#Octopus Bridge

[omnichannelcommerce]

Sealing the Deal: A CPG Retailer’s Journey to Success

In the fast-paced world of consumer packaged goods (CPG), staying competitive means providing customers with a seamless shopping experience. A prominent CPG retailer in a thriving urban center found themselves struggling to synchronize their in-store operations, managed by Counterpoint POS, with their online store on WooCommerce. The disconnect led to inventory discrepancies, missed sales opportunities, and frustrated customers.

The retailer’s management team was determined to find a solution that would bridge the gap between their in-store and online operations. Their search led them to Octopus Bridge by 24SevenCommerce, an integration solution designed to connect Counterpoint with WooCommerce, ensuring near real-time synchronization of inventory and sales data.

The decision to implement Octopus Bridge came at a crucial time. The retailer was preparing for a major promotional campaign, and the integration needed to be seamless. The Octopus Bridge team worked closely with the retailer, customizing the integration to meet their specific needs.

Once implemented, the changes were immediate and impactful. Inventory updates were now reflected in near real-time, providing customers with accurate stock information. The synchronization of sales data between Counterpoint and WooCommerce provided the management with a unified view of their business, enabling better inventory management and promotional planning.

The integration also allowed the retailer to implement a subscription service for recurring orders, which became incredibly popular among customers. This feature bridged the gap between the physical and digital shopping experience, enhancing customer satisfaction.

The results were impressive. Online sales increased by 45% within the first quarter post-integration. Customer feedback highlighted the improved accuracy of the online store and the convenience of the subscription service. The staff were more efficient, focusing on customer service rather than manual updates.

This CPG retailer’s story showcases the transformative power of Octopus Bridge. By seamlessly integrating Counterpoint with WooCommerce, they were able to modernize their operations, enhance customer satisfaction, and boost sales, setting a new standard for efficiency and service in the CPG industry.

[rej11]

[lesbienneanarchiste]

Every time I see someone call a sexuality or gender "restrictive" I just wanna scream from the rooftops YOU FEELING RESTRICTED WITHIN A LABEL DOES NOT MAKE THAT LABEL ACTUALLY RESTRICTIVE. IT PROBABLY MEANS YOU ARE NOT THAT LABEL AND SHOULD FIND SOMETHING THAT SUITS YOU BETTER.

[octarinespill]

Inoue Yukari - 約束, 2020

[gaminghardwareingames]

Game & Watch Gallery 3 Part 1

Screenshots from https://www.spriters-resource.com/game_boy_gbc/gnwgal3/ and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gxr8zgidO70&ab_channel=AllNintendoMusic and https://youtu.be/6Nw8Xpnn8_c?si=dyHlgdzaUG3KE7hB

[gutsby]

Hating Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.

Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"

You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.

Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.

An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.

A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.

A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would’ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.

Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.

Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.

You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.

That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.

Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.

“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.

Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.

Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.

“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.

You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.

There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.

You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.

Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.

“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.

“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.

You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater’ was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.

You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.

The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.

Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.

A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.

You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.

You did well at first.

Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.

Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.

Vomit-inducing.

Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.

You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.

And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.

Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.

“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.

“You first,” he said, chuckling.

You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.

You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.

“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”

Then, when the cup didn’t waver:

“Can they change the fucking song already?!”

Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.

“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.

You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.

Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.

“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.

You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.

“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”

Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.

You shrugged instead.

“Some guy from school.”

Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.

“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”

You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.

“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”

The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.

Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.

“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.

You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.

Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.

Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.

Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.

You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.

“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.

Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.

“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”

Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.

If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.

Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.

That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.

“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.

Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.

“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”

“Can you spike it with bleach?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.

“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.

“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”

“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”

You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.

Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.

“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.

You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.

“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.

“Weird how?”

Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.

“Weird like…I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”

He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.

“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.

You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.

“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.

“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”

You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.

You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.

At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.

“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.

Ain’t that the truth.

Then, after a minute:

“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”

You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.

It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.

“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.

You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.

You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.

“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.

“Tweaking,” you corrected him.

“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”

“In what way?”

“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”

You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.

“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”

Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.

You raised both eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”

“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.

“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”

Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.

“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”

When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?

Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.

Good times.

You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.

“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”

“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.

The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.

“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.

You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.

He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?

What if Joel tells Tommy?

What if Tommy tells dad?

Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.

Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.

Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.

When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.

“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.

You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.

“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.

You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.

Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.

Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.

You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.

You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.

The only thing that followed were footsteps.

Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.

“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”

“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”

That made you pivot.

Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.

You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.

Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”

Joel didn’t flinch.

In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.

He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.

“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”

Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.

Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.

Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.

“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”

Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.

“My shorts, too?!”

You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.

“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”

Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.

Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.

You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.

“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”

“FUCK you!”

“Already DID!”

You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.

Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.

“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”

You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.

“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.

“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”

Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.

“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.

“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”

“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”

Joel was good.

He was an insufferable ass and he was good.

Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.

“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.

“What did I do?” he said, curious.

Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.

“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.

Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.

“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.

“Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”

Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.

Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.

“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”

Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”

You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.

“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.

“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”

“Fucker.” That was your word.

And it worked well enough for Joel.

In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.

He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.

“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.

Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.

“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.

He what?

You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.

You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.

Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.

He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.

“Joel.”

He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.

“Joel, I—”

“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”

You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.

“You fucked her didn’t you?”

Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”

“You brought her here.”

“Had to.”

Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.

“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”

“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”

Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.

“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”

Oh.

“And you—” you started.

“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.

Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.

“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.

You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.

At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.

“Happy?” he said, after a beat.

You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.

At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.

Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.

“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.

“Uh-huh.”

Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.

Good that he could fuck you.

Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.

Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.

He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.

“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”

Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.

He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.

“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”

Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.

You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.

“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.

“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.

“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”

You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.

Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.

“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”

Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.

You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.

Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.

You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.

Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.

“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,

“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”

Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.

“That’s my sweet girl.”

Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.

He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.

He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.

“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.

You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.

The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.

“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”

You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.

Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.

“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.

In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.

“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”

“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”

Evidently, he’d found your G spot.

Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.

You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.

“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.

“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.

You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’

Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.

You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.

Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.

So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.

He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.

Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,

“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”

“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”

He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.

“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”

You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.

“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”

You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.

“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”

“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”

The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.

“Want you to…cum on me, please.”

“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”

“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”

That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.

Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.

By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.

Must be fucking nice.

When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.

“Open,” Joel commanded.

You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.

He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’

You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.

Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.

There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.

“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.

You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.

Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.

He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.

With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.

You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.

Almost.

When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.

“Honey—”

“Don’t.”

“But I—”

“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”

You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.

You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.

You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.

Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.

You hated it.

“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.

Hated him.

“How’s my baby been, huh?”

Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.

“I missed you.” Gently. Again.

You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.

Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.

You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.

Joel slowly descended your body.

“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.

“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.

You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.

“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.

Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.

You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.

Love it you could—and would. Without shame.

Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.

“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”

“Joel.”

You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.

You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.

Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.

In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.

“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.

Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.

You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.

Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.

You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.

When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.

Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.

When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.

You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.

Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.

He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.

Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.

With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.

You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.

“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.

“Hm?”

He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.

“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.

“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.

No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.

He could do this.

He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.

Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.

He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.

“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”

“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.

Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.

Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.

“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.

He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.

Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.

“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”

Wait—the fuck?

That came out wrong.

You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.

Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.

“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”

“Miller. Spit it out.”

Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?

Joel winced.

Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.

NO! No. No. Just…fuck. Stay hard. Please, stay hard.

He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.

“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.

Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.

“Texted you back?” you scoffed.

“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”

Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.

“You never texted me, Joel!”

What?

Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.

