#Restaurant Branding Ideas

[foodivsystems]

Elevate your restaurant's identity Restaurant Branding. Find out the most important elements of restaurant branding. From logo design to creating a unique atmosphere, discover the elements that will make your restaurant stand out in a competitive market.

[writerslingo]

My mom made this joke when I told her about Jay Johnston (Jimmy Pesto) getting arrested for being a part of the Jan. 6 insurrection. And then she proceeded to make this meme in further response, lmao

[braveburned]

WHAT'S CHILDHOOD LIKE? IT'S A LITTLE LIKE DYING, A LITTLE LIKE BEING BORN. WHICH IS TO SAY, IT'S NOTHING YOU CAN REMEMBER, BUT YOU KNOW THERE WAS BLOOD.

independent gregory of five nights at freddy's: security breach. canon divergent and heavily headcanon based. as adored by lune. ©

[minbells]

Men who are academically gifted, very smart and calculated, but somewhat clueless when it comes to love. He has a good reason for that though; nobody before you had caught his attention. Now that he’s found you, his heart is beating faster, cheeks heating up, fingers itching to reach out and hold you. His normally cool demeanour is crumbling. Did you cast a spell on him? He has a lot to learn about romance, and the good thing is that you basically have a completely blank canvas to paint on. He didn’t pick on any bad habits and he’s already a perfect gentleman.

He would do anything for you, he might not know much about being in a relationship, but he adores you. He is eager to learn about affection, dating, kissing, establishing a routine with you, loving you. He’s an act of service kind of person, eager to please and care for you. He’s the one reminding you of your appointments, making sure you eat enough and stay hydrated, taking care of you when you’re sick, helping you study or work on whatever projects that you have. Whenever he comes over, he cleans your dishes without even a second thought, and you felt bad at first to subject him to your messes until you realized that he loves doing those things for you.

He quickly learns how and when to hold your hand, what kind of dates you like, the pet names that make your heart skips a beat, how to kiss you until you’re breathless and wanting more. He’s also a very good listener, which is actually impressive since he seemed mostly socially clueless when you first met him. He takes an interest in all the things you like. He does research on your favourite music groups, he catches up on TV shows you enjoy so he can understand what you’re talking about when you mention them, and he tries to learn the recipes of your favourite meals. He has a whole folder in his notes app dedicated to gift ideas and things he wants to remember about you — your drink order, favourite restaurant, the flowers you like, the brand of a bag you were eyeing last time he went to the mall with you. He doesn’t want to miss anything.

He’s become completely attached to you and he’s so touch starved that he takes each and every opportunity to be near you and hold you in some way, usually burying his nose in your neck. He takes note of your sweet perfume then, mentally adding it to the list of things he knows about you, right next to the flavour of chapstick he tasted on your lips the last time he kissed you.

fushiguro megumi, todoroki shoto, shinso hitoshi, tsukishima kei, kozume kenma, armin arlert, tomioka giyuu, hayakawa aki, + all your favs.

[writting-stuff-sometimes]

Treat You Better - Lando x Fem reader

Summary: Y/n broke up with Lando a while ago. One night she overhears a conversation that makes her want to protect him.

Warnings: Slightly suggestive, bad words, alcohol consumption.

Word Count: 16K

Notes: Nosey me really wants to know what happened at that nightclub. I hope you like it, and as always, feedback and requests are very welcome.

____________________________________

You hated this situation, you felt so bad for Lando. You couldn't shake away the memory of the model walking in that bathroom with her friend talking about how Lando was going to be the best way to help her career, and that she just had to deal with all the F1 bullshit, his and his friends' childish behavior for a couple of months to get enough contracts, and then she'll try to find true love. Honestly, you couldn't believe someone like her could love anyone but herself.

“I think you should warn him”

“I don’t know. If he still hates me as much as he did when I left, he’s going to think I’m doing it out of spite, or that I want him back”

“And you don’t?” Your bff looked at you with a knowing look.

“Off topic” You took a sip from your wine glass.

“Fine. But don't you think it is super weird? What were the odds of you and her being in London, at the same restaurant, inside the same bathroom as she decided to spill her stupid plan?"

"I must be paying some freaking karma" You sighted drifting into your own thoughts,

"Ok, enough about this, are you ready for tomorrow?"

"Are you seriously making me go?"

"Of course! Y/N, you need something to keep your mind off things and I don't want to go on my own, I barely know the guy"

Ellie had met a DJ through Tinder and he had invited her to a private party he was playing at, in one of the Monaco nightclubs.

As much as you wanted to stay back and melt into the anxiety the situation had put you in for the last month, you agreed because that was the best friend thing to do.

_________________________

You got to the nightclub, it was a launch party for a cosmetic brand. As you were led to the DJ booth, memories rushed back. You had joined Lando for a couple of nights during his DJ era. Fuck, you had missed this, and you missed him. You needed to keep those thoughts away and an open bar seemed like a good solution... or so you thought.

It had been a few hours and a considerable number of drinks when Ellie grabbed your hand and pulled you to talk to your ear, a strange choice since the music wasn't even that loud, it was one of those parties where influencers and models try to get contracts and to get known by PRs.

"Please, promise me we're not leaving"

"What?"

"Please, promise me. I'm having a good time" She pulled the puppy eyes trick, but what was she talking about?

"Ellie, how drunk are you?"

"Look over there" she discretely signaled to a table towards the exit.

What was she doing there? Was Lando there too? You almost panicked, but he couldn't be. He had raced in Baku that same day. Yes, you still knew his calendar by heart. Usually, he would fly back home the next day. This explained why she was throwing herself at some guy on her table.

"Fuck"

"You promised"

"I didn't"

"Please"

You knew this was a bad idea, you already dreaded the girl, and seeing her hump all over some guy, as Lando was away, made your blood boil. You tried to stay and keep her off your mind but it was impossible, there was no amount of alcohol in this world that could make this situation bearable.

"I'm going home"

"Y/n, please"

"If I have to see her dry-hump another guy for two more seconds I might actually punch her"

"Don't go! C'mon"

"Elle..."

"Fine, let me know when you're home"

You hugged your friend goodbye and rushed towards the exit. On your way out her voice caught your ear, that voice you couldn't keep out of your head. Clearly, you had offended the gods.

"Oh no! I'm single at the moment. I'm sooo tired of dating man-childs, like, they're fun but it's so exhausting trying to have a conversation when all they can talk about is themselves and how cool their little toys are"

Before your brain could catch up with your body, you were already making a beeline toward her.

"Hi, sorry, can I steal her for a second?" You faked a smile to the PR as you grabbed Mila by the arm and pulled her toward a dark corner of the club.

"What the fuck? Let me go!" She tried to shake your hand away when she recognized you. You finally let go of her and stood cornering her against the dark wall.

"Listen to me, you're going to stop this nonsense about Lando"

"Why? Does your career need a boost and you want him back?"

"At least I have a career people can talk about, and not just who's going between my legs"

"Fuck you" She tried walking away but you blocked her path.

"No, you're going to listen to me, you little shit. You and your stupid friends can think whatever you want about Lando, but I won't let you damage his image just so you can have your five minutes"

"I don't know what you're talking about" Her shit-eating grin seemed even worse to your alcohol intoxicated eyes.

"Really? So it wasn't you who told one of your friends that you just had to deal with this F1 bullshit for a little while to get enough contracts?" Her breath hitched for a second but then the smug face returned.

"Please" she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. You wanted to punch her stupid grin away.

"Last warning, either you stop this nonsense, or everybody will know what a shitty person you are"

"Honey, no one's going to believe you, they will just think you're a jealous, bitter, ex-girlfriend"

"Are you sure? Have you seen the comments?" You pulled your phone from your bag waving it in her face " You don't seem to have the crowd on your side. So, listen, "honey", you want to date him, be my guest, but stop talking shit about him, he doesn't deserve it"

"Fuck you" She pushed you to the side and walked back to her table. You turned around and people were staring at you, also a few phones were pointing your way. Fuck, this was going to be all over the place.

_____________________________

You were still shaking when you got home. You hadn't been this angry at someone in a long time.

You took a cold shower to ease the heat inside you, took a sweatshirt from your closet, and went to bed.

_____________________________

"I'm surprised you didn't punch her in the face, you're such a grown-up" Ellie sat by your side on the couch.

"I wanted to, bad. But I'm not jail material. What about you? I was expecting Mr. Dj to be here this morning"

"We went to his house"

"And?"

"It was nice and all but you know I don't sleep out-"

A hard knock on the door caused a stinging pain in your head. Stupid open bar.

"I'll get that" Ellie walked to the door as you laid your head back on the couch and closed your eyes trying to ease the hangover pain.

"Please tell me Mr. Dj sent coffee"

"I guess you're in for disappointment" His voice made your heart stop.

You took a deep breath before opening your eyes and leaning back up to look at him.

"Can you give us a minute, Ellie?" He spoke before you could say a word. Your best friend who looked as shocked as you, turned your way. You nodded yes.

"I'll be over there. Nice to see you Lan" She walked to her bedroom and mouthed "Tell him" as she passed you.

"Care to explain?" You could hear a slight hint of anger in his voice, and like the psycho you were, it was making your heart rush. You were always playfully pushing his buttons to anger him enough that it would lead to rough sex, but sex was not the final outcome this time. So you had to take another deep breath to ease the heat inside.

"Y/n?" His saying your name did not make things easier. The space around you started to feel smaller by the second. You stood up and walked towards the kitchen.

"Coffee?" Your voice hoarse, as if you had been screaming for hours.

For a second his mind drifted off topic, your outfit being nothing but an oversized sweatshirt caught him off balance, even more when he realized it was one of his. A buzzing on his phone brought him back to reality and the name on the screen back to the topic.

Mila Where are you, baby?

"No thanks, I'm not here for coffee, I'm here to find out what the heck happened last night?" He followed you but kept a safe distance.

You started working the coffee machine, a cheap way to escape his presence, as a fight took place in your mind, should you tell him? Was he going to believe you?

"Y/N, I don't have all day, why did you attack Mila?"

"I didn't attack her" You finally spoke.

"That's not what the media says, and what the video shows"

"There's a video? You can't be safe anywhere" You joked.

"I'm being serious" He finally walked up to you taking the empty mug from your hand. "What the fuck was that? just because you don't have anyone in your life, it doesn't mean you have to ruin my relationship with Mila"

Low blow, Norris.

"Relationship?! Please, Lando" You spat before you could process the words.

"What? Just because you didn't want a relationship with me it doesn't mean other people won't want it either"

"What made you think I didn't want a relationship with you?"

"Umm, the fact that you ran away in the middle of the fucking night after ONE fight, ghosted me for two weeks, and just sent an "I can't do this anymore" text before blocking me from every single place? I'm not stupid"

"It wasn't just one fight. We had been fighting so much for the last month, and that last time the only difference was the volume"

"But that happens, just because we love each other it doesn't mean everything is going to be sweets and roses"

The word love sent lighting throughout your body.

"Lan, I didn't leave because of those fights. I left because you weren't happy with me, with us" Your eyes started watering, leaving him had been one of the toughest decisions.

"What?"

"You were lying to me, you were hiding. Does that seem like a happy relationship?" He stared at you confused "I knew about your nightclub and dinner escapades when I wasn't going to the GP's. I never minded you going to those things without me, I don't know why you started lying about them?" You could see it on his face he knew he had screwed up.

"But I never cheated or anything, I promise"

"I know, but it felt as if I was keeping you from doing stuff you wanted and that you felt the need to hide from me" You felt like he was being forced to be with you, like you were keeping him from things he liked.

"Y/n, I was so fucking happy with you, I just...I wasn't thinking. I saw how others got in trouble for going out alone and thought, I... I fucked up" He walked closer toward you and shily played with the hem of your sweatshirt.

"Lan -" His phone rang in his hand, Mila's name on the screen shattering the moment completely. You sighed and stepped back "Just be careful, ok?"

"Careful?"

"She might not be what you think she is"

"What are you talking about?"

You bit your lip still unsure about spilling it all out.

"Y/N"

"I heard her at Scully's a month ago. She was with some friends, I was in the restroom when she got in and I heard her tell her friend that she just needed to deal with F1 for a while to get enough contracts" You kept the details to yourself, they felt unnecessary.

He looked hurt but not surprised.

"I'm sorry" You whispered.

"Is that why you were fighting yesterday?"

"Yeah, basically" You weren't sure if telling him the "attack" had also been fueled by seeing her dry-hump two different guys was good, it seemed he had received the message.

"Why would you care?" He softly asked, his green eyes fixed on yours.

"Lan" You turned back to the coffee machine, the noise grounding you and keeping your mind from drifting into the romantic scenarios it was dying to go to.

"Tell me" He took a step closer. You could feel his body heat radiate towards you.

"Just" You knew where this was leading, what he wanted to hear, but you weren't sure you wanted to say those words.

"Bull" His hand landed on your hip. The electricity from his touch made you jump.

"Lando, stop it please" You stepped to the side escaping his touch.

"No" He took you firmly by the waist and turned you around, trapping you against the counter. "Why would you do that?"

"What do you want to hear?"

"Just tell me why did you do that?"

"Please just leave it" You closed your eyes and threw your head back, this situation and the awful hangover were killing you physically and mentally. But all Lando could see was your neck, it was almost begging him to kiss it, but he fought the urge, he needed you to accept you wanted him too.

"No, I don't want to" His voice was almost childlike.

"God Lando, damn it! I did it because I couldn't stand her talking shit about you. Yes, you can be stubborn, annoying, and sometimes such a child that I want to kill you, but you're also a loving, caring, responsible, smart and such a wonderful human being you don't deserve someone treating you like that. Happy?!"

"Yes" He pulled you from your waist and joined your lips.

His flesh touching yours felt like a breath of fresh air. You couldn't fight it anymore, and as much as you wanted to deny it, you loved him, you loved him deeply.

Your hands found their place behind his neck, softly playing with his curls.

His hands traveled down from your waist to your thighs, caressing them and indulging in the warmth of your skin. He then squeezed your ass and pulled you to carry you to the sofa.

He sat on it as you straddle him. He gave one last peck to your lips and started kissing down your chin, reaching that sensitive spot on your neck right below your ear as his arms pressed you harder against his body. Making you moan at the feeling of the bulging sweats under you.

"I've missed you, don't leave me, please" He whispered softly against your skin.

His phone buzzed again inside his pocket.

"Lan, wait" You pushed his head away from your body.

"What?"

"You're with Mila"

A breathy laugh made his chest bounce.

"C'mon, we were just fooling around"

"Does she know that?"

"Now you care about her?"

"It's not her. But I can't be a hypocrite. I don't want the bad karma"

"Fine" He took the phone from his pocket and dialed. After a couple of rings, you heard that damn voice coming from the speaker.

"Baby, I've been calling you for hours, where are you? Lucia and I are waiting for you to go to the marina, I promised her we would tan on the yacht today"

"Mila, we're done"

The line went silent for a few seconds. You could almost picture the shocked face on the other side of the phone.

"What?" Her voice was a thousand octaves higher.

"What you heard. Go find someone else to leach from. See ya" He hung up with the biggest grin.

"Happy?" He said as he turned off his phone and placed it to the side.

"She's going to kill you"

"Good thing I have my own personal bodyguard" He buried his face on your chest, inhaling your scent, he had missed so much.

"Oh, now I'm your bodyguard?"

"Yup, fuck Jlo's bodyguard, now I have the hottest one"

"You're such an idiot"

"As long as I'm your idiot I don't care about anything else"

You pulled him to kiss again. His hands sneaked under the sweatshirt, caressing the soft skin inside it.

"Nice outfit by the way" Hi said against your lips.

You turned to look down at it and then realized you were wearing one of the sweatshirts you had stolen from him. You had worn it nonstop for weeks after the breakup until his scent had faded.

"I'm sorry I stole it"

"It looks way better on you"

He pulled you back to resume your makeout, as your hands played with the curls at the back of his head.

"You've been awfully quiet over here..." Ellie said out loud walking the hallway. "I just want to make sure you've not killed each oth-" She stared at the scene with a terrified look on her face.

"Please tell me you weren't having sex on the sofa"

"You're about a year too late"

"Ew, please tell me that's a lie. I really, really like that sofa and I don't want to have to burn it" She stared at you, disgust all over her face.

"He's joking" You punched his side playfully.

"Promise?" she asked

"Promise"

"Ok. And, as much as I'm happy you two are back together, please take it to the bedroom and give me five so I can be far far away before you start your unholy activities"

"Three is the most we can give you" Lando stood from the sofa carrying you.

"Two" he said kissing your neck and walking toward your bedroom.

"Nooo, c'mon, stop it" Ellie rushed to her room "Just let me get dressed and I'll be out of here, please!"

"You're mean" You smiled against his lips.

"And you're mine" Hi bit your lower lip closing your door with his foot.

"Send me a message when you're done and I can return"

"See you next week!" Lando yelled back. He returned his lips to your neck, removing the only piece of clothing covering you.

"Very funny!" Was the last thing you heard before the front door slammed.

As much as it sounded like a joke, Lando was determined to make up for lost time.

Tag List: @wtrmlnsgr94, @ricsaigaslec, @ironmaiden1313, @formulas-bitch,

[woso-dreamzzz]

Head in the Clouds V

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your national team situation

There's an understanding in the team when it comes to you.

You dominate the league with your scoring and now with Pajor at your side, you've started to develop almost too quickly for the staff to keep up with.

Every ball you touch turns to goals.

You're already the Champion's League top goal scorer and everyone is just waiting for the moment that they all know is coming.

Everyone is waiting for the moment a national team snaps you up.

You're been at a youth camp for both Spain and England before but that's about it.

You don't seem to really care all that match.

You spend most international breaks back home with your parents or off in France with your girlfriend, one of Lyon's star centrebacks.

Her international situation isn't quite as complicated as yours but everyone knows it influences your own. She could play for France or England and people know that if she were suddenly to declare for England then you would go there too.

Unless somewhere else snaps you up first.

Spain seems like the obvious choice with their most recent World Cup win under their belt and their dominance in last year's Nation's League.

But Frido is there with a face time from Magdalena Eriksson, who you excitedly inform is your grandmother's favourite players. She's flattered, of course, if a little confused by what's going on - especially when you gasp and stutter over your words when you catch a glimpse over her shoulder of Pernille Harder.

Alexia fumes by the door of the locker room, a disgruntled look on her face as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"We can't lose her to Sweden!" She hisses to Irene," Do something!"

"Me?! What am I meant to do?!"

"I don't know! Make her a home cooked meal! Remind her off her Basque roots! Anything!"

Irene sighs deeply. She's taking this a little easier than Alexia is but she still would have you join the Spanish team at the drop of a hat.

You were a once in a generation kind of striker and it would make it all the more worse if they lost your allegiance to one of their own club teammates.

