#all my other guys are clothed and it’s not an issue

[astrow1zar6]

Most to Least Favorite Moon Signs & Why

1. Pisces moons: ughhh I love me a good Pisces moon😩 you guys are so darn charming it’s ridiculous. I think this is my favorite because I’m a Pisces sun so we compliment eachother quite well. But these people are super considerate of others and their feeling. Whether it’s a boy or girl you guys are super in tuned with your emotions & they emotions of others around you which is why you guys are really good with your words and knowing how to make others feel comfortable around you. These people are also big hopeless romantics & if they have a crush on you just know you’ll be treated like a princess/ prince. They do not play when it comes to their partners fr. They can however be very distant people and you’ll not here from them for like weeks or months at a time (big escapists) but overall if they love you just know your getting well taken care of. Just big sweethearts.

2. Libra moons: another big sweetheart placement. These people are sooo good at making others feel special it’s impressive to me really. (My moons in Aries so the opposite effect Libra moons give intrigue me a lot). They are usually big people pleasers (sometimes to a fault) but they usually are amazing conversationalists and can make you feel like you are the most interesting person in the room and are usually super engaging. Has the ability to keep very peaceful healthy relationships with others ( which as a chaotic Aries moon is super impressive to me💀). They live and breathe romance which I think is super cute. And may I say these people are usually always SO PRETTY just so aesthetically pleasing to look at and are always well dressed. The only thing that can bother me about them is they can be a little overly flirtatious which can be an issue if you’re into them & can say a lot of little white lies to make others feel comfortable. But overall they try really hard to make sure the people around them feel loved which I appreciate a lot. Genuinely nice people.

3. Sagittarius moons: just a big ball of sunshine. It’s pretty rare to see these people in a grumpy or shitty mood. They try really hard to spread “ good vibes” to others and try not to let their emotional drama get in the way of them or others having a good time. These are the best people to go to bars/ parties with. They are big goofballs that love to laugh and make others laugh as well. Can have a very loud laugh as well. Their laughs can be really funny too, you ever met someone whose laugh is usually funnier than the joke being said??? Yeah they’re those people���� the only thing I don’t like about this moon sign is that they can be a little too obsessed with positive vibes that they can kinda dismiss other’s emotions which can come off as a little insensitive sometimes.. they can treat others a little weird if they aren’t positive and happy all the time. They can also find it awkward to show negative emotions themselves which is why it can be hard for people to take them seriously at times. It’s okay to be down every once in an awhile you can’t always be upbeat 24/7.

4. Aquarius moons: these people are such weirdos I absolutely love it lol. They have such a unique way of expressing themselves whether that be their music taste, clothing, hairstyles, mindset ect. These people are the definition of authentic. I meet a lot of trendsetters that have this moon placement as well they are super creative and original which can cause a lot of people to copy their style a lot. They are usually super open minded and are really accepting of people from all different walks of life which I find so beautiful. It’s very rare you see them discriminate against anyone (mainly because they know how it feels to be outcasted by others). They are usually friends with other really authentic people whether it be artists, alternative people, rejects, outcasts ect. They can however be very weird when it comes to expressing emotions or others expressing emotions. They can almost be a little mean when people get too emotional around them I notice. Similar to Sag moons they can come off as a little insensitive to others that just need a shoulder to cry on. I think this comes from their need to logically solve emotions ( cuz this is an air moon after all) they can be more worried about solving/ finding solutions to your problems then just allowing you to vent which can rub others the wrong way at times. Overall though very cool quirky people who are way ahead of their time.

5. Cancer moons: are usually super sweet and genuine souls. Every cancer moon I met gives a sorta caretaker vibe to them that i absolutely adore. They’re just people that you want to naturally protect at all costs. Are usually veryyy nice to others as well almost to a scary degree. I notice however I tend to butt heads with this moon sign over the long run. These people can be very self defensive and can take things to heart wayyy to easily ( i think because of my Aries moon I can come off as harsher when I mess around and most I met DO NOT like that) it can be very hard to joke around with these people because of their sensitive personalities they can turn something that was meant to be light hearted into a big lecture of how that was insensitive and unacceptable. They definitely give off mom vibes. They also tend to lack ambition at times I notice and can prefer to be taken care of instead of striving to be better (they prefer comfort over trying new things at times which can be a little stressful if you are a more spontaneous type of person. But I notice this is also a big beauty aspect as well and people with this placement are usually so beautiful to look at (ESPECIALLY THE WOMEN OMG). Normally big homebodies and are really into at home activities such as cooking, watching Netflix, playing board games ect. They can however be super moody if u catch them on a wrong day�� they will really crash out on you over very minor things sometimes. But overall they are very good natured and are very emotionally intelligent.. it’s honestly crazy how emotionally intelligent these people are they are made to be therapists forreal. They just always have the right words/actions when you are feeling down or upset which is very commendable imo. They know how to make others feel safe expressing themselves with no judgement ♥️

6. Gemini moons: these people are such comedians lol. Usually this moon sign is one of the popular girls/ guys in hs/ middle school. They give big class clown energy and can make anyone laugh. They have a very childlike sense of humor. It can be however difficult to take these people seriously because they can come off as a bit childish with the ways they express themselves but they usually don’t mean any harm by this. One of the best conversations I ever had was with these people. They can change any awkward conversation into something interesting and I thank god for them for this😩. I always however found it very difficult to get close to these people due to the lack of seriousness they have and their very flighty natures. I notice they talk to everyone but it’s very rare they get actually close close to people??? Like they’ll have so many friends that honestly barely know anything about them. They kinda bread crumb their personality at times. Also they can change their personality wayyyy to much for my liking, their opinions, likes and dislikes are so easily changeable based on who they are around which is why it’s hard to really pin these people down. This quality can give a bit of a “two faced quality” to their nature. They can be very all over the place.

7. Taurus moon: I know this might be a shocker cuz I feel like most people really like this moon sign and don’t get me wrong I do like this moon sign but they have this bossiness about them that can be just too much at times for me. I haven’t met a lot of people with this moon sign but the ones I have met have this controlling nature to them that can be a little unsettling at times. I always felt super judged when im around someone with this moon sign I have no idea why. These people are very big “my way or they highway types”. And in general I do find them to be a little boring at times. The ones I met literally only talk about work 24/7 lol their conversations are usually super predictable which can come off as a little dull. However on a more positive note these people are soooo attractive. Like they really know how to sweet talk their way into anyones good side. This is why a lot of big bosses usually have a Taurus moon. They are also amazing a making money their natural boss energy usually attracts so much wealth into their life which is super enviable!! Their romantic relationships as well are usually super stable and loving as well (thanks to the help of Venus). Their love languages usually involve gift giving and physical affection. These people are the BEST cuddles by far. Growing up you could’ve been known for your hugs and cuddles 🥺 they are also super dependable if they love you you won’t have to ever worry about if they’ll come thru for you or not THEY WILL. These people are not flighty in the slightest and will really ride for you. This is why they tend to have such stable healthy relationships in their lives.

8. Capricorn moons: ahhh cap moons, I tend to have a very strong love hate relationship with this moon sign usually. Imma start with the positives by saying that these people really RIDE for you when they love you. These are the types to make sure you get to where you need to be whether that be to work, or an important meeting or appointment or event. They will make sure you are well fed and have clothes on your back. Materially & practically these people will have you COVERED which is very commendable. However emotionally is where they tend to fall short. They can have a very insensitive nature about them that usually always rubs me the wrong way. I notice they can be very judgmental to those who aren’t as efficient as them and can make others feel pretty bad about things they can’t control. Most cap moons had to grow up very fast at a very young age so a lot know how to do things that most people don’t really learn until much older. But because of this they can almost make you feel a little bad if you don’t know how to do those things from what I’ve experienced. I also always felt like I couldn’t completely open myself up emotionally to these people without feeling like my emotions are almost dismissed in a way. They can be VERY dismissive emotionally (usually because they experienced this so much growning up) could believe in a more tough love kinda outlook. Overall tho these are the type of people that will give the clothes off their back to make sure that you are good and I love that about them.

9. Virgo moons: ugh these people are always giving unsolicited advice that no one asked for lol. Most earth moons tend to have a very judgey nature about them but I feel like Virgo moons definitely take the cake for the most judgmental outta all the moon signs. Ik that most of their advice is there to help but it can come off as super mean when it’s excessive. Ive experienced these people trying to correct your behavior on EVERYTHING to an almost irritating degree. They have a strong belief on what’s acceptable and unacceptable and they tend to project these beliefs on others to a fault. They can be overly nit picky with others (which is usually a projection because they are truly more hard on themselves than others tbh) but it’s okay to just let people be without correction so you don’t cause anyone any insecurity. On a more positive note however they are very helpful to the ones they love and their love language usually involves acts of service. They will go grocery shopping for you if you can’t or help clean around the house when you are feeling depressed or down or help wash your hair if you can’t find motivation to do it yourself. These people really do have hearts of gold they just need to beware of their delivery when trying to “help” others a little too much.

10. Aries moon: certified crashouts of the moon signs. These people can be so emotionally immature it’s ridiculous (ik cuz this is my moon sign and lord knows we are not easy to deal with🤣). Aries moons can be very big babies when they react getting their way emotionally. Their impulsive natures can burn a lot of bridges that really didn’t need to be burned. When they aren’t getting their way they can be super mean to those around them which can cause a lot of people to keep their distance from them a lot to avoid these crash outs. On a brighter side when they are in a good mood everyone is brought along for the ride. They can be super generous and absolutely HILARIOUS when in a good mood. This is honestly one of the funnest placements to be around because they are such dare devils and are always down for whatever whenever. But you never know when their moods are gonna switch on you which can be very scary at times…

11. Leo moons: speaking of babies… these folks definitely take the cake for the spoiled brats of the moon signs. Similar to Aries moon when they don’t get their way they have a very dramatic extravagant way of expressing their dislike toward whatever you did to them. These people can have very BIG egos that can be extremely fragile. So when their ego is challenged in any way they can definitely give you hell for it whether it be throwing things, loud temper tantrums ect. They have a hard time expressing themselves in a calm manner when their emotions get in the way which can stir up a lot of drama in their relationships. Their childlike way of dealing with emotions can be a HANDFUL. However these people genuinely do have really big hearts and they don’t mean to come off as dramatic as they do they just experience emotions very intensely. And just like Aries their emotions can turn on & off very fast. They usually aren’t the types to hold a grudge so just let them be dramatic first and then try to have a logical conversation with them. But logic is not really their first language.. most of their emotions are very heart centered & personal making it harder for them to control at times which can be stressful to deal with if you are the other party. (Fire moons however I notice deal with it the best).

12. Scorpio moons: last but not least the secretive ms Scorpio moon.. I put these people as my least favorite moon sign because of how secretive they are with their emotions. I notice a lot tend to shy away from vulnerability altogether (usually due to trauma) but it makes it super hard to understand where these people are coming from most of the time. These people are some of the most confusing individuals to figure out emotionally which can drive their loved ones crazy trying to get out breadcrumbs out these people. Their inability to open up can make others believe everything is okay with them until they start plotting on you cuz deep down you did hurt their feelings they just don’t want to tell you, so I notice a lot tend to play a lot of manipulation mind games to get back at those that hurt them (even if the other party had no idea they hurt them or not because of their lack of opening up). These people hold onto intense emotions that they don’t tell you about which can be SCARY… cuz you never know if they have it out for you or not cuz they will usually have this very calm and collected facade until the Scorpio stinger comes out and stings you out of nowhere. This leaves a lot of people in your life to be very confused by this. I notice with Scorpio moons there’s always this lack of communication or they don’t feel the need to tell you what you did wrong so you can properly fix the issue. This can cause you to burn a lot of bridges that could’ve been great in your life:( on the other hand when they do eventually trust you they can be some of the most loyalist people in your corner and can show you such a sweet side that most haven’t seen (if they show you this side YOU ARE IN! because it is super rare to get this side out of them). Deep down they are really sensitive sweet souls it just takes the hands of god to get to that point.

Hey guys I notice on my posts a lot of people have been upset with a lot of my work saying how it’s not “accurate” for them & I want to make it clear to everyone that not all my observations will resonate with everyone! I am not a licensed astrologist by any means I started this blog more for fun because I love astrology & have many opinions on the topic. I just so happened to gain a huge following on this very randomly from some of my posts so when I make a not so positive observation on a placement plz don’t take it to heart this is MY experience and I do this for fun during my free time. If anything I say bothers you feel free to unfollow instead of leaving nasty comments & any polite comments correcting my work I will take into account because I do value growth on my page🫶🏽🫶🏽 but thank you to everyone who still values my work and says positive things I love you guys & thank you for making this blog fun🩵

[valentinebugzee]

Chapter 2 of Sonic Boom! Stone AU

Love, Trust, and a handful of thread

Finally Stone gets to serve eggman a latte with steamed Austrian goat milk

Sticks and Shadow form an alliance, besties with different trust issues yay

EDIT: I accidentally posted the unedited version on here so it's better to read the fic on Ao3!!

Meanwhile back at the cafe:

Amy apologized profusely for Stick's behavior

"I'm so sorry Mr. Stone, she's usually way nicer..." The Hedgehog's ears drooped

Stone shook his head "No need to apologize, Ms. Amy, she's not the worst customer I've ever had."

It was true because Sticks wasn't even a customer yet, she was a whole other problem...

She was getting close to blowing his cover, her theory was dangerously close to the truth, just who was that badger?

A nut job according to her friends, but she wasn't the first person to be suspicious of the human, the cops (well, cop: singular) were wary of him, warning him from causing havoc, "Eggman is enough work already!" to which Stone scoffed internally at, Sonic and his team do all the work.

He didn't want to defend "heroes" but had to admit even if it pained him, they weren't so bad, if he could divide his time between his job as a barista and his..hobby then he'd be able to maintain a somewhat normal friendship with the rodents.

Were echidnas rodents? He'd look it up later.

A little kid was sitting next to his brother eating a cupcake, his little brother started fighting him over it until it dropped for the older brother's hand.

Stone grabbed two cupcakes from behind the glass display and went to give one to each boy.

"Here you kiddos, free of charge." He smiled giving each kid a cupcake, he also briefly glared at their mom who just sat there and let them fight each other.

Sure he may be a villain but he will judge bad parents, he needed good reviews for his restaurant anyway.

Amy internally cooed at how nice Stone was to kids.

Sonic took the last sip of his coffee and patted his legs seemingly looking for his wallet, even though he wasn't wearing any pants, Stone made a face at that.

"Crap, I forgot my wallet, let me just scurry back home and grab some money, I'll be back in a blink of an eye."

"You don't have to do that, this is the first time you guys grace my cafe with your presence after all, your orders are on the house."

"That's so nice of you mister!" Tails beamed at the man, "Yeah a little too nice, you give out a lotta free stuff, money doesn't grow on trees y'know" Sonic said, there was no malice in his tone.

"Yeah, we all know money comes out of printers." Knuckles spoke between bites of his brownie.

They all stared at him for a moment.

Tails sighs "Remind me to discuss Knuckles's counterfeiting habits."

A loud blast from outside interrupted the peaceful atmosphere.

It was Eggman, of course, "Told ya' Eggman would appear sooner or later." Sonic said to Stone, "Stay right here Stones, we'll protect the place."

The moment the barista's eyes landed on the villain beyond his glass doors his heart skipped a beat, suddenly no one else existed it was just him and that man.

That maniacal laughter only served to make the pink effect around him grow even brighter and more glittery.

Or however the hell you describe Shoujo vision in writing.

The team ran out to fight the man in the egg mobile, the fight went on for a minute while Stone stared in awe at the evil doctor, admiring his every command to his robots, and how determined he was.

"Why's your face like that, Mister? And what's with all the glitter?" the little kid from earlier asked

Stone realized how odd he was behaving, he'll have to get his act together if he wants Dr. Eggman to become his new boss.

Another laser blast hit the spot right in front of his cafe if it had been any closer it would've absolutely destroyed the entrance.

He quickly adjusted his clothes and hair and sprinted toward Eggman.

"Hey! You there! uh, sir!" Stone waved to the doctor, in return he raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar man.

He lowered his egg mobile enough to not have to raise their voices to hear each other, he yelled anyway.

"What do you want?!...and who are you." Dr.Eggman questioned, looking the man up and down.

Stone breathed in, "This is it, don't mess it up", he thought to himself.

