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pitlanepeach · 1 month ago

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The Long Way Home I Chapter Two

Oscar Piastri x Harper Grace (OFC)

Summary — When Harper, a kind girl with a guarded heart, meets rising karting star Oscar Piastri at their English boarding school, sparks fly.

It only takes one silly moment of teenaged love for their lives to change forever.

Warnings — Teenage love, growing up together, falling in love, teen pregnancy, no explicit scenes when the characters are underaged (obviously??), strong language, manipulative parents, past death of a parent, dyscalculia, hardly any angst, slice-of-life basically!

Notes — Eek, are we soft for them already?

Wattpad Link | Series Masterlist

Maths was a unique kind of enemy.

Harper stared at the page, where a tangle of numbers mocked her in perfect, immovable silence. Quadratic equations. Graphs that looked like abstract art. Somewhere in her notes, her own handwriting had turned against her.

Jane was no help. "Look, I'd love to assist, but I operate strictly in the humanities. You want me to write an essay on why algebra is a metaphor for emotional repression? I got you. Solve for x? That's between x and God."

Harper sighed, banging her forehead on the desk.

Which is exactly how Oscar found her after his endurance run, still in his hoodie, hair damp and cheeks pink from the cold.

"You okay?" He asked.

"No," she mumbled into the table. "I'm dying. Death by numbers."

He peered over her shoulder. "Those are easy."

She raised her head and narrowed her eyes. "You would say that." She glared at him.

Oscar laughed and slid into the seat beside her. "Alright. Come on. I'll show you."

At first, it was just him. Patient, steady, explaining with short, clipped phrases and pencil taps. She wasn't sure if it was his teaching style or just the fact that he wasn't condescending that made it slowly start to make sense.

But by the next evening, word had gotten out.

Somehow.

The dorm common room turned into a weirdly specific academic support group. Oscar's roommate Sam pulled up a chair. Then Cal (Oscar’s engineer) FaceTimed in "for moral support"; and then casually mentioned that he has a masters degree in quantum physics.

Then two boys from Oscar's algebra class wandered over with snacks and just so happened to linger.

By the third night, someone had drawn up a "Harper's Maths Survival Schedule" and taped it to the common room door.

It read:

Monday: Oscar Tuesday: Sam Wednesday: Oscar Thursday: Alfie Friday: Matt

Harper laughed so hard when she saw it, she nearly cried.

And weirdly, somehow — it helped.

Not just the maths—but everything. The pressure. The loneliness. The constant feeling that she was a visitor in someone else's life. Here, she wasn't her mother's daughter, or the less-than-perfect student, or a problem to be fixed.

She was just Harper. And they liked her enough to stick around and actually put effort into helping her get better at maths.

One night, after everyone else had trickled off, Oscar hung around a little longer. She was almost too tired to think, her head tipped back on the sofa, eventually lolling over to rest on his shoulder.

"I don't know how you did it," she murmured.

"Did what?"

"Managed to turn maths practice into something I look forward to."

He laughed lightly. "You just needed to stop being so hard on yourself about it."

She looked over at him, eyes half-lidded. "Thanks, Osc."

He paused for a second too long. "Yeah. You're welcome."

She didn't respond. Just blinked at him, soft and warm.

And when he kissed her, it wasn't shocking.

It just felt... right.

—

Oscar wasn't supposed to be here.

Technically, he could be permanently expelled from the school. Lose his scholarship.

Not that he seemed particularly worried about that as he ducked beneath the low dorm window Harper had jimmied open earlier that week with a pen and a high level of angry rebellion.

"You're late," Jane said from where she sat cross-legged on her bed, dabbing highlighter onto her cheekbones. "Harper said you'd be five minutes."

"I had to wait for your prefect to leave," Oscar replied, swinging a leg inside. "She was sniffing around like a bloodhound."

"You're lucky you're cute," Jane muttered, not looking up.

Oscar took in the room; two mismatched duvets, makeup scattered across the long desk, fairy lights tangled above a heart shaped mirror. The air smelled like vanilla body lotion and expensive shampoo and some kind of spice he couldn't place. Cinnamon, maybe.

Harper was perched on the windowsill, brushing her hair into a ponytail with one hand, holding a lip balm in the other. She was wearing a navy jumper over leggings, ankle tucked under her thigh like she hadn't even noticed he'd arrived—even though the pink high in her cheeks suggested otherwise.

"I feel like I've entered another dimension," Oscar said, warily eyeing an eyelash curler. "What is that?"

Jane brandished it like a weapon. "Beauty, my darling. Don't question the process."

"You're both unwell," he muttered, but he was smiling.

Harper rolled her eyes at him, but had to purse her lips to hide her smile. "You're the one who insisted on coming over."

"Yeah, and now I regret it," Oscar said, perching awkwardly on the edge of Harper's bed. He knew it was hers because her pillowcase was monogrammed with a cursive H. "What are you doing?"

"Makeup," Jane said, blending concealer with terrifying precision. "You should try it."

Harper handed him a compact mirror with a sly smile. "Want some mascara, Osc?"

Oscar caught his own reflection and made a face. "No. I'll stay ugly, thanks."

Harper rolled her eyes at him and nudged him. He noticed that she'd painted her fingernails a glittery pink. He liked them.

Jane tossed an empty crisp packet across the room and it landed somewhere close to the bin.

Harper held up two near-identical shades of what was apparently lip gloss and demanded that Oscar choose.

Oscar chose the darker pink and Harper beamed at him.

Eventually, Jane pulled her riding boots on and announced, "Right. I'm going to grab some water bottles. Don't kiss until I get back — I want to watch."

Oscar opened his mouth to say something — anything, but she was already gone.

And then it was just the two of them, the room suddenly quieter, more tense. Harper turned toward him, one knee bent on the chair, her face lightly painted with makeup, her cheeks flushed from the laughter.

She looked at him, eyes half-lidded. "Thanks for coming, Osc. I missed you this weekend."

He stared for a second too long. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I wanted to come. I missed you too."

She didn't look away, and suddenly he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

He pushed off of the bed and walked over to her, leaned down and cupped her face in his hand and kissed her. Long and soft and perfectly minty — from his gum or her lipgloss, he wasn't sure. Maybe both.

Teamwork.

When they pulled apart, she exhaled shakily."Okay," she said, so softly it barely existed. "That was nice."

Oscar looked at her for a long moment, his thumb brushing a smudge of mascara off her cheekbone.

Then Jane banged back through the door with a flourish, freezing mid-step at their closeness.

"Oh my God, did you—? You did, didn't you. I missed it again!"

—

Half term at Harper's house felt like walking around in someone else's skin.

Every day was a new performance: a crisp outfit, polite laughter, perfectly timed nods in rooms filled with too-white teeth and names she was supposed to remember. The dining tables were long and silent, the smiles were sharp, and the wine flowed never-ending.

Her mother paraded her through charity galas and luncheons like she was a debutante being rebranded.

"Stand up straighter, Harper."

"Don't speak unless you're spoken to."

"Do not mention anything to do with your schooling. God forbid they ask about your grades."

So Harper swallowed herself down, tucked her sarcasm into her clutch bag, and became exactly the daughter her mother wanted. For six days.

By the seventh, she'd become brittle.

When the train pulled back into the station near school, Harper had barely spoken a word for almost five hours. The Uber to the gates was quiet. Her mother didn't even look up from her phone when she said goodbye.

And then the building appeared—stone and ivy, wind in the trees, the faint smell of grass and cafeteria food.

Home, almost.

She hadn't texted Oscar. So she just walked straight to the common room, her bag still digging into her shoulder, hair pulled into a too-tight twist, like a fingerprint that her mother had left on her.

He was there, leaning against the radiator with his headphones half on, scrolling through something on his phone. He looked up once and blinked like he wasn't sure she was real.

"Hey—"

She dropped her bag before he could finish. Crossed the space in three quick steps.

And then she was in his arms, burying her face into the curve of his neck.

No words. No warning.

Oscar caught her without hesitation, his arms sliding around her, his hands settling at her back like they'd been waiting. He held her tightly.

For a long time, they didn't say anything.

Just her fingers fisting in the back of his hoodie. His chin tucked gently over her hair. The low hum of the radiator and the quiet outside, and the way she was shaking, not crying, not quite, but trembling with the pressure of having to be somebody else for too long.

Eventually, he whispered, "Was it that bad?"

She nodded into his chest.

"I missed you," he said.

She didn't answer; just held on tighter.

It was the first time she'd ever let herself lean on somebody like this. Not perform, not pretend—just be held. And she didn't care who saw or what anyone thought.

Oscar had quietly become her anchor. Her soft place.

And maybe that was terrifying.

She was only fourteen, Oscar fifteen — but God, his arms felt like safety. And warmth. And something else that she couldn't bear to even consider yet.

—

Harper's fifteenth birthday wasn't eventful.

She didn't tell anyone. Not because she didn't want them to know—but because birthdays in her world had always come with strings. Lavish luncheons, social climbing events, gifts that felt like bribes.

She just wanted this one to pass through quietly. Like a train through a tunnel.

Jane, of course, knew anyway. She left a pastry and a glittery crown on Harper's bed with a note that said, "You are legally required to feel loved today. I don't make the rules." The crown had little fake gems and kept slipping off Harper's head, but she wore it anyway during breakfast.

Oscar wasn't there.

He was in Italy. Or Belgium. Somewhere with a name that tasted foreign and exciting. Somewhere chasing corners at 120 miles per hour while she spent the morning trying to translate her messy English notes into a coherent essay.

Her and Oscar still weren't... official.

No labels, no silly promises.

Just soft looks and secret smiles, warm palms pressed together in the dark of the common room. Kisses that stretched time. Late-night texts that made her stomach twist in ways she still didn't know how to name.

But still. It was her birthday.

She didn't expect anything.

Which is why, when Jane dragged her back to their room after dinner, she nearly tripped over the package sitting on her desk.

There was no name on it. Just a strip of tape across the top, and the faint smell of engine oil clinging to the paper.

She tore it open slowly, heartbeat ticking louder with each pull.

Inside: a hoodie. Worn-in, navy blue. She recognised it immediately—it was Oscar's. The one he always wore over his racing suit, with his initials inked inside the collar. It smelled like him. Like soap and sun and sweat.

And tucked inside the folded fabric, a card.

H — Happy birthday. Sorry I'm not there. Don't let Jane make you wear the crown all day. Put this on instead. I'll be back before the end of the week. Save a birthday kiss for me. Osc x

She stared at the messy, awful, hardly eligible handwriting for a long time.

Then she pulled the hoodie on and let it swallow her whole.

Later, when they'd crawled back into the common room to watch a movie and everyone was pretending not to watch her phone light up every three minutes, Jane nudged her.

"You know he's basically your boyfriend, right?"

Harper rolled her eyes. "He's not, though."

Jane shrugged. "Oh, puh-lease. You're always wearing his clothes. You look at him like he's the moon and you're the stars. You guys kiss all the damn time — like you've got nowhere else to be."

"I don't need a label." Harper said.

"No," Jane said, smiling. "But you'll have one soon. I'd put money on it."

As if on cue, Harper's phone buzzed.

A photo. Oscar, in his race suit, grinning with helmet hair and grease on his cheek, holding up a little cupcake with a candle in it.

Wish you were here. Celebrating for you anyway. Happy Birthday, sunshine.

Harper didn't reply right away. Just closed her eyes, let the warmth bloom under her ribs, and whispered, mostly to herself, "I wish I was there too."

—

The night was cool and quiet in the early spring, the kind of night where the world seemed to be holding its breath for a warm day.

Harper waited near the edge of the astro turf, shadows stretching long under the floodlights that were turned off but still gave the field a faint glow from the nearby streetlamps.

Her hoodie was too big, but it felt like a shield—and it smelled like Oscar.

She heard footsteps before she saw him, and when he appeared, the grin he gave her was full of all the things words hadn't managed to say.

"Hey," he said, voice low.

"Hey," she replied, stepping closer.

They settled on the edge of the turf, legs stretched out, the grass synthetic but soft beneath them.

For a while, they just sat. Quiet but close. Hands finding each other like magnets.

Then Oscar broke the silence. "So... uh, us," he started, voice hesitant but steady.

Harper turned her head toward him, watching the way his eyes caught the light, shadows flickering like secrets.

"I don't want to mess this up," he said, his lips curled awkwardly. "But I really like you, Harper. Like... so much."

She took a breath. "I like you too," she whispered. "More than friends."

He grinned, that slow, real smile that made everything else fall away. "So—you want to be my girlfriend?"

She stared at him, her stomach warm and twirling, her lips twitching into a fond, sweet smile. "Yeah, Osc. Yeah. I want to be your girlfriend."

—

The track in Essex was wet. Not just damp — soaked. The kind of cold, miserable damp that clung to your bones and turned the air misty around the edges.

Harper stood at the edge of the paddock with Mark, a steaming takeaway cup with hot chocolate cupped between her hands, the sleeves of Oscar's team hoodie pulled down over her wrists. Her boots were already muddy. Her nose was red. She didn't care one single bit.

Because out there — helmet on, eyes narrow, engine growling beneath him — was Oscar. Fast, fluid, terrifyingly good.

Mark watched silently, arms folded, one eye on the stopwatch. "Final lap," he murmured.

Harper didn't answer. She couldn't. Her heart was in her throat.

Then he crossed the finish line — just ahead, by a fraction of a second.

A cheer broke out across the team tent, someone throwing their arms in the air. Mechanics pounded backs. One of the younger juniors swore loudly in delight.

Oscar skidded into the pit lane and yanked off his helmet. His hair was plastered to his forehead. His face was flushed, wild-eyed, grinning.

Harper barely waited. She ducked under the barrier and ran straight into his arms.

He caught her mid-stride, lifting her clean off the ground with a muddy laugh.

"You did it," she breathed, half-laughing, half-crying.

He held her tighter, nose brushing her temple. "I did it."

Their kiss was messy and cold and perfect.

A few feet away, Mark shook his head with a smile and muttered, "Teenagers."

Later, after the podium and the trophy photos and the engine checks and the interviews he barely paid attention to, Oscar found her again — sitting on a folding chair, wet hair pulled into a messy ponytail, her boots still caked in track dirt.

He dropped down in front of her, ignoring the mud. His hands slid around her knees.

"You cold?" He asked.

"A bit."

He peeled off his jacket and tugged it over her without thinking.

She let her hands drift to his collar. "You really are the best boyfriend ever, aren't you?"

He shrugged. His cheeks flushed a little. "I try my best."

They sat like that in the growing dusk, a boy covered in sweat and rubber and a girl who didn't belong in this world — but somehow fit in it perfectly anyway.

They still hadn't said the words.

But everyone around them already knew.

They could see it.

"Bloody young love, eh?" One of the mechanics said to Mark, giving him a friendly grin.

Mark stared at his protege and the girl he was wrapped around. "Yeah. Young love. A hell of a thing."

—

The Monday morning after Oscar's karting championship win was business as usual — at least for everyone else.

The cafeteria stank of burnt toast and unripened bananas. Someone's rugby kit had been left to rot in the corridor again. Teachers were barking about mock exams and how important breakfast was for concentration.

Rain pattered against the high windows.

The whispers had started the moment they walked in — not mean, just curious. A mix of respect and amusement. He's the karting kid who actually did it. And she was the girl who'd been there.

They didn't hold hands in front of everyone, they were both too awkward for that, but they walked close. His bag brushed hers. Their shoulders kept touching. She caught him glancing at her more than once, and she blushed every damn time.

They sat at their usual table; Jane joined them, already mid-rant about the biology quiz, and Oscar slid into the seat beside Harper like it was instinct. A few of his mates clapped him on the back, one of them tossing out, "Bloody hell, Piastri. Gonna forget us little people soon?"

Oscar grinned but didn't rise to it. His hand brushed Harper's knee under the table.

After breakfast, Harper slipped away early. Sometimes, the morning noise was too much. She wandered toward the astro, the damp still clinging to the edges of the pitch, her trainers leaving faint impressions on the stone pathway.

A minute later, she heard footsteps behind her.

"You always going to run off without me?" Oscar's voice, soft, teasing.

She turned and squinted at him. "I wasn't running," she said.

He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. "You okay, babe?"

Babe.

Babe. Babe. Babe.

"No," she said. "Yes. No. I don't know. I just needed to breathe."

He stepped up beside her, both of them facing the empty turf.

"You think my mum's going to be pissed when she finds out?" She asked after a minute.

He glanced sideways at her. "About you going to the race?"

"No. Yes. But I meant more about us."

Oscar was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. She probably will."

She looked at him; saw the mud-streaked, medal-wearing, boy-who-won-the-thing him. The one who kissed her under floodlights and held her on her worst days. The one she'd never trade for any high-brow, suit-wearing finance guy in any universe.

"You really aren't going anywhere, are you?" She whispered. "

He shook his head. "Not unless you're coming with me."

She stepped into his chest and sniffled a little, then looked up and lifted onto her tiptoes to let him kiss her.

—

It started as a joke.

One day in maths, Harper made a face so violently pained at the sight of a clock diagram on a worksheet that Jane nearly fell off her chair laughing.

That evening, Oscar mentioned it to the guys — just casually, in that offhand way that somehow made them all very invested in Harper's educational redemption arc.

By the weekend, there was a printed-out worksheet titled "MISSION: TEACH HARPER TO READ A CLOCK" taped to the common room wall.

It escalated quickly.

Now, every Tuesday evening, the boys' dorm turned into a chaotic, loving, entirely misguided tutoring group.

Like an off-brand of the maths tutoring program they'd thrown together for her — but with more interest.

There was Oscar, naturally, trying to be the patient one. Then Alfie, who thought yelling was teaching. Ethan, who brought snacks. And Matt, who had made a papier-mâché clock face out of a pizza box. With arrows.

Harper sat in the middle of them like a hostage.

"I'm telling you," she said, pointing wildly at the pizza box. "That one's ten. I swear. It's a ten."

Oscar, sitting cross-legged beside her, gently rotated the cardboard. "Harper, the big hand is on the two. That means it's ten past the hour. Not ten o'clock."

"Okay but how am I meant to know which hand is the minute hand? They're both just... hands."

Alfie groaned. "The minute hand is the longer one! Like, always! What do you mean 'just hands'?"

"They're not labelled!" She cried. "If someone handed you two spoons and said one was for soup and one was for jazz, would you know the difference?"

Everyone stopped.

Matt blinked. "Why would I have a jazz spoon?"

Oscar covered his mouth and tried not to laugh.

Ethan passed Harper a cookie. "Here."

She took it. "I'm just saying — numbers on a clock move. They're not meant to move." She grumbled and gave herself a frustrated forehead tap. "God, I'm so stupid."

Oscar leaned his shoulder gently against hers. "No you're not. You know that you're not, Harper. You know you're brilliant at a million other things."

She glanced at him suspiciously. "Like what?"

"You have perfect spatial memory. You memorised my whole kart setup after watching one session. You've mastered a million different coding languages already. You're good with people. You know how to read a room faster than anyone I've ever met. And," he added, deadpan, "you've successfully confused four teenage boys into thinking teaching time is a fun group activity."

She laughed then, warm and tired. "Well. Can't say I'm not a good influence, can the?"

"You're just a bit of a lost cause when it comes to clocks," Alfie muttered, re-taping the pizza clock for the fifth time.

But Harper didn't care about clocks. Not really.

Because she was surrounded. Because they kept showing up — Oscar with his soft corrections, Alfie with his shouting, Jane peeking in with popcorn halfway through every session. They all knew. About the dyscalculia, about the clocks, about her brain doing loop-de-loops over simple sums.

And none of them ever made her feel stupid for it.

Just... loved.

Even if she still couldn't tell the difference between three-forty-five and quarter past the hour (because what the hell did that even mean?).

—

It happened on the following Wednesday.

Halfway through the day, Harper was pulled from class. A quiet word from a teaching assistant, a murmured excuse. No one offered a reason why.

She thought it might be something small. Maybe Jane had accidentally set off the fire alarm again.

But then she stepped into the front office — and saw her mother sitting there, spine straight, legs crossed, lips pursed in thin, unimpressed silence.

