#I purposely made it smaller :<< /div>
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top 5 favorite colors?
This is so mean, colors are so pretty. How DARE you make me choose.
1) Very VERY saturated pink
2) Saturated yellow (yes I know I told my sister yellow is the ugliest color don't tell her I like it now)
3) Saturated red!!! (I LOVEEEE saturated colors so SOOO much)
4) gray
5) Uhh I forgot the name of this one. Mint green?
#asks#I ALSO LOVE PASTEL PINK!!!!!#It sadly couldn't make it to the top five#BUT I LOVE IT!!!!!#Honestly I like most colors except some specific shades of yellow#Ty for the ask btw#Help why is the image so big 😭#I purposely made it smaller :<
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JAMES HOLY FUCK-
#prongsfoot canon james confirmed it#(yes I'm the one who picked this question hoping for this reaction but it's still so funny)#yes. i made james and sirius look like smug bastards#yes. james's face is cracking me up#yes. sirius does look like this in my mind#yes. snape's smaller on purpose#no. i didn't count on how funny the size difference would look#to clarify yes the three in the back are snape james and sirius#also little girl with the flower? luna#james potter#sirius black#severus snape#just to be clear i absolutely despise james#lilith puts wizards on an island
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man i have so many thoughts abt genshins writing vs hi3 writing but i dont feel like its fair to compare them when hi3's writing for part 1 has already finished and genshins only somewhat nearing it yk.
#isolated i sometimes wsih genshins cast was smaller like honkais bc i feel like it wouldve made the story a lot stronger#but at the same time i understand that the characters in honkai and the characters in genshin serve different purposes#i think its a struggle sometimes bc it feelsl ike genshins more of an anthology sometimes rather than a whole story?#which is how honkai feels. i think i just need to reframe the way i see genshins story and bite my tongue until i can word it correctly#again im not at all trying to dig at genshins writing at all this is from a place of fascination w the writing#hyverse talk
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made some "avocado chips" tonight and they're pretty good actually. but they're also basically parmesan crisps. so ofc they are
#Sometimes you have to use 1-2 medium avocados you almost forgot about immediately or else forget them again until it's too late#So: mash and mix with a lot of parmesan + a little Italian seasoning garlic powder lemon and pepper (maybe salt but the parm might do tbh)#Flatten heaping teaspoonfulls on a parchment paper lined baking sheet-oil a spatula or measuring cup bottom for squishing purposes#Bake at 375 for 15-20 min until lightly browned/you worry the edges will start to burn soon (maybe longer my oven usually goes fast)#Let cool and enjoy. Probably would be good with various dips. Maybe could be made smaller and crispier for salad topping or something#Truly there is enough parm that they are slightly avocado-y parm crisps more than their own thing imo#But out of the whole listicle of guac salads avocado toast and eggs or other stuffing baked in halved avocados#This was one of the only things I couldn't have thought of without seeing it#So points for novelty
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btw i think one of the most impt hobbies in the world is having a mostly non-existent, mostly self indulgent crush on a professor/lecturer just to zone out to their classes to and focus instead on their hair and their hands and their dark circles speaking NAWT from experience. maybe a little bit.
#yeah he's got me a lil crazy i was doing dishes this morning thinking abt all the things i still have to do this week#bc we have his exam on friday and im trying to determine whether i should try to do some prep work or just leave it for the day of#& i was just thinking abt like. oh he's so fucking precious he like actively took the time over winter break to memorise the names of#the people who consistently show up to class and like its cause he's sweet and wants to eventually teach more focussed smaller groups#but like my man my absolute angel you have accidentally stumbled upon the number one surefire way to make people wanna keep coming to class#like his classes r great but mostly i like that he knows who i am#and like i was thinking abt like. we were talking abt language in art movements like dadaism and i asked if he'd read embassytow#-n and he said he hadnt but that he had a list of student recs i'd be on and then in a later class i asked if he read fever dream and he#like made the joke that he'd have a section in his list of just things i told him to read#You Dont Understand I Need This Man Carnally. THIS is what one direction meant when they said thats what makes u beautiful#fuck me i hope he has this effect on the ladies cause if not hey babe there's a whole world out here for you ready to be explored#its also jst funny bc we r genuinely all afflicted by this tragic desire of him i think its partially bc his classes r a little boring#again love him to bits he does try his best its just rly surface level shit because it has to be within the nature of his classes#anyway. convincing myself not to fail his class on purpose so i can retake it next year its going poorly#also just had like a rly long convo w him after class once and he's just. URGH SO SWEET IM LEAVING. IM GOING AWAY NOW.#dreamboy... ugh ! AND he's a poet professionally !!!
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Nuclear is more or less limitless clean energy, which is great!
My only beef with it is that the byproducts produced by nuclear plants are often recycled into weapons. That’s the only reason the US government pushed so hard for the construction of nuclear plants nationwide post WWII, because they needed bomb juice for their Cold War militarization efforts. The fossil fuel industry has historically been some of the biggest and richest lobbyists in American politics- so the only thing that could convince the government to tell the biggest industry ever to go fuck themselves was the promise of one upping the Soviet Union with bigger and more devastating weapons of mass destruction. Nuclear power doesn’t exist because the government cares about the environment or efficiency- that’s just a bonus.
its so fucking funny that nuclear waste is such a contentious topic. like yeah those damn nuclear advocates need to figure out somewhere reasonable to put that nuclear waste. for now we will be sticking with coal power because it puts its waste products safe and sound In Our Lungs, where they cannot hurt anybody,
#that global issues and population statistics elective I took in college was eye opening#still better than coal tho#for a lot of reasons#but yeah nuke waste was made into missiles#idk if it still is as much nowadays#but that’s also a big reason why bigger governments don’t want other countries to use nuclear plants for electricity#because they come with access to nuclear weapons#so smaller nations are purposely kept away from it in favor of coal or wind and solar
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Achievements today:
Did some tasks for my favourite work project
Did a qual to hopefully open up more projects
Diagnosed (sort of) and fixed bugs in my sims 2 game
Ran outside in the rain for the first time since school (which I only used to do because I was forced to)
Confused my elderly neighbour and his raincoat-wearing dog
Stroked the dog’s floofy head
Ran more than a kilometre without taking a walking break
#feel like the running thing is more impressive when you realise that it was raining diagonally at my face (directly into my EYES)#and wind chill was something like 9 celsius. i was wearing a t-shirt and leggings mind you#this was how i confused my elderly neighbour. he just shouted something at me and i was like ‘yeah i know frank’#then i fussed his dog’s head and his dog wagged at me <3#his dog looks JUST like my old doggy; kim. which is not surprising since they’re both flatcoated retrievers#i LOVE flatties but they all kind of look the same. i mean max is a bit bigger and i think he’s entirely black#kim had runt of the litter vibes and a big white stripe down his belly and two white spots on his paws#i used to think he was a mix but i’ve heard from flattie breeders that they sometimes breed them to be smaller on purpose#and that even purebreds can have white on them. so i don’t know. dog breed of all time tbh#oh ane the sims glitch was just that i kept getting the jump bug and couldn’t work out why#but i pulled a few files out of my mods folder and eventually it stopped#weirdly it was only/mostly happening in one household? but it made that household completely unplayable so i had to fix it#i also had to delete some custom food because my sims straight up couldn’t make it#i’d go ‘make breakfast -> oatmeal’ and they’d get all the way through the process of making it#but then the bowl would disappear and they’d have to make it again.. and again.. and again#so i deleted all the files by that same creator just to be safe#i have plenty of custom foods anyway. i don’t really Need to have oatmeal#i think i’m going to stop downloading mods now that i know my current configuration is fine#just cosmetic cc from now on. and probably a lot of it. i need clothessss everyone is just in t-shirts and jeans#which i mean.. so am i (usually. right now i’m in pyjamas) but still#personal
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・✶ 。 synopsis — capitano loves teaching his darling how it feels to receive pleasure by a real man <3
warnings — inexperienced reader & naive ?? reader, petnames used: good girl, size kink/size difference, age gap ? (he's mentioned as being older), fem! reader <3
the thought of capitano teaching you about pleasure and passion was unbelievably hot to the point where you couldn't wait for it to happen again and again.
yes, he's older and more experienced than you, so of course you believe whatever he tells you and certainly won't question all of the depraved things he'd ask you to do, the harbinger obviously know better than you do, correct? these thoughts never failed to echo in your mind as you found herself alone with capitano, the strongest and mysterious harbinger whose very presence sent your mind in a daze.
he towers above your smaller frame with his dark eyes piercing through the dim light of the room, the silent command in his gaze strong enough to send an entire army to its defeat.
you couldn't lie to yourself, especially not when it came to him— and you felt a thrilling mix of fear and anticipation as he sank inside for the first time, making your pretty mouth part with a high gasp as he pressed himself through your tiny hole— first his thick tip splitting you open, then his inches rubbing through you, his movements deliberate and controlled yet never too much where it could hurt you.
although before he proceeds, his scarred hand reaches out to your face, gently tilting your chin up to meet his focused eyes.
"you must trust me, you're aware of that, correct?" capitano's deep voice resonates through you, each word a promise of what was about to come as he begins to thrust into you gently, his next following words accompanied by deep grunts and groans, "only then i will teach you on how to receive the pleasure only i can give you."
you nod immediately, eager to feel more, your heart pounding in your chest as his experience in the bedroom was certainly undeniable— not only that but it was sexy, hot as the flames of a pyro user as the authority in his voice made you ache to comply, to please him too with all you can.
the rush of excitement at the prospect of being guided by someone who knew exactly what he was doing was enthralling as your body showed him such, and if you weren't so cock drunk, you'd notice just how hard and messily you're squeezing him right now, your pussy drooling and messing him up until he knows he's yours.
his lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "wrap your legs around me," and begins to instruct, his voice a low growl that made your back arch up immediately.
without hesitation you obey, your legs encircling his broad waist as the closeness was beginning to turn intoxicating, feeling like minutes before you could feel true solace as you felt the strength of his body pressing against yours the more he'd add on speed and strength.
"good girl, very good," he murmurs proudly, his breath hot against your skin as one of his hands slowly slide down your sweat covered stomach before reaching your clit, "now, relax, alright? let me show you how to feel every touch, every sensation of me,"
his hand moves with practiced ease on your clit as he pinches it, tugs and teased it, rubbing over the pearl and igniting a trail of fire wherever he applied pressure the most as your body was responding to his every touch, your senses heightened by the sheer dominance he exuded.
"focus on my touch," he commands softly, your hips curving upwards so that you'd be able to get his cock to sink even further inside of you.
"feel how your body responds to me,"
capitano fucks you with purpose, tugging your hips deeper onto his cock with every grind as your legs begin to shake, the blur in your eyes making it difficult for you to see anything more than his panting demeanor— not only that but his cock was huge, splitting you apart like he's meant to do that, as if there was nothing more than this moment in your life which was deemed important.
the warmth of his drags against your walls pooled into your veins and flesh as his cock fucks and fucks and lets you squeeze his inches in and out until you end up hiccuping of being so full and satiated, almost feeling stupid as he sent currents of electricity straight to your core.
