sight as JJ put her finger under her chin. “Go wait for me in bed like a good girl,” JJ said and Emily nodded, letting the smile out. “Yes boss,” Emily teased and ran upstairs. JJ giggled and kicked her feet happily, this was exhilarating. 

JJ entered the bedroom, and Emily was laying on the bed with her clothes on. “I said be ready for me!” JJ said, looking over at Emily with a pout on her lips. “Hey, no pouting,” Emily warned and sat up. “I am ready for you.” “No, no- your clothes were meant to be off,” JJ groaned and turned around, composing herself. She was meant to be in charge. “Jay?” Emily asked, checking on her girl. JJ turned back around with a sudden fierceness. “Take off your clothes and be ready to take me properly. I don’t want you to step out of line again young lady-” JJ said. It felt foreign on her tongue and she couldn’t help but smile - what was she doing? Emily giggled and began getting undressed. “Yes boss,” she said. “It’s daddy to you,” JJ said, walking more in the room and Emily burst out laughing. JJ swatted her with her discarded t-shirt. “Quit laughing at me,” she groaned. “You’re too cute.” “I’m not cute. I’m hot and sexy and domineering,” JJ said. She began taking off her pants in front of Emily and the older woman groaned, she couldn’t even grab her and tell her off for teasing. She had to watch her girl undress so slowly in front of her and just watch… 

To Emily’s surprise, JJ grabbed the strap. It made her smile but she didn’t want to laugh again, although it was an enduring laugh. She loved that her girl was trying. She watched her struggle to get it on and thought about asking her. It wasn’t until JJ threw the strap down in a huff and sat on the bed that Emily moved closer. “JJ,” Emily said softly. She wrapped her legs around JJ so her back was in her front and the blonde quickly wiped her eyes. “Okay, tears, okay,” Emily said more to herself, acknowledging them. She held her girlfriend tighter. “I can’t do it,” JJ whispered, kicking the strap with her foot. “Can’t do this. I’m pathetic.” “Hey JJ no, we don’t use those words about ourselves,” Emily warned and moved around so she could see her girlfriend’s face. Taking the opportunity, JJ put her head on Emily’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I- I can’t do it. I can’t take charge, it's not right,” JJ admitted. Emily stroked her back and kissed her head. “And that’s okay. We tried it and it didn’t work but our usual dynamic does.” “But-” JJ whimpered and stopped herself, not wanting to voice her concerns. “But what princess?” “But what if I’m not good enough for you?” “Not good enough? JJ you’re more than good enough for me. Is that where all this came from? JJ I adore you, I love the way things are. If you weren’t good enough for me something would have changed a long time ago,” Emily said. “But what if you want things to change now-” “I don’t Jay. I really don't. I don’t want you to top me, especially if it’s something you don't want to do, really.” “I wanted to! I wanted to try it. I’m just not good at it.” “Maybe you’re not the best top but that’s because you’re just meant to be on bottom, Jay. My sweet little princess, let me top you. Let me take control. You never, ever have to.” “Don’t you wish you didn’t have to be in control all the time?” JJ asked, still cuddled into her girlfriend's side. “At work I do, but here, with you - looking after my sweet girl who just deserves all the care in the world. Plus, you’re just as much in charge of me outside the bedroom,” Emily teased and ran her fingers through JJ’s hair. JJ smiled a little and nodded. “I guess I am.” “I love you JJ,” Emily muttered. “I love you, Emily.”  They shared a tender kiss before Emily stood up, she grabbed JJ before throwing her on the bed and climbed on top of her. “Now, what do you call me?” She asked, leaning over JJ. JJ giggled loudly and gripped Emily’s bare waist, taking in the marvellous body on top of her. “Hi, daddy.”

[trainsinanime]

The following post is intended to be seen as levity and joking, not salt.

Chloé this, Chloé that, "Redemption started?", "Redemption interrupted?", "Redemption cancelled?". The discussion is getting old. What I haven't seen enough yet is how the show did Sabrina really dirty, by giving her the worst thing of all: A conscience.

The early parts of the show toyed a lot with how exactly Chloé and her relation to Sabrina works, which was clearly not well established when the first episode came out (hell, they didn't even seem to know who Max and Kim were yet, they only had their character models). Sabrina's deal is easy enough in the abstract, but difficult to pin down in the early episodes: Is she more meek or mean? More of a victim or more of a bully? Does she share Chloé's values whole-heartedly, opportunistically, or is she pressured into it? Does she have scruples or is she just a coward? Those are all elements in her character to some extent, but the exact mixture did not really solidify until she got an episode to shine and be away from Chloé, in Evilstrator.

That episode did the fairly obvious plot of Marinette going, "you can stand up to your bully instead of doing their homework for them!", and then showed us how Sabrina reacted. And the reaction was: Sabrina is every bit as unhinged as Chloé, just in completely different ways, and their dysfunctional relationship might just be the only one in which either of them can function.

This choice is not fully unproblematic, but ultimately okay in my book. I think die-hard Sabrina stans might call this character assassination, but I don't think there are any die-hard Sabrina stans. I feel like I should become one just to even out the numbers. Anyway, the choice clearly telegraphs that the show is not interested in long-running redemption arcs, which, you know, fair enough, it is designed for six-year-old French kids after all. (Yes, season 2 and 3 looked rather different here, but that's later)

The show did not exactly use Sabrina consistently after that, but for a while, they leaned into it. Early Sabrina was often mean, materialistic, codependent (I don't actually know what that word means I'm just guessing) and toxic in her own way. She broke into Marinette's room, helped steal Marinette's designs, lie and cheat for Chloé.

And then that was basically it. The show mostly forgot about her. She was an appendage to Chloé, usually frightened and a bit incompetent, but not much more. When Chloé showed signs of a bit of a hint of a redemption arc, Sabrina was not part of it. When Chloé gained a sister for, I actually don't know (I still maintain that "replacement bee" makes no sense for anything but selling merch), and there were hints that this might be relevant to her story, Sabrina wasn't there.

What did happen in the moments we saw Sabrina was that Sabrina got more meek, more scared of Chloé, and less mean. There were no more hints of her playing superheroes with Chloé and being at least somewhat of a friend, and also none of the meanness of Miraculer, one of the worst Akuma names in the show. Instead she was now in a closet doing Chloé's homework.

As she becomes less effective, she becomes more sympathetic, with some moments e.g. in the New York special, until she finally becomes Miss Hound. At this point we have basically the exact same thing that Evilstrator rejected: Sabrina is really just an oppressed underling who is too scared to tell Chloé to stop, instead of someone with at least some of her own ideas that happen to overlap with Chloé's in all the worst ways.

This all comes to a head in confrontation, when Sabrina's defining character trait is suddenly, out of nowhere, that as a police officer's daughter, she hates lying and stealing and hates that Chloé makes her do it. Since when!? Sabrina, weren't you around for Darkblade!?

Sabrina breaks off her friendship with Chloé and is now officially a good girl. And that sucks.

Old Sabrina had a certain edge to her. She made sense as an Akuma threat on her own, and even as a threat to Chloé as Vanisher and Miraculer. Now, she's only an Akuma effectively when Chloé tells her to, and she stopped listening to Chloé anyway. Her personality is now strictly: A good girl. Not like Chloé.

Ironically, in her emancipation, she has lost almost everything that made her unique, and become entirely defined by Chloé in every way. She's her own person, but with barely any personality traits except "not like Chloé anymore". No hobbies, no meaningful relationships with anyone, she's just there, and nice now I guess.

There are so much more interesting things you could have done with a mean Sabrina, which we know for sure because the show already did some.

But that's really part of a wider issue: When people talk about Chloé, they mostly forget Sabrina, and Sabrina isn't interesting enough to stand on her own. The ideas of a Chloé redemption throughout season 2, 3 and in some form 4 focused on Chloé's relationship with Ladybug, Marinette, a bit Adrien, Audrey, and a bit Zoé. Chloé's super-duper villain arc in season 5 focused on her relationship with Lila. Sabrina, who has been here from day one, who has the longest and most complex relationship with Chloé out of any character, is not a part of it at all.

I think that sucks. I think Sabrina has more potential, but in particular I think Chloé is more interesting if we include Sabrina in the discussion as well. Their relationship is something deeply weird and unique, and any Chloé redemption that brushes it off leaves a lot of very tasty crumbs on the table. It sucks that it ended like that. Yes, Sabrina is now redeemed, but as a result of that, she's boring, and isn't that much worse than being evil?

In short: We should all write more Chloé/Sabrina fanfics.

[legendary-pink-dot]

Bush Pilot

Pairing: Francisco "Catfish" Morales x female reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Oral sex (f receiving, and lots of it), fingering, semi-public sex, truck backseat shenanigans, seatbelts as restraints, established relationship, fetish/obsession for Frankie's hair, and a bit of masturbation (m)

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: A drive to an isolated beach to watch the sunrise, some time to kill before dawn, soft aftermarket seatbelts, and Frankie's superior night vision.

Notes: No use of "Y/N". The inspiration for this one came from a line in my fic Airport Pickup. This fic took FOREVER to finish as I've had very limited writing time lately. Hope you enjoy it. All my love to my magic sluts/cheerleaders who don't have to hear my whining about this fic anymore yay: @imalrightllama @basicoccult @exquisiteserotonin @youandmeand5bucks @arcanefox207 @sparklefarts38 @blueheat1-blog1 @redhotkitchen

You wake up to a bump in the road and an indigo sky. Not midnight dark anymore, but not quite twilight yet either. The dashboard clock reads 4:27 AM and you know it's correct because this is Frankie's truck, and everything about it has been meticulously maintained. Its owner is particular that way.

Frankie notices you stir and twines his hand into yours, resting it against your thigh, his fingers squeezing gently. "Hey, perfect timing. Almost there."

"Sorry, fell asleep. I hate mornings." You crack open the passenger window, breathing in the crisp pre-dawn air. A bracing whiff of ocean salt fills your senses as you start to rouse.

"I know. It'll be worth it, cariño, promise. The sunrises are amazing here."

Another 20 minutes on this quiet road -- nobody else out driving at this hour -- until Frankie slowly rolls the truck to a stop and parks. You get out and stretch your tired limbs.

No streetlights here, no moon, and the stars are mostly washed out at this hour, but you can hear the surf just steps away, lightly lapping at a shore that you can't see. You curse your crappy night vision, knowing that Frankie has the edge in seeing through dim lighting, with all the night flying and navigation he's done over his years in the service.

"We still have some time before the sunrise," Frankie says, giving you a hug and feeling you shiver. You sigh into his hug, and he rests his chin on the top of your head for a minute or two. "Come on, let's wait inside. I've got blankets in the back seat."

You both climb into the back seat of the truck, and he unfolds a crazy-looking 1970s-style afghan.

"Where did you get this thing? Standard military issue?"

"Don't be mean," Frankie laughs, wrapping the blanket around you both and snuggling in. "My abuela made it for me a long time ago."

"Does she know it's your truck sex blanket?"

Frankie shuffles closer, sliding a hand up your chest and around your neck to pull your face close. "I've never used it for that." He kisses a whisper against your mouth. "Yet."

As you make out, slow and sweet, Frankie presses you further into the corner of the seat until you feel something dig into your side. It's the shoulder seatbelt and as you push it out of the way, you're surprised at how soft and silky it feels, like some luxury fabric instead of an industrial strip of webbing, and you stroke it with your hand.

"Aftermarket belts," Frankie says, watching you with a pleased expression. "The stock ones were too scratchy and uncomfortable."

"Too scratchy? That sounds like a made-up problem."

Frankie smirks. "I like my passengers to be comfortable." He slides a hand slowly down your body, his knuckles gently tracing your curves, his palm coming to rest over your center, already heated from the make-out session. "Would you like me to make you more comfortable?"

"Mmmm, yes please," you purr, kissing him more forcefully this time, nipping his lips and searching for his tongue with yours. You find it, tangle with it, suck it into your mouth, so focused on the kiss that you don't even notice he's holding your forearm and has gently wrapped the webbing of the shoulder belt around it twice.

He pauses, breaking the kiss and allowing you a second to check what he's doing. "Is this okay?"

"Very okay," you breathe against his mouth, unsure exactly what he'll do to you once you're restrained but eager to find out. He'd discovered early on in your relationship that restraints were something you liked, and he loved to indulge you. "Keep going."

--click--

Frankie smiles as he slots the latch into the seatbelt buckle and locks it into place.

The webbing is soft against your skin, and a little loose when you give it an experimental tug. "Tighter," you rasp, excitement growing fast. He adjusts the tension with the built-in clip until it's perfect for you.