“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”

“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”

Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.

“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.

At last, your expression dropped.

From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.

“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”

“Huh?”

“5 at the end, not a 9.”

“…No.”

“Yeah…”

Shit.

Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.

“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.

You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.

“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”

‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.

“What’s’at mean?” he asked.

You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.

“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”

‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.

Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.

A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.

“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.

You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.

“Mhmm.”

Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.

“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”

In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.

He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.

“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.

Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’

He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.

Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.

You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.

For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.

He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.

Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.

Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.

“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.

You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.

“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”

The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.

Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.

You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.

With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.

“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”

You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,

“So— so close, daddy.”

Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.

Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.

Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.

Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.

To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.

Thank fuck.

Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.

You grinned.

Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.

You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.

“Wanna try something fun?”

He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.

Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.

Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.

This was your idea of ‘fun.’

Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That would come later.

No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.

You froze.

Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.

One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.

“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.

“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.

And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.

Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You needed him whole.

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.

No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.

There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.

You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,

“—to the realization—”

“—that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”

Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.

Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

You thought you might like to see him that way forever.

Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.

You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.

You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.

[quieteating]

Venice 1

[inkdrinkerworld]

Post!prision!Reid seeing his daughter for the first time after he gets out 🥹 he gets so emotional because he can finally hold his baby again!

OMG OMG OMG!!!! can you imagine how teary he'd be!! post!prison dad!spencer x mom!reader, I hope you enjoy <3

You wish you could’ve been with the team at the prison, see him come out there in person, but you’re still on bedrest with your baby girl. Georgia is only a couple weeks old, but she’s so much Spencer’s twin- the same unruly curls, the same nose and the same want of you. 

You’d written all about her in your letters to Spencer, describing every feature he’s going to see today in so much detail you were sure he would see her clearly in his mind. 

“Honey?” He doesn’t shout lest he wake his daughter as he walks in, his fingers twitching with the need to see both of you. 

“I’m on the sofa baby,” it’s almost as if he was never gone. You lean over the sofa to see him pass through the kitchen, his hands holding a small bag. “I’m sorry I can’t stand to kiss you, Spence.” 

He tuts, leaning down over you, “Nonsense, how’re you feeling?” His eyes flit over to the cot beside you, roving over your daughter before settling back on you. 

“Like I missed you longer than you’ve been gone.” You’re waterlogged immediately and Spencer rounds the sofa to pull you into him. 

“I missed you too,” his lips press into your temple, “God I missed you both so much.” Tears wet your hairline but you can’t seem to care, Spencer’s home and he’s able to see your baby girl together. What more could you want?

“I brought you some snacks, I figured you hadn’t been able to get any of your cravings.” He says gently, opening a bag to show you all the chocolate malt balls, the yoghurt raisins and the nuts you’d just run out of. “I got something for Georgia too.” 

“Spence,” you gasp when you see the orange stuffed octopus that he pulls out, it’s just as big as Georgia is now. He wipes the tears that fall on your cheeks, kissing your nose before opening the tub of nuts for you. “Seventh smartest animal in the world.” you recall softly. 

“Can I hold her?” He asks finally and you nod, watching him stand and hover over the bassinet. 

“Just scoop her up Spence, she’s going to be so happy you’re home.” 

Spencer doesn’t say a word, practically holding his breath as he does as you say- scooping Georgia up in record time and holding her close to his chest. There’s a moment right after she wriggles a bit when she settles and Spencer feels an ungodly wave of emotion crash into him.

Of course, he’d read that men only feel like fathers the moment they hold their babies, and everyone had told him (everyone being Derek and JJ) that you can’t control the way your heart kind of cracks open to make room for this new love, but he still hadn’t expected it to be so immediate and visceral. 

“Hi Georgia,” he whispers, his tears rolling down the bridge of his nose as he strokes her cheek. “Hi sweet girl.” You’re enamoured already, looking at Spencer holding your daughter like she’s made of fine China. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were born, baby. But I promise I’m not missing anything else where you’re concerned.” 

Tears pool in your eyes as your daughter wakes up, no crying or wailing, just small coos and gurgles as she looks at Spencer. 

“It’s your daddy, Georgia.” You murmur, sniffling and wiping your eyes as Spencer hiccups as she reaches for his face, her little fist bumping into his jaw.

Her almond eyes stare up at him, blinking all slow as she takes him in. Then she smiles, as if she's put a face to the man who spoke to her every night, telling her all the facts he'd read and learnt about babies, animals and whatever soothing topic he could find to tell her while she lived in your belly.

“Your mom lied to me, you look just like her.” You scoff, rolling your eyes as Spencer gives you a little glare. “Those eyes are all her, Peach. Maybe you won’t get your daddy’s brain either- it’s no fun being smart and getting beat up.” You throw a cashew at Spencer then, making him chuckle and come sit beside you. 

“I’m so happy you’re home.” You whisper, stroking Georgia’s cheek as you press yours into Spencer’s bicep. 

“I’m happy to be back, angel.” his eyes remain transfixed to Georgia all day, holding her and touching her foot when he can’t because you have to feed her. Spencer thinks to himself that he’d live through prison a thousand times over if every time he gets out, he can come back to this moment, to the peace and serenity in your home with you and your little girl and the life you’d made together colouring every wall of the house.

[sweetbunpura]

After stepping out of Jungleheart Rollo and Savanaclaw sighs

Round 4!

Round 1 - Round 2 - Round 3

Aqualetta

Before anyone even had the ability to ask what happened, Leona shuts them all up.

"She's not there, she's in Aqualetta."

Floyd let out a loud groan. "I don't wanna go there!"

Jade fought to keep his face neutral while Azul adjusted his glasses to hide his grimace.

"Of all the places to be..." He muttered and made his way towards the doorway with a emblem of a singing mermaid on it. "If we're lucky, she'll be in here. Jade, Floyd, and you too, Rollo-san."

Floyd basically dragged his feet as they entered the portal. The sound of seagulls calling and a warm sea breeze hit Rollo as they appeared in the entrance of the dorm. A seaside "town" surrounded the portal and Rollo could see several Aqualetta members milling about in the town square.

"Welcome to Aqualette. Now let's go before they spot us."

Rollo turned his head to see the trio already making their way towards the castle like structure ahead. He quickly followed them as they decided down the white stairs.

"Ahhhhh~" Floyd placed his arms behind his head and turned to look at Rollo. "Why didn't you keep an eye out for Shrimpy, Snapping Turtle?"

Rollo semi-glared at him. "If you recall, I was busying continuing with my community service. I didn't have a chance to call and ask where she was."

"Mmmm, sounds like an excuse."

"You-"

"Now, now." Jade interrupted. "We all know Miss Yuu is quite hard to get a hold of. So it only makes sense that he would lose her."

Rollo bristled. "You nefarious-"

"I don't need my headache to morph into a migraine." Azul sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, please settle down."

"Alright/Yes, Azul."

They reached the end of the steps and spotted a red haired man talking to a long haired man with light brown skin.

"Oh, there they are!" The long haired man waved to them. "Hello!"

The group paused as the red head turned to face them with shining aqua-blue eyes and a wide smile. Immediately, Rollo saw the three of them flinch and their shoulders drop as the red head approached them.

"Azul! Oh, it's actually you!"

"Hello, Rielle..."

Rielle circled the three mermen. "Jade and Floyd as well! Nanu! Nanu! These are the guys I was telling you about!"

Rollo moved off to the side as he spotted the grimaces on the mermen faces. This Rielle must be a character in order to get even Jade to make a face at him. Nanu laughed as he approached the man.