©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify
#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin smut#genshin Impact smut#capitano x reader#capitano smut#genshin x you#genshin impact x you#capitano x you#genshin impact drabbles#genshin drabbles
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erm........
(a type of poll which is meant to work with the percentage of the selection being the 'amount' of it - for example if 'arms' was at 50%, then the arms would take up 50% of the body, etc. Try to make things balanced!! I will draw the final result~)
#well... here he is I guess... I didnt' actually measure everything out so maybe the percertanges arent perfectly accurate but#hopefully at least close.. Super fluffy everywhere all over body.. Weirdly long torso with small legs and even smaller arms#moderate sized tail. ridiculously long claws and fangs when considered with the rest of his body proportions#ears are 10% and wings are 12% thus the ears are nearly the same size as the wings so like.... incredibly huge ears#very large wizard hat with a slightly shorter cloak. neck and head that is bigger than both the arms and legs#etc. etc.#Idk what he's wearing.. It was a long robe but then I wanted to actually show the legs so it would be visually clearer that he has#a super long torso and short legs#so then I made it like.... some sort of jumpsuit with shorts lol.... that buttons up the front like weird pajamas#Fashion Icon obviously#made him look weirdly smug on purpose to accentuate him being a force of evil/horrible vibes
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Okay I've read so many fics of Simon "Ghost" Riley with you as his smaller s/o (which i eat up everytime) and how he purposefully places stuff on the top shelf so you always have to ask him for help everytime you need something and how much he loves it.
So imagine how confused he'd be when you don't ask him for help for a long period of time even though he continues to always place items he knows you would need on high shelves.
Little does he know that you had quietly bought a stool so you could finally reach for the things you need without his help since you feel bad for always needing his help for the simplest thing (you don't realize he does it on purpose and just thinks he always places the items on the top shelf since he is a big guy).
Simon only discovers the reason of your lessened pleas for help when he sees you in action. Using the stool you bought to reach for something in the top shelf.
And oh boy was he pissed. Not at you though! He actually found it cute, still having to get on your tippy toes even with the stool. But words could not describe the hatred he felt for the bloody stool that kept him from being your knight in shining armor (he's overreacting, very petty about it).
And waddya know? The stool was in pieces the very next day. A raccoon must've got in and made the stool it's victim, Simon claims. And you highly doubt it since Simon always has the doors locked shut along with the windows without fail. But also decided to not think too much of it and just get another stool next time you have the opportunity, which will soon also end up in pieces whether you like it or not.
#when velvet writes ᯓ★#drabbles ᯓ★#cod#simon ghost riley#ghost#simon riley#cod x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost headcanons#call of duty
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I love trans pokmon they are very fun ..... Of my ocs technically Vwoop has the three fins found on female woopr just because well. Um. I forgor. it's not supposed to have a binary agab tho. And Ren files down the curves on the pkachu tail to have the flat with a slit in it nonbinary swag look.
#vwoop.noises#He grew the tail himself but it's a choice.#I think pokmon secondary sex characteristics are usually cringe THAT IS AN AMINAL. WHY DOES HAVE LIPSTICK? but I DO like transedgenderisms#On Purpose.#loosely re: a post i rbed on main#i do this often. Sorry#This is the author's notes blog#Being trans on purpose is though. Is epic#Well. Eh. Some of them are normal some of them are like.. The Female is smaller and has longer hair / longer ''dress-like'' feature / Heart#and its like ok. I see#regular pkachu is when square Girl pkachu is when hearts ^-^#Regular Hracross is when horn Girl hracross is when it has hearts !!!#REGULAR WBBAFETT IS WHEN NORMAL GIRL WBBAFETT IS WHEN LIPSTICK#And don't get me started on fanmade ones#There is nothing wrong with secondary sex characteristics existing in animals But pkemon are not real animals. They were made by some guy l#And It's always worth examining biases etc. Especially in Gaming. Known to be so friendly to Women#Also I'm trans. etc#I need.more pokmon ocs also#i tried to censor all the pokmon named in the tags. Sorry if I forgot one
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✮ sylus x wife!reader (2)
contents: tooth-rotting fluff. arranged marriage au. sylus as your sweet and doting husband who's simply in love with you and anything that you do. 1.5k wc.
꒰ note ᰔ thank you for everyone's patience who requested a part two!! I truly hope this meets your expectations <3
part one here. ꒱
⭒ You’re an early bird married to a night owl. After gradually moving your belongings into Sylus’ master bedroom, your different sleeping schedules were made acutely aware. His day is just beginning when you’re heading to bed and he’s more or less mentally retired after a long night of business dealings and meetings when your body decidedly rises with the first rays of light at dawn. Because of this, you both compromise to meet somewhere in the middle—Sylus sweetly tucks you in later than your usual bedtime and leaves only when you’d fallen asleep, and you snuggle with him in the mornings until the very last minute and you’re forced to get ready for the working day. However, his sleeping patterns are more on the irregular side and he’ll check in on you when he’s supposed to be resting.
⭒ When Luke and Kieran witness you and Sylus bid each other with a goodbye kiss—an affectionate and wholesome display between lovers as your husband sees you off to work at the front door, they are stunned and lose it from the sidelines at the budding romance. “Wait, what just happened?” “Was there a development while we were gone?” The crow twins would share glances and decipher the scene before them together. They both have been rooting for you and their boss since day one, and they marvel at the way you both are completely smitten with each other. As though you two are like newlyweds who can't get enough of your shared love, unwilling to separate just yet even as you slowly step away from Sylus.
⭒ His touch linger with purpose to hold onto every last part of you and his hands move from your waist and slide down your arms to hold your hands until his fingers curl slightly and mourn the loss of your warmth when he eventually has to let you go. When Sylus watches your figure disappear and return back inside his home he receives a thumbs up and pending double high fives respectively from his two henchmen. He walks past them and ignores their antics by giving them orders, but Luke doesn’t leave his brother hanging and celebrates that their boss is officially and undeniably in love.
⭒ Anniversaries were an unexpected thing to celebrate with Sylus—along with holidays and birthdays. You were caught by surprise when you received a gorgeous dress and pearls inside a pretty wrapped box adorned with ribbons after being married to Sylus for three months. You weren’t quite romantically involved with him at that point and went along with what he planned for the evening, and you had a feeling it wasn’t just a performance for the public at an upscale restaurant but he genuinely wanted to make this night special for you. Then something in the air shifted and became sweeter and you suppose you wanted to start making the smaller things in life count. Even if there wasn’t a particular milestone coming up, you decide to make one up yourself. After all, there’s a true saying that the secret to marriage is keeping it fresh and interesting.
⭒ With the help of the cute twins, they set up a cozy tent in the verdant space of the garden meanwhile you decorate fairy lights all around in swooping arcs and tight lines, arrange pillows and blankets inside, and place a deck of kitty cards in the center. After everything is where you need it to be, you show the boys your gratitude and send them away as you work on the finishing touches. You gather the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and two glasses for the red wine when suddenly your husband sneaks up from behind you and wrap himself around you, inquiring about how the twins wanted him to come find you… Oh those cheeky little things. Well, never mind them. “Don’t tell me that you forgot what today is. Happy 300 days since our first kiss, baby.” You admit that it may come off as a little silly and no one’s truly keeping count, but you simply wanted to do something nice for him.
⭒ Sylus never passes up an opportunity to take care of his darling wife. Even if that means going along with your unusual ideas like you suggesting to borrow his dress shoes after the auction show was over. He throws you a puzzled look followed by a bemuse chuckle, and he supposes he could oblige if that’s what you really wanted. You explain to him that being well dressed from head to toe to match his outfit came at the price of your painfully, aching feet. And he can’t resist giving into your demands when you ask with such adorable little pouts. There are more practical methods to go about the situation, but he certainly loves humoring you even if things don't work out the way you thought they would.
⭒ Sylus leads you to a nearby bench and gestures for you to have a seat while he removes his shoes and bends down on one knee before you, unworried about dirtying his expensive trousers. He works diligently to undo the straps around your ankles and place your heels aside to focus on slipping his shoes onto your feet. “Well, you look quite fetching in my shoes. Now shall we continue our walk or do you have any more requests to make?” He helps you straighten yourself as he returns to his normal height. You huff and make a discontent noise when you almost trip over your own two feet trying to take a step forward in your (his) much too large and too spacious shoes. “Actually, these won’t do. I changed my mind, I want my heels back.”
⭒ Sylus chuckles at your hopeless attempt, his hand going on your hip to keep you from toppling over and accidentally hurting yourself. “Ah, it appears my shoes are too big for you, kitten. You say you want your heels back, hm?” He kneels before you once more as he retrieves your pair of heels, his fingers brushing along the underside of your leg and he carefully tugs them back on your feet. He gives your ankle a gentle squeeze as he finishes securing the straps, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. "There, I hope you're satisfied now, my sweet wife." His arm then goes around your waist and he effortlessly lifts you off the ground without so much as a warning. He smirks at your precious reaction, your body flushed against his meanwhile your arms encircle his neck for balance. “Why don’t I just carry you the rest of the way instead?”
⭒ You’re snuggled up against Sylus’ chest as you bring a concern to his attention one night. “What happens when our arrangement comes to an end?” The main reason you agreed to marry him in the first place is because it was a contract marriage with a specific time frame of five years that you’d have to spend with him. And you realize that with everything he does, he’s always been considerate of you as a whole even with how he drafted this contract knowing that it could end at his own expense. He provided you with a means of freeing yourself from him if you for whatever reason wished to no longer continue your marriage with him after the term ends. The choice is left entirely up to you because he never wanted you to feel trapped but he won’t make it easy for you. “If I decided to leave, you’d really let me go?”
⭒ Sylus hesitates for a moment, his gaze fixed on you and he seems to be thinking about something as his expression grows serious. “You always know how to ask the tough questions, don’t you sweetie?” After a moment, he lets out a small sigh and nods. “…Yes. Technically, you’ll be free to go. I won’t stop you if you truly want to leave.” Another sigh escapes him, yet his voice remains soft and sincere and he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and his palm cradles your cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to stay. What do you want to happen when the contract ends, darling?”
⭒ You mull over your thoughts, teasing him with a pensive look as you purposely drag on the seconds. “Since you’re leaving it up to me, I think… I want to renew our vows at the five-year mark. How’s that sound?” A surprise and slight disbelief flit across his face at the same moment his countenance softens at your affirmation. “You want to renew our vows?” You offer him a demure nod with your sweet smile and he gently takes your hand in his, bringing it to his face and laying a kiss against your knuckles. “Then it’s settled. I would be honored to renew our vows when the time comes. There will be no more contracts or strings attached. We’ll be bound by our love and our love only.”