You snake your free hand into his hair, already desperate to touch what you can and desperate to get your mouth on his again. He allows you to tug on his curls as you kiss, but only for a moment. His hand grabs your free forearm, forcefully this time, and pins it to the back of the seat.

"None of that," he tuts gently, wrapping the other side's shoulder belt around it. "We came here to see the sunrise, remember? Don't have much time."

--click--

"But Frankie..." you whine, testing the pull of the seatbelts and finding no slack. "I wanna feel you."

What was the line between obsession and fetish? It was something you often wondered about. His hair, his medium-brown hair that loosely curled and held shimmering flecks of silver, drove you absolutely mad. Every time you met up the very first thing you did was bury your fingers in it, the tips of the curls spiky on your palms, feeding some sort of physiochemical need you couldn't name and didn't really care to. Not being able to sate that need in this moment made you physically ache.

The seatbelt was wrapped around your forearm with the intention to let you slip out of it easily enough if you had to. But did you want to? Cravings are strong, but the deliciousness of prolonging the ache even stronger, and at this moment you don't know which you want more. The anticipation never felt so good.

Frankie senses your turmoil. He sits back and makes eye contact in the growing light, and runs a hand slowly through his hair. He even plumps the curls at his nape and fluffs one long curl that's fallen over his forehead, smiling innocently. You know he can see your fingers twitching. Bastard.

"Something wrong, cariño?" he smirks, and you can't hold back a whimper as you feel yourself clench around absolutely nothing.

"Francisco, you're a fucking menace."

"I know, I know," he soothes. "And you love it, don't you?" He leans forward and shakes his hair right into your face, but before you can swear at him some more, his curls are gently stroking your collarbone that's naked and exposed by your low-cut sundress. You whimper again, this time a pathetically needy sound, and he takes pity on you and caresses his hair over your bound forearms and hands, the ache in your fingers abating from finally, finally reaching some kind of goal.

"There you go, that's it," croons Frankie, kissing your skin swelling out between the webbing, moving down your arm and up to your shoulder. "Just a taste for you. More later. I want mine now."

In a single movement he hikes up the hem of your sundress with one hand and lifts your hip, and slides the other hand down the back of your underwear to pull them down your legs and off. Gripping a bare ankle in each hand, he spreads your legs as wide as he knows is comfortable for you. You feel split open, exposed and excited, and he's barely touched you yet.

The light is so dim that his eyes are in shadow for you, but you know they're wide and dark as his gaze takes you in, his face so close to your center you can feel his breath on your inner thighs.

"Can you see enough to work down there?"

"Of course," says Frankie, sounding almost insulted as he gently shifts your hips to pull you closer to his mouth. "I'm used to flying before sunrise. You know, I can land almost anywhere, in any terrain, because..."

You groan, knowing what's coming. "No, please... no aviation jokes..."

"...I'm a certified bush pilot." He snickers into your thigh, kissing it hard to try to mask his laughter.

"Bush pilot, really? That better not be a complaint about my wild foliage or something."

One of the things he had made clear early in your relationship, in his quiet and unassuming way, was that your grooming habits and preferences were none of his damn business. A refreshing attitude after years of dating men who had lots of unsolicited and unwanted opinions about your pubic hair and how they wanted you to maintain it. As if it existed just for them. Fuck that. Frankie never tried to change you -- he simply adapted to whatever was. One of the reasons why you adored him.

"Oh no, cariño," Frankie's voice drops deep in that way you know he's genuinely serious. "I fucking love your bush." He lowers his face to your mound and gently tugs a few hairs between his teeth. You hiss at the prickly feeling, sharp but not painful, slipping into a loud cry as he dives his tongue deep into your entrance to eagerly prove his point.

You'd never been with someone who loved pussy eating as much as him. Maybe it mirrored your obsession-sorta-fetish for his hair. Impeccable sexual compatibility, you and Frankie.

It's different each time, and this extra-early morning he explores every fold with his tongue, his lips, his teeth, scratching the surfaces and then delving deeper. He doesn't even need to look up at you to know that your eyes are shut despite the dark and that you're lost in feeling.

Every change in your breathing, the tenor and pitch of your sighs and moans, the little wiggle of your hips when his tongue flicks here instead of there. Those are the cues he looks for and the only ones he needs, and he quickly takes you as high as you can go and stays with you all the way back down.

Frankie is relentless, barely giving you time to recover before latching back onto your clit, nudging you past your overstimulation, somehow knowing just how much extra you can take. He always knows.

You barely catch your breath before he's absolutely devouring you again, lightly capturing your folds between his teeth and exploring each one as if he's kissing your mouth for the first time, moving his head to approach your center from every possible angle from his confined position and adjusting his hold on your thighs to match.

He gently slides a thick finger inside you. The stretch is a lot, it always is with him, and he lets you adjust to it before adding a second finger, and presses them as far up as they'll go, his callused fingertips teasing the edge of your most sensitive spot.

Your hips start to move of their own accord but his free hand holds you down as he keeps his fingers inside you right where they are, demanding you concentrate on feeling the pressure and stretch instead of seeking motion.

From above he almost chews on your clit, which you never considered to be a thing you'd like but you are suddenly now forever feral for, and you wiggle your hips as much as you can, desperate to get him exactly where you need him most, giving only one fleeting thought to anyone else parked at the end of this road who might be hearing your loud moans right now.

With his tongue and his fingers he holds you in that sweet limbo state, your conscious mind wanting it to go on forever but your body craving release. You can't choose which one you want more, until you see the first rays of the sun peek out over the horizon and it distracts your mind just enough for your body to fall over the crest again, louder and more intense this time, gushing and squeezing and fluttering around his fingers until he slowly pulls them out.

You were so blissed out that you never noticed Frankie had been pressing and rubbing his crotch against the floor, the seat, whatever he could find while he was eating you out. The back seat of the truck is quickly filling with light and you watch him unzip his jeans just enough to pull out his cock, hard and leaking.

If you weren't so zoned out, if he just gave you a few minutes to recover, you'd be happy to help him, but he's too impatient and fucks his fist with sloppy motions. It's a hypnotic sight, the pinkish tip peeking out between his thick fingers and then disappearing for a second in a desperate rhythm, and you slide your hands free from the seatbelts just in time to grab his hair and give the curls a hard pull, seconds before he comes in hot spurts across your thighs and swollen cunt, choking out a cry that again made you glad he had brought you to this beach so early in the day.

Thankfully, he didn't get any on the blanket. You shake it out and wrap it around both of you as he snuggles up beside you on the seat.

"Good?"

"Good. Very good."

"Yeah."

Your breaths gradually slow as you watch the fireball in the sky inch higher, your hand mindlessly finding his hair and repeatedly twisting a curl around your finger.

The truck cab finally fills with full daylight, showing you an inviting and isolated strip of beach, and no other vehicles. Frankie was right -- it was worth getting up early for this sunrise. And it was amazing.

"Frankie?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Tell me more about what it takes to be a bush pilot."

[inkdrinkerworld]

beefy james helping reader when she doesn’t feel like she can do anything, just sits in bed all day feels too nauseous to eat and feels disgusting and lazy and he’s always gonna help her

you're not sure if your upset feeling is from your incoming period or if you're just getting poorly, but it sucks.

you keep breaking out in cold sweats and your lips are chapped and have lost a bit of their colour. james is worried that you'll run a fever soon but you can't stomach anything to take with the medicine he got from the chemist.

"angel," he coos, big hand smoothing your hair away from your sticky cheeks. "do you want to take a shower?" he asks, thumb stroking your hairline.

james doesn't do well seeing you in any type of discomfort and this is making his heart clench. he smothers it down though, and instead of a frown he's got the smallest, barest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

you appreciate that he doesn't look at you like every breath you take might be your last.

"will you shower with me? dunno if i can stand by myself for so long," james kisses your cold nose twice before slipping a hand behind your back.

"course i will," he doesn't guide you up just yet. "want me to order that soup you like? the lemon chicken one?" james isn't sure if you'll even be able to eat it, but he has to try to coax you into it.

"a small one," you take the first step in sitting up all by yourself. leaning into james as you are finally upright. "with the salt crackers too."

"i'll call them now, then we'll go shower." james orders you the soup and crackers and a couple of the take out place's cookies for when you feel a little better. he also shoots his mum a message for the best remedies for upset feelings just to be safe.

[acerikus]

G o d. All gekkos' outertale posting makes me wanna talk more in depth about the characterisation and plot issues in this game and why they bother me...

(readmore bc holy fuck this got long, it's probably like 5k words. It's also pretty much all salt, categorised by character)

Toriel

Why. Why is she like this. Kinda feels like the creator of the game hates her and if they don't, they have a weird way of showing it. She's treated as overdramatic and unjustified in her anger at asgore despite the fact that he DID declare war on humanity and he DID willingly let the people believe he was killing human children to harvest their souls. Even if he didn't do it for real in this game, she has every right to be angry and to not trust him, and it CERTAINLY doesn't make her undeserving to be a mother or whatever. Idk about you, but I don't think wanting kids to stay away from a man yelling about wanting to kill every child that crosses him makes you a bad parent, even if it turns out he didn't really hurt anyone y'know?

They also REALLY zoned in on 'mother' with her in a way that doesn't really make sense here. I could maybe see her feeling guilty for making a snap judgement but how would that call her motherhood into question?

Sans saying isolation messed with her makes no sense too!!!! The outerlands or whatever they called the ruins isn't sealed off in this game, other monsters seem way less intimidated by her in this game than in undertale (she has friends! She knows sans by name and goes to napstablook's shows and even has their phone number!), and we outright get told she takes the taxi to get her groceries... Meaning she headed off to the rest of the outpost and probably does that often enough.

All things considered, Toriel seems fairly well adjusted in outertale, at least by outertale standards. Kinda then makes it feel like everyone's just trying to convince her she's hysterical and that... Sucks.

Also the fact that they added an ending where you stay with her and framed it as a bad ending that doomed everyone is... Really mean? It sucked ass I'm sorry :/

Sans

... Why is he like this. This take on Sans is absolutely infuriating tbh. The only positive I really have here is that his puns are kinda good, I've seen fangames that fuck up this element massively and it was kinda fun to see his interactions in starton.

Okay, back to salt. His whole 'i became a sentry to help humans' thing is trash. He didn't care about that in ut! He didn't care about that at all! The only reason he looks out for frisk is because he made a promise to toriel, and he hates breaking promises. He didn't want to let down his friend.

...Huh. realising this is yet another case of Toriel disrespect somehow. Yet another thing they took from her, that they then just... Handed over to sans instead. :/

His lack of backstory. Look, I get wanting something silly, but they took almost everything that makes sans interesting away. Not hyperfocusing on sans like certain aus do is nice, but it feels like in a lot of situations in this game they overcompensated by a long shot.

No mysterious past/origins. We know he worked with alphys I guess but???? Honestly I have a LOT to rant about for that part so I'll leave it for twinkly's section. And yet despite all this, Sans inexplicably bleeds in tpe when not even undertale has that happen? Make up your mind!

His role in non Asriel chaotic also... Sucks ass. I'm in a pretty awesome corner of the fandom in terms of the people I follow and the takes I see as a result, so if I'm honest, when I saw all those posts about 2024 fanon sans being indifferent to his brother's murder, I kinda just figured they were vaguing about this game. You're telling me that sans of all people just shrugs off you killing everyone and complains a little bit before letting you pass?! He should know alphys already ran off. He should know the only person left to stop you is asgore, and that it's obvious he won't. Part of this could be connected to how frisk is written perhaps, and much like the twinkly situation, I'll have much more to say on that further down.

I understand the creator didn't wanna have a sans fight in their game - however, if that's the case... Maybe come up with a reason for him to NOT show up in the last corridor, then? Have him busy helping with evacuations or something, or already dead like in the first chaotic ending... This was just sloppy.

Papyrus

Honestly he wasn't... Terrible. The phonecalls were fun even if most were cheap references (though they can be fun in fangames sometimes so I'm not mad at this lol). Him being extremely talented at making spaghetti is just one symptom of one of this game's biggest flaws, however. I really don't like how nobody's really allowed to be bad at anything or have any real struggles in this game - especially when spaghetti in undertale is used to demonstrate his relationship with undyne and the similar wavelength they're on when humans aren't involved. She's the one who started teaching him to cook it, it's deeply intertwined with his desire to be a royal guard, and it's something they suck at together. Him just inexplicably being good at it is... Weird, and feels really disconnected from their friendship and her reluctance to let him in the guard yknow?