"Rielle, by the seven, you still do not seem capable of understanding personal space." Azul grumbled.

"Aw, but last time I had seen you, you were a chubby octopus!" He smiles as Azul freezes. "I'm so proud of you for working it off though!"

"I'm sorry about Rielle. He's been excitable ever since he heard Pua's stories about them." He sticks out his hand to Rollo. "Name's Nanu Coulette, I'm the vice leader here!"

Rollo looked at his hand and shook it, only to jolt at Nanu's strong grip as he shook their hands up and down. He let go and the gray haired man fought to keep from wincing.

"Rielle, come." Nanu pulled him back effortlessly.

"Listen, we came here looking for Shrimpy." Floyd growled. "Is she here or not?"

The dorm and vice frowned and shook their heads.

"She was here earlier." Rielle spoke. "Chen'ya had to leave, so she stayed with us...until Riley came over and invited her to Potential."

Floyd let out a low growl as Jade turned to look at Rollo.

"Forgive me for being so blunt, but have you not thought to call her at any given moment?" Rollo saw Jade's eye twitch.

In all honesty, he hadn't thought to call her due to the chaos of everything and before he could even think of pulling out his phone, Nanu answered.

"Oh, uh, she won't be able to answer."

The air crew cold as four sets of eyes glared menacingly at the vice, who raised his hands up.

"Hey, hey! Chen'ya kept putting in the wrong password and it locked her out for a while. No need to be hostile."

"It's that's all," Jade pulls on the back of Floyd and Azul's jackets before either of them have a chance to throttle Nanu. "We'll be taking our leave then. Goodbye."

The NRC boys departed for the portal before the RSA students could say anything.

"...What does Pua mean?"

"He called her Flower." Floyd asks with a monotone voice.

Rollo was going to strangle the next person to give her a nickname.

[solxamber]

Love in Contempt - Jade Leech x reader

When you take your ex, Jade to court over a ceramic octopus, the reason he wants it so badly might be sweeter than you thought.

The whole thing started over a ceramic octopus.

Well, more specifically, it started over a breakup that was supposed to be clean and easy. But it wasn’t. Breakups never are. Especially not when your ex was Jade Leech.

You broke up with him because he teased you. Constantly. He would get that sly smile, those sharp eyes glinting with mischief as he’d say something cryptic or mildly condescending, and you were just done. You loved him, but it was too much. It felt like he was always one step ahead, always the clever eel while you were left floundering in his wake. It made you feel… well, dumb.

You didn’t like feeling dumb.

So, you packed your things. Or at least, you tried to. But there was this octopus—this stupid, ridiculous octopus sculpture you’d both found during a weekend getaway. You couldn’t just leave it behind. You both had picked it out. You both wanted it. And it was the last thread still tethering you together.

“You can’t take it,” Jade said with that infuriatingly calm voice as you grabbed it off the shelf. “We bought it together.”

“Oh really?” you scoffed, clutching it to your chest as if it was the most precious object in the world. “And why do you get to keep it?”

“I have… sentimental attachments,” he responded, though his smile was a little too sharp for someone who was supposed to be serious. “It reminds me of the fond memories we made.”

You blinked at him. “Jade, it’s an octopus. It’s not that deep.”

“It could be,” he replied smoothly. “Especially if you think about its place in the oceanic ecosystem—”

“I swear to Seven,” you muttered, interrupting him, “I’m taking you to court over this. You don’t even like the octopus. You just want to keep messing with me!”

Jade tilted his head, smile widening ever so slightly. “Would I ever do such a thing?”

“Yes!” you snapped.

And that’s how you ended up hiring a lawyer.

Your lawyer, a no-nonsense beastman who looked like he’d rather be doing anything but dealing with this, had asked you point-blank, “Are you sure you want to take this to court? Over a ceramic octopus?”

You folded your arms. “It’s a matter of principle now.”

Jade, on the other hand, didn’t hire a lawyer. No, he was charming enough to represent himself. Besides, this was never really about the octopus for him. It was about seeing you again. About trying to figure out how the hell he could fix the mess he’d made when he hadn’t even realized he was making it. He was smitten—utterly, stupidly smitten—and teasing you was just what came naturally to him. He thought you understood that. He hadn’t realized it hurt you until you left him.

And now here you both were, standing in front of a very unimpressed judge.

“Let me get this straight,” the judge said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re both here over… a ceramic octopus?”

You nodded fiercely, still clutching your lawyer’s sleeve. “Yes, Your Honor.”

Jade, standing there with his usual air of grace, merely smiled. “Indeed.”

“And you—” the judge gestured to Jade, “—you want it too? This… octopus?”

“Yes,” Jade said with a nod. “It’s of great… emotional value.”

The judge stared at him for a moment. “You don’t actually care about the octopus, do you?”

Jade tilted his head slightly. “What makes you think that?”

“Because this is ridiculous,” the judge replied flatly. “Why are you here?”

Jade glanced at you, and then his calm demeanor faltered. Just a little. He looked back at the judge, then at you again, his eyes softer than you’d seen them in weeks. “I’m here because I want… I want to make things right.”

Your lawyer cleared his throat awkwardly, but you just blinked. “Make things right?”

Jade took a breath. This wasn’t supposed to happen here, in a courtroom of all places, but there was something about standing under the judge’s judgmental stare that forced his hand. “Yes, I’ve been teasing you,” he said quietly, “but not because I think you’re dumb. Far from it. It’s just… my way of showing affection. It’s how I’ve always been. But I realize now that it made you feel like I wasn’t taking you seriously. That wasn’t my intention.”

The judge rubbed his temples. “Oh boy…”

But Jade wasn’t finished. His eyes locked with yours, no hint of teasing now, just raw sincerity. “I love you,” he admitted softly. “And I’ve been using this ridiculous octopus as an excuse to see you. To talk to you. Because I’m terrified that if I don’t, you’ll move on and I’ll never get another chance to tell you how I really feel.”

The courtroom went quiet. Your lawyer gave you a sidelong glance, as if silently asking if you were really going to let this continue.

You took a breath. “Jade…”

The judge sighed deeply, waving a hand at both of you. “Alright, that’s enough. Get out of my courtroom. You’re both ridiculous.”

Your lawyer sputtered, “But, Your Honor, the octopus—”

“Out,” the judge growled, pointing to the door.

The two of you stood there for a moment, awkward and silent, until finally, you both shuffled out of the courtroom, the octopus still very much in contention but now a distant second to the much more complicated emotions swirling between you.

Outside, you stopped, your lawyer nowhere in sight, leaving just you and Jade. He looked at you expectantly, almost nervously, which was strange for him. Jade wasn’t the type to get flustered.

You looked at him, then the octopus in your arms, and let out a long sigh. “You’re an idiot.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You should have just said something sooner,” you muttered, your voice softening. “Instead of hiding behind all your teasing.”

“I didn’t realize…” He trailed off, stepping closer. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. “I know,” you said quietly. “But I still need to know that you actually mean it when you say things like that. That you’re not just playing around.”

He reached out slowly, his fingers brushing yours where they held the octopus. “I promise, I’m not playing around. Not with you.”

You met his eyes and saw the truth there—saw the vulnerability he so rarely let anyone see. For all his teasing, for all his sly remarks, Jade was standing before you now, completely unguarded.

You smiled a little, the anger and hurt from the past few weeks fading, leaving behind only the feeling you’d always had for him. “I love you too, you know.”

He exhaled, relief flooding his features. “Does this mean…”

You held out the octopus. “Here. You can have it.”

