#Tried to figure out how I want to draw them
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F1 DRIVERS AND YOU (their crush)
KISSING THEIR CHEEKS
( include piastri, norris, leclerc, sainz, hamilton, russel, verstappen & ricciardo )
warning : none just fluff
note : little nod to max's 4th championship win, congrats to him, sooo proud !!
─ OSCAR PIASTRI
I know for sure boy was blushing so so hard. But it's absolutely adorable and cute. Oscar is very patient with you, and even though he dreams of being able to touch you in a more than friendly way, of being able to at least have the right to a little kiss, he restrains himself and tries not to act under his impulses. . However, when you decided to quickly kiss him on the cheek, out of nowhere, he actually felt himself melting from the inside. His cheeks have never blushed so much, and his heart has never beaten so quickly.
─ LANDO NORRIS
Ugh, you guys can barely hold eye contact, but he's already so in love. So mad in love even. Despite the fact that you are still shy, especially him, that you struggle to make eye contact without blushing afterwards, Lando can't help but ask for more. Just a little extra. So, when he walked you to your doorstep, he immediately asked you if he could have even a mini kiss. Your lips naturally landed on his cheek, brushing against it, almost like a ghost kiss. And when you pulled back oh... He was already touching the place where your lips rested, cheeks as pink as yours.
─ CHARLES LECLERC
This was absolutely surprising to Charles. But he would love to be able to feel that feeling again. When your lips pressed naturally against his cheek, your hands framing his face perfectly. He didn't move for at least a good two minutes, trying to figure out what just happened. If it was real. He was so shocked that he didn't see you lean in again to place another sweet kiss. He blinked a few times, and you could only giggle silently. Oh, it was the best day of his without a doubt. And if he could live it again, he wouldn't hesitate for a single second before saying yes.
─ CARLOS SAINZ
He only had eyes for you. And he loved seeing you smile, and making you happy. So from time to time he spoils you, and although you don't like it when he buys so many things for you, you always end up thanking him warmly because after all, it's adorable. You always hugged him, hugging him a little tighter each time, but this time it was different. You wanted a change from hugs, so with a surge of courage and love you gently kissed his cheek to thank him. He was dizzy, almost on the verge of passing out. He couldn't hold back a shy smile, and above all he couldn't settle for a hug from now on.
─ LEWIS HAMILTON
He waited there patiently, sitting in a corner of the garage before getting in his car. You were a few feet away from him, watching the mechanics adjust the final modifications to the car. He couldn't help but admire you. And stare at your lips. God, he would give anything to be able to feel them against his skin. And as he was about to get in the car, he stopped when he felt your arm rest on his forearm. And without knowing how, your lips crashed onto his cheek in a quick kiss. His best smile appeared on his face, as he tried to hide his blush by putting on his helmet. Finally, his wish came true, right?
─ GEORGE RUSSEL
He can't stop replaying the scene in his head. He already found you so perfect, so beautiful and incredibly intelligent. It wasn't just a crush anymore, it was George, a simp for you. But already his heart was speeding up just by looking at you, he really thought it was going to stop beating when you gently kissed him on his cheeks. It was pure, sweet and... terribly affectionate. He tried to appear as normal as possible, but inside he was a mess. His whole body was telling him to kiss you and tell you everything he has in his heart right now. And he's sure that day will come soon, because there's no way another day will pass without a kiss from you.
─ MAX VERSTAPPEN
As the race draws to a close, Max is finally a 4th time F1 world champion. And getting out of his car, as he proudly waves his arm to greet the crowd, only one thing is on his mind. You, you and only you. So it was natural that he found you among the crowd, looking at you as if only you existed in the world. His hair was still damp, his face still covered in drops of sweat, but that absolutely didn't stop you from pressing your soft lips against his cheek, for a long time. Passionately. And oh, that sweet gesture was better than any championship. His eyes spoke for themselves.
─ DANIEL RICCIARDIO
He will never, ever stop teasing you about the kiss you gave him. Quite simply because he loves seeing you smile and laugh, but above all because he secretly wants you to repeat this gesture over and over again, for eternity. Honestly, you wouldn't even have to ask him for permission as he will already be ready to receive another kiss from you on the cheek. It was by far the most beautiful experience of his life, and oh, his heart always asks for more when he sees you. So, he hopes to feel your lips on his skin again, even if it costs him to tease you all day long.
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#oscar piastri x reader#lando norris x reader#charles leclerc x reader#carlos sainz x reader#lewis hamilton x reader#george russel x reader#max verstappen x reader#daniel riccardo x reader
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I am going to tell you something you've probably heard before from the perspective of someone who was drawn into those very hate groups as a young man, but who soon realized it was just BS too. It is easy to draw young men into this mindset. Our current culture sees young men as violent, ignorant, stupid, lazy, etc., etc., etc. There is a disconnect between what we as young boys are taught or see from television or other sometimes misguided men, and what is often perceived as acceptable by society at large. For instance, young boys are often punished for trivial things, taught that we have to show no emotions (except anger), and that women will naturally be drawn to us simply because we are men (even when we aren't, yet).
This point in life, almost always in our teen years, we are easily brought into a society that seems to welcome us and says repeatedly that they understand our anger and frustration with society. It was easy for these sorts of groups to get me when I was a child because I had no father figures who spent any time with me. These groups, whether they be racist, fascist, militias, or any other type of hate group draw young men in simply by accepting them and telling them they are good. They say their instincts are right and that society is wrong because it caters too much to (name the poison that the child has or the group wants to put on the outside).
For young men, like me at the time, who have very little "caring" or "supportive" contact, this outreach is very attractive. It isn't hard to see how a group of "men" supporting your beliefs is seen as right where society seems to have a massive taboo against teen boys. Since young people's minds are often easier to manipulate, that simple act of drawing someone in by "accepting" them is all that is needed to start them on the road to full bigotry and hatred.
This is a simple paraphrased version of what happens, but it happens everyday. There are ways around it and ways to keep your boys from falling victim to it. But, honestly, some work needs to be done in our society as well. Young people, both boys and girls, are often demonized for different reasons as society tries to put them into a mold it likes. The thing is, to help keep young men out of this very deadly trap that is set for them, you have to have some lines of communication, whether that be parental or authoritative, where truth and support can flow. I am not saying coddle all boys to make them feel better, but it really does boil down to how teen boys feel in society and in life. If they feel unvalued, they will seek it out, just like anyone else. If there is a group out there with bad intentions, but it seems welcoming and supportive, then it is just like any other cult that grabs you.
I couldn't have said it better myself.
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Sittin'
Joel Miller x F!Babysitter Reader No outbreak Joel Miller AU - Words: 10k
Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI
You're working your way through medical school, supporting yourself by taking the occasional babysitting gig. One local single Dad needs someone to look after his 10 year old daughter Sarah on nights when he's late back from the jobsite. And it's all fine and good until your neglectful boyfriend decides to crash the party. Warnings: small age gap (Joel is 32, reader is in medical school), reader is babysitting Sarah as a side hustle to support her studies, Sarah is cute, reader has a shit boyfriend, Joel is trying really hard to resist, exhibitionism, thigh-riding, praise, dirty talk, thigh-humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, general defiling of a perfectly good granite countertop, Joel has opinions about how a woman should be treated as is not afraid to demonstrate them.
A/N: My attempts at writing PWP almost always end up like 10k lol. Whatever, I like a good slow burn. If you enjoy, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you - Freddie x
It was a hot night, the latest in a long line. You knew you were lucky getting to spend some of your evenings over at the Millers, simply because it meant you got to sit under Mr Miller’s air conditioner, the box wedged firm into the window in the living room, little droplets of water condensing and running down the pane of glass underneath it. You’d put a dishtowel down to protect the carpet.
You knew you were lucky, too, because once Sarah went off to bed you could spread your books over Mr Miller’s kitchen table, listening to the buzzing of the fridge as you tried to memorise the functions of the lobes in the brain. In class, your biomedicine professor had blown up balloons and handed out sharpies, inviting her students to draw the lobes in the right place, and yours had popped when you pressed too hard on the occipital lobe, and your lab partner had laughed and said that it was ironic, but you couldn’t figure it: the motor cortex would have been ironic, this was just startling.
You cracked your neck, rolling your shoulders and looking over to the clock on the wall. Nearly 10:30 PM. Mr Miller would be coming back soon.
Sarah was a good kid, and some nights she stayed up to ‘help’ you study, mostly by pointing to pictures in your textbooks and asking you to explain them to her. She’d hated the full-page coloured illustration of the eye, but had been fascinated by the heart, trailing her finger along the arteries, into the chambers, tracing the pathway in and out again. You’d make a cardiologist of her, yet.
Tonight, she’d only made it to twenty minutes past eight, her eyes growing heavy as she turned the pages of your book. This one didn’t have as many pictures, and you could sense her fatigue in the stuffy air.
‘What kind of doctor do you want to be?’ she’d asked, and you’d pulled your hair up off your neck to try and get some air on your skin. You weren’t sure how to explain it without sounding gruesome, without giving her nightmares. She was only 10.
‘When people have emergencies and they have to go to the hospital right away, they need to see a doctor to patch them back up again…’ you’d said, and she’d stared at you with a tiresome expression on her face.
‘I’m not a baby,’ she said, disapproving. You smiled at her.
‘Trauma surgeon,’ you replied. She nodded her head, deeming your answer satisfactory, and taking herself up the stairs to bed.
She was one of the easiest kids you’d ever babysat for, and over the years you’d racked up quite a roster. You’d started in high school, first saving up enough for the prom dress right in the storefront window, and then later keeping yourself fed during your undergrad. When you’d moved to Austin you’d rented a studio apartment in the back garden of a little old lady, a woman who had revealed herself to be an excellent cook if militant about her hydrangeas. You’d letterboxed the neighbourhood and picked up a few odd jobs but nothing lasting, until the evening you’d got a call from a very frantic Mr Miller, who was so beside himself he only asked how quick you could get there and didn’t even ask about your rates.