Harper's stomach dropped.

"Come," her mother said, standing. "We'll talk in the car."

⸻

The car was parked on the far side of the lot, a sleek black town car that looked like it belonged outside a private gallery in Mayfair. Not a school car park.

Harper slid in, cold air brushing her ankles, heart thudding in her chest like it already knew what was coming.

Her mother didn't speak until the door shut.

"A karting race?" Her voice was like glass. "Karting, Harper?"

Harper blinked. "How do you—?"

"I got a call," she said, cutting her off. "From someone on the board. They saw photos. You, standing in the dirt with oil on your jeans. Smiling like you'd won the lottery. Holding hands with some, boy, in a racing suit. Do you understand how humiliating that was for me?"

"It's not—"

Her mother turned, eyes sharp and glittering. "Do you have any idea how much I've done to protect your name? Your future? And you're throwing it away for... boys who drive go-karts and call it a sport?"

Harper's hands curled in her lap. "He's not just a boy," she said quietly. "And it is a sport."

"Oh," her mother sneered, "is he your boyfriend now? Do you want to bring him to your cousin's wedding in Vienna next month? Shall we seat him between a baroness and a venture capitalist and see how long he lasts before talking about gear ratios?"

Harper flinched. "Stop."

But she didn't.

"You are not one of them, Harper. You are not some muddy little pitlane girlfriend who throws her life away for some boy with too much money and a ridiculous dream. I will not let you become a story people whisper about."

"I'm happy," Harper said, voice rising. "For once in my life, I'm actually—"

"Enough." Her mother's voice was like a slap. "We're withdrawing you at the end of term. I've already spoken to Madame Viard. There's a place for you at Lausanne International. You leave for Switzerland in January."

The silence after was suffocating.

Harper sat frozen, winded, as if someone had punched all the air out of her.

Her mother adjusted a glove, calm again. "You'll thank me someday."

But Harper wasn't listening anymore.

Her mother's jaw was clenched so tightly that a vein twitched in her temple.

"Fine," Harper said, voice low but steady.

The word dropped like a weight in the space between them.

Her mother blinked, surprised by the ease of her surrender.

But then Harper looked up — and there was fire behind her eyes. Her voice was calm, controlled, but every word burned.

"But you should know," she said, leaning forward just slightly, "that when Oscar's driving in Formula One — not if, when — and he's one of the most successful athletes in the world, I won't look back. I won't give you an inch. I'll let you sit in your wrongness and stew in it forever."

Her mother went bright red. "Do you think you're making this better for yourself?"

Harper laughed — a bitter, tired sound. "No. I know I'm making it worse. I'm very aware of how this works, Mum. I step out of line, and you slam the gates shut. But what else can I do?"

She paused, chest heaving slightly now.

"You don't listen to me. You never have. You just tell me what my life is going to be. What I wear. Who I talk to. Where I study. Who I sit next to at dinner parties like I'm some sort of accessory you place on a chair next to a financier's son. You talk through me like I'm not a human being. Like I don't have wants and desires and dreams of my own."

"Harper—"

"No. You don't get to talk now."

She didn't raise her voice — didn't need to. Every word sliced clean and deliberate.

"The worst part? The part that actually makes me want to scream? Is that I know Dad would be so happy I found someone like Oscar. That I found someone who likes me in the quietest, most awkward, most real way."

Her breath hitched — not from tears, but from the pressure of keeping them in.

"He's so bad at it. At being romantic. He blushes when I look at him for too long. He stammers when he's nervous. He opens doors and fixes my hair without saying a word. He doesn't like PDA. He frowns when he's concentrating and forgets to drink water and spends more time worrying about everyone else's lap times than his own."

She looked her mother dead in the eye.

"And yeah — he races karts. But he moved all the way here from Australia on his own at fourteen. He trains his body every single day for hours on end. He's braver than anyone I've ever met. Can you name one of your friends' sons who would've had the guts to do that? Or who would sit with me for an hour to explain how to read an analogue clock without laughing at me? Or who lets me cry without asking questions because he knows I hate explaining myself?"

Silence crackled in the car.

Her mother's lips parted — but nothing came out.

So Harper filled the space.

"You raised me to care more about perception than truth. To be polished. Obedient. Photogenic. And I'm done."

She reached for the door handle, voice like steel. "You want to send me to Switzerland? Fine. But you'll have to drag me there. Kicking and screaming."

She opened the door, letting in the sharp slap of cold air, and turned back one last time.

"Because I've finally found something that's mine. And I'm not giving it up for you. Not this time."

Then she stepped out of the car and walked back to class.

NEXT CHAPTER

615 notes · View notes

astonmartinii · 2 years ago

Text

into the arms of another part two | max verstappen social media au

pairing: max verstappen x reader

part two to this !! part three

yourusername

liked by arthurleclerc, maxverstappen1 and 661,230 others

yourusername: winner winner chicken dinner !! congrats maxy i’m so proud of you always

view all comments

user1: i know charles’ head is hot right now

user2: i hope netflix are taking notes cause this tea is steaming hot

maxverstappen1: thank you baby, helps when i have the prettiest cheerleader in the world

yourusername: i am the sexiest sargent in all of the orange army

maxverstappen1: too right you are

user3: i miss when y/n was the head of the tifosi the red monochromatic fits ate so hard

user4: i need charles to pull his head out of his ass and apologise so we can reclaim her before monza

user5: do not even bring up the fact we may not have custody of her for monza

danielricciardo: leave some for the rest of us maxy

yourusername: no actually i think it’s illegal for max not to win sorry

danielricciardo: will that change if charlie apologises?

yourusername: considering that hasn’t happened and doesn’t look to be happening any time soon - no.

user6: CHARLES PLEASE DO SOMETHING

user7: he doesn’t have to do anything, she’s just bitter cause she’s always been the bridesmaid and never the bride. we ALL know she’s always loved charles and she can’t handle that she’s not the centre of his attention it’s kinda pathetic

maxverstappen1: what made you think you know any of us enough to comment something like this? what told you that you even had a right to talk about y/n like that? she’s everything you could ever wish to be and more and she will never ever deserve the things you people are saying about her. charles would be lucky to have y/n in his life platonically or romantically but it’s his loss

user8: boyf of the year right here

user9: charles take note ^^^ this is how you’re meant to defend your best friend

landonorris: i am once again asking for photo credits i’m not gonna be your personal photographer for free

maxverstappen1: i literally paid for your dinner

yourusername: you’re literally a millionaire

landonorris: i don’t care a man still likes to be wined and dined

yourusername: just to make it clear we are not looking for a third

user10: i promise i can change your mind give me a chance

f1tea

liked by user11, user12 and 2,349 others

f1tea: charles leclerc caught liking this tweet about the situation between him and y/n. seems like he won’t back down on this. what do you think?

view all comments

user13: i need this mans head on a spike i’m so serious

user14: i want to play pinball with the single marble in his head

user15: i think ferrari have genuinely caused real head rot in him cause no way he thinks this is a serve

user16: let's be real charles' biggest rivals are ferrari and himself

user17: not this man at his BIG AGE is liking shady tweets about his best friend

user18: i think it's safe to say they're not best friends any more

user19: also "biggest rival" my ass max and charles are fucking friends now so this whole narrative is complete horse shit

user20: i'm so bored of charles playing the victim bro YOU ARE THE INSTIGATOR YOU ARE THE PROBLEM

user21: the way charles is liking shit like this but max is writing whole ass essays in the comments defending her

user22: and that''s why i'll always back that she ended up with the right man

user23: max is so far in the lead in the championship i need him to take charles out for the narrative

user24: are we in high school? like seriously this is so fucking petty i cannot wait for media day this weekend

user25: he's either gonna be the funniest man in the world or he's gonna bite someones fucking head off

user26: and i'll back it either way

user27: i know y/n is about to have her revenge dress moment in the paddock someone get kym illman ready STAT.

f1wagsupdates

liked by lilymunhe, carmenmundt and 4,530 others

tagged: yourusername

f1wagsupdates: REVENGE DRESS MOMENT !!! y/n y/ln enters the paddock in monza in this stunning black dress, showing the world what a catch she is, oh and that is max holding the umbrella for her, what a gentleman.

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user28: mother came to slay i cannot even

user29: this right after max came for charles in the press conference is PERFECTION + NO RED IN MONZA !!

user30: i see lily and carmen in the likes in knew they'd be on the right side

user31: girl i don't think anyone is on charles' side

user32: yall see the stink eye from the red bull garage when charles walked past they have y/n's back LOL

user33: the red bull garage been ride or dies for max so it defo makes sense that they would extend that to y/n

user34: christian was defo waiting for a question about it in the press conference

user35: someone on twitter got a clip of him putting his arm around fred going out of the paddock and telling him to get his driver under control

user36: yall are we on the kardashians what the fuck is going on

user37: people may hate christian but he defends his driver so much that he's inserting himself in the relationship drama

user38: i don't even follow f1 but whoever this is this serving oh my

user39: this is so exhausting like i need charles to just apologise so we can get cute y/n x max x charles content

user40: torturing myself thinking about how cute that dynamic could be

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and 1,203,457 others

f1: max verstappen clinches his tenth win of the season at monza, joined by sergio perez and oscar piastri. home heroes charles leclerc and carlos sainz came together at turn one, awful showing for ferrari in monza

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user41: this narrative is so so poetic

user42: i feel bad for the tifosi at this point y'all get your hopes up every season

user43: charles you aimed the wrong way if you wanted to take max out

user44: the way max kissed y/n after winning god they're so cute

user45: also the way christian got everyone to move so y/n could get to the front to see max

user46: even marko looked happy about it what is going on?

user47: y'all we knew it was gonna be bad for ferrari y/n wasn't wearing red, call me superstitious but every time she's worn red charles has either won or been on the podium

user48: well that's just what he gets for not appreciating her

user49: as fernando would say KARMA

user50: someone check charles' blood pressure please

maxverstappen1

liked by christianhorner, yourusername and 1,304,662 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: winning on and off the track, some of you can't relate.

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user51: parents omg

danielricciardo: fighting words maxy, not pulling your punches

maxverstappen1: i do my fighting on the track, not my fault people can't get past turn one to give me a real battle

danielricciardo: i need to be inside your brain

maxverstappen1: no there's images of y/n in my brain that no other man will ever see

danielricciardo: you crack me up maxy

yourusername: woah who's that fine ass piece of woman

maxverstappen1: she's taken sorry

yourusername: that's a shame, i hope that man is taking care of her

maxverstappen1: i don't believe she's got any complaints

yourusername: wow you sound like a gentleman, she's a lucky woman

maxverstappen1: believe me i am the lucky one.

yourusername: awwww maxy you're literally the sweetest person in the world

user52: if i was charles and i saw this after that race you'd have to restrain me i'm so serious

user53: i'm happy for y/n and max but i need them to stop being happy in my face

alexalbon: ur welcome for that first picture btw

yourusername: lily taught you well

alexalbon: so no thanks?

yourusername: i joke thank you very much sir albon

user54: so like all of the twitch quartet are on y/n's side? awkward.

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63, 706,835 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: charles and i have been best friends since i knew what the word meant and it really hurts that is has gotten to this point. when charles got his first girlfriend i chalked it up to the excitement of the experience, but when he routinely got in and out of relationships and falling back on our friendship once scorned, i started to question what he really felt about our friendship. i overlooked it every time even when it made me doubt my worth and hoped our friendship meant more. however, the cycle continued and after being left stranded at a beach in a country i do not know i decided it was the end. i have reached out to you so, so many times and want nothing more than our friendship to work and so we can be life-long friends that we can tell our kids about. but i guess it's not worth that much to you and that's something i'll have to reconcile with. the only positive coming from this the fact that it pushed me to the love of my life, so thank you for that.

comments are turned off.

charles_leclerc

liked by joristrouche, pierregasly and 1,305,783 others

charles_leclerc: i've already got my trophy, sorry not sorry.

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user56: WHAT THE FUCK

user57: my brain is actually scrambled

user58: charles' must be as well cause no way he thought this was a good idea

landonorris: so this is a low blow

charles_leclerc: since when were you the reference point for morals

landonorris: damn dude, you're in the wrong but go off i guess

user59: why do i actually want to cry for y/n right now? she did this whole ass heartfelt post with no comments so people wouldn't be able to speculate and he replies with a pic of his gf's ASS

danielricciardo: not cool dude

charles_leclerc: i see you all took her side and our friendships mean fuck all

danielricciardo: kinda ironic you bring up respecting friendships

charles_leclerc: spare me the lecture

maxverstappen1: you're a child. but this is the closure she needs. cheers to being an asshole.

charles_leclerc: so you managed to get some of my sloppy seconds, you're welcome

maxverstappen1: she's not sloppy seconds and i can't believe you'd refer to her as that. but if you wanna talk sloppy seconds you can hold the 100 point gap between us in the championship. and y/n will never say this so i'll say it for her GO FUCK YOURSELF

user60: SHOTS FIRED

user61: men are so confusing

yourusername added to their story

[caption: taking some time for myself. thank you for your kind words and know i have an amazing support system around me now]

f1wagsupdates

liked by user65, user66 and 5,430 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

f1wagsupdates: charles leclerc spotted outside y/n y/ln's office with flowers this afternoon. idk at this point, any time i report on this man i lose more brain cells.

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user67: lol even wag page admins are done

f1wagsupdates: he gives me a lot of content but damn he needs to sort his head out

user68: lol this is gonna be an all time apology tour i can't wait

user69: i honestly don't want y/n to forgive him he doesn't deserve it.

user70: yeah max has proven ride or die for y/n so i know who she should stick with

user71: i need him to donate his brain to science cause in what world is a measly bouquet of flowers gonna cover all of this shit ?

user72: legit he's systematically ditched his best friend, let randomers on the internet drage her name through the mud and then liked it and then flaunted the fact that he didn't care about their friendship for everyone to see

maxverstappen1: lol nice try

user73: my petty king i love him so much

user74: i know y/n is taking a break from social media but i hope she knows how much love she's getting

user75: for real we're all on her side i hope she slammed that door in charles' face

user76: i hope that bouquet ended up in the bin

maxverstappen1 added to their story

[caption: special delivery for a special girl]

note: i know this was heavily requested so here it is!! i really like it and it's defo open for a third part if yall want charles and y/n to reconcile? thank you for reading xx

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen instagram au #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen

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chrisstvrns · 3 months ago

Text

blurb of chris loving his girl so much, he would do anything for her forgiveness.

warnings: light angst, fluff in the end

word count: 876

chris knew he had fucked up.

and not in the way where he could flash that lopsided grin, mumble out some half-assed "my bad," and wrap his arms around you until you begrudgingly accepted his apology. no, this was the kind of fuck-up that left his phone void of your name, your texts, your voice. it had been three days. three days of silence, three days of you ignoring his texts, leaving his calls to ring out, and worst of all, three days since you had stormed out of his house with fire in your eyes and venom in your words.

matt and nick had given him shit for it. repeatedly. but chris didn’t care about their ribbing—he cared that he hadn't been able to fix it yet.

so, in an act of desperation, he did something he never thought he'd do: he sat down with an actual pen and paper and wrote you a letter. no texting, no notes app draft, no voice memo where he rambled until he hoped he made sense. just ink and regret spilled onto three long pages.

chris folded the letter, sealed it in an envelope, and, with a determined heart, drove over to your place. he carefully placed the letter into your mailbox, texted a simple “i left something for you,” and prayed you’d read it.

you did.

and not only did you read it, but you also grabbed a red pen and went absolutely feral on it.

when chris found the same envelope in his mailbox the next morning, his heart leapt in hope—until he pulled out the letter and saw your handwriting scribbled all over it, ruthlessly correcting his grammar, circling misspelled words, and writing snarky little comments in the margins.

“you don’t blame me? then why did you fight me on it?”

“you should’ve listened to me? damn right. make this a thesis statement instead of burying the lead.”

“good, this part actually sounds like you mean it. keep going.”

and the kicker, written at the very bottom in bold, underlined letters:

“if you can rewrite this and turn it in by tomorrow, i’ll unblock you.”

chris stared at the letter, torn between laughing and groaning in frustration. only you would take his heartfelt apology and turn it into a goddamn english assignment.

he grinned.

challenge accepted.

chris spent the rest of the day hunched over his desk, muttering to himself as he scribbled out a new draft. he had never put so much effort into writing anything in his life, not even the one essay he actually cared about in high school. he read and reread your comments, taking them seriously, and making sure that this time, every word counted.

he started over twice. the first draft felt too stiff, too formal - like he was writing a resignation letter instead of an apology. the second had too much rambling, and you’d already told him not to bury the lead. so, for the third attempt, he took a deep breath and wrote like he was talking to you. like you were right in front of him, arms crossed, waiting for him to say something real.

by the time he finished, his hand was cramping, his desk was covered in discarded drafts, and the clock read 2:14 am. but for the first time in three days, he felt like he had a shot at fixing things.

chris sealed the new letter in an envelope, drove to your place, and left it in your mailbox, yet again. this time, he didn’t text you - just knocked once and walked away, leaving it in your hands.

the next morning, his phone buzzed.

a text from you.

chris’s heart jumped as he unlocked his phone and read the text.

“you passed. barely. but i’ll allow it.”

before he could even think of a reply, another message popped up.

“come over.”

chris didn’t waste time. he was out the door in minutes, barely remembering to grab his keys. the drive to your place felt longer than ever, anticipation and nerves tangling in his chest.

when you opened the door, he barely had a second to register the look on your face before you were pulling him inside, your arms crossing over your chest like you were still debating whether or not to be mad at him.

“well?” you prompted.

chris ran a hand through his hair, letting out a breath. “i meant every word.”

you eyed him for a moment before unfolding the letter and holding it up. “this was good,” you admitted, tapping the paper. “and better yet, you actually listened.”

his lips twitched. “had to. i was being graded.”

your glare was half-hearted at best. “i don’t think you understand how close you were to failing.”

chris grinned. “guess that makes this an extra credit assignment,” he said, closing the space between you.

you rolled your eyes, but when he hesitated, waiting for permission, your expression softened. finally, you sighed, tilting your head up just enough to meet him halfway.

“i hate that you’re kinda good at this,” you muttered.

chris smirked. “oh, i’m great at this.”

and when his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in, you didn’t pull away.

────────────୨ৎ────────────

a/n: this was made based off of this post by @muwapsturniolo !! finally out of my writers slump (???) i kinda hate this sooo ?

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

to be added to my taglist, comment on this post!

#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo angst #chris sturniolo fluff #rory's blog𝜗𝜚 #© chrisstvrns #auroras blog𝜗𝜚 #aurora's fanfics ੈ✩‧₊˚#⋆˙⟡ chrisstvrns

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 5 months ago

Note

i just imagine mc loving driving sebastian up the wall by whispering things like I want you inside me or I want to taste you before walking away like nothing all day sebastian and his will power are holding on by a thread

One of Those Days | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

ahhhh anon thank you for this request I had sooo much fun torturing Seb while writing this. I hope you enjoy it too!!

Words: ~5,500

Tags: Implied Smut, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Post Canon, Seventh Year, Angst, Teasing, Longing, Established Relationship

Friday mornings always held a certain promise for Sebastian. The week’s end brought the light at the end of the tunnel: no more late-night study sessions, no looming deadlines, and—best of all—plans for the weekend. And this weekend was shaping up to be exceptional.

He was seated at the Slytherin table across from Ominis, who was currently buttering a piece of toast with his usual meticulous care. Sebastian leaned back, cradling his coffee, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Why are you so smug this morning?” Ominis asked without looking up, his tone laced with suspicion.

Sebastian chuckled. “It’s Friday. The weekend awaits. And tomorrow’s plans? Impeccable.” He leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “She got me tickets for the Puddlemere United match. Front row.”

Ominis raised an eyebrow, still focused on his toast. “Ah, yes. Your doting girlfriend, endlessly spoiling you. Do remind me how the universe decided that you deserved her?”

“Still trying to figure that out myself,” Sebastian replied, taking a sip of his coffee. He grinned despite the jab. Ominis had been endlessly teasing him about your relationship since it had started over a year ago, but Sebastian couldn’t blame him. He still felt like he was getting away with something by having you in his life.