His eyes widened. “I—no, I don’t actually want it. You keep it.”

“What?” you asked, incredulous. “But we just went to court over this thing!”

Jade’s lips twitched upward into a soft, mischievous smile. “Yes, but I only went along with it so I could keep seeing you.”

You stared at him for a long moment, then burst into laughter, unable to help yourself. “I can’t believe you…”

“Believe it,” he said, stepping closer. “As long as we’re not fighting over it anymore.”

You smiled, feeling the weight lift off your chest. “No more fighting. But don’t think I’m not going to hold this over you forever.”

Jade’s grin widened, his teasing glint returning. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Just then, the courtroom doors creaked open. The judge stuck his head out, eyes narrowing at the two of you still standing outside.

“Well?” the judge asked dryly. “What’s the verdict?”

You and Jade exchanged an awkward glance before you both shuffled back inside, the octopus still cradled in your arms.

The judge groaned. “Let me guess. You’re back together?”

You gave a sheepish nod.

The judge let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “You two are banned from this courtroom. Now get out before I find a reason to hold you in contempt.”

As you and Jade slunk out of the courthouse, you couldn’t help but laugh. Jade glanced at you, his eyes soft and amused. “It seems we’re a bit infamous now.”

“Yeah,” you grinned, reaching out to take his hand. “But at least we’re infamous together.”

Masterlist

[cosmerelists]

Stormlight Characters Meet an Octopus

As requested by @miss-madithe-baddie :)

It's Octopus Time on Roshar!

1. Kaladin

Kaladin: [stares at octopus] Octopus: [stares at Kaladin] Kaladin: So it...what? Is it one of those creatures that squishes down into crevices during storms? It doesn't look like it has bones. Kaladin: Kinda big though. Would need a big crevice. Octopus: [stares at Kaladin] Kaladin: ... Kaladin: I feel like it's judging me, somehow.

2. Bridge Four

Moash: Well, I don't like it. Moash: An animal with no carapace is unnatural. Rlain: ...You're an animal without a carapace. Moash: W-Well, it's different for humans! We can build houses! Drehy: Maybe the giant squish bug builds houses. Drehy: We all saw it pick up the shell and put it on its head. Skar: That's more fashion than construction, I think. Sigzil: We saw it go into the water. It's a sea creature. Sigzil: Sea creatures don't need carapaces like land animals do. Moash: It's on the land right now!! Skar: Guys, shut up! It's wearing a shell as a hat again! Renarin: It really is quite fashionable.

3. Adolin

Adolin: Sure is weird looking! Adolin: Look! It has little sticky cups under its legs! Kaladin: D-Don't grab it! It's gonna bite you! Adolin: I bet it can crawl up walls 'n' stuff! Adolin: Hey, isn't that something you can do too, Bridgeboy? Kaladin: I use Stormlight! Not sticky vine legs! Adolin: Bet its some kind of tiny Windrunner. Kaladin: It is NOT!

4. Shallan

Shallan: Hush, all of you. Shallan: This thing is beautiful! Gorgeous! Octopus: [abruptly changes color to match surroundings] Shallan: !! Shallan: Talented! Amazing! Shallan: This might be the most important drawing I'll ever do! Adolin: ...You drew me last week for our wedding anniversary? Shallan: [already drawing] And you didn't even change color ONCE!

5. Lopen

Lopen: [staring intently at octopus] Lopen: [staring intently at octopus] Lopen: [staring intently at octopus] Lopen: [concentration face] Rock: ...You're trying to grow more arms, aren't you? Lopen: I didn't know EIGHT was an option!

6. Zahel

Zahel: I've seem those things before. Zahel: Very smart. Zahel: Very tasty. Rock: ...Tasty you say? Shallan: NO

7. Navani

Navani: Seeing this bizarre creature gives me so many ideas. Navani: Dalinar, do you think we should build semi-aquatic vehicles that can go on both land and water and develop color-changing camouflage technology? Dalinar [trying to be a supportive husband]: And perhaps the land-water vehicle could have...tentacles? Navani: No ideas are wrong in the brainstorming stage. Navani: But also no.

8. Dieno (the Mink)

Dieno: [gives octopus a bro nod] Octopus: [gives Dieno a bro nod back] Dalinar: ...What was that? Dieno: Ah, it is nothing! Just two master escape artists recognizing each other. Dalinar: Escape...artist? Dalinar: This creature has done nothing but sit on that rock and occasionally go into that pool this whole time. Dieno: Yet nevertheless, people like us...we recognize each other. Dalinar: ... Dalinar: [doubtfully] If you say so. 

9. Dalinar

It is later. Dalinar is walking through Urithiru. Something from above touches his face with a thwick sound. He looks up. The Octopus is looking down at him from the ceiling, one tentacle reaching down. Lift is also in the ceiling. Lift gives him a thumbs up. Dalinar keeps walking.

10. Lift

Lift: Today has been the greatest day of my life. Lift: I had no IDEA there so many vents 'n' shit that someone like you could squish through! Lift: And when you used your dark water attack to push that button? Amazing! Lift: Even I had trouble keeping up with you!! Lift: Truly, you are my new best friend.

[ladyamanda123]

You guys….my head just EXPLODED

🤯🤯🤯

Okay bare with me here because my thoughts are literally chaos right now! Going to try and take you through the ninja katana that just happened to my brain!

1. Everyone has been focusing on this album being white. Taylor wore a white dress, Taylor used the 🤍, etc etc

This has been bothering my photographer mind since I very first saw the cover. That cover is not black and white. That cover is Sepia.

Rep is Black and white…..Folklore as well (though more muted and grey than stark black and white like Rep)

Poets is Sepia!

Now obviously there is no Sepia heart emoji so it could be that simple BUT Taylor is a mastermind and she doesn’t do accidents. The Sepia toned album cover is not white and that immediately drew attention to it when everyone is focused on the white aspects (which also lended itself nicely to the Rep TV/Poets bait and switch)

2. So I decided to go learn about the history of Sepia and quickly came across this very interesting article. I started reading. Immediately aspects of this colours history started setting off lightbulbs 💡

Sepia comes from the Cuttlefish’s defence mechanism. When under attack the cuttlefish releases a cloud of ink to distract the predator and make a swift (SWIFT!!) escape!?!?

Already we have the ink tie in specifically mentioning jet black (like the octopus and squid) but the cuttlefish’s defender cloud is sepia……this album is a defence mechanism so she can distract the predators (hetlors/the press) to make her escape to safety. It’s the bait and switch. The distraction. The decoy.

This was already enough to have my jaw on the floor…but wait! There’s more!

3. Sepia’s use in photography…

This love story began in black and white…in Reputation.

🎶I once believed love would be black and white….but it’s golden (Daylight)

This cover photo is very clearly Daylight after the long and tortured Midnight….now she only sees Daylight!

Sepia has come to represent a by-gone age….

Everyone thinks that Kaylor is over and done. Just an ended friendship, a burned bridge, no longer relevant…but the act of making that relationship look old was actually used to preserve that love and allow it to be long lasting!

There’s also the very obvious photography connection with the Polaroids significance to Kaylor.

Also note the nod to 1920s….along with the Clara Bow track pointed at that era here’s another possible link to the roaring 20s

Another link to Daylight coming after Midnight…the opening of the Karma music video shows the Midnights album which turns into a golden sunlight over the golden Taylor statue. Midnight to Daylight.

So as if all of this wasn’t already enough I kept reading and the next paragraph made me scream…..

The Wizard of FUCKING OZ you guys!!!!