The threat of you choosing England seems to have diminished a little with Keira and Lucy gone but Ellie's still here and while she's currently not a part of the England squad, she's still been seen dropping little hints towards you about joining up.

Thankfully for everyone else though, subtlety and hints goes over your head so you don't even realise what you're being told.

But where England has fallen, Sweden has only grown bolder.

Sweden, of course, meaning Frido and her wielding of Magda as a tool to get you to choose them.

"We need to find our own Magda," Irene says solemnly," Do we...Do we have a Magda?"

"We have a Mariona."

"We can't pick Mariona. Y/n already knows Mariona. We need someone older. We need someone mysterious. We need someone more fun that Magdalena Eriksson!"

They turn to each other in horror.

"We need Jenni."

Being Spain's Magda is a role that Jenni is all too comfortable stepping into. She arrives in the country with her usual brand of drama by using her key to access Alexia's house without telling anyone and eating a bowl of the paella she took straight from the fridge.

"So where's the kid?"

"At Irene's," Alexia replies from the stove," They're coming around for dinner." She waves the spatula at Jenni. "You will be nice and charming and you will, under no circumstances, mention any of the other countries vying for her. You have one job. Do it."

"I got it," Jenni says with ease, leaning back on the sofa," Woo the kid. Be the fun aunt. Make sure she chooses Spain. I got it."

Introducing you and Jenni, Alexia and Irene come to find, is the worst idea they've ever had.

Jenni takes her role as the 'fun aunt' to the extreme in the the four day period she has with you.

You go out for lunch and dinner, at both fancy restaurants and little street vendors. Jenni spends a bunch of money on new cooking implements even though you just mentioned them in passing.

There's even a very impromptu Instagram post and accompanying story of you two on a zip wire and Alexia and Irene are more than happy to shoo Jenni back to Mexico.

"Jenni's cool," You tell them the next day," She even signed my autograph book and gave me one of her old Spain shirts!"

At least she'd done something for a job well done.

With Sweden closing in, Alexia can't take any chances.

She even feels confident in her feelings of you choosing Spain.

Until, like it always does, it comes crashing down.

Because a new contender shows up.

It happens out of nowhere and nobody could have predicted it.

"You have brothers?" Vicky asks one day during a break in training.

"Three," You say with a nod and that same wide smile you always get when you talk about your family," A surgeon, a neurologist and lawyer."

"How come we've never heard of them?"

"Oh, they didn't come with us when we moved back to England."

Alexia's heart stutters.

"You didn't always live in England?" Salma asks and you shake your head.

"I grew up in the Netherlands." You think for a moment. "Until I was like thirteen. It was home."

The gears turn in Alexia's head, trying to draw up FIFA's eligibility rules.

But someone gets there before her.

Esmee.

Esmee with a wide grin and Alexia's heart plummets.

"You know," She says, speaking casually to you as the whole team holds its breath," You could play for the Netherlands with me."

"Really?"

"Yeah, the rules say you can. You could come to camp, see your brothers more often. I'm sure Viv would love to have you around."

Sweden may have Magda.

Spain may have had Spanish Magda, Jenni.

But the Netherlands have Viv and Esmee grinning like she's just won the lottery.

Within the week, you've received a signed Miedema jersey and a little note that no doubt Esmee had Viv write about potentially playing together at some point.

"It's fine," Irene whispers days after," It's fine. We've got a recent World Cup. They can't beat that."

You're sitting in your cubby, scrolling on your phone absentmindedly. "Oh!" You say out of nowhere," Are we going to America anytime soon? Should I renew my passport?"

Alexia frowns. "No, we're not and you don't need to renew your passport. Your Mama told me that you've still got three years on it."

"Not my Spanish passport. My American one! Should I renew it now or wait?"

Frido has also stopped what she's doing, turning around slowly with her eyes wide. "Why do you have an American passport?"

"I was born there!" You say brightly," Mama and Papa were there for work and I got impatient! That's what Papa says. So they had to have me in America and I got a cool passport out of it!"

"You have...You have American citizenship?"

"I have a passport!"

"So, yes."

In the background, Esmee groans and there's the clunk of a head hitting a locker door.

Irene looks equally as shocked as Alexia feels. "And...who knows about your citizenship?"

You shrug. "I don't know."

Alexia clears her throat. "Let's...Let's keep it that way. No reason to announce it to everyone."

You shrug. "Okay then."

Silence descends on the locker room and a joint exhale of relief spreads across the room.

Until...

"Oh! Mama said Emma Hayes just called her! I wonder what that's about."

[sume3luvv]

Thinking about...

༉‧₊˚. o.dazai x fem!reader

now playing...

MELTING by kali uchis ₊˚ෆ

might be a few mistakes cuz sume did not proofread...

pre-boyfriend!dazai who has never thought that such a unforgivable and sinful person like him could be loved by anybody.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who never thought about love until he met you.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who first met you at the bookstore that recently opened down the street, which you worked at.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who requested philosophical and dark books recommendations, catching you a bit off guard.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who sighed in defeat when you had no idea what to give him because you never read that kind of genre.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who blinks in curiosity when you lead him to a brand new aisle filled with a genre that was completely different than what he asked for.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who bonds with you over your guys mutual interests for books, instantly becoming amused by your calm and kind personality in contrast to his melancholic, yet cheerful one.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who made stupid excuses to keep on coming back to the bookstore after the day you two met.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who gave you subtle hints that's he's interested in you, like brushing his knuckles against you by "accident" when he bought a book, or when he'd lean in to see your pretty face closer.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who gave up on giving your oblivious self hints and (in)directly asked you out on a date with that sly grin spread across his lips.

" you know what would be crazy? going somewhere, maybe a restaurant. you and me, together. alone. " " are you asking me out on a date? " you asked, raising an eyebrow. " hm.... I don't know, what do you think?" dazai teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who takes you out for dinner after saving his money and not recklessly spending it all, or losing it in a river from another suicide attempt.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who walks on the beach with you after dinner, shoulders bumping while fingertips brush against each other.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who stops and takes your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckle before flashing you a charming smile, causing your heart to do multiple flips.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who asks you to be his girlfriend while the sun is setting beautifully in the background.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who feels a pounding in his chest when you agree with the cutest smile. he can't contain his excitement as he cups your chin, bringing you face closer and kisses you gently.

" you mean it? " he asked, eyes lighting up. " you're really saying yes? " yeah, i am. " you replied with a shy smile. dazai grinned and pulled you into a tight hug. " wow... i must be dreaming. quick- pinch me so i know this is real. " you rolled your eyes playfully. " you're ridiculous. " " ridiculously lucky, maybe. because i'm finally dating the woman of my dreams. "

boyfriend!dazai who isn't afraid to show people that you guys are dating. for example, he would wear those 'i <3 my girlfriend!' shirts if you guys go on a date.

boyfriend!dazai who has his arm wrapped around your waist in public.

boyfriend!dazai who can be possessive in a good way.

boyfriend!dazai who swings your guys arms when holding hands as you guys take a stroll at the beach while watching the sunset.

boyfriend!dazai who believes you're a daydream, a woman too good to be true.

boyfriend!dazai who believes you put him under your spell, and that's why he's so deep into loving you. not that he's complaining, though.

boyfriend!dazai who thinks you get prettier and prettier every day.

boyfriend!dazai who studies your humor to make you laugh in order to see your pretty smile.

" ah! " dazai cries and holds a hand over his eyes. " what happened? are you okay? " you ask, eyebrows furrowing in a panic as you try and pry dazai's hands away from his face. " i just got blinded... by your lethal face card! " dazai jokes, peeking at you through his fingers with a grin. you couldn't help but snort and smile at your goofy boyfriend. " you're so stupid... "

boyfriend!dazai who rants to his coworkers about you, babbling about anything and everything about you. your hair, your eyes, you personality, the way you sleep at night- dazai just loves everything about you!

boyfriend!dazai who slowly opens up about his past, knowing he can't keep the ugly truth from your any longer.

boyfriend!dazai who, despite his flaws, is astonished you still want to be with him after finding about his past.

boyfriend!dazai who brings you to oda's grave with a proud smile and an arm wrapped around your waist as he introduces you to his old friend.

boyfriend!dazai who wishes oda was still alive to meet you.

boyfriend!dazai who melts whenever he sees your smile ignite, knowing that everything is alright.

boyfriend!dazai who feels safe and at home whenever he's around you.

boyfriend!dazai who has trouble sleeping at night, so he holds you close and watches you sleep at night, finding your peaceful slumber calming.

boyfriend!dazai who loves to be spooned at night, burying his face into your chest and listening to the even beats of your heart.

boyfriend!dazai who knows every little thing about you. from your worst to your best.

boyfriend!dazai who kisses you any chance he gets.

boyfriend!dazai who feels the will to live his life because he has you.

boyfriend!dazai who loves his girl more than anything, and feels so unbelievably lucky to have you in his life. maybe god has never treated him good, but one good thing the lord has given to him is you.

a/n: it has been awhile since i've uploaded, so think of it as a treat! i don't what came over me, but i just had a blast of energy and the will to finally complete this imagine that has been in my drafts for centuries (or 2 months).

sume loves all of you guys! (≧ڡ≦*)

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ bad liar ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by @gothic-rat112 (lost the ask...) ˚₊ ⊹

ft. seong gi-hun x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ how he is when jealous & insecure┊1.2k words 

setting: season 1 contains: age gap relationship (unspecified but legal obviously), insecurity & jealousy, he’s a little immature & broke as hell but it’s okay i love pathetic men, reader is a sweetheart, this is all over the place omfg

➤ author's note: okay i kinda went on a tangent, first season because i miss his stupid smile and his fluffy hair (also look at how cute he is in this gif omfg i love him sm, i need to write for him more, underrated in his own show, THE PUPPY EYES)

╰₊✧ honestly, gi-hun isn’t so much as jealous as he is insecure. sure, he has an outgoing personality and always makes you laugh without fail, but he can’t think of any other positive traits aside from that. he doesn’t think of himself as particularly attractive with his scruffy appearance, and he’s painfully aware that he’s lacking when it comes to finances and has a gambling problem to boot. on top of all that, he was a divorced middle-aged man who didn’t even have joint custody of his only daughter and still lived with his mom rent-free, a terrible husband, father, and son— he’s truthfully the type of man people avoid when dating.

╰₊✧ yet he still managed to pull a pretty young thing like you who looks past all that, not sure if you were stupid or desperate. during the first few weeks of being together, he made jokes about still being able to date younger women in his old age because he was still in disbelief it was happening, but when you stuck by his side through all his flaws and the first year passed with you supporting him to get better, insecurity hit him like a ton of bricks when he realized that he was genuinely in love with you and that he didn’t have what it took to be the boyfriend you deserved when he wasn’t even someone his biological family deserved. 

╰₊✧ he sees other people buying their girls jewelry and clothing from name-brand stores, taking them out to eat in luxury restaurants with multiple courses, driving them around in european cars, and he’s out here saving money to do something as little as cake for your anniversary. he’s always on cloud nine when he spends time with you, but there’s something so humbling about looking up “broke date ideas” and scraping together what he already has to make it more special. no matter how much things like that don’t matter to you with the mindset of the intention counting more than the price, he still feels shitty about having you pay for most of the things you do together when he’s the man and the older one in the relationship along with the fact that you were barely better off than he was. 

walks around to admire the sights: especially during holiday seasons when there are pretty lights, you like holding his hand and admiring the sights of the city you often take for granted. if the streets are empty then he doesn’t mind it, but he does get self-conscious about the looks you both get so it’s not super common.

candlelit dinners of takeout and beer: a regular one, gi-hun likes to gather a bunch of candles to make the place look a little more romantic, maybe even having some roses to make it look nicer. the man doesn’t cook much though, so you’ll just have replated takeout with bottles of beer, but he always makes it lively with conversation and puts effort into fixing his hair to look more handsome.

and anything else he can think of, he can be really creative when it comes to you and you’re pleasantly surprised each time.

╰₊✧ these things bother him a lot more than he will let on, but he tries to stay all smiles around you which you see right through like glass. he’s a bad liar, a trait he would always get in trouble for when he was a child since he couldn’t lie about his antics.

╰₊✧ he feels awful when he finds that you also entered these games to pay off your respective debts, because no matter how much you try to convince him you aren’t, he knows that you intended to use any extra money to help him out as well with his debt being higher than yours. it should be the other way around, he should be the one helping you, and when the first shots are fired during “red light, green light,” he makes you swear that you won’t come back.

╰₊✧ of course, you do come back, because while he is your boyfriend, you’re also a grown-ass woman who can do what she pleases (also because you’re desperate and prefer not to find out what those loan sharks would do to you if it took too long to pay them back, and you might as well go to support gi-hun because you know his ass went back).

╰₊✧ he feels a little bit better about himself seeing all of the other people in a similar position as him, drowning in debt and petrified of death. he tries to be protective over you, but let’s be honest, you’re the protective one who mothers him, and since the constant threat of death is always looming, he lets you do it even if it looks stupid. people are either judgemental or jealous, but there are bigger things to worry about.

“people are staring…” he muttered, his eyes darting around to meet theirs and watching as they looked away the second eye contact was made. “you don’t need to do this, you know, it’s a little embarrassing.”

“i don’t care, let them stare,” you stated simply, rubbing into the back of his shoulders with practiced circular motions. “they are just jealous that they don’t have a cute girlfriend to take care of them like you do, and i want to! your muscles are so tense— i don’t want you participating in the next games when you aren’t in the best shape. we could die any day here, i want to give you all the love i can!”

╰₊✧ jealous of sang-woo with his intelligence and emotional security. even if both of them are wearing the same teal tracksuit, his childhood friend was in here because of failed investments which sounded a lot better than just losing constant bets in gambling dens. (to be fair, if you were gi-hun’s controversially young girlfriend, i don’t think either of you would get along well as he probably looks down on you and you probably find him stuck up, so he doesn’t have to worry about you being stolen away by him). not really jealous of that block-head deok-su hitting on you, after the little altercation they had on the first day, more annoyed than anything but the feeling quickly vanishes when he sees you reject him with a roll of your eyes. 

╰₊✧ actually jealous of anyone your age paying attention to you, especially ali who has a really sweet personality and gets along with you really well, maybe even sae-byeok who has a pretty face and is decently nice once you get to know her. 

“you need to stop pouting.”

“‘m not pouting…”

“you’re a bad liar, you know that? but it’s so cute,” you exclaimed, reaching out to pinch his cheeks childishly. “you don’t need to be jealous of ali, he’s already married and has a kid.”

“i know, i know…”

“i don’t think you do.”

╰₊✧ it’s so obvious when he’s jealous, it’s actually painful. he stares holes into the head of the person talking to you and is pouty until you address it. he’ll also blush when you call him out and tease him about it, it’s so cute. please give him assurance, pinch his cheeks, ruffle his fluffy hair, and give him lots of kisses, he deserves it.

(author is slightly delirious with a fever, i took medicine dw, i just really wanna kiss gihun)

[the-returnofartemis]

THE TENTH HOUSE: ANSWERING THE CALL TO WEALTH

the 10th house (10H) is arguably one of the most important houses in astrology, closely tied to your midheaven (MC), which represents your public image, reputation, and the way you are recognized in the world. it symbolizes your legacy, the energy others associate with you, and the role you naturally embody in society. however, understanding your career path goes beyond than just identifying the sign in your 10th house. to gain a deeper insight, you should also analyze its planetary ruler and the house it occupies, as these factors will give you a better idea about the careers that align with your natural strengths.

below is a guide shared by astrokit, along with some additional insights i’ve added, highlighting careers based on planetary placements in the 10th house, as well as the house placements of its planetary ruler, to help you align with your destined career path!

➶ ➴ if you follow vedic astrology, I recommend analyzing the 10H in the navamsha (D9) and dashamsha (D10) charts alongside the 10H in the rashi (D1) chart. combining insights from all three, along with the nakshatra ruler of the 10H will give a more well-rounded understanding of the career best suited for you.

CAREERS BY PLANETS IN THE 10H

sun: leadership, authority, government, politician, fame, boss, CEO

moon: women, hospitality, nursing, children, restaurants, commerce, mass media, public relations, travel

mercury: media, writer, communications, teacher, editor, author, transportation, craftsmanship, marketing

venus: arts, music, beauty, luxury, jeweler, entertainment, tourism, hotel management, design, graphics, fashion

mars: fitness, sports, entrepreneur, law enforcement, surgeon, doctor, engineer, military, sculptor, carpenter, cook

jupiter: law, teaching, travel, advertising, education, charity

saturn: organizations, metal industry, agriculture, service, labor, construction

north node (rahu): internet, entertainment, pharmaceuticals, research, engineer, innovation, electricity, sales, photography

south node (ketu): religion, spirituality, metaphysics, renunciation, research, charity, astrology, diviniation

uranus: science, electronics, internet, astrology, innovation, inventions, technology, crypto

pluto: research, insurance, surveillance, risk-management, death, investigator

neptune: photographer, movies, entertainment, drugs, poetry, music, liquids, alcohol

CAREERS BY THE 10H RULING PLANET THROUGH THE HOUSES

1H: self-employment, brand ambassador, entrepreneur

2H: banking, finance, investments, assets, consulting, teaching, writing, restaurants, speaking, vocals, dentistry, property, family legacy

3H: communication, marketing, social media, sales, writing, publishing, advertising, blogging, media, authorship, teaching (early education)

4H: asset management, real estate, vehicles, water, family, women, hospitality

5H: movies, films, glamour, stockbroker, education, authority, fame, children, romance, dating, hobbies

6H: health, service, law, labor, food, waiters, doctors, crime, justice, litigation

7H: law, business, commerce, exchange, consulting, public relations, marriage, therapist, designer, interior design, wedding industry, event planning, counselors

8H: insurance, social work, psychology, sex industry, occult, security, espionage, surveillance, taxes, death industry, divorce, research

9H: teaching (university), travel industry, hospitality, law, religion, foreign exchange, wedding industry, event planning

10H: leadership, government, politics, manager, CEO, presidency, public figure

11H: finance, networking, social media, acting, entertainment industry, parties/event planning

12H: charity, social work, hospitals, prisons, travel, foreign lands, mental health industry, artist, musician, import/export

if you’ve made it this far, i hope you enjoyed this little corner of my world. thank you for reading and please feel free to share your thoughts! always remember to love yourself as if it’s your greatest romance.

the pictures featured in this post are from pinterest.

until next time,

artemis x

[cheol-e-kat]

Hey!! for the bingo game i was thinking if you could write something about knotting & marking with cheol!!

hiii yes!! yay cheol - i don't write enough for his cute squishy cheeks (face or butt).

okie, so this def went in an a/b/o way, but that seems obvious given the knotting. anyway, hope you like this.