The barista grins, "I'm Stone..my name is Stone, and this is my coffee shop, I was wondering if you could move this battle a little further away from my shop, I don't want to be destroyed...is all." Stone cleared his throat nervously.

Eggman stared at him for a moment.

"Stone! What are you doing man!? He's gonna laser blast you!" Sonic yelled out, Amy prepared her hammer, ready to protect Stone.

But Stone didn't waver or spare them a glance, he felt like this was his first test, to prove how worthy he was, so he stared right back.

Everyone in this village has a staring problem.

"...and why should I listen to you?" Eggman snarled, if it was anyone else talking to him he would've ordered a robot to throw him in the ocean immediately, but he was intrigued with this "Stone" guy, if he was speaking honestly to himself he'd admit that Stone was the most beautiful man on this godforsaken land.

Which doesn't sound that impressive since every other man was an animal.

"um... please?" Stone awkwardly tilted his head to the side.

Eggman groaned, "Okay fine! Now stop glittering!".

And with that Eggman's egg mobile floated away.

"Glittering?.." Stone parroted, he shrugged and just sighed with one last glance at Eggman.

The team quickly went after him, but Sonic zoomed back in front of Stone.

"Okay I don't know how you did that but that was impressive." He smirked before speeding back to his friends.

Soon, the team went back to their previous seats, they noticed that Stone seemed a little happier than before.

Then Eggman appeared, without his egg mobile and robots that is.

Stone's back straightened and his eyes went wide, he smiled again.

"Welcome, sir." Stone greets him as calmly as he can, "It's "Doctor"." Eggman corrected.

Stone nodded enthusiastically, "My apologies, Doctor."

The Doctor asked the questions literally everyone else has asked already, "when was this place even built?", "What are all these coffees?", "what's with the red stain on the ground?"

"Let me serve you something special, Doctor." The villain raised an eyebrow, "Just go take a seat and I'll bring it to you in no time."

And that's what the doctor did.

Stone started working on his special order, He gasped a little when he turned around and found Amy and Sonic right behind him, "Dude, do you want us to get this guy out of here?" Sonic offered, "Yeah, you don't have to serve him if you don't want to." Amy added.

"No! No no, don't do that, this is exactly what I want.." He looked back to smile at the doctor, whose back was facing him.

Amy can recognize that smile anywhere, and Sonic recognizes that pink aura...

"Oh boy." Sonic moans, "Don't be like that." Amy giggled and nudged her blue friend.

"What?" Stone asks while already turning around to resume making the drink.

"Stone..is there something you want to tell us?" Pinky sways gently.

"uh yeah, customers are not allowed behind the counter." Stone tries to hide his crimson face from the other two.

"She means about Eggman, don't tell me you got the hots for a guy that needs his robots to do every little thing for him"

"I can do every little thing for him." Stone thinks.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Stone shrugs.

Amy and Sonic exchange a look before chuckling together.

"Okay, but we're gonna kick his butt if he tries anything, just signal for us whenever." Sonic and Amy return to their friends, who have equally smug looks on their faces.

Stone finally finishes the drink and servers it.

"Here you go sir-I mean Doctor!" he stammers.

Eggman looks at it suspiciously before taking a sip, his expression changes for a second before going back to faux annoyance.

"This is...good...what is it?" "It's a latte with steamed Austrian goat milk." Stone beams, Eggman takes another sip, and Stone stands there staring at him with fond eyes.

"What? Are you just gonna stand there? Scram!" Eggman commanded.

Stone immediately obliged with the goofiest grin on his face.

Sonic and his friends were severely judging him.

15 minutes late Cubot and Orbot barged through the doors, "We fixed the Egg mobile, boss!" the two robots announced, the cube-shaped one pointed at Stone "Hey isn't that the handsome guy with the stupid grin you told us about?"

Eggman quickly got on his feet, "What? No! What are you talking about!?" And dragged his henchmen out the door.

Stone was sure that he might just die.

___________________________

Sticks looked for the hedgehog, she knew this forest like the back of her claw, there were only so many caves she could look through before finding the morally ambiguous emo dude.

The purple glowing symbols on the cave's walls caught her attention, surely he was here.

She dragged her hand along the rough texture of the cave's interior, admiring it for a moment, she wondered if tails could decipher what was written.

"What are you doing here." She snapped her head around quickly to face the black and red hedgehog.

"You!" Sticks's grating voice echoed through the cave.

She stepped forward, "I need your help, this is urgent."

Shadow squints his eyes as if telling her to go on.

"There's this man- a "Stone" as he calls himself, he's pure evil I'm telling you!" She squeaked, "His coffee shop just appeared in the middle of town, and everyone seems to like him." She glared at the ground beneath her.

Shadow eyebrows furrowed his eyebrows ever so slightly, the badger's hands were at her side clenched tightly, and the hair on her head and back stood up, this was serious.

"What will I gain from helping you?" Shadow scoffs.

"It's what will you gain from not helping me, we'll all be under that man's mercy if we don't do anything." she flailed her arms around.

Shadow thought about it for a moment, he can't have somebody establishing dominance over the entire area, he can't let a lower lifeform do that...

"He wants to brainwash us all, I'm tellin' ya!", "and what good would that serve him?"

Sticks grabbes Shadow by the shoulders, "He wants to discover the village's most crucial secrets!" Shadow rolls his eyes "What 'crucial secrets' would this pathetic village even have?"

"Um, Comedy chimp's real name, the real secret ingredient in Meh Burger, Soar the eagle's shady past." She lets go of him and snaps her fingers, "Catch up, Shads."

"And why did you choose me specifically to help you?" he lifted his nose up high, "I'm sure the colorful bunch you call friends would love to help you sort this out."

"They don't believe me!" She screeched.

His face scrunched up and his ears twitched at her loud voice, "Chaos, I wonder why" The ultimate lifeform thought.

"And they're all probably brainwashed already! They ate and drank from that guy's food, it's definitely *full* of microchips." Sticks stomped her foot, "And I can't do this on my own, I need someone strong enough to handle him if I'm kidnapped!"

Shadow hums and thinks to himself...

Her theory sounded insane, yes, but anything is possible, he doesn't want to deal with the aftermath if they could deal with this before it starts to get ugly.

"...How about this." He approaches the brown and cocoa girl, "I need proof, something to go off of, I can't just dive blindly into action like I'm some...blue boy."

He puts a claw on her shoulder, "Prove to me that this man is something more than just a barista, then I will form an alliance with you."

Sticks's eyes light up with anticipation, "Deal!" she announced before grabbing his hand in a handshake.

He regrets this already.

__________________

The sun was almost setting, and Stone's off the clock.

He locked the cafe's doors and stretched his back, today was draining and eventful, now he had to go pick up some stuff for the shop and himself, and *then* he could go home.

He picks up the bag he was gonna carry groceries in.

From behind a tree nearby Sticks nudges Shadow, "Okay, he's out of the shop and he's heading for the market, we just have to wait until he's all alone, and *bam*! Catch him and make him spit out the truth!"

The hedgehog tapped his foot impatiently, "This sounds idiotic, if your theory about him being a government agent is correct how are you going to combat him to interrogate him?"

"I don't have to, I'll set up a net for him to tangle up in."

"Oh really? And how will you be able to do that if you don't know his specific path?"

"I'll follow him and when the time's right I'll run a few steps ahead and set up a trap."

Shadow snorted, "You can't possibly believe that you'll be able to set up a whole trap when you're only a few steps ahead."

Sticks crossed her arms, "are you doubting my skills? 'Cause let me tell ya' I've been hand-making nets, boomerangs, weapons, and all kinds of traps since I was a little cub! This is easier than..than.."

"taking candy from a baby?"

"Yeah!" she fumed.

"If you seriously believe that you can pull this off, then have at it, but I won't stand around and watch this pathetic display."

"Fine." She stomped and turned her back to him.

"He's gone by the way."

She gasped and stepped out of the tree's shadow and turned her head around frantically looking for the subject of her distress.

She turns back to Shadow, "This is all your fault-" Before she could point an accusing finger she realized that he had already left.

_____________

After a few minutes of looking and cursing Shadow out to herself, she finally found him.

She hid behind a stack of wooden crates staring at the human who was negotiating the price of some fruit with the merchant.

She sat there monitoring him.

The sound of the merchants, buyers, and kids all blended together as she started to space out, her thoughts becoming louder than outside noises.

Why don't her friends ever trust her? She was right that one time with Eggman's dreambot, was that not enough? Were her contributions to her team not enough?

And then here comes Shadow, her last resort.

They've only spoken once and at the end of that interaction, he dropped her from the sky!

The badger rubs her eyes before her tears fall, she was thankful that Amy wasn't here, the last thing she wanted to talk about was her feelings.

"I'll show 'em.." she mutters to herself.

She shifted her focus back to the government agent, he's been standing there since forever, what could possibly be that intriguing about fruits!?

She crawled out of her hiding spot and rolled over to hide behind a stand closer to Stone.

Her ear perked up as she tried to pick up on what Stone was saying.

"Beige berries you say?"

"I didn't say anything." The merchant deadpanned.

"A beige berry pie does sound good... you're prices are ridiculous though."

The merchant scoffed, "If you don't like it then how about you go pick the berries yourself."

"oh yeah I'll just venture into the forest while the sun is setting with zero protection just to pick berries for a pie, that sounds like a great idea."

There was a short pause... before Stone headed towards the forest to do just that.

"He's going to look for berries... I'll have to be quick and swift and precise, I only have one chance to catch him." she took a bite of her apple.

"Are you going to pay for that?" The merchant asked.

"Put it on the government agent's tab." she sprinted away.

____________

Stone admired the forest, which I will not describe because you know what a forest looks like.

Walking through the forest at this hour was rather nice, it was quiet except for some chirping and other animal noises, and the vague sound of someone setting up a net which he would gracefully ignore.

He thought about the pie he was planning on making, would the doctor like it? Would he even come by again?

Stone didn't know why he was asking himself these questions, he wanted to be the man's henchman, nothing more, nothing less, so why did the mere thought of him make his heart flip, jump up, kick back, whip around, and spin?

He shook his head, this was no way to think of his future boss.

He kneeled to pick the berries from a bush, that bush didn't have enough to make a pie, so he'd have to continue his walk.

His mind wandered for a minute, how would he grab the doctor's attention enough to get him to even *consider* Stone as a worthy henchman? The only things he knew about him so far were that he hated the rainbow furry hero squad and he treats his robots like garbage.

Oh, and that he loved the latte he served him. Stone beamed to himself proudly at the memory, if he could sell his latte-making skills to Eggman then he could definitely sell his evil-doing skills.

He should've spoken more to him when he had the chance instead of creepily staring at him from the counter. Stone's smile fell and he inwardly cursed himself.

Whatever, what's ahead of him is more important, he still has time to figure out how to win the villain over.

"He hates those rainbow critters huh..." Stone strokes his beard, "Maybe if I can catch them for him.. he'll see how useful I could be."

He giggled to himself in anticipation, he looked back up from his feet and saw another beige berry bush a few steps ahead of him, that one will surely suffice for the pie.

He trotted towards the bush, and all of a sudden everything was upside down and his bag was on the ground with the fruits spilling out, he had let out a shriek before coming down from the initial shock with a few deep breaths.

He fought against the restraints of the net he was caught in but it just wouldn't budge, his arms were tightly bound at his sides, and his legs were also bound together, he huffed and looked around for help or any sign of whoever put him in this predicament, all he found was a wooden stick to the head and then darkness.

______________

Stone groaned before slowly opening his eyes and quickly closing them again when the light assaulted them, which only served to make his pounding headache worse.

The sun had already set, and the only source of light was an electric lantern hanging from one of the tree branches, emitting a strong white light directly at his face, it brought back many unpleasant memories.

"Ugh..where am I?" His eyes adjusted to the light and he could make out the figure of a badger in front of him, holding his wallet, he knew this lunatic was going to be a problem, he could see a hut just a few feet away, it matched its owner.

"I'm the one that should be asking questions here Mar-...Mar-wane" She pronounced his name like it hurt.

"It's Marwan... honestly that pronunciation is more offensive than the stick to the head you just gave me..and being hung upside down on a tree." He rolled his eyes, thankfully he was off the clock and out of uniform now and he could disrespect people as much as he pleased.

And yeah his name is 'Stone Stone'

"Shut up!" The wallet fell from the badger's claw.

She stomped towards the man and pressed her finger against his chest.

"This is an interrogation."

"Oh really? I thought I was roleplaying a pea pod." Stone snorted but there was no humor behind it.

"The only role you're going to be playing right now is the victim."

Stone raised an eyebrow "Pardon?" he was unimpressed.

"That didn't come out right." Sticks scratched the back of her head, "But that's not the point!"

"The point is I want to know exactly who you are." Her voice got low.

"You were holding my ID just a second ago."

"I mean who you *really* are, I know that you're not just some barista." Stick put her arms behind her back.

Stone swallows.

"I see right through your act and I will not stand around and watch you hornswoggle those innocent villagers and my friends!" She circled him.

Stone made a face, *"hornswoggle?"* he mouthed.

"As much as I enjoy this 60's caveman detective persona you got, I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

Sticks noticed the shift in his tone immediately, she stopped in her tracks, and her jaw clenched, he was using his sweet talker voice on her and would spew out a bunch of bunk.

"I'm just a guy trying to get by you know?... My old manager wasn't the nicest, so I had to find my way, I quit my job and I just happened to have enough to move here and start my own independent business, just to serve happiness in the form of freshly made coffee." He fluttered his lashes

Sticks wanted about to barf.

"I'm not as dumb as I look."

"Unfortunately." His tone went back to his *real* one.

"Then explain to me how the crud did your shop just appear in the middle of town?" she interrogated.

"Let's just say that it was already built just...moved."

She squints at him, "And why did you choose this town specifically?"

"I just heard good things about it."

That's the biggest piece of horse junk she's ever heard in her life, the only good thing that could be said about this town is that you don't have to go there.

Sticks decided that she needed to try a different approach, accusations.

"I know exactly what you are."

"...Why did you ask then-"

Sticks clutched Stone's shirt in her hand and pulled his hanging form towards her until they were nose to nose.

She inhales, "You're a government agent that's her to plant microchips into our food to brainwash us and learn all of our secrets to rule this village and turn us all into soldiers! and when that works out for you you'll be promoted to general and then betray your agency and who knows what else!" She exhaled and pants.

Stone looked at her in a way that could only be described as something between disbelief, anger, and exhaustion.

"Why would I plant microchips into your food...When I could just use your damn phones for that?! And what agency!?" Stone argued.

"Because I don't got a phone, so you can't control my brain."

Stone closed his eyes tightly for a second and took a deep breath, she's so lucky he has his arms tied.

"The only way your brain would prove useful is if I scoop it out of your carcass with a screwdriver." Stone countered, making the author debate whether they should change the fic's rating or not.

"Your threats don't scare me."

The human sighs deeply and prays that this is all just a very bad poised-berries-induced nightmare, "Can you at least put me down? It's hard to focus with all the blood rushing to my head."

"No! You don't deserve to be put down! You will stay right there like an oversized bat mutant until I can prove to my friends that they can trust me." she let go of him and crossed her arms, continuing her previous route of circling him.

Stone's expression faltered at the confession.

"Your friends don't trust you?"

Sticks pressed her lips together, there was something more genuine about Stone's shift in tone, perhaps pity.

"Not usually..or maybe they do-or-ugh!" Sticks made a noise of frustration that was equivalent to a chihuahua choking on a kazoo.

The badger sits down on a conveniently placed rock, "I dunno..."

"At first I thought it was because they don't trust my intuition," By intuition, she meant insane theories, "But I haven't even had a conversation with Shadow before today, and he also doesn't trust me!" She kicks the ground in frustration.

Stone hated this badger, he truly did, but that didn't mean he didn't feel at least a little bit of empathy for her, he went through something similar himself.

"..it sounds like to me that this is more about proving yourself than proving me evil."

The badger wailed, "That ain't it it's- it's about both... maybe." she rubbed both hands through her hair frantically, "I hate feelings talk! I'm so glad Amy isn't here she would've- wait a minute." she paused abruptly through her vent.

Her head slowly turned to the hanging man, she jumped from her seat "You're changing the subject!"

"Oh, am I?" He rolled his eyes, though he wasn't sure if he was actually changing the subject or that he cared, His moral compass was jammed.

"You're trying to persuade me into being vulnerable and talking about my feelings like a- like-"

"A therapist?" Stone guessed.