His gaze drifted to the Great Hall’s double doors for the third time in as many minutes. You were always late to breakfast—perpetually running behind in the morning.

“She’s late,” Ominis said flatly.

“She’s always late,” Sebastian replied, unable to keep the affection out of his voice. “You’d think by seventh year she’d have mastered the concept of time.”

“She must have overslept,” Ominis mused, as if it weren’t the obvious explanation. “Again.”

“She was up late,” Sebastian said defensively. “Studying."

“Is that what she told you?” Ominis asked, tilting his head with a knowing smirk. "Let's be honest, she was probably off fighting acromantulas in the forest again."

Sebastian opened his mouth to reply, but then he spotted you slipping through the doors, looking every bit as radiant as he’d expected. His heart did its usual stupid flip at the sight of you.

You glanced around the room, spotting him instantly. That smile widened, and you started toward the Slytherin table.

“Speak of the devil,” Ominis huffed a laugh, though Sebastian barely heard him. His attention was fixed entirely on you as you approached.

“Morning, boys,” you greeted, slipping into the seat beside Sebastian as though you weren’t a solid twenty minutes late. “Miss me?”

Sebastian leaned closer, brushing his shoulder against yours. “Always. Though I was starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

“Got caught up,” you replied breezily, reaching for a piece of toast. “You know how it is.”

Ominis sighed. “No, we don’t. Some of us value punctuality.”

You smirked at him, your eyes glinting with mischief. “And yet, I still manage to charm you both despite my flaws. A talent, really.”

“Somehow, I don’t think it’s charm so much as sheer persistence,” Ominis replied dryly, but there was a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

Before you could reply, Imelda Reyes appeared behind him, her usual air of impatience in full force.

“Ominis, did you finish the notes for Professor Binns’ essay?” she asked brusquely, tapping her foot as if she had somewhere more important to be.

Ominis sighed heavily. “Yes, Imelda. Not that I understand why you insist on taking history so seriously. You do realize it’s impossible to impress a ghost?”

As Ominis turned his attention to Imelda’s complaints, you leaned toward Sebastian, the faint scent of your shampoo teasing him as you spoke just low enough for him to hear.

“You know,” you murmured, “I had a dream about you last night.”

Sebastian froze, the casual sip of coffee he’d been mid-swig nearly going down the wrong pipe. He coughed, turning his head away to avoid choking outright. When he finally managed to compose himself, he looked at you, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“And what, exactly, was this dream about?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you picked up your teaspoon, delicately stirring your tea, your gaze fixed on the swirling liquid as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. When you finally lifted your eyes to meet his, you tilted your head, your lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile.

“Nothing appropriate for breakfast conversation,” you replied sweetly, dragging the edge of the spoon between your lips.

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited. He stared at you, a faint pink creeping up the back of his neck as you set the spoon down with an air of innocence. You went back to buttering your toast like you hadn’t just shattered his ability to think coherently.

“Everything all right, Sebastian?” Ominis asked, his attention back on him now that Imelda had left.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, biting into your toast to hide your grin. Ominis raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t press further.

You sipped your tea serenely, but Sebastian could feel the amusement radiating off you in waves. He knew that look. The playful light in your eyes, the subtle curve of your lips—it was the look you always got when you were about to cause trouble. And Merlin, it was only breakfast, but you’d already decided to make this one of those days.

He sighed internally, doing some quick mental math.

It lined up. Of course, it did.

Three weeks ago, you’d asked him to come with you to the apothecary, dragging him along while explaining that you needed to restock ingredients for a potion you brewed monthly. He had listened with genuine interest, mostly because you had a knack for making even mundane things captivating. You’d laughed when he asked a few questions, calling him “endearingly clueless for someone so brilliant,” and gone on to share more details about how the potion worked to ease period pains. But now, as he connected the dots, realization dawned with the weight of inevitability.

You were ovulating.

Sebastian’s stomach did a little flip, and a faint, involuntary heat crept up his neck. That explained everything: your heightened playfulness, the way you leaned just a little closer, the way your teasing had an edge that sent sparks skittering down his spine. You were always a minx—bold, confident, and unrepentantly mischievous—but there was something about these days that tipped you from charming troublemaker to full-blown menace. And now that he’d caught on, he knew exactly what kind of day this was shaping up to be.

He was in trouble.

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur. You kept your hands to yourself, but every glance, every comment, you sent his way held that same spark. It was enough to make him want to tug you into an empty corridor and—

“Ready for class?” Your voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, cheerful as ever. You rose from your seat, brushing crumbs from your skirt as if you hadn’t spent the last fifteen minutes planting suggestive landmines in his brain. He swallowed hard and nodded, pushing his chair back to stand.

Ominis muttered something about Sebastian being unusually quiet, but Sebastian waved him off, claiming he was still waking up. A complete lie—he was wide awake now.

As the three of you made your way to Charms, Sebastian tried to steel himself. He knew better than to let you get under his skin this early in the day. If he gave in to your antics now, you’d win—and you loved to win.

The moment you slid into the seat beside him, he felt the familiar brush of your knee against his under the desk. He told himself it was unintentional until you shifted just enough to press against him more deliberately. His gaze flicked to you, but you were already pulling out your parchment, looking perfectly innocent.

When Professor Ronen began the lecture, Sebastian attempted to focus. It lasted all of five minutes before you leaned toward him, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Your concentration is admirable, really,” you whispered, the soft warmth of your breath sending a shiver down his spine.

His quill faltered mid-stroke, leaving a jagged mark across the parchment. He turned his head, intending to glare at you, but you were already sitting back, your expression unreadable as you scribbled down notes, head tilted in concentration, the very picture of academic diligence. But then he felt it—your hand, light as a feather, brushing against his thigh under the table. His breath hitched. You didn’t react, didn’t even glance his way. Instead, your quill kept moving steadily across the parchment as though you hadn’t just set his pulse racing.

Your fingers rested there for a moment, almost as if testing the waters, before you began to trace slow, deliberate circles against the fabric of his trousers. Sebastian swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he gripped his quill. He tried to will himself to focus, to block out the sensation, but you didn’t stop. In fact, you leaned slightly closer, your arm brushing his as you added a flourish to your notes.

“Comfortable?” you murmured, your voice low enough that no one else could hear.

Sebastian glanced at you sharply, his eyes narrowing in warning, but you didn’t look at him. The only sign of your mischief was the faintest twitch at the corner of your lips.

His hand twitched, tempted to grab yours and stop you before you pushed him any further, but he knew better. Drawing attention to what you were doing would only give you more satisfaction. So instead, he gritted his teeth and leaned slightly away, his voice a hushed growl. “Behave.”

You finally turned to him, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Seb,” you said, your tone sticky sweet. “I’m just taking notes.”

The corners of your lips quirked upward, and Sebastian let out a slow exhale. You were relentless, and this was only the beginning. He shifted slightly in his seat, praying for the class to end quickly before he did something that would land both of you in detention.

But then your hand slid higher, and all thoughts of self-control vanished in a haze of heat and frustration.

“Are you trying to get us caught?” he muttered, his voice strained. His hand moved under the desk to still yours.

You leaned in slightly, your lips close to his ear. “What’s the fun in that?” you whispered, your breath warm against his skin.

Sebastian’s jaw clenched, his knuckles white as he gripped his quill. He managed to hold on until Professor Ronen called for the end of class . You finally withdrew your hand, gathering your things with a pleased smile that only deepened the blush on his cheeks.

When Defense Against the Dark Arts rolled around, Sebastian had convinced himself that you’d already done your worst for the day. Charms had been a test of endurance, but surely you couldn’t keep it up through another class—especially not with Professor Hecat keeping a watchful eye.

You slid into the seat next to him without a word, a soft hum of a tune under your breath as you unpacked your things. Sebastian didn’t miss the glint of mischief still lingering in your eyes, but he chose to ignore it.

Professor Hecat began the lesson with her usual briskness, outlining the day’s activity: practicing defensive and offensive spells in pairs.

Sebastian exhaled in relief. Partner work meant he could focus on the task at hand, and spell practice was something he excelled at. He cast a sidelong glance at you, waiting for the inevitable quip about how you’d wipe the floor with him. But instead, you gave him an easy smile, looking far too composed for his comfort.

“Alright, partner,” you said, drawing your wand and stepping into position across from him. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Sebastian smirked, eager to reclaim some sense of control after the morning’s torment. “Ladies first,” he said, gesturing for you to make the first move.

You raised your wand, your posture flawless, but before casting, you paused. “It’s so warm in here,” you murmured, loosening your tie and pulling it free with a casual flick. You undid the top two buttons of your blouse, fanning yourself with your hand. “Don’t you think?”

Sebastian stiffened, his smirk vanishing. “I—what?”

You gave him a pointed look, as if waiting for an answer, before shrugging lightly. “Never mind. Let’s get started.”

He barely had time to blink before you cast Expelliarmus, your wand aimed with precision. The spell hit him squarely, sending his wand spinning out of his hand. You grinned triumphantly as you caught it midair.

“Not bad, huh?” you teased, your voice light and smug.

Sebastian huffed, running a hand through his hair to buy himself a moment. “Not bad,” he echoed, stepping closer. “Now, hand it over.”

You tilted your head, your eyes gleaming with playful defiance. Instead of returning his wand immediately, you held it up, forcing him to move closer. “Come and get it."

Sebastian gritted his teeth, closing the distance between you. His pulse quickened the moment he got close enough to take in the details: the faint flush across your cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell just slightly faster than normal, and—Merlin help him—the open collar of your blouse that gave him a perfect view of your collarbones and just enough cleavage to make his mouth go dry.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, his gaze flickering to yours. Your pupils were blown wide, and that maddening smirk was still firmly in place. You smelled like your usual perfume, that subtle scent that had been driving him to distraction all day, mixed with the faintest trace of parchment and ink.

Sebastian’s hand shot out to take his wand, but you pulled it back at the last second, your smirk widening. “What’s the matter? You look a bit tense.”

He took another step closer, his chest nearly brushing yours. The air between you crackled with tension, and he was certain you could hear the rapid thud of his heartbeat. He locked eyes with you, his voice low and rough. “I’m starting to think you want me tense.”

You shrugged. "Not sure what you're talking about."

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his patience hanging by a thread. He reached for his wand again, his fingers brushing against yours as he finally pried it from your grip. For a moment, his hand lingered over yours, his thumb skimming the back of it before he pulled away.

“Your turn,” you said, stepping back with a satisfied smile. “Let’s see if you can disarm me.”

Sebastian let out a slow breath, gripping his wand tighter. Focus, he told himself, though it was easier said than done with the way you were looking at him—like you were daring him to lose control.

“All right,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. “Ready?”

“Always,” you replied, your smile unwavering.

He raised his wand, channeling every ounce of his frustration into the spell. Expelliarmus! The red jet of light shot toward you, and your wand flew from your hand, clattering to the floor behind you.

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “Well done,” you said, your tone dripping with mock defeat. “I suppose I’ll have to get that.”

Sebastian watched, helpless, as you turned and bent over to retrieve your wand, taking your sweet time as you reached for it. His gaze betrayed him, trailing down the curve of your back to your hips and further still. The hem of your skirt rode up as you bent, barely covering what it was meant to, and leaving absolutely nothing to Sebastian's already frazzled imagination.

He swallowed hard, dragging his eyes away with an effort that felt almost physical. Merlin, you were going to kill him. He could already feel the warmth creeping up the back of his neck, and he prayed to every deity he could name that no one else was paying attention.

When you straightened and turned back to him, wand in hand, your smirk was firmly in place.

“Enjoy the view?” you asked, tilting your head as if the question were perfectly innocent.

Sebastian couldn’t help the low growl that escaped him as he stepped closer again, his voice a quiet warning. “Keep it up, and you’ll regret it.”

Your grin widened, utterly unrepentant. “Is that a threat?”

For a split second, he considered saying something that would wipe that smirk off your face, but Professor Hecat’s sharp voice cut through the tension. “Back to your positions!” she barked, her gaze darting between the two of you. “Focus, Mr. Sallow, Miss—”

“Yes, Professor,” Sebastian said quickly, stepping back and trying to calm his racing heart. But as he moved into position, he could still smell your perfume lingering in the air, and the image of your teasing smirk was seared into his mind.

He was barely holding it together, and the day was far from over. But surely, over lunch and surrounded by friends, he’d have some semblance of a reprieve. You wouldn’t dare push things in front of an audience—or so he hoped.

He slid into a seat beside Ominis, who was already stirring a bowl of soup to cool it off. Garreth and Natty sat across from them, deep in a lively debate about the Honeydukes confections.

Sebastian exhaled a small sigh of relief as you arrived a few moments later, seating yourself between Natty and Garreth across from him. You greeted everyone cheerfully, plucking a goblet of pumpkin juice from the table with your usual grace. For a fleeting moment, Sebastian thought he might actually survive the meal unscathed.

He was wrong.

You reached for the fruit platter in front of you, selecting a piece of pineapple and popping it into your mouth with a content hum. Sebastian caught himself watching the way your lips curled around your fingers, quickly tearing his gaze away as heat crept up his neck.

He wasn’t fast enough. You noticed, of course, and your eyes gleamed with mischief as you plucked another piece of pineapple, holding it up thoughtfully.

“Sebastian,” you said, your tone far too casual, “do you eat pineapple often?”

His brow furrowed. “Uh, not really. Why?”

You shrugged, biting into the pineapple and chewing slowly before answering. “Oh, it’s just something I read once. Supposedly, it makes… certain things taste better.”

The words hung in the air for a split second before their meaning hit him like a Stupefy spell. His jaw dropped, and he felt the heat in his cheeks spread like wildfire.

Garreth, who had been mid-sip of pumpkin juice, choked and started coughing, his face contorted with suppressed laughter. Natty’s eyes widened before she covered her mouth with her hand, a muffled giggle escaping. Even Ominis, usually the picture of composure, pinched the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh.

Sebastian, on the other hand, was frozen, torn between mortification and the desperate urge to throttle you—or kiss you senseless. “You—” he spluttered, his voice low and strained. “You can’t just—why would you—”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What? It’s just a question. I’m curious.”

“Curious,” Sebastian echoed, his voice a growl. His grip tightened on his goblet, knuckles white as he tried to maintain some semblance of composure.

You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself, and went back to your meal as if nothing had happened. Garreth finally managed to stop coughing, wiping tears from his eyes as he laughed. “Merlin’s beard, Sebastian, you’re as red as my tie.”

“Shut it, Weasley,” Sebastian muttered, glaring at him before shooting you a dark look.

Ominis sighed again, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Do the two of you ever give it a rest? Some of us are trying to eat in peace.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus on his plate. You, meanwhile, continued to eat with maddening grace, each bite more deliberate than the last. To anyone else, you seemed completely oblivious, but Sebastian knew better. The way your lips lingered on the edge of your goblet, how your tongue darted out to catch the stray drop of pumpkin juice, the slow way you licked your fingers after finishing a piece of fruit—it was all deliberate, and it was driving him insane.

When lunch finally ended, Sebastian practically leapt to his feet, eager to put some distance between you. But as the group began to disperse, you slipped up beside him, your hand brushing against his arm.

“What do you say we use our free period to get a head start on homework?” you suggested, your tone casual but your eyes sparkling with mischief. “The library’s quiet. Perfect for concentration.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at you, suspicious. “Concentration, huh?”

You tilted your head, looking up at him with faux innocence. “What else would we be doing?”

He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. The library it is.”

Sebastian trailed after you, already regretting his decision to agree to this “study session.” He wasn’t walking to his doom—not exactly—but it certainly felt like you were leading him into a trap he’d willingly sprung. Every step you took ahead of him, your hips swaying just enough to catch his attention, felt deliberate, and his patience was wearing thin.

When you reached the secluded table in the back of the library, you slid into a seat with a satisfied smile, glancing up at him as if daring him to sit across from you. Of course, he did—because, Merlin help him, no part of him could resist you, even when you were driving him out of his mind.

“You’re awfully quiet,” you said, leaning forward to rest your chin in your hand, your voice laced with amusement. “Something on your mind?”

Sebastian opened his mouth to reply but quickly thought better of it, forcing himself to focus instead on pulling out his parchment and quill. He needed to get this essay done, fast—before you found another way to turn his brain to mush.

“Nothing,” he muttered, not looking up. “Let’s just work.”

You hummed in response, a light, teasing sound that sent a shiver down his spine. When he finally risked a glance at you, you were watching him with that knowing smirk, the one that said you knew exactly what you were doing to him—and you had no intention of stopping.

To your credit, the two of you did manage to work in relative silence for about an hour. It was a miracle, really, considering the way you had been tormenting him all day. The soft scratching of quills and the occasional flipping of pages filled the air, lulling Sebastian into a false sense of security. You even asked him a few legitimate questions about your arithmancy work, and he found himself easing into the rhythm of study.

But of course, it couldn’t last.

You tapped your quill against the edge of the table thoughtfully, drawing his attention as you tilted your head, a curious expression on your face. “Sebastian,” you said slowly, like you were turning something over in your mind.

He glanced up, cautiously optimistic that this might be a real question. “What?”

“If you cast Levioso on something heavy enough, do you think there’s a weight limit?”

Sebastian frowned, considering. “There’s a theoretical limit, I suppose. It depends on the skill of the caster and the strength of the enchantment. Why?”

You propped your chin in your hand as you gestured toward the sturdy oak table in front of you. “Can you cast it on objects to make them stronger, or is that a separate charm altogether?"

Sebastian blinked at you, trying to gauge where this was going. Your expression was innocent enough—curious, thoughtful—but he’d spent far too much time with you to let his guard down completely.

“That’s a separate charm,” he said slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Reinforcement charms can strengthen objects, but Levioso isn’t meant for that. It’s just levitation.”

You nodded thoughtfully, your fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the table. “Makes sense,” you mused. “I was just thinking… these tables have probably been here for decades, maybe centuries."

Sebastian frowned, unsure where your train of thought was leading. “I suppose so. Why?”

Your lips curved into a soft smile, and you tilted your head, your eyes sparkling with a mischief he recognized all too well. “Oh, no reason,” you said lightly, waving a hand. “I was just wondering how much weight they could handle. You know, hypothetically.”

The room seemed to still as your words hung in the air, and Sebastian felt his stomach drop. His quill froze mid-scratch, and he stared at you, his mind racing to keep up.

“Hypothetically,” he repeated, his voice flat, though his pulse was anything but.

"You know," You shrugged, leaning back in your chair with an air of nonchalance that was completely at odds with the gleam in your eyes. "Like the weight of two people."

Sebastian stared at you, half-convinced he was hallucinating. You were far too composed for someone who had just casually suggested something so completely inappropriate in the middle of the bloody library, yet here you were, twirling your quill like the picture of innocence. He wanted to say something clever, something sharp that would throw you off your game, but his mind was stuck on one thing.

Two people. This table.

Sebastian’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his quill, his patience dangling by a thread. He could feel the heat crawling up the back of his neck, and you noticed, of course. You always noticed. The way your eyes sparkled with mischief, that faint smirk tugging at your lips—you were daring him to lose control, and you both knew it.

But Sebastian was stubborn, if nothing else. He forced his gaze back down to his parchment, his quill scratching out nonsense as he tried to focus on anything other than the absurdly inappropriate image you’d planted in his head.

“Anyway,” you said lightly, your tone as innocent as ever, “I've had enough of arithmancy for the day. What was the essay prompt again for potions? Something about brewing methods?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “The efficacy of different brewing techniques for enhancing potion potency.”

“Right,” you said, nodding thoughtfully, a contemplative look crossing your face. “Hm… I think I know a book that covers this. It talks about how it’s all in the measurements. Every little thing has to be just right. You’ve got to be so careful with how deep you’re going in, or… well, the whole thing can become quite explosive."

Sebastian’s quill snapped in half.

He froze, staring down at the broken pieces in his hands as if they might somehow offer an escape from this torment. But when he looked up, your smirk was waiting for him, smug and triumphant.

“Oops,” you said sweetly, tilting your head. “Did I say something distracting?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, his patience unraveling by the second. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” he growled, his voice low and tense.