Also: his boss final phase. Having the dog NOT take his special attack away this time was really funny admittedly but... Idk? Not only is the fight really unfair for pacifist/neutral and those who aren't as good at the game (ut never gets this hard outside of geno), it feels way too on the nose in terms of insisting he's strong and has powerful attacks. Undertale didn't need to overcompensate to get across that papyrus is strong and disciplined and the way you have to infer that in undertale is way cooler. I might just be nitpicking with this point tbh but it's whatever. Letting myself be a hater for once.

And don't get me started on him getting together with Mettaton. It seemed to come out of absolutely nowhere, the idea that they were already friends in this was glossed over really quickly and no time was really put into developing the relationship save for papyrus commenting on finding him attractive every few minutes.

Gotta be honest, I've never been a fan of this ship nor understood its popularity. Papyrus very briefly mentions thinking he's attractive in undertale, but it doesn't really go anywhere and I'm not even sure mettaton knows he exists. It feels like it was just kinda added because it's a popular ship and that's it, not sure it really contributes much to either of their arcs. It was a light-hearted celebrity crush in canon and never really tried to be more.

Oh, oops. Had more to say here than I thought.

Undyne

Not much to say here... I think she was okay, there's nothing super bad with her. I do think the way gerson kinda downplays her/lacks faith in her in the chaotic route kinda sucks and I think choosing to make her non-undying chaotic bossfight harder sure was A Choice, but it's whatever. Undying was weirdly easy in a way that didn't do her much justice. Honestly they didn't do enough with her for me to have a wall of complaints and I can't tell if that's a good thing or not. Her relationship with alphys didn't really amount to much and her lack of understanding of human culture doesn't really hit as hard when she's just talking about random sci-fi things that we have no way of knowing are real or not in this game's idea of the 2600s ourselves, y'know? Her love of anime (that she mistakenly thinks is human history) is pretty absent here except to validate her relationship with alphys in a very shallow way.

The Ghost Family

Hoo boy... Was gonna make this the mettaton section, but I wanted to talk about napstablook at the same time, so I'm just gonna lump them all together.

What. What the hell was this plotline.

It feels like they tried to go for 'smalltime farmer chases passion for stardom after feeling unfulfilled at home' and as I've seen someone else say, 'shy business owner struggles to talk to their cousin outside of work'. This would've been fine tbh, but... There's a lot of things in the execution of this that kinda grossed me out if I'm honest. I don't think they were intentional, but I think it could've been thought through a lot better to avoid some unfortunate implications - or even lean into them in a respectful way.

Firstly, the ghost family intervention was pretty long, awkward, and didn't feel like it really added much - especially when most people playing would already know mettaton's backstory anyway (and his house is still accessible like in undertale!!!!! What was the point?)

Mettaton airing out his family issues on live TV feels very ooc - he keeps that stuff very close to his chest and I doubt he'd like it getting out. Him entertaining any of that out in the open seems... Weird.

Speaking of the intervention, his cousins' treatment of him was horrifying! Part of it seems intentional and it's nice that there's at least one part in the game where characters are allowed to have flaws and do bad things but... There's also elements that feel like you're meant to agree with them? Their insistence that mettaton just come home and everything they did in the past with constantly badgering him to come and help out on the farm were rightfully treated as something that hurt mettaton's feelings and that gave napstablook and the others pause. That's (mostly, we'll come back to it later) fine. He called them out for it and they reflected on it, cool. The way his ghost form was utilised makes me extremely uncomfortable, however.

Napstablook talks about hearing 'the real [mettaton]' in the recording, right to his face, 'the real mettaton' in this scenario alluding to his ghost form. Considering mettaton is a trans allegory, this feels... Kinda gross? In a similar vein, when passing mettaton's quiz barriers, one of the questions is 'what is mettaton's true identity' and you have the option to deadname him (using a name papyrus literally just made up in undertale rather than having any kind of creativity ofc) Alphys' reaction is simply to ask how you know that which... Doesn't feel great. The correct answer is 'mettaton' ofc thankfully, but everything around this particular plot point feels weird. Maybe don't do that w the most prevalent trans allegory character..?

And ofc, they keep insisting he just come home, go back to working on the farm, go back to his family... Idk, gives me vibes of someone abandoning their shitty transphobic family and then insisting they want to see 'the real [deadname] again' and for them to abandon their new life and just go back to the way things were before. Not good.

All of this would still be okay for the most part since the ghost family are painted as being unfair to mettaton... But in true pacifist, he goes back to helping out with the farm anyway and talks about how he thinks he was probably just being dramatic after all, and how 'blooky didn't do anything that bad'

... What?

It takes me right back to Toriel's treatment. Napstablook, Maddie and lurksalot gave no real thought to mettaton's feelings, made it all about them and showed pretty much no support for his transition nor his career! Fuck those guys! It's funny - mettaton is pretty consistently a pompous asshole (affectionate) in undertale but here, I think all his feelings towards his family were COMPLETELY valid. Mettaton outertale didn't do anything wrong.

Lurksalot didn't feel like they contributed much to the story either, save to be yet another character treating mettaton like shit with zero consequences nor narrative judgement. They just made every ghost family event even more drawn out.

And then ofc!!!! Mettaton and Alphys' friendship is so bland in this game! They're two people who kinda know each other and she says some nice things about him in a letter in chaotic but that's about it. Their friendship and the subsequent conflict frisk's arrival brings to it in undertale is the heart of hotland and the core, but here it's just replaced with unnecessary, hard to watch, boring family drama. The two of them have no issues to work out. She doesn't ask too much of him. There's no funny quips and barely any chemistry at all. God forbid either of them have any real flaws.

One last thing: I'm glad maddie gets her mew mew body, it's nice. Wish it was an on-screen moment or something alluded to more though. Some of that time dragging out the family drama could've been used on that instead, y'know? Especially with napstablook getting the mew mew doll... Genuinely thought they were gonna show it to her when they first got hold of it, rather than dragging Frisk into their intervention. She should've gotten to be more mad, too. Kinda a big part of her identity.

Oh, and mettaton's no-asriel chaotic fight was bullshit. It was a nice spamton reference and the first phase was cool, but the second was utter bullshit and dragged out the fight way too long. Attacking him after snapping all the wires should've killed him im sorry. It's even more of a shame bc I genuinely really liked this game's mettaton neo fight - it was fun and creative and felt possible.

Holding myself back from adding any more to this bc I could go on and on, ugh.

Alphys

Alphys. For a game that tries to make her the star of it, it's actually kinda impressive how much they managed to take away from her and just how uninteresting she is in this game.

At the surface level she's awesome, powerful, and the star of the show. In my first playthrough I was actually pretty happy to see her thriving like this! The more routes I played and the more I thought about it though they just kinda... Declawed her. Took away all her flaws. Made her 'perfect' in a way that I don't think works at all.

The amalgamates never happened. None of her experiments went wrong. She never hid away from her mistakes, or lied to anyone (save for keeping Asgore's secret, which she has no negative feelings about), nor did she over engineer any situations to make herself seem cooler. She doesn't argue with Mettaton! She's confident and assertive! She's Asgore's right hand woman and next in line for the throne! And ofc, the badass final boss! What's not to love?

...But none of this is Alphys, is it?

Her anxiety isnt just because of the determination experiments, it's pretty clear she's always been a pretty shy and nervous person. In fact, based on her entries they were one of the things she was more confident in before it all went wrong. People are hard, but she knows science, y'know?

She doesn't get to be flawed or interesting - despite her presence, she's just a generic cool scientist who's suave with the ladies, I guess..?

She isn't particularly dorky, shes overly confident, she has zero issues to work through. Her relationship with undyne is perfect (derogatory) and her infodumping about anime just before the archive feels very forced, like they remembered last minute that she does that and thought it should be included somehow.

Depicting what she'd be like in a scenario where the determination experiments never happened is a fun and interesting idea! But deltarune demonstrates how to do that well, and I think they completely missed the mark. The way she talks, her body language, the way she acts around others in general... These things are universal constants and yet in outertale, she's basically a different person entirely.

Outertale alphys isn't allowed to lie (save to cover for asgore Secretly Being A Good Person), she isn't allowed to miscalculate, she isn't allowed to mis-speak or make mistakes or do anything she'd regret. She feels like an alphys written by someone who hates her in canon and thinks all her flaws make her terrible and unlikable. I doubt this is the case since I don't think a person like that would've given her such prevalence, but that's the level of love and attention I feel was given to her writing here. It makes me sad.

And, of course... The DT experiments and her fight.

... Why did she have vials of determination if all the humans are alive? Did she take it from them? If so, was this before or after they went into stasis? We know she's not been the royal scientist for long in relation to how long humans have been falling, so did ROMAN take the determination? How much of this did she even DO?

Why did she and sans even DO anything with determination? It... Doesn't really make sense.

Speaking of determination, why did she melt at the end of her fight? I'd assume she's injected herself with determination as one of the vials in her lab is mentioned to be partially used, but I'm pretty sure it's also like this on pacifist. Was that overlooked? Are we just meant to assume it's MORE depleted? Does she just have natural determination now because She's So Cool And Badass? This isn't even really a complaint about the fight, more just how poorly that part of her lab is handled lmao

But getting into her fight... Idk, it didn't really feel like her. A lot of it was just random bullshit that was hard for the sake of being hard, that didn't really seem to be tied to her identity very well at all. People complain a lot about the Zenith Martlet fight in undertale yellow but that's done far better than this, imo. It clearly reflects martlet's character, personality and canonical bullet patterns (we see Alphys' in ut tpe!), there's a genuine feeling of progression in the fight and the act you're given to help with the fight feels more effective - you can still damage her on her turn, so taking a turn to heal act doesn't feel like a waste. The Asriel acts though... They just don't last long enough to feel that worth it? Sure they're okay, but in general, you get a lot less time to breathe. Martlet's fight lets you retry from phase 2 if you die. Sans' in undertale gives you as many turns as you need to heal while he's sparing you. Alphys' fight just feels like it's made to feel un-fun and painful throughout in a way that just isn't worth it, and doesn't really feel like it fits her personality either, y'know? The fight was just a slog and like many others, I had zero motivation to finish it legit. I don't think it helps that the undyne and mettaton fights in this route are fairly easy and simple in comparison.

Tldr: they took away everything that makes alphys endearing, fun and interesting. This isn't alphys at all.

Asgore

A huge chunk of this essay accidentally got deleted, including my first attempt at writing this section. In it, I mentioned that the Asgore apologism went way too far.

This time though, I don't think I'd even call it that. Reflecting on it, it feels less like an attempt to defend him and more like a way to hate on and spite Toriel.

Seriously. So much of his character basically just feels like someone going 'fuck you toriel. I'm giving EVERYTHING to asgore.'

It's... Really weird?

Asgore having a way out of killing humans is an interesting concept! Outertale takes place 500 years in the future compared to undertale, so the idea that they have the resources and technology to do that is kinda cool and in theory, exploring this idea sounds really fun. In practice though, it feels like it was mostly done to make Toriel out to be an asshole for no reason and to laugh at her for ever assuming he would've really killed anyone (despite... Y'know. Telling everyone that's what he was doing.)

He just. Completely moved on from Toriel without a second thought seemingly, and doesn't even look that affected by seeing her turn up again - meanwhile SHE'S got crumpled up tea recipes in the trash and all the Sad Divorced Energy - it doesn't really fit either of them! Toriel wasn't really given a reason to miss him like that, and I think even if he DID fully move on, he'd be way happier to see her than that.

All his leading statements on how she must feel in LV1 pacifist sucked ass also, especially with the way she kinda just agreed that yeah, she feels like shit for not trusting that he'd suddenly do a 180 and not hurt anyone (AGAIN. AFTER HE CONTINUED TO LET EVERYONE BELIEVE THIS) and that she must feel unworthy of being a mother. She hadn't even said half of this in front of him yet! He put words in her mouth! That in itself would be fine (social blunders are pretty normal for asgore after all) but it... Wasn't treated like that. It was handled as if this was a sweet and compassionate thing for him to say which... Yikes.

And ofc he gets to adopt frisk, and monster kid, and get to have Asriel live with him! His fatherhood is never called to question in undertale, but ofc Toriel's motherhood has to be here. Hell, despite their divorced status, if you talk to gerson in tpe it's highly implied frisk asks if asgore would start aging again if he became their dad! Idk, all of this part just reeked of Toriel hate and nothing more. Asgore is just yet another character to get sanded down and de-clawed and it sucks. So much of what makes him interesting is his mistakes and flaws and how they impact him, y'know?

Twinkly

I wanna start this by saying I don't think his writing is too bad. It's not amazing by any means but by outertale standards, he's one of the better written characters. That being said, Flowey is my favourite character of all time so I'm still gonna be critical.

