#and i feel very very bad that that is happening :[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[

[millermouth]

pretty baby

Summary: When Joel returns home after months away, he doesn't expect to see your face in the church pews. Or rather, your mother’s face, clear as day, stirring up everything he tried to forgive and forget. He tells himself to keep his distance, but something (and he's almost certain it's the devil) keeps putting you in his path, like it was always meant to happen this way.

|| smut MDNI 18+, angst, hurt / comfort, reader is fragile and emotional, reader is having a bit of a hard time, joel is down bad, soft!joel, very flirty!reader, no outbreak, age gap mentioned but not specified, readers mom and dad are addicts, joel might be a baby bit of a perv for this, reader asks joel to be rough, she doesn't know how to accept someone being nice :((( ok smut tags: pinv, f!receiving oral, fingering, kissssinggggg, riding, reader cries during sex, its emotional smut ok, aftercare, reader's mom has a given name for story purposes, reader is often compared to a kitten and 1 reference to a puppy, little bit of daddy kink, lotta praise kink || notes: I uh...whewy is this a doozy. I had so many big emotions writing this which is probably clear. please please please heed the tags!!!! im in love w this and I hope you are too hehe // teased here

The thing about Austin, Texas, is that no matter how loud the city had gotten in recent years, a lot of the outskirts remained the same. 

It didn’t matter how many new buildings there were, or how many Californians moved in claiming they’d discovered it, there were still patches of the town that time hadn’t bothered to touch. Pockets of quiet where the same families had lived for generations, where they still gathered in backyard lawn chairs and strummed guitars as the cicadas screamed. Joel had grown up in one of those towns just outside the hussle of the main city. 

If there was anywhere he felt more like himself than in the rush of construction sites, it was there, on the quiet streets lined with sagging porches and humming box fans.

He was always happiest when he came back. Since his business took off and Sarah headed to university, he was taken far away more months out of the year now. Out of state, out of his rhythm, out of his usual comfort. And it was always the commercial ones that made him feel the most homesick. When he’d take jobs that required him to smile for millionaire owners who thought hard labor was something other people did. And so, on the first Sunday home, he found himself parked outside the old church in town again, pulled in by habit more than faith. He knew he’d see the same faces he’d grown up with, the same mothers and father of friends long gone, all still filing into the pews for their sunday worship.

Joel had never been much for man-made religion, but he respected and even enjoyed the community of it all. The way a small town church could hold a town together. Sarah needed that once, when she was young and angry and he wasn’t enough. Even though she was gone now, off to school with a future and friends, Joel still came. Maybe out of guilt, maybe out of hope.

Walking inside, the morning light bled softly through mosaic windows, washing the rows in color as he settled into a middle pew and exchanged handshakes with the men beside him. The voices were low and familiar, thick with that homely drawl he shared. They asked about business, how Sarah was, and told him how good it was to see him. He always reciprocated the kindness, it was cheerful and grounding all at once. But then, as everyone settled, he noticed someone else ahead. 

Just a few rows ahead, hair piled high and skin glowing in the light from the stained glass, was the outline of your frame. You had a gentle curve of your spine beneath that summery top, and it pulled at something buried in Joel's memory.

And when you turned just slightly towards your neighbor, the air went still around him. You were saying good morning with a sugar sweet smile and a voice that raised the hair on his neck, and his mouth fell open before he could pick it up off the floor.

But no, it wasn’t who he’d thought at first glance. No, it couldn’t be. Carrie would be his age by now, and besides, she never came to this church anyway, never got outside the house these days as far as he knew. But God, the resemblance—the cheekbones, the curve of your mouth, the glint in your eyes—

“You sure do you look like your mama, ya know?” the man beside you said with a grin, leaning towards you like he was sharing a secret.

You turned your head more to respond, and your eyes found Joel’s for a split second over your shoulder, and you winked at him. As if he was in on the secret too. 

“I know,” you said with a laugh, it was all honey and sickly sweet as you brought your hand up to grip the man’s arm, “She really taught me well.”

Joel had to make a conscious effort to close his mouth before a fly could land on his tongue. He was so in awe, so mesmerized by how much you looked like your mother. Carrie had never been the mothering type. She raised hell better than anything else. And if she had loved anything more than herself, it had been the chase. But looking at you now, standing in her place with a wink like that and eyes full of mischief, he felt a strange, uninvited gratitude. Maybe she hadn’t been perfect, but she’d given the world something beautiful. 