“Do I?” you replied, feigning innocence. But the glint in your eye betrayed you. You leaned forward slightly, your voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Surely you'll get top marks on this essay... I think you know exactly how deep to go."

Sebastian stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pushed it back. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and filled with a heat that made your smirk falter for the first time all day.

“Outside. Now,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

Your brows lifted in mock surprise, but the flicker of excitement in your expression didn’t escape him. You opened your mouth to say something—no doubt another teasing remark—but he wasn’t having it.

“Don’t,” he warned, cutting you off. “Just move.”

For once, you complied without argument, though the playful sway of your hips as you walked ahead of him made it clear you weren’t done yet.

Sebastian followed close behind as you weaved through the bookshelves, his chest tight with frustration and something far more dangerous. He didn’t know what he was going to do when he finally got you alone—but he knew he couldn’t take another second of this.

“You’ve been playing games all day,” he growled as you walked, his voice low and rough. “Do you think I didn’t notice? Do you think I’d just let it slide?”

You raised a brow. “I don’t know what you mean,” you said, tilting your head in mock confusion. “I’ve been perfectly well-behaved.”

Sebastian grabbed your wrist, his forehead nearly brushing yours as his hand came up to cup your jaw. “Well-behaved?” he echoed, his tone dripping with disbelief. “You’ve been driving me mad. Every look, every word, every touch—” He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair before pinning you with a glare. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you?”

His grip on your wrist tightened—not enough to hurt, but firm enough to leave no room for argument. Without another word, he turned sharply, dragging you through the corridors at a pace that made it clear his patience had completely run out.

You didn’t protest, your steps falling into sync with his as he led you toward the one place he knew you’d have privacy: the Undercroft.

When you finally reached the hidden entrance, Sebastian didn’t even bother with his usual careful precision. He muttered the incantation quickly, his voice rough with impatience, and the hidden door swung open. He tugged you inside, the heavy door slamming shut behind you with a resounding thud that echoed in the quiet, secluded space.

The silence hung for a moment, broken only by the sound of your unsteady breaths as Sebastian turned to face you. His gaze was dark, intense, and utterly consuming as he stepped closer, backing you up until your spine pressed against the cool stone wall.

“Do you think this is a joke?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, every word dripping with frustration and something far more primal. His hand braced against the wall beside your head, effectively caging you in.

Your smirk returned. “I think you’re overreacting,” you replied, your tone light but laced with a hint of defiance. “All I did was—”

“All you did,” he interrupted sharply, his other hand gripping your chin gently but firmly, tilting your face up to meet his eyes, “was make me spend the entire day trying not to lose my fucking mind.”

You didn’t back down, even as his chest brushed yours. “I was just having fun."

“Fun?” Sebastian echoed, his lips curling into a humorless smile. “You think driving me mad was fun?”

You tilted your head, grinning. “I think you like it."

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, the tension between you seemed to reach its breaking point. His thumb brushed over your jaw, a deceptively soft gesture that made your breath hitch. “Maybe you're right,” he admitted, his voice gravelly. “But don’t think for a second that you’re off the hook. You’re going to pay for every second of torture you put me through today.”

Your smirk widened, and you leaned up to brush your lips against his, your voice a teasing whisper against his mouth. “Promise?”

Sebastian’s answering smile was dark and full of intent as he guided you toward the sofa. “Oh, you have no idea.”

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undyworld · 3 months ago

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the spine and his humanity : a very unorganized deep dive. this will be split into different paragraphs, each with a different topic, just to try and make things easier to digest.

The Spine, as we know, was the walter robot that was built to look the most human. named after his spine, which used to be a smoke stack, before he his spine was rebuilt out of titanium alloy. before a lot of the war stuff was retconned, he was built to look more human to do special ops - so they could send in the spine instead of risking human lives.

throughout their albums, The Spine has several songs in which he’s the lead vocalist that talk about how he feels the need to apologize for being a robot, or talking about how robots cannot feel the way humans do, both physically and emotionally ( hot on the trail, wired wrong, electricity is in my soul, a life of un-delightment, etc. ) and he seems to be the walter automaton that hates being a robot the most ( save for the jon, but that’s a completely different topic altogether ). he talks to humans, sure, but when he has the choice - he holes himself up in the hall of wires and stays on the computer. it’s almost as if he doesn’t believe he shouldn’t to talk to them because he’s not human enough.

this brings me to my next topic of stage bits. now, a lot of these are played for laughs ( and are improv ), but an overarching character choice i’ve noticed for The Spine is how he interjects things whenever the topic of them being robots comes up. the one that sticks most in my mind is the 10 year anniversary show, where Hatchworth tells them the goldfish they ripped up were made by a third grader. Rabbit says that they’re monsters, to which The Spine replies “we’re robots, we’re almost monsters.” now, this could mean a lot of different things ─ but it all comes back to the fact that The Spine does not see himself and, by proxy, his siblings, as people. they’re living things, sure, but by referring to them as monsters, he’s saying they’re something to be wary of. something to gawk at, or even something to fear. ( there’s also the whole phone conversation in which they say that The Spine hates The Spine more than anyone else, which i could also write an essay about ).

the topic of stage bits also ties into his relationship with food, eating, and drinking. during some performances of brass goggles, they have tea time, where the walter workers come out and serve the robots tea. while the robots’ reactions to the tea vary from show to show, The Spine is the only one who consistently never drinks it - either dumping it on himself or throwing it over his shoulder. he also consistently never eats anything, and even goes as far as to tell the other robots that robots can’t eat. no matter how much he tries, they usually disregard him and go on eating anyways. now, he’s also the Rule Follower of the walters, with both Hatchworth and Rabbit having snuck out of the manor unaccompanied using disguises ( rabbit wearing a fake mustache and hatchworth wearing a fake mustache on top of his mustache ), so he may not be eating simply because he doesn’t want to gum up his gears. but, it could very well be that he refuses to eat because he doesn’t want to make himself feel more human than he actually is.

my final point : the spine distances himself from humans and his humanity far more than the others do, and i think that’s because he wants nothing more than to be human. but because he can’t, because of the metal he’s made out of, he refuses to allow himself to indulge in the things that humans do. he doesn’t see himself as human enough, so why act human? why allow himself to enjoy the thing he so desperately wants? instead, he folds in on himself, repressing his deepest wants, desires, and even his emotions.

#steam powered giraffe #spg #spg the spine #the spine spg #the spine #steam powered giraffe the spine #if you read that whole thing i’m so sorry #woe. long post upon thee

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months ago

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okay i’ve seen the take around and i have to add. it’s killing me.

i do not agree that will would avoid the medical arts when he gets older.

i see the argument about trauma and growing from it. and, like, yeah. he had so much on his shoulders from so ridiculously young, it had to be rough.

but it’s also like.

what he’s good at.

let me tell you a story. there was a girl. when she was a year and a half old her first sister was born. and her mother’s family warned her to keep her away from her sister: she had been an only child for her entire life up to this point, she would be jealous of the baby. she might even try to hurt her.

but the mother shook her head and reclined on her hospital bed with her new baby in her arms. and she called her daughter softly up and showed her how to sit, how to fold her hands. she placed her newborn into her daughters arms and her daughter, he toddler, stayed there for hours. for hours, mesmerized by her baby sister, holding her carefully.

that daughter doesn’t remember, obviously. but her mother tells her this story often, smiling. the daughter had hands to hold from infancy.

the daughter gets another sister when she is three. and another when she is eight, and a brother when she is ten. she has been surrounded by babies her whole life, while her parents work. she learned to change diapers before she could divide, learned how to cook before she learned to play properly with friends. she has known domesticity every day of her life.

and she excels at it.

she chafes, a little. of course she does. when she takes her baby brother to the park people confuse her for his mother — she is ten years old. she is used to walking with a child on her hip. her name was her brother’s third ever word, and sometimes — often times — her siblings seek her out instead of her parents. she is made to do thrice the chores her siblings must because she is more organized, because she is more capable. she is meant to take them safely to places — no one takes her safely to places.

but she glows when her siblings need her. at family reunions, she volunteers to mind the babies, nervous about conversation with adults. she is the only one patient enough to tutor her siblings when they’re struggling and frustrated and pride blooms in her chest. when she cleans, her anxious mind quiets.

she grows up to be an elementary school teacher, after a couple years of discovering.

do you see the projection connection i am trying to make here. it is hard to be trained your whole life for something — there is part of you, always, that will resent it, that will wonder.

but it is another thing when the training is so easy because you are so good at it already. when doing what you have been trained to do makes you calm after a long day, when the tedious tasks that others spurn brings a smile to your face. yes, i’m sure healing carries a lot of pain for will. yes, i’m sure he’s frustrated. yes, i’m sure he takes some time to experiment.

but he is good at healing. and he likes to be needed, to be the rock upon which others need: if he is the rock it means he is strong, he is steady. when he doubts himself he can remember those he has helped and it is impossible to write off his own importance. he has healer’s hands, builder’s hands, carer’s hands — to be anything else would be a struggle, first, but it would not bring the same relief. the same steadiness in knowing that he is capable and righteously proud.

i don’t know. this isn’t a real essay and i don’t have a real conclusion. i just cannot find it in myself to imagine a future where my path is dark and overgrown with foreign weeds, rather than peppered with the flowers i grew up tending. i doubt will can either.

#you’re telling me the guy who uses medical terminology to both flirt with and insult people #who carries around medical supplies to keep calm #and who is most confident when he is healing #wants nothing to do with it when he’s older?#no.#you can have complicated feelings about things and still feel good doing them.#will can be angry that so much was expected of him so young #and still feel pride in all that is expected of him #and all that he is capable of.#they are not mutually exclusive.#you’re telling me the BEST HEALER IN CENTURIES #who struggles with self esteem #is going to leave behind the thing that he knows he is capable —- EXCELLENT — at doing?#no he is not.#sorry.#will solace

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pali-and-proud · 7 months ago

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I could write essays on this moment. Guys.

I love that the focus here isn't Chase keeping a secret--which Buddy knew--but it's the fact that Chase told Buddy Prunella was his cat.

I love that Chase's spur-of-the-moment lie about Prunella, which was treated as a joke and mostly laughed off bc haha, Chase is freaking out, look at our silly boy and his silly reactions, is what Buddy fixates on. Like would Buddy have been upset over them having a third key? Absolutely. But if Chase had been even mildly less bad about revealing everyone's names all the time, I genuinely don't think Buddy would have been THIS hurt.

Also--I love that expression. I love that it's not quite hurt, and it's not quite angry, and it's not quite confused, but somehow a mix of all three. You can so clearly see that Buddy doesn't even know where to start, because the realization that Chase actually lied to him was so unexpected.

Chase lying to him was unexpected. Buddy, the paranoid overthinker who recieved a bag of food and assumed there was a catch, who was offered a place to stay and assumed it was a trap, who openly said his life "usually depended on NOT trusting people," didn't expect Chase to lie to him. I am ill.

#cinderella boy #chase hollow #Buddy #I am ill and screaming #Off-topic but i love that everyone in the fandom agrees Buddys going to be hurt/guilty/sad #and then Chase is like “im about to be murdered"#chase you beautiful smart intelligent people-reader #ur literacy rate is dying

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juststandingthere · 8 months ago

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ISTG this game is making me insane, brainrot strong enough for me to make my first analysis post

One thing i love about the narrative is how distorted the characters, relationships and events are from jimmy's pov. Most posts discussing this focus on Anya, and it makes sense bc she's probably the biggest victim of this. She's seen as less than a person, she's an incompetent nurse, she has a meek personality, she'll let anyone(jimmy) step over her and she still follows his orders, despite everything he has done to her. We obviously see, from curly's pov, that she's simply too terrified of her abuser to act any other way, and when she's not with him she's way more confident and competent.

I haven't seen as many people talking about how this "distortion" affects Swansea and Daisuke as well, including the relationship they have with each other.

We see, in the first Curly section, that Swansea is a great mentor to Daisuke (one might even say they have a father-son/uncle-nephew relationship). He takes his time to teach him not just the basics, but also how to do his job as safely as possible. He lets him take notes, he himself writes stuff down for him to remember and even lets him doodle on those notes! Sure he is harsh with him, but he clearly cares about him and wants him to be safe.

And in return Daisuke looks up to him and has great respect for him, as both a mechanic and a man, while he also makes some jokingly offensive comments towards the older man, showing the close bond they have formed.

But that's not what we see when we play as Jimmy.

In his pov we don't see them interacting much, when they do we either see Swansea insulting Daisuke for no apparent reason or, in one occasion, we see him leading the kid down a "bad path" wanting to teach him how to "drink like a man".

When they aren't interacting tho, we do see hints of their actual relationship: Swansea asking where the kid is when he is "partying" in the lounge, confirming that he does not, in fact, hate spending time with him; him looking desperately for something, *anything*, that could help Daisuke with his suffering after he's injured; how whenever Jimmy tries to bring up to Daisuke how "badly" Swansea treats him, or how he "lied" to them about the utility room, Daisuke immediately shuts him down, because he knows what he's saying is completely wrong (i'm pretty sure those are the only times he doubts something Jimmy says), showing once again the trust and respect he has for his mentor.

(this part is kinda speculative but i think it makes sense)

There are two other times where we see them interacting, where we actually see how much Swansea cares for the kid, and coincidentally, neither of them is seen through Jimmy's eyes, but from a third person pov: what Swansea says right before they knock him out with the drink, about how he resents the people that let Daisuke, someone with his whole life ahead of him, with so much optimism and joy, board the ship for a job that would inevitably leave him "mangled" and "smarter in a worse way" (i could make a whole other essay on this part but i won't), and what he says right before mercy killing him. In that scene specifically, as the camera pans out in the corridor as Swansea raises his axe, ready to take the final swing, Jimmy doesn't see the hesitation in his body language, the way his body tenses, the way he comforts the kid, telling him to close his eyes, the heavy breaths (crying?maybe?) right after the act. He only sees the older man as a monster that would take away an innocent life that jimmy would have been able to fix had he been given the time to fucking think.

Hell, now that i think about it, Swansea's final monologue, where we find out that he is in fact a good man who tried his best to better himself, who simply wanted to protect the kid and give him "a chance off this goddamn rock"(implying that the Cryopod was meant for Daisuke all along) is also shown in third person!

A few other things i found interesting:

1-The missing pieces between what happened to Daisuke in the vent and when Swansea started attacking Jimmy. There's a cut from when Daisuke screams to when he's laying on (Swansea's) bed, bloody and in pain; from when Jimmy uses the mouthwash to disinfect him (which only causes him to suffer more) and two hours later; from after the talk the two men have and the moment Jimmy decides to go find the gun, the axe gone from Daisuke's face. What happened in those missing scenes? Was Swansea the one who helped the kid onto his bed, trying to make him as comfortable as possible? Did he try to comfort him, to distract him, and ease his pain as well as he could? What was his reaction when he had to take back the axe off the face of the young man he had started seeing as his own kid, whose life he had hoped he could save but that he ultimately had to take with his own hands?

I personally think those parts are blocked out of Jimmy's mind, as he couldn't fit them in his own narrative, where he was the hero, Swansea the villain and Daisuke the innocent, young man whose life he tried his best to protect from this "monster" that was now going to come after him.

2-Swansea attacking Jimmy with the axe, especially the cemetery scene, and how it can be interpreted in different ways.

We, the viewers, knowing everything that happened, will see it as a desperate man, Swansea, trying to avenge the lives that had been lost on that ship because of Jimmy (wether directly or not), with Daisuke's death being the last straw. But i don't think that's how Jimmy saw it. He saw swansea as a crazed, mad man, a ruthless killer, coming for him after taking an innocent life, Daisuke's photo and mausoleum as a reminder for Jimmy of what the older man had done, and a justification for what he was about to do.

(not to talk about the implication that the fight against swansea was not as intense as we saw it, only confirming the idea that jimmy was looking for a justification for shooting him)

#anyways most off this is probably me overthinking stuff that was probably not intended #but i have been hyperfixated on this for the whole day #so i needed to write this down #mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #jimmy when i catch you jimmy #also there are things to be said about how jimmy sees Curly as well but i'm nnot brainrotted on him enough to actually analyze that #anyways: daisuke is infantilized by jimmy and seen as someone to be protected #swansea is seen as the one he needs to protect the kid from #not realizing he was the monster all along #(or most likely realizing it but not accepting it)

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bagelsenjoyer14 · 5 days ago

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The Nice and Accurate Script Book: Episode Two "The Book"

Hey everyone I offically finished the second episode of the script book and I've collected everything that I found funny or would like to comment on. This episode had a lot of interesting moments so buckle up!

Also, if you would like to see my first post about episode one then you can do so here

Sandalphon cannonically going by it/itself pronouns?!?!

Crowley being relatable once again

Okay this part was really interesting and I almost wish they had kept this threat in the final production. Crowley being tortured by Hell (whether physically or mentally) is alluded to very often but simultaneously brushed to the side. I think that Crowley having threats from Hell like potential torture adds a lot more layers to Crowley's desperation to save Earth as well as adds to his character and the way he lives his life. (I could honestly go on a whole rant about this but I'll save it for a later date)

Crowley mentions his fall often in the show and how he "didn't actually fall" and I really really hope that they either show his fall in season three the movie or go more in depth to it. I could also write a whole essay on his fall but I am genuinely curious if he means he didn't actual fall in the physical sense (sauntering vaguely downwards) or if he means it more mentally/emotionally (saying that he isn't as evil as angels who actually fell and didn't intend to turn his back on God for simply asking questions).

Just wanted to include this scene because it's one of my all time favorites

Azirephale being Aziraphale

Also once of my favorite scenes as I've personally experienced this. (I was playing the Velvet Underground and my friend thought it was The Beach Boys)

I love reading all his silly one-liners

Okay this is honestly hilarious and I wish they included this. Also Crowley's first instinct is to lick it!?!?

Anathema being an Ipad kid

I fear this is how all my first drafts sound

Aziraphale being himself part 2

I'm honestly devestated WE WERE ROBBED!!!

And lastly, Crowley cannonically calling Aziraphale "dude". I'm not exaggerating this is the highlight of my life. Like just picture Crowley calling him dude for the first time and Aziraphales confusion????

I hope this was fun guys so far I'm really enjoying reading through this! I plan to read the third episode sometime today, let me know what you guys think

#I need fanfics to include Crowley saying dude now #LIke imagine you're crashing out because the world is literally about to end and you get hit with a “dude chill”#I just love the idea of Crowley using slang why have I not thought of this before #good omens #good omens script #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #anthony janthony crowley #aziracrow #good omens s3 #jim good omens #good omens season two #fuck neil gaiman #david tennant #michael sheen

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flightfoot · 8 months ago

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How Alya's mistreated by the saltdom and the writers

I've written this for the @yall-hate-kids-tourney, but figured that I'd publish it on my own tumblr as well for an easy reference point for others who want to illustrate how badly Alya's been treated - mostly by the fandom, but she's been somewhat screwed over by the writing as well. I've written it so that even people who have never heard of Miraculous before can understand my problems with the way Alya's often depicted, and I will probably use this essay for that purpose repeatedly in the future. It's over 4500 words, so buckle up!

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The amount of hatred Alya gets in the fandom is absolutely insane. There are over 800 fics tagged with "Alya Cesaire Bashing", and that's just the ones that actually TAG it - many of them either use a a non-canonical tag or just take their demonization of her as canon. It's not just that a lot of fics bash her either, but that the fics that bash her are disproportionately popular. If you go through the "Miraculous Ladybug" tag on AO3 and sort by kudos, I'd say around a third of the top 500 most popular fics use this gross caricature of her in order to justify inflicting some sort of insane punishment on her, or at least replacing her with "better" friends and leaving her to wail in despair.

Basically, Alya is the best friend of the main character, Marinette. She's really into superheroes and aims to be a reporter someday, to the point that the first time a supervillain cropped up in the series, she immediately got out her bike and cycled after him so that she could be there when a superhero showed up to fight him (Lois Lane would be proud). She runs a blog called the "Ladyblog" which reports on what the superheroes are doing, and sometimes makes some fun videos, like about the most impressive feats of one of the superheroes.