So they did save the goat. Save the goat aus really aren't my thing nowadays - I feel like so often people act like he's a separate person to Flowey entirely and act like the alarm clock app dialogue doesn't exist. Asriel didn't end the story as a doomed tragedy fated to fade away! Flowey ended the story as someone who finally got closure on the loss of his best friend, and can finally learn to move on, even if it takes him a while to adjust. I don't think he needs to be a goat again for that.

That being said, I know these kinda aus are a big wish fulfilment thing for a lot of the fandom that aren't even necessarily something people want to be canon as much as they just wanna explore the idea and see him truly happy, so I won't judge that element too harshly. People are allowed to have fun, and I think save the goat can be fine if it respects him as flowey rather than separating them.

I really like that they allow Asriel to be fucked up and an asshole rather than him soft rebooting into some Sweet Perfect Little Prince once he returns to his old form, like so many other save the goat takes. Even in lv0's ending he struggles to bite back insults and mean comments aimed at Monster Kid which is... Admittedly kinda refreshing! There's definitely some flowey (or I guess in this case, twinkly) behaviour that still comes through here and I'm glad. This carried over to chaotic, too. While his characterisation wasn't perfect, this at least felt like twinkly obtaining a few form and continuing to play with the world, rather than your standard Asriel take. I also really liked that he remembers and acknowledges chaotic if done before pacifist, that was neat and adds to his character (as far as this game goes) I think.

However, onto the biggest, glaring issue I have with him.

Why. Why does he exist.

No, seriously.

In its attempt to make the world perfect, a world that blatantly only exists so the creator could make a save the goat ending, mind, there's no reason for the goat to need to be saved at all. Nor for him to exist after dying back when Chara lived with the dreemurrs.

Asgore isn't killing humans, so the souls don't need to be absorbed by anyone. Frisk can just enter the archive and lend their power to destroy the forcefield themselves, so there's no ultimatum like there is in undertale - there's no implied tradeoff of Frisk's life for the freedom of monsters without twinkly's intervention. In undertale, flowey's messing around opened up an ending that would've otherwise been impossible, something that worked for everyone.

Without him existing at all here, frisk could've broken the barrier just fine. All it really added to pacifist was a couple extra boss fights and asgore being dead for two minutes. And him being saved I guess but again, there's no real story justification for him being here EXCEPT to pat yourself on the back for saving him.

Why was he created? In undertale it's pretty clear - they wanted a vessel to hold all the souls in for now during the true lab experiments. He exists because Alphys selected the first flower to ever grow in the garden and injected it with determination that she extracted from the human souls.

... But all the humans are... Alive and well in outertale? They don't need a vessel to contain their souls. They don't need to extract any determination from anyone. Again, why do they HAVE vials of determination? And why did she inject one into a flower?

AND THAT'S THE OTHER BIG THING. It's established she and sans injected a starling flower for... Whatever reason. SO WHY THE HELL IS TWINKLY A CARTOON STAR?!

This point makes absolutely no sense at all. He looks absolutely nothing like a starling flower nor does he behave like a flower at all, which is confusing if that's what he started as. Honestly, I think it would've made more sense to just keep him as Flowey if they were gonna include him at all, and just have his appearance reflect a starling flower instead of a golden flower.

This applies to his fight too. Mechanically I think it's AWESOME, but the visuals are... Just very very boring. A huge part of why his fight in the original is so good it's the bizarre and chaotic nature of it, the horror elements, and the way so much of flowey's trauma in terms of how he was created and the things he finds scary was put on blast for all to see. The combination of mechanical and organic elements, all the plants and insects... Idk, just going 'hmm he's a star. Let's have him go through a star life cycle' is boring, there's no visual appeal.

If his creation is so vague and wishy washy, this would've been a great opportunity to flesh it out more. How was he created? What kinds of technology and machinery did alphys use to put all this together? How did she (or roman????? unclear) get the determination? What does twinkly remember?

That leads me onto a tangentially related topic - his trauma. I... Don't think this was shown very well. He talks a bit about BEING traumatised from the lab, but telling isn't the same as showing and canon flowey is terrible at hiding it, whereas I'd just as easily believe outertale Asriel made it up for sympathy points. He never really projects, he doesn't force anyone else to experience anything like he did, nothing like that. He's just a cocky asshole who likes killing, and who eventually decides to start being nice.

This game constantly seemed to be speedrunning ways to get him from being twinkly to being Asriel as quickly as possible in almost every single route which... Huh???? It's weird. Would've been nice to let him be a star more rather than just Asriel...

(final amendment bc I lost a huge chunk of this essay originally and had to rewrite it, and I'm realising I didn't manage to fit this in this time... How does a single monster soul let him get his Asriel form again? Sure he's still treated as if soulless and it doesn't make him a good person, but if he was 'so tired of being a star', why hadn't he tried doing this sooner? It makes no sense...)

For a game that exists to give him a good ending, it's so ironic how little he needs to exist at all in this world. Just goes to show what it looks like when you go too far with 'fixing' things or removing stuff you seem 'too problematic' for the sake of being wholesome or whatever.

Chara

Speaking of which... Look I'm just gonna say it. This version of Chara sucks so bad.

Chara is one of my favourite characters - they're really interesting, morally grey, and a fascinating way for undertale as a game to interface with us as players.

They're a child who likely saw the worst of humanity, then found themselves in a home with family who genuinely loved them once they fell down and met the monsters. Their intense saviour complex made them feel like the best way to help their family was to sacrifice their own life to get enough souls to break them free (and once they realised they had control, get payback against the humans while they were at it). They could be mean-spirited and a prankster. They valued efficiency HIGHLY. Their favourite number was nine because it's the limit, the absolute, a way to stop hurting and to stop others hurting.

And by doing geno, you can push this fixation on stats further. Max out all your stats. Gain power. Get stronger. Become invincible. Nobody can hurt any more if the world is gone. And ofc, they stand as the final arbiter of consequences for the player. Your punishment for killing everyone and for pushing them into believing it needs to be completed. Chara both IS is and is separate from us in a way that can't really be fully disentangled and it's really, really cool.

Anyway, enough gushing about undertale Chara. What's outertale Chara in comparison?

... Nothing.

They're nothing.

Outertale Chara narrates occasionally. They're a ghost that follows frisk around, but aren't confined to that, and have been actively wandering the underground since their death. They also still have a SOUL for some reason? This part doesn't really make sense at all.

Other than sacrificing themself and maybe wanting to take out a few humans after Asriel absorbs them, they don't do anything that could be considered bad ever. The most devious thing they ever do is snatch Asriel's diary to leave a silly comment in there when they first arrive at the outpost (sans does this with Toriel's phone in undertale tpe for comparison lmao). Despite what Asriel seems to believe, Chara is completely absent from the chaotic route - never getting corrupted, never caring about our stats, never wanting to hurt anyone, never even trying to make us face any consequences. They're just... Not here. For a character so prevalent in the murder based route of undertale this is fucking wild.

They all but vanish if you so much as say something slightly mean to someone, too! It's strange, makes no sense, and just like with sans, it feels like they overcompensated waaaaaaay too much for the people who insist they're evil. On top of that, if you do chaotic before lv0, they don't even remember chaotic happening! They'd may as well have just been a member of the ghost family who likes following Frisk around when they're especially nice. Like Asgore and alphys, they've been sanded down and de-clawed to be 'wholesome' and 'perfect', and it just results in a bland, boring character who loses anything that made them interesting, nuanced and fun.

'Chara wasn't the greatest person'... Why, though? They don't have enough substance in this game for that line to really have as much impact.

Frisk

I'm gonna be honest - I actually ADORED their frisk at first, and I think that's because I started with a neutral run and ended up drawing them a lot. They felt silly and mischievous and interesting, and this continued into chaotic. They seem pretty chill with what's going on but then take that even further by being hilariously affectionate with Asriel and still doing silly things like being up for picking up the electrodampening fluid or drinking directly out of the fountain. They felt like a funny little mini-kris (save for being okay with all the murder ofc).

Then uhhhhhhh... That's when I experienced the second chaotic ending, the one without Asriel, as well as lv0. I feel like they definitely DID try to lean on the Kris angle on purpose in terms of their feelings on being controlled and stuff but it???? Just doesn't work very well? There's no ambiguity to this version of frisk once you've seen all the routes. Just like EVERYONE ELSE, they're just a perfect little angel who would never do anything wrong and anything past lv0 is just the eeeeeevil player influence or whatever. Come on, we have deltarune for that kinda approach to control 😭 (though even then, Kris is a layered and interesting character who isn't goodness and innocence personalised, and that's why they're cool)

In undertale, we have no idea what frisk is like as a person. WOULD they spare everyone without our influence? Would they kill? Would they be a scared child lashing out in self defense? Would they run from everything, then give up and let themselves die permanently somewhere? We just don't know! We're not supposed to know! It feels like it went back to the very early fandom interpretation where frisk is Good And Sweet and Innocent while Chara is evil incarnate - except this time they're BOTH the former.

It's a contradiction too! Why in the Asriel chaotic route are they so down to follow him, and pet him, and hug him every chance they get if they don't like all the stuff we're making them so? The player has no influence over Twinkly. Every single thing he did, he chose to do, and yet even if the only time frisk has seen him was him destroying their mercy button and forcing them to kill for him, they seem to love him to pieces and go along with whatever he says happily. What.

I feel like they didn't know what to do with Frisk here at all and it shows.

Other characters

This has been ridiculously long, but to quickly go over non-major characters... They did very few things to make Roman seem interesting, the amount of stuff hes implied to have helped Asgore with just reduces even further any influence or impact alphys had, and (a smaller nitpick)... Why didn't he use times new roman as a font when we DID see him speak in the archive/on the signal stars? It's such a missed opportunity...

Burgerpants was fun... Kinda. Developing him like this feels like something that should've happened DURING the actual game rather than before it though because it made him feel like a whole other person entirely? The poisoned food was very funny though.

Why is Snowy now Stardrake when his dad hasn't changed at all and Crystal looks like any other snowdrake? That was bizarre.

I actually really liked the humans! Establishing them as actual characters was really fun, and I especially like justice. Justice, at least in my opinion, is probably the most interesting character in this whole game tbh - someone who tried to do good but ultimately caused more harm than good, while NOT downplaying it, showing the consequences directly, and showing them work to try to make things better. The way we don't grab their item like the others in the twinkly fight nor go through an area for them in the archive (and just talk to them instead) really adds to their intrigue - what are they like? Who did they know? Is there something they don't want us to see? How are they strong enough to not need us to grab their weapon at all to lend their help? I think it's get funny that the only character I'm fully praising is the clover-adjacent one. Justice outertale they could never make me hate you

(that being said... seeing the way this game is clearly just supposed to be a 'fix' for undertale does sour my thoughts on the humans a little. did they only do this bc they thought them NOT being full characters in ut was bad/a problem with it? 🥴 This applies to the additional monster kid story focus too).

Speaking of monster kid... Them being an orphan was clearly just a plot device to give asgore more kids and therefore feel like he won more than Toriel. Monster kid in undertale seems like they probably did have real and loving parents, and they have a sister too!!!! Would've been nice if they'd at least done something with their sister :(

This got... Way longer than I expected, so I'll stop here. But outertale definitely gave me an even bigger appreciation for other ut fangames. My gripes with deltatraveler section 3 feel much smaller in comparison now, if tsus misses the mark on Flowey later down the line they've at least already done most characters so much more justice, and it really puts into perspective all the heart and soul that went into kissy cutie, as well as its genuine love got the source material and characters.

Sorry outertale, you weren't for me. That being said, if anyone disagrees with any of this then that's fine! These are all just my opinions and feelings on it after going through all the routes and talking about it with friends. Media is always gonna resonate with different people in different ways and that's a good thing! If your perspective on any of this is different and if you had way more fun with it, I'm glad you did and I genuinely wish I could've felt the same. I feel like at the very least, making it has probably been a great learning experience for the devs and I really hope they carry on making games and improving their skills. Hope y'all are thriving and having fun regardless 💙

[edelfie]

#𝓣𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘! in her lowest era.

#summary. everyone knows hot girls exude an air of nonchalant confidence at all times. but sometimes, hot girls let the negativity of others get to them. so what is a good friend supposed to do when they have a depressed, insecure hot girl on their hands? remind her of exactly what she is of course—hot! (adverse side effects may include: heartache, enlarged ego, superiority complex, and undesired memories).

or, you have to hit rock bottom before you can reach the top—that entails reliving the moments before the worst decision of your life.

#content warning. discussion of cheating, mentions of edibles/acid, swearing, suicide jokes, Y/N is a hater (as she should be tho tbh)

— TOKYO, 5:47AM

Sometime last night, you had started crying.