"A journalist!"

That checks out.

"This isn't working... I'll grab something to get you to talk, stay right there!" she ran inside to her hut.

He wasn't going to wait and find out what it was.

It only took Sticks a few minutes to emerge from her home with a comically large feather.

"Now you'll think before you talk- where did he go!?" She yelped, and she ran towards the spot where the government agent was previously hanging.

All that was left was a net that was burnt to a crisp around some edges.

The realization consumed her before the anger did, "I was right... I'm not paranoid...I was right!!" she pumped her fist in the air, the feather long forgotten.

Her friends were going to be so sorry when they find out just how wrong they were, she started doing her little "I told you so" dance over the burnt net.

"What are you doing?" a hoarse voice a few feet behind her interrupts her short victory shimmy, she screeches.

"Shadow?!" She was almost happy to see him, almost, before she remembered that she was mad at him, she crossed her arms and turned away from him.

Shadow kneels down over the ruined net, "These burn marks... they're precise, it was a machine that had done this."

"You were right," Shadow said the words with hesitation, he hated being wrong.

Shadow narrowed his eyes when no reply came, the badger just glanced at him with one eye for a second before shutting them again and turning further away.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

She huffs and takes another step further away.

"Seriously?" He approaches her, "What has gotten into you? I don't have time for this foolishness."

"And I ain't got time for jerks either." She huffs.

"Is this about the trap thing?"

No reply, but she did turn slightly to glare at him.

"I was... wrong, okay? Now get over it."

She turned around again, they were back to square one.

"What do you want an apology?"

Sticks made a noise of frustration before sitting back down on the rock she was sitting on earlier.

"Speak up!" Shadow's patience was running thin.

"I want to understand why you don't trust me! You don't know me!"

"That's exactly why I don't trust you."

The badger's ears twitched, "oh.. that makes a little sense." her ears drooped.

The red and black hedgehog didn't want to get sappy with one of Sonic's hooligans but seems like he'll have to in the meantime.

He sat on a conveniently placed log next to the conveniently placed rock.

"I am..." He sighed, "I'm sor..." He groaned, "Sorry." it looked like he wanted to throw up, he looked down at his feet, "If we want to make this alliance work, we're going to have to trust each other from now on, happy?"

He looked down at his feet, he had the faintest blush on his cheeks, wow he was much worse than Sticks at this feelings thing.

Sticks smiled and gave him a pat on the shoulder, "No worries Shads', I forgive ya'."

"Never call me that." Shadow stands up. "Let's discuss our next move tomorrow, he probably already went home by now."

"Let's kidnap him!"

"Yes because kidnapping a man from his home would make people trust you way more." He snarked.

"Oh, you're right, that's why we need each other."

"I don't need anyone."

"Oh yeah? Why're you teaming up with me then?" she teased, leaning her face uncomfortably closer to his.

"Don't push your luck." He grabbed her face and pushed it away.

_______________

Does anybody else have this problem where they write so so much but there are more words than events actually happening? yeah same

sorry for the abrupt ending lol

[cod-indulgences]

currently feeling ugh with my body again.. could you write small boobs chubby reader (it me) receiving some love with any of the men pls? 🥺🥺

Kyle Garrick x female!reader, insecure!reader, body image issues, low self esteem, small breasts!reader, chubby!reader, tits man Kyle Garrick, angst, fluff, fingering, breast worship, overstimulation, fingering

anon you and others sent me similar asks. this is me too, writing this felt very cathartic and I love you for sending this in. I hope it helps you!.......it's also over 3K

You wouldn't call yourself shy, just....practical. No need to draw more attention to your assets, or lack thereof.

Being fat was sexy, if you were a specific kind of fat. Men didn't come running for apron bellies or thick thighs, if there weren't big, lush tits to balance them out. And even while your flesh had expanded, growing around you like Saturn's rings, your breasts had stayed small. Clothes were a nightmare, and you got in the habit early of wearing crop tops instead of actual bras, wanting to avoid the discomfort of underwrire digging into your belly when you had to bend and move.

And then you met Gaz.

Your crush was inevitable and all-encompassing. He shone like the sun to you, even with that dumb hat, and you were left sighing over him in private. It stayed private though, because one of the first things you'd heard him proudly announce was that he was a tits guy- and your heart had sunk to your shoes. You'd known those sort of men, glancing past you for a woman with cleavage, with the sort of breasts that filled lingerie and bounced enticingly.

So when he started flirting with you- unmistakable flirting, innuendoes slipped in with coffee and invitations to dinner, compliments on your hair and clothes- you decided to take what you could get, as long as you could get it. It might just be a way to fill time for him, but you were so pathetically gone on this man that even the scraps handed out until someone with proper curves came through felt like a feast.

So you accepted the compliments and dinner invitations, kissed Gaz in your doorway and pushed aside the creeping discomfort as his hands curved around your back, your belly bumped up against him before your tits did. You could take this much. Even when the kisses got heated, his tongue slipping against yours and drawing lines down your neck, you kept your clothes on, a barrier to hold off the inevitable let down. You could handle him eventually finding someone better, you couldn't handle his face twisted up in disappointment at the sight of your body.

So when you got bold after a couple drinks and sat in his lap, let his hands rise up and cup your tits through your shirt, you didn't expect the shuddering moan Gaz released into your shoulder, the little "fuck, baby" and how it went straight through to your core. His hand squeezed and you whined a little, nipple perking up as he thumbed across it.

"Gaz- Gaz, wait, shit," you stutter, and he licks across your throat, his mouth lingering at the neckline of your shirt.

He squeezes again, and you moan a little yourself. It's like nothing you've ever felt touching yourself, or the handful of boys you'd slept with, ages ago.

"So sexy, so fucking hot," he says, and it's like cold water down your back.

"Gaz, wait- no, stop!" You push at his shoulders and he goes back, frowning when you climb off his lap. This is worse than disappointment. "I don't- don't fucking lie to me!" You feel too hot, shame burning your cheeks. "Don't give me that shit! I thought you at least liked me enough to not- to not do this-" You try not to let any tears fall. You don't want to cry.

He's just sitting here, staring at you like he's confused. "What? What are you talking about? What lies?" He says, and it's too much.

"The fucking- the sexy shit! Like this- like I'm something you want- just, I'd rather you leave, ok? Just go, and we can pretend it never happened." You sit on the far end of your couch, arms wrapped around yourself. You don't want to look at him, and when he stands up, your mouth trembles. Don't cry. Don't cry.

You expect him to go to the door. Instead he crouches in front of you, and takes your hands in his. You don't stop him.

"Baby," he says, and oh fuck that hurts. "Why do you think I'm lying?" He looks so fucking sad. Big dark eyes and his cheeks are still flushed, and he'd been smiling at you when you took his hand and brought it to your chest.

You can't look him in the eye while you lay it all out. "I know I'm not- not what you want. Or like. And you're my friend and I l-like you, a lot, but you can't do this. You can't say this shit and pretend it's true when I'm the one you're saying it to. I know better. People like me don't get to be sexy." His hand cups your cheek, and brushes away the release that managed to slip out. "So you can go, and I'm sorry it went this way, but I can't sit here while you're wishing I had the curves I know you want."

Gaz doesn't leave, or move away, and when you dare to glance at him you get shocked to see his eyes are wet. His other hand let's go of yours to cup your other cheek, and he leans in to kiss your forehead. "If I ever," he says, and kisses your eyelid, "meet any of the fuckers who told you things like that," your other eyelid, oh, your heart, "I'm going to kill them." He kisses your lips, soft, and you whimper at the tenderness of it.

"You, just as you are, are so sexy to me- no, stop," and he holds your face to look at him instead of away. "I don't know who started you thinking I want tits more than you-"

"You did!" You burst out. "You say it all the time, talking with the soldiers, about how you love a nice set of tits on a woman, how the breasts are the best part, whatever else, it's practically a catchphrase." The words are bitter in your mouth. "And I'm not just the fat girl, I'm the bad kind of fat, without anything good to balance out the bad. That's just how I am, and I thought I would be okay with the dates and the flirting, because I knew it wouldn't last anyway. But I'm not, and I'm sorry I wasted your time, and just....I just..."

He looks surprised, and then upset again. "No, baby, no. I'm sorry. I didn't know it would- sound like that. Look, okay yes, I love breasts, always will, but don't you get it's not about them being big for me? I don't care what size. I just," he laughs, a little incredulous, "I like tits. Big or small, whatever, they're all fucking awesome!"

You yank his hands away and he falls back on his ass, surprised. "Not like me! Not when the little ones are on top of, of all this!" You grab your stomach and shake it, flesh bouncing, a reminder of just what you carry. "I haven't been little anywhere it matters since I was fucking twelve."

Now he's standing up, looming over you. "Okay, first of all- you think I'm that fucking shallow? That all I want in a woman is how she looks? Fuck you." You swallow, suddenly ashamed. "And two, if you think you're that unattractive, you need to open your eyes. If you'd put your weight down on me properly instead of hovering like I was gonna break, you'd have known just how sexy I find you." He cups his hand over his groin, and you stutter, too close to eye level where his fingers outline a thick, heavy shape. You had been hovering, uneasy at sitting fully on his lap, when he'd sucked on your neck and touched your chest. Gaz boxes you in, hands on the back of the couch, and puts his face up close to yours. "If you tell me to go because you don't like me, then I'll go. But I'm not leaving just because you think I'm going to be fucking disappointed at seeing more of the body I've been jerking off over for fucking weeks."

His mouth crashes into yours, and you moan, all tangled up with emotions, shame and desire, the embers of lust fanned when he sucks on your tongue. He's big and strong around you, the smell of his skin and soap filling your nose, and when Gaz encourages you to turn and lay flat you obey. He settles over you, his hips wedged between yours, and you both moan together when he hitches up a little and rubs up against you. Two layers of pants mean you can't feel much, but it's enough, and he does it again as you mouth shakily at his cheek, sucking on his earlobe. It's messy and a little high strung, and your eyes are still teary when Gaz lifts his hand to your chest and waits until you swallow hard and nod. His fingertips are gentle, tracing the curve of your breast until they find your nipple again, and you fight down the wave of shame as you see how his whole hand covers you. Barely enough for a handful, that just can't be what he wants, you're not enough- but he's looking at you with such dark, hot eyes, and when you whine a little as his fingers start to play with your nipple, you see his pupils dilate. Fuck.

"No bra?" He murmurs, and pinches just a little through the fabric of your top, just enough to make you squirm under him.

"No," you gasp, "just a shirt and a- a crop top thing, I never wear them," and he moans a little, a soft fuck that he breathes out before suddenly getting his mouth onto your other breast.

You squeak, it's hot and wet, his tongue working your nipple through the thin fabric, and your thighs open up a little more as he grinds against you. He's just- he's enthusiastic, pinching and sucking, pressed up against your body from head to hip. There's a warm liquid lust pooling in your belly, and your chest heaves as you gasp for breath. You can feel him now, no hovering, hot and hard up between your legs.

Suddenly your clothes are too much after all. You push his shoulders, and as Gaz sits back tug at his shirt, yanking the collar up over his head until he starts helping. He's gorgeous, full pecs with little dark nipples that perk up under your fingers, the muscles of his abdomen flexing when you gently trace along his iliac crest, a little shivering twitch going through the flesh. His cock is bulging out his pants, and you picture it sheathed inside you and feel your pussy gush a little.

Gaz sets his hands at the hem of your shirt, and you clench at the heat in his eyes. You're trying, you're dizzy with arousal and so turned on you can't speak, but there's still fear there. But he's so, so sweet, and you want it so bad, and nod helplessly for him to draw the fabric up and away.

Your bra-top comes away with the shirt, and you don't even have time to cover yourself before Gaz has your hands in his, fingers intertwined, and he's fucking moaning over you. "Baby, fuck, if you knew how fucking luscious you look," and he's diving back into you, eating the moans that slip from your lips as he gets both hands on your tits.

Small, too small, but he gropes and squeezes them, letting the flesh fill his palms, tugging your nipples between his fingers. He releases your mouth and goes down again to suck fully on one nipple, and you shout, the sensation of hot-wet suction so much more intense without fabric in the way.

"Fuck, baby, yes- just like that, c'mon," he mumbles around your tit, and you realize you're grinding against his cock. Your pussy clenches and you moan, trying to lift your hips up, aching for something you can't get while you're both still half-dressed. Gaz's skin is silky smooth against yours, sweating, and you squirm a hand between your bodies to pull at the button of his jeans. Two fingers slip in and you manage to rub the base of his cock, feeling the heavy flesh and the heat, and he swears again and grinds up harder.

You're going to leave a wet spot, you realize, and the Gaz dares to oh-so-gently bite down, teeth scraping your nipple, and you feel your body turn to jelly.

It's so good, so hot, like nothing you've ever had. Forget body image or shame, you're reduced to broken moans and begging, you're fucking begging, and Gaz works your pants open blindly to shove a hand down. His fingers scrape past your pubic hair and then he's suddenly there, everything hot-wet-slick, your clit bumping against the heel of his hand as he slips a fingertip against your hole. Then two fingers, sliding in, and he groans so hard against your breast that you can feel the vibrations in your heartbeat.

"So wet, baby, so wet, all for me? All this from these sweet little tits getting the love they deserve?" He grinds his palm in and starts fucking you on his fingers. You can hear the wet sloppy sounds, and it only makes you clench, whining. Your other nipple aches where he's been plucking at it, and when he moves his mouth there instead, you shout and clamp down. "Fuuuuck, fuck baby do that again-" He bites this nipple, and you obey and let your pussy contract on his fingers, perfect and not enough.

You blearily look down and see your chest, Gaz's dark head pillowed on you, his lips sucking at the peak of your tit. Your other breast is littered with little red marks from his facial hair, your nipple swollen and red, and it's so erotic and sensual you can't breathe. Suddenly your tits are sexy, plump little things with sensitive nipples and soft round bottoms, your belly and sides tingling as Gaz drags his fingers over your flesh, groping, yanking at your pants to give himself room to get a handful of your ass. Your hips jerk up, and your moaning climbs in pitch as the instinct takes over, chasing a high that is so close it hurts- truly hurts, your clit throbbing and pussy squeezing where his fingers keep pumping in and out of you.

Gaz lifts his head, holding your nipple in his teeth as he tugs, and his big hot eyes hold your gaze as your mouth drops open on a moan that doesn't end, spiraling up and up as your nipples ache and pussy squeezes, a long hard clench, before it finally breaks into an orgasm that leaves you shaking and limp, sobbing in relief, the new gush of slick around Gaz's fingers dripping over his hand and wrist.

Your voice comes back in stops and starts. "Fuck- fuck, Gaz, oh God, please, I can't- can't-" because he's still fucking you, sitting up to stare at his hand between your legs, pants and panties shoved down your thighs, and you're aware of the bounce of your flesh. The old fear tries to crawl back up, but Gaz is working is cock out of his pants, and you gape at him. He's huge, thick and heavy, so hard he's wet at the tip. When his hand slows you shove at your clothes, trying to get the twisted fabric out of the way.

"You don't have to," he starts, but you kick a leg free and hook it over his hip, pushing his jeans down with your heel.

"I want to," you gasp, and help him guide the tip of his cock to your hole.

Your mind is a little more clear now, and you take the chance to memorize Gaz's face as he slides into you, how his eyes close and mouth falls open, the soft moaning sounds. He's a stretch, and you're slick as sin, you make it work. He hitches up your hips, and you breathe deeply to relax your muscles, and suddenly he's there, all the way in, an ache in your cunt and your clit as thin flesh rearranges around him. Gaz drops his head to your shoulder, braced on one elbow, and his free hand comes up again to cup your breast, squeezing and lifting the nipple up for a kiss.

You get a kiss too, hot and sweet, and moan into his mouth when he finally starts moving.

You're sore and sensitive, whining at each bump of your clit against his groin, as he picks up speed and starts really fucking you- the couch creaks and your thighs open as wide as they can under the onslaught- he's so big, almost too big, and you gasp and tell him this, making him whine in return.

"So big," you say again, and feel his hips stutter. "Gaz, fuck-"

"Say it again," he moans, and you yelp as he sucks again on your nipple, harder, pinching the other and tugging until your back arches.

"Fuck! Fuck, Gaz, you're too big, fucking my- my little cunt-" he grunts and slams in harder, fuck, "god, please, please don't stop, I'm gonna come again!"