More relevantly though, she acts as Marinette's support a lot of the time, often being the one to push her to confess her feelings to Adrien, to help her with plans she comes up with, to talk things out with if she's having trouble processing something, and trying to act as the voice of reason if Marinette's gotten to into her own head. It can sometimes head into Black Best Friend territory of having her mostly stick around to support her bestie, but she DOES get a decent amount of screentime and focus at least.

Then the first episode of season 3 aired, and the fandom went BALLISTIC.

This character, Lila, debuted back at the end of season 1 as being this attention-seeking liar who pretended that she knew a lot more famous people than she actually did, including being best friends with Ladybug. Alya, being a naive 14-year-old, believed her and put Lila's interview on her blog. Since Marinette IS Ladybug, she knew this was not true, though she was initially more freaked out about the possibility that Adrien (the boy she has a crush on) would find her supposedly amazing life to be entrancing and that Lila would steal Adrien away from her, to the point that she actively wanted to stop Lila and Adrien from spending time together to prevent Adrien from falling for her.

Fast-forward to Chameleon, the first episode of season 3, and Lila's back and lying some more, this time about having Tinnitus (which would mean that she needs to sit at the front of class, next to Adrien). The class has a whole seating rearrangement in order to accommodate the move, and because some of them just wanted to change seats. Since Marinette was late that day, she didn't get to give input, so she wound up sitting alone at the back of the class, instead of next to Alya like she usually did. She's upset by this, but can't prove that Lila doesn't actually have the disability (she doesn't even have evidence that Lila doesn't have hearing problems, it's just that her story of how she supposedly got the disability is suspect), so she puts up with it for the class period.

Then lunch time rolls around and Marinette tells Alya and Alya's boyfriend, Nino, that Lila's a lying liar who lies. Alya asks why Marinette hates her so much, since she barely knows Lila (this isn't the first time that Marinette's nitpicked at Lila's stories, but she's never actually managed to prove that Lila's lying, Lila's good at coming up with explanations for any hole Marinette exposes in her tales). Marinette tells her how, after Lila first arrived at school, she followed her and Adrien, eavesdropped on them, and then saw Ladybug show up and tear into Lila for not knowing her. (Presumably that's what she says, the episode skipped past her actual recounting of what she saw). Alya and Nino are more concerned with the fact that she stalked Lila and Adrien, with Alya also being skeptical that what she heard might have been out-of-context, given how common out-of-context eavesdropping is in fiction for causing issues, with Alya saying, "A good reporter always verifies her sources. Can you prove she doesn't actually know Ladybug?"

Since Marinette can't actually prove anything without revealing that she's Ladybug, she decides that the sane and reasonable thing to do is to throw a wadded up napkin at Lila while she's eating lunch, and when she catches it (Lila's pretending to have a sprained wrist), to loudly declare that she obviously doesn't have a sprained wrist. Lila quickly pretends that catching it did actually hurt, the classmates Lila was sitting with scold Marinette for hurting her, and then Marinette goes off to seethe in a bathroom, where Lila finds her and threatens to turn her friends against her if she continues trying to expose her lies.

Then at the end of the episode, Adrien goes to sit with Marinette at the back of the class to keep her company, the teacher thinks that Marinette ALSO has hearing issues so she's brought back to the front (and away from Adrien again), Lila pretends that her hearing has been fixed so she can sit at the back with Adrien, and Alya spots that Marinette looks miserable about sitting alone at the front, so she chooses to sit next to Marinette to keep her company and everyone ends up going back to their old places, except that Lila's sitting at the back of the class now.

And that's it. That is, for the most part, what kicked off the entire Alya hatred and demonization onslaught. While there ARE more things that happening in following episodes, they have a pretty small effect on the demonization Alya's put through, almost all of it is derived from Chameleon and hasn't changed much since then.

So for starters, in fanfics Alya is often made to ditch Marinette constantly to hang out with Lila instead. This never happens. She's often exasperated when Marinette starts talking about how Lila is awful and points out that she doesn't have proof of that, but she doesn't avoid Marinette, and the closest she ever comes to hanging out with Lila outside of class events is when she called Lila over to babysit hers and Nino's younger siblings when Marinette canceled at the last minute.

But most Alya-bashing fics don't just leave it there. Oh no. If you look through a bunch of the most popular Miraculous fics, you'll see Alya made out to be some sort of ringleader for the class in bullying Marinette, hitting her, pinching her, poisoning her, destroying her things, saying nasty, heinous things to her, the works, and inciting the rest of the class to do the same, sometimes to the point that even LILA is shocked at her cruelty. Usually in these cases, Chloe, who is canonically the class bully (and Marinette's bully in particular) is inexplicably Marinette's primary protector against the eeeeeevil Alya, becoming Marinette's best friend and support and basically taking on Alya's canon role and some of her personality traits, despite the fact that canonically, Chloe's as susceptible to Lila's lies as anyone else, and that in season 5 Chloe actually became Lila's partner in crime in trying to hurt Marinette in particular. (I don't like how Chloe's treated in canon, but that's a different story).

I've never even seen any justification given for why Alya's so frequently made to be outright violent or cruel towards Marinette, it's just widely accepted in fiction now, even with nothing pointing to her ever being malicious like that. There ARE other things Alya canonically does that I see her taken to task over though, but that fall apart when you examine them.

One of the biggest offenders is criticism towards Alya over how she handles babysitting. In Christmaster, Alya and Nino pick up Nino's little brother after Marinette babysits him for them while they're on a date, in Timetagger, Marinette's slated to babysit for them while they're on a date but cancels at the last minute, so they call Lila over instead, and then in Simple Man, Marinette books herself to babysit Alya's and Nino's younger siblings and the daughter of one's of her mom's friends, a little girl named Manon, all at the same time.

Alya receives heavy criticism for not paying Marinette for her babysitting, for having Marinette babysit for her secretly behind her parents' back without their knowledge, and for pressuring Marinette to babysit for her even though Marinette's so busy.

A few problems with this.

1. We see babysitting happen several times, sometimes with Alya helping Marinette with babysitting Manon and sometimes with Marinette just babysitting Manon without anyone else's involvement. At no point is payment brought up, and yet the absence of such a discussion is only ever used to demonize Alya.

2. There is no evidence that the babysitting Marinette does for Alya's sake is done behind her parents' back, the only thing pointing to that is a lack of Alya ever flat-out saying that she has her parents' permission to have Marinette babysit for her, but there's no evidence of sneaking around. MARINETTE, however, DOES canonically ditch her babysitting duties by having Alya babysit for her without the parent's knowledge. In Prime Queen, Marinette accidentally double books herself to do an interview as Ladybug at the same time that she's supposed to be babysitting Manon, so she calls Alya over to watch the interview with her, lies to her that she's just gonna go downstairs for a few minutes to talk with her parents and for Alya to please watch over Manon while she does that, and then leaves to do the interview while Alya watches over Manon the whole time. Nadja definitely didn't know that this happened, because she was surprised and worried when Alya and Manon called in during the interview with Marinette nowhere to be seen. In addition to this, in Simpleman, Marinette foists off all the children she's babysitting onto her grandpa against his will so that she can run off and help with Adrien's photoshoot after he calls her. The people demonizing Alya for supposedly having Marinette babysit for her secretly are not upset about the examples of Marinette canonically doing these things.

3. Of the three times that Marinette has, to date, been scheduled to babysit for Alya's sake (Christmaster, Timetagger, and Simpleman), for Christmaster she spent the next several hours after finishing with babysitting making Adrien's 50th birthday present (he's currently 14 years old), so I wouldn't say she was pressed for time, for Timetagger, she literally called Alya at the last minute to say she was too busy to babysit and Alya said it was no biggie and made other arrangements, and for Simpleman, Alya offered to cancel her date and take care of her younger siblings herself the instant she saw that Marinette was already babysitting Manon, and Marinette told her to go ahead and go on her date and that she'd look after her siblings.

So clearly, the people clutching their pearls about how horribly irresponsibly Alya is handling babysitting and how she's wronging Marinette in the process don't actually care about babysitting ethics here, because otherwise, Marinette would be getting the brunt of the hatred, not Alya. Despite this, I've seen a fair number of posts in the past tearing into Alya's babysitting for the reasons I already gave, and a bunch of fics that make it so that Alya pressures and guilt-trips Marinette into babysitting for her when she's struggling to keep up with all her work, only to have her parents find out and be horrified by how Alya's lied to them about who's been doing the babysitting and that Alya's been getting an increased allowance because of that, so they pay Marinette out of Alya's allowance and ground her, take away privileges, just have this be used as an excuse to punish Alya for supposedly wronging Marinette.

And then there's the subcategory of Alya demonization towards her for putting up Lila's interview on her blog without verifying that Lila was telling the truth. Admittedly, this was foolish, but she's 14. Retractions exist for a reason. And yet, fics frequently have her reputation be completely destroyed because she put up one interview that had a false statement by the interviewee in it, and sometimes even to be completely blacklisted from ever being a journalist in the future, things that are completely insane and would have even the most storied and well-respected of reporters be unable to ever get a job.

She also frequently gets demonized and bashed for "believing Lila over Marinette". My major issue with this: what she's specifically believing Lila over Marinette for is on the topic of "is Lila an awful person". I don't think it's unreasonable to have a higher standard of proof for believing that someone is an awful person than for believing that your friend might just have some biased interpretations. Alya thinks that Marinette doesn't like Lila mostly because Lila has hit on Adrien, Marinette's crush, before. This isn't unreasonable considering that Marinette's first reaction to Lila is to freak out about her stealing Adrien away, and that when this other girl, Kagami, started hanging out with Adrien, she freaked out about that too. Specifically, she called a meeting of all her female friends to try and stop Kagami and Adrien from going away together to London for the weekend in Backwarder, helped Chloe in trying to get Kagami covered in food at a fancy red carpet movie opening in order to drive her away and steal her seat next to Adrien for the movie, and when she and Kagami were paired up for a "friend-making game" where the goal was to locate where Adrien was in Paris and the prize was to spend time with him, she pretended to genuinely want to be Kagami's friend so she could sabotage both of them and prevent Kagami from spending time with Adrien. So it's not like the belief that Marinette might be unfairly biased against Lila because she's made moves on Adrien is an unfair assumption.

In addition to that, on the occasions when Lila HAS tried to frame Marinette for something, Alya hasn't believed it, or hasn't been shown to believe it at least. In Ladybug, Lila tries to frame Marinette for cheating on a test, for stealing a necklace from her, and for knocking her down the stairs. Despite the evidence Lila planted, Alya doesn't believe it and investigates to try and find out what really happened. She doesn't uncover any solid proof, but she still believes in Marinette. She doesn't believe that Marinette's assumption that Lila's behind this is necessarily correct, since Marinette's leaping to that without presenting proof, but she doesn't believe that Marinette's the culprit either. And in the two following cases when Marinette's framed, Alya never actually gets a chance to say what she believes after the accusation is made against Marinette.

Just... the amount of demonization towards Alya TO THIS DAY, often for things she NEVER EVEN FREAKING DID, is absolutely insane. Even over 5 years since Chameleon aired, fics with Alya being made into this malicious, awful bully so that Marinette can get some new friends to publicly denounce her, get her arrested, or otherwise be punished are frequently on the front page of the most recently updated fics on AO3, and are often some of the most popular ones. If you go to "Fandom-Specific plot" on Tvtropes, saltfics like these have multiple files going through all the common salt tropes. When looking through fics, I frequently search for Alya's name because she's often the first person to be unfairly demonized, so if she's safe, then everyone likely is.

I suspect that racism plays a major factor in this. It doesn't make sense that Alya's often painted as being a violent, malicious bully and leader in getting the rest of the class to physically hurt and terrorize Marinette, I haven't even seen analysis arguing that she'd do that... but it tracks with the "Black Brute" archetype. This becomes even more obvious with Chloe, who's white and canonically DOES do some of this stuff, taking on Alya's canon role and some of her personality traits in these sorts of stories.

Then there's the standard Alya's held to for how she handles her blog. It's way higher than anyone would hold real-world reporters to, much less 14-year-olds. But it makes sense if you factor racial bias into account, and how Alya, being Black, is going to be held to a higher standard than anyone else, and be punished more for failing to meet that standard.

For things like the babysitting double standard, it makes no sense if you're actually looking at the stated criticism, given that the same criticism isn't leveled at Marinette... but it makes perfect sense if you're going off the assumption that Alya, as Marinette's Black Best Friend, is supposed to solely function as her support and that she's simply fulfilling her duties by always being there for her when needed, including for babysitting, but that if Marinette ever attempts to repay in kind, then Alya's being unfair towards her because Alya's obligated to always support Marinette, but that relationship is supposed to be a one-way street. Alya is supposed to function as Marinette's support, never the other way around.

And as for the way Alya's demonized for asking for evidence before believing that Lila's lying, well... again, Alya's expected to act as Marinette's support, and her "failing" that in any way, even if it makes sense from her point of view, is viewed as a betrayal. She's supposed to be loyal to Marinette, and only to Marinette, not to think for herself or to have multiple other friends or values that she needs to weigh. And anything that she does to go against that "justifies" Marinette intentionally trying to hurt and punish her for failing to live up to her role.

In conclusion, the way Alya's treated by the salt side of the fandom is grossly unfair, often has little connection with anything she canonically did, and has some gross racist implications, and is likely at least partially spurred on by racism, especially with how common and popular it still is to this day.

Addendum: How Alya is screwed over by the writers.

While Alya is primarily screwed over by the fanbase, there are some aspects of the writing that exacerbate her ill treatment. In season 4, Marinette confesses her secret identity to Alya, letting her know that she is Ladybug. Despite now knowing why Marinette was so convinced that Lila wasn't friends with Ladybug, and that Lila's interview stating that she's best friends with Ladybug is a lie, the subject just... never comes up, even when Lila starts being important again. It's not that Alya's ignoring what Lila lying on those subjects means, it's more like the writers just completely forgot that Lila told those particular lies, since Marinette doesn't bring them up either. This creates an inconsistency with the fanbase, who really, really, REALLY haven't forgotten those lies.

There ARE ways to explain this - Lila lying about being friends with Ladybug in order to try to boost her reputation, especially when she's the new girl, isn't really all that heinous. Marinette lies a lot as well, even if you don't count lies told to protect her secret identity or other "necessary" lies, sometimes out of embarrassment, sometimes to to try and prevent someone's feelings from getting hurt, and sometimes because she thinks it's the fastest, easiest, or most certain way to get the outcome she wants. And yet, even though Marinette lies a lot, she's not ostracized for that since it's usually not for malicious reasons - foolish reasons at times, but rarely malicious. It would make sense that Lila too, wouldn't be thought too badly of for merely lying in an attempt to make friends.

None of that actually comes up though. Alya later, in Confrontation, states that, "Marinette, you know we'll always believe you. But every time you've accused Lila, there's been no evidence. And at worst, it was just a misunderstanding." Marinette doesn't say anything about the previous times Lila has been proven to lie, so it seems like either it was decided offscreen that the more understandable lies she's told don't matter, or that the writers just plain forgot about them.

There were other opportunities created by Alya knowing Marinette's identity that were ignored. Alya concludes that Adrien backing up Marinette's statement that Lila's bad news was just due to him wanting to defend his girlfriend. This is also a bit of a writing flaw, while wanting to back up his girlfriend's stance IS a decent reason for Adrien to be biased against Lila, this is Adrien we're talking about here. He's nice and understanding to a fault, and is known for giving people the benefit of the doubt and second chances. It makes far less sense to believe that he'd believe the worst of Lila, even if Marinette does, than it does for Marinette to be biased against Lila. That being said, Adrien wouldn't have been present for Lila's more indisputable threats and statements directed against Marinette, so he can't actually verify for sure whether or not there could've been some misunderstanding.

There WAS, however, someone who was always with Marinette, and who could actually back up Marinette's statements more definitively.

Tikki. She was present for every threat Lila made, for everything she ever claimed. While it's possible that both Tikki and Marinette may have misunderstood Lila in the same way, it's far less likely, especially since Tikki would have had different biases from Marinette. Tikki could be an important witness. Yet that never comes up, is never proposed, because that would end the plotline too quickly.

Alya was also screwed over in the immediate aftermath of Lila being exposed, though not by the writers per se? There was a short scene planned after Lila's exposed where Alya apologizes for not believing Marinette about Lila being a liar and generally an awful person, we've even got leaked footage of it, but it appears that it was cut somewhere between being written and voice acted, and the episode being aired.

All of this only really affects detailed arguments about how well (or poorly) Alya's story arc with Lila was handled, its affect on the actual fanfiction produced about Chameleon salt was minimal, I saw no change in its frequency, severity, or general handling of the characters with any season after season 3. I highly doubt that even the changes I suggested here would have done much to persuade the saltdom against Ron the Death Eatering Alya, especially since a lot of the hatred against her has so little to do with the show.

There IS some hatred thrown at Alya for non-Lila related reasons - well, reasons that aren't DIRECTLY Lila related, most of that hatred still stems from people hating her for Chameleon stuff and then retroactively justifying it by looking back at other things she did that irked them. The most common one (that actually has some sort of argument to it, not the "Alya's a horrible babysitter and is abusing her friendship with Marinette" nonsense I listed in the main essay) is that Alya's pushy about getting Marinette together with Adrien.

This is more a product of Alya's usual role in the story than anything. I mentioned in the main essay how Alya sometimes falls into "Black Best Friend" territory, and this is one of the biggest examples. One of her most common roles throughout the series is as the person who pushes Marinette to actually confess to Adrien, to hang out with him, to pursue her romantic desires even with her anxiety holding her back, and to be honest with herself during the times when she's trying to deny her feelings for him. She's Marinette's sounding board whenever she's having an anxiety spiral about... actually, just about anything, and acts as the voice of reason when Marinette gets in her own head too much.

Thus, Alya sets Marinette and Adrien to end up somewhere alone together, or tries to push her to talk to him, or to be honest during the times when she tries to "move on" from Adrien by denying that she still has feelings for him (which is blatantly untrue). She IS okay with Marinette dating someone else though, if she honestly seems to want to do that. She had no problem with her dating Luka, for instance. She DID protest Marinette's seemingly sudden interest in Chat Noir, but that was mostly because Marinette seemed to be grabbing at her new attraction as an attempt to run away from her feelings for Adrien, something that Tikki ALSO noted.

That's another thing - Alya's the character who's most frequently thrown into this role, but she's not the only one, nor even the most extreme one. A new character that was introduced for the Miraculous New York Special, Jess, observed how Adrien and Marinette acted around each other, and decided to try to get them to confess their love by faking a supervillain attack on them, with the supervillain kidnapping anyone that no one loves in order to compel Marinette to FINALLY confess to Adrien. (Alya thought it was stupid, but agreed to help since it might actually work). When Marinette, Adrien, Luka, and Kagami went out to the wax museum together, Luka intentionally locked Adrien and Marinette in a room together so that Marinette would stop running away and would be forced to talk to Adrien. Marinette is written in such a way that other characters are compelled to meddle in her lovelife, because otherwise she'll continue making her own extreme plans and pining away, but never actually confess her feelings.

So while Alya could be said to be "pushy" to an extent, it's mostly for Marinette's benefit. I would like if this was a less frequent role for Alya - I think it does her a disservice, since it locks her firmly into Marinette's orbit rather than emphasizing who Alya is as her own character. Most of the hatred towards Alya for this is tied up in "Die For Our Ship" being directed at Adrien though, with Adrien bashers hating that Alya's trying to set Marinette up with what they see as an inferior option. Ironically enough, while Alya's role in this situation is one of the primary examples in the show of her being treated by the writers as a "Black Best Friend" who exists to serve Marinette's character, it's actually one of the cases where I think racism is a pretty minor part of the hatred by the fanbase over it, since I think that's mostly motivated by hatred towards the Lovesquare.

In conclusion (again), there is an issue with the writers bending Alya's character in order to tell a particular story, particularly a Marinette-centered story, while ignoring how little sense that makes with what happened earlier on in the plotline, or how it centralizes Alya's role and character around Marinette in ways that exacerbate already existing writing patterns in media.