The popcorn ceiling stared back at you as the fan blew lukewarm air across your face. There were tear tracks staining your face, marring it in an ugly visage of an emotion you thought you wouldn’t feel. You're certain the rims of your eyes were swollen, an ugly, angry shade of red. The same could be said about your nose and cheeks, which were warm to the touch.

There were deep imprints along your skin from the position you fell asleep in. You must've been cradling your face with your hand as you could trace dents in your forehead that aligned with your fingers. And even the morning after, you can still recall the tightening of your chest as you read Tendou’s messages. It’s a frightening emotion; sadness. And all for what?

Tendou’s words rang true within you, and while they sucked to hear it wasn’t enough to make you shed a tear. You understand where he was coming from, even if you were disappointed in yourself for not realizing it sooner. Would’ve been nice to not have wasted 10 years…

But it was what came after your conversation that truly depressed you to your breaking point. It was an offhand comment that was meant to lift you up, except it only made you spiral further.

“I don’t want to hurt you Y/N.”

Such words were often heard by you, and in your youth it severely pissed you off. You remember storming into your dorm and ranting to your roommate about receiving a similar comment. It always set you off to be perceived as fragile, someone sensitive and easy to break. Maybe that’s why people stopped telling you as you got older—then knew how sensitive you were to it.

But instead of the mildly aggravating memories of your childhood, your mind jumped to him and a stupidly ironic text he sent you just weeks ago. And so, as soon as you finished talking with Tendou, you opened the old text thread and searched for it.

If Yachi knew you still kept his number, she would give you a well-deserved scolding. You, on the other hand, prefer to keep the texts—written proof that you weren’t crazy for being as head-over-heels as you were, that none of it was fake (to your knowledge at least).

So, you laid in bed, scrolling absentmindedly through your old texts. You tried not to get choked up at the thought of leaving it all behind—all the jokes, the chemistry, the memories shared. You were not fruitful in your task.

You aren’t normally the type of person to be angsty about showing emotions. You didn't like the thought of you growing too big for your britches, either—that you gained some sort of complex of being above humanity despite have minimal success. But this felt like something childish to cry over.

The thought—no, the reminder—of crying over him of all people made you reel in disgust. To think you wasted tears on him, of all people. The same tears you shed when your family dog died, when you held your baby cousin for the first time, when you left—

He wasn't worth any of them. In fact, he wasn’t worth salt, nor the dirt at the bottom of your shoes. But that's the funny thing about emotions; they defy all logic and reasoning. You knew what you were getting into when you hooked up the first time, and then the second, and the third. And yet, you still feel the immense grief and pain of a familiar memory.

You didn’t cry nearly as hard for any of your previous breakups. Sure, you occasionally thought about the guy you dated for two years, and same with the girl who used you dry then ran. Sometimes you shed a few tears over them, but it was always in the metaphorical sense. What if I did this thing, what if they did that thing, etcetera.

It’s unfair to compare most of your past exes to the selfish man that is Miya Atsumu and the entanglement he wrapped you in. Because ever since that morning you woke up to your number blocked and his ass far away where you can’t reach him, you noticed something about him.

There was something uniquely cruel within him, and it was revealed as you saw just who he was reflecting back at you—a visage of a man who cares for nobody but himself.

There was a time in which you did consider Atsumu to be human, but you have since revoked that right. After all, he approached you looking for a good time. He claimed to want a future with you, but he must’ve been confused. And when he was done milking you like a cow, he vanished. To his richer, prettier, socially acceptable girlfriend—pardon, fiancée.

He got the luxury of whoring around with you, while painting you as the evil, manipulative temptress. Never mind the fact that they were broken up, even if him cozying up in her bed when he should’ve been next to you complicated things. Yet not a single person raised hell to call him what he was—an arrogant, insecure, pampered little boy.

And now look at him. One of Japan’s darlings, an Olympic champion, and now a soon-to-be family man. Miya Atsumu got his way, as he always does. And you were the damn fool for playing the part.

You realized in an instant what had occurred, and with it came a pain that many fail to understand. You were used, both as a shield and as a glorified sex doll. But you weren’t even good enough—worth enough—to keep around. You just had to be tossed out when you weren’t a fun, shiny new toy anymore.

Desperately did you wish these past few months were all some sick, twisted dream, which you would awake from and laugh with your friends about. You’d tell them how, in the dream, you were dating a total douchebag with a serious Madonna-Whore complex, you graciously playing the whore, of course. But at least then you could wake up and breathe in relief that it wasn’t true.

The clock on your side table ticked silently, its hour hand barely past 6. You knew you had to rise soon and begin your day, but for now you were okay with laying and wallowing in your frustration. Only when you get it out of your system will you be able to think clearly and plan ahead.

Of all the girls he could’ve picked, Miya Atsumu picked you. Unfortunately for him, you had already sworn to yourself long ago to never be taken advantage of and made a fool ever again. And he has no idea what’s coming for him.

Someone, somewhere, must’ve said something along the lines of “There is inspiration to be found all around you.” In your groggy state of mind, you couldn’t be bothered to probe further as to who the quote belonged to. What you did know was that you were bombarded by such inspiration. And if you weren’t in such a rush for work, that would almost be a good thing.

Despite your aspirations of being a globally sensationalized popstar, you were still (for the mean time) just a normal person. A normal person with a large Twitter following, but one nonetheless. The money you took in from streaming was chump change, and any gigs willing to hire you would only cover a month of rent on a good day.

To put the god-awful cherry on top, you were now without a label. While being signed was supposed to help you get more attention and produce better quality music, it didn’t translate into anything tangible. After one album and three EPs, your label dropped you, along with an inconceivable amount of debt that you now owed them. Briefly you’ve considered picking up another job or two to pay for it all, but you weren’t sure if it would actually help—you weren’t college educated after all.

Still, you moved on with your life and have dropped songs here and there over the past four years. They all did significantly worse than your previous stuff—having minimal promotion, poor sound mixing, and no cohesion between them. It was during this period that you met Yachi, Asahi, and Terushima, and you couldn’t be more grateful. Those three have saved your ass from total irrelevancy many times over, and often just out of the goodness of their hearts.

It does make you feel as though you’re using them sometimes. Even though you know they mean well by refusing to accept payment from you, you still hate the idea of being indebted to them like you are with your old label.

You have to remind yourself that they’re nice people who would never do that to you. Not when they know how you’re so broke, you’ve taken to learning how to produce your own music and bought your own microphone with money you’ve saved over the years. You’ve even picked up a side gig DJ-ing at a popular Tokyo club. That’s what the majority of your followers know you from, unfortunately.

Regardless, you stumble through your tiny studio apartment, opening the small storage closet you workshopped into an actual closet, curtesy of your landlord.

“Where the hell did I put it…” you mutter.

Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as you try to pick out your apron among the mass of clothes threatening to fall off their hangers. It’s no use though—the black of your apron is bound to blend in with every other item you own.

Forcing a gap with both your arms, you hurriedly make your way through each hanger, panting at the weight pressing down on your hands. If it weren’t for the clatter of flimsy metal against wood, you likely wouldn’t have realized something fell. Gaze following the noise, you feel a pitter-patter in your heart at the sight.

The men's hoodie laid dead on your dusty floor, the number 13 across the back peeling away.

Of course he would leave it here. Was this supposed to be funny to him? Some sick, twisted mind game he was playing at you with so that he can live in your head? Or was he truly just such an airhead he didn't do his due diligence in cleaning house?

You knew it was the latter, but still...the blood boiled under your skin as you picked the hoodie up with your foot and slung it across your room as best you could. You'd rather be burned by the rays of a thousand suns than relieve the day you received it.

It took another five minutes before you found your work uniform and apron, quickly ushering yourself into your bathroom to get ready. Somehow, though, it seems the universe has it out for you today—everywhere you turned you were reminded of Atsumu, for worse.

You go to make your breakfast for once? There's leftovers of his still in the fridge. You wanted to be productive and throw out the trash before you left? Too bad, a shard of a plate he broke poked out of the bag and cut you. You go to grab your house keys by the door, fed up by this insanity? There's a matching keychain hanging off of it.

Truly, the ridiculousness of it all left you winded, slamming your door behind you before jogging down your apartment stairs. You just had to leave before it all became too much. Otherwise, then next time your coworkers saw you would be a broadcast from NHK on a woman jumping off the Tokyo Skytree.

As you approach a familiar stoplight, you relax slightly knowing the little cafe you work at is just a few blocks away. The light turns red right as you near it, forcing you to stop dead in your tracks. There are a few other people standing near you, most looking down at their phones or chatting casually.

For whatever reason though, as if you were possessed, you chose against burying your face in your phone and instead looked around the mini plaza. The buildings around you were covered in various promotional art and advertisements. It was there that you locked eyes with Miya Atsumu.

"I don't see what's so special over here." You tease, a smile tugging at your lips.

The blonde besides you cries out, "What?! It's totally the best spot in all of Tokyo!"

"And why should I believe you, 'Tsumu?"

His body moves before his mouth does, pointing directly behind and above you. You turn to look, only to be met by a giant billboard of his face.

"Because I'm in it, obviously." He's clearly proud of it by how his tone vibrates, though not quite confident as his ears are a pinkish-tinge.

You're silent for a few moments. The mammoth before you should feel mocking, as if making fun at your painful normalcy. But it doesn't. By some grace of God, Miya Atsumu is able to make you feel entirely okay with being 'normal', at least for the time being.

When you turn back towards him, he seems more nervous than before. His posture is tense, eyes searching yours while expecting disapproval. It's hard not to giggle at the way his own blow wide when you smile instead.

"Well...don't get too comfortable then, because I'll be up there next."

He laughs heartily, a sound you wish to keep inside a music box—a birdcage of your own making. You stumble forward as he swings an arm around your shoulder, leaning down to your ear.

"I'd like that, doll, but only if I'm in it with you."

The light of the crosswalk turns white, and you're sure you've never walked faster in your life.

Someone must’ve slipped an edible in your drink. That, or you’re still asleep and trapped in a bad dream. A nightmare, actually—the worst nightmare of all time possibly.

Your morning was actually rather uneventful up until this point, sans a few traumatic flashbacks. You arrived to work on time with seconds to spare, quickly tying your apron around your waist and shoving your keys and phone in the pockets. Thankfully your coworkers were kind enough to not mention your frazzled state and silently worked as you assumed your position at the register.

There was an even split of new customers and regulars—a college girl who you’ve served the same iced latte since she was in high school, a woman and her child who will fall to the floor in tears over a cake pop, and a man with the prettiest eyes behind his square glasses. You don’t have the privilege of knowing his order by heart, but the smile playing on his face makes you wish you did.

As you called out another name attached to another face in the crowd, you foolishly allowed yourself to believe today would be normal. It only took a sharp chime of the bell for that to change.

“Welcome in!” You call out the words before you look up.

You can sense the person approaching the counter, stopping a liberal distance away from yourself. They seem to not know what they want or aren't that big of a talker as the only noise you hear is the calm ambiance of the cafe. A heavy feeling of suspense washes over you at once, simultaneously willing you to look up and avoid eye contact. How weird.

Finally, you lift your gaze only to wish you never had.

(Correction: You wished, rather, that you were never born. That way you wouldn't be forced to interact with a disinterested Lia Handa as she stands before you.)

It seems Fate is a cruel mistress, and you have earned her ire today. That's fine. It's cool, even. So long as you pick the right dialogue options, you'll survive this interaction and maybe won't be turned into a gossip piece afterwards. If you weren't tripping on acid before, you definitely were now.

All your worry was misplaced, however, as Lia didn't make any comments towards you. She didn't even look in your general direction for that matter—eyes flipping between the menu and her phone with as much excitement as she could muster. None, it seems.

You suppose this is more favorable than her causing a needless scene or being overly rude and demanding. Still, it irks at you either way. The woman before you, while not your number one enemy, is certainly high up on your list. She allows her fans to harass and slander you despite herself being the homewrecker, and here she is in front of you acting...normal?

No, that's not even the word for it. She's acting as though you don't exist—and you're positive that if she even bothered to treat you as a human and not a mindless capitalist slave she would realize just who you are, and suddenly she would be acting a lot different.

She looks down at the pastry cabinet without much enthusiasm, as expected. Her eyes scanned long enough for it to be awkward before she pointed at one, forcing you to lean your head over to see the one she wanted. Oh, you hated her. Even if you didn't before, you sure as do now.

Still, you take out a small bag and reach into the cabinet to pull out the pastry. It was at that moment that Lia receives a call, cutting you off from asking her how many she wanted. She flips her hair over her should with a heavy sigh, pressing answer and holding the phone up to her ear. Her voice is lighting-quick, yet drags on long enough to be grating.