♡ kat

bingo squares: knotting + marking

part ii

summary: y/n helps seungcheol through his rut and gets knotted and marked in the process

word count: 1.7k

genre: a/b/o, alpha!cheol, omega!reader, ruts, enemies to lovers (barely), implied pining, kind of fluffy ngl

warnings: below cut

penetrative sex, fingering, oral sex, knotting, marking, breeding kink

it had always been fun to tease seungcheol, mostly because his aversion to you was so intense that it bordered on absurd. so naturally it became your favorite past time to mess with him, especially when you were younger. you knew you had won every time he looked huffy and mad, with arms crossed, and his lips pressed into a hard line. 

for ages, there was nothing quite so good as knowing you had gotten under the alpha’s skin, until you weren’t sure when it changed exactly. and it wasn’t a total change because it was still fun to annoy him, just a bit less.

to be fair, you had known one another forever, virtually, and you didn’t hate him - he was the one with the issue. but maybe he was right that you were a little demented since you had literally kicked your feet with glee when his parents and your parents thought it would be a good idea for you to live in the same building when you both moved to the city for work after college. 

but you weren’t a bad neighbor - there were limits to how much you were willing to annoy him because every once in a while he would truly look like the most tired alpha to ever alpha, and you would usually send him delivery from the one restaurant you knew he liked - not that you kept track or something.  

but fast forward to several days before, because the real issue was when you noticed that he seemed very off and weird, even for him, and you couldn’t help but ask what was wrong. of course, he just rolled his eyes and mumbled something about ‘why would you care’, which was annoying. but when you saw his mail was piling up, you sort of wondered if he were dead or something. you tried knocking, loudly, even - still nothing. plus, you didn’t want to be late for work and decided you would try texting him. maybe. 

you thought about it - you even typed the message, but sending it was another thing because he did always shoot you these annoyed looks when he saw you. which only made you want to be a menace, but that was harder since you presented as an omega and starting noticing scents. like how his was this amazing peppery floral scent that practically made your mouth water every time you were close to him. the fucking elevator was your enemy in that regard. even if you weren’t in it at the same time, you could catch his scent. you had maybe fingered yourself a few times thinking about just how good he smelled. 

you didn’t message him. instead, you chose the totally normal option of using the fire escape - it wasn’t that many floors to climb. plus if his apartment was like yours, you would be outside his bedroom and be able to see if he had like died or whatever. with that solid plan, you went through your day. and by the evening, you ignored the rain and climbed the rickety as fuck fire escape ladder to the fourth floor. it was surprising to know he didn’t have black out shades - they seemed on-brand for him, but no, just thin, fluttery curtains that reminded you his mother probably did his shopping. you leaned against the glass to see that he was in bed, wrapped in maybe 45 blankets. it was pure impulse to tap on the glass, and then the old desire to see some emotion from him kicked in a bit too. so you kept tapping.

it took a few minutes to see any movement. so you kept tapping until he was in front of the window.

“it’s raining,” he said through the glass.

“yeah, so can i come in?”

he stared blankly for a moment. “you’re insane, you know that, right?”

you nodded, “you do keep reminding me.”

he rolled his eyes, but he still opened the window. he went back to flop on his bed while you climbed in through the window. you were shocked for a moment by how heavily his scent hung in the air and by how intensely floral it was, but peppercorns were actually kind of floral, you reasoned. 

“so can i do anything to help?” you asked, glancing around his room - it was neater than you would have guessed. 

he groaned, “please don’t mess with me right now, y/n - it’s not fair,” he grumbled and burrowed back into his blankets, which was much cuter than it should have been. 

you sighed and walked over to his bed and sat, “i’m not messing with you - you’ve looked like shit, i was worried - you know, since we used to be friends and stuff, besides if you died, i feel like i would definitely be judged by your mom, who i do like, and you would haunt me just for fun.” you reached out to feel his forehead as you spoke - he was shockingly warm. 

and then it clicked in your mind - alpha, looking like shit, all warm. “oh, shit,” you tilted your head to look at him, “don’t you use blocks and stuff?”

he stared at you for a moment like he was deciding something, “they make me sick - sicker before you ask - they’re way worse than this.” 

you barely realized you were smoothing his hair from his face. you watched him close his eyes while you petted him. you tried to remember all the things about alphas in ruts - you knew it could be really painful, fucking helped, but sometimes just being around someone could help too. you wanted to be surprised that he was the type to just hibernate and tough it out, but it actually tracked pretty well since he wasn’t the most social. 

you bit your lip lightly, “i can order food?”

he nodded, “stay and eat with me?” he stared up at you, his big eyes made you weaker than you ever liked to think about. you found yourself nodding because it was just staying for food. 

you ordered food, and took a shower to get warm so he would shut up about how you would catch a cold - it also meant borrowing clothes from his extensive collection of sweats and pajamas. based on his wardrobe alone, he really stayed home too much. you sat next to him in bed and didn’t complain when he leaned against your thigh - you assumed it was his way of saying he liked when you played with his hair before. you ate and watched tv.

it was uneventful until you tried to leave, and he sulked and asked you to stay the night. you stared at him for a moment, wondering if he was somehow concussed. but you agreed, which meant being integrated into his burrito blanket situation, which would have been fine if it hadn’t felt like the equivalent of snuggling with a space heater. you woke up at some point during the night, thinking of opening the window, which made him whiny. 

you made the executive decision to solve the problem by kissing him. for a few minutes, it was nothing but finally knowing how good his lips felt and heavy breathing from both of you. 

 he broke the kiss just enough, “y/n - it’s - you don’t need to”—

“you’ll feel better right?” you cut him off with your question. 

he exhaled loudly, “yeah, but it’s not how i…” he trailed off - you could feel the gentle way his hands held your waist, his thumbs making little shapes against your skin. you blinked quickly, understanding where that sentence was headed. 

you took a deep breath, “it’s how it is - it can be cute later,” you kissed him roughly, feeling like he deserved it for being this much of an idiot. 

you didn’t mind the rush to undress or the way he had you on your back in what felt like seconds. he kissed you as much as possible while his hands moved your legs and hips into the positions he liked. you moaned when his fingers pushed in.

“fuck you’re so tight,” he groaned, working his fingers in deeper, stretching you as he did.

you gasped at the pace he was setting, especially when you felt his cock brush against your hip and realized how big it was. you reached down to jerk it while he prepped you. he moaned softly, “my good little omega,” he whispered against your skin. you blushed and nodded, especially when he bit the one spot just beneath your ear. your eyes immediately rolled back, and you came all over his fingers - slick and cum mixed just right to take his cock.

he was breathing heavily - you were already gone - his scent and bite were enough to send your mind reeling. but you quickly came to ground when you felt his cock push into you for the first time. he stilled for a moment when he bottomed out inside you. and then he started to move. you yelped at the stretch and felt his hand cover your mouth.

“shh, baby, just a few minutes - i won’t last,” he groaned and started to snap his hips, “fuck,” he muttered. he sounded on the verge of tears. 

you reached up for him, your hand tracing over his chest and stomach - you knew you were speaking but weren’t really sure what you said until you both seemed to pause when you babbled about how you wanted his knot. 

he nodded, “mmmh, yeah, princess, i’ll knot you,” and thrust harder, the tip of his cock unquestionably hitting your cervix, “breed you full too - all my pups, baby girl - i want you full of them,” he whispered against your throat, his lips teasing the mark he had already made. when his teeth grazed the skin, you pulled his hair roughly in anticipation of another bite. and when his teeth sank into your throat, and his knot started to catch and stretch you even more, there were so many sensations - you were certain that holding onto him was the only way to stay tethered to the earth - you knew your fingers were digging into his skin. but you didn’t care when your orgasm hit - it was a rush of perfect bliss that morphed into floating in nothingness until you felt him pulling you close, pressing soft kisses against your skin. 

you had no idea how long his knot would last, but it didn’t really matter when you were lying across him, body limp and pliant and sleep taking you so easily. 

a/n: thanks for submitting an ask and thanks for reading

bingo card master list

bingo v. 1 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 2 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 3 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 4 ⋆.˚ 333 followers bingo ⋆.˚

seungcheol: knotting + marking | professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) | monster | spanking (neighbor seungcheol) | big dick + hate sex | forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) | voyeurism + punishment | coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (untitled alpha!!cheol pt. 1) |

mingyu: lingerie + praise kink | bed sharing + big dick | praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | drunk pda + no underwear | enemies to lovers + tentacles |

seungcheol & mingyu threesome: oral |

tag list: @syluslittlecrow ☁︎ @gyuguys ☁︎ @haik-chu

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here] & this is my [master list] if you want to read more

[fear-is-truth]

𝐇𝐈𝐌 & 𝐈 𝜗ϱ . . . 𝓟𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝓑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw﹒headcanons﹒drug use﹒kinda toxic relationship﹒ p in v﹒handjobs﹒choking﹒use of the word “daddy”

SFW

has a habit of disappearing without explanation, sometimes for days at a time. when he returns, he acts as though nothing happened, brushing off your concerns with dismissive and cryptic responses.

extremely critical of appearances as he doesn’t handle flaws well—patrick fully expects you to mirror his aesthetic standards. even the slightest imperfection, such as chipped nail polish or an out-of-place hair, will piss him off. you’re basically his personal doll at this point—he buys you designer clothes, ensuring you wear the “right” brands to fit his ideal of a partner. he notices everything, from your choice of perfume down to the shade of lipstick you wear. if you switch brands, he’ll immediately make a comment on it.

prefers to keep conversations shallow and detached, as deep emotional topics make him uncomfortable. he constantly rambles about his niche obsessions—pop culture, business cards, and the “superiority” of certain types of suits. that being said, patrick talks at you rather than with you. he can yap on for an entire dinner about the fabric quality of valentino suits or the importance of a tie that “truly complements the suit’s structure.”

a walking encyclopedia on serial killers. in the middle of any conversation, he’ll start spouting facts about ted bundy or ed gein. he expects you to be thoroughly impressed by his knowledge and gets viscerally disappointed if you don’t show interest.

genuinely believes his opinions on music are groundbreaking. he’ll pull out albums and spend a good thirty minutes explaining why genesis or huey lewis and the news are masterpieces, analysing lyrics and production with the passion of a pretentious critic.

talks about dorsia as if it’s the holy grail of fine dining. if he’s lucky enough to get a reservation, he’ll spend days before and after the meal casually hyping it up to everyone, making sure they know he managed to get a table. however, if he fails to secure a reservation, it completely ruins his week. you sometimes wonder if he’d cry over it. (as a matter of fact, he does)

frequently asks if you think his business card is better than “so-and-so’s,” as if it’s a critical matter. if he gets even a whiff of another guy’s success, patrick becomes obsessed with one-upping them. you’ve had to sit through countless complaints about paul allen, his dorsia reservations, the fisher account. he can’t handle criticism, especially if it challenges his idea of “perfection.” if you casually mention you’re not a fan of his music taste or his suit choice, he’ll literally sulk about it for days.

when patrick gets jealous, you’ll catch him clenching his jaw, his hand gripping your waist a bit too tightly. sometimes he’ll try to act indifferent, but the slight sweat on his forehead or the vein throbbing in his temple gives him away.

lives by his routines and gets annoyed if anything disrupts them. you’re expected to adhere to his exact schedule when you’re with him, from gym time to dinner to his beloved skincare regimen. if something goes off-plan, he becomes irritable, even if it’s just because you suggested a new restaurant.

although he appears to be emotionally distant, he’s highly hypersensitive to how he’s perceived by you. an offhand comment or anything less than admiration from you makes him noticeably on edge.

obsessed with acquiring materialistic items that showcase his success. he’ll bring up these possessions repeatedly, and when he buys something new, for instance a painting or a stereo, he’ll practically drag you to admire it with him, giving an extensive monologue on its artistic value or technical specs.

constantly trying to impress you with his wealth or his “connections.” he’ll drop the names of people he “knows” (sometimes with questionable authenticity) or go out of his way to show you his credit card just to emphasise how wealthy he is. patrick assumes his looks and material success is inherently attractive to you, and if you ever show interest in something less superficial, he’s truly baffled.

always subtly fishing for compliments, but he wants them to sound like they’re coming from you, not just because he’s prompting you. if you mention anything flattering about another human, you can see his jaw clench as he makes a mental note to find something he’s “better” at. if you don’t give him the attention he craves, he becomes passive-aggressive until you finally give in and tell him how handsome he is.

if you so much as hesitate before complimenting patrick, it eats at him. he starts nitpicking his own looks, spending even more time obsessing over his skincare routine, gym sessions, and hair products.

to patrick, relationships are transactional. he’s constantly buying you lavish gifts, partially to impress you, but mostly to keep you “tied” to him. he would be genuinely insulted if you didn’t wear or display his gifts, taking it as a personal rejection, even though he never explicitly says this. instead, he’d pout or go into a passive-aggressive silence until you “make it up” to him (usually with sex)

loves the fact that you’re both attracted to and a little intimidated of him. what he doesn’t know is that you also think he’s a pathetic loser.

insecure about whether you actually love him or are just with him for his wealth and status. he craves reassurance but would never directly ask for it, so instead, he does things to elicit compliments from you or waits for you to say something affirming.

secretly torn between wanting to keep you as a sort of trophy and feeling an actual attachment he doesn’t understand. on more than one occasion, he’s imagined what it might be like to marry you—he’s even purchased a 7ct diamond ring on impulse. the thought terrifies him, though. he’s afraid of real intimacy, of anyone truly knowing who he is. still, he sometimes drops hints about “the future,” gauging your reaction to see if you might even consider it.

likes it when you adjust his tie or fix his collar. there’s something about your delicate hands on him, perfecting his appearance, that makes the blood rush to his groin as he reminisces the same pair of hands wrapped around his cock. he’ll even purposely wear his tie a little off or leave his collar slightly askew, just so you’ll step in to fix it.

whenever you say goodbye before he leaves, patrick insists on making eye contact, as if daring you to look away first. it’s his way of ensuring that he’s the last thing on your mind as he walks out the door. expects you to fix his lapel, straighten his tie, or give him a quick peck on the cheek. if you forget or rush the routine, there’s disappointment on his side.

patrick insists on every detail being pristine and coordinated, and he takes pride in the aesthetic of matching “his & hers” items. towels, robes, toothbrushes etc. he doesn’t necessarily see this as sentimental but as a way to project his status to anyone who might see it—like a small, smug reminder that you belong to him. he’ll also make a point to keep these items perfectly aligned on the bathroom sink or kitchen counter, internally congratulating himself when he sees them.

adores watching you in the kitchen, especially if you’re wearing something skimpy or nothing but one of his button-ups left undone just enough. he’ll lean in the doorway, watching as you busy yourself slicing fruit or preparing his bran muffins for breakfast. he often finds himself admiring the delicate curve of your neck, the swell of your ass as you move, though he’d never voice anything genuine about it.

his nicknames for you : “bunny”, “sweetheart”, “doll”, “hun” or “honey” in public, “fuckdoll” in private.

your nicknames for him : “daddy”, “sir”, “pat”

super meticulous when it comes to your wardrobe, especially lingerie. he’s obsessed with victoria’s secret and demands that you wear sets he’s chosen—lace and silk, only in shades he deems “fashionable.” as a way to elevate his experience. he’ll sit back with a drink in hand, watching you with an air of smug satisfaction as you parade around the bedroom like it’s a runway.

has certain… kinks that he knows you wouldn’t approve of. this is when sex workers come in handy. sometimes, he wonders if he could somehow desensitise you or change your mind about these things. he drops hints, gauges your reaction to certain acts, and tests boundaries. if you outright refuse to engage in his fantasies, he holds it against you, making passive-aggressive comments about your “prudish” nature or implying that he “puts up with it” because he “cares about you.”

NSFW

his dry cleaning bill has spiked noticeably ever since you started dating. nearly every other day, a new suit or bedsheet stained with cum is dropped off, patrick never looks the dry cleaner in the eye.

patrick’s version of aftercare is incredibly minimal. he’ll be content to simply roll over or give you a lazy kiss on the shoulder but that’s about as soft as it gets—he’ll immediately head off to the en suite to freshen up. if he’s feeling particularly generous, he’ll hand you an evian and that’s that. if you need anything more, he’ll listen, but the faraway look in his eyes suggests he’s already moved on mentally.

very fond of kissing your neck or collarbone, especially before you attend social settings—leaving hickeys and bruises. kisses from patrick can be surprisingly sweet and sensual when he’s in a rare moment of vulnerability, but it’s always short-lived.

he’s become addicted to the sound of your voice, so much so that he has tapes of you—masturbating while saying filthy things. when he’s stressed at the office, he’ll slip on his walkman, listening to your sweet whimpers and moans echo in his ears.

gets a thrill every time you say his name—whether it’s a soft “good morning, patrick” or a “mghm-ahh patrick!” when he’s jackhammering his cock into your cunt. he’s especially weak to hearing you coo or whimper his name, and he’ll go out of his way to make you say (scream) it repeatedly.

has a ritualistic routine for doing coke—spreading a neat line along your stomach and the valley between your breasts, admiring how good you look beneath him. when he leans down to snort the line, he often allows his lips to ghost over your hard nipples.

has no problem dropping obscene amounts of money on you—high-end jewelry, designer clothes, perfumes, he loves the way you look in everything he picks out. “only the best,” he’ll mumble as he fastens a diamond necklace on your neck. but his favourite part is admiring the pieces when he has both hands wrapped around your throat while fucking you.

he’s particular about which rings he picks out, envisioning how they’ll look on your fingers while you jerk him off. there’s something erotic about the way they catch light and glitter against your skin.

you’re kneeling in front of him, the hardwood floor cool against your knees as you stroke his thick, angry cock. patrick reaches down, thumb brushing over the 18k rose gold ring he’d recently bought for you. “looks nice on you,” he mumbles, almost distracted. you watch him for a moment, noticing the way he’s staring at your hand, like the ring is something precious he’s put a part of himself into. “you think so?” you ask, trying to read his expression as you continue to jerk him off. patrick clears his throat, dropping his hand a little too quickly. “of course. wouldn’t have bought it otherwise,”

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[artytaeh]

a honorary thought about how theodore nott would be with you, mrs. nott, his wife— during those blessed first vacations as a married couple; your honeymoon.

warnings: includes smut, so obviously it's advised for +18 readers; read at your own risk. use of italian provided by google translator, if i have readers who speak italian fluently, please don't murder me! </3

honeymoon!theo who seems extremely relaxed, calm and unprepared for this first vacation with you as his wife, to italy— his home country. what you don't know is that theodore had been thinking and planning these weeks for months, maybe even years, during those mornings at hogwarts that he woke up before he needed to leave his bed and prepare for classes. unbeknownst to you, theodore is prepared to suggest names for your future children: that's how well theo has thought (and planned) for a future with you.