Gaz fucks his cock into you like a machine, wet squelches echoing as your pussy clamps down, trying to hold him in, your clit rubbing against his groin and pubic hair, and you come again as he opens his jaw and sucks your whole breast into his mouth- hot-tight-wet, his tongue slurping over your skin, your nipple pulled so tight against the roof of his mouth and your other swollen and pinched under his fingers. You feel the distant gush of your pussy on his cock, the way it's suddenly so much wetter, sloppier, and Gaz shouts into your chest as he slams his hips in and stills, his cock pumping you full of come, grinding up into your dripping cunt to get as deep as possible.

He's heavy on you, but not too much, and as he slows and you both catch your breath you wrap your arms around his shoulders, clinging. There's a fragile feeling in your chest, under the sweat and aches and tingling skin, and your wordless begging for kisses against his head brings him up to you. He's as gentle as you are, slow and sweet, and the fragility firms, settles.

Gaz chuckles a little against your mouth, and when you hum a question at him, he answers, "I had a whole plan for you. Seduction and shit, take you to a proper fancy place to eat. Get you in an actual bed, especially." You start to laugh as well, seeing the picture you make- you're naked except for socks and your pants and underwear hanging off one ankle, Gaz with his jeans rucked down his thighs and a wet spot on the crotch. Your breasts are swollen and tingling along with your pussy as he gently pulls out, and you wince a little, feeling the aches in your hips and back.

"Not quite what you expected, then?" You tease, but there's a little old shiver down your back.

Bless him, Gaz just lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses your knuckles. "Better than," he says, and holds your eyes with his. "I promise."

It's a heavy moment, and your eyes blink back tears, feeling sweet, precious, so stupid with your previous outbursts in the face of such affection in his eyes- and then your stomach grumbles, and you both burst into giggles. You grin at him. "Is that offer for a fancy dinner on the table still?"

Gaz winks. "Only if I get to have you for dessert after."

[peaches2217]

Obvious issues with a particular area of my body aside, I’ve noticed more and more lately just how comfortable I feel with my body in general. My binder is full-length and I keep it tucked into my jeans; when getting ready in the morning, I actually love looking at my profile in the mirror, because if everything is positioned right, I look like any other regular fat guy. I’ve had a contentious relationship with my weight for as long as I can remember (my mother was and remains a victim of diet culture and unrealistic bodily expectations and that naturally rubbed off onto me), but like… looking in the mirror doesn’t outright disgust me anymore. I’d like to tone up a bit mostly so I can wear a larger variety of clothes, and of course I wanna build more muscle, but I’m still pretty happy as I am now.

I’m still bigender, but I’ve ditched femme clothes for the time being and I’m sticking to the general definition of trans man or transmasc because if I have to be perceived as one or the other, I prefer to be perceived as male. But I found a rainbow rhinestone choker while cleaning the other day, tried it on, and snapped a selfie, and I honestly started crying while looking at it. I just! I love the way my face looks now! And I feel like my dream of a body I feel at home in isn’t as unachievable as I once imagined it to be!

One day I’ll be able to indulge in femme days again, and when I look in the mirror, I won’t see the me that I’ve spent my life forcing myself to live with. I’ll see ME, a hunk-ass bigender babe, with a goatee and a pretty dress.

God willing. 😭💗

(Rhinestone choker selfie under the cut!)

My sideburns are growing in nicely, and hopefully the minoxidil I ordered will help encourage more growth all around! Facial hair growth is largely a factor of genetics, and given the men in my family tend to have bushy beards and goatees, I’d like to believe that’s achievable for me, too!

(Apparently minoxidil can also cause increased hair growth over the entire body, not just the areas applied. This is listed in most cases as a side-effect, but for me, it’s just a perk. YA BOYGIRL’S GONNA BE STRONG AND HAIRY LIKE MARIO!!!)

[sleaze4sleaze]

Kollector being mostly naked in all his skins is so. I haven’t been able to practice playing him. He’s. I’m. I get too. flustered. when he’s on screen

[moeblob]

Look, I just think it's VERY funny and on brand that I thought of an entire premise of colorful characters for half the cast and immediately drew the only one void of color.

[arolesbianism]

Time for more eternal gales isat au, this time featuring Sier as Isabeau, creating a sprite I can never use next to Aris’ because despite my best efforts it would make them look tall

[girlivealwaysbean]

i hate getting gifts because first of all are you trying to buy me make me feel obligated to you so I feel the need to be polite and sweet to you all the time and secondly once you inevitably leave what the fuck am i supposed to do with them

[inhidingxoxo3637]

Acosta is the sylvanian family mole

THE MOLE FAMILY ARE CALLED THE MCBURROWS 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[gilligans-islands]

i think its interesting that throughout all of ep 6 we can see stede and ed like sharing a connection but they are taking it slow. they are just having small moments together where they are together and enjoying each others company.

then of course Ned Low shows up and ruins everything by capturing and torturing the crew and he says many things to rile up both stede and ed who still havent like fully reformed their relationship and trust for eachother and it probably alights all their insecurities about their relationship plus they had to watch each other get tortured and almost die and after he chooses to kill ned stede is obviously shaken up both from killing a man and all of the shit he just went through and hes vulnerable and scared and lightly traumatized probably and ed goes to check on him and stede is just is a horrible headspace and he falls back on his old ways and acts on a whim by grabbing ed and pushing him up against the wall

and ed didnt have any better of a night than stede did, getting tortured and watching your lover get tortured fucking sucks and hes just as in a horrible headspace as stede and so he also acts on a whim and lets stede escalate and they kiss and then they have sex

and everything seems great between them the next morning but suddenly ed is throwing away his leathers—okay pretty sudden but maybe he was already planning to—and then ed is sharing how stede was kinda the one who saved his life when he almost died—okay kinda intense conversation over breakfast but maybe he was already planning on telling him and decided it was a good opportunity—and then later stede shares how he wrote ed letters expressing his love and threw them into the sea—and okay maybe they just felt like really sharing this morning—and then later at jackies ed is telling jackie about how it might not be a phase that he just wants to be a regular guy—and wow okay thats cool maybe hes just been thinking about it for a while—and then stede lights a man on fire who wants to kill him—and woah stede um kinda harsh you didnt even hear the man out—and then stede and ed meet up and stede got his ear pierced—thats cool unplanned but cool—and then ed tells stede that he took a job as a fisherman and is leaving—

and then suddenly you realize theyve fallen back into their old patterns of acting on whims again

suddenly they aren't taking things slow, suddenly they are sharing intimate things with each other with 0 apprehension

they are right back where they were in season 1 right down to ed wanting to get away from pirating like his life depends on it and stede wanting nothing more but to be a pirate and live out his fantasy

and this time they fight and ed outright says that things are going too fast and part of it is that he just wants to leave and he is scared but he feels like this because yeah

they are taking it too fast

they suddenly—on a whim—decided to deepen their relationship way faster than they should have entirely on accident just by—on a whim—deciding to have sex when they were both in a vulnerable state and needed comfort

i really dont think it was an accident that episode 4 decided to spell out for us that Ed and Stede are whim prone people. it wasnt just an explanation for why last season ended the way it did with them splitting up. it was an omen for what was eventually going to happen with them in these episodes. the inevitability that they were eventually going to succumb to their true natures if not given the proper space and time to work out the shit between them, if insecurities and expectations got piled onto them again.

[lesbiansanemi]

I think… I have figured out the reason I never get gendered as a guy anymore and it’s making me have…. A lot of really complex feelings

[exopelagic]

i said i wouldn’t do it this time but it’s 3am and mods asleep. boy

[transvamp]

yknow a lot of online leftists are less concerned with actually improving the material conditions of ppls lives and are more concerned with the way people think and talk. like its all about words and not actions a lot of the times. so it makes sense why ppl are bringing up fran drescher being against mask mandates as if it invalidates the sag-aftra strike, because the problem is she has the wrong opinion or thoughts, any action she takes in a different realm must be suspect or not worthy of supporting. like i cant rlly articulate it that well but like, idk. theres smthn about how the way a lot of online leftist circles are more concerned with arguing over semantics rather than like, volunteering at a soup kitchen or giving money to homeless people or donating clothes

[pencil-n-pen]

TONGUES AND TEETH

₊˚ʚ 🌲₊˚✧ ﾟ. °🍂 ೃ࿔*

jackson! joel miller x fem! loner! reader

masterlist | ko-fi

summary: Joel refuses to acknowledge the part of him that aches to be a protector. That is, until you come crashing into his life.

cw: canon-typical violence, reader had a rough go of things before Joel, nightmares, medical inaccuracies (oh the horror!) uhhh reader has a broken nose and it gets set, unspecified age gap, daddy issues but we all saw that coming and it’s vague, as an ellie lover and defender until the day i die, it pains me to say no ellie-au IM SORRY I COULDN’T MAKE IT WORK bella ramsey as ellie they could never make me hate you

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort as always, age gap, nightmare comfort, honestly just two messed up people loving each other

a/n: proof that i will find a way to write an eldest daughter fic for any fandom/universe

not officially writing for him !! just had this idea

another long(ish) fic. if you're here from my masterlist, now would be a good time to go pee, get some water, and maybe a snack or two :) same things for those of you scrolling. i see u

title taken from tongues and teeth by the crane wives (GO LISTEN TO THE CRANE WIVES !!)

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚🦴⋆｡°✩

Jackson living isn’t all Joel thought it would be cracked up to be.

Don’t get him wrong- objectively, it’s great. Running water, electricity, a clinic- three hallmarks Joel was sure he’d never see again. Not since the outbreak.

So by all means, he should be content. He goes out for hunting parties and patrols. Has his own house. Has a permanent place to keep his boots and his knives and guns and a bookshelf to make his way through. He has a bed. He has his brother.

But he’s restless.

Joel spent a long time walking. Searching. Surviving. You don’t quite slip back into easy civilian life just like that, no matter how perfect the conditions are.

At first, he solves this problem but going on more hunting parties, more patrols. He stays up late doing guard rotations and helps out his brother with projects when he can.

It doesn’t solve the itch, though. That sharp little thrumming, just beneath his skin: the need to protect. To have a job. To have something or someone to look after.

He denies this part of himself as much as he can, because he’s not that man anymore. Not after Sarah. He’s not. You don’t stay somebody dying to help and protect when you kill people. Because they’re still people, under the fungus. Under the parasite. Their brain’s still work. They still feel pain and anguish and fear.

He’s heard them cry before. Hunched over a corpse, body acting with somebody else at the reins, faces covered in blood and gore crying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

So Joel isn’t a protective guy anymore. Had to take out those parts. Replace them with solitary and meanness and a distinct lack of sympathy.

It’s turned him into an angry thing. Like a gaurd dog; snarling, circling an empty pedestal it refuses to acknowledge is there.

He knows Tommy see’s it. Try’s to involve him in things whenever he can, invites him over to dinner. Hangs out at his house. Makes sure Joel isn’t alone-alone.

So Joel really, really should’ve seen it coming when he and the scouting party find you in the woods.

You’re just as surprised to see them as they are to see you. They thought they were tracking a deer— although some of the tracks and patterns of disturbance in the underbrush didn’t add up.

They’d entered a clearing, guns poised, just to see you, handgun leveled at them, perched in a tree. Way higher up than Joel would’ve dared.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” You’d hissed, voice carrying on the wind and rattling just like the leaves on the tree you’re in. How you managed to scale a tree that high in a busted pair of Doc Martens and lugging a backpack clearly full of supplies is beyond him.

But he doesn’t need medical credentials to know you’ve clearly had a rough go of things.

You’re young. Not young-young, but young. Dressed in clothes clearly pilfered, you’re wearing a thick brown jacket that probably would’ve belonged to a construction worker or something like that. It’s a few sizes too big, and the cuffs are frayed and there’s a hastily sewn patch on the elbow he can see. Your face and hair is littered with tree and other plant debris- though if this is a new addition from your tree climbing escapade, he’s not sure. Your nose has dried blood crusted under it, your lip is split, and there’s a cut above your eyebrow. Your knuckles and hands are equally torn and split, old and new scars and scrapes littering your skin.

In short: you look rough. And feral, in that way that cats that live outside a little too long and a little too far away from people end up looking.

“I said stay back!”

He remembers, abruptly, that you’re probably scared out of your mind and the rest of the scouting team is still pointing their weapons at you.

He makes the motion for them to lower their weapons, and he lowers his own, raising both hands in the universal “we come in peace” gesture.

You don’t lower yours, but your grip on it is looser.

“We’re from the Jackson settlement,” He shouts, hoping you don’t hear the gruff anger in his voice that Tommy always complains he needs to work on. “There’s running water and electricity.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Your hands have begun to shake on the gun, ever so slightly. “So what’s your guys prerogative, huh? Cannablism? Religion? You planning on burning me at the stake? Or did you have something else in mind? I am a woman.”

Joel takes a step forward but stops when a bullet hits the ground right where his foot was about to be.

“If you take one more step you’re gonna find out exactly why I’ve survived alone this long.”

“Look,” He says, dropping his hands to his hips. “You can shoot us, and one of us will shoot you, and it’ll all be fine and dandy—“

There’s a chorus of whispers behind him.

“Or you can stay in that tree and not shoot us, and we won’t shoot you, and that’ll also be fine and dandy.”

He turns, jamming a finger in the direction of the settlement. “Jackson’s that way. Go or don’t go. I don’t really give a shit, but you look like you could use a bandaid.”

He jerks his head, and the rest of the party follows his lead, leaving the clearing —and you— behind.

—

A few hours after he returns, somewhere in the late evening when twilight is starting to set in and the crickets are chirping, Tommy knocks on his door.

“There’s a girl here for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someone asked for me?”

“Well, not so much as for you. Her words exactly were “that gruff, mean looking asshole,” but I got the picture.”

He sighs, deep in his bones. A small part of him —the part that’s still connected to that dog, still circling— had hoped you would show up. However, it’s hopelessly overshadowed by the sheer exasperation of it all.

He’s silent save for non-committal grunts and hmm’s the way over to the front gates where the evening rotation’s guards have you standing between them.

You’re slightly worse for wear since the last time he saw you in that tree. Your jacket as a new rip in it, and your nose is sluggishly bleeding again. Up close, he notices it’s a bit crooked.

Gonna hurt like a bitch to set, He thinks absentmindedly.

He slows as he approaches you, hands in his pockets and shoulders back.

“See?” He huffs, gesturing with one hand behind him. “Not cannibals. Or whatever else you’re worried about.”

Your face is hard set as you look around. “That remains to be seen.”

“Hello!”

Joel looks back to see a pregnant Maria waddling over, a concerned Tommy at her side.

“I told you I’d handle it—“

“And I told you I’m fine. Now,” She props her hands on her hips. “Who’s this young lady now?”

You (hesitantly) stick out a hand to shake and introduce yourself.

She shakes your hand with a smile. Leave it to Maria to be able to read people with such ease. “I’m Maria Miller. I’m one of the settlement councilors. The golden retriever fussing next to me is my husband, Tommy, and the angry looking bear next to him is his brother, Joel. I understand a scouting party found you?”

You nod, eyes flicking this way and that, cataloguing the area.

“I’ve been on my own for… awhile. I don’t have any supplies to offer, but I’m smart and strong. I’m willing to work in exchange for a place to stay.”

Maria hums, assessing. “I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll need to come with me to speak to the rest of the council, for our safety and yours.”

You tighten your grip on your backpack but follow Maria and Tommy, only sparing one backward glance at Joel.

He spends the rest of the evening trying to forget the look in your eyes.

—

He fails spectacularly.

This doesn’t mean, however, that he’s anywhere near pleased when his nightly reading-as-a-poor-attempt-at-normalcy routine is interrupted by a knock on the door. One that sounds suspiciously like Tommy’s type of knock.

Only he hears two voices as he walks up to the door, and the other one isn’t Maria.

Joel opens the door with a glare already fixed on his face.

“There have to be other places.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “It’s only temporary. The council agreed to let her stay so long as she’s watched by a trusted Jackson member, and well. You vouched for her.”

“And when exactly did I do that?”

“In the woods, when you met. You told her where you were from and how to get there. Honestly, Joel, you’re getting off light here. Some of the council members were not happy you told a random loner —no offense— where to find us. Kind of defeats the whole point.”

You huff a quiet “None taken.”

He can’t help the way his body tenses. “So this is a punishment?”

“Yes and no.”