It turned out Mr Miller got caught up at the jobsite some nights, staying back later than he expected with his little brother to finish framing, or guttering, or wiring. He was running out of favours with his neighbours, he’d explained, and Sarah was still too little to feed herself. You hadn’t minded, his deep southern drawl doing something to you even over the phone, such that you found yourself cancelling plans just to go and sit on his couch that very evening, textbook over your knees.
Some nights with Sarah tucked up fast asleep you’d stand and stare at the pictures of the two of them, her holding up a soccer trophy nearly twice her size, him standing with his hand in his pocket, his other over the shoulders of a younger man you assumed was Tommy. If you were feeling particularly bold, or were procrastinating especially hard, you’d extend a finger and run them up and down the strings of Joel’s guitar, resting sentinel against the windowsill. You imagined his fingers pushing into the fretboard, the strings indenting the flesh.
It wasn’t even that he was handsome, although he definitely was. He was a young father, doing it almost entirely alone, and on any other man that would have made for grumpy, for overly tired, for entitled. On Mr Miller it made for kindness, for a nurturing type of strength, corded tight under his skin. For a single dad always thinking about his daughter, only ever wanting the best for her. For a man focussed on doing right for his family, small as it was.
You rolled your shoulders, the pre-frontal cortex just about beating you for the night. Just as you were wondering if the Millers kept any ice cream in the freezer, you heard the key in the front door. You listened as Joel followed the same routine, first toeing off his boots, letting out a little grunt as the second one hit the floor. You heard him huff as he stretched his back, rolling his hips in a little circle to try and get some stretch into them, before dropping his keys on the table and padding, surprisingly light on his socked feet, into the kitchen.
‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said, his pet name for you emerging on only the second time you’d sat for him and still, even after this many months, causing your stomach to do a little flipper.
‘Evening, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he tutted at you, moving over to the fridge and extracting a beer.
‘Told ya not to call me that,’ he muttered, but you could see the grin behind it. ‘How was my girl tonight?’
‘Perfect, as always,’ you said, smiling at him as he poured you a glass of sweet tea from the jug in the fridge without bothering to ask if you wanted any. You accepted it gratefully, suddenly noticing how dry your throat had become.
‘She’s a good kid,’ he said. He sat down, heavy, in the chair opposite you. The ceiling lamp buzzed above you both, and the light bounced off the fine sheen of sweat accumulating on his arms, on his cheeks. He glowed, even if it was under a layer of exhaustion.
‘You look tired, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he cocked a little grin.
‘You sayin’ I look like shit, Sweetheart?’ he asked.
‘No, never,’ you said, instantly regretting how quickly, how fervently, you had responded. He continued to grin at you, lopsided, the dimple on his right cheek popping out to greet you.
‘What is it tonight?’ he asked, and you held up your book to him. ‘The bio-mech-an-ics-of-thought: phys-ee-ol-o-gee of the brain,’ he intoned, before letting out a low whistle. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ he said.
‘It’s interesting,’ you defended, unsure why. ‘So long as there are diagrams,’ you added.
‘So that’s where the magic happens?’ he asked, gesturing to the illustrated image of the brain in the centre of the page you had been working from.
‘This is where thought happens,’ you nodded. ‘Kind of like…where decisions are made.’
‘Must be a woman’s brain,’ Joel deadpanned, taking a swig of his beer. ‘Can guarantee men make their decisions someplace else.’
You caught a glimpse of something dark in his eyes as he glanced over you. You blushed, swearing it was just the heat, and furious with yourself. This wasn’t like you; you weren’t some shrinking violet type. You’d had boyfriends, you’d had fun in college. You had no idea what it was about Mr Miller that made you immediately go all giggly, all girly, but whatever it was you wished it would fuck off.
The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. You were used to this from him, the way his mind seemed to drift, the way he seemed content enough to let it. Gently, so as not to jolt him out of his thoughts, you closed your book, gathered your pens together. Everything tucked away in your bag you were surprised when you looked up to see he was watching you.
‘Apparently Sarah’s taken an interest in science,’ he said after a moment, his warm eyes watching yours for a second. You felt a tingle of pride in your chest.
‘Oh yeah?’ you asked.
‘Mmhmm, apparently after she pushed Simon Strzelecki off the monkey bars, she offered to patch him up again.’
You grinned before you were able to catch yourself.
‘That’s…very, umm…’ you trailed off and he huffed out a little laugh.
‘It’s very Sarah,’ he agreed.
‘M’sorry, Mr Miller…’ you started, but Joel stood up, waving you off.
‘Don’t be, Strzelecki’s a little shit’f the highest order,’ he said. ‘You gonna let me give ya a lift this time?’ he asked, and this time you shook your head at him.
‘No, I can walk it.’
‘Y’know I don’t like ya walkin’ around out there on yer’own,’ he grumbled, and you felt the insane urge to reach your hand out to rest on his bicep, to ease his evident discomfort.
‘I can handle it,’ you said, instead.
Something stole over his face for a moment, a sharpness in his eyes. For a moment you gazed up at him, the furrow in his brow deepening, the muscles in his jaw twitching as his eyes roamed over your face. Standing this close to him you were reminded how tall, how broad he really was. You dropped your eyes to his arms, crossed over his chest, and imagined him holding you with them, circling them around your back as you leant, safe, into his skin. You blinked yourself back to reality, worried for a second he could read your thoughts.
‘Know you can handle it,’ he said, his voice low, ‘just don’t like it, is all.’
You did this every time, this stand-off. You worried one night you would waver.
‘G’night, Mr Miller,’ you said, over dry lips. He nodded, once, at you, still evidently displeased something dark, something haunted, passing over his features before he brought them back into line.
He stood on the front porch, light still on, until you rounded his driveway and disappeared past the oak tree by the front lawn.
--
Mick was a guy from your Tuesday morning bio class, and you only realised he was your boyfriend when he introduced you to a few of his friends that way. You’d just gone with it, because it had seemed easier, and he was nice if a little full of himself at times. He was the son of the one the big ranching families, had been almost guaranteed a position at whatever college he chose on the day of his birth, hadn’t ever really considered that money was something you saved, something you worked for.
But he would never let you pay for dinner, and often he showed up to class holding a coffee just for you. You’d been on your own for a long time, had been self-sufficient well before you had any business to, and it was kind of nice to let yourself be cared for, if that’s what this was.
On nights when you had to work he would pout and complain, and you told yourself it was because he cared about you, because he wanted you around, even if some part of you knew he just didn’t like to be alone. Every once and while he would ask if he could come with you, ‘feel you up on the couch like it’s eighth grade’, and it made you feel exactly fourteen years old, like this was a summer job you had failed to grow out of. It didn’t help that he more than once referred to your sitting job as ‘cute’. His mother had stayed at home the moment she fell pregnant with Mick’s older brother, and as far as you could tell was yet to leave. You never asked about a future with Mick, terrified of what kind of picture he would paint.
On one such evening, after he’d been particularly insistent that you blow off your job and come and hang out with him and his friends, he’d starting blowing up your phone just as Mr Miller sat down beside you, weary-boned and sleepy-eyed, at his kitchen table.
You ignored the calls, tried to carry on reading even as Mr Miller arched his brow at your insistently vibrating device. You huffed, knowing at some point Mick would get bored.
‘You’re popular tonight?’ Joel prompted after a while, making you lose your place in the paragraph you’d read over at least ten times already.
You huffed out a sigh, reaching out and scrolling through the stream of notifications. He’d started texting, sometimes just sending a single emoji, sometimes entire paragraphs about how badly you were letting him down. You felt an ache bloom behind your right eye socket, and you reached up to your temple to try and massage it away.
‘It’s my boyfriend,’ you told him, and with your eyes still closed you didn’t see him scowl. ‘He wants me to come out to some bar with him and his drunk friends.’
Joel considered this for a long moment. When you opened your eyes they blurred under the sudden light, and you blinked away sleep to see him clearly again.
‘You should be out with your friends, it’s a Friday night…’ he said, almost looking guilty for a moment, and you rushed to reassure him.
‘No, no trust me…this is better. They’re boring when they’re drunk. And also when they’re sober.’
Joel smiled, straining just slightly, at this.
‘He a good man?’ he asked, and you scoffed a little.
‘He’s barely a man at all,’ you said, automatically. Later you’d reflect on this moment, feel it turn you inside out and scold your skin with the heat of your own shame. For now, though, you were too tired, and it was too hot in the kitchen, for you to catch it.
Joel caught it, though. He cleared his throat.
‘We met at college, and he’s…well, he’s kind of set up for life. He doesn’t have to worry about grades, or proving himself. He’s almost guaranteed his residency.’ You were aware you were starting to sound bitter, and maybe you were just a little. Something about Mr Miller, sitting at his kitchen table late in the evening with a beer, muscles wrapped in a plaid, his soft brown eyes watching you carefully, made you think he’d understand.
‘He doesn’t make you feel good enough for him?’ he asked, after a while.
You considered this, eventually shrugging your shoulders. ‘I don’t know if he makes me feel anything,’ you said, truthfully.
Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table, his chin resting in his hand as he watched you, gazed at your face.
‘What do you want him to make you feel?’ he asked.
‘Seen,’ you said, without hesitation.
‘Just seen?’ he asked. His voice was deathly quiet now, almost entirely gravel. His eyes were burning, sharp. You watched as they darkened, stealing your breath out from under you.
‘Desired,’ you almost whispered. He dropped a hand to the table, his fingertips only inches from yours, resting casual on your textbook.
‘What man’s out there runnin’ round this town not desirin’ you?’ he asked, almost as though he couldn’t believe it, and you felt scorching heat on your cheeks, rushing down your sternum, pooling heavy in your core.