honeymoon!theo who doesn't give you much context or details over what you'll be doing during those weeks; you know that it'll be in italy, and got some advice over which clothes would be a good idea to bring in your luggage. if you expected one week of vacation— yeah, dolcezza, not happening. italy is a beautiful country; given the opportunity to show you around, theodore will make sure that his family's money is put to good use, and ensure at least three weeks of walking around.

honeymoon!theo who has most of the days planned; he made sure that three weeks was enough time to see part of italy's best spots, yet never giving you one day that makes you feel exhausted. at most, you'll see or visit three different places during the same day, yet not far enough that'll get your feet hurting from walking too much.

honeymoon!theo who had a hard time selecting where to take you during these three weeks— at the same time that he wants you to see how lively, colorful and amazing his homeland is, theodore doesn't want to have you exhausted in a matter of days. in the end, theo decided that he'd give you the best of two worlds: the beautiful cities, and the breathtaking countryside.

honeymoon!theo who makes sure that you'll have a taste of most of italy's native dishes. desserts, treats, appetizers, dinner and even drinks; theodore makes it a point to show you why he slandered hogwarts' food on a daily basis. however, if you're a picky eater or have a few food limitations, theo makes sure to only encourage you to eat what he knows that you'll like. never forces you to taste anything that you might not like, should it have any ingredient that you don't eat / don't like.

honeymoon!theo who will buy a slice of pizza, a cup of pasta or other treats as you stroll around the streets, making sure that you taste some of them and are never the slightest bit hungry.

honeymoon!theo who teached you a few sentences and phrases in italian, helping you with the pronounciation just right. simple things, really, like petnames, simple phrases (how to say thank you, how to say hello and good morning, even a few curse words should someone be a jerk to you and because you cursing on his native language turns him on).

honeymoon!theo who refers to you as mrs. nott. if you're at a restaurant— theodore will be a gentleman and make the order for the two of you, saying what he'd like to have, and what mrs. nott chose instead for today's meal. will teasingly refer to you as mrs. nott, if you ever engage playful banter or have a silly argument. if you're angry, well, being called mrs. nott dissolves any annoyance that you might have towards your husband.

honeymoon!theo who takes the chance of being in italy again, to buy his favorite brands of cigarettes; he promises to smoke a little less, though. one in the morning, as he waits for you to finish dressing up for the day— then one at night, leaving the windows open after you two were intimate, as you are comfortably laying on his chest. one hand holds the cigarette, while the other runs its fingers through your hair; here, theodore has each hand holding two of his biggest addictions. surely, if possible, theodore might sneak one cigarette during afternoon or after lunch; if you don't like the smell, theo will make sure to do it away from you. is there a shop you'd like to check? while you explore it, theo might smoke his second cigarette of the day.

honeymoon!theo who never gets his hands out of you. waist, lower back, holding hands or intertwined fingers; now that you're his, he has even less reasons to let go of you. italy is a crowded, famous country for vacations; between locals and tourists you walk together, as theodore guides you along, making sure that he never loses sight or hold of his wife.

honeymoon!theo that has a morning routine; lazying around in bed for a little longer, forearms feeling the softness of the pillow as he rests his head there— prompted up enough to see you. his gaze never wavers; theodore watches as you walk around the bedroom, each step being a soft pad on the floor, as you rummage through the wardrobe and seek for what you'll wear today; making your way then to the bathroom. if he's too sleepy, theo will take a light nap as he waits for you, lulled by the muffled sound of the water running for your shower; should he feel a bit more energetic, or more of a morning person, theo will follow you like a puppy, hugging your waist from behind as he kisses his way to shower with you.

honeymoon!theo who decides that his vocation is to help mrs. nott, his stunning, gorgeous wife getting ready for anything. oh, so you're preparing yourself to sleep? theodore will be more than happy to brush your hair, or to have you teaching him what products to apply, and how, to your hair— are you too lazy to take off your make-up? don't worry, theo does it for you; and even throws a dirty joke about removing your make-up in another, more elaborate and definitely much more pleasant, way. specially after a long day strolling around the streets, theodore will be more than happy to just let you relax, while he takes care of you.

honeymoon!theo who also loves to help you getting ready to leave, too. do you need this thing from the wardrobe or from your luggage? don't worry, he'll get it for you. are these the shoes you're wearing tonight? sit on the bed, bella, i'll tie them for you. do you need him to hold something or even help you with your hair? theodore nott is a very competent husband (or does his best to learn how to be very helpful for you). if you don't need help, well, theodore will sit on the edge of the bed, with those icy blue eyes gaining a new loving shade, as he looks at his bellissima getting ready to leave the room with him.

honeymoon!theo who took you to some window shopping with you, at venice and milan. two beautiful cities, where people proudly dress to impress; the shops didn't disappoint you at all. each dress or mannequin that you stared for more than two seconds got theodore to hold you by the hand, and gently dragging you to enter the shop; theo was more than happy to hold bags for you, one arm wrapped around your waist, while the other proudly holds his wife's bags from all the stuff you bought (correction: what theodore persuaded you to bring along, strictly using his family's money).

honeymoon!theo who perfected the art of convincing mrs. nott to agree with allowing him to spoil her; why shouldn't you be pampered by your own husband? in fact, theodore argues that doing so is a significant other's duty (and privilege). should you argue that everything's too expensive, well, theodore has two valid arguments for that: one, the nott family is ridiculously wealthy— one dress won't make his wallet lighter; and two, it's your money too, now. so why shouldn't you use it?

🗯️ : but teddy, darling— this is too much. i won't have enough space in my luggage to take all of these extra clothes with me.

t : don't worry about that, carina. if anything, we'll buy an extra luggage for you. fanculo, you know what? let's buy you a bigger one so you'll have to buy more things to fill it up. here, cara mia, look at this shop.

honeymoon!theo who takes a few nights to take you to dance around with him, strolling around some streets with good bars— a fancier version of those slytherin parties that you went together, except the lack of excessive green, besides lorenzo and mattheo's tendencies to start a brawl over flirting with an already taken girl. theodore dances with you, the two of you swaying with the rhythm, having the most fun, as you try to talk to each other sometimes or exchange a few comments here and there. if a younger guy has the audacity to look at you, theodore will glare at them in such an intimidating way, that the bloke doesn't even have to know about how theodore nott was a feared rival at hogwarts; should he be older, theodore will yell a clear threat in italian.

t : guarda ancora mia ragazza e ti garantisco che nessuno incontrerà i tuoi occhi dopo che li avrò cavati davanti a tutta la tua famiglia, stronzo del cazzo.

🗯️ : theo, what was that? what did you say? i didn't understand...

t : nothing, dolcezza; would you like a drink? here, let's go buy one together.

honeymoon!theo who translates anything and everything to you, specially if you ask him. if you're at a museum and would like to know what the description of some painting is, then theodore will explain or straight-out translate for you. don't worry, he's more than happy to do that— theo does it so patiently, that you would notice that he actually enjoys it. maybe he's returning the favor, for those few times that you've helped him pronounce a few words before class starts; maybe because theodore finds it heartwarming how you show such interest for his culture, and how endearing it is to see you trying to understand a few words here and there.

honeymoon!theo who separated these few days strolling around the city, walking around the streets and seeing a few attractions that he knew that you'd like (a few museums, for example); and got you to another city, one where he planned to have a more lighthearted routine. summer in italy is hot; to have you not enjoying the heat with one day or two to tan, to enjoy a pool or simply lazying around would be wrong; a waste, even. during those days, theodore made sure to let you rest on your chair, while massaging the sunscreen into your skin. those few days spent like that were fun; you didn't do much, but sometimes, doing nothing is the best.

honeymoon!theo who got to drink a few cocktails with you during those few days, sunglasses shielding your sights from the blazing sun, and swimsuits ready to have at least a swim together. conversation flows as easily between you as ever; taking a sip of your cocktail while the other talks, taking turns to share opinions or to continue the conversation. perhaps theodore took the chance to lightheartedly discuss what you'd do after these weeks— would you like to live with him to nott's estate, and leaving your shared cozy apartment for the time being?

honeymoon!theo who would only not shower with you if you two really had to get ready as fast as possible. otherwise, he's joining you; kissing your shoulders while you wash yourself, hugging your waist as he hums to whatever you're telling him. unless you'd rather wash your own hair or have a specific way of doing it, then theodore is more than happy to do it for you; as soon as he's done, he'll poke your nose with your shampoo's foam, signaling his concluded work. surely, theodore marvels at having you hugging him and washing his back at the same time— hey, where are you going? no, hug him for a little bit more; his back should be properly washed, you know?

honeymoon!theo who finds these weeks blissful. no quickies, no hurries; contrary to hogwarts, that even your own dorms weren't the most private places; or your daily life, where some of his friends are comfortable enough to visit without invitations— here at the hotel or alugada house you're at, there's privacy, time, and no restrictions for noise.

honeymoon!theo who takes his time with you. taking each piece of clothing with a calm movement, kissing every inch of skin in display; making sure that tomorrow morning, you'll have to complain or pout at him, due to those new bruises his lips will leave on your skin. neck and thighs are two favorites of his; however, there's something sinfully attractive and arousing about marking up your chest. a little dirty secret of his, one that only his eyes are allowed to see— besides yours, of course.

honeymoon!theo who gets a little insane in the head each. single. time that you have the audacity to speak italian to him, specially during these intimate moments. it doesn't matter if your pronounciation isn't perfect— even a single amore does things to him. whisper fanculo a me to his ear, and you might have to choose a more lighthearted agenda tomorrow, for the sake of your sore legs.

honeymoon!theo who becomes impossibly possessive. having been an overprotective boyfriend at times, making sure that each single student and their mothers knew that you're taken for life, these few weeks are feral. it becomes calmer as the days pass by, though; theodore takes some time to normalize the overwhelming reality that finally, finally you are his wife— mrs. nott.

so, honeymoon!theo who doesn't shut up. theodore needs to tell you how long he's waited for this, to have that ring on your finger; that same hand that he holds as he thrusts into you, or pleasures you in anyway— thumb tracing over the piece of jewelry exchanged on that day that you two got married. his fingers intertwine with yours, blue eyes bewitched by the sight of you under him, and even more intensely if you go on top. theodore nott is a shameless man; he'll only encourage you to moan louder for him, to tell him how good he makes you feel. theodore nott is so, so shameless, that he won't hold back any moan, any groan, anything he wants to say; this man will continue his rambling over how long he's dreamt about putting a ring on your finger, about being wed to you, about showing you his homeland— he'd say all of his in italian, though. if you're lucky, you'll catch up a few words; if not, well, theodore's voice sounds even better when he speaks his native language so fluently.

honeymoon!theo who doesn't have to hold back his baby fever anymore. will get you that final orgasm, with you sitting on his lap, his cock deep inside you, your back flushed against his warm chest; your hips feel those calloused, warm hands holding your hips down, making sure that the two of you can see the reflection of that mirror in front of the bed— one that theodore, shamelessly, requested to have it placed there. blue eyes lock their gaze there, where he disappears inside you, as you take him so well.

honeymoon!theo who doesn't shut up as he keeps you like this for a long moment, as praises leave his lips; 'you're stunning, cara mia, davvero bellissima— you'll look even prettier with our babies inside you.' as he speaks, theo presses kisses to your neck, one hand moving to rub circles on your clit; as if he wasn't already buried so deep inside you, pressing against that spot that has your legs shaking. theo doesn't let you stray much farther from his aching erection: 'brava ragazza, you'll take it all, won't you? we can't have a single drop leave your pretty little cunt.'

honeymoon!theo who secretly hopes that you'll come back to england with a baby in your womb; as much as he absolutely adores this life with you, on getting your full attention, falling into a domestic routine— theodore can't wait to see how your child would look like. theo can only pray that they inherite your lovely smile and beautiful hair, but keep his eyes. blue eyes, identical to the ones his mother, phoena nott, had. besides, if you do end up pregnant and keep the baby— next time that you go to italy, there would be a tiny human keeping you two company. theodore daydreams about that day.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪸 ’

౨ৎ calling out my name ♡ ͡

in the summer rain, ciao amore . . .

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— spreading the 'theodore nott being a loving husband and slightly obsessed with the love of his life' agenda; this boy had the first draft of how your honeymoon would be after your fifth date with him.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[digitalbvnny]

where a monster would take you on a date ִֶָ

જ⁀➴ some small headcanons about where each monster would take you and how the date would go. animal hybrid not included.

── . werewolf boyfriend ✦

╰┈➤ werewolf!bf wants to show you his sensitive side on a date, so he want to take you to do something sweet. werewolf!bf is so nervous when the two of you pull up to the bookstore. it was all his idea to pick out books for each other and end the night cooking a meal together. his collar tightened around his furry nape when you walked in together. deeply afraid he'd pick out a book that you wouldn't enjoy or would have to force yourself through for his sake.

꩜ you'd kiss him on the cheek and wish him luck, unbeknownst to him you're equally nervous. the two of you had a short talk on the way here about genres, and neigher of you had much to go off of.

꩜ when you both get back in the car you'd laugh about how nervous you both were when the other one presents their choice of book. both things you equally excited about reading.

꩜ and then you arrive to your shared apartment, you share some wine before making some easy chicken pasta you both really enjoy.

── . vampire boyfriend ✦

╰┈➤ your vampire!bf would want to rake you somewhere nice, while also allowing it to be a brand new experience for you. he wants the night to be rememberable, so he takes you to the most beautiful restaurant. ordering a wine you'd never even heard of, and looking adoringly at you.

꩜ vamp!bf is renting out the entire restaurant, he doesn't want anything to mess up or interrupt your perfect night.

꩜ he'd wait until the moon in the perfect place and take you out the terrace to hold your hand, “you looks so delectable under the moonlight mi amore.”

꩜ vampire!bf ends the night with flying, having you on his back as you soar through the skies. wanting you to see how beautiful the nightlife can be from up in the clouds.

── . ghost boyfriend ✦

╰┈➤ ghost!bf can't take you out as he's confined to the house he died in, but that doesn't mean he won't put in one hundred percent for your dates. he's swooshing around the house in silence, as you're sleeping, trying to get the perfect day together.

꩜ your day starts with a beautiful breakfast in bed, with the ingredients you all just had laying around. he floats in with ease, a smile on his translucent face which brings one to your face.

꩜ the next part is movies and doing a puzzle or different table top game together. something small but you can do it together in the comfort of your home.

꩜ the night would end in tidying up together and dancing in the kitchen. just enjoying your time together.

── . orc boyfriend ✦

╰┈➤ orc!bf loves to be able to show off, he wants to do something that's gonna fun but lets him protect you. orc!bf is going to take you to a haunted house, it's so dark and you can't see anything but he can see everything.

꩜ everytime you get spooked and grasp only his huge muscular arms, he's grinning but feigning innocence and comforting you, “it’s okay, I'll protect you.”

꩜ when orc!bf accidentally gets spooked and punches one of the cast members and you almost pee your pants from laughing. the big scary orc got scared.

꩜ all would led to him backing you against a wall, until he's towering over you. you can feel the body heat coming off of him in waves, “you scared yet?”

── . fae prince boyfriend ✦

╰┈➤ fae prince!bf want your forst date to benone exploring the fae world. he'd give you a special piece of jewelry that would keep you from being stuck in this realm. as much as he wants you to eventually rule neside him, he wants you to do that of your violation. so he takes you to see the flora and fauna of his birth place and kingdom.

꩜ fae prince!bf wants to show you all of the delicacies of his kingdom, having the royal chef make you a little bit of everything. all of which he sets you in his lap and feeds you every bite, eager to see your reactions.

꩜ fae prince!bf who has the family tailor make you a beauiful dress made of garments and fabrics you'd never even heard of. the dress if a beauiful gown for your dinner at the end of the night, it fit like a second skin and made you feel oh so beautiful.

꩜ fae prince!bf shows you all of the castle, kingdom, the courtyard and everything, he wants to end the night with a private dinner in the royal garden. sitting across from you under their two moons, his faerie skin sparkling in his true form.

── . tentacle monster boyfriend ✦

╰┈➤ while tentacle monster!bf would love to take you back to his realm and show you all the delights, he knows he can't. knows you'd be easily taken as a servant there, a common practice in his homeland. he settles for a comfort food picnic by the water where you both may swim.

꩜ tenatcle monster!bf refused go let you help or know much of anything about the date wanting it to be a surprise for you! he'd help pack some clothes for you to make sure you'll be comfortable.

꩜ his face lights up when you do your little happy dance about the food he packed. he prides himself on knowing you oh so well.

꩜ swimming with you is tentacle monster!bf’s favorite part, getting to be immersed in the natural body of water. not to mention, getting to play with you in the water, wrapping you in his tendrils and creating waves in the nornally waveless lake.

── . shadow monster boyfriend ✦

╰┈➤ shadow monster!bf is a little on the basic side, or at least that's what he would say. he loves an old fashion movie and dinner. the movie theatre is the best place for him, as he can sit comfortably in the dark shadows of the viewing room.

꩜ he'd think over the kind of movie for a few days before asking if you'd be up for it. he doesn't really care if it's perfect as things like that don't happen for him very often. he just wants you to be happy. he'd eventually land on horror, remembering he read somewhere it makes the girl cuddle more and that makes it romantic or whatever.

꩜ shadow monster!bf is not like orc!bf or demon!bf he's not very egotistical or even confident. days leading up to the date he's researching anything and everything he can, he's always been ignored having always been in the shadows. so he's not very experienced with dating and you're so pretty.

꩜ picking the restaurant was the hardest part for him, most places are pretty well lit and not being able to slunk into the shadows makes shadow monster!bf very anxious. he eventually ends in a hibachi grill, daek enough to be comfortable but light enough you'll still be anle to look on him. when you arrive you can tell how nervous the poor virgin monster was.

── . demon boyfriend ✦

╰┈➤ demon!bf would want something fun yet a little competitive; he decides the best thing would have to be an arcade with a built-in diner. something fun, casual that would end in fun banter. he finds one that has that retro kind of vibe, something that would have a layer of nostalgia.

꩜ as soon as he propses the idea, he'd give a little bite of, “unless you're scared to lose?” he'd raise his eyebrows in mischief and you knew it would be a very fun night.

꩜ demon!bf would immediately bring you over to the skee ball, something easily fun and competitive exactly his mission. you're both smiling and laughing as you smirk and say “i'll gonna wipe the floor with ya, then we'll see who's a loser.” “you got it, sunshine, if i win I'll get a kiss.” demon!bf is cheeky, his tail lightly smacking you on the ass.

꩜ you wouldn't be able to remember a better and more excitable date, you have to have him, inviting him in when he drops you off for the night.

── . angel boyfriend ✦

╰┈➤ angel!bf wants to take you on a first date that will be filled with entertainment and enrichment. angel!bf rattles his brain, working over several ideas to make sure it's just perfect. he worries himself to hell and back, with wanting you to be happy. after this he decides on a pottery class with wine tastings. he thought it was romantic yet composed.