"Um, ma'am?" The words burned like a poison on your tongue. You consider ripping hers out as she doesn't glance at you, asking "What?" in thinly-veiled annoyance.

"How many do you want?"

She holds up two fingers, still talking and looking down as she fishes for her wallet in her purse. You place the bag with the pastries—cutely designed cookies you saw go viral on Instagram a few days ago—on the counter, swapping it for the credit card she placed. You briefly consider stealing her card information, but she'd surely notice and be even more pissed at you if you did. You can't go around ruining your own reputation like that!

Still, you're almost impressed at how skillfully she ignores you. It's so effectively aggravating you may have to start implementing it in your own life. After all, if you dare to complain about it to anyone else, they wouldn't understand the depth of how insulting it is. Especially as you're forced to watch her walk off, pastries in hand, while you're the only one left with any residual feelings.

Digging a hand into her brown paper bag, she balances her phone between her ear and shoulder. You notice how when she speaks in English, she talks a mile and minute, and if you were a better woman you would assume that was why she was so quiet. But you’re not, and you’re convinced she’s just a bitch.

There is a slim part of your humanity that wishes to crawl out, wishing to be fair for her sake. Maybe she’s just having a bad day, or gets shy talking in public. There are lots of people who feel more confident when posting content online versus interacting in person!

But as you watch her take a bite of that cookie, the words “Taste Me!” iced in baby blue on it, and witness as she reels in disgust and quickly spits it back out…yeah, you’re feeling like a bitch. Especially when a sentence pops into your head, as if sent down in the form of a prophecy by some higher being:

“You’ll just have to taste me when he’s kissing you.”

BLIND ITEMS! —

## this foreign-born beauty influencer was spotted at a cafe this morning trying pastries. however, from her cold demeanor towards staff to her loud talking on a not-so-important seeming phone call, it seems she lacks basic manners. the cherry on top is, of course, when she spit out her food as soon as she took a bite, right in front of the cashier. [revealed: lia handa]

## the self-proclaimed better-twin athlete seems to be living out his final bachelor days. he was caught making out with a fan at a party before downing way too many drinks to be sexy. he then proceeded to make a drunken fool of himself, much to the discomfort of everyone else. [revealed: miya atsumu]

sera_pent. NOOOOO NOT MY FAVS

kelpkelp. y is any1 surprised? lol — justagirl. ikr, as if they haven't been on an off since forever

elmosupremecy. heartless influencers being heartless influencers, shocking ! — leobaby. right, like ofc your fav is awful, they're fucking famous — garagoesgaga. as if your fav is better, yet you worship the ground she walks on — elmosupremecy. does y/n just live in your head rent free? literally get a life LMAO

read more...

NOTES! —

Hello, hello! Another day, another late post and a fundraiser. In memorial of the tragedy at Appalachian High School earlier today, our fundraiser is the Sandy Hook Promise. The Sandy Hook Promise Organization is dedicated to fighting against school-based gun violence and protecting children. You don't have to donate money to support their cause, as there are many volunteer and advocacy opportunities available to make the voices demanding meaningful change against gun violence heard. For more information on the Organization, you can visit their website here and directly donate to their cause here.

It’s come to my attention that in all my notes, I appear to be a serial yapper…I was going to make this one shorter but I changed my mind, so too bad! Anyways, this chapter was very cathartic to write LOL. I, too, was cheated on in the not-so-distant past (aka 2 years ago), but I still feel the effects of it every now and then. To me, it felt exactly as I described it within Y/N, so I hope it resonates with someone else!

Anyways, I fear the last chapter was a flop…at least in my books LOL. I promise I’m not trying to rush through anything—Y/N being insecure is not a plot point of this story, so think of her lowest low as a fruitful beginning! Hence the title LOL. Besides, I think writing text convos is my least developed skill—I’m much more in my element writing full paragraphs, which is saying something since this chapter is pretty janky at parts. So! This is a very convoluted way to say that i changed some of the screenshots towards the end of last chapter, so go back and read that if you want back in on the loop! It's nothing too serious (I think) but just some minor things. I might also change Asahi's thoughts on Y/N but likely not, since it's not really meant to be an 'accurate' reflection of her character, just how he sees her yk.

PREV + MASTERLIST + NEXT

© all rights reserved—edelfie (2024) // do not plagiarize, modify, copy, use, translate, or repost my work on other sites without permission

[the-leegend-99]

There's a reason this site sucks and is so profoundly hateable sometimes.

The reason is that since it's the nerd site (beaten out only by Reddit bc its r/topic function allows people to geek out to the max in one specific subject and build forums), where people dedicate essay-length blog posts to contrast (or compound) each other's interpretation of your favorite fictional characters through the most minute lore analysis possible, going "um actually" with all the casualness allowed by such a free reblog feature. And where is it used most of all? Why, to explain away absurdly mediocre or outright bad stuff like the Star Wars Prequels into being "Secretly Good™️" because let's face it, the alienation of living and working into capitalist society has stunted most of us (mostly us Westerners who get to enjoy the full breadth of consumerism) into needing to preserve their childhood security blankets. Of course, sometimes it's not that. Sometimes it's media analysis that wants to have a point and is actually done with more of a grain of salts. But most times, it is that. And sometimes it's cute, most times it doesn't involve the usual BS of manchild fannish behavior as Reddit does (probably bc there's a lot less cishet men).

But then some people here will apply that same mentality and behavior of politics.

And no, you just can't "um actually" your way of rightly being called a genocide and fascism enabler for supporting Kamala Harris and Tim Walz. Applying character arcs and lore to reality is brainrot. Yes, friend, I know that their hands are tied by the system. They made the choice to try and become top dog in it, nobody was expecting them not to comply in its basest crimes against humanity. But then you twist yourselves into hoops trying to rationalize the crumbs they throw at us to keep us content and not threaten their power, or better yet the system of exploitation they profit from, into actual progress. You try to rationalize them into being "Secretly Good™️" when they are the fullest representation of the banality of evil.

Sure, in doing so, you show more argumentative capabilities than Taylor Swift fans, but let's face it, it's not much of a compliment. All those Swifties, Beehives, Lil Nas X or Charli xcx fans who haven't taken their favorite celeb/artist to task for supporting the genocide, they cheer for these genocidal criminals because they've got far less awareness, and superficial diversity appeals to them. I'm not gonna go into who's more starved for crumbs from the master's table between them and you because it's not useful to this dissection. The actual difference is that they've formed a parasocial relationship with the *person*, with the celebrity, while you've formed a parasocial relationship with the *story*.

And you have to hammer the story into making sense, into being good, don't you? Because deep down, you're more aware. Deep down, you know it's wrong, you know that what's happening is wrong, bur you don't want to bring yourself to believe they've been stringing you along, asking you to be an accomplice. You want to explain your way out of letting this realization settle in, because if it does, then you are an accomplice.

Well you are, until you start doing something about it in the real world. Until you join protests, until you join working-class, anti-capitalist, anti-Zionist organizations fighting to overturn this system and build a better one instead.

And sure, that's a big jump, out of the realm of "permissibility", of "respectability", and it's scary. But maturity is having the courage to do the things that scare you the most, because you've analyzed them and realized that they're the ones that bring about the most material good for you and everybody. And everybody can reach that maturity. You, too, can be brave.

[rederiswrites]

Menus, Oct. 23-30

Several people were open to seeing my menu planning, and it's something I enjoy doing well, so here we go!

Notes: My dishes can all be gluten free (they are, for us) by using gf pasta (we like Rummo brand gf noodles and Tinkyada are good too). Otherwise, we're pretty generally low carb and most things are from scratch, but typically pretty simple. Most of these rely on root vegetables or beans for their carbohydrates.

Feta tomato pasta and sausage --This was viral on Instagram a while back, and I decided to try it. Now my daughter requests it pretty often. I don't make it quite like the original--mostly, I add some zucchini, double the feta, and add a bunch of Italian seasoning. This link is pretty much the same thing. They add shallots, which does sound lovely but costs a bit extra. I cooked some sausage with the meal because I didn't want to load up on pasta, personally, as I'm still staying very low carb.

"Bowl of the Wife of Kit Carson"--modified caldo tlalpeño--Pity poor Maria Carson, whose indigenous name I can't even learn, now remembered by her husband's name. That aside, it's a family favorite. We make it with the entire can of chiles in adobo, but that's a family preference. The avocados are pretty much the vegetable in this one so uhh...have plenty. I make the rice separate, both because that way you can vary it depending on your spice tolerance and because that way the rice doesn't suck up all the soup for leftovers.

Roast whole chicken, roasted mixed root vegetables, and garlicky kale. I basted the chicken with avocado oil (expensive but healthy; feel free to sub cheaper vegetable oil), seasoned it with a Penzey's mix I like called Ozark Seasoning, and stuffed it with rosemary, onions, and garlic. The root vegetables can be whatever; mine were yellow beets (slightly less "earthy" tasting than red, which might be more appealing to some), rutabaga, and carrots. Salt, pepper, and garlic powder is enough, seasoning-wise. And the kale, I blanch and then saute with a LOT of garlic.

Garlic parmesan white beans, brussels sprouts, and Gujerati carrot salad. I've not made the beans yet; they'll be a new dish for us. Sound great, though, and I'm trying to learn more meatless dishes generally and bean dishes specifically. We like to halve or quarter our brussels sprouts, depending on size, steam them, and then eat them with sour cream. And the carrot salad is a longstanding family favorite, which I got from my well worn copy of Madhur Jaffrey's Indian Cooking. This is almost the same recipe, but I don't add cayenne, and I wouldn't use olive oil, since it has such a low smoke point. I'd use peanut or canola or something. It's not spicy or "exotic" tasting, and it's been well-received at potlucks.

Pot Roast. There's no point giving a recipe for this one; just pick one that looks good to you. Just include lots of good veggies. I like carrots, onions, potatoes, and parsnips. It's fun to add a bag of frozen pearl onions, and I like frozen peas put in at the very end of cooking.

Tuna salad. I eat it over lettuce, the others eat it as a sandwich. Dinner for a tired night. My tuna salad is made with well-drained chunk light (in water), finely diced celery, finely diced green salad olives, salt, pepper, and mayo to bind. My family really likes the olives so I go heavy and also use a little of the jar liquid as a salt stand-in.

Deviled eggs and raw veggies with hummus. Another phone-in meal, or it would be if I didn't find making deviled eggs such a hassle. We all love them, but I have some inexplicable personal antipathy for how long they take to make. ANYWAY, my deviled eggs are the bestest, and you will not think so if you eat yours southern-style with (shudder) "salad dressing" instead of mayo, or sweet relish. No, mine are made with salt, pepper, mayo, and lots of finely minced green salad olives, and topped with paprika, preferably sharp paprika.

Pork tenderloin, frozen corn, and stewed apples and quince. Aren't we just POSH? Jacob got me a quince to try at the farmer's market. It's uh...well pretty much I guess it's like a rock-hard and fairly tart apple, with the granular texture of an Asian pear. They're generally eaten cooked, which is why I decided to stew it mixed with apples. So I just sliced the apples and the quince up fine (just leave out the quince if you don't have it which you probably don't, and maybe add a dash of lemon juice instead), simmered them in a couple tablespoons of apple cider (or juice; we had cider), and threw in a teaspoon of pie seasoning, a fistful of dried cranberries (the recipe called for raisins) and very approximately a tablespoon of allulose syrup. Obviously you could just use sugar instead. I topped mine with pecans and it was so so good. Oh, and also the pork: Usually two tenderloins come in a pack of tenderloins, so I put a different seasoning on each just for fun. Various blends. Lemon pepper and Montreal Steak Seasoning are favorites, but tonight I opened an unlabeled container in the pantry and discovered that it was rosemary salt the bestie made and left here, so I mashed it up with some garlic and put that on one, and did bbq rub on the other. The frozen corn....is frozen corn. Except, you know, microwaved.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Event: Campfire antics: Floyd (of course): let's go romantic maybe?

Sorry if I messed 5his up my brain go vrr rn

Campfire Antics; Floyd Leech

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, some soft Floyd

Word Count; 700+

AN; I hope you enjoy your eel (and congrats on the wedding). Decided to go a lil ham on the romance aspect (kissing, you smooch an eel). As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

The crackling of wood burning and the crashing of the ocean waves filled the night air. The blue and purple flames of the salt-saturated wood lit the campsite in a gentle glow. You and Floyd sat near the fire, Floyd propping his long legs on your lap, stretching them out, all while stuffing his face with marshmallows.

“How many does that make,” you asked, laughing at how stuffed his cheeks had gotten. Honestly, how had he not choked yet?