You blinked, terrified to move in case you broke whatever spell had befallen him. He turned thoughtful, his eyes dropping to the woodgrain of the table.
‘Y’been working a lot here…can’t imagine hanging out with me and a ten-year-old girl is the same as bein’ out there, living your youth…’
You felt something heavy shift in your belly, something essential curdle and erode.
‘I like it here, Mr Miller,’ you said, all big eyes and almost quivering lower lip. Joel moved away, sitting up straight and peeling the label off his beer.
‘Pretty thing like you, shouldn’t be spendin’ all night waitin’ on us,’ he said, almost to himself. You shook your head again, but he was closing off on you, you could see it in the way his shoulders were folding, the way his mouth was tugging down at the corners.
Without even considering it, operating almost entirely on instinct, you reached your hand out to rest on his bicep. You watched as his eyes drifted close, a long exhale through his nose. He grimaced, almost like you were hurting him, until he lifted his hand and held yours fast to him, wrapping his paw around you.
‘I really love spending time with Sarah,’ you said, just over a whisper, as he stared hard at the table. You could sense he was avoiding your gaze, and you wanted to say something to draw him to you, wanted to give him a little nugget of truth that he could take into himself, hold deep and quiet in his depths. ‘I love spending time with you,’ you said.
He raised his eyes to yours. His hand was so warm over yours, your cheeks so pink in the sleepless heat of the late evening. You saw his eyes fall to your lips and you slipped your hand from under his, reaching up to trace the contours of his jaw with your fingertips.
‘Baby…’ he whispered, ‘I been’ resistin’ you so long, don’t know if I can…’ and you pushed a finger to his lips. You didn’t want him to break whatever spell you were both suddenly under. Didn’t want him to take this from you both, whatever it was turning out to be.
‘Don’t argue,’ you instructed, quietly. With brows saddled, he nodded his head.
And he didn’t argue. Not when you moved your finger from his lips and traced it down over the hollow of his neck, over to his pulse where it thundered under your tough.
Didn’t argue when you leant forward, pressing your nose to his, giving him time to pull away, to move from your lips.
Didn’t argue when you pressed them to his, a little soft and quiet thing, earning you a wanting gasp from him, a prize you would hold in the cavity of your chest so long as your heart stayed beating.
Later, when you had gathered yourselves, when he had gazed at you and you had felt the want in him mixing with the regret, with the necessity of the un-having corrupting the want to take and take and take, you had simply gathered your books, tucking them quiet and neat into the bag at your feet. He didn’t argue with you about driving you home that night, suddenly quiet in a way that set your teeth on edge, and you felt an ache in your belly you couldn’t account for when he closed the door. You waited behind the trunk of the tree at the end of his driveway, counting the minutes he left the light on for you after you’d slipped from view, giving up when you got past 15.
--
You were unsettled. Joel hadn’t called for two weeks, and you were starting to worry that you’d ruined things, your silly little kiss bubbling corrosive at the base of your spine. You couldn’t help going over the whole evening again and again in your head.
You should have told him you preferred spending the nights at his house, that the way it smelt like play-dough and sometimes sawdust, sometimes pine, was so unique to the both of them that you felt your nerves settle the moment you stepped over the threshold. That the house was warm and quiet, that you could spread out your books and something essential to you, that in this space with them you felt more yourself than anywhere else on the planet, even locked away in your little studio apartment, even just you and your reflection in the bathroom mirror.
You wanted to tell him Sarah was funny, and smart, and kind, and being around her made you nostalgic for the childhood you never had but ached for, that you felt all that time with her she was giving you something precious and absent, something simple and something sweet. That there were nights you weren’t sure who was sitting who.
You wanted to tell him you didn’t expect anything from him, that it didn’t matter to you if nothing ever happened, if he regretted letting you kiss him, if it had just been that it was too awkward in the moment to say no. Just that you wanted to keep sitting for him, just that if all you got was a casual conversation at the end of the evening and an argument about driving home that would be enough for you, because it would have to be, and so you could make it so.
You begged off seeing Mick for the second Friday night in a row, wanting to be available in case Joel called. You felt silly but you could use the cash. Your textbooks were $400 a piece, and next semester you were taking three classes. Just feeding yourself was enough to stop your studies in their tracks.
Two things happened in the span of ten minutes. A knock at your door stirred you from your lecture notes, and your phone rang. By the time you had it in your hand you were holding Mick back from your face, your palm to his chest, as you craned your neck away from him to speak.
‘M’sorry, Sweetheart, it’s just…I know, it’s a Friday…’
‘It’s fine, Mr Miller,’ you said, ignoring the way Mick was making smoochy faces over your shoulder. ‘I don’t have any plans.’
When you got off the phone Mick was pouting again, and you sighed.
‘I thought I was your plans?’ he said, and you shrugged at him.
‘It’s good money for easy work, babe,’ you said, the nickname sitting heavy on your tongue.
‘I can give you money,’ he said, pulling you towards him by your belt loops and nipping at your jaw. You cringed away from him.
‘That would make me your whore, right?’ you said, and he grinned at you, wiggling his eyebrows.
‘Never seemed to bother you before…’ he said, and you bristled against him.
‘The fuck does that mean?’
“Oh, fuck me, babe, make me yours…” he imitated, his voice high in a general approximation of yours. You blushed, furiously. ‘You think good girls beg like little whores?’ he asked, and you knew he was kidding around, knew that he wasn’t smart enough to do it without outright insulting you, knew that you’d put up with this shit before so there was no reason why he wouldn’t assume he couldn’t get away with it now. You knew the way he spoke to you was basically your fault, and you couldn’t yell at him now that the precedent had been set. You felt yourself crumple, landing with a thump on the edge of your bed.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ he was saying, grinning at you like he’d won his prize. ‘You put the kid to bed, and I’ll come by and keep you happy ‘til Dad gets home.’
You hated the idea, the thought of Mick in that space you’d almost come to think of sacred making your stomach churn.
‘No,’ you said, and you watched as he arched his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You can’t come in…’
‘Say no more,’ he said, grinning again, and for whatever reason, you didn’t.
--
He arrived, just after 9 PM, already drunk. You winced as he parked his car in the driveway, right in Mr Miller’s spot, worried for a moment he was going to swipe the mailbox when he took the angle too fast. He skidded to a stop mere inches from Mr Miller’s garage door and you exhaled, realising you were bracing for the sound of splintering wood. He ambled over to where you stood on the front porch, tugging at your shirt sleeves in the cool night air.
‘Babe!’ he called, and you shushed him almost instantly. He was carrying a sixpack of beers, three of them already gone. His breath reeked and you wrinkled up your nose when he slung his arm over the back of your neck and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss.
‘This feels like high school,’ he said, and giggled.
‘This is my job, y’know,’ you corrected him, but he wasn’t hearing you, backing you up against the side of the house. You thumped into the brick, wind temporarily knocked from your lungs before he was on you, slipping his entire tongue into your ear in a way that made your skin crawl.
‘Easy…’ you said, and he ignored you, his hand not holding the beers rising up to paw at your breast over your shirt.
‘Mmm…such a tasty little slut,’ he said, and you closed your eyes. ‘Little naughty baby-sitter.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ you stage-whispered, not sure how well your voices wouldn’t carry over the breeze in Mr Miller’s cul-de-sac. He leant down, resting the beers on the front porch so that he could grope you with both hands.
He groaned as he rubbed his cock at your clothed centre. You moved your face to the side, letting your eyes slide closed again.
You tried to think of a romantic movie. Tried to remember some of the fragments of the romance novels your mother had kept stowed under the bed and that you snuck into the den to read to your giggling friends. Tried to imagine a different man, a stranger’s hands on your chest, a stranger’s fingers pinching at your nipples. Tried to imagine what it would feel like if they found the sweet spot, if they sent electric shocks into your belly, into your cunt. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the sound of Mick’s heavy breathing out of your mind, focusing instead on rough and calloused fingers, the scruff of a beard teasing along your skin. Heavy accent and sweet pine, a groaned little ‘Sweetheart…’ as he slipped your shirt up over your shoulders.
‘The fuck’s going on here?’ you heard a gruff voice as your eyes sprang open, pushing Mick from you hard enough that he stumbled, backwards, landing on the grass.
‘Mr Miller!’ you exclaimed, shame burning bright on your cheeks as you righted your clothes. ‘M’so sorry, he just dropped by…’ you started but Joel was striding up his driveway, as you realised with a new flash of guilt he’d had to park on the street.
‘Hey, man…’ Mick was saying, his hands up in front of his face. ‘Just checkin’ in on my girl…’
You cringed, this particular pet name always feeling more like ownership when it came from him.
Joel looked up at you, his brows saddled. ‘You OK, Sweetheart?’ he asked you, and you realised for the first time he wasn’t angry but concerned, his fists balled up like he was ready to spring to your defence.
‘It’s Mick,’ you explained, glancing down at him as he tried to climb to his feet, getting as far as his knees and settling there for a second to plan his next move. ‘He…he wanted to…’
‘Yeah, I saw what he wanted to,’ Joel huffed out, reaching down to pull Mick upright by the back of his shirt. ‘Saw the way you were bracing away from it too,’ he said, looking directly into Mick’s grinning face.
‘What else you see, old man?’ he asked, and Joel dropped him back onto his knees.
‘You got your keys?’ he asked him, and waiting for the younger man to root around in his pockets.
‘Don’t steal my ride,’ he said, handing them over and not noticing when Joel slipped them into his pocket.
‘M’going inside, and I’m gonna call you a taxi, and you’re getting in. She can drive your car back to you tomorrow mornin’…if she doesn’t decide to drive it off a cliff,’ he said, abandoning Mick on the front lawn and coming towards you, grabbing your wrist gentle but firm in his hand and pulling you inside. ‘C’mon, darlin’,’ he said, and you followed, almost entirely on autopilot.