꩜ he's so excited when he tells you about the plan, wanting to make sure you don't wear your best clothes in case of mess from the clay or a spill from the wine. angel!bf wishes no harm towards your belongings.

꩜ you're happy to attend this date with him, and the instructor even comments on how in love the two of you look.

꩜ the night would end with angel!bf politely asking, “may i kiss you, i had such a nice time and i know it's a common human practice.”

── . satyr boyfriend ✦

╰┈➤ satyr!bf loves to go on outdoorsy dates, but this one he wanted to make sure involved alot of time where you can just chat. satyr!bf loves talking, even more than that, he loves listening to you talk. so because of that, he chooses a carriage ride finished by strawberry patch picking.

꩜ traveling and foraging is something satyr!bf is super familiar with. he's told of multiple travels that he's done and loves sharing it with you.

꩜ satyr!bf shares fun facts about the flora, and fauna of the area, and listening to you excitedly tell how you've always wanted to ride in a carriage like a real princess, “i may not be royalty, but you'll always be my princess.” finishing the sentiment with a kuss on your knuckles.

꩜ when you arrive to the patch filled with strawberry bushels, that's when satyr!bf would present you with a specially made basket with your name engraved on it, as he explains he's going to take you on a series of dates of foraging, picnicing and antique shopping.

── . succubus girlfriend ✦

╰┈➤ succubus!gf loves the ciry nightlife, loves going out at night. the city gives a palpable sexual energy that she cannlightly feed on all night long, so she doesn't kill you at the end of the night. succubus!gf takes you her favorite club, it's not a dancing club something much more smoother, more luxurious.

꩜ succubus!gf won't keep her hands off of you when she brkngs you around, knowing all the men who reaide her will undress you with their eyes. she has to make sure they know you belong to someone.

꩜ if a particular club customer can't keep their eyes and especially their hands to themselves, she'll kiss you breathlessly. to prove a point and because she loves the dumbstruck look you get after everytime your lips touch.

꩜ by the end of the night, succubus!gf had you draped in her lap, head tucked into her neck tipsy from the energy stealing and the alcohol she was feeding to you. you're just so easy that way.

── . incubus boyfriend ✦

╰┈➤ incubus!bf would love to go dancing with you or take you for dancing classes you can partake in together. something intimate yet not too sensual. he doesn't want younto bite off more than you can chew, because once he starts going it's hard for him to stop (albeit not impossible, but much harder for incubi than most monsters.)

꩜ he’d sign you up for a waltz, something vesy close with alot of eye contact while also being a good talent to have.

꩜ (ignore if you didn't love princesses as a child:) little did incubus!bf know you loved princesses and knew that's what they all did. you excitedly squealed at the idea of getting to dance like they could.

꩜ it was romantic and a fun thing to do, incubus!bf didn't take into consideration that you might be a little clumsy ans stepping on his toes a few too many times. you tried to laugh it off, and he did too, bringing you both closer.

── . siren girlfriend ✦

╰┈➤ siren!gf loves going on dates that involved water, this time would be no different. siren!gf has been meticulously planning a getaway weekend. she'd be dumb not to notice all the stress you've been under, and ushers you to agree to a weekend of no work or family, just the two of you together.

꩜ there's several things she plans with the weekend, one being the location, a small offshore island that you wouldn't possijly run into anyone either of you know. another thing would be the activities swimming in the ocean with sharks, collecting seashells and getting massages.

꩜ knowing your siren!gf is apart of the ocean makes the shark swimming all the easier to handle. siren!gf smiles warmly at you, while she converses with the shark that her beautiful baby is off limits.

꩜ siren!gf finishes off the weekend with easing all your stress in the most physical way, lapping hungrily at your sweet spot.

── . dragon boyfriend ✦

╰┈➤ dragon!bf want to take you on a flight, showing off his scales and unbelievably long wingspan. swift flying around moutains, so you could see the fresh snow and back down into a beautiful flower filled valley. urging you to see his secret cave overflowing with beautiful gems.

꩜ dragon!bf who looks on you lovingly as you collect flowers and make matching flower crowns for the two of you.

꩜ dragon!bf who is falling for you so quickly and with such intensity he allows you to pick one gem to take home with you. even urges you to take the pretty rose quartz he has surrounded by red flora.

꩜ dragon!bf who loves to nuzzle up with you and winds down the night by wrapping himself around you. enveloping you in his smoky scent.

[slut-for-slutty-fictional-men]

HII!! Can you please write something about George and the reader doing cute TikTok trends together 🥰💕

Couple's Content

Pairing: George Clarkey x Reader Genre: Fluff, TikTok shenanigans, established relationship Word Count: 750

masterlist

It starts, like most questionable ideas, with boredom and George scrolling TikTok at 11:47 p.m.

You’re both on the sofa, legs tangled, half-watching Shrek 2 and half-scrolling your respective For You pages when he nudges you with his foot.

“Let’s make couple TikToks,” he says.

You snort. “Since when are we that couple?”

“We’ve literally been dating for a year. People already assume we do.”

“And you wanna give them proof?”

He grins, that stupid charming grin that always wins. “We’d go viral, babe. Plus I look hot tonight.”

You roll your eyes but cave immediately.

He’s a 10 but…

The ring light is set up. George has changed into a hoodie that definitely used to be yours. You’re both perched on the edge of your bed, trying not to laugh between takes.

You begin: “He’s a 10 but he still calls trousers ‘slacks’ unironically.”

George gasps. “That was one time! And it was a bit!”

“Sure it was, George the Victorian chimney sweep.”

He counters: “She’s a 10 but she makes PowerPoint presentations of her birthday wishlists.”

You nod proudly. “Organization is sexy.”

He pauses. “She’s a 10 but she once fake-cried at a restaurant so we could get a free dessert.”

You grin. “And did we?”

“…yes.”

“Exactly.”

The video ends with you both wheezing, and you catch a look in his eyes that makes your stomach flip — soft and golden, like you’re the funniest, loveliest thing he’s ever seen.

Who’s Most Likely To?

You're lying side by side now, pointing at each other in time with the questions.

“Who’s most likely to cry during a movie?” You both point at him. He hides his face in mock shame.

“Who’s most likely to start an argument?” You point at yourself. George doesn’t deny it—just kisses your shoulder in truce.

“Who’s most likely to propose?” You both hesitate. Then slowly… point at him.

You glance over. His ears are pink. “You thinking about it already, Clarkey?”

“Gotta keep the brand strong,” he murmurs. “Power couple content, innit?”

You pretend to scoff but your cheeks are warm.

We Listen & We Don’t Judge

You kneel in front of each other. George clicks record:

“This is a safe space. We listen and we don’t judge.” “Okay…” “Go ahead.” “I save your voice notes. Like... all of them.”

You blink. “All?”

He rubs his neck. “Even the stupid ones. Especially the stupid ones.”

Your heart does a thing.

“We listen and we don’t judge.” “Okay…” “Go ahead.” “Sometimes I get distracted during arguments ‘cause you look really hot when you're mad.”

You snort. “George.”

“I’m serious. The glare, the pout, the little crease in your forehead—”

“You’re deranged.”

“You’re fit. Not my fault.”

“We listen and we don’t judge.” “Okay…” “Go ahead.” “I once used your fancy shampoo on the dog ‘cause he smelled like bin juice.”

You stare at him. “GEORGE. That bottle cost £18.”

“He smelled amazing though, to be fair.”

“We listen and we don’t judge.” “Okay…” “Go ahead.” “I once dropped your toothbrush behind the toilet. And just… rinsed it off.”

His jaw drops. “WHAT—”

“WE LISTEN AND WE DON’T JUDGE!!” you shout.

He’s chasing you around the flat within seconds, yelling, “I trusted you!”

It’s late by the time you’re done. Your phones are buzzing nonstop—comments pouring in, people obsessing over your dynamic. One top comment reads:

“This is what it looks like when your soulmate is also your best friend 😭🫶”

George reads it aloud with a dramatic sniff. “They get us.”

You smile and rest your head on his chest. His fingers trace slow circles on your back.

“You know,” he says softly, “I kinda love doing this stuff with you.”

“Even when I roast your fashion sense in front of millions?”

“Especially then.”

You look up at him. His eyes are gentle, a little sleepy, a little full.

“I love you,” you say, because you can’t not.

His smile grows like he’s been waiting. “I love you too.”

A pause.

“…did we record that?” you ask suddenly.

His eyes widen. You both scramble for the phone.

The last video is still recording. You both freeze in the frame, eyes wide, mid-panic—then burst out laughing.

George shrugs. “Guess the internet’s getting the soft launch and the hard launch.”

You press a kiss to his jaw. “Good. Let them see.”

TikTok Comments, 2 Hours Later:

“DID THEY JUST SAY I LOVE YOU ON CAMERA—??” “this is the healthiest relationship i’ve ever seen and i’m not okay about it.” “they better get married or i’ll sue.”

[tteotlma]

Beneath the Table

-- You thought you were in control when you handed him the remote. But Joel’s patience is thin—and watching you fall apart slowly might be the only thing keeping him from ruining you in public.

Joel Miller x Reader 14K WORDS... do i know a number less than 5k?

anon req:

Listen…I saw something the other day while shopping. Came across…a remote control vibrator. With a car key looking remote…(Bellesa boutique something or other is the brand.) Might I bring to your attention; Joel. Miller. Game Joel specifically. And his beautiful wonderful little gf using a remote control vibrator while out on a fancy date and then doing it in his truck… He has the remote obviously…maybe he’s in a grumpier mood than usual, so he sets it on high, then slow…then high while the waiter talks to reader. Oh, Reader gave the waiter a little smile? Joel’s a little jealous at that. Sets that bad boy on high as punishment. Gawduhhhhhh I need it. Just me or…do we ALL need it? 🤷‍♀️

tw: 18+ MDNI; minimal use of y/n, minimal reader description; fem reader, explicit sexual content; PWP (porn without plot); public teasing; remote-control vibrator use; overstimulation; vaginal fingering; oral sex (f. receiving); semi-public setting (restaurant); car sex; cockwarming; squirting; light dominance; dirty talk; teasing/power dynamics; light choking/neck holding; possessive behavior; light embarrassment; mutual consent; emotional aftercare; tension-heavy buildup; mention of alcohol. if ur not a fan of slowwwwww then idt this is for u... "growling" is used quite a bit bc i dont know what other words exist a/n: yeah i can't believe this is 14k words... im so sorry... but nott really bc i needed all the words for this. NOT ENTIRELY PROOF READ

--

“The hell is this?” The gruff man sitting on the edge of the bed in front of you raised his eyebrows incredulously high, staring up at you through his lashes. 

“Um, well…” Fiddling with your hands behind your back, you found yourself twisting from side to side under the scrutiny of his stare, heat rushing up your neck. “I-it’s a party favor,” you mumbled slightly. 

Joel stared at the pink box. Then at you.

"Party favor?" Joel barked. "The hell kinda parties you goin' to?”

“Bachelorette party?” You were starting to feel dumber by the second. You knew it was a bad idea to bring it up to your old man, too set in his ways to try anything out of the ordinary. The small of your back was getting uncomfortably hot. 

“Forget it—" You lunged for the box, but Joel leaned back, smirking, just out of reach. 

He swung an arm around you, pulling you into his chest. The force causing a small “oomph” to leave your lips as he held you in place against him. 

“Hold on a second,” he huffed, holding the labeled side of the box up to his face, still out of reach from you. “You ain’t even said anythin’ about anythin’ so before you get all huffy tell me what’s goin’ on in that head of yours.” 

Now it’s your turn to stare at him. 

“Come on, princess.” He smirked, sitting up and taking you with him, so now you’re sitting on his lap. The heat of his denim-clad thigh prickles your skin. “Don’t be gettin’ shy on me now.” He teased, a strong hand on the small of your back. 

“W-well,” you put your hands on his shoulders to try and find some grounding. “The other day… at T-tommy’s…” your fingers come to play with the distressed collar of his t-shirt, lightly toying with the hairs peeking through the cotton neckline. 

“Tommy’s place?"

“A friend of Maria’s… was havin’ a party. Celebratin’ her marriage by using their house as the party venue… and well, when the night was over she and her friends were handin’ these out.. so I figured why not.” You shrugged shyly, eyes never leaving your fingers on his shirt, too embarrassed to look up. 

“You know what it is?” He asks, and you hit him lightly in the chest. 

“Duh,” you scoffed, followed by silence, making you look up. Joel was looking down at you with a smug expression on his face.

“So you took one…” 

You huffed in irritation, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Miller, of course I did. Those things are expensive.”

“And you know this because…?” That stupid smirk was back on his face. 

“Because I looked it up after I grabbed it! Ugh, just give it back—“ You tried reaching for the box again, only to have him pull back again. 

“No, ‘m sorry, sweetheart,” Joel pulls you closer, “Y’know I just like teasin’ you.” He confessed softly, you looked at him with mild annoyance, debating if you should pinch his cheek or tug on his facial hair. 

“Anyways,” Joel starts again before you can officially decide. “So you grabbed the favor, and now y’wanna use it.” 

You didn’t say anything, couldn’t. The sheer idea of voicing your wants… desires out loud felt like jumping off a ledge straight into plunging cold water… so you just nod instead, cheeks burning. 

“I-I,” you pause, looking at him, and he’s watching you expectantly, eyebrows raised as if to encourage you to speak. “I thought we could use it tonight… for our date.” 

“Hmm…” is the only sound that leaves Joel’s mouth, and it’s silent. You close your eyes, and still your body… shame slowly creeping up your chest. 

“You’re gonna have to tell me what it is, sweetheart,” Joel says, rotating the box in one hand, staring up at you. 

“Sorry?” 

“You wanna use this, but to be honest, sweetheart, I have no clue what this is.” He’s joking. He has to be. There’s no way his old Yeller-esque eyes couldn’t read the giant label printed on the side. He was just messing with you, toying with you, teasing. You breathed out a small chuckle in disbelief. 

“It’s a vibrator, Miller, and I want you to use it on me.” Joel looks past the pink box, and locks eyes with you, a mischievous glint in his eyes and a shift in his posture gives way that he hears you loud and clear. 

He clears his throat and stands, bringing you up with him. 

“Where d’you wanna go?” He asks, voice breathless. Smirking, you grab the box from his hand, tossing it onto the bed. You find his now-empty hand, leading him to the shared closet. 

“Why don’t we dress first?” Turning to face him, you run your hands down his chest and toy with the hemline of his shirt. Fingers grazing the warm skin beneath the fabric. Joel smiles and hooks his fingers beneath his shirt to pull it over his head. 

—

For all the lingering touches and unspoken tension, you both managed to dress the part—elegant enough for the evening, though there was nothing refined about the thoughts you shared. 

You stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the ruched silk that sat low across your stomach. The deep crimson fabric clung to you like a second skin, catching the low light in soft, lazy glints. The dress hugged your waist where the hidden corset pulled you in, hips and curves shaped just enough to make you look like a sin waiting to happen.

Thin straps slid off your shoulders, baring the warm line of your neck and collarbones, the slit up your leg promising more with every step. You reached up, centering the pendant of your necklace against the bare plane of your chest, the silver chain cold where it kissed your skin — a sharp contrast to the heat building under your dress already.

You caught the first glimpse of him in the mirror — a dark, solid figure leaning in the doorway, watching.

Joel hadn’t said a word yet. He just stood there, taking you in with a look that made the air feel thick, heavy.

The sleeves of his dark shirt were pushed up to his elbows, the fabric stretched across the broad line of his chest. His belt was half-buckled, like he’d been getting dressed but forgot how halfway through. A slow drag of his hand over his jaw, his beard rough and neatly trimmed, the silver in it catching the light —

His eyes locked on yours in the mirror.

Heavy. Unmoving.

"You ready, darlin'?" he asked, voice low and scratchy with restraint.

You swallowed, fingers twitching at the chain around your neck. “Not yet,” you murmured, clearing your throat. Then you moved to the bed, letting the dress shift around your thighs as you sat. You leaned back on your hands, one leg hiking up just enough to tease. A small show, just for him.

“Would you mind grabbing my shoes?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head to look at him through your lashes. “They’re the black ones with the strap.” Joel didn’t move, just adjusted his sleeve with a slow roll of his wrist, jaw ticking, gaze still glued to you.

You smiled coyly. “Please?”

Without a word, he finally turned toward the closet. Heavy steps. Steady hands. Reaching into the dark.

Joel set the shoes down gently beside you, the leather quiet against the bedspread. He didn’t speak — just reached for your foot, large hand curling around your ankle like it belonged there.

You watched as he slipped the first shoe on with careful precision, fastening the tiny buckle without looking up. His fingers brushed over your skin, feather-light, sending a tickling shiver straight through your leg. A squeeze to your ankle, then he moved to the second.

This time, it was the leg with the slit.

He eased your foot into the shoe, fingers trailing up your calf with just enough pressure to make you exhale. Then, without a word, he guided your leg up, settling it slowly on his shoulder, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The silk of your dress shifted with the motion, exposing your thigh, then higher.

Joel didn’t look up right away. He kept his head low, eyes on your leg as he pressed a warm kiss just above your knee. Then another, further up. His hands were steady on your hips now, thumbs hooked near the edge of your dress as he mouthed at the soft skin of your thigh — slow, open-mouthed kisses that made your stomach flip.

When he finally looked at you, his voice was low. Measured.

“Keep sittin’ real pretty like that, sweetheart.”

One hand slid into his back pocket. You saw it — the curve of the toy peeking between his fingers.

He smirked as your breath hitched.

“I ain’t gonna make you beg for it,” he said, voice dark with promise. “But I wanna hear you ask.”

Your breath stuttered when his thumb dragged along the underside of your thigh, rough skin catching on silk-smooth flesh as he coaxed the hem of your dress higher. The fabric bunched easily around your hips, a flash of cool air ghosting over the heat between your legs, your core already pulsing with anticipation. You could feel the weight of his stare, even when his eyes were down — the way his mouth lingered against your skin wasn’t just teasing, it was possessive, like he was memorizing every inch he touched with lips and breath and heat.

His nose skimmed along the inside of your thigh, nuzzling against the sensitive dip where leg met pelvis, not quite touching you, never quite enough. You gasped softly — not because he was rushing, but because he wasn’t. The restraint was maddening. Delicious.

Joel’s voice, when it came, rumbled against your skin. “Still sittin’ real pretty, huh?”

Your fingers curled into the bedspread, trying to keep still, to stay composed, but the throb between your legs was already too much, a need blooming in your belly so slow and deep it made your toes twitch inside the heels he’d just buckled for you. He shifted, a hand bracing the curve of your hip while the other finally slid under your dress and pressed at the thin fabric of your panties.