#ᨳ ₊˚ 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩.𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬#sylus#sylus x reader#sylus x you#l&ds x reader#sylus love and deepspace#sylus lnd#sylus l&ds#sylus lads#lnds sylus#lads sylus#l&ds sylus#love and deepspace
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Some notes on intersex invisibility, from an intersex person...
Often people tell me, "I have never met an intersex person before," and they assume that we are simply rare by nature rather than continuously, purposefully, and violently eradicated. Intersex people themselves are not rare, rather the opposite; we are born all the time, everywhere. We are common variation by nature - Our perceived rarity is wholly man-made, caused by the purposeful destruction of our bodies and our identities.
The concept of intersex as rare is used to further our eradication by design; When PGD is used to terminate intersex embryos, when intersex infants and children are operated on to "normalize" them, when intersex people are not told about their own variation, when intersex people are told they have "disorders" they must be treated for but the word "intersex" is never so much as uttered, when we are isolated from each other and prevented from building our own communities, when medical institutions attempt to narrow down what falls under "intersex" to make our statistics appear smaller, when we are forcibly made as invisible if not as non-existent as possible - it is no wonder we would be assumed a rarity.
Those unaware often even assume our perceived rarity is natural, passive, and neutral, rather than created, gory, and methodical. This, too, I believe is purposeful; our destruction is largely hidden and we are silenced by this assumed-to-be fact of rarity. The details that people may come to learn about our mutilation are also made palatable, even understandable, through the lens of pathology; we are presented not as people who are mutilated and destroyed for who we are, but rather as sick patients with an unfortunate (but always rare) illness undergoing necessary treatment to hopefully lead fulfilling, "normal" lives. In this way, doctors are framed as our saviors rather than our executioners, and those who buy into our rarity and abnormality become complicit in our invisibility.
As intersex people, we carry the consequences of this deep within ourselves; whether it is in the form of literal scars, doubt and insecurities about our own claim to our identities and our bodies, isolation from others like ourselves and a deeply felt loneliness, an inability to access safe medical care or knowledge about our bodies, or a variety of other traumas, our community is suffering. To have that pain made so invisible, so insignificant, so pathologized, only serves to ensure our abuse and destruction is continued.
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“lovers once a year” | 9.4k
dbf!joel miller x f!reader
SUMMARY: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. joel’s POV. a lot of introspection. mentions of alcohol. miscommunication. no outbreak. dbf!joel. age gap (25 and 56). petnames. religious imagery. car sex. oral sex (f!receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. riding. missionary. doggy style. orgasm denial. crying. hair pulling. thumb/finger sucking. cum shot. creampie. reader sits on joel’s lap and has hair. moodboard for aesthetic purposes only. A/N: the fact this idea has been sitting on my drafts for over a year is just crazy. i finally found the time to put into words, and i know i’m a little late to the whole dbf!joel trope, but i’m a real sucker for it... hope you like this one! <3
No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend.
For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the sentimental type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length.
Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state.
Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree.
Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing could throw him off.
Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.
His gaze drifts across the room, settling on you at a smaller table a few meters away, surrounded by your younger cousins, ages five to fifteen. He watches as you scroll absent-mindedly on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, only tearing your eyes away from the screen when one of the kids hurls a handful of salty peanuts at you.
You press your palms flat against the tablecloth, eyes narrowing as you scowl playfully at the child, a mischievous glint in your expression. “You’ve got ten seconds to run,” you utter in a tone meant to sound ominous, tickling his sides until he erupts in laughter, his giggles filling the dining room with raw joy.
Joel’s been here for over two hours, but he can’t recall a single detail about the night’s events. All he knows is you—he’s studied your every movement, following the shape of your silhouette through the crowd. He’s accepted a few drinks, engaged in shallow conversation with your relatives, trying his best to play the part of a man with nothing to hide. But despite his efforts, despite every attempt to appear unaffected, he feels a slow burn kindling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that curls through him in a deliciously destructive way.
It’s when you look up, locking eyes with him, that he nearly mutilates the chicken breast on his plate, the knife skittering over porcelain with a screech. He quickly mutters an apology, excusing his clumsiness and blaming it on one too many drinks. Meanwhile, you don’t quit glaring at him, a hint of a challenge dancing in your stare.
This shouldn’t feel the way it does, this hazardous, risky game you’re playing. At one time, he might’ve thought this was something only seen in movies, something imagined and unreal. But here you are, and here he is, and the indisputable hunger in your eyes is as real as anything he’s ever known.
Suddenly, his memories drift back to a year ago, to your grandmother’s 84th birthday—the night it all began.
Stephen had left Austin when he was eighteen to pursue a college degree. That’s how he’d ended up in New York, and from that point on, he never came back. It’d been amazing to see him as an equal when they were teenagers, but as they grew older, the only things they shared were the white hairs scattered all over their beards and the memories of much better days.
Whenever they got in touch—which didn’t happen often—your dad would talk about you. You were just a name without a face, an empty canvas. Close to graduating, with only a few subjects and finals left. Psychology was your major—weren’t you smart? Joel remembers typing back with a string of exclamation marks to show his contentment. His best friend’s daughter was a success; how could he not be happy?
One random day, Joel’s phone buzzed late in the afternoon, flashing with Stephen’s name. It was rare for them to talk outside the usual birthdays and holidays, so seeing his name on the screen sent a small jolt through him. A dozen scenarios raced through his mind as he picked up, each one edging between concern and curiosity.
Just like that, Stephen dropped the news without any preamble. “I’m moving back to Austin,” His voice came in clear, and there was something unusual about it, brisk but almost nostalgic. Joel gripped the phone a little tighter, processing the words. “In fact, I’m filling up the gas tank as we speak. There’s someone at home who wants to see you.”
That someone had been your grandmother. With a twinkle in her eye, she’d insisted on inviting Joel to her 84th birthday. “It’s the perfect chance for you two to reconnect,” she’d declared, her tone laced with warmth and hope. She adored Joel, practically worshipping the ground he walked on, often reminiscing about the vibrant young man he had once been.
Who could deny anything to an elderly person, especially one as cherished as her? He was strong, physically imposing, but not strong enough to resist her wishes.
The reunion was going as well as it could, given the circumstances. After all, it was a strange kind of delight, seeing his best friend for the first time in decades. Joel thought they’d do what friends do—sit back, drink, smoke, and trade stories about the good old days.
Then you walked into the room, absolutely gorgeous and with a smile that was all teeth, and you reached out to shake Joel’s hand as you introduced yourself. The contrast hit him instantly—your skin was satin-like against his, smooth where his was rough and calloused from years of handling concrete and steel. A subtle heat bloomed where your fingers touched, the chill of the rings on your hand sending a shiver through him, as if his senses had sharpened in that brief instant.
You pulled away, taking a step back, your eyes flicking between him and your dad. Joel’s arm fell back to his side, his hand forming a tight fist, the bite of his nails embedded into his palm to keep him grounded. But he couldn’t stop himself from scrutinizing you—every detail of your face, the curve of your smile, the effortless way you carried yourself. Your beauty was at fault, not him. You were completely out of reach, yet close enough to marvel at. He was no more than a man, bound to notice the charm of a pretty girl like you.
That you happened to be the daughter of his best friend—that was just a cruel stroke of fate.
���Oh, sweetie. I’m glad you got to meet Joel at last!” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, an arm draping across Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. “He’s that friend from school I’ve been telling you about.”
Stephen looked so at ease, so utterly pleased, that Joel could only swallow back the lump in his throat. What kind of sick joke was this? What could he have possibly done to deserve this twist of the knife?
With a soft laugh, you folded your hands behind your back, tilting your head to the right. “My father wouldn’t shut up about you,” you said, light and melodic, drawing him in like a lure. Joel found himself adrift in the sweet cadence of your voice, entranced by the delicate chain glinting at your throat, resting just above the neckline of your shirt, the v-cut hinting at a world of temptation.
He blinked owlishly, fighting the images clawing behind his eyelids. “Well, he’s a good man, your father,” Joel managed, his smile strained. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was a blaring alarm in his head, warning him to get a fucking grip. He knew himself well enough to read the signs, the underlying meaning beneath these nerves, the quickened pulse, the quiet, undeniable urge to reach out and feel you.
He was gone already. He fancied you, and his mind raced with thoughts he knew he had no right to entertain. He imagined what you’d taste like, the way you might sound if he were between your legs, encouraging you to gasp his name. Yet, he was aware that these fantasies were as treacherous as they were forbidden, even more with you standing right in front of him. And your father, just inches away.
From the kitchen, someone called out to Stephen, and with a weary sigh, he unhooked himself from Joel’s shoulder. “Coming!” he shouted back, already angling himself toward the door. He glanced back at the two of you, half-smiling while rubbing his temples. “I forgot how exhausting it is to host a family birthday party. I’ll be right back. You two go ahead and chat without me.”
Fuck, no, Joel thought to himself. Don’t leave me here. Where the hell are you going?
Joel resorted to remaining silent, choosing instead to take a long sip of his beer to avoid the occasion of sin. He refused to look in your direction, fixing his gaze on anything that didn’t involve your bare legs—the same legs he’d just been eyeing in those damn denim shorts, which exquisitely hugged your thighs. But, then again, he shouldn’t even be noticing that.
As he peered down at the carpet, he couldn’t ignore the movement of your shoes as you stepped closer. He observed your fingers playing idly with the frayed edges of your shorts, your body inching nearer, and he braced himself in anticipation of whatever you might say next. When his eyes landed on yours, he was met with an aura of expectancy, a cocky smirk pulling at your lips.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with effort. Letting your hand linger beside your face, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him through your lashes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Joel felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and there was no mistaking it—you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to push him off balance, to see how far he’d bend before snapping? Was this just a game for you, a bit of mischief to spice up a family gathering? The idea irritated him, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the thrill woven into the discomfort. A quarter of his mind itched to play along, but the rest of him screamed to find the nearest exit.
“Y’can just call me Joel. No needa be so formal,” he mumbled, lifting the beer bottle to his lips once again, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.
“But I like Mr. Miller better.”
His mind conjured all those images of fire and damnation, of being dragged to some dark, smoldering pit. Rotting in hell, he could already see himself within the flames. Tugging at the collar of his flannel, now too tight and hot, he gave a rough, clearing cough. “M’gonna—go find your dad.”
He was glad you didn’t try to approach him in public again. For a few hours, he felt something close to tranquillity—not fully, though, as he could still hear echoes of your voice in the silences. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch you orbiting near him, lurking in his peripheral vision, even though you sat at a different table.
Later in the night, he wandered upstairs in search of the bathroom, instead stumbling upon your father’s childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he took the liberty to enter it, a familiar scent filling the room. He ran his fingers over the walls, still papered with posters he recognized well. It was as if time had paused there—everything remained as it had the last time he’d been in this very room. The framed portraits, the worn bedspread, and Stephen’s desk, scattered with foreign bills under a layer of glass, each one a memento from the different countries he had visited.