(Side note that we have the Blake/Taylor Dorothy and Ariel combo call back here as well! Worth noting maybe Daddy I Love Him will shed some light on this Halloween Party…we know our 🎃 anon wanted us focusing on Halloween! Maybe this evening was significant in the story!)

So everyone thinks of it as black and white but it’s actually Sepia…..yes yes go on…..

So you’re telling me to create the illusion (🎶All eyes on me your illusionist) of sepia to colour they were using a body double. A double! A bait and switch! A stand in! Like every single beard relationship and every single Karlie stand in we have been seeing lately! Blake at Beyonces premiere….Keleigh at the Golden Globes, Keleigh as the bride, etc etc etc.

Slight of hand, more illusions and bait and switch imagery to make the art work and the magic happen.

Holy Shit!!!

I need to go pass out now!

Link to the Sepia article:

[rej11]

[daisynik7]

I’ve had this in my head for awhile

“promiscuous” by Nelly furtado for Toji Fushiguro- smut

Promiscuous

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.0k

cw: p*rn without plot, smut – PIV sex (doggy), degradation, public sex, nipple play, fingering, sex without a condom, spit play, daddy kink, breeding kink, cream pie

Summary: You’re a waitress working in a ramen shop at the racetrack. There are always the regulars that come in during the odd hours of the day, killing time with a bowl of ramen or takoyaki, waiting to either win or lose. Toji Fushiguro is one in particular that catches your eye. When he continues his losing streak, you decide to cheer him up in the only way you know how.

Author's Note: Thank you for the request for the y2k karaoke party my lovely @batafuraikisu! I love you so so much, you’re always so sweet and so supportive of me! I hope you like this one for your man Toji! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune.

It’s noon on a Tuesday morning. A gun fires off in the distance, signaling the start of the next race. The regulars you’re used to seeing gather around the monitor, watching as the horses they placed their bets on gallop around the track. Ken, one of the cooks behind the counter, rings the bell; a fresh order of chicken karaage is ready to serve. You stack it on a tray, balancing it as you walk to the dining area, waiting for the race to end, knowing everyone’s attention is on the finish line. 

When horse number #4 eventually crosses, followed by #1, then #3, most of the men groan, tossing their crumpled tickets into the nearby trashcan. Goro, a retired grandpa you’ve befriended throughout the years, pumps his fist in the air victoriously. “I knew Prince could do it! Wahoo!”

You smile at him, setting the food down at his table. “Congratulations!”

He pats your hand gratefully, snapping his chopsticks in two, popping a piece into his mouth. “Thank you, dear. Please ask Ken to make three more orders for me.” He points his thumb to the others, moping in their seats, some taking long drags of their cigarettes. “Figured these losers could use a little treat.”

Giggling, you respond, “Coming right up.”

On your way back, you notice a familiar figure slumped in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Toji Fushiguro is a new regular from the past few weeks. He’s significantly younger than the others, and also undeniably attractive. Naturally, you take an interest in him. It’s rare to find someone with his muscular stature around here, considering the usual crowd consist of middle-aged men with beer bellies or elderly fellows hunched over from old age. While you never minded these type of men before, it was a pleasant change of scenery to see someone like Fushiguro grace you with his presence. 

Behind the counter, you add an order of takoyaki, hoping to lighten up his mood. It’s obvious his horse didn’t win. He’s been this way for the past two weeks, continuously betting on the wrong one, none of his choices even placing. When the food is ready, you pass it out to the depressed men smoking in the corner, who wave at Goro in thanks. The friendly old man joins them, trying to lift their spirits by offering a round of drinks. Everyone in the restaurant is gathered together because misery really does love company. Well, except for Toji. 

You approach him consciously, remembering that you’ve only ever exchanged a few words with each other, whenever he would place his order. Silently, you slide the food over to him until he notices it. He peeks at you with one eye open, glancing at the little plate of octopus balls in front of him. “I didn’t order this.”

“It’s on the house,” you say, smiling.

Glaring at you, he responds, “I don’t need your pity.”

Yikes, you think, standing your ground. Not quite backing down just yet, you explain, “It’s not pity. Consider it thanks for always supporting our business. You’re a regular now.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, studying you thoroughly. “So, this isn’t because I’ve been sulking here for the last two weeks, right?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Absolutely not. But if you really don’t want it, I’m sure Goro and the others will happily eat it for you – ”

“I’ll eat it,” he interrupts, pulling it towards him, finally relaxing. 

You smirk. “Great. Have a good meal.” Your gaze lingers on him for a second longer before you turn on your heel, leaving. 

Just barely do you hear him mutter a quiet, “Thanks.”

~~~

The next day, Toji is back, nodding at you as he walks into the establishment. This is the most he’s acknowledged you personally before, and part of you feels a sense of accomplishment. As if you’re slowly getting through to him. 

Throughout the morning, he sits in his usual seat, watching race after race, groaning at the end of each one. He’ll rush out of the shop only to return minutes later with a new ticket in hand. It’s a sad cycle that continues past lunch, still no luck. 

Your coworker is serving him today, so you haven’t said a thing, a bit nervous that he might snap at you for “pitying” him again. However, you’ve been exchanging knowing glances here and there; you can tell he’s watching you, and you don’t mind it. Not at all.

After setting down a table full of ramen bowls for a particularly cheery bunch of winners, you brush past him, his hand grabbing your wrist firmly to stop you. “Hey.”

You face him, alarmed and excited at the sudden contact. “Hello,” you say, stepping towards him. 

He doesn’t let go, eyes scanning you up and down. You swallow nervously, not quite sure what to do or say. “Do you need something?”

It takes a beat for him to respond but he does, smirking. “I do, actually. I need some pity.”

You crack a smile, teasing, “Oh, so now you want my pity. What do you want? Karaage? Another takoyaki?”

“I’m not really hungry for food right now.” His grip tightens around your wrist, electricity radiating from his touch straight to your chest, sending your heart racing. 

Normally, you wouldn’t do this type of thing, but you can’t help yourself: you’re far too curious to let an opportunity like this go to waste. Mouth grazing his ear and as confidently as you can muster, you whisper, “My shift ends in an hour. Think you can be patient until then?”

His grin widens, teeth showing like a predator who has set their sights on its prey. “Sure. I have a feeling this will be worth the wait.”

~~~

As expected, Toji remains seated in the same spot until you’re done. When you start to approach him, he stands up, ready to follow wherever you lead him. You wave goodbye to Ken and your coworker, who stare at the two of you curiously. Ken even yells out your name, asking, “What are you up to?!” 

Ignoring the question, you walk briskly down one of the corridors towards the exit. Toji trails just behind you, not speaking. You turn into one of the single vacancy bathrooms you usually use, pulling him inside with you, locking the door with a loud click. 

His back is pressed to the door, staring at you, cocky. “Impatient, aren’t we?”

“Shut up,” you say, clutching his collar, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. He chuckles into your mouth, tongue swiping yours, hands arounds your waist. They slide below your ass, squeezing your flesh between his large fingers. You moan, dragging your lips down his neck, sucking on his skin. 

His thumbs hook on the waistband of your jeans, tugging you closer to him. The bulge in his sweatpants is throbbing and hard against you as you grind your body on his, eager for more. He hums. “And here I was thinking you’d be nervous around me. Who would have thought you’d be so promiscuous?”

You laugh, your hands gliding under his shirt, fondling his muscular body. “Are you that surprised? I don’t offer pity takoyaki to just anybody.”

“Lucky me,” he smiles, nipping at your bottom lip. 