#alya cesaire #ml analysis #ml fandom salt #miraculous ladybug

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mermaidgirl30 · 1 year ago

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✨Daddy’s Best Friend, Mr. Miller Pt 3: October Surprises and Secrets Slurred ✨

dbf! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

-Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

-Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

-Word Count: 13.2k

- Tags: Porn with Plot, dbf! Joel, fingering, oral, face riding, dirty talk, dom! Joel, (reader is 25, Joel is mid 40’s)

- Chapter Summary: Your relationship gets more heated with a lot more intimacy going on between you and Joel, but will you finally get caught?

- A/N: I love this series so much and can’t wait to bring you more filthy scenes between these two 🤭 Sorry not sorry this chapter is so long, it’s worth it 😉 Reblogs are appreciated and I always love seeing your comments ❤️

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

October rushes through Austin as the cool, autumn breeze whisks through your soft curls. The campus is buzzing with focused, anxious students who rush to get last minute papers and assignments in for midterms. You have been diligent and already turned in your law papers, so you’re now free of midterm anxiety, unlike the other students in your classes.

The historic, massive library is filled up with laptops splayed all over tables and empty Starbucks coffee cups that sit next to their cramped hands that struggle to keep writing in notebooks. Sunlight beams through the stained-glass windows as you pass through the library, making your way out into the cold to go find your car somewhere in the mix of all the campus traffic.

As you open the library doors, you get a shot of cold air that blows right through your purple cardigan, and you wrap it around yourself to try to keep the chill from seeping down into your bones. When you cross campus, your mind wonders to Joel and how much you want to see his handsome face right now. The thought of his massive hands cupping your chin and those pretty coffee colored eyes staring down at you make you shiver with anticipation.

Joel, Joel, Joel. He’s always on your mind, never letting a minute pass without him there. You both can’t leave each other alone, not able to go a day without speaking to one another. He always asks if you have plans after school or when your shift gets over at the coffee shop off Main Street. It’s almost like you’re a normal couple. Almost. There’s just that itch behind your ear that’s always buzzing when you’re with him. That loud, annoying ringing in your ears that reminds you that you’re sneaking around your parents, mostly your dad. You honestly have no idea how he would react to the news, so you’d hide it for as long as you could. Your mom might take it lighter, but your dad. He might actually lose it, and you do not want to see that happen.

When you get to your shining Nissan Rouge and hear the click of the unlocked door, you jump in and slam the door shut, throwing your belongings over in the passenger seat. As you put the silver key in the ignition and turn, it barely hums to life and then dies again. The glowing orange check engine light blinks in front of you, and you pound your hands on the sleek steering wheel.

“No, fuck! Please, work for me,” you beg as you turn the key and try again, praying for a miracle. The engine spurts out a pathetic, muffled sound and then magically starts up as the car hums to life once again. “Oh, thank God,” you sigh as you wipe the sweat from your forehead.

Joel. He’d know what to do. You pull out your phone and dial Joel’s number in a hurry, trying to keep your patience as you tap your nails on the black steering wheel. Joel picks up on the third ring.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he drawls into the phone, his voice sounding like thick honey and sinking its way down into the pit of your stomach where warmth spreads.

“Hi, handsome,” you respond, a small smile spreading quickly over your face as the sound of his deep voice automatically soothes you.

“How was school? You get all your essays turned in? I don’t even have to ask, you already did. Didn’t you?” he asks with the sound of a light, raspy laugh on the end of the line.

“Just got them in today, actually,” you smile.

“Look at you gettin’ them in early. Such a smart girl, aren’t ya?” he purrs, making you bite your lip in response to the audible praise.

“Mhm,” you hum, your voice suddenly turning shaky as you look at the glowing engine light that warns you you shouldn’t be driving the car right now. Joel notices your shift in tone and responds with an edge to his voice.

“Everything alright, darlin’?” he asks concerned. It gives you goosebumps the way he’s always so protective, so careful of you.

“Umm-I’m fine, it’s just my car. My check engine light came on just now, and a few minutes ago I couldn’t even get it to start,” you respond back carefully with furrowed brows.

“Oh, shit. That ain’t good. You need a ride home? I can come get you-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “No, no. You’re at work, and my car came back on.”

“Darlin’, I don’t care that I’m at work. I don’t want ya drivin’ if it ain’t safe,” he says with a serious tone. You can tell he’s getting worked up, the way his breath falters and his sighs come out deep and clipped.

“Joel, really. I’m not that far from campus. I can make it home. Promise,” you respond with a more lighthearted response, hoping that Joel will settle with that answer.

“I don’t know if-”

You cut him off again. “Really, it’s fine. I’ll make it home,” you push.

You hear a long sigh and you can visually see him running his thick fingers through his patchy salt and pepper scruff. The vision of it makes warmth spread against your thighs as you squeeze your legs shut tight. “Fine, but I’m lookin’ at your car tomorrow and fixin’ it. S’not safe for you to be drivin’ it with your check engine light on,” he says with a raspy huff.

“Oh, you’re gonna fix it for me?” you ask with a stupid grin planted on your face.

“Mhm, gonna try my damn hardest to,” he replies as he clears his throat.

“And what do I owe you for your services, Mr. Miller?” you ask in a flirtatious voice.

You hear his low chuckle in the receiver, and it makes you giggle in response. “You don’t owe me nothin’, sweetheart. Just wanna make sure you’re safe,” he says with a light laugh. The sound makes your heart pound against your chest. Sweetheart. Safe. The words nearly take you out. He’s such a gentleman.

“Alright,” you say with a giggle. “I guess I’ll let you get back to work,” you sigh, not wanting to hang up on the handsome man that has your heart beating erratically for those gorgeous honey brown eyes.

“You be careful goin’ home, darlin’. Text me as soon as you make it there. I mean it,” he says with a serious, clipped tone.

“I promise,” you say back in a non serious tone.

“Okay. Well, I’ll talk to you later, beautiful. Remember, as soon as you get home,” he reminds you with a knowing tone in his voice.

“You got it. I’ll talk to you later,” you slur into the phone.

“Alright. Bye, gorgeous.” With that he hangs up the phone as you hear the line click dead. You throw your phone in the passenger seat and turn up the radio as Breaking Benjamin blares through the loud speakers. You nod your head to the beat and start to drive off, praying the car gets you there in one piece.

The glowing check engine light stays on the entire drive home, but you make it back safely. You park the car in the hooded garage and turn off the engine, letting it sit idle in the cool room. Whenever you make it through the door, you run straight into your dad as he almost spills his hot coffee all over his pressed white shirt.

“Shit, sorry dad! Didn’t see you there,” you apologize with frantic hands that steady the coffee cup in his hand.

“Careful now, I have a Zoom meeting in five minutes!” he sighs with the hint of agitation in his voice.

“Sorry, dad,” you apologize again.

Before you head to your room, you turn and tell your dad about your messed up car. “Oh, dad, before I forget to tell you. Joel’s coming over tomorrow to take a look at my car. The check engine light came on, and he’s gonna try to fix it for me,” you say lightly.

“Why didn’t you just ask me first? I could’ve taken a look. You sure asked Joel pretty quick there,” he says with his eyebrow raised and the hint of suspicion in there.

You gulp and try not to let your widening eyes give you away. “Oh, uhhh. I just thought you’d be too busy to take a look at it, and you know how good he is with fixing cars,” you shrug innocently.

“And you thought he’d be less busy than me tomorrow?” he asks with the tic of his jaw and wondering eyes staring questionably at you.

Your heart is in your chest and you feel the faint drops of sweat forming on your forehead. “I mean, I just didn’t want to bother you is all. Figured once I told you then you’d just tell me to ask Joel anyways,” you lie with a straight face, keeping your composure together.

He looks at you a few seconds and then nods, face relaxing a little. “Yeah, you’re definitely right, hun. That’s exactly what I would’ve done. Alright, well I need to hop on this call, so I’ll see you later.”

He turns into the direction of his office and you round the corner into the entryway and relax against the wall, breathing out a long sigh of relief. That was close. Too close for comfort.

You head up the stairs and back into your bedroom filled with lilac walls and scents of vanilla and citrus hanging in the air. Apartments. You need to find an apartment and fast.

The air is stuffy and hot in the garage, even though the autumn breeze blows gently outside as it carries red and golden leaves across the driveway. You’re wearing a light blue hoodie and cut off black denim shorts while you sit atop the wooden workbench in your garage. You gently kick your dangling legs off the side of the workbench and stare at the most gorgeous man working on your car. Joel Miller.

You watch the way he picks apart every single wire and car part he can get his hands on. His tousled dark curls sit slicked back against the top of his head by sweat that cakes his forehead, his grey t-shirt bunches around his thick arms every time he flexes and reaches under the hood, and his hands stay covered in grease and dirt from tearing apart your car piece by piece.

You can’t help but gawk at how ridiculously hot he is right now, can’t help the way you bite your lower lip seductively and run your tongue across the bottom of your lip in hopes to get a taste of him. You start to wonder what it’d be like to be bent over the hood of your car while he takes you from the back, start to imagine how good it’d feel to have his thick cock between your slick center as he fucks you senseless into oblivion. Can’t help the burning need in between your thighs as you squeeze your legs together and choke down a moan as slick starts to pool in the center of your lacy underwear.

“You alright there, darlin’?” he asks with concern hinting in his voice as he washes his hands in the garage sink, stepping closer to you as he wipes his hands off on a bunched up rag. “You look a little flushed there,” he says as he steps in front of you, just a few inches from meeting your knees.

“Umm, yeah. I’m fine. Just got a little hot, I guess,” you gasp out, nervously panting as your jaw drops open.

He slides up to you and stops right in front of your thighs, locking his knees up with yours as his t-shirt sticks against his broad chest and bulging biceps. You can’t help but stare at him and his pretty brown eyes with flecks of gold that sneak out and catch you unawarely. You want to run your fingers through his messy greying hair, want to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him until you taste every single part of him as you unravel yourself around him.

“Why don’t you close your jaw, sweetheart. Gonna start drooling if you keep it up,” he smirks as he cups your chin and helps you close. You swallow away all the heat and try to calm yourself as he stands before you, but you can’t. He’s too much, too fucking much.

“Sorry, couldn’t help it,” you say flirtatiously as you bat your long eyelashes at him, feeling your blush paint the edges of your cheeks crimson.

“You gonna tell me what you were thinkin’ about?” he asks with the tic of his jaw, leaning his weight against the bench as his hand gently brushes your hip.

“I was just thinking how hot you looked leaning over the hood of my car. And your messy curls, how I want to run my fingers through them right about now,” you smile as he leans against you, taking his other hand and placing it against the top of your thigh as he gently runs his rough hand down to your knee.

“Oh, yeah? S’that right?” he laughs as he takes his other hand and pushes your thighs apart, stepping in between them as he runs calloused fingers up and down your smooth skin, turning your breaths ragged from the heat of his massive hands on you.

“Mhm,” you choke out, already worked up from his light flirting and the weight of his thick fingers on you.

“What else were ya thinkin’ about, hmmm?” he hums out, his eyes growing darker by the second.

“I was thinking…” you start as you run your fingers through his damp curls, making him groan as your nails scrape lightly against his scalp. “How good it’d feel if you fucked me on the hood of my car,” you purr, whispering into his ear seductively. You feel the bulge in his jeans already starting to form, feel how turned on he’s getting at the thought of you spread wide open for him on the top of your car.

“Christ, baby. Such a dirty girl, aren’t ya? Wantin’ me to fuck you senseless while I make you cum all over my cock. That’s what you want, ain’t it? To make you scream my name while I make you cum again and again and again…”

His voice lowers with a growl as he wraps his hands around your hips and drags you forward, ending right on the edge of the workbench as your legs clench around his back, his hands moving over the denim of your shorts as he snakes a hand up under the material, finding your soaked lace absolutely ruined for him.

You choke out a moan as he dips his fingers under your lace, slowly spreading your folds as his thumb finds your clit and circles you meticulously, stifling another moan out of you as you dig your fingers into his back and wrap your legs tighter around him.

“So fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart. Such a good girl. Always ready for me. Always so needy, ain’t that right?” he smirks as he continues circling you, making your heels dig into his back as you slide a hand through his messy curls and drop your lips to the shell of his ear. Ragged moans leave your lips as he pushes two fingers inside your dripping hole while his thumb continues dancing over your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Feels so good, daddy,” you pant, biting down on his earlobe as you hold in a loud moan while he circles you faster, getting you all worked up over him. You hear the sloshing noises of your wetness and his fingers pumping in and out of you, and it’s so fucking hot that more slick slides down your center as you start to come apart around him. You’re so close, almost there already.

“That’s right, baby. Daddy’s gonna make it all better,” he coos, curling up his fingers inside you as he hits the spongy part of your walls that elicit another moan deep into his ear as your toes curl in your Converse.

“Joellll,” you whine into his ear, dragging your fingers against the curls that sit matted to the back of his neck.

“What is it, baby? Can’t handle daddy’s fingers, huh?” he teases as his lips ghost across yours effortlessly. “Tell daddy what you want,” he smirks, speeding up the shift of his thumb against your aching clit.

“Want you…. oh, God,” you moan as he curls his fingers inside you nice and slow, moving them up further as you latch around him tighter.

“Go on, finish your sentence,” he smirks with clenched teeth as he works you over nice and thoroughly.

“Want you to fuck me,” you whine against the shell of his ear.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Can’t fuck you here, sweetheart. Don’t want your father findin’ you with my cock buried deep in that wet pussy now, do ya?”

You whine out as your breathing becomes hard to control, tattered moans filling his ear like a choir of angels. “No, don’t want that,” you gasp out, your fingers tangled in knots against the back of his soft t-shirt. “I want you though. Want you so fucking bad,” you groan as he continues building slick around his thick fingers.

“Wanna put this hard cock inside that pretty pussy of yours. Wanna fuck you so hard over this bench right now that you won’t be able to stand for the rest of the night. Wanna cum inside that drippin’ pussy while you moan my name as I take you from the back,” he growls as he fucks his fingers up inside you deeper, hitting the spongy area again and again as you feel your orgasm about to take flight.

“Want you to moan my name so loud when I make you cum that everyone in the neighborhood knows just who you belong to,” he growls with clenched teeth as he presses down harder on your clit, rubbing it in just the right area that you feel yourself start to spill. You feel the white hot heat start to take over as your eyes roll back and you clench up against his fingers that continuously curl up inside you.

“Joel, I’m… I’m coming,” you moan as you bite down on the scruff of his jaw, feeling your orgasm wash over you as you close your eyes and bite back your moan as you let him have it.

“That’s it, baby. Such a good fuckin’ girl. So good for me,” he praises as you take a few seconds to come out of your blissed out daze, his fingers gently releasing out of you as he brings them up to his mouth and sucks, staring at you with blown out pupils. Your eyes go wide as you watch him drink down your cum, humming to himself as he licks them clean.

“Taste s’good, darlin’. Can never get enough of you,” he purrs as he pulls your drenched underwear back over your cunt and straightens your shorts out again. You grab the back of his neck and pull him toward you, planting your lips over his as the taste of sweat, black coffee, and you enter your mouth. He wraps his hands around your hips and slithers his tongue into your mouth, letting you taste all of him as his senses envelop you, sweat and all.

Before you can get lost in him anymore, you hear the jostle of the doorknob and the squeaking hinges as the garage door starts to open. Joel jumps back out of your reach and grabs the bottle of synthetic oil off the back of the shelf, drawing his dark eyes away from you as you compose yourself with a quick breath and legs that clash together.

Your dad looks up at you with concerned eyes and purses his lips. “Honey, you feeling okay? Your face is all flushed and your eyes are so wide they look bloodshot.”

Your blood runs cold as you gulp down your nerves and flick your eyes over to Joel, watching as he stares at your idle car as he runs a hand nervously up the back of his neck. “I’m okay, dad. Just got a little too hot is all,” you say as you fan yourself with your hand, trying to get rid of the flush of your crimson cheeks.

“Oh, sorry about that sweetie. Want me to get you a bottle of water?” he asks with a gentle nod your way.

“Yeah. Thanks, dad.”

“Alright, honey. Be back in a minute.” He turns to Joel and slaps him on the back in a way that best friends only do. “How’s the car looking? Figure out what’s wrong?” he asks as he looks around the open hood of the car.

Joel loosens the top of the oil and sets it down beside the front wheel. “Yeah, there seemed to be some loose wires that got tangled around each other. I fixed ‘em. The serpentine belt looks to be pretty worn out, so I can stop at the hardware store tomorrow and get a new one. Should be an easy fix. And the car needs an oil change, so I’ll get that done real quick. Then it should be good to drive smoothly,” he says as he plays with the used towel in his hands.

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this, Joel. You sure do take care of my little girl,” he smiles in thanks.

Joel smiles back and chuckles. “Anything for your daughter, George. I always got her back.” He turns your direction and winks at you secretly, making your cheeks turn bright red at the secret meaning behind his words.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller. Maybe one of these days I can get you to go on a date with one of Claire’s friends. Trust me, some of her friends already drool over you. Should ask one of them out. Could use a woman around the house. Maybe get you laid one of these days,” he teases as he claps a strong hand over Joel’s back.

Joel’s fists clench and his lips twitch at the mention of dating other women. You won’t lie, you feel a heavy weight against your chest and the tinge of jealousy runs hot down your throat. Joel would do no such thing. Mine.

“Nah, man. Thanks for the offer though. I’m good,” he responds. A breath you had been holding blows out, the wave of jealousy washing away as soon as he says the words.

“You sure? Wouldn’t hurt to at least have a night in with one of them. How long has it been, huh?”

“Dad!” you say forcefully, making both of them look your direction as you dig your nails into the wood, jaw locked into place. “Water?” you ask as you raise your eyebrows.

“Right, sorry. Be back in a minute.” With that he races back inside and slams the door shut.

“So, my dad’s trying to hook you up with one of my mom’s friends?” you ask with a raised eyebrow, mostly joking around with him.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. Already have my best girl right here,” he nods your way, curling his lips into a crooked smile. You can’t help but smile back at him and melt at his words. My best girl.

“That’s right. I’m your girl,” you say possessively.

“Damn straight you are,” he smirks, making butterflies flit through your stomach.

Your dad comes back with a cold bottle of water and leaves the two of you alone again, closing the door to go answer a phone call. As you let the fresh water quench your thirst, you watch Joel meander his way under your car, taking his time to change your oil out. You watch his soft t-shirt lift up just a tad, exposing thick dark hair that trails underneath the waistband of his jeans.

It takes everything in you not to go over and straddle him as he works, slipping your hand underneath his jeans as you pull his hard cock out and go down on him, taking him in your mouth nice and slow as you make his ropes of cum slide down the back of your throat. You hold back the temptation, knowing you can’t do that here. Not when your dad’s lurking around the corner of the house.

You sigh and watch him work, making light conversation with him as he puts the cap back on and crawls out from underneath the car. Grease stains his grey t-shirt, and he has a smudge of grease across his nose.

“Joel, come here. You’re a mess,” you giggle as you grab a towel from the metal shelf and jump down off the workbench, going over to stand in front of him. You wipe off the grease from his nose and wipe off his hands next, making sure you get off as much as you can.

“Baby, I could’ve done that,” he smiles as he grabs the towel from you, wiping off what he can from his ruined shirt.

“It’s fine, I wanted to help,” you shrug.

He looks at the grease stain on his finger for a second then back up at you, mischief written all over those hazy brown eyes.

You back up against the wall and raise an eyebrow. “What are you planning, Miller?” you ask suspiciously, holding in a laugh as you see the playful smirk pulling at his lips.

“Me, planning? Never,” he scoffs, the smirk planting firmly against the corners of his mouth. In a flash he cages you against the wall with his thick arms and smears some grease on your jawline. Your eyes go wide as he does it.

“Joel!” you whine as you push against his chest playfully. “That’s not funny,” you say as a giddy laugh escapes your throat.

“It ain’t funny, huh? Then why are you laughing?” he asks as a deep chuckle ruptures from his chest.

“Get it off, now,” you demand playfully as you try to grab the used tan towel from him. He grabs it back from you.