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Miller,’ you started but he waved you away, placing a call for the taxi while keeping you fixed in your spot with his glare. When he was done, he rolled his shoulders, sighing.
‘You sit,’ he said, striding into the kitchen and emerging moments later with two glasses of sweet tea. You realised, as you lifted your hands to take your glass from him, that you were shivering.
‘I didn’t know he was going to do that,’ you said, and Joel shook his head. You felt the waves of disappointment rolling off him and you worried for a moment you might cry.
‘He always touch ya like that?’ he asked, palming at the back of his neck.
‘Like what?’ you asked, your cheeks burning again.
‘All…clumsy and…disrespectful,’ he said, quiet. He stared at the floor between you while you perched on the edge of the couch.
‘Well…’ you started, but you weren’t sure how you wanted to finish that sentence. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother to touch me at all, you thought.
Joel scoffed, his jaw squeezed tight. ‘Guys like that are all the same, Sweetheart, just…selfish. Even in the bedroom. No lady should be touched like she’s a piece of meat.’
You considered, for one crazy moment, if Joel wasn’t so much disappointed in you as he was in Mick’s prowess. Suddenly you had to stifle a giggle.
‘What’s so funny?’ Joel asked you, surprised.
‘Just…I mean, they all go to such fancy schools, get all that college for basically free…’ you started, trailing off when you saw him starting to smile. ‘He can’t even boil an egg, and I don’t mean mine,’ you said, and he laughed then, free and loud, and the sound of it made a little fizzle of joy spark up your spine.
This was fun, you realised, shitting on your terrible boyfriend with the most handsome single Dad you’d ever laid your eyes on. This was really, really fun.
‘So, I take it he don’t make you breakfast in the mornin’,’ Joel joked, and you snorted. ‘What you eat for breakfast, anyway?’ he asked, turning to you now, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You swallowed. ‘No, wait,’ he said, ‘let me guess.’ He pretended to look you up and down, his brow arching as he considered. ‘You’re not a waffles kinda girl,’ he said, thoughtfully. You grinned and shook your head. You’d never liked the sponginess. ‘But you’re too fun for plain old oatmeal,’ he said, and you felt a blush crawling across your chest. ‘You’re a pancake princess,’ he decided, finally. ‘Am I right?’
You pretended to consider it for a second before nodding happily at him. ‘Maple syrup and berries,’ you agreed.
‘Maple syrup and berries,’ he said, grinning in his victory. He paused, something passing between you. Suddenly he shifted forward, his knees just barely brushing yours. You found yourself mirroring him, leaning in enough that you had to put your hand out to steady you, landing it on the cushion only inches from his thigh. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek when he whispered in your ear, ‘tart…but a little bit of sweet for m’sweetheart.’
You felt heat scorch its way up your chest, reduced to kindling beside him.
‘Bet he don’t kiss ya like ya should be,’ he said, and you thought for a second of Mick, grinning and drunk out of his mind on the front lawn. You wondered if the taxi had come for him yet, and had absolutely no interest in going out to check on him.
‘Mr Miller…’ you whispered, and he groaned, then, his eyes rolling back in his head.
‘Please, baby, when you call me that…’ he trailed off, eyes blown wide and you felt, then, the thundering in your chest. From this distance you could see his racing pulse in his neck, the same pace as yours.
‘Mr Miller…’ you said, again, staring now at his lips. You wanted to reach out and just take a little nibble.
And he was on you, grasping the back of your head and bringing it down to him, crashing his lips into yours as you gasped, swallowing the echo down into his throat. His tongue, scorching hot, exploring your mouth as he teased it open, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheeks.
‘Thought about you…’ you said, without even thinking, and Joel pulled back a second to appraise you; your swollen lips, your doe-eyes gazing up at him.
‘Say that again,’ he mumbled.
‘When he’d take me, I’d think about you,’ you said, and you watched as his eyes fell shut, taking the moment to glance down at his heaving chest, the aching bulge between his legs. ‘Thought about your hands on me, Mr Miller, about your mouth.’
‘Fuck, Sweetheart…’ he said, almost as if it pained him, before his eyes snapped back open to gaze at you.
‘Kiss me?’ you asked, sweet as you could for him while you tried with both hands to hang on to the moment, to stay here in it with him. You would need to remember this, every corner of the room, every detail. Would spend nights reconstructing his face in your mind, the way he was looking at you now, wanting and red-cheeked, dark eyes and a hot little huff as your words landed their blows on him.
‘Canna touch you, baby?’ he asked, and you were nodding, pulling him towards you as he slid his hands over your waist. Threading your hands through his hair he brought you over him, straddling him on the couch as he stared up at you, brows arching high, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. You smiled at him, feeling like his prize, as you brought your hips down on him and watched his eyes ease shut, heard his breath stutter. He was big, you could feel it even as the seam of his jeans rubbed at your core. You could feel yourself aching for him, hot and pounding where you ground yourself down.
‘Fuck, Mr Miller…’ you gasped as you felt him push his cock up into you, his hands on your hips and pulling you down.
‘So beautiful, baby,’ he whispered, reaching up with one hand to cup your breast, squeezing the nipple between his fingers that, even through your shirt, shot lightning bolts to your cunt. You gasped, a high-pitched little sound you were sure you’d never made before, and he soaked it down into his skin, kept it held tight and precious in the core of him, to keep him warm on cold evenings.
You felt yourself shivering, even as his warm fingertips dropped to lift the hem of your tee and trace their way back up to your tits along the skin. His enormous hands almost completely captured it, and you felt small, then, and shy, but when you looked down into his warm, brown eyes you saw only safety there, only naked desire for your pleasure.
You let your hips roll, that building ache in your core. You’d only ever felt this alone, had never had another person bring it out of you, and you felt the sharp edges of it as you felt a shard of panic slice through your gut. No one had ever done this for you, before. You weren’t sure if your body would allow it, weren’t sure if you could let go enough to fall.
‘Hey…’ Joel said beneath you, his eyes roaming your face. ‘Relax, Sweetheart,’ he whispered, reaching his hand from your hip to your jaw, pulling you down to rest your forehead on his. ‘Just you n’me, baby,’ he whispered as you rocked on top of him. ‘You can take what you need,’ he promised. ‘I got you.’
‘Joel!’ you gasped, the shiver in your body now ratcheting up your spine, your thighs burning as you rolled your hips on his lap, his cock still tucked away in his jeans. ‘I don’t know if I…’
‘Sssh…’ he cooed, raising a thumb to your lips and slipping it between your teeth. You sucked instinctually, swirling your tongue over the tip and letting your eyes drift closed. ‘Just feel it, baby,’ he said, ‘don’t force it. Let it grow.’
Never in your life had you felt like this. You took his thumb between your teeth as you ground, the spark of fear in your belly engulfed by the roar of your desire. You could feel your hips stuttering, could hear yourself starting to pant.
‘Good girl…’ Joel encouraged, slipping his thumb from your mouth now and smearing it across your lips. ‘Right here for ya, baby,’ he said. ‘Wantchya to feel so good.’
You cried out, smacking your hand over your mouth to stifle your cries. He was going to kill you, and you would let him again and again, let him bring you back to life just to kill you this way all over again. You had no idea bodies were made to feel this good.
‘Oh!’ you gasped, all the warning you could muster as he grabbed your hips with both hands, slamming his bulge up into you as he pulled you down, the seam of his jeans rubbing hard into your clit. ‘Yes!’ you whispered, your body shuddering as you felt yourself crest, the pleasure roaring from your cunt to your chest, exploding out of your skin as you rolled, roiled, boiled on top of Mr Miller.
‘Jesus, there she is…’ he whispered, and you opened your eyes to gaze down at him, your breath still coming in gasps as he watched you, awe and desire on his face. ‘There she is,’ he said again, like a prayer, a benediction.
--
You woke slowly, the dappled light streaming in through the oak tree beside Joel’s window. It took you a moment to orient yourself, to remember that you were in his bed because he’d considered it too late for you to take yourself home, even if you had Mick’s car. Because the pleasure he’d wrung out of you on his couch had left you boneless, because the idea of ripping yourself from his smell, from his heat, was unthinkable in that moment.
You stretched, noting that the other side of the bed remained made, that he had spent the night on the couch. You remembered that you had wanted to ask him to stay, that the words had formed on your lips, and that in that moment you saw the regret on his face, the longing to tuck himself in beside you and pull you into his chest, let the weight of the night take him and you with him, but that he wouldn’t allow it, that he was holding back. You weren’t sure why, but you assumed out of decency, out of respect. Out of some vague employee-boss professionalism you would both cling to in an attempt to paper over the grasping maw of desire opening up between you.
You had wanted him, and you had denied him, allowed him to deny you. You rolled to your back in a frustrated huff, surrounded by the scent of him, of his cologne and the scent of his skin imbued in the sheets beneath you.
After a while you heard noises in the kitchen and you left your cocoon, pulling your clothes on and padding down the stairs constructing a cover story for Sarah as to why you were still there. When you rounded the corner, though, you saw only Joel –in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, standing at the stove.
‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said casually, as if you hadn’t come on his lap less than twelve hours before, ‘Sarah’s headed off to soccer practice, so you and me’ll have to take care of all these.’
He gestured over his shoulder to the kitchen table, where a stack of cooling pancakes stood proud. You felt a shiver of shock run though you at the sight of them, turning to Joel with the curl of tears tickling the back of your eyes. ‘No berries, sorry darlin’,’ he said, without looking up. ‘But we got enough syrup to make it up to ya, I hope.’
You weren’t sure anyone had ever done anything like this for you. You wanted to sob, wanted to walk over to the table and pick up the pancakes in your fists and mash them into your skin, wanted to drown them in syrup and eat until your belly distended, wanted to force feed them into Joel. Instead, you stepped forward, your arms opening all of their own accord, wrapping yourself around his back like a Koala. He huffed out a surprised laugh, growing serious when he turned you in his arms to face him, seeing the gathering tears at your waterline.