Soon, you’re both stripped naked, clothes tossed hastily onto the floor. He licks his lips as he studies your figure, hands roaming your body, pinching at your nipples all perky and hard with arousal. He flicks his thumbs across them, asking, “You like having your tits played with?”

You nod, watching hazily as he bows down, lips near your breasts. “Good. Feed them to me.”

You obey, squeezing one in your hands, guiding it into his mouth. He puckers his lips around the sensitive teat, sucking until you whine with pleasure. You pull out of him slowly, releasing you with a loud pop. He does the same with the other side, suckling on your nipple until it’s plump and aching with arousal. 

“Think you’re wet enough for me?” he growls, reaching for your throbbing clit, flicking it with his fingers. “Bet I can make you wetter.”

“Then do it,” you moan, grinding against his hand. “Fuck me with those fingers.”

His eyes widen, two beefy fingers sliding into your entrance, stretching you out. “Fuck, you’re bad. So ready to get finger fucked by a total stranger. Nasty slut.” He sticks his tongue in your mouth, slobbering all over you as he pumps his digits in and out of your pussy, rubbing his thumb on your clit. After several more strokes, you come for him, gushing around his fingers until they’re coated in your slick. 

“Shit,” he swears, letting you ride out your orgasm on his palm, thumb still circling your bud. “It’s real creamy now. Perfect for my cock.” He pulls out, stroking his dick with his wet fingers, spreading his own precum around the tip. “Bend over for me, sweetheart.”

You’re needy and desperate for him to fill you up now, obedient to his every command no matter how crudely he spits it out to you. In this moment, you’re nothing but a cock sleeve for Toji, waiting to be stuffed full. So you follow his orders, bending over with your hands flat against the wall, sticking your ass out for him. He smacks it, watching with mirth as your skin jiggles from his harsh touch. He nestles his cock between your cheeks, grinding it against you. “Goddamn, that’s sexy,” he growls, spitting into his palm, lubricating his shaft with his saliva. “Do you want it?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, anticipating. “Give it to me.”

“Tell daddy exactly what you want,” he coos, slapping your bottom once more, teasing the tip up and down your folds. 

“Fuck, I want daddy’s big cock inside me!” you cry out, thrusting yourself onto him, his dick sliding smoothly inside you. 

He laughs, gripping your hips tightly as he starts to thrust. “Yeah, you want daddy’s cock pounding this wet pussy, huh? Look at you swallowing me up. Fucking whore.”

The degradation only spurs you to throw your ass back onto him, fucking you deeper and deeper until your knees are wobbly, legs shaky. He rails you harder, spreading your cheeks apart to watch his dick disappear with each plunge. “This pussy was made to be bred. You want my cum inside you? Ask for it. Beg for it.” 

“Please daddy! I want your cum!” you plead, unashamed. Really, whatever figurative chokehold this man has on you is outstanding. To have you begging for his seed, desperate to be stuffed with his load, it’s concerning and riveting all at the same time. 

“Louder,” he demands. “Let the whole racetrack hear how much you want daddy’s cum.” He reaches around to stimulate your clit, massaging it between his thick fingers.

“Give me all your fucking cum, daddy!” you moan, choking on your own spit, drool trickling out the sides of your mouth. It’s pointless now to deny how fucking cock-drunk you are for him. Useless to save face when you were already so blatant about seducing him from the start. All you can do now is comply and hope that none of your coworkers can hear you screaming from the other side of the wall. 

“Yeah, that’s what I want to hear,” he purrs, flicking your bud rapidly. “You’re going to get all this fucking cum.”

He comes as soon as you tighten around him with your second orgasm. He doesn’t stop stimulating your clit until he empties his load inside you. Slowly, he pulls out, marveling at the lewd sight of his cock coated in cum. “Fuck,” he mutters, continuing to gaze at the mess the both of you made.  

You gradually come to your senses, carefully picking your clothes up from the floor. When you’re fully dressed, he steps to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands, kissing your forehead. “Are you working tomorrow?”

With a weak smile, you respond, “Yes.”