“I got it, I got it,” he laughs as he uses the pristine end of the towel to clean off the grease from your jawline. When he promises he got it, he throws the towel up on the workbench as you reel him in for a kiss. His lips are soft, plush, and they taste like Joel.

“Oh, that reminds me. I got somethin’ for ya,” he says as he breaks the kiss, digging around the back pocket of his dark faded jeans.

“You got me something?” you ask with a surprised lilt to your voice.

“Mhm,” he hums as he grabs his leather wallet and opens it up, digging around to find what he’s looking for.

“What’s the occasion?” you ask curiously, watching him dig around excitedly as his thick fingers push around old receipts and folded up papers.

“Don’t have to be an occasion to get ya somethin’, darlin’,” he chuckles. “But this is kind of an early birthday present, since your birthday’s next month.” He finally finds what he’s looking for and pulls out two tickets that have a matte gloss covering both sides. You flip them over and your eyes go wide at what the tickets say. Two general admission tickets to see Ghost at the Moody Center on November fourteenth sit carefully in your hands. You gulp back tears as you stand frozen in awe as you stare at the glossy tickets.

“Joel…” you gasp out, your eyes probably as wide as an owl right now.

“Thought you’d like ‘em. I know how much you’ve wanted to see ‘em for a long time. Took me a while to find out when they were gonna come to town, so I jumped at the chance when I saw ‘em post new tour dates. And Breaking Benjamin is gonna be their opener. I know how much you like them too and…”

You jump into his arms and wrap your hands around his neck as you thank him over and over again for the best gift ever. You grab his shirt and pull him in for a long kiss as you run your hands through his tousled curls. When you break the kiss, you stand back to look at him in his pretty face as your arms stay wrapped around his neck.

“You’re gonna take me to go see Ghost?” you ask sweetly with big eyes that water faintly.

“I’m gonna take ya to see Ghost,” he nods with a crooked smile as he looks down at you with brown doe eyes that you want to sink right into as they swallow you whole.

You pull him in for another long hug as his strong arms wrap around your waist. “You’re the sweetest, Joel,” you say as you plant your lips on his cheek, staying in his embrace for as long as you can.

“Anything for my girl,” he smiles as he cups your chin, bringing his lips down on yours again. When he pulls back, he keeps his calloused thumb trailing against your jawline, making you dizzy with lovesick thoughts.

“Hey, what’re you doin’ for Halloween?” he asks as he keeps his coffee eyes focused on you, his thumb trailing light circles across your cheekbone.

“I didn’t really have any plans. Sometimes my friends will drag me out to the bars or we’ll find a Halloween party to go to. How come?” you ask, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Umm well, you wanna come over to my place? We could watch some scary movies, make some popcorn, order a pizza. I know how much you like those classic horror movies. Would be nice to have some company,” he smiles shyly as the corners of his mouth rise up into a crooked grin. He’s perfect, so perfect.

“Joel Miller asking me to watch scary movies? You don’t even really like them,” you laugh as you hang around his neck, his left hand digging deeper into the side of your hip.

“Yeah, well. You rub off on me a lot. And besides, anything to make my girl happy. I jus’ like spending time with you is all, darlin’,” he drawls, his eyes glistening with flecks of light and dark brown mixing together to make a pretty coffee color. His crooked smile makes a dimple press against his cheek, and the lines against his eyes crinkle into complete warmth that fills the hard lines in his face. You think he’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen in your life. Because he is.

“Joel… you leave me speechless. Truly. I’m so, so lucky to have you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” you gush to him as you rest your forehead against his.

“No, darlin’. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You stifle out a laugh and bring your lips down slowly over his, this kiss more slow and romantic than all the other ones. Who would’ve thought you and Joel Miller would’ve ever been a thing? But here you are. Completely and utterly wrapped up in each other, and you just can’t get enough.

You hear the jiggle of the door handle and see the door opening fast into the garage. You jump out of Joel’s grasp and take a few steps back, separating the distance between him even though it’s getting harder to act like the two of you aren’t completely crazy for each other. You’re out of breath, still dizzy from all the emotions of the last few minutes with Joel. And he looks the same, pupils dilated and a flushed face as he looks up at your father.

Your father stops and puts on his glasses to take a closer look. “Joel, you feeling okay? Your face is flushed too. You good?” he asks as he hands Joel a water.

“Yeah. Just got up too fast from under the car. Should be fine,” he nods as he flicks his eyes over to you, the look of affection returning to his brown doe eyes you can’t get enough of.

“Alright, well dinner’s ready if you wanna stay. She made chicken enchiladas tonight, so pretty sure you’ll wanna stay,” he laughs.

“Sure, wouldn’t miss those,” Joel nods as your dad smiles back at him.

“Well, come on. Come and get it while it’s hot.” Your dad turns toward the door and goes through, leaving it open for you and Joel to follow.

Joel takes your hand in his discreetly and leads you through, rubbing the pad of his calloused thumb against the back of your hand, making you feel all tingly and giddy inside. Before he drops your hand, he brushes your knuckles with his lips and places a slow kiss against the back of your hand. You blush on the spot and smile up at him as he returns one back, and then he drops your hand as he walks into the light of the dining room.

Fuck. You have it bad for Joel Miller and you’re falling fast. Very fast.

Halloween Night

You spend the entirety of the afternoon getting ready for your night in with Joel. You shower, douse yourself in Victoria’s Secret Bombshell perfume, and pick out the perfect Halloween costume to wear. You go with a short black mini dress that barely grazes your thighs, the long sleeves hanging off your shoulder that leave your neck and the tops of your shoulders exposed to the cool air.

You carefully fix your hair into loose spiral curls and secure a long pink bow in the back of your silky hair. You apply shimmery pink eyeshadow to the hoods of your eyelids, draw perfect cat eyes with liquid eyeliner, and purse your lips after applying the shiny pink lip gloss. After slipping on a pair of black heels, you look at yourself in the full length mirror and grab the pair of fuzzy black cat ears as you top off your costume. Joel’s going to lose his mind when he sees you in this getup.

After nervously driving over to his house, you now stand on the front of his porch and wait for him to come open the door after you ring the doorbell. You pull on your sleeves, your legs shaking as the cold evening wind hits your bare legs. After a few seconds he opens the door and pulls it back.

“Hey, sweetheart. You…” His voice cuts off as his brown eyes go wide as he lets out a low whistle, slowly taking in your figure from head to toe.

You twirl around slowly for him, letting him see all of you and watch him fall apart. “Trick r treat,” you smirk. “Gonna give me something sweet to eat?” you purr, batting your dark lashes up at him sweetly.

You hear him curse quietly under his breath and watch him rake his hand slowly over his patchy beard. “Goddamn, darlin’. Such a pretty little kitty cat. And that dress, fuck,” he bites out as he gazes his dark eyes over your long legs. “Prettiest girl that ever stood in my doorway, that’s for sure. C’mere,” he calls as he grabs your waist and pulls you into his broad chest, pressing his lips against yours as you chase the taste of his black coffee scent you so desperately love.

When you pull away you click your tongue at him. “Thought you were supposed to have a costume on today?” you say with a raised brow, playfully pushing at his chest.

“This is my costume,” he replies with an amused expression on his face.

Your eyes trail down him slowly. He wears a Halloween black t-shirt, an open red flannel, and dark blue jeans that form against his muscular thighs. You shake your head and pull off your cat ears, placing them over his tousled dark curls as you position it to balance on his head perfectly.

You laugh as you take in the big, strong man with the fluffy cat ears on. “There. Now you have a costume on,” you giggle as he just shakes his head and pulls you inside while he shuts the door behind him.

“Funny, very funny,” he chuckles, a dimple forming against his cheek which makes you only melt more for him. “Wanna take ‘em back now?”

“Nope,” you shake your head, holding a laugh in as you watch him examine his face in the mirror, sighing as he takes in the fuzzy ears atop his head.

“I look ridiculous,” he groans, crossing his arms over his chest as his biceps pull at the red flannel, making you anxious to curl up against them on the couch.

“No, you’re adorable,” you respond, lingering your hand against his soft t-shirt as you curl your hand around it.

“Don’t think so, darlin’. That’s all you. You gorgeous girl,” he says with a low drawl, his caramel eyes honing in as he backs you up against the wooden staircase, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly. Before he leans in, the front door twists open and he pulls away from you in a hurry, putting as much distance between the two of you before Sarah walks in.

Your eyes grow wide as you weren’t expecting her to be here tonight. Sarah gasps as her eyes flick from you to Joel, clearly confused on what’s going on. Her long curls fall over her shoulders as she stands in a Cowboys jersey and black yoga pants with war paint smeared across her cheeks.

She says your name with questions ringing in her tone. “What are you doing here? On Halloween? Shouldn’t you be at a party or something?” she asks as she looks over your outfit carefully, her eyes going over to Joel as she takes in the cat ears that sit perched atop his head.

“Uh dad, why are you wearing those?” she asks as a giggle sounds loudly across the lit up hall.

He throws the ears off and hands them back to you, running a hand through his messy curls as he works to stay composed. “Don’t worry about it,” he says defensively. “And she came over so I could work on her car,” he confirms.

“But you just fixed her car a few days ago?” she says with raised brows, her eyes flicking back and forth between you and him.

“Uhhh yeah. But the light came back on this morning, so I brought it over. Joel said he could take a look real quick. I was just about to head back out. Shouldn’t take too long,” you say with a calm, collected demeanor, giving nothing away.

She eyes you both suspiciously and finally nods. “Okay then. Whatever you say,” she rolls her eyes. “But anyways, look at you! That outfit is so hot, my dad would never let me wear anything like that,” she pouts, crossing her arms over the orange jersey as it scrunches up underneath her.

“Maybe when you’re thirty,” he teases. She just shakes her head and sticks her tongue out at him. He chuckles out a deep laugh in response.

“Whateverrrrr,” she drawls out. She turns back to you and beams her pearly white smile as her curls bounce up and down as she moves. “Bet you’ve got all the boys wrapped around your finger in that outfit,” she smirks out. Joel’s eyes grow a shade darker as he focuses on you, trying his best not to say a word in response.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Maybe just one,” you smirk, your eyes flicking over to his brown irises as you face Sarah again, careful not to give anything away.

“Oooooo you have a boyfriend? Why haven’t I met him? Is he cute? Is he a good kisser?!” she yells excitedly as she hounds you for information.

“Sarah!” Joel warns, telling her to calm down as his eyes narrow over her.

“Sorry,” she whines, giving you a small smile as you return one to her.

“What are you doin’ back here? Thought you were goin’ to your friend’s to go trick r treatin’?” he asks with raised brows, hands on his hips as his jaw clenches up.

“I am. Just forgot to grab my purse,” she says as she reaches around you and grabs her purple over the shoulder purse and heads back to the door. “Alright, heading back out. Guess I’ll see you sometime soon?” she asks as she looks over at you behind her shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m sure you will,” you nod her way, waving a quick goodbye to her.

“Sarah?” Joel calls before she heads out the door.

“Yeah?” she asks before closing the door.

“Not too late, alright?” Joel says with his brows furrowed together.

“Yeah, be back before midnight,” she promises.

“Sarah?” he calls out again, making her groan at the name.

“Huh?”

“Love you,” he says softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his face relaxes into happiness.

She smiles gently and nods. “Love you too, dad.” With that she closes the door and runs off to the burgundy Cadillac that awaits her out front.

You can’t help but smile at Joel, butterflies flitting through your stomach as you take in his soft side. He’s always so careful and gentle with Sarah, always telling her how much he loves her. He’s such a softie, and you can’t help but fall for him even more as you watch him.

“What?” he asks as he snakes his arms around your waist, backing you up against the stairwell again.

“You’re such a softie,” you smile as you wrap your arms around his neck while you run your fingers through the scruff on his neck.

“Only for Sarah and you,” he grins, dropping his lips down to yours as you drink him in again, feeling every surface of his plush lips against yours.

He breaks the kiss after a few seconds and pulls you into the living room. “C’mon. I’ll get the movie started then I’ll call in a pizza for us. Pepperoni?” he asks as he leads you over to the cream colored couch and sits you down against the soft cushions.

“Pepperoni,” you nod. He turns on the tv and pulls his phone out, heading into the kitchen as he calls Pizza Hut and places an order to be delivered to the house.

You take in your surroundings of the darkened room. Vanilla candles sit sprawled against the glass coffee table, the large display of the tv glows in the near distance as the menu comes up for the movie Scream. You hear Joel in the other room hang up the phone as he places it down on the counter.

“You want some popcorn, baby?” he asks from the other room, his voice carrying into the living room like a song you want to put on repeat.

“Mhm and a Dr. Pepper, please,” you call back.

“I gotcha, baby. Be right there.”

When the popcorn is done popping and the cans of soda are taken out of the fridge, he joins you on the couch and places one hand on your thigh as the other one presses play on the remote, making the movie hum to life as the beginning titles show across the lit up screen.

You take a sip of Dr. Pepper and pop some popcorn into your mouth as the buttery taste slides down your throat conveniently. You curl your legs onto the couch and fold yourself against Joel, letting your arms wrap around him as his arm flexes behind you. He pulls you tight to his side as his hand runs gently up and down your arm, causing your body to fully relax against him as you breathe in his cologne and woodsy scent. He smells like a piece of heaven, your piece of heaven.

He takes a drink of his Dr. Pepper and places it on the coffee table, leaning back into you as he adjusts himself into the back of the cushions and lays a soft kiss against the top of your head, making you melt beneath him.

When the scene of Ghostface asking Casey what her favorite scary movie is comes up, Joel mimics his voice and asks you the same thing in a more southern, non scary tone. “What’s your favorite scary movie?” he asks mysteriously as you giggle into his chest.

“You should know this one,” you answer back, eyes flicking up to his as he looks you over carefully before responding.

“Halloween,” he answers automatically.

“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner,” you yell out, pulling a laugh from deep within his chest as you hear it rumble against your ear.

“Knew it,” he says proudly. “And what’s mine?”

You lay your head in his lap and look up at him, deep brown eyes staring down at you as he awaits your answer. He’s so pretty that it physically hurts. “Joel, The Lord of the Rings does not count as a scary movie,” you laugh out as he smiles down at you.

“Sure it does. It has spiders, orcs, dark themes.”

You push his chest playfully. “It’s fantasy. This is a scary movie,” you remark as you point to the tv, watching Ghostface chase his victim across the yard.

“Yeah, well. Still,” he vocalizes with a sigh. “Would you watch all of ‘em with me?” he asks faintly, his chocolate eyes glazing down to yours.

You turn to him and nod. “Of course I would. I’d watch amything with you,” you reply with a smile.

The corners of his lips curl up into a soft smile and he leans down and kisses you without holding back at all. He tangles his fingers in your curls and you open your mouth up, allowing him to slide his tongue into your mouth as he finds your tongue, dancing around as you drink down the taste of him slowly, passionately.

One hand slides down to your thigh as he grazes calloused fingers up and down your inner thigh, making you breathe heavier as he bites at your lower lip, heating up the room as the two of you start to get lost in each other. His hand reaches up, up, gently sliding the edge of your dress up your thigh, working his way nice and slow to where he wants to be. To your aching center that yearns for his touch.

Before he can make it any further, the doorbell rings, forcing the two of you apart as you lift up off his lap. He sighs as he pushes off the couch, muttering something under his breath that sounds like a complaint of interrupting him when he was busy with you. You giggle at his ramblings and wait till he comes back.

You hear the exchange of pizza and money and can smell the fresh cheese and pepperoni that wafts through the air of the dark living room. After another minute, Joel comes in and sets the pizza on the coffee table, telling you to eat up. You grab a slice and take a bite, letting the warm goodness fill your stomach as you set your eyes on the movie again, trying to keep focus on that instead of the handsome menace of a man that sits next to you.

“So, what’s so attractive about a killer that wears a mask? I don’t get it. With all the viral videos of masked men goin’ around, I don’t get the fuss. I even catch Sarah’s friends talking ‘bout it sometimes.” Joel shakes his head and takes another bite out of his pepperoni slice.

You giggle in response. “I don’t know. Guess that’s kind of a part of the dark romance culture now and can be kinda thrilling? A masked man in the bedroom. I mean, I get why they like it. It’s just something new and intriguing, a little dangerous, exciting even…” You stop there, not wanting to give away that you too might have a mask kink.

“Oh, is that right?” Joel smirks deviously, one of his eyebrows rising higher as he looks directly at you. “You into that shit, too?” he asks curiously as he takes his last bite, lapping his tongue along his lower lip and wiping away the last evidence of red sauce from his mouth. You try your best not to bite your lip, wanting to lick every single scrap of sauce off him slowly.

“I mean, I get the hype. Guess it would be kind of hot,” you blush, looking down at your lap to hide the crimson of your cheeks.

“I knew it,” he says as he claps a big hand on his thigh in knowing. “So you’re saying if I ever bought one of those dumb masks, you’d want me to wear it in the bedroom?” he asks as his eyebrows go up curiously while his hand digs into the back of the couch forcefully.

“I think I’d just prefer to see your handsome face, Joel. Besides, I don’t see you doing that anyways,” you laugh and hit him playfully in the shoulder.

“You’re right, darlin’. Don’t think I’d do that either,” he chuckles.

“But,” you lean into his chest and press your glossy lips to the shell of his ear seductively. “Think I’d let you put me in some handcuffs though,” you purr out as you tug on his earlobe and pull back with a sly smirk on your face.

You see the way his pupils expand and the way his chest rises and falls deeper as the blood flows thicker in the veins of his neck. You see the way he adjusts himself on the couch and clears his raspy throat. You started something, and now he’ll have to finish it.

You smile to yourself triumphantly and turn to face the tv, scooting up to the edge as you reach for your Dr. Pepper and take a refreshing sip, setting it back down on the glass coffee table when you’re done.

You hear Joel’s voice come out raspy and deep behind you. “Is that right, sweetheart? You’d let me handcuff those pretty wrists to my headboard?”

You squirm on the edge of the couch and press your legs together, feeling the heat start in your center like a volcano that’s about to rupture. “Mhmm,” you hum out carefully, trying to suppress a moan from coming out of your throat.

“Hmmm.” He leans over and presses his lips against the shell of your ear, his hot breath breathing down your neck and making you feel things you can’t control. “Think I need to go buy a pair of handcuffs then, sweetheart. Show you all the ways I can make you cum while you’re tied to my bed. What do ya think of that, huh? Sounds… erotic as hell,” he whispers darkly in your ear, leaving you panting for more as you keep your eyes focused on the movie on the big screen, watching Ghostface run down the stairs after his next victim mercilessly. He presses a gentle kiss against your cheek and scoots back into the couch, leaving you breathless and wanting.

Just when you think he’s done teasing you, he starts playing with your pink ribbon and runs his hands through your long waves, making your heartbeat gallop like the hooves of a racing Clydesdale against his touch.

“Such a pretty pink ribbon in your hair, baby,” he teases, starting to tug on your hair harder now as he pulls lightly on the curls.

“Mhm, it is,” you reply with a breath held.

“You know I love when you do your hair like this, in these curls. So long and soft to the touch. Can easily do this.” He tugs your head back and pushes you down into the couch. Your hands grip the side of the couch while your ass is up in the air, exposing all for Joel to see.

You feel his hands raise your skirt up to your hips, exposing the meaty flesh of your ass as you feel the cool air brush against the backs of your bare thighs. You hear Joel hum out in approval as he fixes his massive hands over your ass, one hand trailing down as his fingers brush the soaked material of your lace which makes a groan escape your lips.

“White lace, huh? Looks s’good on you, sweetheart. Already so wet for me, ain’t ya? Look at you drip, so fuckin’ wet, baby. Goddamn,” he whistles as he takes his thumb and trails a long line down your center, gathering more slick against the material. You whine out and he chuckles lightly.

“S’right, baby. Gonna make you really whine in a minute,” he murmurs as he slides the wet lace down your legs, gently unclasping your black heels and dropping them to the floor as he unhooks the lace from around your ankles and disposes them on the ground, leaving you completely bare for him to look at.