He barely registered the rest of the service. The pastor’s sermon faded behind the soft motion of your shoulder blades, the gentle slope of your neck, the way the baby hairs at your nape curled delicately in the summer heat. His thoughts wandered as his eyes followed the way you tilted your head when you listened, the way you shifted to cross your legs, sending that same light across the exposed skin above your knee.

And when the service ended, when the final hymns were sung and the congregation began to move, Joel rose slowly. He was greeted by a woman who hugged him tight and welcomed him home, another who remembered him as a boy with scuffed boots and far too broody for someone so young back then. But his eyes kept drifting. They kept finding you, all smiles and ruby red nails. 

You were standing at the altar now, speaking with the pastor and the sight of you nearly knocked him down. He couldn’t believe your chosen church attire. Cut off shorts that hugged you too well, a clingy tank top that damn near looked painted on, and heels on your feet. The pastor was red in the face, nodding politely as you leaned in close, thanking him for the service, for letting you volunteer at the soup kitchen last Friday. Joel could see the way the men around looked at you, all trying not to stare but by god, staring anyway. He wondered if you'd given any of them the time of day, if any held your interest as you spoke to the oldest man in the room. There was no ring on your finger, no boyfriend that he could see. You didn’t even glance at the youth pastor trying to make eye contact with you from the corner by the communion table.

But you looked at Joel suddenly. Turning away from the pastor with a quiet goodbye, you looked straight at him. And for a second, it wasn’t just Carrie’s features he saw in your face, but something else. Something raw and hollow. A well of grief, or loneliness, or maybe just the exhaustion of being too much in a town that wanted you to be less. And Joel knew the feeling like a bruise under the skin. 

He turned before he could think better of it, pushed through the heavy church doors and stepped into the scorching Texas heat. The sun fell hard against his shoulders as he walked to his truck, sweat already gathering at the back of his neck, and he sat in the driver’s seat with the engine off and his hands tight on the wheel, wondering where in the hell you’d come from.

The good thing was, by the time the AC was blasting in his truck and the open stretch of county roads rolled out before him, he had mostly managed to scrub away the thoughts of you, of how you looked a thim. As if you knew him. As if you knew he could see you for what you really were beneath it all. It had only been a wink, one lasting look, but Joel couldn’t shake the feeling that, in that moment, he’d seen straight through you. Past the lip gloss and the red nails and the way you curled your voice like ribbon. And worse, you’d seen him too. He needed to shake you off. Rid himself of the memories that threatened the corners of his mind, the way they spun backwards like some cheap cinematic flashback in a drama movie, the kind he’d roll his eyes at if it weren’t playing out in his own damn head.

The cicadas buzzed through the open window, his elbow resting along the edge as he turned onto the road that led toward home. His thoughts still wandered, the way they always did when he was behind the wheel without anyone else in the cab, and without meaning to, he found himself giving into the thoughts. Of his life before, when he was just a young man in love with someone.

With your mother. 

HIs first real girlfriend from highschool, the prettiest girl he’d ever known. She had a laugh like summer and eyes that could put any man on their knees. And she was so damn smart back then too, though she never would admit it. She'd always been kind, had been voted Most Likely to Become a Celebrity and Best Smile in their yearbook. She’d even won Cutest Couple, but it hadn’t been with Joel. No, because he’d loved her in a clumsy, boyish way young men do. He’d made her mixtapes and took her on dates sneaking into the movies or the lake. After a while though, she got tired of not being able to be spoiled or driven around. He always knew, though maybe he’d pretend not to, that he wasn’t enough for a girl like Carrie. She needed more, and even back then, Joel had more grit than charm. So she had left him for the golden boy of the football team, and he never could bring himself to hate her for it. The guy was everything he wasn’t, flashy and confident with his Camaro his daddy bought him. But the jock peaked his senior year, and now they lived in a rusted out RV on the far side of town deep in a drugged or drunken state as far as Joel knew.

And he hadn’t done that much better. Sure, he stayed away from the hard stuff, but he was the senior with a baby on his arm by the time graduation came around. He had found Sarah’s mom not long after the breakup with Carrie, and it felt like love for long enough. Even got married. And then divorced. And then left high and dry with a baby to look after. And Carrie and her washed up football star were still getting high every night, drinking their life away while he carried on.

Life was funny like that. In the end, it never mattered if you’d won Best Smile or Most Likely to Succeed, sometimes the one who burned the brightest burned out first while everyone else just kept…living.