He grins back, brushing your lips with his thumb. “Good. See you then.”

~~~

The next day, coincidentally, Toji’s horse places first, ending his miraculous losing streak. After collecting his winnings, he waits for you until your shift is done, waving the earnings in his hands, smiling. “Guess I got myself a good luck charm now,” he says, winking at you. “Want to make me a winner again?”

[lovebeatriceplz]

🥀Those aren't meant to bend.

Gwen Stacy x Fem! Reader ( platonic but can be interpreted otherwise i think)

Summary: The girl you managed to befriend a little more than a year ago stops responding to your texts, basically disappearing. One rainy night you stumble upon her, not as Gwen Stacy..but as Spider woman.

Tw: Mentions of self - harm, panic attacks and a brief mention of su!c!de .Captain Stacy ended up dying prior to the events that happen in this fic.

This isn't really like a reflection on her character but the gwen angst syndrome is strong and i need to get it out

It's been five weeks since Doctor Octopus attacked your city. It's been five weeks since the death of Captain Stacy. It's been five weeks since Spider woman stopped appearing. Five weeks since Gwen stopped coming to school.

You made the connection a long time ago. It always found it's way into your mind, sitting up at night, wondering how she does it, how she balanced her personal life and being a superhero, if she does at all.

Taking your seat on the train you take a look around. She wasn't here, again. Gwen is one year below you, so you would only really see her in the mornings and evenings.

She begins to flood your thoughts. Was she ok? How is she managing without her father? Is she still spider woman or has her father's death prompted her to discard the mask?. The last time you spoke, she said her aunt was staying with her, taking on the role of her guardian you figured, however, a part of you just didn't believe her.

The feeling of the seat dipping slightly brings you back to present, and a friend starts a conversation. After discussing upcoming final, school and other things, you ask the question that's been burning at the back of your throat. "Have you seen Gwen recently?" .

The boy looks up, thinking. "Stacy? Nah, not since - you know". You nod, yeah you did know. A sigh escapes your mouth and you lean against the window. "Hey, she'll be fine, she's probably just mourning, it's normal". He tries his best to sound convincing. "Yeah.." you respond, not able to channel an once of conviction in your words.

His brows furrow, wanting to divert your thoughts else where. "Guess what?" He perks up, reaching for his phone. "Your favorite girl is back". Leaning up you look over his arm. That didn't make sense, your favourite girl was Gwen, and she wasn't back. Once you see the article it makes sense. 'Spider - woman spotted after disappearing for almost two weeks'.

A slight feeling of hope washes over you as you head to class. Gwen- Spider - woman, she was ok. As the day progresses doubts plague your mind. It could be false, some journalist desperate for a story, or a an anxious citizen that needed something to trust in again. Wait, what was that?. You tilt your head up, this was the path you took home everyday, so anything foreign would catch your attention.

Zzzzp. There it was again. A flash of pink and white. It was just for a second but you're sure of it, it was true. Gwen-... Spider- woman, she was back.

" I understand that this is private information but please it's out of concern". You thought that Spider - woman being back meant Gwen being back as well. It seemed like she segregated the two, splitting herself into different personas. She didn't respond to calls, texts, when you showed up at her apartment you got no answer and she's not at school. Only as Spider - woman did she appear, and even then, she never stayed around long enough for you to get a hold of her.

That's why the principal is pinching the bridge of their nose, and why you're persisting, begging even that they provide you with the contact of this "aunt" Gwen mentioned. "Please, I want to know if she's okay". You looked pitiful, but that's the goal. A sigh, then a grumble, followed by aggressive writing. The principal hands you a small slip of paper "If anyone asks, you didn't get it from here". A grin is plastered on your face as you leave.

"Hello? who is this?" She sounded calm, a bit tired, maybe in her 30's. "Hello, this is a friend of Gwen Stacy, your niece".

"Gwen?...my, why I haven't seen her in years, I heard about her father, is she alright?" a puzzled expression crosses your face. "I was hoping you could tell me, aren't you staying with her?" trying to conceal your rising panic.

"Oh..oh no dearie, I haven't seen Gwen since she was 'bout twelve years old". What was going on? "but-". "I'm sorry but I haven't been in contact with George or Gwen for a very long time, good day" the phone line goes dead.

A feeling of dread consumes you, staring at the text you sent, she read it but you still got no reply. Five, six, seven, still no reply. Your sneakers echo as you jog up the apartment complex. If she wouldn't reply you'd just have to seek her out.

You have to stop yourself before knocking, be gentle, she's the one that's hurting here. A soft knock, and you get silence in return. Raising your fist to knock again, you stop as your phone chimes. A concerned friend checking on you due to the villain on the loose.

Screams and loud bangs spread throughout the city of Queens. Anyone with an ounce of self preservation would head home, but this was your chance to see her.

Watch from a distance, and everything will be fine. This wasn't anything new, they were no match for spider woman. You observe her closely, as she skillfully takes control of the fight. But, she seems...slower, and she looks thin, not like you notice her enough to tell. She wasn't okay.

The fight's over, people cheer, the police attempt to clean up etc etc. Your only focus was to get a grip on that girl before- damn, she's gone, again.

The weight of yet another missed opportunity drags you down. You take a shortcut to get home due to the debris from the fight. And if your night couldn't get any worse- rain starts to pour and your drenched in seconds.

It was quiet, almost inaudible at first. But you heard it. Stopping, you strain your ears to hear better. It was a strained, almost gargle like sound. A sob?

You slowly turn the corner to find the source of the noise. When you do see it your chest tightens, you could have just died right there. Why? because in front of you was Spider woman, on her knees, soaked, mask discarded at her side as she desperately tries to force oxygen into her lungs, she was failing.

You want to scream out her name but your throat is dry, you want to run to her but your feet suddenly feel heavy. No need for any of that anyways, because she spotted you.

"Don't come any closer!" she shouts out. Her voice brings you back to reality, the once calm and pretty sound now hoarse and..just tired. "Gwen! oh my- Gwen you're okay" you start to lessen the distance between you, but the look on her face stops you. "I said don't come any closer!" she repeats, reaching for her web shooters. They made a crackling sound and, no webs came flying towards you.

Now you start to panic. Did she even recognize you? she had to right?. "Gw- ow!" a pebble comes flying instead, then another, and another. She tries to run away but she hardly moves, her leg was probably injured, or her body was just exhausted.

You resort to grabbing her wrist to stop her flailing but she winces, you instantly let go. "Gwen..." her gaze locks with yours, and her eyes are puffy, but they also looked glazed over, she was so distant.

Atleast she wasn't trying to get away anymore. She was struggling to breath, you wanted to help but- everything you did seemed to make things worse.

The sobbing starts again, the most heartbreaking sobs you've ever heard. You're hands hover over her, you just wanted to hug her so badly, but what if she tried to run off again?

She quietly calls out your name in between sobs. Your arms wrap around her instantly as you sink to the group beside her. She presses herself into you, her fingernail digging into your skin, making sure that your there.

It hurt, but you pulled her closer anyways as sobs wracked her body. They gradually die down, the only sounds being the rain, the shuddering sounds she made each time she inhaled and the denim of your jacket against latex.

When her breathing evens out somewhat, you stand up, wrapping the jacket around her first before hoisting her up, putting her arm around your shoulder.

There was no way you could walk her home, she wouldn't make it. You start to walk towards the nearest train station, dragging her along. She tries her best to not put her dead weight on you, but you can tell that she was ready to just collapse.

Few passengers on the train don't pay you two much mind, only a couple glances here and there. Most of her suit was damp and dirty and covered with your jacket, besides, a tired girl and her seemingly not fully conscious friend wasn't an uncommon sight at this hour.

The climb up the apartment stairs was a struggle but you made it. "where are your keys Gwen?" You ask her gently. "Keys?" Her eyes dart around, she didn't seem to register anything you were saying, it's been like that since the train.

The door was open anyways. The intention was to take her to her bed, but she immediately goes limp against the couch.

"I'm sorry.." it's the first thing she's said that was intentional and coherent. You sit on the floor beside the couch. "Sorry about what?" Concerned etched into your features.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't do it... I thought i could i really did, but I can't" her eyes get glossy and she lays on her back, looking at the ceiling.

What did that mean? It could mean so many things, but you didn't push it. (Trigger warning for the paragraph after the next one).

You get to work, removing your jacket and helping her out of her spider suit, she barely seemed to be apart of the process. She's in her undergarments and you start to look around for something for her to wear. (Actual trigger warning now).

An oversized t - shirt is what you settle for. The shirt just slipped over her chest when you notice them. Some seemed to dig deeper than others, some healed over, some looked like they could start bleeding again. You felt like throwing up and a lump forms in your throat as your hands gently grasp her wrist.

Her eyes follow your hands, hardly registering what was going on. When she does however, she sits up immediately, pulling away from you "it's not what you think it is" the words came out harsher than she wanted them to "they're old..." she mutters.

They were obviously recent. The lump in your throat gets bigger, suffocating almost. You inhale deeply "w-" the words refused to come. Why have you never seen them? why are you just realizing how bad the situation actually is. "i said they're old stop staring at them" she repeats.