He slides his calloused thumb over your wetness, and you shiver with need. “Joel, please,” you beg, another whine purring out of you as you feel the pad of his thumb ghost across your clit, leaving you with a pent up cry in your chest.

“What do ya need, baby? Tell me,” he asks, barely touching your folds with the tops of his fingertips which makes you clench up over nothing.

“Need your fingers, your mouth,” you beg, your voice high-pitched from want. With need.

“That so, darlin’?” he teases as he spreads your folds with the tips of his index and middle finger, sliding them up until you can feel them pressed against your clit, drawing slow, meticulous circles as you hear the wetness gathering on his fingers.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan as you dig your fingers into the side of the couch, clawing your light pink fingernails as a way to get ahold of yourself before you’re lost into a sea of lust.

“S’right, sweetheart. I know exactly what you need,” he coos.

Before he takes it any further, he drops his hand from your center and lays back against the couch, leaving you out of breath and waiting. “Why’d you stop?” you whine as you turn in the direction he’s in and see him smirking up at you with trouble written all over his face.

“C’mere,” he calls as he curls his index finger in his direction, beckoning you to come over to him.

You look questionably at him and raise a brow. “What?” you ask as you slowly scoot your legs over his, dropping down on his hips carefully.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Not there, sweetheart. Up here,” he smirks as he points to his face. Your eyes go wide at the meaning.

“You want me to…” you trail off, unable to finish your sentence.

“S’right. Want you to sit on my face. C’mon now,” he smirks, a devilish grin taking over his face as his eyes grow dark. He places his hands on your hips as he slides you up his broad chest, stopping just before you get to his neck. You pause right there, blushing as all of a sudden you get extremely nervous.

“Joel…” you choke out, unable to finish your sentence.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” he says gently, lifting your dress above your hips as it exposes your bareness for him. He drags his eyes down your center and licks his lips, his eyes blown out as you feel his breath pick up beneath his chest. “Such a pretty pussy, baby. Drippin’ and screamin’ my name,” he groans as his eyes devour you in full. “C’mon now. Sit on my face,” he demands.

You gulp and scoot your hips up, hovering just above his mouth as you stay there, nervous and turned on at the same time.

“I didn’t say hover, sweetheart. I said sit,” he demands, digging his hands into your hips as he tries to lower you down, but you hold back, afraid to crush him.

“But won’t I crush you?” you ask with your breath caught in your throat.

“The only thing that’s gonna crush me is if you don’t sit the fuck down and ride on my face. Now sit!” he growls as he forces your weight down on top of him, the curls above your mound sitting atop his curved nose as he breathes you in deeply.

He inhales your savoury scent and drags his rough tongue all the way from your dripping hole to the tops of your folds, catching the end of your clit as you whine out with need.

“Goddamn, baby. Taste and smell s’good, darlin’. Hold on tight. Not gonna stop till I make you cum all over my face, not gonna stop till you moan my name, not gonna stop till you’re all mine,” he growls as he hooks his arms around your thighs and dives back in.

He slowly drags his tongue over all of you, slotting himself between your folds and lapping meticulous circles around your puffy clit. You feel more slick spill out of you and feel him take your bundle of nerves into his mouth, sucking and slurping as every single nerve ending comes alive against his mouth. When he releases, he shoves his tongue into your wet hole, plunging into your core as you vibrate and fall apart against him.

You twist your fingers into his tousled curls and moan his name with a lull, lost in complete bliss as he works his tongue up and down up and down, making the room foggy with the smell of your arousal and the loud moans you’re giving him. “Joellll, fuck,” you moan as you pull at his hair, sliding yourself up and down his mouth as you ride his face exactly like he wants you to.

He groans at your movements, groans at the way you tug on his curls as his tongue works and works to make you fall apart around him. He slaps your ass hard and digs his nails into your thighs as he speeds up his hot tongue.

He’s pulling, sucking, munching at your clit as you feel the building orgasm. You feel it start in your spine, sliding down to rest in the pit of your stomach as you’re almost there, feel it about to take flight as your toes curl and your fingers slip deeper into his wild locks. He knows you’re close, knows exactly what he’s doing. He can’t speak, too far gone in pleasuring you with his mouth, too deep with sucking your throbbing bundle of nerves again and again as his nail beds prod into your flesh.

He loves to feel you come apart, loves to taste your arousal drip down his throat, loves to hear you moan and thrive while you’re about to come undone, and loves when you pull his hair and moan his name while he has his way with you.

You grind your pussy against his mouth, feel how soaked you’re getting him, and it just makes you that much closer to spilling yourself all over him. You feel him groan against your folds, hear him practically whisper the words into your ear as he licks and sucks you repeatedly into his drooling mouth.

Atta girl. There ya go.

Say my name, sweetheart.

C’mon. Give it to me. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.

He pulls your throbbing clit into his mouth and sucks hard, setting off every single nerve ending in your body. He sucks nice and slow and you feel yourself fall apart right there on his hot tongue. You roll your hips and feel the heat slide down your body as you clench over nothing and spill yourself all over his mouth, hearing his groan as he laps up all your slick while you fist his hair roughly through your fingers.

You take a minute to let your panting die out and wait for your body to come back down to earth after your intense face riding orgasm. When you slide back to rest on his chest, you see just how drenched and glistening his mouth and beard are from all your slick and cum. And fuck is it hot.

He smiles up at you as he catches his breath, his blown out pupils relaxing into pure brown warmth as he watches you with admiration on his face. It’s probably the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

“Rode me s’good, baby. Love the taste of you,” he hums, his crows feet crinkling up at the corners of his eyes as you get lost in those pools of warm honey.

“Yeah, well, I have an excellent instructor with an experienced tongue,” you purr, winking down at him with a big smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

He chuckles and responds, “Always happy to put my tongue to good use. Especially for you.”

You bite your lower lip and grin down at him, completely entranced by him. You’re so lucky, so fucking lucky. The luckiest girl in the world.

You shift off him and start to turn the other way as you move your legs away from his chest. Before you can crawl to the other side of the couch, he grabs your calves and pulls you back toward him. “Now where do you think you’re goin’, sweetheart?” he asks with an edge to his voice.

“Huh? What do you mean?” you ask as his large hands wrap around your ankles, pulling you back up to him as he tangles you around the roots of him, firmly planting you to his chest.

“M’not done with you yet, baby girl. You’re gonna give me another one,” he purrs, his deep voice thundering out of his chest like a bear ready to attack.

“Another one? But I’m… I’m so sensitive and…”

He shuts you up quick. “No, you’re not too sensitive. I know what you can handle, and you’re gonna fuckin’ take it like the good girl I know you are,” he growls as he drags you back up to him, hovering just over the edge of his mouth as you feel his hot breath connect with your wetness that’s already dripping for him again.

Fuck.

He wraps his strong arms around your hips and tugs you down where your folds are connecting with his plush lips, and the feeling is already overwhelming. But you need it, need him. You suck in a breath as he licks a long stripe up the entirety of you and you moan out for more.

“Need you so bad, daddy. Please,” you beg, digging your hands into the thighs of his dark jeans as your nails embed in him.

“I’m gonna give it to ya, sweetheart. Daddy’s gonna lick every inch of that pretty pussy,” he purrs as he licks another stripe up your folds, spreading you out to devour your needy clit.

You groan out and dig into his jeans, needing something to latch onto. When you open your eyes and look down, you see his bulge pressed against the thick fabric of his jeans, begging to be released.

You take your hand and grab around his thickness, working him through the denim of his pants. You hear him groan under your touch and bite your lip at the idea that dances through your mind. You’re going to sixty-nine with him. This is what’s going to send you over the edge.

You carefully unzip his zipper and free his bulging erection, taking him in your hand as you see the precum release from his slit and lap over the edges of his tip, working your hand nice and slow over him to spread the precum over his entirety.

His skin’s soft in your hand as you slide it back and forth over his large length, feeling the thick veins that spider around him that end just underneath the tip of his head. His head is red and swollen and screaming for you to taste him, and you’re happy to oblige.

Just as you meet your lips at his head and slide your tongue across his drenched tip, he shutters underneath you and lifts your hips just enough to speak as you feel the salty precum slide down your throat all hot and bubbly like.

“Fuck, baby. What’re you doin’?” he says with clenched teeth as you squeeze his cock, gliding your hand up and down his shaft as you turn to face him, smirking down at him with a devilish grin forming on your lips.

“What do you mean what am I doing? Isn’t it obvious? We’re sixty-nining,” you purr, licking your lower lip as you watch his pupils blow out into big black pits.

“Sixty-nine, is that right? You’re a dirty girl, kitty cat,” he smirks as he takes his index and middle fingers and pushes them inside you nice and slow, curling his fingers up to hit that spongy soft spot that makes you clench up against him and moan out slowly.

“That’s right, right there. That feel good?” he asks as you bite your lip and nod at him, choking out another moan as he curls his fingers higher, setting a wildlife throughout your entire core.

“Yes, daddy. Feels incredible,” you groan as you rock against his fingers, letting your own hand twist up and down his hard, wet length in your hand. You want to taste him, now.

“Fuckin’ sixty-nine. And with the prettiest girl in the world? Shit, baby. You’ve got me wrapped around your finger like that pretty pink bow in your hair,” he says with a gentle laugh that sounds a little like unbelief in his voice.

You giggle out a laugh as you stare at him as he smiles up at you between your legs. “Got you wrapped around my finger, do I?”

“Mhm, that’s right, sweetheart. All mine,” he says with a crooked grin curling up over his lips, sending your heart into overdrive.

“All yours,” you confirm with a soft smile.

He takes a minute to look at you, warm eyes focused on your face softly. Then his eyes shift into something dark and carnal as he brings you back down to his mouth.

“Well, go on, darlin’. I’ll take care of this needy pussy while you show me how good you can suck my cock,” he smirks, letting his fingers release from you as he wraps his arms around your thighs and pulls you down on him again. You choke out a moan as his tongue presses deep into your folds and up your dripping hole.

You focus back on his hard cock in front of you and go back down, circling his head as you lap up his salty precum and then dive down on him, taking his long length in your mouth as your hand slides up and down him slowly, savouring his taste on your tongue.

You take him as far in your mouth as you can, making sure you hit the back of your throat and choke on him while tears spill down your face as you take him deep in your throat over and over again.

You hear his moans fill the room as his tongue circles your clit, hearing your own moans get washed out by the sound of you gagging on his thick cock as your spit drips down his length and into the coarse hairs that cover his base.

The wet, sticky, messy sounds of Joel eating you out and the gagging sounds of you deep throating his massive cock again and again mix together, forming a wet, harmonious melody that reverberates off each other. It causes more slick to slide down your center as he licks and sucks and pulls on your needy clit. It’s too much, too fucking hot. This is the best, most intimate thing you’ve ever done. But you have a feeling this won’t be the end of it because he’ll want more, you’ll want more. It’s only going to get hotter, more primal, more possessive as you continue.

Joel Miller may be a fucking menace, but you’re no better. You’re a temptress spinning your web as you trap him, seducing him to you, pulling him and making him yours. Both of you wrapping each other into a complete tangle until both of you are completely, irrevocably bound to one another. Just like a moth to a flame, you’re pulled to him as he is to you. Two hearts beating wildly for the other just the same.

The room is hot and sticky as both of you get lost in each other’s ecstasy. Moans echoing off the walls as you both are close to orgasm, both so fucking high off each other that you never want to come down. You just want to stay where your bodies are panting in sweat as you continuously get lost in each other’s bliss and euphoria. You’ve never experienced a high quite like this before. Never experienced anything ever like this. It’s just you and Joel, two bodies completely consumed in the other with no plans of ever slipping away from each other. It’s just Joel.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

You start to clench up, feel your walls fluttering as they’re about to spill, feel the way he sucks your clit into his giving mouth as his tongue travels up the entirety of you, covering you in his own spit and drool. And it’s so fucking hot.

“C’mon, baby girl. Give it to me. Cum for me. Wanna feel it,” he groans as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks hard. And that’s when you come apart for him, that’s when you feel yourself let go.

You release your lips from his cock and feel a string of drool fall from your lips and attach to the tip of his head, thinking of nothing as you throw back your head back and moan his name as it echoes across the room. “Joellllll, fuck,” you moan as you release white hot liquid all over his mouth. He’s greedy and takes it all, licking you clean as you hear his mouth drink you up, leaving nothing behind.

You rub up and down his cock faster, feeling him stiffen underneath you as his breath goes shallow. Ragged moans leave his chest as he grips your thighs tight and moans out your name slowly.

“Oh fuck, oh shit,” he slurs as you lap at his tip, teasing him before you take him again.

“That’s it, daddy. Go on and cum for me. Wanna take you all in my mouth,” you purr as you wrap your mouth around him again, bobbing up and down as you deep throat him, hearing the gagging noises that send him over the edge. He’s right there, just on the edge. You go down again and hold your mouth there as you take him deep, feeling your throat constrict around his thick cock.

“Baby, m’gonna… gonna cum… oh, fuck,” he moans as you feel thick ropes of cum hit the back of your throat, swallowing his large load down as the salty, delicious taste dances down your tastebuds.

You work over his length nice and slow, not stopping till he’s finished cumming. And just when you think he’s done, he surprises you and pours out more inside your mouth.

You see his hand shoot to his sweaty forehead as he grabs at his messy curls, see his eyes roll back as he moans your name again and again. It sounds like music to your ears, something angelic and addictive sinking into your soul at just the sound of him cumming. It’s your sanctuary, your favorite tune in the world. And you’d never get enough of it, never.

When he’s finished sending his spend down your throat, you slowly release your mouth from him as drool cakes your chin. His cock is so messy with spit and drool that you blush at the job you just did on him.

You feel his chest heave up and down underneath you, his breathing gradually slowing down little by little. You take a second to catch your own breath, gulping down breaths of fresh air that smells like him. There’s something beautiful in the rhythm of both of your breaths in sync. It’s almost like you share the same heartbeat, something so intimate about it that you can’t even shake the euphoric feeling. It’s the best thing you’ve ever experienced. He’s the best thing. Joel is.

After a few minutes he helps you sit up as he pulls his briefs and jeans back up over his softening cock. When he sits up, he grabs your lace panties from the floor and pulls them up over your legs, securing them back into place over your overstimulated pussy. He pulls down your dress over your thighs and lays back down against the couch, bringing you down with him.

You sink into his side and wrap an arm around his chest as he cradles you in his arms gently. He takes his hand and runs it up and down your arm, leaving goosebumps over every square inch of skin he marks as his own. And this feels right, all of this feels right. He feels right.

He presses a kiss against your forehead and showers you with the perfect aftercare cuddles. He’s so good, the absolute best at aftercare. It’s always been your favorite ever since the first time he did it with you in this very living room that you sit in now. Joel Miller might be dominant in the bedroom, but he’s a big softie underneath it all. He’s the perfect combination of rough around the edges and pure honey everywhere else.

“Did s’good for me, sweetheart. Always do s’good for me,” he purrs as he places another gentle kiss over your forehead. “My perfect girl,” he whispers, and you can’t help but smile at the words. My perfect girl.

“Mhm, your perfect girl,” you whisper back as you snuggle into him more, sinking into his chest as his soft t-shirt scrapes along your jawline.

“I like the sound of that,” he laughs, his raspy chuckle that sounds like a symphony of guitars in your ear.

“Me too,” you whisper back.

As the movie comes to an end, Joel grabs the controller and puts on Halloween as you hear the theme song play from the speakers. He relaxes his arm back down around you and pulls you closer to where your cheek is nestled in the crook of his neck as he takes his other hand and runs his fingers through your waves. And this might be your favorite thing ever. Being in his arms. You never want him to let go. Never ever.

You feel yourself start to slip into unconsciousness, feel yourself relax into him as the darkness pulls you under. You don’t know when, you don’t know how, but after a few minutes of cuddling you and Joel fall asleep, wrapped in each other’s warmth as sleep takes you down fast.

And then something happens, something unexpected and unwelcome.

After what seems like hours of sleep, you’re woken up to the harsh lights of the living room being turned on. You jolt awake and sit up, blinking a few times to get your eyes situated to the fluorescent lights above. Joel rubs his eyes and follows your lead, adjusting to being woken up from a deep sleep. Your jaw drops when you see who’s standing in the corner of the room. Sarah.

Oh, fuck.

“I knew it, I knew!” she jumps up and down as her long curls bounce up and down along with her, a big smile spread across her face as she can’t seem to keep her excitement down.

“Shit,” Joel mutters under his breath as your eyes go wide in panic. You try to speak but you can’t. You’re frozen, not knowing what to do or say. You’ve been caught red handed.

“I knew it all along! This is so exciting! You and dad? Oh my God, I’m a genius,” she squeals as she jumps again.

“Sarah! Calm down,” Joel warns as his eyes narrow slightly. Sarah stops jumping but continues beaming at the both of you. You feel like your heart is about to come out of your throat. Your dad. What if she tells your dad?

“Sarah, you’re not gonna tell my parents are you? They’d kill me,” you rush out with your breathing uncontrolled. It feels like you're about to throw up with the knot that’s in your stomach. Joel notices your panic immediately and does what he can to calm you down.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” he urges as he cups your chin and turns you toward him, his deep brown eyes almost calming you down. Almost. “She’s not gonna tell them. Right, Sarah?” he asks as he turns to her, giving her that knowing look.

She imitates her lips being a zipper and acts like she zips them tight. “My lips are sealed. Promise,” she nods as she looks back and forth between the two of you, your anxiety slowly calming down at the confirmation.

“See? She won’t say a word. It’s gonna be okay, darlin’,” he confirms as he soothes you over, one hand rubbing your thigh to calm you down. You nod in acceptance.

Sarah calls your name and you look up. “I’ve noticed the way dad’s looked at you for a while now. Been wondering when he was going to make a move,” she laughs, shaking her head. “He’s liked you for a long time, even if he never told me. I could see it in his eyes.”

You just look over at Joel and smile at him. “Yeah, I’ve liked him for a long time, too,” you say quietly. Joel meets your eyes and smiles at you, the corners of his lips curling up to form those perfect dimples again.

“This is so cute, I think I’m gonna throw up,” she says as she claps her hands together.

“Alright, alright. Go on up and go to bed, it’s past your bedtime,” he says as he points at the clock that says five past midnight.

“Okay,” she groans. “Night, love birds,” she sings as she leaves the room and heads up the stairs.

“You sure she won’t say anything?” you ask nervously, anxiety still swirling through your gut.

“If there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s keeping secrets. So, think we’re safe,” he confirms as you blow out a breath you had been holding.

“That’s a relief. I guess she was bound to find out at some point, right?”

“Yeah, guess you’re right,” he says as he nods his head. His calloused thumb shifts against your jawline and he leans in and presses his lips against yours. You lean into him and get lost in his scent, in his abundance of warmth. When you hear the creak of the stairs, you pull apart from his lips fast.

Joel leans over the couch annoyed and peeks up at the stairs. “Sarah?” he asks in a deep voice, warning her to stop spying.

“Uhh, yeah?” she asks nervously.

“Bed. Now,” he growls. She obeys and runs up the stairs, not wasting a second of time. He sighs in annoyance. “She’s never gonna let me live this down,” he groans.

“Hey,” you say as you grab his hand and entangle your fingers in his. “I’ll be right there with you through it.”

He rasps out a chuckle and looks you in the eyes, calm brown eyes returning to look at you. “You want me to take you home? I can drop your car off tomorrow.”

You shake your head no. “Can I stay here tonight? Don’t really want to go home. I’d rather stay with you.”

“‘Course, sweetheart. You always have a place here.” He pushes a curl behind your ear and pulls you back in, planting his lips against yours as a warm wave of peace and serenity cloud your mind.

“C’mon. Let’s get you up to bed.” He pulls you up and picks you up bridal style as you squeal out and wrap your arms around his neck. You kiss his cheek and tuck your head against the crook of his neck as he carries you up the stairs. And somehow you know it’ll be okay. Things will turn out okay because you’re with Joel.

So when he pulls you tight against him under the sheets and you're wrapped in his t-shirt with his arms around you, you know you’re in good hands. Nothing can ruin what you and Joel have. Not even your dad. Joel has your whole heart and nothing can change that now.

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Part 4

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