It was only a matter of time before you found him, a light knock on the open door drawing his attention. Joel turned on his heels, catching sight of you, acknowledging your presence with a slight bow of his head. You ambled toward him, curiosity alight in your steps, twisting the chain of your necklace, a restless gesture that betrayed the energy simmering beneath your calm exterior.
He scratched the back of his head, offering a half-hearted smile. “This isn’t the bathroom, right?” he joked, attempting a casual tone. The joke was a weak one, admittedly, but you laughed anyway, a nonchalant sound that showed the gleam of your teeth.
“No, I don’t think it is,” you replied, sliding onto the edge of the desk with an effortless ease. “What brought you here?”
“Birthday parties can be a bit overwhelmin', dontcha think?”
“Totally.”
And then you went back to watching him, your eyes tracing his features with an almost stubborn intensity.
“You gonna stop doin' that?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant, though they didn't make you flinch.
“Doing what, exactly?”
“Lookin' at me all doe-eyed.” His voice didn’t waver, but he advanced in your direction. His knees nearly brushed against yours, the weathered denim grazing your bare skin, and only then did a flicker of uncertainty soften your confident stance. “Whatever it is you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. So quit tryin’.”
You drew in a slow breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “You sure about that?” Before he had the time to react, you were standing inches from him, your chest pressing against his, just close enough for him to feel the soft weight of your breasts. “Should I pretend, then, that I haven’t noticed you’ve been half-hard all night?”
Joel's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting almost painfully. His fists flexed by his sides, his entire body feeling heavier, muscles pulled taut by some invisible thread. "Watch your mouth.”
“Or what?” You hooked a finger inside his belt loop, tugging him that much closer. Your breath, fresh and minty, mingled with the faint scent of your perfume, and he inhaled both, heady on the mix. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”
There was only so much patience a man like him could summon, and you were a thorn in his flesh, determined and unyielding. He leaned in, voice gruff as he uttered three words that made your brows knit together. “Close the door.” You stayed frozen, lips parting in surprise. “Did y’hear me? M’not into exhibitionism. Close. The. Door.”
You did as he asked, obliging, stepping back to close the door before returning to your place. Without warning, he turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the cool glass of the desk, a sharp chill that made you yelp. His hand settled firmly on your back, guiding you down until your chest was flush against the surface as well. In one swift motion, your shorts were gone, followed by your soaked panties, a damp spot where your arousal had begun to seep through.
He slipped his fingers inside you first, his hand covering your mouth to stifle the needy whimpers escaping your lips. The roughness of his beard grazed your cheek as he hovered over you, his breath hot in your ear as he spoke. “Bein’ too fuckin’ loud, doll.” Matching the rhythm of the slow drag of his fingers, his hips pressed forward, grinding against the curve of your ass, each movement making his mouth go dry. “Y’want this cock that bad?” He nipped at your throat, and you, against his sweaty palm, mumbled what could have only been a muffled Yes. “Then I need y’to keep real quiet for me, alright?”
His jeans and boxers hung around his knees, his cock leaking and throbbing at the tip. Joel realized what true desperation felt like, dangerously close to busting his load at any given moment before even getting the chance to be fully inside you. On top of the desk, your body trembled, and you reached back, pulling your top higher up to bare more of yourself to him. He unclasped your bra with one hand, while his other guided him to your entrance, his lips pressing reverently against your spine as he pushed inside, savoring the heat of your walls wrapping around him for the first time. It certainly didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty-six years of life.
It had been short, and harsh, and fast. Borderline animalistic, what experts would label as a quick fuck. The moment he breached your entrance, you begged for more, fucking yourself back onto him until his thighs met your skin. You acted as if possessed by a greater entity, diabolic, though Joel didn’t mind it. He relished it, welcomed it. But he couldn’t let you take the reins. He asserted his dominance, snapping his hips forward with a force that drew moans from the depths of your lungs. He was the one in control, driving himself deeper and deeper within you. Suffice it to say you seemed to love it, if the sounds he elicited from you were anything to go by.
It was what you wanted, what you needed. One way or another, he’d caught onto what those lingering glances throughout the party had signified. Every glance you’d thrown his way had been leading to this—a silent promise that whatever was happening had been destined to be the night’s climax.
You bit down on his palm as you reached your peak, tightening around him, and perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the knowledge that he’d need far more time to become well acquainted with your body, that had him chasing after you. Holding back until you came had been a feat, pulling out seconds prior to his release, stroking his length once before painting your skin with his seed. A low, primal groan escaped him as he slid his length between your cheeks, prolonging his high, each heated pulse marking you in a way that felt undeniably his.
As he regained his composure, he watched you swirl your thumb along your lower back, collecting a trace of his release, and bringing it to your lips to have a taste of him. You softly laughed when he cursed under his breath, turning your face lazily to the side. “Damn minx y’are,” he rasped, closing the gap between your mouths, his claiming yours in an urgent kiss. Your mewls faded beneath the insistent press of his mouth as he sought to suppress the strange pull in his guts, reluctant to confront the unfamiliar sensations churning within him.
Things wrapped up quickly after that. You both returned to your places, resuming the roles you’d stepped out of briefly: Joel had been in the bathroom; you had been on the phone with a friend. When he reappeared downstairs minutes after you, no one thought twice about his slightly damp hair.
For the remainder of the party, the two of you exchanged no further words. The time for him to leave came, and he offered only a nod of his head across the packed living room. It was a farewell only Joel would give, a subtle acknowledgment that left you wondering about its meaning. There were no explanations, no parting words.
The next time he saw your father, the mere thought of seeing you again terrified him. If it’d happened once, then the temptation would still remain undiminished, strong enough to awaken the lust and the longing veiled in silence. But you weren’t there anymore—back in New York, focused on finishing your semester at college. The surprise must have been evident on Joel’s face, a bewilderment that prompted Stephen to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember I told you she hasn’t graduated yet?”
“Yeah, yeah. I remember now,” he said, wishing to convince both your father and himself.
You were out of the picture, no longer around. Yet, the two of you now shared a secret. You still do, to this day. He’s no stranger to the notion that some things never seem to change. After all, he’s a creature of habit—same breakfast every morning, same brand of bread he’s been buying for years. Like all his other preferences, he’s come to realize he likes his women a certain way. And though he hates to admit it, you fit the bill perfectly.
Betty, Stephen’s mother, was turning eighty-five tonight. A seat with Joel’s name was saved at the big table; they wanted him there, his best friend and his best friend’s mother. How nice it was to actually feel wanted. He liked that feeling. Still, he’d had to bite his tongue when your father mentioned you’d be there, too. You had graduated at long last, with your birthday having been just a couple of weeks ago.
“Can’t believe she’s twenty-five already,” Stephen muttered with a chuckle, taking a long drag from his cigarette.
Sitting beside him, Joel gripped the arm of his chair, sinking his nails into it. “Me neither, man.”
His choices had led him to this moment. The clinking of glasses rings in his ears, blending with laughter and the rich aroma of food that fills the air. None of it manages to distract him. He can't help but track you down, eyes scanning the room, relentless in their pursuit of yours. The need to see you goes beyond any shred of restraint he might have faked to have. Joel can’t muster the decorum to feign indifference—God, not when you’re near, when the pull toward you feels like gravity itself. He’s keenly, almost painfully aware, that he’s not even pretending to be indifferent, his interest etched plainly in the way his gaze persists, refusing to pull away.
It’s his first time seeing you in a year. A lot can change in that span of time. He can’t help but be amazed, because you look just the same as you did back then. Only your hair’s a touch shorter. He wonders if it’s even noticeable, or if he’s just spent so long memorizing your features that he’s losing his sanity. He bets it’s the latter.
A light pressure on his shoulder makes Joel jump, breaking down his reverie. He turns quickly, eyes widening. "Betty," he exhales, patting his chest with a smile, eyebrows lifted. "Jeez. Y’scared me."
“Y’alright, Joely? Y’look a bit pale.” The older woman reaches up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a gentle familiarity. Through her lens, he’s still young. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fever, though.”
"That’s ‘cause I’m not sick." Joel takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How’s everythin’ goin’ so far? Got all these people together just t’celebrate ya’."
"It’s a wonderful night, sweetheart. So happy y’found the time t’be here," she replies, pinching his cheek in that affectionate way that earns her a quiet laugh from him. Her eyes then catch sight of a familiar figure. "Oh, look who's here. If it isn’t my beautiful granddaughter."
He stops smiling. In fact, he thinks he even stops breathing for a second as you intrude yourself into the scene, settling yourself beside your grandmother, flashing him a knowing grin. “I was getting kind of bored with the little ones.”
“Y’know Joel, right, dear?”
“Yes.” A pause, a beat you draw out between breaths. “Yes, I do.”
Betty leans his way, her warm hand still on him. “Have y’heard the latest news? This young lady just graduated.”
“Stephen told me,” he answers, looking up at you with a reserved nod. “Congrats, kid.”
“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”
There’s that damn name again. Were he alone with you, he’d laugh in your face, but he can’t. Under the scrutiny of family and friends, he knows he’s cornered. Joel’s starting to believe you think you’re untouchable, that there are no consequences to your actions. You might look the same, maybe a little older, but that teasing, provocative spark in your eye hasn’t changed a bit.
“Always so polite, my child,” Betty says, cupping your cheek with a light pinch, a grandmotherly gesture perfected over the years which she seems to repeat often. “Any boyfriends back in New York?”
This would, without a doubt, be the perfect moment for him to excuse himself and stand up—a conversation he’d rather not be privy to. But with you positioned right in front of him, escape isn’t an option. “Still single, grandma,” you respond unfazed, as if you know exactly what you’re doing. “No one to worry about. Better like this, anyway.”
“But what’s the problem? There aren’t any boys y’like?”
He doesn’t even know what makes him say it—some impulse, some hidden tension surfacing—but he jumps in, his voice carrying a slight, sardonic edge. “Boys are more foolish than ever these days, Betty. Surely y’wouldn’t want her to settle for the first idiot who crosses her path.”
Betty clutches his arm, shaking her head in feigned shock. “Oh, not at all! It’s all about waitin’ for the right person. There’s no rush, for either of you. You’re still on your own, Joely?”
Time to drink again. He drains the last drops of alcohol remaining in his glass, feeling your eyes on him, intense and searing, and then he clears his throat, swallowing down the words he’d rather say. “Affirmative.”
“Well,” she sighs contentedly, patting each of your hands as though binding you both with some invisible thread. “Just means y’two have to wait a bit longer, right? Time has its way.” She chuckles, eyes soft with memory, turning to you. “Darlin’, this man here was quite the heartbreaker in his day. He and your dad would find all kinds of trouble with the ladies!”
“How so?” You cross your arms, playfully tilting your chin up. “Joel Miller, the charmer of the town?”
“Guess I’ve been known t’make a fool of myself,” he shoots back, silently cursing the moment he missed his chance to slip away. “Stephen got more fans than I did, though.”
“I did what?” Joel feels an elbow nudging his back, and there’s his friend, grinning in his usual easy way.