“I don’t—“

“Look,” you interject, clearly fed up with the conversation. “It’s not the end of the world. I’m not going to murder you in your sleep and I don’t leave dirty clothes lying around. It’s only for three weeks. Get over it.”

Another sigh threatens to release itself, but he stamps it down, figuring he’s hit his sigh quota for the day.

“Fine. But take her down to medical first. I don’t want her blood all over my house.��

Tommy shrugs. “No-can-do. Maria needs me back at the house. You know where medical is. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

And with that, Tommy leaves, abandoning Joel and you at the doorstep.

Joel scrubs a hand down his face. “Wait there. I’ll grab a jacket.”

The walk to the clinic is awkward and silent, and just when Joel thinks it can’t get any worse, one of the staff tells him that since he’s your assigned supervisor/watcher/whatever, he has to accompany you. To everything.

To your credit, you don’t look very happy about the arrangement either.

Still, you bear through all the exams, a grimace fixed firmly on your face. Apparently (and not surprisingly) you’re malnourished, dehydrated, running a small fever, deficient in several vitamins, have two cracked ribs (most likely, no x-ray machine) and some run of the mill scraps and bruises.

You’re cagey enough on the details of the cracked ribs and nose that the doctor eventually moves on to the fixing you stage of things.

It takes awhile. There are a lot of injuries to cover.

When it comes to resetting your nose, the second the woman pulls out a needle and syringe, you go rigid.

“No.”

The doctor blinks. “This is just lidocaine, it’ll numb the area so—“

“No.”

“You wanna feel all that?” Joel asks, the first time he’s spoken during your entire exam, “It ain’t gonna feel great. Crooked nose like that won’t set with one go.”

“No needles. No numbing.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “What, you got a pain thing or something?”

Your hands go white-knuckled on the exam table. “Fuck. Off.”

You’re shaking, he notes.

Ah, He says to himself. Not a pain thing.

Fear.

The doctor shrugs. “Not like I won’t take the chance to save what we have. You’ll want something to bite down on. Or squeeze.”

You wrap your fingers around your own hand, a pathetic attempt at self-soothing.

He decides annoyance is the emotion he feels at your small movement. Nothing else.

He rolls his eyes as he grabs your hand, maneuvering it in place of your own.

“Good luck breaking it.”

You don’t respond. He wasn’t really expecting you to.

He knows without looking the exact moment the doctor starts resetting things because your grip on his hand quickly turns from barely there to crushing. You make no sound.

The doctor, to her credit, works fairly quickly, though by the time she’s finished a single tear has carved a path through the blood and grime on your face.

He thinks about how someone learns to cry without sound.

The doctor moves on quickly, cleaning and bandaging the wounds that need it and telling you detailed instructions for how to take care of your nose and cracked ribs and what things you should be eating to avoid staying vitamin deficient. It’s all a lot of words Joel is glad he doesn’t have to memorize.

They stick in his head anyway.

You don’t let go of his hand. You’re no longer squeezing the life out of it, but you’re not holding its gently either. When you do finally let go (after the doctor’s left and you can leave) you practically tear your hand away, as if burned. Like you’d left your hand on a stove as it was heating up only you just now noticed it was hot.

He doesn't say anything about it. He figures you're liable to literally bite his head off, or some other violent action close to that.

Besides. This is all awkward enough.

The walk back to the house is just as silent and strained as the walk to the clinic. Only now your breath is just a little more labored. Steps a little shakier. Your hand's twitch at your sides like they're reaching for something, and you don't quite manage to hide the way you look around every now and then, a restless, nervous action.

He knows what you're doing. He was you, back when he first got to Jackson. Granted, he wasn't as twitchy as you are. He kept his distance, stayed mean and scary (as possible.)

He holds the door open for you when you arrive back to the house, because his mom raised him to be a gentleman no matter the circumstances.

You toss him a look of confusion and annoyance but step into the house, looking around the modest living room with something almost like wonder.

He toes off his shoes, sets them by the door, and takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook. "Shower before you touch anything. You're filthy. And don't think I'm giving up my bed."

"I wouldn't have taken it even if you had," You sneer. "Where's the--"

"Down the hall on the left. You got clean clothes?"

"...I have less dirty ones."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wait here."

He grumbles all the way upstairs, all the way through picking out clothes that'll fit you well enough until you either wash what you have or find something else.

He silently glowers as he comes down the stairs, thrusting the clothes out to you and turning on his heel when you take them.

"I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up."

When he lies in bed that night, he can't even pretend he's not thinking about you. In his defense, it's less about you and more about the new, strange, stand-offish person he's just supposed to live with for the foreseeable future. All because he had the bad luck of feeling bad for the battered, flighty, loner girl sitting in a tree.

He stares at his ceiling, internal clock (yes, he's old, he has an internal clock. Sue him) letting him know it is decidedly an hour he should be asleep. He refuses to go downstairs, on principle alone. He could get up and go find one of his books, but he knows that if you're anything like him, coming off of however long you spent alone, you're a light sleeper. You're probably awake now, listening to him toss and turn and being unnerved by the unusual silence of Jackson and the particular brand of night-noise it produces. That's what the first two weeks of Joel's life in Jackson consisted of, before he moved in here.

Maria had decided that Joel would stay with the two of them until he integrated in Jackson society. Perks of your brother marrying a council member, he guesses.

So he's not going downstairs. Not going to walk down there just to see a person, an entire person in his house looking like, looking like--

Fuck.

He throws his blankets off and angrily (but not loudly) marches downstairs to get himself a glass of water and the book he knows he left on the table by the couch when he was so rudely interrupted by you. This is his house, dammit, he refuses to be put out by a random girl.

Woman, his brain corrects.

The living room is completely dark when he makes his way down the stairs and he truly, honestly wishes he was surprised when there's a whoosh of air to his right and a knife embeds itself in the wall about a half inch away from the side of his face.

The living room is still and silent.

"I thought they took your weapons when you got here."

"I lied about what I had."

He scrubs a hand down his face, yanks the knife out of the wall, and tosses it back. If you can throw it, you can dodge it.

He doesn't hear any screams, yelps, or grunts of pain, so he assumes you caught it fine. Or at least dodged it.

He makes his way over to the kitchen, grabs the teapot, and takes down two mugs.

"You know they can kick you out for harboring weapons during your probationary stay."

He hears a rustle of blankets behind him. The sound of you stashing your knife, no doubt.

"Are you going to tell them?"

He snorts, filling up the teapot. "No. There's been a knife in my boot since the day I got here."

He hears more rustling, and decides against turning around. He's not quite sure what you've been doing down here all night since it's clear that you weren't sleeping.

He doesn't hear any footsteps, but when does turn around to set the mugs on the table, you're sitting at it, knees pulled up and head resting atop them, your cheek smushed. Now that his eye's have adjusted to the darkness of the living room, he can almost make out your features. They're easier to discern, now that you're not covered in blood and grime. You look... softer. Haloed in the glow of moonlight shining through the gaps in the curtains.

Your face isn't the only thing glowing. The tell-tale glint of a knife --a different, smaller knife than the one you'd thrown at him-- shines from it's spot, resting oh-so innocently on the table.

Joel just huffs.

"No weapons on the table."

He blinks, and it's gone.

He doesn't ask why you're still awake or what you've been doing instead of sleeping. You don't ask why he's down in the kitchen at all.

"What are you making?"

"Tea."

He gently places a teabag in each mug. He isn't really sure why he's doing this for you. You've done nothing but hiss and spit since he's met you.

But tonight, right now, blanketed in the not-quite calm of the night and the apparent unease you both drown in--

It's tolerable. You're tolerable.

So he takes the kettle off the stove and pours the water and places the steaming mug on the table in front of you.

To which you ignore, and snatch the mug out of his hands instead.

"Did you think I put that one," He points to the mug in front of you, "There for giggles?"

You cradle the mug in your hands, seemingly entranced with the warmth and steam. "You might've poisoned mine."

"Maybe I poisoned both."

You take a sip, then grimace when the too-hot liquid hits your tongue.

"You don't look like the kind of person to have built an immunity to poison."

"You also watched me make both beverages."

"So? It's dark. You could've slipped something in. Or maybe it was already in the teabags."

"What use would I even have for you dead?"

You shrug. "I don't know. You tell me."

“You’re a deeply mistrusting person.”

“And you’re not?”

Touché.

Joel remains in the kitchen, leaned against a cabinet sipping your tea, while you stay hunched at the table, sipping yours.

If he removes the irritability and the uncomfortable-ness of everything that involves you living with him, the moment is almost… companionable. Pleasant, even.

It… soothes that nervous part of him. Not the sad nervous. The angry nervous. That built up crack of anger.

There’s another person in his home that is neither attempting to perceive his problems nor actively attempting to kill him. Your belief that he might poison you aside, you still accepted the tea.

He firmly believes that Tommy isn’t right about the loneliness thing though. His brother being right is just a world Joel can’t live in.

Besides. It’s too early to tell anything anyway.

—

Unfortunately, the following few days do not go… terribly.

That isn’t to say they go well, though. Since he’s looking after you (read: making sure you’re not an axe-murderer or something) he’s not allowed to go out on scouting or hunting trips. Or solo guard rotations he’s come to covet.

It’s boring, and having you around is strange.

It’s interesting, when he gets bored enough, because if he focuses hard enough he can guess what events happened to you based on your reactions to certain things. He’s pretty sure you were drugged at some point based on your reaction to the doctor with the lidocaine. You’re general skittish and flighty nature can be easily attributed to the conditions in which everyone in the world is living in, but your particular brand of distrust and aggression says that humans, not the infected, have been the ones to hurt you the most. Your general unease in open areas or areas with not easily accessible exits leads him to believe that there have been several extremely close calls in several points of your survival.

He knows you’ve been shot before, but that one was an accident. He’d come downstairs, rubbing bleary sleep from his eyes and accidentally stumbled across you changing. Well, finishing changing. He’d quickly closed his eyes and turned around, and thankfully you hadn’t startled, but he had caught a glimpse of the stretch of skin not covered by the long sleeve undershirt you favored. On the left side, just above your hip and a few inches towards your bellybutton, there’s a jagged, raised, circular scar. Still pink.

He knows you have a very slight, very subtle limp. He’s not sure what causes it, but he knows you have one. It tends to act up when you do a lot of strenuous exercise for an extended period of time. Some days you wake up and it’s worse. On those days, you’re a little more mean, and a little more skittish.

He’s yet to see you actually, legitimately sleep.

He’s starting to think you haven’t, since arriving.

Which is insane, because it’s been four days.

The bags under your eyes are horrific, even to him. You’ve gotten clumsier and clumsier, your attention span and memory are terrible, and he thinks you might’ve started hallucinating, if the times he’s seen you staring off into space with concerned, fearful, or twisted expressions on your face and mumbled rambles he can’t make out are anything to go by.

On day five, when Joel comes downstairs in the morning and the knife you throw at him bounces harmlessly off the wall and clatters to the ground and you just stare at it, eyes foggy and unseeing, he decides to talk to Maria.

“I don’t really care,” He says, because he has a reputation to uphold dammit, “But I’m not sure how much longer she’s gonna last, and what she’s gonna do when she wakes up.”

“Mmm,” Maria hums, hands clasped on the table and staring at Joel with her best ‘I don’t believe you don’t care’ look. She’s really perfected it, “Well the truth is, she can’t go forever. It’s fear keeping her up now. Happens a lot with the loners that come in. Especially the women. She’s afraid that no one’s there to watch her back and terrified she won’t be strong enough to fend off any attackers.”

Maria looks at her hands. “The fear is exacerbated by the fact that the council took most of her weapons.”

“You knew—“

“She was lying? Of course I did. So did several of the other members, I’m sure. But she’s not a threat. She’s scared.”

He thumbs the thin scar on his cheek from the knife came just a little too close to hitting the mark when he sneezed in the kitchen. “She’s got a funny way of being scared.”

“Fight or flight, Joel. She knows flight isn’t an option.”

“Why are you lobbying so hard in her defense?”

“I’m not. I’m explaining her actions. Also,” She gives a knowing smile, “You’ve started to care. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming to me about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He grouses. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait for her to pass out?”

“You could. It’ll happen eventually. She very clearly doesn’t have that many hours left in her. That’s probably freaking her out more. Or, you could subtly show her that she can sleep around you. She needs to know that she’s safe from whatever it is she’s running from.”

Joel keeps his eyes locked on the kitchen table, tracing the grain in the wood with an absent-minded finger.

“I know you pushed for her to stay with me.”

“The council wanted a punishment that fit the crime.”

“Look, I appreciate the thought—“

Maria’s expression flattens. “Joel. Do not sit at my table and lie about how you don’t need anyone and you’re fine on your own. You need this.“

“I don’t need this,” He scoffs, “She’s practically half-feral. No one needs that.”

Maria stands, shrugging. “Then I guess you’ll have to file for a name change, No-One Miller. Until then, make sure she’s not alone when she wakes up.”

—

He did leave you alone for the duration of his conversation with Maria, because fuck if he was bringing you to that, and he figured you both could use some time away from each other. He knows he can.

He’s not very surprised to hear the familar whoosh of a small, sharp object sailing through the air that tends to accompany his arrival into rooms you’re occupying (he’s pretty sure it stopped being a fear response after the first two times and now you’re just messing with him) but he is suprised to see that this time, the knife doesn’t even make it head height. Or to the wall.

It clatters uselessly to the ground near his feet. He stares at the metal between his boots and then up at you—

“Why are you sitting on the kitchen counter?”

“I don’t remember.”

He leaves the knife on the ground and makes his way over to you, watching with mock disinterest at the several-seconds-delayed flinch you make when he stands in front of you.

You look up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused and you just look so, so tired.

There’s a curl of protectiveness in his chest that keeps trying to spread, keeps trying to grow. Here, in the kitchen, your legs dangling over the edge of the counter, bathed in the glow of the mid-day sun, it takes root. Right in the center.

He looks down at your feet. “What happened to your other shoe?”

You scrunch up your face. “I don’t… I was getting in bed, I think. But it wasn’t my bed. I forgot that things aren’t—“

That things aren’t the same anymore.

He crouches down, untying the laces of your boot and shucking it aside somewhere.

“Alright, come on.”

You slide off the counter, clumsy and uncoordinated. He takes your hand in his, leads you up to the bedroom.

The stairs are difficult for your tired, barely working brain. He has to stop multiple times to physically lift your legs or stop you from falling over and cracking your head open.

You finally make it up there, though, and he realizes that you probably won’t want to sleep in your everyday clothes.

“One last step.”

He can’t help but notice how intimate the moment is. Not intimate-intimate, but. He instructs you softly to lift your arms so he can tug your shirt over your head and replaces it with a soft shirt of his own.

Staring into your eyes is too charged and allowing his eyes to wander is bad for obvious reasons, so he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the junction of where your neck meets your shoulder.

He keeps his eyes there as he helps you out of your pants and into a pair of flannel pajama pants. The same ones he’d given you the first night you came. You’ve never slept and he’s never seen you go to any of the places he knows have extra clothes, so he’s almost positive you don’t have any pajamas at all.

His fingers work quickly to tie the drawstring on the pants, and even then, they hang low on your hips.

He doesn’t let his eyes linger.

“Come on,” He says taking your arm and tugging you toward the bed. “Time for sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” You mumble, standing in place. “And I can’t, what if they—“

“I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll keep watch.”

You mull his words over in your head for a few moments before stumbling the final few steps into the bed. You practically collapse into it, shuffling for a just few seconds before your breath evens out.

You’re asleep.

He reaches over, adjusting the blankets a bit, before grabbing the book he’d left on the bedside table and settling down in the chair by the bed.

The hours tick by quietly, accompanied only by the quiet rustling of pages turning and your soft snores.

For the first time in awhile, he doesn’t feel restless.

—

You sleep for a full eighteen hours straight before you stir.

He’s a good portion of the way through his book before he see’s your body tense in the corner of his eye. Your breathes are still even and deep, so if he couldn’t see you, he probably wouldn’t notice you’re awake.

“You’ve been asleep for eighteen hours,” He says, voice rough and scratchy with disuse, “You got in bed voluntarily.”

“You changed my clothes.”

“You didn’t seem all that capable of doing so yourself and I didn’t think you wanted to sleep in jeans. You mind?”

“…No.”

“Good. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t just—“

“You didn’t sleep for five days. If we’re going by the eight hours a night average needed or whatever, that’s forty hours. You’ve still got twenty-two left to catch up on.”