He eased his foot off the gas now, rolling into the familiar gas station with the faded Coke mural across the cracked brick wall. He hadn’t thought about any of this in a long time, not with the ache in his chest blooming deep and familiar. But maybe that was what seeing you had done, like it had stirred something that had been sleeping just fine until you looked over your shoulder at him. 

He wondered if he was too deep in his head, imagining things as he cut the engine and looked towards the door of the storefront.

Because you were there, standing outside the door to the gas station. How the hell did you end up here?

Your heels were off and dangling from your hand, the late sun casting your bare legs in gold as you leaned a little too close to a man outside the gas station entrance. Joel recognized him as the one who said you looked so much like your mom at the church. And it looked like you were trying to talk him into something, the way your head tilted up, eyes wide and lashes slow to blink, your hand brushing his arm like you knew exactly how to play your part. Joel didn’t need to hear the words to know the rhythm of the conversation. 

He got out of the truck and shut the door loud enough for you to look over. When the guy turned, your hand pressed back against his chest like a quiet command. Eyes back on me. Joel didn’t linger, he just pushed through the door, the bells overhead jangling like wind chimes, and didn’t bother browsing. Straight to the back, cold shelf, six-pack of Miller Lite. He paid with cash, gave the man behind the counter a polite nod, and was turning to leave when he heard the muffled conversation outside turning louder, the heat of raised voices.

He caught a flash of your face between the cigarette posters taped to the window. Your expression had changed, all softness gone, replaced by something scornful and mean, your mouth tight and drawn. And as he stepped back outside with his fingers looped in the pack of beer, the volume shot up tenfold. 

“—not worth a fuckin’ thing if you’re just gonna act like a goddamn tease,” the man barked, voice booming and angry, “Got your mama’s reputation, but not her guts, huh?”

Joel didn’t raise his voice as he approached, only walked up slow and heavy, making his presence known. Your eyes found him over the man’s shoulder almost immediately. 

“That’s enough,” Joel said, voice calm as stone. “Time to head on.”

The man turned, gave him a once over and scoffed somewhere between annoyed and amused. “You her daddy or somethin’?” he asked, squinting into the sun, lips curling with a smirk. “Or just another sucker she’s playin’ for free shit?”

Joel didn’t flinch. “I said that’s enough. Get outta here.”

The man snorted. “Jesus, relax.” He held up his hands, backing away a step. “Mind your own business, man. She came up to me.”

Joel took a half step forward, not aggressive but assertive enough to be intimidating. He knew could rattle people without raising his voice with that burly, off putting kind of presence he carried whether he liked it or not.

For a second, the guy stood there like he might say more. Then he shrugged, the bravado wearing thin. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Ain’t worth the price of a bale of hay.”

Joel watched him go before turning back to you. “You alright?”

You nodded, lips pressed tight before you exhaled, shaking your head with a forced little laugh. “Real charmin', ain’t they?” you said. 

Joel hesitated, shifting the weight of the beer in his hand as his gaze flickered around the nearly empty lot. “What’re you doin’ out here anyway?”

You squinted at him in the lowering light, like you were trying to decide how much to say. “Lookin’ for someone to buy me a pack.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed back on you, “Not old enough to buy your own?”

That made you snort. “I turned twenty-one a long, long time ago,” you said, a little theatrical. “I just don’t got the cash or my ID. Left it at home.”

Joel tried to chuckle, but it caught in his throat. The guilt hit fast and hot, low in his gut. Christ. What if you weren’t? What if he’d been sitting in that church, eyeing someone who hadn’t even aged into the beer she was asking for now? 

His gaze dropped to the pavement as he exhaled, glancing back at his truck. “You want one of mine?”

You raised your brows. “Oh, and what’s the price, huh?”

Joel just shook his head, “Ain’t like that. S’just a bad side of town. Wouldn’t feel right leavin’ you out here, should get you home.”

“I don’t wanna go home.”

Joel weighed his options. He knew he wasn’t going to leave you here, all bare feet and scraped knees, your hair falling out of the clip and lipstick faded. But he knew if he did what he really wanted, it would be toeing a line he wasn’t sure he had any business getting near, let alone crossing. You were too young—a complete stranger and yet so familiar to him. He should’ve just offered you a cab or pointed you towards someone else’s door, but there was something in your eyes again as he looked back at you. Something there that kept him from walking away. It wasn’t… want, not even need. Just an emptiness. Something cracked and quiet and too close to what he’d seen in his own rearview mirror more than once. Something that made you so different from your mother. 