Joel's luck in life had been more bruised than blessed, a string of hardships that seemed amplified compared to what most people experienced. Being drawn in by you—in which category did that fall? Good luck or bad? He couldn't decide. Every glance and delicate smile you aimed his way stirred something reckless within him. Was it pure thrill, or a warning?
He laughs every time Stephen cracks a joke, but he’s barely listening, his mind half-tethered to the present. It’s like he’s watching himself from afar, observing his reactions as if he were an outsider. He isn’t stoned or drunk, just acutely mindful of your presence. He catches himself peeking up at you from where he sits, jaw tight, his brow creased. You meet his gaze with a slight squint, a polite look that hides something far more dangerous.
Boys are more foolish than ever these days. He’s sure of that much. They’re young, untested. But what about him? He’s no model of virtue, either. He’s made his share of mistakes, left good women behind—women who were willing to love him in spite of his flaws. They’d seen through the layers he wore like armor, and yet, in the end, he couldn’t hold on to any of them. He carried the ghosts of every past life, fragments of who he’d been and what he’d left behind, and he knew those shadows weren’t for everyone.
A thought pierces through him, sharp and sobering: what would Sarah think? His lovely daughter, grown and settled into her own life, would likely be mortified to know her father’s infatuation with a twenty-something. The weight of that realization sinks into his chest, and that seems to be his last straw.
He can’t possibly take it anymore. Rising from his chair, he mutters something to Stephen about needing fresh air and makes his way to the backyard door, exhaling deeply and gripping his car keys. The cool night air hits him, stepping outside, a temporary relief as he heads toward his truck.
Just as he’s about to open the door, he hears your voice. You call his name, your tone soft but distinct. He doesn’t turn, only lets out a long, weary sigh. “What?”
“Where are you going?” You stop a few steps behind him, watching the way his shoulders visibly tense. “Are you mad at me?”
“What?” He faces you, almost snapping his neck in his rush to look at you. “Why would I be—I’m not mad at ya’.”
“Then what’s wrong? Why are you leaving so early?”
He scrubs a hand over his nape, fingers pressing into the tension gathered there. “Would y’like me t’break it down for ya’, how messed up this is?” His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet yours. “I’m riskin’ the only real friendship I’ve had here for… for somethin’ that I can’t even wrap my head ‘round. This isn’t okay, no matter which way I look at it.”
In that moment, it’s as if reality pulls you under. The mask of subtle, practiced arrogance falls apart, scattering in fragments around you. He watches, waiting for you to gather them up, to hide behind that composed veneer again. But you don’t move. You leave the pieces where they lie. Instead, you confront his gaze, unguarded, and ask, “Do you regret what happened between us?”
Another question. You seem to be full of them. They just keep coming, one after the other, as if you already had them prepared. I don’t, he thinks to himself, but would it do you any good if you knew it? “Don’ start with those mental games.”
“Then come back inside.”
“I know myself well enough to know what’s gonna happen if I do that, darlin’.”
Neither of you breaks the silence that’s settled between you, thick as the night air. You slip your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders slightly hunched, head hanging. Once again, like all those times before, he’s struck by how young you are compared to him. The difference stretches between you like a chasm, bridged only by these stolen moments. The weight of his years presses down on him, the choices he’s made—the mistakes and the half-hearted attempts to mend them. He’s got decades on you, three of them to be precise.
Joel never thought of himself as an ever-lasting free spirit, the kind of man who clings to youth or pretends to be something he’s not. Right now, with you here, he feels reckless, like a boy again. Stupid, impulsive, like the foolish young men he used to shake his head at—the very ones he’d warned your grandmother about.
“You left without even saying goodbye last time,” you mumble, low but clear, as you scuff the toe of your shoe against the grass. “And now you’re doing it again.”
He inhales sharply, clenching his keys, feeling the edges of the brass biting into his palm. For a moment, he thinks the sharpness will give him something to hold onto, but he knows the sting is nothing more than a weak anchor. “You’re a smart girl. Don’ need me to spell this out.”
“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I get it.”
“Then why do you keep pushing?” His pent-up exasperation slips through despite himself, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, the way your forehead barely puckers as his words hit harder than intended.
Even as you look away, a trace of that hurt fading, you stand firm. You shake your head after a beat, seemingly trying to brush off your doubts and confusion. Joel can’t decipher if you’re feigning innocence—if you are, he thinks, you could be one hell of an actress. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see how far this can go.”
You take a small step forward, testing the waters. Your feet move cautiously, not aiming to scare him off. Each step draws you nearer until there’s only a whisper of space between you, close enough for him to catch your scent, and he has to force himself to peer down to meet your eyes. They hold a quiet intensity: pleading, wide and earnest, already trained on him. Gleaming like two lone stars cutting through a moonless, empty sky.
It baffles him, the question forming unbidden in his mind. He goes even further, can’t help but wonder: why him? What is it that you see in him? What makes you keep coming back for more? You’ve already had a taste, a story you could tuck away, a secret to be shared with your friends someday around a campfire. So why, he would like to know, are you still here, seeking something from a man like him?
“I like you,” you blurt out, fingers drifting to skim over the worn fabric of his flannel, almost hesitantly. That tentative gesture sparks something raw in him, a low rumble of desire that feels like it’s been lying dormant for too long. Heat pulses through him, hot blood racing through his veins, awakening every nerve, each beat of his heart more insistent than the last one. “I think you like me, too.”
“You’re insufferable,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts. He closes his eyes, half hoping you’ll disappear, that he’ll find some reason, any reason, to call this off. Though when he opens them, you’re still there, waiting, unshaken. “I wish I knew how to stop this. How to walk away.”
“That’s not what you want.”
“We don’ always get what we want, kid. You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He means it as a warning, but even he hears the way his voice falters, his defenses crumbling in the face of your unflinching state.
You let out a slow sigh, your arms falling to your sides, eyes roaming over his features as if you’re memorizing every line. Your focus dips to his mouth. “Maybe,” you murmur, and he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. “But some things are worth fighting for. And sometimes, those who don’t give up… get the best in the end.”
With a gentleness that stuns him, you lean in, bringing your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. You pull away, and he helplessly notices the way your lips part, how your breath hitches, and for a split second, the guilt becomes palpable, the significance of wanting a woman he knows he shouldn’t. You stand there, chest rising and falling, skin tingling, a faint trail of goosebumps visible where your neckline meets your chest.
Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another compromise he won’t keep.
From where you remain frozen, he’s certain you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs every possible outcome. “It’s gonna happen, isn’t it?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and before you can react, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and turning you toward the car door. The cool metal pressing against your back startles a gasp out of you, but the suddenness only heightens everything—the heat of his body, the toughness of his hold.
He doesn’t waste time with words, having always been a man of action. His hand cradles your face, inspecting your features to later crush his mouth against yours. Your tongue finds his without hesitation, seeking him out, hungry and unrestrained. He savors your eagerness, the way your hands roam over him, clutching at his shirt, tugging him closer by the belt until your lower halves are pressed tightly. The taste of beer and mint clings to your lips, and a husky groan rumbles from him as your fingers find their place in the longer strands at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer.
He could lose himself in this, the simple, electric thrill of kissing you, how you fit so perfectly against him. Hours could slip by, and he wouldn’t mind, but then reality pulls him back; it’s too exposed here, right outside his truck where anyone could stumble upon you. “Get in the car,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, fumbling to unlock the door. It takes him three tries, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth of your laughter beside him as you tease him.
Once inside, his mouth finds yours again, this time more urgently, his hand pressing against your back, tracing the line of your spine through the clothes. “Tell me y’want this,” he breathes, his kisses trailing down your throat, latching onto the tender skin there. “C’mon, baby. Tell me y’want it. Tell me y’want me.”
A soft, breathy sound escapes you as his mouth fixates on that sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your hips instinctively, craving contact in search of relief, and he shifts you onto his lap, guiding your thighs to settle over his. Desperately working to undo the buttons of his shirt, yearning to uncover him, you pant against his cheek. “J-Jesus Christ, I need you. Please, touch me. Anything will do. Just—”
He’s silently grateful for your choice of a dress tonight. It makes things easier for him, and he gets right to it, bunching the fabric around your waist, hands roaming over the soft skin of your hips before moving his fingers lower, tracing teasing lines over your clothed center. He can’t fully make out the murmured words you breathe into his ear, but your voice drives him like a lighthouse guides a sinking ship, and he adjusts his movements, pressing with more intention. The only sounds filling the car are his ragged breaths and your gasping moans, and he holds you close to his chest, cooing softly as you start to rock into his hand, asking for more.
His fingers find their rhythm, circling your clit in deliberate flicks. Joel watches as you unravel, trembling in his arms, a hint of drool spreading over his shoulder from your parted lips on his skin. His grip tightens as he tugs your underwear down your legs, grinning when you kick them impatiently to the floor of the car. Now, as he strokes his digits up and down your folds, you turn to putty on his lap. In another world, he’d have you laid out in his bed, enjoying each inch of your body. But here, in the cramped, dim backseat, he keeps the lights off. He knows it’s reckless, yet that barely slows him down. His cock throbs at the very risk of getting caught, at the edge he’s walking just to have you like this.
“Goddamn, you’re soaked, aren’t ya’?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, at least not in any coherent way. He sinks his middle finger into your bare heat, searching your face in the dark, contemplating the fluttering of your lashes. His hand weaves into your hair, a firm tug guiding your gaze to his. Your head tips back, a moan spilling from your lips at the new sensation, rolling your hips into his palm with earnestness. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, huh? If this is how you’re grippin’ my fingers, I can’t imagine what that cunt’s gonna feel like wrapped ‘round me.”
Studies suggest that in those final, fleeting moments of life, memories flood the human mind—a last journey through a person’s years before crossing over. If he were to die after tonight, he knows your face would be there, etched into his last breath. He can almost picture it: struggling for air, teetering on the edge, with that reddish, towering figure of mortality looming over him. But even then, he’d find solace in the thought of you, thrown into oblivion. You’d grant him a last-minute reprieve, easing the ache. You’d be the one who’d hold back the shadows. This constitutes the apex of his life, and he knows he should be worried, yet intellectual dominance doesn’t stand much of a chance when confronting the heart of a man. Not when that heart, so long starved of its pulse, has finally found someone worth remembering.
He makes space for himself, thrusting his long fingers into you until he’s got your slick coating his palm. One hand settles firmly at the small of your back, guiding your movements, while he feels his collected composure faltering. You mouth at the rough stubble along his jawline when you start to get close, breathless whimpers clouding his thoughts. “Joel,” you call out to him, as if that alone would make wonders. “Oh, fuck. Please, I waited a whole year. I need to come.”
A whole year. You were his once a year, and he was yours, a bittersweet ritual bound by time. He never would’ve thought this party could bring him such pleasure, though he can’t pretend he’s against it. Last time, he hadn’t taken the chance to pull you under and make you fall apart as many times as he’d wanted. He’s intent on making up for that missed opportunity, determined to make you enjoy every moment.