Her eyes dart away from yours, like she's about to cry again. You pull yourself up on the couch beside her. "I can't do it anymore" she says, the words strained, as if she had to physically force it out her throat.

"being spider - woman?" You shift a bit closer to her. "everything..." Her voice reduced to a hoarse whisper.

"talk to me Gwen" you gently urge her to open up. "i'm just tired..." There was more to it of course, but she wouldn't even allow herself to feel it.

"You can't keep it all in-", "yes I can." As stubborn as always. You take her wrist, finger pads brushing against the now choppy skin, to remind her that you're there, and to make sure that she doesn't run away from the conversation.

Silence. "Okay....then, tell me what happened this evening, why did i find you the way i did?". She brings her knees to her chest, zoning out. "Gwen?".

"I-" she sighs "I don't really remember.." The confession leaves you confused, but she continues before you could ask questions "i don't really remember much these days i-it's sort of a blur I don't know".

The words remind you of the time you tried to check up on her when her father passed away. She was smiling, somewhat. But she seemed fine, although there was an underlying tone of something else.

Now that you think about it, it's like her body was on autopilot. She barely made eye contact that day, she was there but she wasn't..really there. A feeling of guilt starts to swell in your chest, why didn't you know? You're her friend, you should have known.

You were so lost in thought, so lost in the flashbacks of the little things you didn't remember until now that you're just realizing the tears silently streaming down her face.

"is it your dad? is that why?" You ask, reaching out to wipe her face. She shrugs "i think so.." choking on her tears. "you know... it's been five weeks" the words barely audible due to the sobs trapped in her throat.

"only five weeks and i-" she continues "I'm already starting to forget how he sounded". Your arms open and she doesn't hesitate to crawl into them. Her body starts to tremble once more, and she clutches her chest as if it physically hurt.

"- and we didn't even leave off on a good note..we had a fight-". One of the very very few people that Gwen confided in when it came to her father was you. You knew all about it, the relationship wasn't quite secure, but she loved him...she loves him.

She continues to let it all out in strained and muffled whispers. "I wasn't supposed to hurt myself..i was just - I just didn't want to do it anymore". Slowly, your gaze moves down to look at her. "everything?"

She doesn't respond, maybe she couldn't. The crying stopped but her body was still shaking, the tears ran out but the pain didn't. "I just didn't want to be here anymore" the interval between her statements was so long that it took a second to register what she was referring to.

The lining of your eyes sting with tears, and you look upwards in an attempt to keep the tears in check. You couldn't cry infront of her, not now atleast, that wouldn't be fair.

"do you still feel that way?" The steadiness in your voice is obviously forced. "I don't know" she sounded so detached, so far away.

"what about me? and the people out there that need spider - woman?" That was selfish, entitled even, but you weren't choosing your words carefully anymore.

Her silence hits you like a truck, the depth of what you said just now settling in. "It doesn't matter forget i said that- it's about you, and what you feel, okay?" she manages to nod slightly.

With a sigh you pull her body closer, your arms completely encircling her, she felt thinner.

The exhaustion from the fight, along with the turmoil inside her mind and the warmth of your embrace coaxes her to sleep.

She's knocked out cold and you slip away. You just reach the kitchen when the tears start to fall. It wasn't loud or dramatic, instead it was quiet, the type of crying that made you empty when you're done.

Do you blame yourself? not entirely. For the first time since you found Gwen, your notification bar is flooded with missed calls from your parents. So that's how you spend the rest of your night, calling back and convincing them to not report you missing.

The morning comes quickly. You wake up on the cold floor of the kitchen.

Gwen was in the same place you left her, but her eyes are open. "Are you leaving?" her eyes meet yours, even after all that crying they were still bright. "soon" you respond, sitting on the carpeted floor beside the couch.

A silence is shared between the two of you, but it's light, like a breath of fresh air. "Do you remember how we met?" The question slips out by accident, but it was the only thing on her mind at the moment.

You smile, how could you not remember?. It was a hot night, due to it being summer. A friend of yours invited you to hangout at a band rehearsal. It was more like a party, a good amount of people and boy was it loud, but the good kind of loud.

The drummer on stage caught your eye immediately. "who's that?" You had to shout for your friend to hear. "Hah?- oh! That's Gwen, she's new".

You end up catching the same train as her that night. "So..do you play?" That was the first time she spoke to you. You gave her a small smile "bass". Her eyes light up "bass?'.

A chuckle passes your lips "what? You don't like bassists?" she smiles, revealing her cute little gap that you've grown to love "You guys are cool I guess, what about you? Do you like drummers?" That's how it started.

"Did you know? before this i mean" her question snaps you out of it. "know what?". She turns on her side to face you better "know that I was Spider- woman".

You nod "yeah, did you know that I knew?" You ask, playfully poking her side. "I always thought you watched me a bit too closely" she said with a laugh, something she hasn't done in a while.

Her laugh fades, a soft smile coming to rest on her face. "I just want to get better" she admits quietly. You take her hand, giving it a kiss before draping it over your shoulder "you will."

[kerryweaverlesbian]

A friend of mine asked for advice on writing a poem so, I figured I'd share it more widely. This is how I personally tend to go through the process (although sometimes poems just come in a stream of consciousness and I'm like damn where'd you come from???)

This gets long so, under the cut

To me, a poem is circling around an idea through building a structure, so:

1. Figure out a key idea that connects two things together("smoke is a metaphor for hidden places" + "Mary Supernatural's relationship to motherhood" = "Mary Supernatural's hidden feelings about motherhood explored through the metaphor of a house fire")

OR a scene where something very sensory is happening ("eating a live octopus", "running on a cold day")

2. Write a short paragraph of whatever comes into my head as I think about that. Connections to other works, random lines, images, concepts. The ideas can be cliché and shit and not be used in the final piece!!

I'll do one rn for the octopus concept:

"What could the octopus be a metaphor for? Struggling to create a piece of work? Like how I rotate pieces of media around in my head for a while sometimes without getting a clear thought on them, as I am with Mouthwashing right now. The struggling kick of life. A life without hands, only senses. A constant reaching forever. Maybe a squid would be better, it releases cloudy ink...? But it's not as big as an octopus. Poem speaker confused between squid and octopus. The sensation of being strangled from the inside by the octopus tentacles. Fighting against yourself and your own instincts to give up. Tears forming as ideas form. Salt and copper. The tongue is kind of like a tentacle in itself. 'I swallow it, until it becomes mine'."

^ this helps solidify the ideas of the poem without having to battle through 3 or 4 drafts while looking at a blank page willing ideas to come out. Sometimes I just do that part in my head but it can be helpful to refer back.

What I love about poetry is that you can just skip to the exciting bit! You don't need a bunch of characters or scene descriptions or dialogue. It can all be the bit that makes you go hell yeah cool cool cool!! (<- guy who finds literary analysis cool)

3. Whichever of those ideas speak to you, use some to write a first stanza. The rhythm can be whatever sounds good in your head:

"I'm eating an octopus

(Live)

With gusto,

It's fighting me back but I bite."

So now we have an established rhythm! For this one it's

7 syllables [no comma]

(a short aside)

3 syllables,

8 syllables.

Now for the rest of the poem I can use that same rhythm, which keeps me focused. If you don't want to come up with your own rhythm, there's plenty of established poetry rhythms and rhyme schemes, if you google "types of poem" they will appear as if by magic. And of course you don't have to use a pattern at all. Again, this is just what I do.

To be clear, I don't tend to literally count out the syllables, you can feel what the rhythm is by saying the poem out loud (which you should do FREQUENTLY as you write to make sure the emPHAsis doesn't go ON the WRONG word). There's poetry terms for emphasis but I don't know them because I only did up to AS level poetry 😉

If you ever find the rhythm isn't working, change it. It's your poem. Do whatever you want. Changing the rhythm can also be used to show "this is a change/escalation in idea". It's a song with a bridge.

4. Keep talking about different parts of the metaphor in that structure:

"The tentacles writhing

(I chew, I chew)

A battle,

A hunt for the truth.

The hinge of my jaw

(It hurts, it hurts)

Unkindly,

I stick in my tooth."

^ I often slip into rhyming, this also helps not get stuck thinking of literally any word from the english language that could be used. As Monica from FRIENDS says, "rules help control the fun!"

"The [something] of muscle,

(My tongue? Its leg?)

My burden,

My begging for proof."

^ my close personal friend square brakets when I can't think of a description this instant! Wooo!

"[Some sort of 5th stanza that has an end rhyme for proof, maybe with the "salt and copper" concept?]

I'm eating an octopus

(Live)

But I'm winning

It's hard, but it's worth it, the fight."

^As you can see I added an extra syllable for the second to last line, you gotta just listen to your heart sometimes. When ending things I like to harken back to the beginning! It can be a little cheesey sometimes but that's okay, poems are allowed to be cheesey!

That's my general approach. Something that really, really helps with writing poetry is also... reading poetry. You get to experience a lot of rhythms and rhyme schemes and ways of talking about ideas and how different poets use the foundation of a poem to express their meanings. Reading this poem back, I was writing spontaneously but I can very clearly see influences of A A Milne (my mum's favourite poet!), The Jellyfish by Marianne Moore and my dear friend @lesbianjoannaharvelle 's poem I wish I could draw for the theme of wrestling with creativity. Our works are in conversation! Isn't that cool!!

Anyway. Kiss kiss.