He moved his mouth but all that came out of his mouth was incoherent mumbling. He instead flashed his hands twice; he had twenty marshmallows crammed into his mouth somehow. He waggled his eyebrows at you, spat out a few marshmallows and gave you a big toothy grin. “I win the bet, Shrimpy! You said that I couldn’t fit twenty of those marshmallows in my mouth, an’ that was twenty-one!~”

“Actually I believe it was ‘you’re a hazard to society and a coward, do twenty,” you quipped back, looking softly at Floyd. “But you’re my hazard to society. What do ya want your prize to be then?”

Floyd flicked a half-eaten marshmallow at you, snickering. “Hmm, how about you close your eyes and I’ll surprise you with something?~” There was some sort of emotion swimming in his eyes, but you couldn’t tell what it was.

You closed your eyes, waiting for this surprise. You felt Floyd remove his legs from your lap, and the shifting of sand.

“M’kay, Shrimpy, ya can open your eyes now!” Floyd called excitedly, coming from a bit from your right.

You opened your eyes and Floyd was gone from the fire, but you saw the faintest hints of light blue light coming from the rather large tide pool the two of you had decided to make your fire next to. And in the tide pool was Floyd in his merform, glowing due to his bioluminenscene. All of the blue light from both him and the fire made his yellow eye shine, and everything about him was captivating. He waved you over, beckoning for you to get closer.

You got to the edge of the tide pool and Floyd swimmed up and placed a kiss to your nose. “Surprise!~” He shot you a wink before placing another kiss to your lips. 

You laughed. “So that was your plan-”

He shot up and dragged you into the tide pool. “Gotcha! Hehehehe, that was my surprise!” He wrapped himself around you, gentle though.

You spat out water at him, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Floyd helped you get out of the water and leaned on the edge of the tide pool. “Hmm,” he hummed to himself thinking. His eyes lit up and he dragged himself out of the water, still in his merform, and plopped himself in your lap. “I’m lucky that ya like me, Shrimpy.” He leaned his head back and smiled up at you. “I’m lucky that I have you.”

All of the joking was gone, Floyd was serious. And he was looking up at your face, which was illuminated softly by the campfire. He sighed and rolled back over to the tide pool, since he didn’t want to dry out. But instead of drying off by the fire you scooted over the edge, and placed your legs in.

Floyd swam over and propped himself up on your lap again. “Shrimpy?”

It’s not like we haven’t kissed before… And you captured his lips with yours. But it wasn’t soft like the previous ones, it conveyed all of the love in both your hearts and everything left unsaid. You pulled back first, sucking in large lung fulls of air. “I love you,” you stare into his eyes, seeing the blue flame from the campfire dance in them. 

He looked at you with lovestruck eyes, and crushed you into a tight hug, curling his tail around your legs. “I love you more, Shrimpy.”

Getting dry can wait for later, for now, nothing but enjoying this brief summer getaway mattered more. This perfect moment in time. And to think, this evolved from him trying to beat his personal best at the Fluffy Bunny challenge and wanting to try some s'mores with you.

[lilypadlys]

Kinktober Day Eighteen: Blindfolds and Monster Fucking

Ship: Rain/Phantom

Notes: This one definitely got out of hand but it was so much fun and I don’t care. Thank you to everyone ever who has written or drawn Rain with a tentacle. I fear I am stealing all of your wonderful ideas. Prompt list by @kroas-adtam. Prompt list here

Tags: light bondage, plugs, vibrators, blindfolds, monster fucking, tentacles, frottage, anal sex, he/him Rain, clit and tentacle for what he’s working with

Word Count: 1,577

Read on AO3 or below the cut

Phantom shivers in his binds; anticipation consuming him. Rain binding his wrists above his head with that pretty red ribbon had his dick fattening up nicely. The water ghoul’s nimble fingers working him open for the plug had made sure even less blood was left in the quint’s head. Phantom had taken pause however when the blindfold slipped over his eyes.

Phantom delights in the sight of it all. The bouncing of breasts, filling out of cocks, veined or manicured hands circling around his dick or better yet his throat. The well satisfied look in a partner’s eyes after they’ve both cum. Not being able to see all of that is new for him.

Rain had gently coaxed him into giving it a shot though.

“Still doing good?”

“Mm hm. I’m green.” Phantom said, feeling a little strange speaking into the darkness.

“Let me know the second that changes.”

“I will.”

He feels Rain pet his hair and it causes him to shudder. Somehow the unexpectedness of the contact makes him feel suddenly more sensitive. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it though as Rain’s mouth is suddenly on him, tongue licking at his closed lips. Phantom lets him in of course and Rain captures him in a deep kiss that has their tongues tangling together. The smell of petrichor and salt fills his senses. Phantom relaxes into the familiar scent, knowing he’s safe with Rain.

Rain eventually pulls away to let Phantom breathe and instead occupies his mouth with pressing kisses down the side of the quint's neck. Phantom turns his head to grant Rain access and hums in enjoyment when the water ghoul nips and sucks at that sensitive spot behind his ear.

“Mmm, feels good.”

“Yeah? Like when I mark you up a little?”

When Phantom nods, Rain sets to work sucking another mark lower on the column of his throat.

“There. A few little souvenirs. Ready for the next part?”

“Yes please.”

“Okay. I have to get up to go grab the remote. I promise I’m going to be right back, okay?”

“Kay.”

Phantom feels the mattress shift under him as Rain indeed gets up. The water ghoul is sure to telegraph his movements by dragging his feet on the carpet as he retrieves the remote for the vibrating plug. Then as promised, he feels Rain settle in next to him again.

“Still feeling good?”

“Mm hm.”

“I’m going to turn the vibe on now. Just breathe for me.“

Even knowing it’s coming, Phantom still flinches when the vibe whirs to life. The pleasant fullness had been nice and the subtle vibrations even better. Still…

“Can you, uh…adjust the vibe please? It’s not at the right angle.”

“Of course sweetheart. Thank you for letting me know.” Rain pats his hip and does just that, angling the plug via the base until Phantom squeaks in pleasure.

“Right there!”

“Perfect. Want you to feel really good. Going to turn it up a setting now. We’ll leave it there for a bit, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

The vibrations amp up and with the plug now properly positioned, so does Phantom’s pleasure. It’s still not enough to get him anywhere significant but the gentle buzzing against his prostate does have his cock beginning to leak. Rain swipes a finger over the head to catch the first bead of pre and swirls it around the tip. When Phantom lets out a pleased groan, Rain praises him for it,

“There you go. Just like that. Let me know how good it feels.”

Rain goes back to working him over. Starting at Phantom’s chest and working down, he leaves a trail of soft kisses and love bites. He takes immense pleasure in the little gasps and churrs Phantom makes with each one. When he gets down to the quint’s hips, Rain licks teasingly at the crease of his hip before giving the tip of his cock a little kiss. It has Phantom’s hips bucking up and Rain chuckles.

“Please do that again!”

On any other night, Rain might be a little mean and refuse. Make Phantom beg a little. Tonight though he decides to treat him. Wasting no time, he repeats the motion, this time adding a few flicks of his tongue over the slit.

Phantom’s pleased whine makes it more than worth it.

“O-ohh yeah. Like that.”

Rain leans over the quint to whisper in his ear. “I know what would make you feel even better.” He says it almost conspiratorially and Phantom can hear the grin in his voice. Rain’s lips brush against his ear and Phantom can’t help an involuntary shudder.

“Y-yeah?”

“Mmm hmm. She’s itching to play with you too.”

“Ohhh! Really?” Phantom would look at Rain in surprise and excitement if it weren't for the blindfold.

His packmates (Swiss) have no qualms about kissing and telling about their escapades. Phantom had found himself popping one just at Swiss’ description of Rain’s tentacle. A swirl of blue and purple flesh lined with suction cups along the bottom ridge; somehow capable of moving independently of her owner. Phantom has gotten off more than once to the sound of Rain fucking someone in the next room and the mental image of his unusual appendage. He’s yet to get a chance for a proper introduction until now though.

“Would you like to meet her?”

“Please yes!”

Phantom replies perhaps a touch too quickly and eagerly but Rain doesn’t mind. Instead, he shimmies his shorts and boxers down and off. He reaches for Phantom’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Want to help bring her out?”

“Can I?”

Rain unties Phantom’s wrists but leaves the blindfold on. He brings the quint's hand to him, directing him to the little membrane covered ring of flesh above his clit.

“Rub right here. Yeah like that.” It’s Rain’s turn to sigh appreciatively as Phantom gently, almost timidly, rubs a single finger over the spot.

Phantom jumps as he feels something, no her, brush against the inner wall of the spot. Then the membrane is thinning and receding. Suddenly the beginnings of a curved appendage are sliding out and wrapping around his hand. He gives her a gentle squeeze and she reciprocates by latching her suction cups to him and squeezing back. Rain moans and it pulls Phantom back to the moment.

“She-ohh-seems to like you. Came out real fast.”

“R-really?”

“Mm hm. Wants to play. Still okay with that?”

“Yeah!”

Phantom reluctantly lets go as she unlatches herself. Rain moves to kneel between Phantom’s spread legs. He’s not quite sure what to expect but then Rain’s hands are planted on his thighs. She’s wrapping herself around his dick and starting to jack him and oh does it feel amazing. Much different than a hand. She’s cool and slick but the grip of her suckers makes up for the limited friction. She’s strong too; gripping and squeezing him as she moves up and down. Phantom can’t help but mewl in pleasure as she teases at his slit with her own tip, and Rain chuckles.

“Having fun?”

Oh is he. Everything is so much. The hum of the plug, the slide of Rain’s tentacle over his cock, the way she teases at him with her suckers. Phantom’s grips at the sheets and squeezes his eyes shut even while still blindfolded. He’s grateful for it now because he’s sure he’d come just from the sight of Rain’s tentacle wrapped around his cock.

He can’t contain a yelp when Rain grips the base of the plug and waggles it. The motion shoves it that much deeper and Phantom can’t control the twitching of his hips, but then the plug is gone. The quint whines at the sudden emptiness.

“Rain? What’s-”

“Shh love.” Rain’s lips are at his ear again even as his tentacle still squeezes at his cock. “The plug did its job working you open. Now she wants inside.”

Phantom feels his cheeks flush hot as he begins to brokenly plead Rain to get her inside him already.

“Oh Satan please Rain I need her oh please let me-”

Rain shushes him again, this time with a kiss. As he does, she unwinds herself from Phantom’s cock all on her own. She snakes her way downwards as Rain and Phantom break away. Phantom’s first inhale turns to a sharp gasp as she slips inside effortlessly.

“O-oh ohhh!” Phantom blindly paws at Rain. At first blush, she’s not too different from a normal cock. Maybe just a bit cooler. But then she starts to ripple and pull herself deeper with her suction cups. “Ahhh…f-fuck. Sh-it!”

“That’s it. Mmmm, you're taking her so well.” Rain coos soothingly, petting the quint’s side. At least Rain sounds affected as well. Phantom’s not sure what he would do if Rain seemed unfazed by all of this.

If Phantom can be considered to have any control left by this point he loses it all when she begins to toy with his prostate. His pretty moan is evidence enough of how good it is. When Rain gets a hand on his cock though, his moan turns to a howl.

“Hey, it's okay. I’ve got you.” Rain coaxes all the while continuing to stroke him. “She wants to feel you come around her. You wanna show her how good she makes you feel?”

“Uh huh.” Phantom nods breathlessly.

“Go on then. Let her make you come.”

Phantom is thrilled to do just that.

[markantonys]

WoT Up had a new video which is of course take it with a grain of salt as with most of his videos however this one was super interesting. It's about the Choedan Kal and how supposedly in the show they're getting renamed to Sarkanen (which is a sa'angreal Demandred uses in River of Souls I guess?) and in s3, Moiraine finds one of them in Rhuidean and is sucked into using it outside of her control.