‘Hey, what’s this?’ he asked, and you grinned, watery, up at him.
‘No-one has ever…’ you started, catching your words before they spilled too much of the truth. Understanding passed over Joel’s face.
‘Oh, my sweet girl…’ he said, and you glowed for a minute, the words reaching down into your chest and igniting something long extinguished.
He leaned down towards you, pressed his nose to yours, his forehead resting gently on yours. You inhaled him, his scent and the sweet smell of the pancakes on the stove, tried to imprint the memory deep in your DNA.
‘What the fuck is this?’ an angry voice sounded from behind you, and you snapped away from Joel, taking several steps back. Mick, still in his same clothes from the night before, stood furious in Joel’s kitchen.
‘The fuck, you let yourself in?’ Joel asked, matching Mick’s anger with his own. ‘This is a private residence, man.’
‘That’s my girlfriend, man,’ Mick spat, his face twisting into an ugly mask you weren’t sure you’d ever noticed on him before. ‘The fuck you doing feeling her up? You stealin’ my car and my girl?’
‘Mick…’ you started but he was ignoring you, advancing on Joel. You stepped towards him, hands up to placate, but Joel was suddenly beside you, tucking you behind him and shielding you with his broad chest.
‘Back up, buddy,’ Joel said, a whispered warning.
‘Me, back up?’ Mick seethed, about to go on before Joel interrupted him.
‘Yeah, you back up. You need to sit your arse down and learn yourself somethin’,’ he said, advancing on Mick so that the younger man took several steps backwards, heading towards the kitchen table. You wondered if anyone had ever actually stood up to him, if usually his wealth was enough to make people cower. He backed into a kitchen chair, slamming down into it with a thud as he stared up at Joel, the older man red faced and pointing a finger at his chest. ‘You think that little display last night was any way to treat a woman?’ he grit out. You watched as Mick shook his head no. ‘You think she enjoyed that, being pawed at in the dark like a fuckin’ street walker?’ he asked.
‘She looked pretty whorish a few seconds ago,’ Mick responded, petulant and stupid. You could see by the way Joel braced his shoulders, his back expanding in resplendent fury, that Mick had made the wrong fucking choice.
‘Ya little shit,’ Joel said, stepping back from Mick and towards you. He held his arm to you, beckoning you into his chest and you went to him, tucking yourself against his side.
‘You have a woman like this, you fuckin’ cherish her,’ Joel muttered, tracing his fingertips along your side and making you shiver. ‘Look at these pretty little tits,’ he said, moving to cup them as you blushed, tucking your face into his neck. You heard Mick’s sharp intake of breath, mirroring your own as Joel rolled your nipples through your shirt. ‘The way you were grabbin’ at ‘em last night, you think that felt good? You make her groan like this?’ he asked, applying just the right amount of pressure on the sensitive nubs, eliciting a moan from you, unbidden.
‘Listen, man, this is…’ Mick started but Joel cut him off with just a look, stern and disapproving, before his face shifted back to adoration when he turned to you.
‘Let’s show him, baby?’ he asked, his brows saddled high. You knew you were safe with him, that at any moment you could call it off, but you wanted this. You wanted Mick to see what Joel could do to you, the sounds you could make. Wanted him to feel small and insignificant in the presence of a real man, of real pleasure. Wanting him to see what money couldn’t buy.
You nodded your head at Joel and watched as the grin bloomed over his face. ‘M’good girl,’ he said, quiet enough that only you could hear it, and you felt the bolt of want shoot down into your core. Your cunt already aching, already dripping for him.
‘Show me where,’ he said, stepping back as you surveyed the space. You nodded towards the kitchen island, the bench just above your hip height. Joel nodded, lifting you up easily to perch on the edge, your body facing Mick as he sat, frozen, at the table in front of you.
‘Slip these off, baby,’ Joel said, tugging at your sweatpants and you lifted your hips as he slipped them, your panties along with them, out from underneath you. The granite countertop cold on the top of your thighs you revelled in the sensation of it, the hard, cold surface so different to Joel’s hot body as he hovered at your side.
‘Show him,’ he said, tapping you on the knee. You spread your legs, hooking one thigh over the edge of the counter and the other widening out to your side, your cunt unfolding before the two men in front of you. You watched as Mick’s face turned pink, sweat appearing on his brow. You turned to look at Joel, the hunger in his eyes as he devoured every inch of your skin. He reached over, running his fingertips over the inside of your thigh, moving closer to you, leaning over your body to whisper into your ear.
‘You’re dripping onto my countertop, baby,’ he said, and you could hear the glee in it, the wanting.
‘For you, Joel,’ you clarified. ‘Not him.’
‘Nah, never for him, I reckon,’ Joel agreed, his fingers slipping further towards your slit. You felt totally exposed and wanton, whorish, as Mick had put it, and your cunt was pulsing, aching from the desire of it. You felt like a priceless piece of art admired in a big city museum, like a stripper opening up her legs for hoards of braying men, like a girlfriend letting her disappointing boyfriend know in no uncertain terms he would no longer neglect her. You felt power coursing through your veins and into your cunt, your slick pooling on the top of your thighs as the most beautiful man you had ever seen stood beside you and teased the pleasure from every nerve.
‘Fuck…’ you whimpered as Joel’s fingers landed light and dexterous on your clit, the little bundle of nerves sending the pleasure roaring through your core and into your chest. You bucked your hips, nearly slipping from the countertop, Joel coming forward again to brace you against his chest.
‘God, look how much she wants it,’ Joel said over your head to Mick. ‘Bet you’ve never made her jump like that.’ You opened your eyes, not even having realised they’d closed, to watch Mick swallow hard and heavy. You beamed back at Joel, letting the pride in his face radiate warmth down upon you.
‘So good f’me, so good t’me,’ he said, spreading your lips apart with his fingers and pushing a fingertip inside. You gasped, shock on your face at the intensity of the need for him burning where he touched.
‘Please…’ you whimpered, just wanting more and just wanting him to never stop, just wanting him to reach inside you, to wring the pleasure out of you, to make you come so hard you forgot your own name.
‘Sshh…’ he cooed to you, ‘your boyfriend needs to concentrate so he can learn.’
You emitted a squeal of frustration, bucking your hips on his hand to try and draw him in, earning you only a chuckle from Joel.
‘Ok baby, m’sorry. Just like teasin’ ya,’ he grinned at you, before sliding two fat, rough fingers hard into your cunt.
For a second you lost touch with reality, your head flying back to the ceiling as sensations strong enough to take your breath roared from your cunt. The stretch was delicious, the heel of Joel’s hand rubbing hard at your clit as his fingers reached deep inside you, opening you up for him, your slick gathering in his palm.
‘Look how wet she gets,’ Joel noted, over his shoulder to Mick. ‘Such a shiny little cunt when she’s drippin’ like this. You ever work her up like this?’
You heard Mick grunt, a pleading note of displeasure, and you sighed as Joel started pumping, stoking the fire in your cunt that threatened to eviscerate you and everyone within the vicinity.
‘Joel!’ you gasped, rolling your hips again, trying to shove him deeper into your greedy little cunt as it grasped at him.
‘Could lick ‘er up, whatchyu reckon?’ Joel asked, already getting down on his knees as you groaned, certain now he was going to send you into the stratosphere. ‘Can I, baby?’ he asked, and you nodded, frantic, unable to form words.
‘Bet she tastes sweet,’ Joel said to Mick, who was inching closer in his chair, peering over Joel’s shoulder as your cunt swallowed his thick fingers. ‘Like watermelon on a hot summer day. You ever taste her, Mick?’ he asked. You watched as the shame bloomed over Mick’s face. Joel scoffed. ‘Course not, ya fuckin piss weak little prick,’ he spat before turning, diving in to lick a fat stripe at your folds, settling in to lap at your clit as his fingers worked you.
You screamed, sucking in huge lung-fulls of breath just to let them keen out of you, your hips slamming shut on Joel’s head as he sucked at you, every nerve ending screaming now as you felt the blooming heat of release.
‘Oh, he’s gonna make me…’ you said to Mick over Joel’s shoulder, watching you with owlish eyes.
‘Don’t talk to him,’ Joel admonished you, pulling your focus down to him as he perched between your legs, ‘you talk to me,’ he said.
‘Sorry, Mr Miller,’ you said, watching as his eyes rolled shut, a shiver passing over his shoulders.
‘Be the death of me…’ he muttered, returning his attentions to your pulsing cunt. You gripped his hair, rolling your hips on his face and rocking into him, chasing the release now gathering at the base of your spine.
‘Jesus…oh, fuck…’ you cried, trying desperately to warn him, your eyes slamming shut only to open in shock as he found new ways to wring the pleasure from you.
Joel worked you up, his tongue never fatiguing, setting up the perfect rhythm to hold you just on the edge. You could feel your sweat pooling on your skin, the heat in your cunt spreading down your legs, the pull of the knot in your belly.
To your utter dismay Joel stopped, lifting his face to address Mick at his shoulder. ‘You ever make her squirm like this?’ he asked, and you cried for him, then, scrabbling to grip his shoulders, his chin, to push him back to your desperate cunt. He laughed, nipping at your fingertips as they passed by. ‘Look at her graspin’ for me. You seein’ this? This is what real pleasure looks like.’
You cracked open an eye, the room spinning around you as you fought to regain control of your limbs. You saw the look of shame embedded deep into Mick’s face now, the sight of it somehow intensifying your pleasure, the building pressure in your cunt.
‘Fuck me,’ you gasped, turning your attention back to Joel, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘Show him how to fuck,’ you groaned, pushing off the countertop and spinning up onto your toes, laying chest down on the granite now hot to the touch from your writhing body on top of it. You spread your legs a little, knowing that your puffy little cunt lips would be revealed to them both, and you heard them both groan, Joel’s chesty moan full of grit, Mick’s high pitched and brimming with regret.