He withdraws his fingers abruptly, and a sharp laugh nearly escapes him at your reaction. You reach instinctively, grabbing for his hand, trying to guide him back to where he belongs between your legs. But he’s already moving, maneuvering you down until you’re lying on your back, fully under his command. He lowers himself, replacing his fingers with the warm insistence of his mouth. The sound that escapes your lips as his mouth presses against your center is nothing short of a scream—a wild cry that fills the space around you. He’s grateful he parked far from the other guests, because that sound would turn more than a few heads.
Joel laps at your arousal as if it's the fountain of youth, the very essence of everything pure and precious in the world. He presses down on your thighs until they rest on either side of him, unclamping your legs from around his head. The suppleness of your skin feels divine under his fingertips, and he brushes his thumbs over your trembling form, coaxing you into calmness, to let him have his way with you at his own pace. It's an absurd paradox—aiming to soothe you while his mouth continues its fervent worship, tracing intricate patterns against your most sensitive flesh. His beard, streaked with gray and freshly trimmed, glistens with your slick, and Joel smolders with all-consuming passion.
When his friends had told him to go out more, maybe find someone to date, he's certain they didn't mean this. The smart choice (scratch that: the correct one) would have been to pursue a woman his own age. But fuck it—he's spent a lifetime doing what's right. Every road he might've taken would've led him here, to this moment, with you. Part of him believes he must still have something left, some spark of appeal. To have a pretty little thing like you, so eager, so willing, offering yourself to him? He has to have something. His knees ache from where he kneels on the unforgiving surface, but the burn is inconsequential, and he’ll endure anything to be what you need.
Joel trails his hand up your body, over the curve of your breast, before gently groping it, his palm covering yours in a shared grip. He runs the tip of his tongue along your folds, his saliva mingling with your wetness, aquiline nose grazing your sensitive bud. “You’re tellin’ me you’re this tight ‘cause you’ve been savin’ yourself for me? You do know what t’say t’make a man happy.” He spreads you open slowly, his gaze lingering on the way your cunt glistens, a sense of satisfaction rippling through him. You remain silent, your breath shallow. “Still with me, sugar?”
“It’s just that—I’m so close.” You bite back a moan, nails digging into the soft leather of the seat. Joel hums in response, his lips closing around your clit. Agitation flickers across your face as you try to grind your hips against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
The pressure is gone as he notices your thighs quivering again, his movements halting immediately.
“No, Joel. Please—”
“You’ll come when I tell ya’.”
He’s having the time of his life. Damn right he is.
He suddenly realizes he's still dressed from head to toes, the heat building in his body becoming too much to ignore. With a frustrated grunt, he undoes his belt, yanking the metal zipper down, longing to rid himself of the constricting denim. A strangled noise escapes him as you suck on his neck, fisting his base, giving him a few purposeful tugs.
“Now, you’re gonna ride me,” he murmurs, making a pause to shrug his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor of the car, “and you’re gonna like it. Don’ want you t’hold back this time, understood?”
His back ends up against one of the fogged-up windows. The air is thick with the apparent scent of sex—a phrase he’d only ever heard in movies, but now, it’s undeniably real. Joel holds his cock, aligning the tip with your entrance as his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. A deep groan escapes him, vibrating over your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. The sensation intensifies when your wet interior welcomes him, velvet walls molding to his size. Your brows scrunch together at the stretch, a choked whimper catching in your throat. As your hips sink fully, your ass flush against his thighs, your body clenches around him, that abrupt tightness drawing a stuttering gasp from him.
“For God’s sake,” he exhales, the words rough as his forehead bumps into yours. His hand splays over your ribcage, fingers curling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re—killin’ me here.”
“I can feel you everywhere,” you huff, your arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding your breath. He takes the moment to capture your nipple between his swollen lips, leaving a shiny trail of spit in his wake. You lift yourself, the motion teasing, before sinking back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. “Can feel you in my stomach.”
When you begin to move, Joel loses track of everything else. Time seems to stretch, bending and reshaping itself each time his tip finds some hidden place inside you. He’s fifty-six years old, yet in this moment, his soul feels infinite. Invincible. He brings his hand to your lips, thumb grazing over them before slipping inside. Your warm tongue envelopes it, and when you start to suck dutifully, muffling your moans, his body jerks in response. His eyes drift to your glistening chest, where a sheen of sweat makes your skin glow in the dim light. You’re the most captivating woman he’s ever seen, and he knows he’ll never look at anyone the same again. He can’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the way your body merges with his, the way you undulate your hips on top of him.
You move back and forth, and he drives into you, filling you to the brim with every calculated thrust. He thrusts upward, stealing the air from your lungs, the sharp motion making you sputter as your body struggles to keep up with his.
“That’s it.” His voice is a husky growl as he wraps his arms tightly around your back, your chests sticking together with sweat. His pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more insistent. “Takin’ it like a good girl. You feel exquisite, baby. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”
“So big inside me,” you pant, your own pace faltering as you surrender to Joel’s unforgiving tempo. His hooded eyes flicker to yours, catching the way your pupils have swallowed up your irises, dark and blown wide with desire. A shiver runs through him as your fingers dig into his shoulders, your grip leaving faint crescents in his skin. “Missed your cock so much, Mr. Miller.”
Fuck, not that shit. If it’s possible, he grows impossibly harder. He pounds into you with renewed intensity this time, his singular goal to leave you speechless, boneless, completely undone. He wants you limp and shuddering, with nothing left to give. “Enough of that.” His hands find their place on the soft globes of your ass, molding and squeezing until the pressure has you mewling, the sweet sound shooting straight through him. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “Responsive everywhere, honey. Have any idea how much fun I’m gonna have with ya’?”
Who would’ve believed him back then? It proves this isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime fluke. It happened before, and now it’s happening again. He might as well surrender to it—accept his fate and move through the motions like a man resigned to what’s already written.
There’s a moment when your moans sharpen, turning high-pitched and dazed, and the way you constrict him sends his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a guttural noise tearing from his chest. His movements still, clutching your waist to pin you in place, denying you the chance to move, to bounce on him.
Then you break. A sob wracks your body, tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down your cheeks. They gather, fusing together as they slide along your throat and pool in the hollow of your jaw before disappearing lower. “Asshole,” you hiss, the word fragile as you push your face into the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.
“Sorry? Couldn’t catch that.” He makes sure to keep you securely tucked under his chin, tilting his lower half upward. “If you want me t’stop, just say the world and I will.”
He’s messing with you, plain and simple. He doesn’t actually expect you to take his words at face value. But you do, grinding down harder, impaling yourself further on the length of his cock, and your arousal trickles down, slicking the coarse hair of his thighs. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me.” Slotting your mouth over his, you attempt to move, chasing any sort of friction against your clit. Sadly, pleasure doesn’t come on its own—it’s Joel who can make you feel good, and he’s not obliging. His hand seizes your hair in a rough grasp, tugging sharply. Eyes fluttering shut, you hunch forward, submitting to the sharp edge of his control.
“What an impatient little thing y’are.” Joel grabs your thighs and turns you over, your back pressed against the leather seat. The brusque shift pulls him out of you, the cool air a cruel tease before he taps his head against your swollen folds, then fills you again in one powerful thrust, kissing your cervix in the process. A deep moan rips from your lungs, deep and guttural, as your legs tremble uncontrollably on either side of him. Your ankles dig into his back, fervent to keep him close. His balls rest heavy against your skin, full and aching for release. “Gonna give ya’ what y’want, okay? You’ve been on your best behavior,” he mumbles with his lips stuck to your forehead. “That’s a good girl. Think she deserves to come after all.”
Only then does he find his rhythm again, ramming into your drooling hole. For the third time tonight, he’s captivated by how you teeter on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. He has you eating out of his hand, taking all that he offers, and you do so willingly. He knows he could ask you for anything, and in exchange for an orgasm coaxed by him, you'd comply without thinking twice. In many ways, he’s not so different. He gathers some of your saliva, using it to moisten his fingers before slipping them between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he continues to hit your bundle of nerves. Where his stamina comes from, he has no clue, though he’s determined to keep pushing.
Your face becomes a living poem, each cry of yours adding to its verse. Your head nearly reaches the door, but he cradles it with his arm, ensuring you don’t hurt yourself. “Close,” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes from falling shut. “Joel, please. Let me—”
“Give it to me, darlin’.” Another thrust, another moan. “Drench me, c’mon. That’s what y’want, isn’t it? To come all over this cock?”
The way he’s worked you up has its rewards, leading to a release that feels like an eruption. You bite down on his shoulder, your cries growing louder, chanting his name without pause. It loses all meaning after being chanted so many times, but the way you say it still has an undeniable weight. He doesn’t mind it one bit, not when he’s finishing right after you plead him to fill you. His jaw hangs open as ropes of his seed spill inside you, and he sags against your frame, giving short thrusts to push his cum deeper into your warmth, your pussy milking him dry.
“Oh, God…” he groans, fumbling with one of your breasts, holding onto something for dear life. “Jesus Christ.”
“Don’t pull out yet,” you say, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Stay a little longer.”
Too personal. Too intimate—dangerous in his books. Normally, he'd tuck himself back into his briefs, drive the woman he’s slept with home, and that would be the end of it. No happy endings in his story. So he’s surprised when he supports his weight on his forearms, claiming your lips in a voracious encounter of tongues and teeth. He caresses your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, and you sigh contentedly.
The two of you lapse into a heavy silence after that. He clears his throat, and says: “I should’ve asked you for your number that one time.” In the heat of the act, he’s being too honest. Regret will come knocking on his door once his excitement fades. His eyes bore into yours, dubious. “M’sorry for that.”
“Well, you could ask me for it now,” you admit from beneath him, and Joel pulls away for a moment, trying to gauge if you’re serious. He doesn’t think you’re joking. “To make up for lost time.”
This must be the onset of something else. He can't quite put it into words, but he feels it in his chest, in every place where your skin merges with his. He's no fortune teller, and there's no way for him to know where this path will take him, whether it leads to ruin or salvation. Though in this moment, he doesn't care—not now, at least.
At last, Joel blindly reaches for the pocket of his jeans with one arm. “How long are you stayin’ in Austin?”
dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3
#joel miller#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller/reader#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#joel miller tlou#joel miller x reader#joel tlou#joel smut#joel x reader#joel the last of us#joel x female reader#joel x f!reader#dbf joel miller#dbf!joel#joel x you#the last of us hbo#the last of us fanfiction
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He’s so ‘daddy’ | L.H
>> Logan sends you a picture of himself to tease you. Unfortunately, your friends see it too and they agree that he looks just so ‘daddy’. <<
Pairing: Boyfriend!Logan Howlett x Girlfriend!Reader
Wordcount: 4.366 Words
Warnings: Minors DNI, 18+, fluff, bit of embarrassment, dom!Logan (but just before sex, during sex he’s a needy little thing who needs his girls pussy), soft!Logan, established relationship, pet names [kitten, honey, princess] age gap, daddy kink (but not really?), smut [praises, slow sex, soft sex, oral (fem!rec), unprotected p in v, hint of breeding kink]
Authors Note: This is for you @elixirfromthestars because thank you for listening to me while drooling over that picture. Also the biggest thank you to @holylulusworld for reading and telling me it’s oke that way! Dividers made by me.