“Already warm, baby,” he muttered, voice thick now, a low marvel against the inside of your thigh. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.”

And then, with a deliberate slowness that made your whole body go tight with anticipation, he reached down again and retrieved the toy — small and unassuming, cradled in the palm of his broad hand like a secret. He glanced up at you, a flicker of something darker, like a hunger, heat, or ownership, flashing behind his eyes.

“You want it?” he asked, and it wasn’t teasing now. It was quiet. Intimate. Serious. Like he needed to hear it from you before losing his last bit of restraint.

“Yes,” you breathed, barely a whisper. “I want it.”

Joel’s lips curved, barely.

“Good girl.”

But instead of moving right away, he let the silence stretch, lingering in it, watching the way your chest rose and fell in shallow waves, how your lashes fluttered with the weight of his praise. 

The toy stayed in his hand, warm now from the heat of his palm, but unmoving. He didn’t reach for you. He didn’t rush. He just watched, the barest curve to his mouth, like he was savoring the sight of you perched there on the bed, all dressed up in that deep red silk, your thighs parted, one heel still resting against the breadth of his shoulder. 

He could feel the way you trembled in his arms—not from fear, not from cold, but from want… from need, thick and pulsing and just beneath your skin, and still, he held back, letting you feel every second of it. Letting you come undone on your own.

Then his voice came low, smooth, just this side of mock-innocent.

“You’re gonna have to show me where it goes, darlin’.”

The words sank into your skin like warm oil, your brows knitting as your breath caught in your throat, not because you didn’t understand but because you did. 

Because Joel Miller was not a man who needed help. Not with those hands of his, not when it came to your body, and certainly not with this. And still, he tilted his head, looking up at you through those heavy lashes, playing dumb with a softness that made your heart trip. 

“Ain’t ever used one of these before,” he said, like it wasn’t obvious that the way he cradled the toy already had your thighs twitching. “'Less you want me fumblin’ around down here…” A smirk pulled at the edge of his mouth, sharp and wicked, but his voice stayed gentle. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

You hesitantly nodded, your hand reaching out slowly, fingers tentatively brushing against his as you guided him down—the way he followed your touch was reverent, like every little movement came with weight, like he was studying the map of your body all over again with every subtle shift of your hips, the way your breath stuttered when the soft silicone grazed your skin. You moved his hand with trembling patience, placing the toy right over your slit, and he stilled as you let go, his eyes locked on your face. You could feel the heat from his palm even after he withdrew, your panties tugged delicately aside, the throb between your legs a steady ache now, fueled more by how careful he was than how fast he moved.

“Right here?” he asked, not because he didn’t know, but because he wanted to hear it.

“Right there,” you whispered, and Joel’s breath left him in a low hum, like he’d been holding it just for this.

The magnet clicked beneath you with a quiet snap as he fastened the toy into place, and the moment it settled, he pressed—just slightly—just enough to make you gasp, your hips stuttered off the mattress, back curving in a soft arch as your breath tore free of your throat grasping at the fabric on his shoulder. 

Joel followed the movement like a tide, rising to meet you, one hand still nestled between your thighs, the other sliding around your waist, anchoring you to him. His body was warm, solid, the heat of him overwhelming as he leaned in, his chest against yours, your breath mingling in the small space between you. 

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your voice barely sound, and Joel exhaled a soft chuckle, low and satisfied. Fingers caressing the nape of his neck, you look at him, brows furrowed, eyes quietly pleading, the pulse between your thighs louder than the one in your chest. 

“Watch that mouth of yours, sweetheart.” 

Joel takes the hand from between your thighs and slides it up the plane of your body, stopping when he’s got the side of your neck resting in his palm. Calloused fingers dance over the heat of your skin, his thumb caressing along the hinge of your jaw before stopping at your chin, while his fingers curl gently behind your ear, grounding you there. His palm pressed firmly to the side of your neck, cradling that fragile stretch of throat, the thrum of your veins pulsing beneath the heat of his skin. 

You watch his eyes intently before he looks away,  gaze dropping to your trembling body pressed against his,  then settling on your lips. His thumb toys with your glossed bottom lip, slowly pushing and pulling the soft skin, like putty in his hands. 

He lets out a deep hum of approval, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as he feels the sticky sheen smeared across the pad of his thumb. Then he leans in, breathing warm against your cheek as his tongue darts out between his teeth to lick the digit slowly, almost savoring it, just barely grazing your lip in the process. 

“Cherry,” he murmurs, his voice low and amused. “That for me, baby?” 

A small breath slips from your lip, one you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding, as you stare up at the man above you, his hand still firm on your neck, holding you there, grounding you in place. You nod quickly, the motion small and desperate, your free hand rising to wrap around his wrist, fingers curling tight like you need the weight of him to stay steady.

Joel’s eyes stay on you, never leaving, heavy-lidded and dark, dragging slowly from your lips to your eye, taking in everything you’re giving him, every quiet plea written across your face. His thumb grazes the edge of your jaw, just once, then rests there like he’s holding a secret.

“You don’t even know what you’re askin’ for,” he says quietly, like it’s just between the two of you and always will be. “But I’ll give it to you anyway.”

And then he leans in, not rushing, not forcing, just guiding your mouth to his, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that’s warm, deep, and slow. The kind that tastes like a promise of more to come. A soft press of lips, nothing more, just enough to taste the gloss still clinging to your lips. He starts to pull back, like that’s all he meant to take, his hand tightens just slightly at your neck, and he’s leaning back in.

His tongue flicks against your bottom lip, catching any trace of gloss, and he hums lowly like it’s better than dessert.

The second kiss is different. Sloppier. Needier. His tongue pushes past your lips, dragging deep and wet into your mouth like he’s starving for it, like he needs to savor the heat of you just once before he lets you leave the house. He licks into you slowly, unhurried, groaning softly as he swallows your breath like it’s something sweet on his tongue.

When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless, lips wet and tingling, your whole body strung tight like you’d just been undone and put back together.

“Now be good at dinner, baby,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

You remember him pulling you to your feet, his hand low on your waist, steady, grounding. But everything after that? The walk to the truck, the ride to the restaurant — it’s a blur. A haze of heavy hands on your legs, rough fingers tangled with yours, the occasional lazy stroke along your side that made your breath hitch.

What you do remember is the twitch, always involuntary and always constant, that came every time his skin brushed yours. The way the heat of his gaze burned into you every red light, or any other chance he could look at you without getting into an accident. The quiet, maddening presence of warm silicone nestled between your thighs, pressed tight and waiting. You squirmed the entire ride, high alert blooming beneath your skin, every nerve lit like a live wire just from the memory of his touch. 

Joel finally, after what seemed like hours, pulled into the last available parking spot in the lot. Of course, it was in the back, away from the restaurant windows, and the stray streetlamp barely casting a shadow in the truck. 

Joel turned off the ignition and turned to look at you. Not a passing glance like the ones he would sneak while driving. No, he took his time staring at you, the way your cheeks were slowly becoming flushed, lips parted, chest panting. Your eyebrows were slightly furrowed, in both frustration and—what looked like to him—slight worry. He quickly reaches out his hand, finger hooking beneath your chin, tilting your face towards his as he leans over the center console. 

“Baby…” he drawled, thumb brushing your jaw. “I’ve hardly touched you — ‘n look at you.”

His eyes dragged over your face, then dropped to your chest, watching it rise and fall like you’d just run a mile. His voice dipped lower, almost thoughtful, like he was trying to figure something out.

“You scared?”

The question hit softly, but the weight behind it made your stomach flip.

You shook your head quickly, lips parting. “No.”

“No?” he echoes, like he wants to hear it again, like he needs to be sure—not just for your sake, but for his. He tips his head slightly, leans in a little closer, the leather of the seat groaning beneath his weight as he shifts. His voice drops lower, just above a murmur now. “You sure you don’t wanna try it first? Just for a second. So it don’t catch you off guard in there.”

You start to shake your head, lips parted in some vague protest, but you hesitate, and that pause is all he needs. Your eyes flick away for a second, like maybe you’re bracing for something, like your body’s already starting to curl in on itself from the weight of what’s coming, even if it’s what you asked for. And Joel catches it, the shift in your breath, the softness in your brow, the way your thighs press just a little tighter together.

His lips twitch, not quite a smirk, just something close to understanding. “Just the lowest setting,” he says, voice low and coaxing, like he’s offering you something kind. “Real gentle. So you know what to expect. So you ain’t startled when I turn it on in the middle of your drink order.” And it sounds like a joke—mostly—but there’s a promise buried in it too, and it makes your mouth go dry.

You nod, slowly this time, and that’s all it takes. Joel reaches into his jacket, fingers brushing past his wallet, keys, and the other everyday things he carries — and when he pulls his hand out again, it’s with something that looks so deceptively ordinary it nearly makes you laugh. Small, sleek, black — a car remote. Or at least, it would be, if it weren’t for the way his thumb lingers just above one of the silver buttons, his eyes never leaving your face.

He holds it up between you, like he’s showing you a secret. “Looks harmless, don’t it?” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s amused at just how civilized sin can look these days.“Could sit it right on the table, and no one’d know it’s got you drippin’ under that dress.”

Your breath hitches, your thighs pressing just slightly together in anticipation as Joel finally turns his attention to the remote, thumb brushing over one of the silver buttons like he’s starting the engine to something he already knows how to drive. A soft click follows, then silence — at least in the cab of the truck. But your body reacts instantly.

The toy hums to life with a low, steady vibration, not sharp, not loud, but insistent, and it feels like the sound of it lives inside your skin. You gasp, softly, a tight little sound that barely makes it past your lips, but Joel hears it anyway. His eyes are still on your face, like he’s studying every flicker of response — the way your lips part around a shallow breath, the faint quiver in your thigh, the way your gaze falters for a moment under the weight of sensation.

“Itchy?” he asks quietly, and you nod, not because it’s uncomfortable, but because the low buzz is just there, maddening and constant, pressing against your slit like a secret you’re not allowed to touch. Not overwhelming, not even close, but enough to make you aware of every breath you take, every inch of space between your body and his.

Joel shifts in his seat, one arm draping over the back of yours, the other still holding the remote loosely in his hand. His voice stays low, steady. “Good girl,” he murmurs, nodding like he’s proud of you for handling it. “Now just sit with it a second. Let it settle.”

You try. You do. But the hum is sneaky, seeping into you slowly, like heat in a too-warm bath, and your body twitches again, thighs trying to resist the instinct to roll your hips toward it. Joel watches that too, eyes dipping down to your lap, then back to your face with something warmer than amusement — a quiet sort of awe that’s still somehow all possession.

“Can I see?”

The question breaks through your haze, soft but heavy, spoken like a request, but layered with something deeper—something that tells you he already knows you’re going to say yes. That he’s just giving you the dignity of saying it out loud.

You nod again, slower this time. “Okay,” you whisper, and that’s all it takes, already moving for him before the thought even finishes forming in your head, your thighs parting just enough beneath the hem of your dress to let him in. Joel shifts with you, his hand sliding slowly up your inner thigh. His palm is warm, fingers splayed wide, claiming space until they reach the edge of your dress. The hem of your dress rides higher, the air cools against your skin, the closer he gets. 

His hand coasted higher, slow and deliberate, fingertips grazing the tender skin of your thigh like he’s dragging heat along your nerves. You can feel the weight of his touch even in the places he hasn’t reached yet—the way your skin prickles in anticipation, how your breath shudders in your chest as the hem of your dress creeps higher with every inch he claims. His palm cups the curve of your thigh fully now, fingers spreading wider as he slides up, the warmth of his skin blooming against yours, anchoring you there like gravity.

And then he finds it.

The smooth press of the magnet under your panties — the place where the toy sits snug against your slit — still humming low and steady. He lets his fingers linger, exploring the shape of it through the fabric, slow circles with his thumb that send a tremble down your spine. You inhale sharply, head tipping back against the seat, not because he’s moving fast but because he isn’t. Because he’s being so careful. Like unwrapping something breakable. Something his.

“Right there, huh,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, the pad of his finger dragging lightly over the top edge of the vibrator, feeling the buzz through the lace. “Already warm.”

Then he presses. Not hard but just enough to nudge it lower, slipping it through the soft, slick folds of your pussy until the curve of it slots between your lips, snug and perfect, the hum catching just barely on your clit.

Your whole body twitches. It’s not a reaction you can hide—your hips jump subtly in the seat, your thighs tighten around his wrist, and a quiet gasp pushes out of your mouth like it was waiting behind your teeth.

Joel groans low and quietly, but it still reverberates in his chest like he felt it too.

“There you go,” he says, thumb still rubbing gentle circles against your thigh while his other hand holds the remote like a second pulse. “That’s it, sweetheart. Right there where it belongs.”

The toy stays in place with the vibration now sharper, more direct, no longer a whisper under your panties but a presence. A pressure. Something alive.

You’re panting before you realize it, lips parted, eyes slightly hazed, every breath dragging heat deeper into your lungs. And he’s still just sitting there beside you, calm and steady like he isn’t the reason your thighs are trembling and your body’s already trying to rock down onto something that isn’t even moving faster than a heartbeat.

His hand lingers just a second longer than necessary, fingers flexing gently against the inside of your thigh like he’s trying to commit the current heat of your body to memory. Then, with the kind of tenderness that makes your heart seize up, Joel retracts his hand, adjusts the hem of your dress just enough to cover you again, and clicks the remote once. The hum dies in an instant, and the quiet that follows is somehow louder than the vibration itself.

You suck in a breath thorugh your nose like surfacing from underwater, your body still buzzing like the toy never stopped. The silence leaves behind an ache — a phantom pressure between your thighs that keeps pulsing, even without the stimulation. Joel places the remote on the console like he didn’t just nearly pull you apart with it, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s leaning in.

His hand finds your jaw again, and he kisses you—not with hunger, not like the kiss earlier that nearly stole your soul, but with something quieter, something that says I know exactly what I’m doing to you. His lips drag softly over yours, once, twice, his thumb caressing the hinge of your jaw. A hum slips from him low and restrained, like he’s holding himself together through sheer will alone, and then his hand drops back to your thigh, fingers squeezing once, possessive and full of tension.

“Still with me?” he mutters, nose brushing yours.

You nod, not trusting your voice, and he chuckles like he’s tasted every inch of your want and is content to let it simmer a little longer. Then he pulls away, adjusts the collar of your dress with a little tug, and opens the truck door with a nonchalance that feels almost cruel after what he’s just done.

You hear the solid thump of his boots hitting the pavement, the soft jingle of his keys as he rounds the front. Then the passenger door opens, and there he is, hand outstretched, waiting. You take it without thinking, your fingers slotting into his, and he helps you down from the truck like it’s nothing. But the steadiness of his grip, the way his other hand comes to your waist when your legs wobble slightly upon landing, had you besotted. You were grateful for his touch, even if it burned.

You settle beside him on unsteady legs, and Joel’s hand finds the small of your back without hesitation, tethering you to him. The night air nips at the heat on your skin, sharp against the sweat forming behind your knees and at the nape of your neck. You smooth your dress as you walk, though no amount of fabric adjustment can make you feel composed. Joel keeps close, his hand drifting slightly lower as he walks beside you, the heat of his palm through the fabric of your dress reminding you that he’s there, that every step you take is still under his hand.

The proximity is too much and not enough. His body a wall beside yours, his fingers curling just slightly into your waist with every few steps. The memory of his fingers between your legs still stamped into your skin like a secret no amount of cool air can erase.

Your pulse is still racing when you reach the sidewalk, and then, just as your heel clicks against the curb, the vibration returns.

It’s soft, but sharper now—more direct. It hits with zero warning, and your knees buckle beneath you before you can catch yourself. A strangled whine escapes your lips as your body jolts, and you would’ve stumbled if Joel weren’t already there, solid and steady, hand tightening at your waist to hold you upright.

You latch onto his forearm like it’s the only thing securing you to Earth.

“Oops,” Joel mutters, voice smooth and maddeningly casual. “Thought I was lockin’ the car.”

You know he’s lying. The remote is still in his hand, tucked at his side, thumb pressing down with deliberate ease. You open your mouth to protest, but your words catch in your throat when the pressure eases and the setting lowers to a subtle thrum again, soft enough not to trip you, strong enough to keep you aching.

He turns to glance at you, not a smirk on his face, but something smug curled at the corners of his mouth. His eyes flick briefly to the restaurant doors ahead.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, voice low enough only you can hear. “We’ve got a reservation to keep.”

You take a breath to collect yourself, but it does nothing. You’re still trembling faintly, still warm between your legs, still swallowing the phantom echo of vibration even as Joel quietly clicks the remote again, killing the buzz entirely. And yet, your body doesn’t get the memo, every nerve ending taut with the memory of what he gave and took away just as quickly.

He opens the door to the restaurant for you again like a gentleman, one hand guiding the small of your back as he leads you in with his heavy, quiet pressure never once lifting until you're inside. The restaurant is dim, the kind of warm, low light that seems to stretch shadows long and slow across every table. Candlelight flickers on wine glasses. The air smells like butter and oak-aged something, the low murmur of conversation a soft backdrop as you step inside. Low music floats somewhere near the bar, but all you can hear is your pulse, thick and slow in your ears.

Joel speaks low to the hostess—name, time, two for dinner—while you try to remember how to breathe. He doesn’t look at her, not once. Just keeps his hand where it’s always been steady, warm, proprietary just above the curve of your ass.

You can’t bring yourself to look up at him until she’s leading you to the table. He walks beside you, just a little behind, letting his palm slide lower with each step, letting his thumb press along the crease where your waist dips into your hip. 

When you reach the table, he pulls your chair out for you like the proper gentleman he is, but just before you sit, his hand coasts down to your ass and gives it a soft, grounding squeeze. You let out the smallest sound, and you’re sure he hears it.

He takes his seat across from you, settling in slowly, like he’s got all night. Like he’s already had dessert and is now just watching to see what you’ll do next. You try to focus. On the flickering candlelight, on the menu in front of you. Suddenly, you see it, tucked casually beside his empty wine glass, fingers curled around it like it’s nothing more than a car key, was the remote. Small and inconspicuous. But you knew better. Your breath hitched in your throat as you dragged your gaze away from it.

“They’ve got filet tonight,” you murmur, tracing the words with your eyes even though they refuse to focus. “That’s what you like, right?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed fixed on you even as he lifted his glass and took a slow sip of water, the movement unhurried, deliberate, like he’s giving you time to squirm. “Mmm,” he hums, voice low and smooth. “I like a lotta things, sweetheart.”

You flush, instinctively looking back down at your menu, pretending to study the sides like your skin isn’t already tingling with heat. You try to read, instead you find your eyes darting around the page, willing yourself to calm down… focus on your breathing, on the flickering candlelight — but then you hear the softest click and feel it.