‘Don’t do this, man…’ he pleaded, and you heard Joel’s little scoff.
‘That’s the thing, buddy, the lady always gets what she wants.’
You felt him come to stand behind you, heard the rustle of his sweats as he pulled his cock over the waistband. It took everything in you not to turn and admire it, knowing in that moment you would have plenty of opportunity.
‘Fuck, she’s got me weepin’,’ Joel said, and you heard the unmistakable sound of skin on skin as he wrapped his hand around himself and tugged. ‘Got me harder than a railroad spike, this little cunt…’ he muttered. You whined, swivelling your hips to try and entice him, begging him to move faster as the walls of your cunt fluttered for him. You heard him sigh, a happy little sound. ‘Ok, baby, I’m here,’ he said, running a hand up your spine to hold you gentle and firm at the back of your neck, the head of his cock nudging at your cunt. ‘Gotta be gentle with my sweet little pussy,’ he said to you, leaning over you to place a chaste kiss in the cup of your shoulder blade.
‘Please, let him see it stretch me,’ you said, and you felt Joel shudder, notching himself at your entrance.
‘Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll chain him up in the basement, make him watch me fuck you every day,’ he muttered, pushing gently at first, the tip enough to make you gasp.
He was big, you realised. All of this time working you up he’d been leading to his moment, preparing to tease you open. ‘Oh, shit…’ you gasped as he pushed.
‘You ok, baby?’ he asked, pausing until you nodded, frantic, hands gripping at the edge of the counter for purchase as you pushed back into him, sliding in a few extra inches, as Joel moaned.
You were dimly aware that Mick was moving, coming to stand in front of you, a look of sorrow and unabashed heat on his face.
‘Please, can I?’ he asked, rubbing himself through his pants and you swatted him away.
‘No, fuck you,’ you said, emboldened by Joel’s desire for you, by his cock currently splitting your folds. ‘You never get this pussy again,’ you hissed at him, and you felt a bloom of pride at the look of hurt crossing his face just as Joel cheered from behind you.
‘That’s my beautiful girl!’ he gasped, bringing a finger to your clit and rubbing tight circles into it, making you gasp as you let your head fall, resting on the countertop. ‘So good f’me.’
The burn in your cunt from the way he stretched you abated, the pleasure Joel was giving you from your clit causing more slick to gather, your cunt grasping him again, your walls fluttering as you felt the ache turn to sweet pleasure, to a blooming rapture.
You lost touch with the ground, Joel’s harsh thrusts pushing you further up the counter, completely at his mercy as your legs hung useless beneath you, hands braced against the granite to give him purchase. In this moment, spread out on his cock, your cunt open and dripping for him, the pleasure ripping the words from your brain, gasps racking your throat, you felt completely under Joel’s spell, his touch, his heat. Mind-numb, thoroughly fucked out, gripped in this moment between the build up and the threshold of release.
‘Oh, you’re gonna make me…’ you warned but Joel had you, was there already with you.
‘I know, baby, I know,’ he grunted between thrusts. ‘Can feel it, can feel that sweet little cunt grippin’ me.’
You cried out, nodding your head furiously, entirely at his mercy now. ‘Yes, yes…Joel, it’s gonna…’
‘Let it go, baby,’ he moaned, and you felt none of the panic, none of the terror at your impending release, wrapped up safe in Joel’s body, in his groans of rapture, in the pull of the knot as it threatened to snap entirely.
‘Watch me make her come,’ he spat out over your head, and you were only dimly aware of what he was saying as your release sped towards you.
You writhed, your breath stolen from you by the roar of the wildfire across your chest. The push of your orgasm slipping you under, crashing your body into the shore, rolling and quaking underneath it as indescribable lust coursed through your veins.
‘Oh, fuck, there she goes,’ Joel spluttered, his hips stuttering as he started to deepen his thrusts. ‘Gonna fill up ya girl,’ he grit out, his final movements sloppy and desperate as he approached the edge.
‘Do it, baby,’ you whimpered beneath him, words finally able to escape the cage of your throat. ‘Need you.’
He did, then, his come exploding into you and washing you clean, cleansing you of Mick, of all your disappointments, of all your fears. You looked back over your shoulder at him as he crested, his eyebrows saddled and his eyes trained on you, a look of reverence and hunger, of sweet shock, as though he couldn’t believe how good it felt either, as if everything for him was also slotting into place, as if he knew in this moment he would never let anyone separate you, would never let anyone take you from his side, that in his moment you were his just as much as he was yours, that this was a forging of something solid and essential, something vital and something precious, something that was just for you.
--
You didn’t remember Mick leaving. Didn’t care to say goodbye.
Joel had peeled you off the counter and carried you upstairs, drawn you a bath and lowered you gently into the water, sat beside you and washed your body as you lulled in and out of a light sleep.
Drying you off he wrapped you up in his clothes, swamping you in cotton and his scent, before promising to make you a fresh batch of pancakes. You hadn’t let him, whimpering when he tried to leave your side, pulling him down beside you on the bed and wrapping his arms around you.
Later you would figure out lunch, and then Sarah, and then the rest of your lives. For now, you had each other, and cool sheets, and the light patter of rain as a welcome cool breeze blew new life over the garden beneath Joel’s window.
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𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃
𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔
take your time to use your intuition to choose the pile that will best resonate with you. lastly, please don't be afraid to say if the message resonated or not; it helps me in determining if my interpretations are correct or not, and i appreciate any sort of feedback - even if it's "bad".
good luck to you, reader ✨
𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈
𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 ⟢
“Telepathy” by BTS “Not My Nigga” by KenTheMan “Sparks Will Fly” by J. Cole (feat. Jhene Aiko)
𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 ⟢⟢
The Wheel of Fortune ⤸, Seven of Coins ⤸, Page of Wands, Six of Coins, Justice ⤸, Queen of Coins, King of Coins ⤸, Queen of Cups
𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟢⟢
Those connected to pile one could find it hard to connect with others because it could feel as if no matter how hard you try you always end up being “let down”. You might be described as what’s called a “late bloomer” when it comes to things related to socialization. Some of you may have experienced literal delays in development in that you may have had a speech impediment or been nonverbal for a length of time, but clothes of you - the vast majority of you - may have just felt like you were delayed when it came to figuring out how to make friends or how to start dating. You might’ve tried your hardest to do so the way you knew how, but it’s like somehow for some reason nothing ever took off, and you never felt like you had the type of relationships “depicted in the movies”.
There’s a strong need to acknowledge that those connected to this pile did (and do) try their hardest when it comes to trying to form connections. You had a period of time (or you may still be in that time) where your mindset was to try to be as excited about making friends and forming relationships as possible. You might’ve gone into things with an open heart ready to show everyone how good of a friend you can be and how willing you are to discuss things with people and to give of yourself not only emotionally but also materially for some of you, but in being so excited (and in some instances blindly naïve) it’s like only wolves saw your want for friendship and, in turn, took advantage of that excitement only to leave you feeling worse off than you did before.
It’s hard for you to connect with others because prior experiences have left you feeling as if everytime you even try to develop them it just ends with you being burned in the end. There’s a call for you to “keep going” and to “keep trying” even if it feels futile right now, but there’s also a call to analyze the people coming to you for friendship before accepting it. Continue approaching friendships with that excitement and want to help others as they help you, but maybe focus more on the emotional side of things as opposed to the material or even the visual. “Movies aren’t all what they’re cracked up to be” comes to mind. There’s a call to not over invest in others at the expense of yourself or in hopes of drawing people to you but to instead allow your own light and personality to shine as a way to bring true friends in. Cher Lloyd’s “Love Me for Me” comes to mind, so it could be important to listen to.
Overall, there’s a call for you to transition from being the Queen of Coins to being the Queen of Cups. You can’t heal and invest into everyone and bring about true friendships and relationships trying to appeal to people’s senses and material drive; you have to appeal emotionally by showing who you are as a person even without “all the things money could buy”. There’s a call for you to remain open to reaching out and trying to approach people to create connections and to not fall for cutting yourself off because “there’s no point anyways” because there is a point – to allow yourself to have these emotional connections to others to improve (and prove) a part of your humanity. Humans are social creatures, and you deserve to have that pull for social interaction fulfilled.
𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⟢
11:11, “blowing bubble gum hearts”, heart shaped lollipops, glass tuning fork, the little mermaid, ring boxes, frilly pink and purple jewelry boxes, clams/oysters, tiffany blue, radishes, “glass half full”
𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈
𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 ⟢
“Pretty Girl Rock” by Keri Hilson “Nightmares” by The Boyz “Harder to Breathe” by Maroon 5
𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 ⟢⟢
Ten of Swords, King of Swords, Knight of Coins, Two of Coins, Seven of Swords, Four of Cups, The Sun, The Tower
𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟢⟢
Those of pile two may have recently cut off a group of friends or “people” and could be feeling hurt by it. It could be that you knew it was for the right reasons, but “that didn’t make it any less hard to do”. The idea of a “beautiful tragedy” comes to mind when it comes to how you connect with others; some of you could be prone to “trauma bonding” where you end up in relationships with those who abuse you or treat you terribly. The idea that you “know better” or “know that [you] deserve better” also comes to mind, but it could feel as if you just keep slipping into these kinds of connections. You could be currently trying to figure out how to keep this cycle from continuing. You could be prone to getting into “nightmarish” relationships with people. You could find it hard to connect with people because of these past experiences.
Those in this pile could currently be transitioning to a mindset where you believe it’s easier to stay away from connection (specifically friend groups) because every time you just end up “losing [your] mind” or “[your] sanity”. You could be trying to be more rational or attach to people who are similar in education and ways of thinking instead of connecting to people emotionally. With that, it doesn’t seem that you’re keeping away form connections completely, but you’re approaching them slowly and with caution and as a result your issue could actually be that you find it hard to figure out how to “feel safe enough” to move forward in connections past just thinking alike or thinking the connection makes sense to form. It could also be that you’re trying to figure out how to prioritize yourself in connections because you’re realizing you can’t keep hurting yourself or “setting yourself on fire” in an attempt to help others.