Events: Written for the smutty September/October fest hosted by @mercurial-chuckles [slow sex, it isn’t the whole prompt but it’s fitting!].
Masterlist | Logan Howlett Masterlist
Your phone vibrated next to you as you sat in the living room with your girls. You didn’t know if you wanted to look at it or not — knowing damn well it was Logan who sent you something. And even if he knows that your girls are there, he doesn’t miss a chance to make you go crazy.
“Your phone… You got a message, don’t you want to check?” One of the girls asked and smiled nicely at you. They all knew that you usually checked immediately to see if it may have been an important message, but this time was different. They all suddenly looked at you with confused and curious expressions before the girl spoke up once again. “You always check to see if it’s important; do you have secrets?”
You chuckled and shook your head. Your phone vibrated again, and you couldn’t keep ignoring it. Logan would write you message after message until you looked at your phone. And maybe it was important then?
With a soft nod, you took your phone and unlocked it, keeping your screen to yourself as much as possible so none of them could see it. But unfortunately for you, your friends were way too curious to let you hide anything from them, especially after your strange behavior.
You tapped on his messages, immediately getting greeted by a picture of your boyfriend. But it wasn’t just a picture; it was Logan in his black sweatpants and nothing else. His chest was hairy as usual because you adored the softness of his short locks. His muscles were highly defined, and even his veins were visible — a view that made you drool every single time. And Logan knew it, so he did it on purpose.
A gasp next to you pulled you back into reality. Your eyes widened as you felt one of your friends way too close to you. Her eyes were scanning the screen, and her mouth dropped open as she looked slowly over at you.
“Fuck. You— you hide that from us?” Before you could answer her question or react to her taking your phone, the others were already gasping for air too. Their eyes went just as wide as they stared at your phone, then at you.
Heat crept up your cheeks. Their open mouths were turning pretty fast into mischievous grins as they placed your phone between them on the table. Without having another look at one another, they inspected your boyfriend, talking about his handsome body, his pepper and salt beard, and his hairy chest.
“Those veins, haven’t seen a man with those damn visible veins before,” one muttered underneath her breath. They zoomed in on some parts of the picture, talking about it like it was a masterpiece drawn by someone famous, while you slid back in your seat and felt yourself becoming smaller.
But at the same time, you felt a pang of possessiveness, love, and pride growing in your chest. They admired your boyfriend; they couldn’t get him because you knew Logan loved you more than everything. And even though they inspected that picture in every little detail, you knew that he wanted exactly that, but he was still all yours.
“Bet this chest hair is so fluffy, isn’t it?” One of them asked before they all looked in your direction. You smiled softly before nodding. Logan’s sweet curls were so comfy, a little scratchy when he trimmed them, but when he didn't, they were like you had a teddy bear underneath you.
“A bit like a big bear. Pretty comfy, but all mine,” you smirked at them. They laughed lightly, turning their faces back to your screen to look at your boyfriend's picture a while longer. You looked from the other side of the table at your phone as well, knowing that you would be the one who would be with him in bed later. Cuddled up into him while you placed your head on his chest, you were the one who was able to feel the softness and thickness — the contrast of his curls and his muscles underneath you while his strong arms would be wrapped around your smaller frame.
Compared to Logan, you were pretty small, not just because of his muscles but also because of his height. This man was huge, perfect to curl himself around you and keep you safe and sound in his perfect, warm embrace. Or when you went out, he was able to reach the shelves you couldn't; his arms were wrapped around your waist every now and then, and he would place his chin on top of your head. He was a soft bear, and you were his precious kitten.
“He’s so daddy…” one of your girls said and finally pushed your phone back toward you. You chuckled and nodded; of course he was. It wasn’t just the age difference but him. Logan was literally screaming ‘daddy’ when he just stood in front of you. So you couldn’t blame them for thinking just like you.
Little did you know that your boyfriend was walking down the stairs and just walked into the room as you pushed your phone back into your pocket. The moment one of the girls noticed him, she whispered to the others, and suddenly all eyes were on him.
You turned around slowly, smiling softly at him as he walked closer toward you. He wore a tight shirt, which made you squirm in your seat slightly. Logan placed his big hands on both sides next to you on the backrest, leaning down.
While your friends watched, he brought one of his hands to your chin, tilting your head back so he could press his lips easily onto yours. It was just a peck, but it was enough for your eyes to flutter shut and for you to keep them close a moment longer. Logan’s breath moved over your chin to your cheek until it reached your ear and you shivered.
“Did I hear ya right, honey?” He asked, his voice low and barely above a whisper. Only you were able to hear it, and you nodded — intoxicated by his soft touches, his warm breath against your skin, and his rough voice. Logan chuckled before pecking your lips once again and standing up straight, looking at your friends. “Hi, how long is ya lil’ meeting? Need my girl to get some things done.”
They smirked at you, enjoying the effect Logan had on you. One of them winked with a knowing grin before she moved and got up from the chair she sat on. “Actually, we just wanted to go.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. While Logan grinned, he watched your friends intently when they moved to the floor to get their shoes and jackets. You followed them, glaring at your boyfriend for doing such a show in front of your friends. You weren’t mad at him; you even needed to feel him — especially now — but it’s all just because of the damn picture he sent you and the fact that he just made you all squirmy and needy in front of your friends.
You sighed when your friends left the house; the door closed behind them, and you turned around, shrieking. Logan was suddenly standing in front of you, maybe an inch between the two of you. Your eyes moved from his muscular chest up to his face, lingering on his plump lips before they muted further to his green eyes.
“Did ya enjoy it? Ya friends did. ‘m so ‘daddy’, huh, do ya think that too, kitten?” He purred; his strong hands were reaching out to grasp you by your hips and push you back against the door. Logan didn’t waste a second before pushing himself against you. His face was only inches away from yours.
Your breather hitched, earning a low growl out of the depths of Logan’s throat. His eyes were piercing into yours, and his tongue was darting out, licking across his plump lips. His fingers were digging into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you in place as he waited for you to answer his question.
“Y-you—“ you interrupted yourself, swallowing down the lump in your throat. Admitting it out loud that you thought about it for so long was different and more difficult than admitting it to yourself. Letting your fantasies run wild was something you were pretty good at, but saying it out loud? Telling your boyfriend that he’s so daddy? So you swallowed thickly once again and nodded at him before mumbling the rest of your answer. “You are, Logan.”
He growled, sending another shiver down your spine. You felt your arousal pooling out of you, ruining your panties. Unfortunately, Logan smelled it, and he loved it — the effect he had and that he knew exactly how you felt and what you needed. His enchanted senses were sometimes so useful for him, especially when he could smell your sweetness and the mess you made for him.
“Am I, didn’t sound like that when ya jus’ answered my question, honey,” he spoke in a quiet and teasing tone. Oh, he enjoyed this little game between the two of you — just like cat and mouse — or maybe just like a predator and its sweet little prey.
“Y-you are, Log—“ He made you shut up when you wanted to say his name again. Logan's fingers were pressing almost painfully into your hips, and you hissed, looking at him with confusion in your eyes. He raised an eyebrow; he knew that you knew exactly what he wanted, the confused only there because you tried to believe it was something else. But deep down, you knew what he wanted you to say. “Lo— y-you are, daddy.”
“There ya go. Such a good girl, aren’t ya?” Logan praised you, loosening his grip around your waist slightly. He grinned at you, his eyes darkened, and he licked his lips once again. “Wasn’t that hard, was it? With ya little friends, ya would say it, but with me — with ya daddy — ya’re all shy, honey?”
Logan smirked at you as he noticed the flustered expression on your face. He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you up, letting you wrap your legs around his waist. Without a word, you did that; your arms were holding yourself around his neck as he carried you into the house and up the stairs to your shared bedroom. While you made yourself ready for an evening and night filled with begging, whining, orgasm denial, and hard fuck — your boyfriend had another idea of tonight's activities, but he won’t tell you; he didn’t want the fun to be ruined by you knowing his plans already.
He placed you back on your feet when you reached the bedroom. Logan closed the door; he always did — once you asked him why, and he told you that no one could interrupt you, even though you were living in a house, just the two of you. And you were pretty sure that no one would come into the room when they heard you. But on the other side, it had something intimate and sweet; you couldn’t quite explain it; it just felt like that.
As he turned back around, his expression was way softer than before; his eyes were still glistening with lust, but it was something sweeter. Even after the time you were together already, you sometimes couldn’t figure your boyfriend out. It made things more interesting and exciting for you.
“Take ‘em off, except your panties,” he said with a slightly hoarse voice. His eyes were glued to yours, taking in every little movement and even just the way your expression could change at his soft demand. For the slightest moment, your eyes flickered with some mischievousness and playfulness, and you considered to do as he said or tease him and either keep on your clothes so he had to take them off. Or that you would strip out of your clothes completely. “Need ya to be good and do as I said. Take off ya clothes but keep ya panties on, kitten.
You did as he said, unbuttoning your pants and taking off the hoodie — that actually belonged to Logan. You placed it all to the side before turning back to your boyfriend. Logan watched you intently; his green eyes were roaming over your body and taking in every bit of you he could get. With narrowed eyes, he leaned closer to you.
“I said take ‘em off, except your panties,” he groaned in his low voice. You whimpered, pressing your thighs together to try and soothe the aching in your cunt. He smirked at you, waking a few steps closer before he towered over your smaller frame.
Logan was still fully dressed, and it made everything even hotter. His big fingers hooked into the straps of your bra, slowly tracing along them before he reached your back and opened it. With a low growl, he pushed the straps off your shoulders until the fabric fell down on the ground. “Better, isn’t it, princess?”
You nodded; your lips were slightly parted. Logan used that opportunity to bring one of his hands to your cheeks, capturing it while he ran one of his thick fingers over your soft, warm lips. The roughness of his skin compared to the softness he touched you with made your knees buckle. Your boyfriend immediately wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
“Looks like ya have some trouble standing here, kitten,” he grinned at you. His voice was filled with affection but also a bit of amusement as he walked you backwards to the bed. When the back of your knees hit the frame of the bed, you automatically let yourself fall down on it.
Logan’s prominent, big bulge was visible through his pants. You wanted to place your fingers on his crotch and roam them over the outline of his hard cock, but he stopped you when his hands reached for his belt.
“L-L-,” you whined, feeling so desperate and needy. You couldn’t form a proper sentence, your thoughts running wild with whatever he had in mind for the two of you — it was clear what he wanted. But you also knew that your boyfriend was happy to try out new things with you.
“Sh, I’ve got ya, princess. Just be good and wait, can ya do that?” Logan asked, earning a soft nod with a pout from you. He smirked, trailing his thumb over your lips once again before he stripped out of his clothes as well.