A low hum. Subtle. Barely there.

Except it is there, pressing soft and steady into your slit like a whispered secret, right where Joel slid it into place back in the truck. Your thighs twitch as your back straightens, and your breath catches. You glance up at him, wide-eyed, lips parting. Joel’s face is serene, unreadable—but the glint in his eye tells you he knows exactly what he’s done.

“Everything alright, baby?” he murmurs, dragging a fingertip along the side of his glass. “You look a little flushed.”

You blink, swallow hard, then force a smile like it’s not killing you. “Just warm,” you reply, your voice tight. “Candle’s hot.”

Joel chuckles, and you feel it like a hand wrapped around your ribcage. He says nothing more—just lets the silence stretch while the vibrator keeps humming softly and steadily against you. So you make a decision, slow and measured, born out of the same wicked impulse that made you take the favor in the first place. If he’s going to play, you’ll play too.

You slide your foot forward, slow and deliberate, the arch of your heel dragging along the floor until your toes bump gently against the cuff of his pants. Joel glances at you, his eyes darkening just slightly, but he doesn’t move. So you continue, inching up his shin, the toe of your shoe tracing along the inside of his leg —higher, higher— and you can feel him shift slightly in his seat.

You try to hide the smirk threatening to pull at your mouth, ducking slightly behind your menu as if it offers any kind of protection, but then you hear it. The subtle shift of leather under his weight, the low scrape of his forearm moving across the table, and then his voice—calm, quiet, but with a warning buried so deep it settles right beneath your skin.

“Careful, pretty girl, you don’t stop while you’re ahead…” Joel murmurs, eyes still skimming the page in front of him like he isn’t feeling every inch of what you’re doing beneath the table, thumb idly tracing the edge of the remote resting beside his water glass, “and I’ll turn this thing up ‘til you’re leakin’ all over that pretty little seat before they even bring the bread.”

Your mouth parts, but you play through it, pressing your lips together like you're thinking hard about the menu, like the heat blooming across your chest is from the candlelight and not the pressure building low and deep.

You glance at him over the top of your menu, soft and slow, lashes fluttering just enough to feign innocence. “Hm?” you murmur, tilting your head slightly like you didn’t hear him — or like you did, and want him to say it again. 

Joel doesn’t look up right away. Just turns the page of his menu with the same deliberate care he’s used for everything tonight, like he’s not simmering just beneath the surface, like your foot pressing slow and steady against the inside of his thigh isn’t making him hard under the table, like the sound of your breath catching doesn’t curl around his spine like a fuse waiting for his thumb. And then, without lifting his eyes and twitching his expression, he presses the remote.

A soft click. A subtle shift. But the change is immediate.

The vibration sharpens.

You feel it immediately — not just against your clit, but in your spine, in your throat, in the way your breath catches hard and fast behind your ribs. It’s deeper now, more deliberate. Not a whisper, not teasing, but a steady pulse that digs in and stays there. Your thighs clench instinctively, but it only makes it worse — the toy presses harder, and you twitch in your seat, hips shifting with a jolt that’s completely out of your control.

A small sound slips out of you — high, breathy, barely a whimper — but enough. Enough for Joel to hear it. Enough for him to know he’s got you right where he wants you.

And in that same second — in that involuntary twitch — your heel slides higher, grazing the inside of his thigh, then up, up, until you feel it: the hard press of his cock beneath his slacks, hot and thick against the curve of your ankle. You freeze for a second, breath stuttering, pulse thudding in your ears. You hadn’t meant to find it—not yet-but now that you have, you don’t move.

Joel’s page-turning stops, and the air shifts.

His eyes lift, slow and sharp, cutting through the low candlelight like they’re the only thing anchoring you to this moment.

And then — as if on cue — the waiter steps up to the table, all cheerful professionalism and wide smiles, completely unaware that you’re one wrong breath away from falling apart.

You don’t move your foot. Not even when the waiter clears his throat gently and steps beside the table with a practiced smile, menus tucked beneath one arm. You do your best to meet his gaze, force a polite expression, but your lips are parted and your breath is uneven, your thighs locked in place as the vibrator pulses again, cruel and slow against your slick, swollen clit.

“Hi there,” the waiter says, tone chipper. “Welcome in, I’m Evan, I’ll be taking care of you two tonight. Can I start you off with anything to drink?”

Joel doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shift. Doesn’t give you away. He leans back slightly in his chair, slow and easy, like he’s completely untouched by what’s happening under the table — like your ankle isn’t still pressed against the thick heat in his pants, like you’re not one more pulse away from choking on your heartbeat.

He folds the menu closed with a lazy flick of his wrist and rests his forearm across the table, fingers casually brushing the edge of the remote like he might pick it up again any second.

“Red,” Joel says, voice smooth as honey and just as thick. “Somethin’ dry. We’ll share a bottle.”

The waiter nods, scribbling. “You got it.”

And that’s when you decide to push it — because the game is already on, and you’re tired of pretending you’re not drowning in it. So you press a little harder with your heel, not much, just enough to feel the way his cock twitches beneath the fabric, and Joel stills. Just for a second. His hand flexes once on the table, jaw working like he’s chewing back whatever sound nearly slipped free.

Then, under the table, slow, deliberate, he moves.

You feel the brush of his hand against your ankle, fingers wrapping around it with a grip that’s firm but not rough, his palm warm where it cups your skin. His thumb presses gently into the delicate skin just above the strap of your heel, right over the vein on the inside of your ankle, and stays there, grounding you. Possessive. Not pushing you away, not pulling you closer. Just a quiet, devastating warning that vibrates through you harder than the toy ever could.

He keeps his thumb there — steady, unmoving — like he can feel your pulse jumping beneath it. Like he’s counting the beats of your restraint thinning. And he still doesn’t look at you. He just holds you like that, calmly, while his other hand slides the remote slightly out of view, resting beside the napkin on the table like it’s nothing.

The waiter’s still talking, still smiling, still existing somehow in the periphery of this fever dream — but you’re not listening. You can’t. Not with Joel’s hand wrapped around your ankle like a leash. Not with the vibrator humming between your legs and your panties already damp enough to stick. Not with your heart pounding against the inside of your ribs like it’s trying to get to him first.

The waiter’s gaze lands on you, still all brightness and ease, completely unaware of the current running under the table. “And for you?” he asks, pen poised over his notepad, tone casual like this is any other dinner.

You blink once, lips parting, and try to remember what words are. But Joel hasn’t let go of your ankle. His thumb is still stroking slowly against your pulse, and the vibrator is still humming low and mean where it’s tucked between your folds, and your brain is nothing but static and heat. You clear your throat, force your hands to smooth the napkin across your lap, trying to keep them from shaking.

“I’ll, uh… I think the chicken. Roasted,” you say, voice a little higher than you intend, breathier. “That’s fine.”

“Good choice,” the waiter replies, smiling again. “It’s got this honey glaze—real messy but worth it. I always tell people it’s the kind of dish you should only eat with someone who already likes you.”

You laugh — too quickly, too bright — and it’s not that it’s that funny. It’s that you’re already vibrating in your seat, and any release, even a breath that doesn’t crack, feels like victory. You murmur something back, something like “Then I’m covered,” with a sly smile that doesn’t quite land steady, and the waiter chuckles, taps his pen to his notepad, and says, “You two seem like fun.”

You don’t even realize what you’re doing until you glance at Joel, and it hits you — the look in his eyes. Not annoyed. Not angry. Just watching. Sharp. Calm. Like he’s reading everything under your breath, beneath your laughter, through the curve of your smile — and knows it’s not for the waiter at all. It’s for him. All of it.

And he doesn’t let it slide.

The second the waiter turns to walk away, Joel’s thumb presses the button.

The setting kicks up a notch — not a jolt, not cruel, but enough to make your back arch subtly and your eyes snap wide as the vibrator roars to life with a more focused, hungrier pulse. Your thighs clamp together, body jerking just enough that your knee brushes the underside of the table, and you suck in a sharp, audible breath that sounds like surprise but tastes like surrender.

The waiter pauses mid-step, glancing back, concern creasing gently at his brow. “Everything okay?”

Joel doesn’t even blink.

His hand is still under the table, fingers still wrapped around your ankle like a tether, like a leash, and his voice is calm as ever, smooth and low as he glances sideways at you with that same unreadable patience. “Well, sweetheart?” he drawls, the words barely a murmur but aimed like a bullet. “You good?”

You feel it in your gut — the weight of his tone, the pressure between your legs, the heat crawling up your chest like wildfire — and you know this is him giving you the chance to say it out loud. To admit, with the waiter standing there, still waiting for your response, that Joel’s got you so wound up you can barely breathe.

The hum presses deeper. A pulse directly on your clit. His thumb strokes over your ankle like punctuation.

And now it’s your turn to speak.

You open your mouth to answer, to say yes, to pretend you’re fine — but the word won’t come. It lingers on your tongue, sticky and fragile, like it knows it doesn’t belong. The vibrator is still thrumming between your thighs, pulsing slow and deliberate against your clit like it’s synced to the rhythm of your heartbeat, and Joel hasn’t eased off — not even slightly. His hand is still curled around your ankle beneath the table, thumb circling your pulse like it’s a countdown.

“I’m—” you start, breath catching, and Joel’s eyes lift just enough to meet yours over the rim of his water glass.

There’s nothing rushed in his expression. No outward smugness. Just watching. Calculated. Patient. Like he wants to see what kind of lie you’ll tell, and how you’ll manage to say it with your legs trembling and your panties soaked straight through.

You force a smile — too wide, too quick — and swallow back the moan clawing at the back of your throat. “M’sorry,” you say, voice tight. “Just… caught my heel on the leg of the table. All good.”

The waiter’s concern fades instantly, replaced by polite relief. “No worries at all. I’ll be right back with that wine.”

He turns, walks off — and you let out a slow breath through your nose, trying to cool the flush crawling up your neck.

But Joel doesn’t let go.

He keeps his hand right where it is, thumb still brushing your ankle, and when he speaks again, it’s low enough that no one else in the room could hear him — just you, just this table, just the edge of something sharper curling beneath his voice.

“Thought we agreed you’d be good tonight,” he murmurs, not a question, not even disappointment — just a quiet reminder of what you promised and how far you’re slipping from it. “You gonna lie to him and me now?”

The toy pulses again — harder. Your body jerks.

“Joel—” you whisper, but it’s not a protest. It’s need. Raw and flickering.

He leans in, not enough to close the space, but enough to make your breath stutter again. His hand slides just slightly higher on your ankle, fingers pressing in slow, deliberate — and his voice is silk dragged over grit when he says, “You’re soaked, pretty girl. Think I don’t know when you’re about to come just from my voice alone?”

The wine arrives like a cruel joke — deep red and glinting in the low candlelight, too rich, too full-bodied for the kind of breathless tension that’s sunk its teeth into you. The waiter sets it down with a flourish, offers some soft remark about the vineyard, about spice and body and fruit, but you don’t hear any of it. Not when Joel takes the bottle and pours, slow and deliberate, the glug of liquid into the glass nearly as loud as your heartbeat. He fills yours first. Then his. But doesn’t take a sip. Just wraps his hand around the stem, fingers tapping slowly against the base, like he's counting down something only he can hear.

You raise your glass with trembling fingers, just to have something to hold. The wine hits your lips cool and dry, but it’s the heat in your cheeks that flushes deeper, the buzz in your belly turning thick with alcohol and ache. You take one sip, then another. Maybe more than you should — but you need the weight of it, the excuse to swallow back the whimper lodged somewhere in your chest.

Joel watches. Not overtly. Just with those heavy-lidded eyes, that jaw ticking now and again, the hand under the table still cupped lazily around your ankle. He hasn’t moved it once. Just strokes the inside with his thumb in slow, idle circles — grounding you, claiming you, like he knows exactly how close you are to folding under the pressure.

“You’re real quiet all of a sudden,” he says after a while, low and amused, swirling the wine in his glass but not drinking. “Feelin’ alright, pretty girl?”

You glance at him, lips parted, throat too dry to speak even with the wine. You nod. You lie. You smile like you’re fine. But your body’s betraying you — the way your thighs are clenched, the way you shift in your seat again and again just to ease the throb between your legs, the way the stem of your glass is slick in your hand because your palms can’t stop sweating.

You set the glass down, but your hand stays there, gripping the stem like it might anchor you to the table, to the last shred of composure you’re clinging to. The wine barely settles in your belly before the heat between your legs threatens to rise and consume it whole. The vibrator is still on the same setting — not high, not cruel — but it doesn’t need to be. Not anymore. Not with how sensitive you’ve become, how wound-tight you are. Every pulse of it feels sharper now, like it’s echoing inside you, reverberating off the slick heat that’s been building there since the moment he first put it in place.

You shift again, hoping to ease the pressure, but the motion just slides the toy against your clit in a new, unbearable way — the kind of friction that makes your throat close up and your eyes sting with the need to react. You press your thighs together as discreetly as you can, but it’s no use. You can feel the wetness—thick and hot and shamefully constant—clinging to your folds, soaking through the lace that’s been useless for the last half hour. It’s a good thing your dress is dark, because you know, know, if you stood up right now, there’d be a slick, shiny patch where you’ve been leaking all night. You don’t even need to check — you can feel it. The way your folds stick when you twitch, the sticky drag of fabric every time you squirm.

And it’s not just wetness anymore. It’s slippery. It’s the kind of soaked that makes your breath come in shallow pants and your chest feel tight. You can hear it, almost, not in sound but in sensation — the faintest slosh when your hips move just enough, like your cunt is so wet it’s trying to cry for him. Your muscles keep clenching down around nothing, spasming as if to drag something in that isn’t there, like your body thinks if it contracts hard enough, it’ll summon his fingers or his cock out of sheer will. Every throb is worse than the last, and all the wine’s done is loosen the tight coil of control you’d been gripping onto for dear life.

Joel’s still watching you — calm, collected, like he’s enjoying some quiet little show he paid for in advance. He’s barely touched his glass. His hand is still on your ankle, thumb still stroking slow circles like he’s keeping tempo with your arousal. His sleeves are pushed up to his forearms, exposing those thick, strong wrists, the muscle and dark hair dusting down toward the veins in his hands — and fuck, it’s unfair. It’s criminal. He’s sitting across from you like every version of yes you’ve ever wanted: broad and bearded and composed, wearing your torment like a gift he hasn’t even unwrapped yet. And his eyes—his eyes—are glued to you like he’s a kid watching Bluey, fully enraptured, quiet and reverent and soaking up every twitch of your thighs like it’s gospel.

And you? You can’t even sit still.

Because there’s no air left in your lungs. Because the base of your spine is molten and your pussy is aching, wet and clenching and swollen around a toy that’s barely moving, and yet you feel like you’re going to shatter. The worst part is you want to. Want to give in, to cry out, to spread your legs and let him take it all — here, now, against this table, under this dim golden light with your wine half-drunk and your dress sticking to your thighs from how ruined you already are.

And he knows it.

He always does.

“You’re real quiet all of a sudden,” Joel murmurs again, voice silked with gravel. “Feelin’ alright, pretty girl?”

You shift in your seat, a subtle rock of your hips that sends the vibrator sliding just a little higher, grazing the swollen bundle of nerves between your legs with a pressure that makes your entire body clench. You try not to react. Try not to moan or gasp or reach for him across the table. But the motion presses your tits together beneath the tight bodice of your dress, the neckline dipping low enough that you know he sees it — the soft swell of them now beading with sweat, catching faintly in the candlelight like dewdrops on bare skin.

You lift your wine glass again, mostly to mask the twitch of your fingers, the way your other hand is practically shaking in your lap. Your lips wrap around the rim, your eyes fixed on him over the top. You drink — too much, too fast — and set the glass down with a breathless exhale that barely counts as composure.

“Yeah,” you say finally, voice soft and wrecked, the kind of tone that could mean fine or fuck me now. “Just… hungry.”

Joel’s eyebrow twitches like he hears what you meant, not what you said. And then, as calm as anything, as if you’re not soaked through your panties with wine-slick lips and trembling thighs, he reaches for the bread basket.

He tears off a piece of the bread, slow and unbothered, then reaches for the butter, spreading a thick layer across the torn edge with the side of his knife. He doesn’t look at you while he does it. Just works the butter in slow strokes, deliberate and unhurried, like he’s spreading it over your skin instead of bread.

Then he sets the knife down, turns toward you, and holds the bite just a few inches off the table, fingers poised delicately around the buttered edge.

Your hand lifts without thinking, reaching for it, for the one tiny semblance of comfort you’ve been offered all night. But Joel stops you cold.

His voice is soft, low enough that no one else hears it, but it crashes over you like a command: “Nuh-uh.”

You freeze.

“Lemme take care of you,” he murmurs, eyes sliding back to yours, all slow heat and knowing stillness. “Open.”

Your breath stutters in your throat. You hesitate — not because you don’t want to, but because you do. Because the way he’s looking at you makes your nipples tighten and your pussy throb, and it feels obscene, the idea of letting him feed you like this in public. Like being fed is just a softer form of being fucked.

Still, you part your lips. Let your mouth open for him, slow and pliant, eyes fluttering half-lidded under his gaze.

He slides the bite in, presses the pad of his thumb against your lower lip as you take it, and you swear your whole body jolts. The butter coats your tongue, rich and warm and a little too much, but it’s not the bread that makes your breath stutter — it’s him. The feel of his thumb, the press of his skin against your mouth. He was just guiding the bite, just steadying it — but he stayed there. Just a moment too long.

And you take it.

Your lips close over him, soft and slow, and instead of pulling back, you draw him in. Deeper. Let your tongue flick against the salty slick of butter, the heat of his skin, and then you suck. Not hard, not obvious — but enough. Enough to make a sound. Enough to make his thumb drag heavy over your tongue like you’re tasting more than dinner. Like you’re offering him something sweeter if he’ll just let you.

He stills. His breath pauses. And your lashes lift just enough to catch the way his jaw clenches, the faint twitch of his fingers on the table like they want to curl into fists.

You pull back only when you’re ready, lips slipping free with a soft, wet pop, and sit back like nothing happened. Like you didn’t just wrap your mouth around him to make him think about your throat for the rest of the night.

You reach for your wine, take another sip to chase it, and this time when you set the glass down, there’s a flush crawling up Joel’s neck that he doesn’t bother to hide.

You lick your lips slowly, catching the last of the butter.

“Good bread,” you murmur, and smile like you didn’t just blow his goddamn mind with your mouth.

Joel’s still for a beat too long.

Then his hand drops slowly from the table, his eyes fixed on your lips like they’ve just confessed something filthy — and they have. Not with words. With tongue. With teeth. With the way you licked him like you’d do anything to have him in your mouth instead. You can see it in the way his chest rises once, deep and deliberate, like he’s trying to swallow down the groan he nearly let slip. The muscle in his jaw ticks hard.