Ultimately, this pile struggles with having connections with people as a result of always being the “butt of the joke” or being the target of bullying and other forms of abuse. You may have been lied to and told that you’re “boring” or “uninteresting”; some of you could’ve been in a Mean Girls or Heathers type friend group where you were always left out or planned against. With The Sun’s presence it’s important to note that you’re none of the things people told you that you were; you’re not boring or uninteresting or “too quiet” or anything like that. You are worthy of having connections just like everyone else wants, and the advice for this pile seems to be to not close yourself off as a result of bad experiences, but instead to strategize on how to approach them differently in a way that still keeps you feeling safe and protected.
I said earlier that those who chose this pile may still be trying to form new connections, but they’re focusing more on intellectual things they have in common with others as opposed to emotional ways they connect. There’s advice to slowly but surely open up emotionally in your attempt to form new connections. “Show who you really are” and “This Is Me” from Camp Rock comes to mind. The first step in having better relationships comes from the realization you’ve had recently and the walk away from former bad groups; “it can only go up from here”. You very likely are on the right path in your new approach. It's just that “little modifications” are needed, so you can express your true self “in all its glory” and not just intellectually.
𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⟢
the number 3 and 5, coconut bras, broccoli, carrots, heart shaped ring boxes, donald/daffy/daisy duck, win, when, wen, hourglasses, butterflies, rainbows
𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐈𝐈
𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 ⟢
“The Way You Make Me Feel” by Michael Jackson “Big Girl (You Are Beautiful)” by Mika “Finesse (Remix)” by Bruno Mars (feat. Cardi B)
𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 ⟢⟢
Queen of Swords, The Lovers, Nine of Coins, Ten of Cups, Ten of Coins ⤸, The Star, Page of Cups, Knight of Cups, The Magician
𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟢⟢
Those of pile three could be an outspoken bunch; at the very least, you are someone who stands on your own principles even if you stand alone. You could be seen as someone who is comfortable being alone or standing out solo although this doesn’t mean you have no friends at all. Queen of Swords in the deck being used is represented by Circe, the Greek goddess of illusion and necromancy, who is especially known for her tendency to turn men with bad intentions into swine. With this in mind, pile three may specifically be asking why they find it hard to connect with men - romantically and/or platonically. You could feel as if you get along with women just fine, but when it comes to men it’s like you know nothing or have no experience or you never find well intentioned men; the latter explanation is what will be most likely for most choosing this pile, and for those who have issues with developing connections with women also it could be that the attention you receive from men makes women view you a certain way that leaves them feeling “weary”.
Although you may want to develop deep connections with people it could be that people see you as “too” high maintenance - even if you may not actually be. It could also be that people see you as someone who is on a pedestal, and as a result they get way more caught up in the idea of being in a relationship with you as opposed to actually caring about you as a person – as a human being. People could feel as if you’ve “got it made” and even believe you already have a hearty amount of people you’re friends with, so they could stay away as a result of self-doubting beliefs of “they already have a lot going on and they probably have a ton of friends, so why would they want to be friends with me?”. People could feel as if you’d be the type of person to flake on others easily because of how busy and “on your own” you are. It mainly seems to be that people’s assumptions of how you are cloud their want to actually approach you to see who you really are.
With The Star’s presence, those of you who chose this pile are encouraged to stay hopeful when it comes to the idea of you developing relationships with others. Traditionally, The Star depicts a woman who is half in a body of water and half on land; she is shown to be nourishing the ground with the water, and you could be encouraged to be doing the same but instead of land it’s people. You could be called to make the first move when it comes to trying to develop connections. This may sound scary, but the quotes “you miss every shot you don’t take” and “the worst they can say is no” comes to mind. It is also the case that the more often you practice approaching people and talking to them, then the more confident you will become, and eventually you will develop the connections you have been looking for. Ultimately, this pile is being encouraged to take the steps to initiate the connections you want to have with others. “Stop waiting on others”.
𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⟢
333, hair in a high ponytail, the colors black, blue, pink, and green, ballet, black swan, white tutus, black pointe shoes, silver glitter, aphrodite, circe, gold, shells, swine/pigs, wicked
𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐕
𝐒𝐡𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 ⟢
“Top Down” by Leikeli47 “Cabinet Battle 3 (Demo)” from the Hamilton Mixtape “Stole the Show” by Kygo (feat. Parson James)
𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 ⟢⟢
Page of Coins ⤸, Six of Swords, Two of Wands, Nine of Swords, Six of Wands, Eight of Coins ⤸, Judgment, Ace of Coins, Ten of Coins, Two of Swords, The Devil, Eight of Cups
𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟢⟢
Those who chose this pile may feel unmotivated when it comes to figuring out how to create new connections and maintain old ones. You could have a tendency to just let friendships and other types of relationships just “fizzle out”. You may have someone you text with everyday, and then one week you miss a day; the next week you miss two days, and before the end of the month you haven’t replied to them at all and, therefore, you just don’t talk to that person anymore. When it comes to connections you could operate as the type of person who expects everyone else to reach out to you, but you rarely reach out to others. You could have a mindset of “if people care about me, then they’ll reach out, but if they don’t, then that’s fine too”. Although this mindset may work for you sometimes, it could also unconsciously aid in making you isolated. With Six of Swords and Two of Wands, you could also be someone who is always “on the run” or “on the go”; you could have a lot of things going on in your personal life that prevent you from putting effort into connections the way others expect or want you to.
There’s a feeling that your prioritizations may be a little “out of whack” or “out of balance”. At this current moment in time you could be hyper focused on receiving recognition in some way. It’s like you want and crave to be seen and noticed; you want to receive a lot of accolades and awards, and you want to feel materially abundant – personally and in the eyes of others, but it’s like the way you’re executing wanting these things is “falling flat” or short of what you envision (or even what you could achieve). For example, you could be working multiple types of jobs; you go to school in the morning, and then you have an internship directly after in the afternoons, but you also have a retail job on the weekends, and you have an online side hustle. Technically, you’re in a lot of areas, and you may be working hard, but your solo focus on work and attention actually hinders you from being able to produce great work and making true connections. It’s like the idea of “having too many eggs in too many baskets”. Of course, a wide array of choices is needed, but you have too much to choose from that you can’t put your best work forward in any of them. There’s a call to think about gaining these things you want in a way that includes longevity; “you can’t only think of the present”.
Advice for this pile would include cutting down on some of your obligations if possible, or at the very least finding a more sustainable way to do everything. Working to the point you have no time for yourself or others obviously can not create an environment where you’re able to have better connections with others. There’s a need to put in the same amount of effort you have for work and related opportunities into creating and maintaining connections. You have to figure out how to not pick up someone else’s shift at the expense of missing out on another outing with friends or how to ask for help on a project which would cut down the time you need to spend on it, so you can make time to go to a social outing instead of trying to do the whole project solo and becoming a type of hermit. Additionally, there’s a call to reach out to those you already have connections with more than you do right now. Connections are a two-way street, and “the phone works both ways” comes through. Overall, there’s a need to restructure your priorities if you want to have better connections with people.
𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⟢
666, (get) out, witch’s hat, witch’s brew, wicked, summer bag(s), striped bags, honey, baklava, sail, the bahamas, yellow and turquoise flags, money, triangles, overworking
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older boyfriend wade wilson headcanons || suggestion by anonymous
pairing: wade wilson (deadpool) x genderneutral!reader
author note: let me know if you guys want me to make this into an actual fic!! also would love to make more headcanons in the future featuring logan or wade so please feel free to drop me an ask!
wade’s protective streak is amplified by the age gap. he knows you’re young and still figuring life out, so he’s hyper-aware of anything or anyone that might cause you stress. whether it’s a professor being unfair or a creep at a party, wade’s ready to swoop in. “do you want me to talk to them? or, y’know, scare the crap out of them? either works.”
wade’s surprisingly good at helping you study—mostly because he makes it fun. he’ll quiz you with ridiculous impressions, draw crude diagrams that somehow make sense, or turn your flashcards into a card game. if you’re struggling with a tough class, he’s your biggest cheerleader, reminding you of how smart you are even when you doubt yourself.
wade can’t stand seeing you stressed about money, especially when you’re juggling work and school. he’ll casually slip extra cash into your wallet or “accidentally” order way too much takeout so you have leftovers for days. if you protest, he brushes it off. “relax, baby, i’m just investing in my future sugar parent.”
wade constantly jokes about the age gap, calling himself a “cradle robber” or making exaggerated comments about how “back in his day,” things were different. it’s all in good fun, though, and he loves how your younger energy keeps him on his toes. “you’re like my very own personal time machine, babe. you make me feel young again. except for my knees—those still hate me.”
despite his humor, wade sometimes wrestles with insecurity about the age difference. he worries he’s too damaged or experienced for you and questions whether he’s holding you back. he doesn’t voice it often, but it’s clear in the way he sometimes pulls away or gets quiet when he sees you thriving in your college world.
wade is your rock during stressful times. when finals season rolls around, he’s there to remind you to take breaks, eat, and sleep. he might even bribe you with snacks or cuddles to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. “you can’t ace that exam if you’re running on fumes, babe. now eat this chimichanga before i cry.”
wade loves whisking you away from the monotony of college life for spontaneous dates. whether it’s midnight runs to a 24-hour diner or an impromptu road trip, he makes sure you’re not missing out on fun just because you’re busy with school.
while wade doesn’t want to overstep, he occasionally drops bits of wisdom from his own life experiences. if you’re struggling with a decision or feeling lost, he’s there to listen and gently nudge you in the right direction. “look , i’ve made enough dumb choices for the both of us. let me save you some trouble, okay?”
wade tries not to let it show, but he sometimes feels a little insecure about your college friends, especially if they’re closer to your age. he won’t stop you from hanging out with them, but he might throw in a sarcastic comment or two. “sure, go hang with your study group. but if any of them so much as *looks* at you funny, i’m calling in reinforcements. and by reinforcements, i mean me.”
wade tries to keep you at arm’s length sometimes, convinced that you deserve someone less complicated, someone who hasn’t been through what he has. but the more he tries to push you away, the more he finds himself drawn back to you. you have a way of breaking down his walls, and it terrifies him—because he wants you, but he also wants to protect you from him.
wade makes an effort to understand your college life, even if it’s wildly different from his world. he’ll attend your events, help with projects, and even try to keep up with your academic lingo (though it usually ends in a joke). “So, gpa stands for ‘great partner award,’ right? because you definitely deserve that.”
wade is constantly hyping you up, especially when you feel overwhelmed or unsure of yourself. “you’re the smartest, most badass person i know, and i know me. you’ve got this, kiddo.”
when you graduate, wade is your loudest, proudest supporter. he makes a huge deal out of it, throwing an over-the-top celebration just for you. “you did it, smarty-pants! now, can we frame your degree and put it in the bathroom? best reading material ever.”
despite his doubts and insecurities, wade’s love for you is clear in everything he does. from the way he kisses your forehead when you’re stressed to the ridiculous lengths he’ll go to make you smile, he’s all in—even if he sometimes worries he doesn’t deserve to be.