Which sounds very interesting but of course there's the Rand stans who are like "Here they go again taking things away from Rand and giving them to other characters!" Rand doesn't even use the Choedan Kal til Winter's Heart. Like calm down lol

Plus I definitely feel like like this will would be to show/foreshadow for the audience that they're dangerous to use for whenever they do the Cleansing. And even getting into the differences between Saidar and Saidin?

re: the name change. To avoid people on the show saying "chode" is my guess. Which is a slang term I didn't even know about until today 😂

thank you for bringing me the TLDR so i don't have to watch a 10-minute video for 2 sentences of "news" haha when it comes to WoT Up i'm taking it with a bucket of salt rather than just a grain, but that aside, let's engage with this hypothetical show change!

name change: no issue for me! lmao it's very true that the show might change some terms here and there to avoid running into slang that has developed in the time since the books came out. no discussions of the dark one's taint here!

if those rand stans had their way, he would be the only character in the entire show. yes moirane is likely transitioning into a more supporting role in s3 (just as she was less in the spotlight in s2 compared to s1), but she's still a main character and needs something to do besides just hanging around in the background giving rand advice. us getting to actually witness moiraine's rhuidean trip onscreen feels like a no-brainer, and her having a mini-adventure with a dangerous sa'angreal is a neat idea for giving her a good story beat! AND in doing so we get a preview of how dangerous sa'angreal can be for even a channeler as disciplined and highly trained as moiraine, which would be very useful for us to see. it's important to set up stakes & risks early on so that the audience will already be conscious of them when the time comes to challenge those stakes and take those risks!

and there's no reason for rand to already start acquiring a whole hoard of Surprise Tools To Help Us Later that he won't use for 3 more seasons lmao i'd entirely forgotten rhuidean even was where he got the choedan kal until it started coming up in s3 speculation discussions, because it's sooooo far removed from when he actually starts using them. and same for callandor ofc, where just because he didn't get it pre-waste doesn't mean it's cut from the show, maybe he's just going to get it later closer to when he actually needs it (i'd be surprised if the stone is cut since it was foreshadowed twice in s1, but i don't have a strong sense either way about callandor itself just yet).

i really like @butterflydm's idea that maybe callandor could be the only super-powerful male sa'angreal in the show, and rand's Dark Power Temptation is instead the true power rather than supernova levels of saidin via the choedan kal. so in this theory, maybe moiraine picks up the one and only super-powerful female sa'angreal in rhuidean which nynaeve eventually uses for the cleansing, and rand gets the one and only super-powerful male sa'angreal from the stone at a later date. now we're all geared up for the cleansing, we still get the "saidin & saidar teamwork" theme even if the 2 cleansing sa'angreal aren't twins of each other, callandor could still have its flaw but they could reason that it doesn't come into play in the cleansing since he's linked with a saidar channeler (ik it has to be 2 saidar channelers in the book version but we can finagle that) and oh, then that actually sets up a method for them to be able to figure out how to use callandor properly that isn't just "min, who has 0 knowledge of angreal or the power, supposedly figured it out offscreen from reading the wikipedia article on philosophy" haha if rand already did use it successfully once, it would be doable for min or whoever to compare his successful & unsuccessful uses and determine what the deciding factor is.

although maybe there's still a male sarkanen too in the show and rand finds it later in a different location! plenty of possibilities.

re: the differences between saidar and saidin, the show has already very clearly shown how different the channeling experience is for men and women and very clearly established that they are using 2 different halves of the one power. and it's done all this just using generic terms like "the male/female half of the source" to make it easier for show-onlys to learn and understand the magic system. so it's now well-positioned to start dropping in the official terminology saidar and saidin now that show-onlys are very solid on the gender-based magic system and will be less at risk for mixing up two very similar fantasy jargon words (i know it took ME a while to keep straight which was which of saidar & saidin when i started the books, and keeping track of fantasy jargon is even harder in an auditory medium imo). but even if they don't ever use the words saidar & saidin, i will not gaf because the show is so clearly following the book magic system and explaining it accurately to viewers even if it doesn't use the specific fantasy jargon terms for it.

i saw somebody say that cutting the pool of saidin at the eye was yet another example of the show diminishing the importance of rand & male channelers, and i was like...........the pool of saidin? the pool of saidin that is never seen or mentioned again after book 1? the pool of saidin that i'd argue doesn't even fit with the magic system RJ later established more firmly since i don't think it should be possible for there to exist a physical pool of tangible one power? THAT pool of saidin? lmao some people are just being so insane about the show ~diminishing rand~ and ~propping up women~

it always reminds me of that workplace study that found that when men & women each talk for 50% of the time in a meeting, the majority perception is that women dominated the conversation, whereas the perception of an equal conversation was one where men spoke for the majority and women the minority (i forget the exact percentages). this is kinda what we're seeing in the book-to-show translation. in my opinion, in the books, men dominated but the narrative purported it as men & women being equal and readers think so too (some even claim book!randland is a matriarchy which is absolutely laughable), whereas the show is trying to make it actually 50/50 and this is causing the perception that women are dominating and rand is getting shafted. i am now going to make this post unrebloggable because every time i state my personal opinion about the books not being perfectly feminist 100% of the time, somebody inevitably tries to come in and peer-review my personal opinion and booksplain to me how my personal opinion is incorrect lmao (@ everybody who insisted to my early-reader self that i was wrong to be mad about the girls not being ta'veren in the books and that it is actually anti-feminist & agency-reducing for them to be ta'veren in the show and i would understand that once i read farther - guess what, i read all the books and it did not change my opinion by a single iota!)

[clover-baby]

Anxiety agere Headcanons

THIS IS PURELY SFW. ANY NSFW INTERACTIONS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Note: I HC all of the emotions as purely sfw in everything they do, since Riley is literally a kid. Even when it comes to shipping, nothing over PG is even considered. This includes CG/regressor relationships! Any nsfw comments or suggestions are not allowed in any shape form or fashion

Ok on to Headcanons!!!

- Anxiety regresses involuntarily. She gets too overwhelmed, too freaked out, then bam — drop.

- The first time it happens, no one but Sadness really understands what’s going on. It’s a little while after Riley’s anxiety attack; right after they finish the game. Anxiety is curled up in the corner when Sadness notices her crying and goes over to her. She notices Anxiety sucking her thumb and, knowing the mind manuals front to back, she gets it immediately.

- After that, she explains it to Joy and the others — how emotions can regress, just like people can, in response to intense stress or trauma. Because Anxiety is little, it means Riley must regress too, she just hasn’t discovered it yet.

- The others wonder if they regress, too, but eventually it’s discovered that because Riley only regresses due to anxiety, Anxiety is the only regressor among them. Or the other way around, w/e

- Anxiety uses a paci when she’s regressed! She chews and sucks for comfort, so a paci is a great tool to keep her from hurting herself when she’s small

- Joy is her main caregiver, but all of the emotions help out — Ennui is, surprisingly, amazing at caretaking

- Anxiety (and thus Riley) regress to about 0-2! She’s very little, often too little to even sit up so she just rolls around. (If emotions have bathroom needs, then she needs to be padded during regression to avoid accidents. But idk if emotions go potty or not, so take this with a grain of salt)

- Anxiety often regresses when she has anxiety attacks or gets too freaked out while piloting, meaning her regression and therefore Riley’s regression are regularly “impure” (meaning experiencing things like tantrums and sad or angry emotions while regressed. NOTE nothing about impure regression is bad or shameful! It’s just a way to describe how it feels and there is nothing wrong with any kind of sfw regression). Joy will step in and copilot when things get too messy, which usually looks like holding Anxiety and calming her down while they press buttons and levers together. This makes Rileys regression pivot back to pure, and helps Anxiety’s regression become pure too!

- Anxiety likes to hold Fear’a teddy bear when she’s small!

- Joy will sit in Anxiety’s special chair with Anxiety in her lap and read her stories. They fall asleep there together all the time, all snuggled up

- She loooooves nicknames and praise when small! Baby girl and sweet baby are her favorites. They make her giggle and kick her little feet.

- girlie is a hair puller. Joy will wander around and pilot with Anxiety on her hip if she regresses during waking hours, and will constantly get her short hair yanked

- baby babbles!!!!! Anxiety loooooves to talk, but she’s too little to make real words. Joy loves to talk back! “Oh, really?” “Ababababa!” “You don’t say!”

- Anxiety has lots of tantrums, especially if she doesn’t get enough sleep. She’ll throw things and hit and bite until someone can bounce her or snuggle her or pop a paci in her mouth.

- speaking of sleep, lack of it can trigger regression, too. If Riley stays up too late, or if Anxiety stays up too late, the two will drop much more often and suddenly.

- once, Anxiety was piloting during a Spanish test they had pulled an all-nighter to study for and they couldn’t remember a word. Anxiety began to panic and dropped before anyone could step in, meaning Riley started to slip, too. Sadness got to the controls before she slipped fully and got Riley to go to the bathroom instead of regressing in front of her peers.

- Riley only regresses if regressed Anxiety is piloting. That being said, the others don’t always step in when that’s happening — Riley needs to regress sometimes, just like Anxiety does. They only take Anxiety away from the control panel if it’s dangerous (usually socially dangerous) for Riley to regress right then.

- going off of that, Just because Anxiety is small doesn’t mean Riley is small. They’re only both small if Anxiety is piloting and slips.

- so sometimes the others will take over piloting so Joy can tend to little Anxiety

Tell me if you want a part 2!!!!

[violentlyviolettripledecker]

A thirsty little snippet

This fic isn't ready to be read in its entirety yet, but I'm going to post this excerpt.

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x OFC

Word Count: 779 words

Tags: Established(ish) relationship, vaginal fingering, cum tasting

Explicit content under the cut!

“Hello, miss,” he said, and kissed below her ear. “Did you sleep well in my bed?”

She giggled. “Yes. It’s a very nice bed. I had lovely dreams.”

He cupped her breast in one hand and felt a gut-punch of lust when she gasped. He rolled her nipple between thumb and forefinger until she was pushing back against him, her breath high and shaky. He pulled her even closer and sent his hand beneath the covers, up and under her skirt, her warm bare thigh the best thing his fingers had ever touched. He gave her a short little slap, to make noise not pain, and she gasped again. “Open up for me,” he said.

She did, the obedient little thing. What commands could he give and watch her willingly oblige?

He put his leg beneath hers, propping her open, and dipped his fingers between her lower lips. It would be so fucking easy to pull her back and put her on his aching cock, but instead he swept his fingers up to her clit. Fuck, he’d never wanted to see a naked body so badly, it made him feel a bit mad wondering what color her little pearl was, her dripping folds, the soft curls that kept it all secret and warm.

She rolled her hips up and into his hand, then her round arse ground back against his thigh, his cock against her back.

He looked at her face, setting his pace and movements to her sighs and gasps. She kept her eyes shut, unaware he was watching. He closed his eyes too, the better to savor what he was feeling.

Her gasps and sighs went straight through him and danced along his cock like too-light fingers. The desire to plunge into something unforgivingly hot and tight became a high, whining desperation, so he opened his eyes again and saw Edna watching him.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he said and kissed her. It was sloppy and wet, both of them distracted by his working fingers.

In a quiet, high whisper, she said, “Oh, that feels so good, Alfie. Your fingers… Your fingers feel so good.” She broke off into a whine and one of her hands wrapped around his wrist, not asking him to stop, but keeping his hand where it was.

She closed her eyes again. He could feel her stomach muscles going tense, her leg on top of his drew downward. He pressed back with his leg, keeping her open to him.

“Are you going to come, hm? Make a mess of my sheets?”

She clapped a hand over her own mouth, sending a bolt of bloodred lust right through him. She moaned into her palm as her eyes rolled back. Her hips spasmed. His cock leaked freely by the time she opened her eyes again.

Forgetting her relative inexperience, intent only on his own fucking pleasure, he raised his glistening fingers to his mouth and sucked off her juices. Some salt from her sweat, but mostly she was tangy, a little sweet. He opened his eyes to her shining and shocked dark eyes.

“Never fucking been tasted, eh?”

She shook her head. “What… What do I taste like?”

“Forbidden fucking fruit, you little minx.” He swept his fingers through her soaking folds again and held his fingers above her lips. “Go on,” he said, resisting the urge to just stick his fingers in her mouth.

She opened her lips and closed her mouth around his fingers. His cock twitched. “Oh,” she said, opening her eyes. “It’s different than I thought,” she said, and he didn’t rightly know what that meant, but if he didn’t come soon he was going to be a right terrible person to be around.

“Fucking hell. I’ve got to go. Give me a kiss first.”

She turned her head and he lowered his until their lips met. He could just roll on top of her, rut against her a few times and come all over her tits. He broke the kiss and took his leg out from between hers.

“You should go back to sleep. I’m off to the office.” He stood up, his muscles like a cramp around the hard root of his cock. “I’ll take Cyril wif me, you and the rat can have the whole house.”

“It’s Sunday,” she whined. “Why do you have to work?”

He smiled. “Bakery’s open seven days a week. No more whinging sweetheart, or I’ll give you something to moan about.”

As he thought she would, she blushed and smiled and generally looked like a woman who’d spend the night getting thoroughly fucked.

He had a terrible feeling he was fucking everything up.

---

If you liked this, you might like Water and Earth a Tommy Shelby x OFC I'm writing on AO3.

Edited 10/31 to add: This work is now being posted on AO3! If you like this, you can currently read chapters 1-8 of Monkey Puzzle Tree here!