It took you way too long for him to get naked but you couldn’t move. So you were sitting on the edge of the bed, watching your boyfriend intensely, admiring his high-defined muscles, the soft hair on his chest and belly, and especially the veins running over his arms, one of which was from his belly button down into his boxer briefs.
“Daddy, ne-need to…” You trailed off as he stepped closer to you. He only wore his boxers, standing between your slightly spread legs. Logan’s bulge was the same high as your face, and your eyes moved from his covered cock to the vein. “C-Can I like it, please?”
“Go ahead, kitten.” You didn’t waste a second, leaning your head forward until your forehead touched his abs. Your lips trailed along the vein, peppering soft kisses over it, down to the waistband of his boxer briefs before you kissed back up to his belly button, continuing it for a few more times.
You didn’t know his bulge could grow even more, but it did, pressing against your throat. You whined as you leaned back, looking with innocent and widened eyes at your boyfriend.
“Such a good girl, aren’t ya?” He asked, running his fingers through your hair. Logan pushed himself against you, his crotch pressing against your mouth. A low groan left his plump lips as he felt your warm mouth around it through the fabric of his boxers. “Lay down, honey.”
You did as he told you, crawling further onto the bed until your head was comfortably placed in the pillows; your forearms were holding you up while you watched Logan stripping out of the last piece of fabric he wore. Then he turned around and climbed between your legs onto the bed as well. He ripped your panties into pieces and threw them somewhere into the room.
Logan used his big hands to spread your legs further apart, moving closer to your center. He smirked at you, noticing the fog of neediness in your eyes. You were still looking at him, his expression lovely and with so much adoration, that he considered just sitting down and letting you stare at him like that a while longer. But the pre-cum that dripped from his red tip slowly rolled down his shaft and made him realize how much he really needed to be inside his sweet, perfect cunt.
“Logan, please,” you whimpered. Your pussy was throbbing, and the sight of his leaking cock wasn’t helping you either. He brought his hands to your thighs, stroking them slowly, inching further up from your knees to your pussy, but then moved back to your knees. He didn’t want to tease you — even though he knew he did — but he wanted to make it special for the two of you. He wanted to make it slow, lovely, soft, and full of passion.
He leaned down, his lips hovering above your cunt. His breath hits your soft skin, making you shiver and whine underneath him. And Logan loved it — the effect he had on you, the way you let him do it without pushing him to finally touch you or fuck you properly.
“Such a good girl for me,” he muttered against your skin before finally leaning further down to kiss your lower belly. A moan fell from your parted lips, and you let yourself fall into the pillows behind you as he trailed down to your pussy. His fingers were sliding along your thighs, kneading the soft flesh slightly before they grasped them to hold then spread apart. Logan dipped his head down, pressing his nose between your folds while he inhaled your sweet scent deeply. “Literally a pillow princess, aren’t ya? And smelling so fuckin’ good, can’t wait to get a taste of ya, princess.”
You giggled about his joke. You knew damn well that you weren’t a pillow princess, at least not when it came to the real meaning of the word. But when it came to Logan’s meaning of the word? Then you sure were a pillow princess — his princess between pillows!
Logan licked through your folds, groaning softly against you. The vibrations were making you moan softly; your hands were flying into his hair to push him further to where you needed him most. His lips peppered soft kisses along your wetness and your thighs before he licked another strap from your entrance to your clit.
“Logan, please,” you whined, arching your back. He smiled against your folds, heeling his cock hardening even more. Logan needed everything in him to not hump the bed and cum like a teenager. Your taste was just too good; he could spend hours between your legs and couldn’t get enough of you.
He dipped his tongue into you, circling your entrance again before pushing in once more. The clenching of your pussy made him go crazy; he just needed you to feel him. He needed you so bad — even though he wanted to taste you first, Logan just needed to feel your perfect pussy around his length.
“Kitten, I make this up to you; I will make you cum on my tongue all you want, but right now, I just need to feel you,” Logan whined. It was a sound you haven’t heard often before, but it made him even cuter and hotter. He just wanted you to call him daddy, and now he’s whining.
“It’s okay, Lo,” you giggle. Then he settled himself down on his knees between your still-spread legs. Logan grasped his cock, running it through your folds a few times. Every time his tip was bumping against your clit it made both of you moan.
He shifted slightly, holding himself above you with one of his hands before he lined his cock up. He didn’t even have much resistance as he pushed in — slowly. Logan moaned and threw his head back as your pussy was gripping his length tightly, sucking him deeper into your tightness.
“Fuck… ya feeling so good. So fucking good, mhm…” he mumbles under his breath. Logan slides inch by inch into you, stretching you perfectly to create a flawless mix of pain and pleasure. You whimper when he finally bottoms out, the tip of his perfect cock kissing your cervix. “Made for me, honey. Ya’re fuckin’ made for me, princess.”
Logan leaned over you, his chest pressing against yours. He lowered his head to hide his face in the crock of your neck while he kissed your skin there softly. His breath was heavy against you, and you smiled at him. You placed your hands on his back, running your fingers slowly over his muscles while he slowly moved his cock out of you.
“So perfect, kitten, so perfect,” he whispered, pushing as slowly as possible back into you. Your walls were clenching so tightly around him, it took everything in him to not bust a nut immediately. Logan lifted his head to glance at you with a soft smile, his green eyes piercing into yours as he kissed along your jaw up to your lips. “My precious, precious princess.”
You chuckled about him, squeezing his cock even further. Logan closed his eyes and growled, which turned into a moan as he pulled out of you before pushing back into you. It was so sweet, soft, and delicious that your eyes rolled into the back of your head. He knew exactly how to turn you into a puddle underneath him.
“Please, need more,” you whimpered. A soft moan left your lips as he thrusted his hips against yours once again. He didn’t speed up his movements, but he lowered himself more onto you, pressuring you with his weight into the mattress of your shared bed.
Logan didn’t fuck you; he made love to you. He didn’t mind that he got needier with every clench of your pussy or that your arousal was leaking out of you and against his balls. Your boyfriend kissed you senseless while his cock was hitting your cervix with every movement into you. Low moans slipped past his lips, his breath hitching when he felt you closer by the edge of your release.
“Feel that? Feel my cock in ya belly. So deep, so fuckin’ deep. Need ya, princess, need ya to come for me, please." Logan breathed out against your swollen lips. He brought his hands to both sides of your body next to your shoulders. You heard the sound of ripping sheets and the familiar sound of his claws pushing deep into the mattress.
You giggled, running your fingers up to caress his soft locks. Your nails scratched over his scalp before you pulled him by his hair closer to you. Logan groaned, throwing his head against your shoulder as he pulled almost completely out of you before he thrust forward and into your tightness with more force than before.
“Please, please, honey. Need ya to come for me, please. ‘m so close, princess,” he whimpered. Logan pushed his pelvis more into yours, the dark curls that lead to his cock inside of you. Your clit was beyond stimulated by his pubic hair, and within a few thrusts your fingers were digging into his shoulders, leaving red marks. Your pussy tightening around him, hugging him as tight as possible while you moaned loudly.
Logan’s cock twitched inside of you, his breath getting heavier, his heart hammering just like yours. His heart was beating in the same rhythm yours was beating. And you breathed into his mouth, kissing him hungrily but soft as he came inside of you. His claws were ripping the sheets as he pumped his seed deep into your belly.
He let himself fall into you completely, not even trying to hold himself up as he kissed you back, moaning and panting. With his thick cock, he was holding his cum inside of you, his eyes closed as he pulled back from the kiss and rested his head on your shoulder.
“Such a good girl. Takin’ my cock and cum always so well, honey. My perfect, precious kitten,” he murmured breathlessly against your neck. “Love ya so much, honey. Gonna keep my cum deep inside of ya to make sure to knock ya up, my princess.”
“I love you too, Logan,” you mumbled while you ran your hands through his soft but sweaty hair. He growled into your neck, removing his claws out of the mattress and sheets, and chuckled softly.
“Guess we need new sheets. Remember those fluffy ones ya saw? I guess we should get those,” he mumbled, feeling you laughing softly underneath him. Logan knew that you loved these fluffy sheets for autumn and winter times. They felt like your boyfriend's curls on his chest and stomach. So you wouldn’t just feel Logan’s soft hair but also the sheets that felt just like him — kinda more Logan cuddling with you.
“But you won’t ruin these!” You muttered, knowing that he would do it anyway. But to his defense, he always got you new sheets and even some new mattresses every now and then.
“Can’t help myself when I have such a pretty girl, honey.” Logan said, kissing your neck. He felt you shivering when his soft lips touched your skin. But he also knew that you recently raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not talkin’ to my pussy right now, princess. I talk to ya, ya’re jus’ so perfect and sweet, honey. All mine, all jus’ mine — ya heart tells me, it’s beating jus’ like mine.”
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One funny piece of media criticism floating around Tumblr dot hellsite dot com is talking about making movies that are just fun, The Mummy with Brendan Frasier being a premiere example. Generally the way it goes is, "they don't have to be good, just fun." Thing is, making a fun movie like The Mummy is a lot of work. Exciting adventure stories don't just happen by accident, and part of the immense skill of such movies is making it all look easy.
I'm sometimes taken off guard by a movie that's better than expected - usually because they seem low budget and the summary sounds boring. Sometimes it's because it looks like another boring and cliche action movie. Plenty of those exist too, it's not like thousands of creators are falling ass backwards into brilliant filmmaking, Venom is an outlier. But it's really common to experience the surprise of audiences about some kind of big dumb action movie, and I think that's because so many action movies are big and dumb, few people understand that good action movies are smart.
You know what's good about the Mummy? Why it's good? Because it's a movie that knows every genre cliche the audience is waiting for, and chooses its moments to break those cliches with great care for maximum impact. It's good because it's direction knows how to build up great tension with the plot, through foreshadowing, through audience awareness, through genre standards. And the release is beautifully controlled. The "wrong side of the river" line is funny under any circumstances but it drops as a capstone on a very intense escape scene which makes it KILL, every time. When John Hannah's character turns out to be, against all the pre-loaded genre expectations and foreshadowing, actually a generally honest stand up guy, it's so much fun! Not by accident though. It's on purpose. It's a big dumb action movie but it's a big dumb action movie made by people who are very very good at making big dumb action movies.
That's really the thing of it all. There's now a hundred MCU movies that just turned The Mummy into a formula, they've carved out all the one liners and twists and turns mechanically, but they're not big dumb movies, because they're not allowed to be made with the kind of adoration of the genre that you get in smaller films, films that aren't locked into a three year product rollout plan. But you can still get big exciting movies if you look around for em. They didn't go away, they just got pushed out to the edge.
But I gotta beg again - take the time to recognize that when those movies that seem made without a thought or a care somehow manage to hit with you, give you a great big grin and a sense of excitement, remember that's not an accident or luck, someone probably plotted that out and made it fun on purpose, with care.
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