#wade wilson x reader#wade wilson fanfic#wade wilson#wade winston wilson#deadpool x reader#deadpool fanfiction#deadpool#deadpool & wolverine#my work#my writing#my fanfiction
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Since drop-out I've tried to learn how to draw things by hand in a way that feels organic. I'd rather read and draw comics with objects that are somewhat anatomically incorrect over comics with traced background models. I wanted to make cartoons growing up because they express things we don't get to see in real life, huge emotions and interpretations and misunderstandings of reality and parallels that could only be drawn by the act of simplification and exaggeration. What is the point of tracing a background? Just to get it done? Why not just type a written novel at that point? Why bother when it has no personality or joie de vivre in it? Why waste my time? That's how I feel about it. I like trying to figure out how to simplify things, I like drawing those impossible perspectives. Also organic characters tend to look really weird and out of place when you trace the objects around them and not them--
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#I actually wanted to take a break from cr fanarts#but nothing was working and I missed BH so much I decided to draw them#Here some over polished doodles#Tried to figure out how I want to draw them#buuuut#I was doing Dorian and Orym last and you can see I gave up there#Really liking Imogen tho!#bells hells#cr3#critical role#critical role fanart#Fanart#art#I also meant to draw Littel Mister but no-#Maybe I'll finish him later and put in reblogs
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Bingqiu they could never ever make me hate you
#ARGHHHH BINGQIUUUU SAVE ME BINGQIU RAAAAAAH#THEY MAKE ME SO HAPPY#I WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY FOREVER AND EVER#Had to draw bingqiu fluff bc it's good for the soul#THEY LOVE EACHOTHER SOOOO MUCHHH#I think they deserve all the post canon fluff and cuddles and cutsie storylines ever guys#idk if u guys can tell but I rlly like bingqiu#svsss#scumbag system#scum villian self saving system#the scum villain's self saving system#mxtx#luo binghe#shen qingqiu#bingqiu#Skipsart#tried out a new colouring style for the haor n I rlly liked it :]#guys my system crashed before I cleaned up the drawing so I'm sorry if the lines look unclean#<- I literally just coloured in the sketch#that one meme of the emo werewolf falling to his knees and ripping his shirt off#that's what I feel about them#the day I figure out how to draw hands I will be UNSTOPPABLE
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POV they caught you chasing cats in the red keep
#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#valyrianscrolls#myrcella baratheon#tommen baratheon#my art#last art of the year n it’s them <3 very on brand#just thot the description of myrc in ble was cute n I wanted 2 draw it 💙#pretty as a doll in blue satin so true 💙#that stag’s supposed to be embroidered in pearls cut I couldn’t figure out how to draw it. use your imagination#black pearls ofc#tried 2 post this n it got sent to the void if you see two of it that’s why. hopefully not tho
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You're the sunflower/I think your love would be too much
#WOO FINALLY DONE#considered doing a second part with hanahaki riku buuuut. i got a car journey in an hour or so and im impatient#so doing it later means not at all#but anyway!!! had fun w him#still tryna figure out how to draw sora ill prob redraw this when i figure it out#rearranged the heart station more toward the redesigned one but then didnt rlly follow thru cus i wanted both riku and kairi on it LMAO#also i think i drew them too small for this to come across but my thought process was “sora with lots of freckles = sunflower center bit”#and obvi the station of awakening as well#was gonna be kh2 sora but hnnng his design is. so much#ambitious#i think “your love would be too much” works for every version of soriku though so its okay#soriku#kingdom hearts#soriku endgame actually#kh sora#kingdom hearts sora#sora kingdom hearts#riku kingdom hearts#bev draws#beverly says stuff#this happened cus 2 nights ago i satr up in bed and said THIS SONG IS SO SORIKU CODED#and then i wanted to make the sunflowers behind him look like stained glass#but i didnt know how & figured putting a station there would give a similar effect#regardless! sora looks kinda goofy in the face but im p happy w this !#using references are for cowards (NOT ACTUALLY. USE REFERENCES DO NOT FOLLOW MY EXAMPLE)#kh#kh1#kh1 sora#kh1 riku#also tried out some different brushes for colouring this and i like them :3
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[Image Description: The first image is a digital drawing of yarrow and clary from outer wilds, viewed from a high angle / above as they fall towards the black hole at the center of brittle hollow. They are holding hands and clary (left) has an arm outstretched above her. In the background, the concave geode inside of the planet is stylized as triangular deep red and purple crystals, facets shining with reflected light. The black hole warps around the edge and frames the two characters from behind. The second image is a digital sketch of yarrow of clary from outer wilds falling/floating together. Clary is above yarrow reaching downwards towards him. Yarrow is reaching his left hand up to touch her shoulder. They are looking at each other with serene expressions. The background is flat gray but colored in dark magenta behind/above the characters. End Image Description.]
yarryclaryyyyyyy!!!!
left one is from march 2022 and the right one is from earlier this year
#nervous to post this >< how i draw nomai has changed a lot while I've been figuring out how i want to draw them#it would be fun to compare how i used to draw them to now#i tried rendering the left one several times but gave up bc it's a complicated scene ig so I'm posting it as is#the initial concept was supposed to be clary reaching up to the reflection of herself and yarrow as it warps around#but i couldn't figure out how to depict that#outer wilds#outer wilds fanart#nomai#outer wilds nomai#i always hesitate to tag ow characters lol what if the botanists get mad#but i want them tagged on my blog bc I'll post them again so#yarrow#clary
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ocs: Chris, Lewis, Roman and Elias <3 from my webtoon :)
#yeah so i saw a picture of 4 tops and it made me want to draw the 4 main (adult) characters of ttd..#the idea was fun!!#i changed the colors to fit them more tho#well Elias barely wears anything else than black but i wanted it to be colorful like the other.. i think purple looks good on them#i tried a simpler coloring aarg im still trying to figure out how to make a very simple coloring that looks good..#it looks ok but not perfect yet so i'll keep trying!!!#my art#oc art#digital art#tiny tearful demon#Chris#Lewis#Roman#Elias
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YOU GET AN LR! YOU GET AN LR! EVERYONE GETS AN LR
#GGGGRRRAAAAUUUUGGHHHHH FINALLY#MY BOYS#THEY R EVERYTHING TO MEEEE#i figured out how i wanted to draw their design soooo quickly.#it was destiny#top two favs fr….. i can talk abt my big wife all day#varied drawing dates and stuff… doodles and panel redraws and just figuring them out#i’ve drawn them so much. god#livio the double fang#razlo the trip of death#razlo the tri punisher of death#rrrraaazzzyyyyyy#livio#razlo#do not separate#trigun#trigun maximum#charlie’s art
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G2 is so awesome…. i wish women were real
#still tryna figure out how i wanna draw them both ough#inspector gadget#inspector gadget 2#G2#inspector gadget G2#how do i even tag her 😭😭#G2 inspector gadget#G2 ig#no id#giddly’s art#edit: i tried to make sure her skin did not have a lot of variation in tone to add to that synthetic android look#and she got that robbie rotten hairline that’s unnaturally clean#god i want her
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Been wanting to draw her for literal years, I hope I did her justice. 🥺
Meanwhile Eight:
#digital art#splatoon#agent 3#dj sango#i really wanted to draw her in her dj sango fit#or at least#what i think it would look like when shes older#i tried a new rendering style#hmu if you want the tutorial i followed#i didnt follow it 100% but i still like how it came out :)#agent 24#agent 8#as she tries her best to pretend she doesn’t know#it uh#really isn’t hard to figure out 🤭#but shhhhhhh#let her have this#honestly#i need more 8 gay panicking content#theres not enough 😤#agent shenanigans#also three having the sanitized ink streaks is the best decision i’ve made in a while#also i was listening to pink venom by blackpink for this drawing#seriously#go listen to it#but the way i feel 3s music style would be very similar to them lol
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[461] rewatching terrafirmacraft and nothing will ever be funnier then what happened to nuggets #1
#etho#ethoslab#ethos terrafirmacraft#etho fanart#ethoslab fanart#day 461#man I've been feeling a little dissatisfied with my own art#i kinda like this one tho#this one is fun#i tried using foliage brushes for once#i always avoided them cause I had this weird thing where everything I drew I had to draw myself#which is stupid#i should just let myself do them#idk#I'm still figuring out what I want my art to look like#i like how people add texture and like grunge?? to hair art but I can never make it look right#i try to add noise and stuff but like idk it's not the same effect
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