You roll over to face him with a grumble. “I don’t like how good you are at mental math.”

“Get better, then.”

You shimmy out from under the blankets, tossing him an “I have to pee,” as you make your way out of the room.

It’s early morning now, weak sunlight behind to strain its way through the curtains. He figures it’s a good enough time to make some food (and coffee) if you’re going to be going to back sleep, so he meanders down to the kitchen and throws together a small breakfast.

“Did you make us breakfast?”

He never really gets used to how quietly you move through rooms.

“Jesus— yes. Here.”

He hands you a bowl with oatmeal and a small plate with a slice of toast— toasted in a pan, because electricity aside, he doesn’t own a toaster. Why waste time scavenging for an appliance when something else works just as fine?

He sets a jar of jam on the counter that he’d picked up awhile ago in exchange for fixing the hinge on somebody’s door.

“You got any allergies?”

“None that matter.”

He nods to the table. “Go eat. Then get back in bed.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re annoying. Eat.”

You eat quickly and quietly, then wordlessly follow him back upstairs, climbing back into bed.

“Joel?” You whisper.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He tucks the blanket up over your shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

You obey easily.

—

Things between the two of you… soften after that. He slowly sees more pieces of your personality than the wild thing he met that day in the woods.

He learns that you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but miss peanut butter and nutella sandwiches more than anything. He learns that on good days, you like drinking coffee straight black, but on bad days, you like it with milk and sugar.

He learns that your limp is the result of one careless mistake you’d made when you first surviving on your own.

“I thought the house was abandoned. It wasn’t,” You’d rolled up your pant leg to show horrific, deep, jagged scars circling your ankle, “Guy had set out a bear trap to slow down some of the clickers in the area. It was dark. Didn’t notice it until too late.”

He learns that you, despite your snide remarks and sarcastic comments, like having him around. He feels a bit like earning the trust of a stray cat.

You begin to grow more comfortable with life in Jackson, though not by much. He’s sure you weren’t a people person before the outbreak, much less so now that he knows some of the horrors you’ve been through before you got here.

He’s even started getting used to how quietly you move.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, from there.

He wakes up, goes downstairs. Sometime’s there’s a knife thrown at him, sometimes there isn’t. You’re usually sprawled on the couch, drool coming out of your mouth and grumbling incoherently about “old men and their stupid early mornings.”

It’s almost endearing.

Since Joel spends a lot of time helping Maria and Tommy get ready for their baby, you, in turn, get to know the both of them by being stuck with Joel. Maria set you on edge at first, Tommy slightly less so, but through continuous interactions your prickly nature smoothed.

One night, you were all seated on their couch after enjoying a dinner together —not the first and definitely not the last— having quiet conversation. You’re totally passed out on Joel’s shoulder, dead-asleep and quite content to use him as a human teddy bear.

Maria smiles over her mug of tea. “She’s grown on you.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. She’s not all bad.”

“High praise coming from Joel Miller.”

You have grown on him. And in turn, your relationship has started to grow into… something else. Sometimes his eyes linger just a little too long, and the looks you share feel just a little too charged.

Tommy sends him a look full of words only true siblings can understand.

“No, Tommy.”

“Oh come on Joel! You both clearly—“

“We are not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because—“

You fling an arm out wildly, smacking him in the side of his face and grasping around until your pointer finger finally finds his lips.

“Shhhh. M’ sleeping.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist, prying your fingers off his face. “You know that’s what bed’s are for. Or couches. Or any number of surfaces I’ve found you sleeping on.”

“You’re a surface I’m sleeping on.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a bed. Come on, up and at em’.”

You whine at the loss of warmth when he stands, scowling as you haul yourself to your feet. As he’s putting on his boots by the door, he hears you thanking Maria and Tommy for their hospitality, and he can’t help the little smile that twitches on his face. Seems like his parents weren’t the only ones who made sure he had manners.

You meet him at the door, hopping in place to put your boots on and getting frustrated when they don’t slide on immediately.

“You know, it would help if you untied the laces—“

“Fuck off.”

He blinks. That seems a little more mean than you usually say nowadays.

So Joel takes a step back. Watch’s your legs and your shoes and your hands—

There.

Your hands shake as you fumble with the laces, unable to get a good grip on the thin cords to untie and re-tie your shoes.

He shoos your hands away from the singular boot you haven’t managed to get on.

“Sit.”

He’s thankful that he built the shoe bench for Maria a few weeks after he got to Jackson. It serves Maria well for not having to stand while she attempts to put her shoes on while heavily pregnant, a feat she bemoaned a few times, and now it’s serving you.

You plop down on the bench with a huff, crossing your arms as Joel crouches, undoing the laces of your boot and sliding it on.

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.”

“Why’re you doing it?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He secures the tie on one boot and moves on to the next. “It is tonight.”

Once both shoes are on, you both bid Tommy and Maria good night, and make your way home.

If your hand find’s Joel’s, then that’s not anyone’s business.

—

He notices things after that.

You’ve started snapping at him more often. You’re not sleeping as much. You’ve started flat out refusing to go with him on daily chores as tasks, which either leads to an argument or the both of you staying at home all day.

It all comes to a head when you wake up screaming.

He thunders down the stairs, ducking on instinct for a knife that doesn’t come. You’re not on the couch. He whips his head around, the screaming stopped he can’t find you—

A thud. A panicked gasp.

He moves on slow, apprehensive feet towards the kitchen, crouching down to see you huddled under the table, knife clenched in your hand and pointed toward him.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

Your eyes are wide and shining with tears.

“You died.”

“I didn’t. I’m right here.”

You shake your head, breaths coming short and shallow.

He settles on the floor, crossing his legs. “Here, take my hand. Come on.”

He extends his hand into the space between you two. Achingly slowly, you put down the knife, and take his hand in yours.

“See? I’m still here.”

Eventually, your breathing slows, and the fear begins to leave your eyes. You drop his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, no it’s just—“ You break off with a strangled noise.

He waits. Lets a few minutes tick by.

“Does this have anything to do with the fact you’ve been avoidin’ me?”

You look down. “You noticed?”

“I do have eyes, sweetheart.”

You grab the knife again, twisting it this way and that in your hands.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

He tilts his head. “How come?”

You’re silent for a little while again.

“I feel… okay with you.”

“And that’s scary?”

“Yes,” You breathe, “You could leave, or die, and it scares me that I’m already attached to you. That having nightmare’s of you dying affects me so much. That they happen at all.”

He hums. “Seem’s were at an impasse.”

He taps a finger on his knee.

“It’s not all bad. To care.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Joel Miller?”

He huffs, shaking his head. “You know, against my better judgment, I’ve come to tolerate having you around.”

“Tolerate?”

“Mhm.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“So you’ve never thought about kissing me?”

Heat rushes to his face. “Is that really a question you want to be asking right now?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He stands, “Well I don’t answer that kind of question at this hour. Come on.”

He reaches under the table and pulls you out.

You clamber to your feet, still a little shaky after your nightmare.

You turn to go back to the couch, but stops when he tugs on your arm.

“Mm-mm. No couch tonight.”

You look up at him, a question in your eyes he doesn’t know how to answer with words.

He steps forward, rough hands coming up to your face, thumb swiping the crest of your cheek.

“Tell me to stop.”

“I won’t.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss, soft and slow.

He pulls away after a few moments, searching your face for any sign of negativity or displeasure or disgust or, or—

You surge up, kissing him again, all the same fiery passion he saw the day you met.

“I suppose that answers my question.”

He chuckles. “You think?”

“I hope so.”

His hands slide down to your waist. and he can’t resist the little squeeze he gives the skin there.

“Alright. Back to bed, let’s go.”

“I forgot how tired old men get.”

“Please don’t call me an old man right after we kiss.”

He can hear your quiet snorting laughter as you climb the stairs, socked feet silent as always.

You climb into bed first, shoving yourself into the side by the wall and then making grabby motions for Joel.

“Am I just a pillow to you?”

“Yes. Come be a pillow.”

He rolls his eyes but slips into bed next to you and quietly relishes in the pleased hum you let out as you wrap your arms around his waist, practically smashing your face into his chest.

“You comfortable there?”

“Mhm.”

He curls one arm around you, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. This close, he feels the shudder run through your body at the motion, and curious, he gives your nape a little squeeze.

Your reaction is instantaneous. You go limp- completely boneless.

“I got you, I got you. Go to sleep, now.”

It doesn’t take you long. And with you asleep so soundly in his arms, he follows right behind you.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

[gutsby]

Who’s Your Daddy?

Pairing: Stepdad!Joel x Reader

Summary: You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Deadbeat-Perv-Peepaw LOVES corny porn tropes and women over half his age. Stepcest & dubcon technically bc Reader’s locked inside an appliance, but she’s into it (getting fucked, not stuck). One (1) kick in the dick. Spanking. Brat-taming. Choking. Daddy issues. Size kink. Praise kink. Infidelity. Creampie.

Note: Saw this post by @ovaryacted and started BARKING. For my Old Man lovers/daddy issues crew, this one’s for you.

Word count: 8.3k

It was the closest thing to porn you’d ever done before.

Still, you weren’t quite ready to call it that.

And why should you? Financial straits were no anomaly to a girl your age, especially in this economy, and almost everyone you knew had a side gig of some kind. It just so happened that your job required slightly skimpier attire. And a webcam. And some very special…accessories that would likely send your grandmother into cardiac arrest if she ever took a peek inside your bottom dresser drawer.

Okay, it was definitely porn.

But you never showed your face, so it didn’t really count as the same kind of stuff that your family condemned.

You scampered out of your room the second you heard the front door to the house slam closed all the same. Arms laden with G-strings, stockings, satin bralettes, lace and tulle bodysuits of almost every style imaginable, you ran a quick, perilous path to the living room window and made sure to keep your head ducked low as you did. You peered out through the gap in the curtains and had to squint hard to see anything in the midafternoon sun.

Then you saw it and felt instant relief—they were leaving.

Your grandma for one, your mother for second, and wherever the latter was headed, you knew her shadow would be soon to follow. You saw a thick plume of smoke outside and surmised that Joel was somewhere around the other side of the SUV, smoking and droning on about how he was perfectly fi-i-i-ne to drive, don’t be like that.

By ‘like that’ he meant sensible. And by ‘perfectly fine’ he meant two Miller Lites shy of completely shitfaced. You could already imagine the wry smile on your mother’s lips as she tried prying the keys from his hands. Your stepdad would probably plant a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek to win a ‘yes’ in return—and when she shyly reminded him that he couldn’t afford to get another DUI, he’d get pissed and yank them out of her fist anyway.

Fucking loser.

Fucking triple-the-legal-limit dumbass motherfucker.

It didn’t bother you as much today because you knew they were only driving a couple blocks away to get to the farmer’s market, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t hope he’d get caught. Again. Maybe blow a 0.25 this time and land his old, ungrateful, law-breaking ass in Travis County Jail, where his little brother Tommy was likely keeping a cell bench warm for him, per usual.

At any rate, you didn’t have time to be fantasizing now. It was your turn to embody some guy’s grossest wet dreams for the next two to three hours. Stripping away layer after layer of your latest, tightest ‘costume’ while catering to whatever requests happened to float in your inbox, you knew you’d be up to your eyeballs in work. Though almost routine by now, you had to hurry up.

If you could just get the rest of this ridiculous gunk out of your clothing, you’d be all good to go for the job.

TRMAN22: Pour honey on your tits in the next vid???

TRMAN22: Milk too. All over you.

Looking back, you probably shouldn’t have obliged that request. Now you were facing the consequences—forced to throw all your clothes in the washing machine because the milk and honey you’d dumped on yourself for that video had gotten everywhere, and then swiftly congealed while wasting away in a pile of laundry for over a week.

The whole heap smelled rancid. Still felt sticky, too. Presently, you chucked each one inside the washing machine while holding your breath, and as soon as the last was discarded, you sniffed the shirt you had on.

Tolerable. With the rest of your stuff in the wash, you hoped to get at least one request off the checklist:

TRMAN22: Bet you’d look sexy in a schoolgirl outfit!!

TRMAN22: Why don’t you try one on for me?

It was gag-worthy and gross. Slightly alarming for a man who was more than likely twice your age and old enough to remember Watergate, but you agreed to play along. Your old school uniform was, after all, the only clean clothes you had left, and ‘TRMAN22’ was, unfortunately, your top subscriber. He’d paid $300 for this video alone.

TRMAN22: Wear some NEON pink panties for me too ;)

You squatted in front of the washing machine and stuck a hand inside. You sifted around, furrowing your brows.

The brightest undies you owned were in there, soiled, but you figured you could get away with one gross article of clothing, all things considered. You reached a little further and continued to dig. When you couldn’t find it by feel alone, you peered inside the circular, metallic cavern of the washing machine and craned your neck.

Not here…not here…not—

You tilted forward, venturing a closer look with your head, then shoulders, pushing into the machine.

—here, not here, not—

“EW!” you shrieked.

In your search, you’d inadvertently brushed up against a mildewed piece of clothing that had gotten wedged between the grooves of the washing machine’s interior.

A pair of boxers, it seemed.

You recoiled as soon as your fingers grazed the wet and smelly thing. Your skull went crack against the low-sloped ceiling of the appliance, and a jolt of pain was quick to course through you at the contact. You groaned.

Of course Joel had forgotten some old, cum-stained scrap of fabric out of his last load. Always leaving his shit around for you or your mom to pick up like he owned the place. And here you went, again, angrily plugging your nose and pulling as hard as you could on the shorts to get them free from the washing machine. You hardly thought twice, just made a face and then yanked on it.

The boxers wouldn’t budge.

You tugged even harder. The fabric stayed put.

Something akin to a grunt and a whimper, only far more pathetic, slipped out of your mouth, and you slapped the half-hollow steel wall in frustration. Surrounded as you were—fully encased in metal—the sound just echoed.

“Fucking…CUNT.”

You weren’t sure if you were talking to the shorts, the machine, or Joel Miller in the abstract. Or maybe all three. You just hated the thought of washing your lingerie with your stepdad’s skivvies, and no amount of rational thought or practical reasoning could hold you back now.

The tip of your index finger sank deep beneath the same ridge of the wall where the boxers had gotten stuck. You curled it inward, trying to loosen the material up a little. You wriggled your knuckle even further. And just when you managed to get a hold of the cusp of the tangled fabric—just when it seemed the green plaid cluster was about to give way—you heard a low pop. You felt it, too.

Shortly, your finger was pinched inside the deep, blunt valley of steel that had similarly snagged Joel’s boxers. It seemed you’d pushed the tip of your finger so far that you were caught straight down to the second knuckle—trapped between two grooves of unforgiving alloy inside the washing machine tub with no clear means of escape.

You jerked your arm back, panicked. When the metal sank its teeth even deeper, you didn’t stop. Completely heedless of the pain, you operated on impulse and by the feeling of needing to get the fuck out of that little space, quickly, and instead yanked your hand back even harder.

To your horror, your finger was stuck.

“FUCK!”

You stared down at the poor digit, only half-visible inside the wall at this point, then glanced down at the heap of sweaty, sticky, slutty pieces of clothing that were presently strewn about you, and felt an even deeper stab of dread. Stuck inside your family’s washing machine with every bit of damning evidence one could hope to have—and wearing your old school uniform to boot—you realized at once you were fucked if you didn’t get out.

You slammed your palm against the nearest wall once more, shaking your other wrist like an unruly child.

“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!”

You weren’t good at solving problems. In point of fact, you sucked at all things prudent resolution-related and regularly made it a habit to capitulate whenever you sensed loss inevitable. You were a little like your mother in that way, quick to give in to life’s uglier challenges. The only way you could conceivably claim to be stronger, the only place you always had the strength to say ‘no’ was—

“Aw, shit.”

—Joel.

Your throat tightened as soon as you heard the voice. Your eyes went wide, and the rest of you went numb.

Bent at the waist and kneeling with half your body inside the washing machine, you remained there, motionless. Back arched and ass out. Thanks to the way you’d rolled your old plaid skirt, the fabric covered almost zero cheek.

Someone behind you cleared their throat. Then coughed.

And coughed again, again, and again. Evidently trying to clear the smoke out of his lungs and the surprise from his eyes as he drank in your sight from the doorway.

“What in the—wh—th—” You could hear Joel wheeze, beating his chest with his fist, “What— in— the hell?!”

“Help me,” you hissed.