His voice, when it comes, is lower than it’s been all night — rough, warm, and soaked in need.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters, gaze flicking down to your lips, “and I’m gonna pull this tablecloth over your lap, slide under, and show you what else that mouth can do.”

Your breath catches — audibly. Your legs twitch beneath the table. And Joel doesn’t even blink.

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he adds, quieter now, so soft it feels like he’s whispering it against your skin. “My tongue in your cunt while you sip wine and try not to moan in front of a fuckin’ waiter.”

He leans in a little more, slow, patient—like he’s not even angry, just done holding back. His hand curls lightly around the stem of his glass again, but he doesn’t lift it. Just watches you like you’re the only thing in the room worth tasting.

“I can smell you, baby,” he murmurs, almost amused now. “You’re fuckin’ soaked.”

The silence after that isn’t awkward. It’s devastating. You don’t know whether to clench harder or crawl into his lap.

“Be a good girl,” he murmurs, voice slow and sanded down to nothing, “and just hang on a little longer, alright?”

You nod — shaky, desperate — your fingers flexing around the wine glass like it might hold you together. You try. You try. Try to sit still, try not to rock against the seat even though the pulse between your legs is demanding friction, some kind of pressure, anything to ease the ache that’s made a home in your cunt. The toy is still humming low and slow, but your body’s been clenching around nothing for so long you feel hollow, raw, and full and empty all at once. The heat under your dress is unbearable, soaked into the fabric, sticking to your skin. Every inch of you is flushed and restless. You shift again and your heel drags across the inside of his thigh, bumping his cock with the kind of soft pressure that feels like please.

Joel exhales through his nose, sharp and thin.

He’s trying — trying — to keep it together. To give you this last bit of structure, the illusion that you’re going to make it through a single civilized meal. But then he looks at you again, really looks — the way your head tips slightly, hair sticking to your cheek in damp curls, the pulse fluttering at your throat, the sweat beading along your collarbone and catching in the hollow between your tits — and it hits him: you’re not just needy.

You’re ruined.

And he did this. He did this with his mouth, his voice, his goddamn thumb. He made you squirm in a booth, made you wet through your panties without ever touching your pussy. You’ve been clenching and leaking for him since the truck, and he’s just sitting here with his dick throbbing in his jeans like he’s immune to it. Like he hasn’t been fantasizing about sliding that toy out of you and licking the mess off it before pressing his cock into the wreck he’s made.

No. He’s done. It’s over.

The waiter reappears, smiling, breezy, holding nothing but pleasantries and a little notepad.

“Everything still okay? Food’s coming right out.”

Joel doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away from you. His hand slides from the table and curls under your thigh like he’s just steadying you, but his fingers squeeze hard enough to make you twitch.

“Actually,” he says, voice low and casual, like this has nothing to do with what’s soaking your seat, “we’ll take it to go.”

The waiter blinks. “Of course. Everything alright?”

Joel gives him a tight smile, thumb still dragging small, grounding circles into your inner thigh.

“She’s not feelin’ so hot,” he says, calm and warm — but you hear the edge beneath it. The heat in it. The promise. “Think we’ll eat in.”

Your breath hitches. You don’t speak. You can’t.

The waiter nods, polite and unaware, already pivoting to handle the takeout process, but Joel’s hand is already sliding from your leg to your waist, guiding you gently, reverently, out of the booth. The second you stand, your knees wobble, nearly give, your thighs trembling beneath the weight of what you’ve been holding in. You stumble forward just enough to make him reach for you — broad, calloused palm steady against the small of your back — and you could swear he lets his fingers graze just below the dip of your dress, just where your skin’s gone damp with sweat and heat and want.

He doesn’t say anything as he leads you out, just keeps you tucked close to his side, fingers curling tighter against your waist every time your body sways, every time your heels click unevenly on the tile floor. The hostess calls after you with a chipper Have a good night and Joel lifts two fingers in acknowledgment, doesn’t break stride, doesn’t even glance back.

You’re dizzy by the time the door swings open, the night air slapping hot against your cheeks and neck, cool compared to the molten sheen clinging to your skin. Your heart is thundering. Your thighs are still pressed together, trying and failing to contain the slick between your legs. It’s no use. You’re soaked. You know it. The lace of your panties has been clinging to your folds for the better part of an hour, and with every step, you swear you can feel it sliding, dragging, smearing down the inside of your thighs like you’ve been freshly fucked — and that’s before he even touches you again.

You moan, loud and helpless, and your hands scramble to grip something — his shirt, his neck, his jaw — you don't care, as long as it’s him. You pull him closer, fingers sinking into his hair as he nips at your earlobe, and you whimper, breathless, tilting your head back against him.

Joel moves fast after that. Like he’s lost whatever shred of patience he had left back at the table. His hands tighten at your waist, and he spins you, pressing your back hard into the cool metal of the truck. The contrast makes you shiver, the heat of your body pressed flat to the frame, chest rising in stuttering gasps. You barely get a breath before his mouth crashes down on yours, desperate and rough and messy — not a kiss so much as a claim, teeth scraping, tongue pressing in like he needs to feel the whine sitting at the back of your throat.

His thigh wedges between your legs before you even realize he’s done it, thick and solid and still denim-clad, and then—oh God. The vibrator, still tucked snug against your clit, grinds down hard between you, pressed cruelly between his jeans and the soaked silk of your panties. You wail into his mouth, the cry muffled and broken, your body jerking hard as the contact sends sparks through every nerve ending like a live wire snapping in your spine.

He groans into the kiss, hand sliding behind your neck to keep your mouth on his as he grinds you down. His thigh moves in slow, punishing circles beneath you, rolling up and against that perfect spot, dragging the pressure of the toy directly into your clit, and you swear you feel the vibration in your teeth. The friction is sharp and textured, the denim rough enough to scrape lightly over your tender skin through the lace, and it shouldn’t feel good, but it does. It does, and your legs are trembling from it, your knees beginning to buckle as you cling to his shoulders like he’s the only thing tethering you to earth.

“Feel that?” he pants into your mouth between kisses, lips slick with yours, the words hot and wet against your cheek. “That’s what you’ve been drippin’ for all goddamn night.”

You nod, frantic, tears prickling at your lashes from how badly you need it, need him, need him inside you before you come just from — from his thigh, from his mouth, from the weight of his voice dragging you under.

He nips at your lower lip, sucks it into his mouth, and bites down hard enough to sting, and the whimper that breaks out of you is raw, wrecked, needy. You grind once more against the thick muscle of his thigh, feel the toy slip, buzz harder, and your hips jerk uncontrollably, the slick of your arousal now smeared so thoroughly across the inside seam of his jeans you’re half-mad with the embarrassment, half-mad with the want.

Joel pulls back just long enough to look down, just to see the way you’re riding his thigh like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. His voice is low, nearly a growl, when he mutters, “You’re gonna fuckin’ come like this if I let you.”

“Joel,” you plead, voice thin and ruined, “please—”

He growls. Not just a sound — a threat. A warning. A promise. One hand shoves the takeout bag onto the passenger seat with a thump, the other curls around your wrist and drags you toward the back door. You stumble, dress hiking higher with each rushed step, heels clicking unevenly across the pavement.

When he yanks the door open, you lurch forward and he catches you, presses you against the frame of the truck, and kisses you. Filthy. Deep. His tongue pushes into your mouth before you can breathe, and you melt into it, whining into the hot slide of it as his hands roam low, gripping your ass through the clingy fabric like he’s already imagining how it’ll feel when he’s slamming into you from beneath.

“Coulda fucked you on the hood,” he mutters against your lips, voice frayed with lust. “Right here under this streetlight, with that ruined little dress ridin’ up over your ass. You woulda let me, huh?”

You nod, frantic, clawing at the hem of his shirt now. “I would. I would. I want—fuck, I need—”

He shuts you up with another kiss. This one is slower, heavier. Like he’s savoring your desperation. Like he’s trying to memorize how your lips feel slick and parted, already moaning into his mouth before he’s even gotten you in the truck. His hands slide down to the backs of your thighs, gripping tight, fingers digging into your skin like he’s making sure you don’t float away. You barely register the shift until your feet are off the ground, your dress riding high as he lifts you with a grunt and shoves you into the back seat — not careless, but certain, like he’s done it before in a dream and now it’s real and he’s not wasting a fucking second more.

Your ass hits the worn leather and your knees scramble to find footing, legs spreading automatically to make room for him as he climbs in after you, the cab filling instantly with the heat of his body, the scent of wine and sweat and want. 

The door slams shut behind him, not loud but final, the sound echoing in your chest like the end of something. Or maybe the beginning. The air inside the truck is thick, heady with sweat and perfume and slick, the ghost of candle smoke still clinging to your skin like sin, like it followed you from the table where you tried to pretend you could behave. But there’s no pretending anymore. Joel’s presence overwhelms the cab instantly — broad and grounded, chest rising in deep, hungry heaves, belt unfastened and jeans riding low on his hips, the silver glint of the buckle catching a flash of streetlamp just before his hands find you again, not with softness or ceremony but with need, as though just touching you might anchor him back into his body.

You barely gasp before he’s there, dropping to his knees between your thighs, shoving the hem of your dress up with both hands, bunching the fabric into his fists like it’s offended him just by existing, like it’s dared to hide what belongs to him. The vibrator shifts with the movement, still buzzing where he tucked it against your clit, and the moment your legs fall open, he sees everything. His eyes drag to the soaked silk of your panties, nearly translucent now from how thoroughly you’ve ruined them — every ridge of your folds visible, every twitch of your core making the lace flutter against your skin. You’re glistening, shimmering under the truck’s dim light, leaking warmth and want like a prayer meant only for him.

His growl rumbles up from deep in his chest, a sound that vibrates through the seat beneath you and takes root in your spine. There’s nothing gentle in the way he moves. He presses the flat of his palm over the toy, dragging it slow and hard over your clit, grinding the buzzing silicone into you until your thighs tremble around his shoulders and a choked, broken moan punches free of your lungs before you even realize it’s coming. Your hand flies to your mouth instinctively, fingers splayed across your lips like you can hold in what he’s just torn out of you.

But Joel doesn’t stop.

“Let me hear it,” he rasps, eyes locked between your legs like they’re tracking the center of the universe. “You think I dragged you outta that restaurant just to watch you squirm? No, baby. I want the fuckin’ symphony.”

And then he’s on you.

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t tease.

He ducks his head and devours, his tongue dragging in one long, filthy stroke up your inner thigh before his teeth catch on the thin edge of your panties and pull. The vibrator slips to the side with a slick, obscene noise as he mouths over it, then tosses it somewhere in the dark, like it’s taken too long to get to what he really wants. And then he’s there — mouth sealing around your clit with a hot, devastating pull that sends your hips snapping up and your voice cracking open like glass beneath him. His tongue laves against you, thick and unrelenting, slow strokes alternating with sharp flicks that make your back bow against the seat, your hands flying to his hair to keep him there, to beg him without words to never stop.

He groans against you, deep and wrecked, and the vibrations pulse through your cunt like an aftershock. He licks you like he missed you. Like he dreamed about this exact moment. Like, he could live here. And just when your walls start fluttering with the edges of something too sharp, too bright, too much, he pulls back — lips shiny with your slick, the shine of your mess smeared across his chin.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at you like you’re God.

“Gonna ride me,” he pants, dragging the words out low and rough as he fumbles his belt loose, pushing his jeans and boxers just low enough to free himself, cock flushed and heavy and twitching where it rests against his stomach. “Right here. Right now. You’ve been beggin’ all fuckin’ night, baby. Time to earn it.”

You can’t speak. You’re already crawling into his lap, breath hitching as your thighs spread over his, the air between your bodies sharp and electric. Your cunt drags over his shaft — slick and hot — and the sound that leaves his throat is pure hunger. He grabs himself in one hand, smearing your arousal down his length, dragging the head through your folds with purpose, watching your face twist with need. His other hand grips your hip, guiding you closer, lining you up.

“Don’t run,” he breathes, his voice barely more than a growl, forehead pressed to yours. “Take it. Take all of it, baby. Be a good girl.”

And you do.

You lower yourself inch by devastating inch, the stretch slow and punishing, your body fighting to take him as your nails dig into his shoulders, your breath coming out in little gasps that sound more like worship. You feel your walls part around him, feel every ridge, every vein, every delicious ache as you sink down and finally, finally bottom out.

He holds you there. Doesn’t let you move. Not yet.

“Fuck,” he hisses, biting at your throat, his hands clenching around your waist like he’s anchoring himself in place. “Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You moan into his mouth when he kisses you again, sloppier now, wetter — more tongue than lips. And then you move — slowly at first, rolling your hips, building the rhythm that will destroy you. Every bounce draws a new groan from his throat, every grind makes your clit drag against the coarse hair at the base of his cock, sending jolts of pleasure through your spine. Your thighs burn, chafing deliciously against his jeans, the sting only heightening the dizzying high you’re chasing.

The truck rocks with the momentum, each thrust pushing the air from your lungs, each slap of skin against skin driving you closer to the edge. His hands find your ass, pulling you down harder, making you take him, and when you whimper, he chuckles dark and low against your throat.

“Yeah, baby. That’s it. You hear that?” he grunts, pressing his palm to your lower belly, feeling the bulge where he’s buried so deep inside. “That’s me in your fuckin’ guts.”

You whimper, high and aching, body pulsing around him as your thighs tremble from the stretch, the slick of your cunt dripping down where his jeans are still clinging to his thighs, the thick, musky sound of your bodies slapping together filling every inch of the cab like heat pressed into fogged glass. You’re still riding him — still grinding down with slow, relentless rolls of your hips that make your clit catch at just the right spot — but now you’re holding on. Arms wrapped tight around his neck, your face buried against his temple, your fingers tangled in his hair like you’re trying to fuse your body to his. You can feel him panting against your collarbone, open-mouthed and desperate, like he’s biting back something loud, something animal, something barely tamed.

“Christ,” Joel breathes against your skin, the sound more of a broken moan than a word, his voice wet and trembling. His teeth find your neck again, grazing the sensitive curve where shoulder meets throat, biting down just enough to make your pussy clench around him in response, and he feels it. Groans against you, lips dragging along the line of your jaw as he grinds you down harder, deeper, every upward thrust punching the air from your lungs as the belt buckle at his hip digs into the soft skin of your thigh.

You’re soaked... not just your panties anymore, but everything. Your dress is sticking to your back, your sweat mixing with his where your bodies meet, the scent of wine and sex clinging to your skin like perfume. The rough denim of his jeans chafes along the inside of your thighs with every bounce, friction catching against your sensitive flesh and only adding to the burn, the sting, the wild, unbearable pleasure. You don’t even want to pull away — you want more of it. Want the pain. Want the bruises. Want him everywhere.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Your body is starting to tremble harder now, thighs quaking as your pace falters, the overwhelming press of sensation knocking the breath from your lungs — and Joel knows. Of course, he knows. He tightens his grip on your hips, anchoring you in place with thick, bruising fingers as he drives up into you, over and over, filthy sounds echoing in the small space between the two of you. His groans are getting louder, raspier, his thrusts erratic and wild, teeth still grazing your throat as he pants, 

“That’s it, ride it out, baby—fuck, you sound so fuckin’ pretty when you cry like that, you hear me? That’s all for me. All of it.”

You’re babbling now, nothing coherent, not even words, just gasps and little broken sobs of pleasure, your hips moving on instinct, chasing something bright and unbearable as his cock grinds right into that perfect, dizzying spot inside you. The belt buckle digs into your thigh again, a sharp kiss of metal that only makes your body clench harder, your legs locking tighter around his waist, and then—

The pressure mounts, unbearable.

His hand disappears between your bodies, fumbling behind your thigh before pressing something firm and familiar back against your clit. The vibrator. You hadn’t even realized he grabbed it. But now it’s back, and it’s vibrating, and you swear your vision blacks out for a second as he presses it directly against the swollen little bundle of nerves, the toy slick with your wetness and buzzing mercilessly in his calloused hand as he growls, “Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me. Come on Daddy’s cock — I know you’re close.”

You can’t even fight it anymore. Can’t hold back. The pleasure barrels through you like a lightning strike — brutal and hot and fast, your body seizing up around him, your head thrown back as you scream, high and wrecked and shaking, your thighs locking around him as your cunt spasms violently, clenching down on his cock like it’s trying to keep him.

And then — wetness. Heat. Everywhere.

It’s not just an orgasm. It’s something more. Something primal. You squirt around him, the gush soaking his jeans, your thighs, the leather seat beneath you, the sound obscene as your slick pours out uncontrollably, drenching his lap as you collapse against him with a sob.

Joel growls, so loud and feral it rips through the cab like thunder, and he slams into you one final time, cock pulsing deep inside your fluttering heat as he comes, thick and hot and endless, groaning your name into your shoulder as his body trembles beneath you. He doesn't pull out. Doesn’t even try. Just stays buried to the hilt, still holding the toy against your clit like he doesn’t want the high to end, like he wants to keep you twitching, leaking, falling apart on top of him until you forget what it feels like to breathe without his cock inside you.

Eventually, your hips go still. Your head drops onto his shoulder. His arms curl around your waist like armor, one hand stroking slowly up your spine, the other resting flat against your thigh, his thumb brushing the marks the belt buckle left behind. Your walls are still fluttering, milking him gently, your cunt wet and stretched and full, and neither of you move — not yet.

You cockwarm like that. Breathing in sync. Skin sticking. Heartbeats loud in the quiet.

Joel presses a kiss to your temple. Another to your shoulder. One more just beneath your jaw, slower this time, reverent.

He murmurs something into your skin. Something low. Something that sounds like your name and mine in the same breath.

And when he finally pulls out—slow, thick, sloppy—you whine from the loss, hips instinctively rolling forward like you’re trying to pull him back in.

“Shhh,” he murmurs, voice rough but gentle now, as he reaches for the glovebox, pulling out a crumpled napkin and whispering apologies as he wipes between your thighs, cleaning you up as best he can. His touch is soft. Almost tender. Like he just fucked you like a goddamn animal but is still the only man alive who knows how to hold you after.

He kisses the inside of your knee.

Helps you tuck yourself back into your dress, even though your panties are useless now, nothing but soaked lace barely clinging to your hips. His hands linger,  smoothing down your skirt, tucking damp hair behind your ear, and when he finally slides out of the backseat and into the front, when the truck rumbles to life beneath you, your legs still feel like jelly.

He reaches for your hand over the center console.

Doesn’t say a word.

Just laces his fingers with yours — warm, steady, calloused — and drives you home. Still wearing your slick on his skin. Still thinking about what you tasted like. Still planning the next time you’ll let him ruin you just as beautifully.

--

a/n: TA DAAAA -- can u tell im touch starved?

PLS REBLOG TO SUPPORT