You weren’t sure why you chose that as your go-to. It just sounded like the right thing to say, and frankly, you weren’t sure how else to distract from the fact Joel was probably gawking at your ass as he coughed up a lung.

“The fuck do you mean ‘help’?! What are you doing?”

The coughing subsided, if only momentarily. You tried pulling back on your finger again to get out, but couldn’t.

“I-I’m…I was just…” you stammered, heart racing.

You heard the tread of heavy footfalls. You felt them.

“Just—trying…” you ventured again, suddenly at a loss for words and breath alike as you felt a presence draw in.

You could smell him.

That realization alone made you want to stop taking in air altogether. It happened out of instinct, really—feeling the shift of two huge boots settle behind your feet and then flinching inward, further inside the metal tub for…safety? A pang of abject humiliation? You were far past the point of civility with the man, caring what he thought, or fearing for your modesty in a position like this, but something about the proximity now just made you itch.

You wished your finger wasn’t jammed inside this appliance so you could give that feeling relief, somehow.

At length, Joel’s voice dragged you back:

“What’s stuck?”

Too calm. A second passed. Then he added, more stern,

“This some fuckin’ joke’a yours or somethin’?”

“No!”

“Then what—”

“My finger. My finger’s stuck.”

You tried to crane your neck to see behind you, but all your eyes had to feast upon was denim. Bluish-grey stonewashed denim, faded with years of use. Joel stood back for a second, as if considering what to do, and then you saw two hands descend to brace themselves against his knees. He bent at the waist to get a better look below.

When his eyes locked with yours, you got the same twist in your gut as you’d felt before, only sharper. Shameful.

The look on Joel’s face was abnormally bright.

“And how on earth did that happen, dumbass?”

Your shame morphed into chagrin in a blink, seeing the ghost of a smile bleed into your stepdad’s features.

“‘Cause of you, leaving your shit in here!” you snapped. Your chin jerked toward the green fabric, “I was just trying to get your boxers unstuck—and my finger…”

Your finger was kind of fucked.

Joel cast a look inside at the source of your frustration. He extended his left arm and reached over your torso, and as he did, you felt the slightest, albeit solid, sort of warmth press in. The man let out a low groan of exertion—likely at the strain the movements placed on his joints.

The warmth got worse. You weren’t sure where it started.

Vaguely, you were aware of Joel’s thumb pressing into your hand. Gliding down your finger, stroking across the spot where your knuckle had gotten caught, he circled over it, slowly, and made another sound in his throat.

“Well that ain’t…good.” Not one to mince words.

By now, your whole body was on fire. You barely had the strength to keep kneeling, much less speak to the man thumbing your hand and pressing his heat so close—

“Just get me out!” you shrieked.

You heard your mother’s voice in that. A shrill, impatient lilt in her speech that came out, invariably, around Joel. Normally, he would have done something to deserve it. But today, with his hand splayed over yours and his breaths as calm and even-keeled as he could hope to have them while he tried to help, he was blameless.

Evidently, he heard a trace of your mother too, because you heard him laugh. You felt the reverberations of his amusement travel up from his belly all the way to his lips.

“Cool your pits, kid.”

For that, you would’ve loved nothing more than to reach back with your free hand and hit him in the balls. But, as it was, this man was your only hope for escape, and he was being tolerably polite, anyway. He pinched your finger between the tips of two of his and gave it a tug.

“Okay, lemme just—” Joel started.

“Why are you home, anyway?”

The question came out more clipped than you meant it.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Joel countered evenly.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

You reckoned he could probably feel you roll your eyes, even if he wasn’t able to see you do it right now. He waited another moment, then leaned back on his haunches and withdrew his arm from the tub.

“Mama don’t like me drinkin’ and drivin’, you know that.”

With that, the warmth was gone. Joel retreated.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before.”

You heard him exhale a little harder through his nose. When he’d steadied himself against the washing machine, gave his knees another second to prepare for getting up again, you could feel his eyes back on you. Maybe he lingered longer than his legs really needed.

Maybe if he hadn’t stayed crouched like that, he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to give your surroundings a second look. He wouldn’t have stopped to watch the rate of your breaths pick up or the way your skin startle to bristle with some strange, unknown sensation. He certainly wouldn’t have felt for himself the fever leaking out from the base of your spine right then.

Today just wasn’t the day for keeping secrets, it seemed.

“And what’s this?” You could feel Joel lean back in.

He was looking again. Peering inside. Steadying his weight with the edge of the washing machine gripped in one hand, while the other snaked its way back inside.

You’d already squeezed your eyes shut by the time Joel got a hold of something. You didn’t know what it was.

But it became painfully clear that it wasn’t just one ‘thing’ that had grabbed his attention at all, but rather a series of items that his hands were just now getting to explore. You didn’t have to see his broad and tan, callus-streaked fingers to feel them roaming over your clothes.

Gross.

Gross.

“Gross,” Joel agreed, as if he’d read your mind. Grinning.

If you thought the embarrassment was bad before, you really only knew a fraction of what humiliation could be. Your finger throbbed along with the pulse in your skull.

Your mother’s husband whistled and lifted something.

“Darlin’, this is just…disgusting.”

You winced. You tried not to pry an eye open, to steal a covert look through the frame of your lashes in that dim and crowded spot, but the inducement was too great—Joel was dangling one of your lime green G-strings like it was a fish he’d just caught out on the lake. Boasting it.

Doting, almost.

“Well I’ll be—”

“Will you quit?!” you snapped.

You grabbed the thing out of his hand and threw it aside.

“Can you be serious? For one fucking secon—”

“Oh, I’m bein’ serious, sweetie,” Joel cut in. Cool as ever, “Serious as the business end of a .45, I swear.”

He paused. Then he reached for a white nylon bustier, drenched in a layer of honey that was as hard as a rock.

“Do you always keep your little…skank tanks so filthy?”

That was it. You kicked your heel back—and up—and made a pass to hit your stepdad square in the balls.

Your aim wasn’t the best it’s ever been, seeing that half your body was trapped inside a home appliance at the moment, but what your jab lacked in accuracy, it made up for in force: your foot plunged into the seam of Joel’s jeans full throttle. From the way the back of your heel plowed into his crotch, and the sound that clawed out of his throat the same instant, you reckoned you did okay.

What you weren’t expecting was a smack in return.

An answer in kind—delivered by the palm of Joel’s hand.

A taut, thoughtless THWACK on the swell of your ass.

Your mouth fell open. Your body barely had the chance to recoil when, shortly, another blow landed on your cheek.

Joel spanked you.

Spanked you.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he spat. His palm had slid up with the weight of his last slap, and now his fingers were clenched in a fist in the back of your skirt. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel him gripping fabric. It was firm.

He was firm—unrelenting in his hold.

Kneeling behind you, yanking back a handful of tartan skirt like it was nothing, then sidling up behind you.

And just when your attention was drawn to some other firm thing, it was shortly diverted by another sensation.

“JOEL!” you shrieked as he gave you another spanking.

The bare skin of your cheeks was on fire. Joel hit hard. Just when you feared you might legitimately whimper with the sting of that last blow, and while the imprint of his palm was still fresh, you felt it move again. Lower.

“Joel.”

That came out more like a whine than a cry of protest. And how could you, now, when he was soothing the raw bite of his hand with a touch that was kneading the skin?

Working the soft, supple flesh of your ass in his hand like he’d never dream of being anything else but gentle to it.

“Good?” Joel said.

Your head flinched to nod, but your brain thought better.

It did feel good. So good, in fact, that your eyelids were starting to droop just a bit and your back was subtly arching into the touch, but those were only instincts. Stupid, useless, brain-rotted reflexes born of years of paternal neglect and replete indifference, the likes of which could bring a grown man to his knees, begging—

“Please.”

But the entreaty was your own, and the voice that spoke it was hoarse. Your belly sank into the circular aperture of the washing machine, and you could feel your ribs scraping close to metal. Nevertheless, you didn’t mind. That ditzy lizard brain of yours was starved for physical touch, and who were you to deny her at a time like this?

No, not when Joel was squeezing like that.

Groping was the more appropriate word for it, really. Notwithstanding the decades of sexual experience that no doubt preceded the man that was standing before you—behind you—today, Joel was unduly coarse. His broad, weathered hand made as if to cool its former sting, but the motions themselves were jerky. Desperate.

He needed this worse than you, the fucking pervert.

Just when the realization had begun to settle over your mind and your legs were getting to feel a little less like jelly, knowing you weren’t the only weak one here, Joel’s palm slowed down. He pressed the heel of it into your flesh as if to force himself to stop, then he took a breath.

“Now use your words.”

“But—” you sputtered.

“I said,” Joel resumed, and you could sense it was through gritted teeth. His movements came to a halt.

“We use our words when we want somethin’, hear?”

It was the first you’d heard Joel attempt to enforce anything close to discipline with you in your life.

That had to warrant a little defiance, no doubt.

Under your breath, quiet: “So ‘we’ includes ‘you,’ too?”

Beneath that one, seemingly innocuous question was lurking another, and both of you knew it: Remember that time you put a fist through the kitchen wall? Was that a good example of what it means to ‘use words,’ Joel? Whether it was adequate provocation or not, you could sense what was coming next before you’d even finished. When the spank landed on your right cheek so loud that it echoed, you didn’t flinch. You did snag your lip between your teeth to keep a sound from spilling out.

“A dad makes rules. Ain’t his to follow,” Joel growled.

You blinked and bit down harder. Watched the broad, amorphous shape of the man’s reflection shift along the back metallic wall in hues of grey and blue and wished you had the strength to turn around and face him then.

“You aren’t my dad.”

“Said ‘a’ dad, didn’t I?”

“You’re not that either.”

Heat was rising to your cheeks again, this time for different reasons. For a cause you were far better acquainted with to date—annoyance at Joel.

“So that means I’m—”

“Nothing. You’re nothing to me,” you finished, tone wry.

Nothing to anyone, you wanted to add. Not with a shiny gold band latched onto your left hand to tell the world that you’re married to my mother, a pack of smokes tucked away in the jeans she washes every week, or a couple years spent under the same roof as me. Nothing.

Your teeth clamped back down—and almost sank clean through your lower lip this time—when next you felt a touch at the plush, covered mound that was normally shielded between your legs. The spot that was hardly ever tilted up in a position like this, exposed to the air and a man’s hungry gaze, now invaded by the press of a single thing: a warm and soft middle finger at your core.

Joel brushed the tip of it against your entrance, through your panties, and sucked a breath through his teeth when both of you felt a tiny squelch at the pressure.

He pressed harder, and the wetness only spread.

You didn’t have to be in Joel’s position to know what he was seeing, but the feeling from his finger overpowered any better sense to speak—or tell him to stop. He traced his slow, cruel circles against your warmth and moved it up to where he knew he’d find your bud, and when you whimpered, he simply added his index to the mix. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind you were leaking heat at that point. You could feel it seeping beneath his touch.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel breathed, voice low. Your arousal made a sickening hiss beneath his fingers as he rubbed you even harder, “This feel like nothin’ to you, honey?”

You couldn’t speak. He knew you weren’t capable of it.

“‘Cause this sure don’t feel like nothin’ to me.”

Wet and tacky beneath his touch, your warmth supplied the answer that your mouth couldn’t form. It came out in more of a tap, tap, tap, punctuated by breaths that were toiling in earnest not to turn into moans too soon. But, as hulking and clumsy as his hands had once shown themselves to be, the old man knew where to put them, at least. He made circles on your clit with practiced ease.

“You can try lyin’ to me, but she can’t.”

He was right. ‘She’ was a traitor.

You could deny it all you wanted, but the proof was there.

Indeed, she was crying. Aching. Bleeding with desire. Throbbing beneath the pads of Joel’s fingertips and growing only more desperate as he increased the speed of his touch. When he notched the drenched cotton to the side, you had to grit your teeth to keep in a whimper.

Joel whistled.

“See? Seems like she likes me just fine right here.”

Your jaw stayed wired shut with the weight of your own humiliation. Instead of answering aloud, you hummed. Made a sound low and soft in your throat like, ‘Uh-hmm’ and tilted your hips, as if you didn’t know how else to ask. Joel couldn’t see inside the washing machine, but he must’ve felt the gesture, because he greeted it with a motion of his own: he chuckled, and he puckered his lips.

And when you felt the warmth of his spit hit you between your folds, your shame should’ve tripled. Should’ve made you flinch away from his touch and tell him that was so fucking gross, Joel, stop, but then he smeared it up your slit. He pressed in and mixed it with the rest of your arousal; any reproach died on your tongue in an instant.

A part of him was on you now. Trickling in, sticking to the most sensitive part of you, and settling into your skin like a glaze. With his other hand, he found your skirt again.

“Who’re ya wearin’ this for, sweet pea?” Joel murmured.

“No one.”

Another glob of spit landed between your cheeks. Now, the man used the lubrication to sink two fingers inside you—pushing them in until the rim of your cunt met his knuckles. You whined at the stretch, felt him coax your walls open with a consciousness and a carefulness that felt almost mean, but then he stroked down the base of your spine with the hand that still held onto your skirt. He soothed your startled cry with a curl of his fingers.

And he found the soft, spongy patch of flesh inside that made your eyes roll straight to the back of your skull, quickly. Working his fingers in and out, flattening the base of his free hand over the skin exposed by your flipped-up skirt, and watching your body give way to the force of his fingers, he was uncharacteristically patient. Exacting in the way he worked your body open to him.

“What do you care?” you groaned. You winced when you felt a squelch signal that he’d stretched you even wider.

“‘Cause,” Joel started, slow. Pumping his fingers through your folds and likely wondering when he’d add a third, “You got your hand stuck in a fuckin’ washing machine, a treasure trove of this slut stuff piled in a heap…I mean…”

“They’re just clothes!”

“Just clothes?”

In the wake of those terse, incredulous words, you tried your best to match his tone—call his bluff—but the only sound that came out of your mouth was punctured by a pitiful whine. He tried another finger but couldn’t fit it in. As wet as you were, and as strong as he was, your cunt wasn’t quite ready to accept all three of Joel’s thick, probing digits inside. You’d fit more than a thing or two with a girth even greater than that in the past, but you figured your nerves might have something to do with the way you were tightening around the man’s fingers now.

Why you couldn’t take more of him in, as much as you wanted him there, felt, at present, like something of a shortcoming, and a pathetic one at that. You let out a breath, and a second later, Joel slowed his motions.

You didn’t expect him to stop. Didn’t hold out a hope he might curtail his pace and talk you through a quiet, gentle arrangement for fitting a third finger inside you—that just wasn’t him. You didn’t have to share a paper-thin bedroom wall with your mother and her husband for the last however many years to know that Joel Miller was not a tender lover. It simply wasn’t in his nature to care.

So when you heard the clink of a belt coming undone a moment later, your senses strangely flooded with relief. He wouldn’t care, wouldn’t inquire, wouldn’t coddle with false, romantic ideals of how a woman should be treated.

In that way, Joel shared something in common with your father after all: he set standards as low as they could go.

“Just clothes?” he repeated, snapping your underwear against your ass and jerking the fabric further aside.

Then somehow send those expectations even lower.

There was a hand splayed out across the small of your back. Another fiddling with the front of his pants, wrestling the button and zip of his jeans in little more than one, two, three careless seconds, before he drew in closer to your rear. Your slit was messy, wet, and exposed to his eyes once again. For a second, you almost took comfort in the fact that your hand was still wedged inside a groove of steel and you couldn’t meet his gaze.

That was, until Joel slid his bare length along the seam of your cunt. When the inability to see him made it so you had no other choice but to be surprised when he finally touched you was unnerving, to say the least.

And when the head of his cock blended seamlessly between your folds, was drenched in less than a blink and nearly notched straight into the place you needed him most—well, that had an effect on him, too. Joel moved his flat and sweaty palm up your back, found purchase in the hem of your blouse, and gripped it. Tugged it down a little more and let a low groan billow out of his throat while he rocked his hips back and forth.

Desperate, clumsy, pussydrunk Joel was back before you’d even realized he’d left. Only now he was keen to put the disquiet and hesitations to rest; he needed to fuck you before either one of you wisened up just then.

Your parts and his commingled again. First, with the lethally warm trail of precum leaking out from his tip. Then the intrusion that followed, inevitably, glossed with self-indulgence and desperation—soiling any semblance of platonic affection or parental attention—as he fed you the first inch of him. Barely half the head got fitted inside and your grip on that was like a vice. Joel’s was bruising.

Suddenly firm on your hips, carving crescents in the skin:

“When’s the last time you got fucked, baby?”

You reckoned Joel had a guess—and it wasn’t correct.

“Last…week,” you whimpered, words punctuated with a sigh as his cock tried to make room for more of him.

Joel sucked in a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He’d barely gotten an inch past his tip, facing more resistance than he’d felt in a long, long time, and you were wet, but so tight. He was big but not so massive as that. He couldn’t fathom what you were saying was true.

“That…fratboy fuckstick you went out on a date with?”

“Didn’t think you even saw me leave.”

Joel withdrew, gripped your hips even tighter, then drove his cock to nestle three solid inches inside your cunt. It was extra snug, but he made sure to try to loosen you up with a couple short, shallow thrusts and a hand gradually drifting down between your legs. Of course he saw you.

The circles on your clit and slow-growing movements may as well have been kerosene in your veins. With what limited range of motion you had in that grey, compact space, you let out a sigh and dug the fingers of your free hand into the closest scrap of fabric beside you. Joel’s own touch gradually moved from your hip to drag your hand behind your back, clasping his. He fucked in deeper

“So that’s who this is for?” Thumbing your skirt.

“Y-Yeah,” you lied.

“Wanted to send naughty pics in the schoolgirl getup?”

“Yes,” you lied again. You closed your eyes when Joel sank his cock even deeper and made you stretch inside.

“‘Atta girl,” he praised.

It might’ve been the first he’d validated you in your life.

“Grippin’ this cock extra tight, ain’t ya, sweet girl?”

Never in a million years would you have imagined it’d come this late—or leave Joel’s mouth in a way like that.

‘Elastic’ wasn’t a word you’d ever used to describe your body, either. Frankly, there was no need for it to be; every one of your partners before had been average-sized, and every other object that went inside you, too, had almost always been a comfortable squeeze between your walls. Outside of maybe your first time and a once-off awkward hookup now and again, you were never forced to feel a stretch to this degree. Joel felt huge moving inside you.

He was nearing your cervix and still nowhere close to the base of his cock. Meanwhile, you were stuffed to the brim, saturated with arousal and his spit, and practically keening at every stab of his hips. You couldn’t reach back because Joel’s fingers were still enmeshed with yours, gripping them hard behind your back. As wore down, fucked out, and desperate as you already were, you were less than only a second away from asking him to ease up.

And then he stopped.

Joel pulled out, let go, and pressed onto the old washing machine, where you heard his touch echo through metal.

He was leaning against it. You were about to turn around. Before you could, though, you felt his form mold into yours—this time not in it, but on it, as he drew closer and once more reached into the space where you were stuck.

“Can you be brave for me, baby?” Joel murmured.

“Wh—” you started, soft, only to feel the words plucked straight from your lungs as Joel leaned his body inside. Carefully, and with concerted effort, it seemed, he was trying to squeeze his way into the O-shaped hole of the washing machine, snaking his arm around your torso.

Pinching your finger again. Breathing just gently enough for his exhales to tickle at your shoulders and your neck.

“Can you be brave?” he repeated, and you weren’t sure you’d ever heard him so soft-spoken, or felt him so close.

You nodded, not knowing why.

Without another word, your stepdad pinched the digit even tighter and yanked it out from where it was stuck.

It all happened so fast. Joel freeing your finger, squeezing it tight, helping you out of that hot and crowded space while your legs gave way like mush beneath your weight—and your hand throbbing in pain. You’d never thought a single finger could cause a feeling as strong as that, but it stung like hell. You almost raked your nails through the man’s arm when he tried to hold you back, holding you up just as well as you stood.

“Joel!” you screeched, like the whole thing was his fault.

You flexed your hand and wanted to sob. You could feel the streaks of pain start to claw up your wrist, were just about to shove Joel aside and wallow in agony, when at length, he did something strange and unexpected again.

This time, he lifted your index to his mouth and kissed it.

It wasn’t a sensual kiss. Coming from Joel, it hardly even seemed affectionate. His lips were so warm and firm and decidedly unacquainted with anything approaching a threat of tenderness that his act read almost aggressive. He let your finger rest loosely against his mouth, and he kissed it again, while his eyes burned holes into yours.

‘You’re okay’ came out muffled against your hand.

“You’re okay—hey—baby, you’re good. Don’t cry.”

You hadn’t even noticed the tears had started to form. You blinked and felt one trickle down your cheek. With the hand that wasn’t holding your wrist, Joel brushed his thumb against that lone trail of moisture. He didn’t cup your face, hold you close, or stroke your cheek in the seconds that followed, though he did keep kissing you.

Or, rather, it—your finger.

Joel didn’t have to care for you at all. He just feared he might’ve pulled on your hand too hard in getting you out.

‘You’re okay’ was being mumbled away like a fractured refrain, touch descending gently to your hip, and his eyes grew softer by the second, surely he had to be thinking it.

Sinking inside you, again. He was standing; your hips were tilted to his, and your ass was pressing flat against the front of the washing machine. All it took was an inch or two off the ground and your limbs hanging limply around his hips for Joel to fuck back into you. He sucked on your finger so hard you feared the skin might actually bruise—a hand hickey, of all fucking things—and when his grip tightened on your side, you knew he felt it too.

His teeth succeeded his lips in an instant, and he was biting, gnawing pathetically as a groan shuddered through his chest. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve said the sound was veering perilously close to a whimper.

Fully sheathed inside you, Joel Miller didn’t seem to care. His lids fell like lead across the upper half of his brown, glossy eyes, and the expression behind them was blank.

Safe.

“‘S’alright, baby,” he grunted. Maybe he’d just seen you wince, as he cradled your hand and withdrew another inch, “Keep squeezin’ me, it feels real good. Right here.”

Out of instinct, your gaze drifted down to the spot where his body joined with yours. The sight was hardly a shock, but the feelings it evoked were not—he had you split along two-thirds of his dick, a pretty shelf of belly protruding beneath and gleaming with the arousal he’d drawn out from your body. Tufts of silver and grey littered his skin in every direction, aged muscles tensed with the weight of each thrust, and the warm weathered hand that hadn’t dared touch you once before today was now cupping your chin. Tilting your head closer to him.

“Right here, baby. Look at daddy.”

Wild, unbridled heat flooded your brain in a second. The thing seared the insides of your skull with all the force of a fire and stole the air from your lungs just the same—still, you couldn’t refrain from making a face in disgust.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You shouldn’t have liked it.

His hand ascended your throat in a blink.

“Ain’t that what you want, sweet pea?”

“I—”

Just as you started to answer, though, his cock took a dizzying plunge, hitting exactly the right spot inside you. Like clockwork, your mouth fell open, a whine tumbled out, and Joel took that as his chance to grip your neck even tighter and push your hips against the washing machine, where his height afforded him an easy hold.

“What you want—”

He squeezed harder.

“—what you need—”

You gasped, starved for air. It wasn’t every day a man took your breath away. Not like Joel could, anyway.

“—is me, ain’t it?”

The gaze fixed on your face was alight with desire.

“Bet you miss him somethin’ awful, huh? Been needin’ a man to fill that spot ever since he left, haven’t ya, baby?”

‘He’ required no further clarification. The words stung. You communicated as much by wriggling your hips back and pressing your hand against Joel’s chest, just quit it.

Keep fucking me, but shut the fuck up about my father.

“I don’t miss shit,” you sniffed. Felt the head of Joel’s cock carve a shape somewhere deep inside your body and couldn’t pretend it wasn’t filling a metaphorical void someplace else. You hadn’t got this much attention from a man as many years your senior since…well, ever, really.

You preened beneath his touch. Wanting to feel. Wanting to please. Wanting, more than anything, to be needed.

Joel sated each craving with a simple hand smoothed over your face. His palm moved from your throat to your chin to the hinge of your jaw before coming to rest at the nape of your neck. This time squeezing lightly, bringing your face in close while he fucked you. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, and your stomach tightened inside you.

“That’s alright,” he said, words hardly above a whisper, “No need to miss that man at all, ‘cause I’m right here.”

For once the assurance came as somewhat of a comfort. You suspected it had something to do with the fact he was balls deep inside you and pushing you closer and closer to the brink of release with each painstaking stab of his cock. You fisted his flannel, holding him there. Spreading your legs, accepting his thrusts, taking each movement with ragged, shallow breaths and moans that blended with his own, you felt your body grow warmer.

Almost febrile beneath him as he tilted your head again.

“Who’s your daddy now?”

You winced, shaking your head. You hated that word.

“Who’s your daddy?”

Joel lowered his hand and began to thumb at your clit. Hot pleasure coursed through you, made you whine at the contact and dig your heels even deeper in his back.

“Who’s your daddy, baby? It ain’t that hard to say.”

But it was. Joel stroking your clit, stuffing you full, ghosting his lips against yours without ever furnishing a kiss, just goading you on with: ‘I know you wanna say it.’ Tough grey stubble teased your mouth with each word.

“I know she needs to cum, sweet girl. Know that poor little pussy’s taken a beating—and she’s done so good for me—but she needs to let it out now. All over me.”

His gaze held yours. You couldn’t turn away.

An unmistakable tenderness pervaded that look, and it didn’t seem keen to depart. No matter how tightly you pursed your lips, made fists in his shirt, or choked his cock between your walls in fluttering, desperate pleas, the man remained calm. Attentive. The eyes didn’t stray.

“It’s okay to say it.”

“C-Can’t—”

“Sure can. Be the easiest thing you ever do—D-A-D-D—”

“Please. Please.”

You hardly even knew what you were asking for at this point, only beholden to that big, swollen something in your tummy starting to give way beneath the push of Joel’s cock. Tightening up, leaking out, practically drooling down the length of this man who seemed relentless in his current pursuit. Two more circles on your clit and you were keening, whimpering pathetic as ever:

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“Say it now. Who’s it for?”

Above you, Joel’s teeth gleamed in a smile—or a snarl, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was the pleasure, the concomitant pain of having to contain this desperation while his thrusts sped up. You were bouncing on him, getting fucked against the washing machine in the raw and terrible central Texas heat wearing a sheen of sweat and a set of clothes that no longer fit your body, but that was just fine. You were okay. Joel was here, and he was holding your head, lips hovering less than an inch away.

“Who’s. Your. Daddy?” His words were slow. Coarse. Spilling into your mouth with every short puff of breath.

You couldn’t take it. You felt a band of pressure come to a head in your belly and the brush of Joel’s cock making its rounds in and out of your swollen cunt, pushing hard, and you knew that you’d had enough. He knew it, too.

“Y-You.”

“Who?”

“Joel.”

“Who?”

Your wet, pearly slick rang a deafening pitch. Enough.

“You, daddy! Daddy—please, fuck—I-I-I’m gonna cum.”

“Gonna cum for me? Make a mess of your old man?”

“Make a m-mess— yes, daddy, yes—” you slurred.

Joel drove his cock, fully coated in you, down to the hilt. He captured your lips in a kiss and didn’t even mind your mouth was whining, hissing, whimpering its filthy pleas for him to fuck a nice, big orgasm out from your body.

“—want yours inside,” you added, without realizing it.

“Sweet girl…” Joel groaned.

You didn’t know what you were asking him for. How badly he wanted it, too. His cock dragged in and out of your precious cunt and was barely more safe from the threat of its grip when you spasmed, at the last. Joel should’ve expected no less, after all the time he’d spent teasing and edging, then begging you gently, in grunts, ‘Cum for daddy, baby. Let me have it, that’s it, good girl.’ Still, somehow, he wasn’t prepared in the slightest.

When you squeezed your eyes shut and kissed him back—that was all it took. When you clenched on his cock, gave the front of his shirt a tug, locked your ankles about his hips so you could more properly increase that friction by fucking him back, grinding in place, he feared he might fairly make an irreparable, unforgivable mistake.

And when the whites of your eyes appeared again—eyelids fluttering open while your lips were glossed with his spit and a lazy smile—and said what you said next, he sensed that his fate was sealed. The old man was fucked.

“Cum inside me, daddy. Please.”

Joel couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. He shuddered, then flooded your insides with rope after rope after rope of his spend, burying his face in your neck and taking your hips in his hands like a looser grip might lose you to him forever. He fucked his cum deep, deeper, darlin’ don’t move, can’t lose a drop, baby, please, he let out a whimper that made your walls pulse again. You felt him fill you to the brim and keep rutting his hips. Your body and his were shaking by the last of it.

And when he was finished, Joel dropped a kiss along your limp, glistening lips. He slid you back on the metal. By the expression on his face, it was plain to see he was loath to withdraw, but he had to. That tender little hiss and the sounds of your shared fluids trickling out were all the impetus he needed to act quick. As soon as he’d pulled out, Joel was back leaning against the washing machine—tilting your hips back a little, then lowering his sweaty, handsome head to the spot between your legs.

The wrinkles to the sides of his eyes grew more pronounced when he smiled. A happy grin, plastered across his lips, would have struck you as almost smug, were it not for the look of sheer adulation that followed it.

Joel was enthralled, watching his cum leak out of you. He kissed your thighs, flickered his gaze to your own, briefly, then damn near sank his nose inside the place he was watching before your fingers stopped him cold.

It was your body, after all. He had already had his fill.

Hardly knowing what came over you in that moment, you sank two fingers inside your wet, drooling hole and watched the eyes of the man beneath you go wide. He soaked in that sight completely: you pushing his cum back in, drawing it out, using the viscous white liquid as a lubricant of sorts before releasing a pleased little sigh.

Joel closed his mouth reluctantly. It took him more than a second to tear his eyes from that place, but when he did, the motions were quick to grow assured, by turns.

As if remembering something.

In a second, the innocent smile you’d seen before was being infiltrated, slowly, by a look you couldn’t place. Joel’s grin morphed from gentle to contented to plainly enthused and beaming ear-to-ear with a conceited glint. With his finger, he tugged your panties back into place.

“Baby—” he started, only to be cut off lightning-quick.

“What? What is it?”

His smile stretched even wider. By that act alone, you were half-tempted to forget the events of the last hour and set your jaw in a scowl. You looked down, unamused.

“What?”

“It’s just…” The man trailed off, and as he did, his gaze descended with it—straight down to your bare pantyline.

You cast a look there too—“What the fuck is it, Joel?!”

At that, two brown eyes flitted back up to you.

“I thought I asked for neon pink underwear, baby.”

Your breaths slowed. His gaze didn’t waver. Your heart came to a standstill in your chest, and you were amazed you had even half your present willpower then to speak.

“Wait, Joel, wh—”

“Shame you couldn’t get around to filmin’ today. Had me hard as a fuckin’ rock with all that milk and honey stuff.”

You nearly choked on your spit. Joel kept grinning.

“You’re—”

The guy. That fucking subscriber. The one who’d paid almost $500 in commissions in the last month alone.

You stared at Joel with eyes as wide as saucers, and were about to press on, when you heard the front door to the house shriek back on its hinges. Two sets of footsteps followed it, and their entry inside was loud.

Immediately, Joel rose to his feet. It seemed that grin wasn’t meant to stay long on his lips, because the next thing you knew, he was dropping a kiss somewhere soft and sweaty on your face and flipping your skirt back into place, holding his index up to his lips and stepping away. Your mouth twisted into a frown but stayed zipped out of sheer necessity. Seeing this, and likely unable to help himself, your gross, depraved, grinning old man leaned back in and planted his hands on either side of your hips on the washing machine. His nose nudged into your own.

“Between us—” he began, slowly.

“Get fucked,” you finished for him.

Joel nodded his assent, smirk faint. He cast a look over his shoulder, and, hearing what sounded like your mother’s footsteps drawing closer, lowered his voice.

Rubbing his thumb under your chin, making you tip your head back to meet his for one final look—then a kiss:

“You keep my secret, I keep yours, alright?”

—

Note: I’ve never done a real writing challenge before, but hopefully this fic will work for #hotdilfsummerchallenge !!! @hellishjoel this is such a fun ass idea & i hope you enjoy❣️

[moeblob]

A succubus and a demon! (The succubi don't have names but the demon is Kronos and the succubus is one of his bosses in Hell and he's not /fond/ of the succubi for many reasons but they all adore picking on him)

Also because I love them and like to point it out, the succubi act more as pleasure dealers in the sense of they offer up whatever a human wants most in exchange for their soul. It's rarely of a sexual nature since it's what they want MOST in life. And most people's ambitions are outside of a bedroom. (happy pride, asexuals are able to get affected by a succubus now without discrimination)