“Then you can…you can come to mine,” he said softly. “Just for a drink. Just so I know you’re alright. Then we’ll talk about gettin’ you home.”

You didn’t answer right away, only watched him. He watched you back, saw how your eyes roamed over his broad shoulders in the late sunlight all the way down to his work boots, your tongue dipping out unconsciously to wet your lip before looking back in his eyes. Then finally, you gave the faintest nod, your voice low as you said, “Alright then. But only 'cause you asked nice.”

And Joel, gentleman to the bone, just walked you to his passenger door, held it open and said, “C’mon.”

The drive to his house wasn’t long, just a handful of turns and wide stretches of road that cut through dry fields and sleepy oak trees, but time seemed to drag, honey thick and viscous, like the heat still clinging to the asphalt. The air smelled of dust and engine grease and the faint sweetness of your perfume, something heady and cheap. The sun had dropped low behind the hills, casting the truck’s cabin in amber. Every so often, light spilled through your window and painted your thighs gold.

Joel had trouble keeping his eyes on the road. You had your feet propped on his side mirror, your red-painted toes catching the breeze, one ankle crossed over the other like you hadn’t a care in the world. When you cracked open the beer with a soft hiss, brought the rim to your mouth and drank slowly, he had to remind himself to breathe. The bottle looked big in your delicate hand, the polish on your nails glossy and the same shade as your toes. The same color as every warning sign he should be paying attention to.

You let your hair down halfway through the drive. The clip snapped off with a little flick of your fingers and your hair fell loose around your shoulders, catching in the wind pouring through the open windows. It whipped wild and free, strands of it drifting across the center console, brushing his arm. 

Eventually, you set the bottle down in the cupholder and pulled your feet back to the floor. You sighed and dragged your nails up the length of your bare thighs, mussed your hair again like you were trying to look casual. Then you turned to look at him.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice soft and lazy like syrup, “for all this.”

“No problem,” Joel replied, trying to keep his tone even, his eyes on the road.

“It’s just…” You glanced out the window, then back at him. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s really alright,” he said again, a polite smile on his face as he leaned on his fist in the window.

You were batting your lashes at him now, slow and calculated. He recognized it as the same look you’d given that man outside the gas station, turning on whatever switch you had to melt men in your hands. And soon enough, your own manicured hand was sliding across the console and brushed his thigh, red nails bright against his faded blue jeans.

“I just really wanna thank you proper,” you said, your voice suddenly low like smoke curling through the cab.

Joel went still, his one hand gripping the steering wheel tight.

“Oh, darlin’, I don’t—”

“It’s just," you cut him off, "I’ve had such a long day,” and your hand began to move, stroking higher, your touch light but confident. “And you were so sweet to offer me booze and a ride…”

Your fingers found the edge of his belt, the cold metal of the buckle, and that was enough. Joel flinched, and he caught your hand firmly before gently placing it back in your own lap.

“That ain’t what this is, hon.”

You blinked and leaned away, your head ticking back like you’d been slapped. A grimace twisted your lips, one brow arching in wounded surprise.

“What, you don’t want me?”

Joel could barely keep the wheel steady. You said it like he’d insulted you and your grandmother all in one breath. As if the thought of you coming on to him was the most ridiculous thing he could’ve imagined.

“It’s not—” he said, heat crawling up the back of his neck. “I just—this ain’t…I don’t… It ain’t about that. I’m not doin’ this for any kind of… payback. I don’t want nothin’. Don’t need nothin’.”

You crossed your arms tight over your chest and leaned against the seat stiffly.

“I just thought…” You said quietly, beaten down, defeated, wounded, “You know. You bought me beer. You’re givin’ me a ride. Not like most guys do that kinda thing for free.”

Joel dared a glance at you, but your face had turned away from him, looking out into the darkening neighborhood around you. 

Something curled in his chest then, a slow, boiling heat that moved up his spine and settled sharp in his ribs. Anger, red and searing, but not at you. Not even close. It was for the men who came before, the ones who’d taught you that kindness was a transaction, that safety was something you had to pay for with your body. That you should expect to pay, just for needing something.

He pressed his lips together, eyes back on the road, knuckles whitening on the wheel as the sun bled out over the hills.

“No one ever done somethin’ for you just to be decent?” he asked quietly.

You huffed in annoyance and didn't answer him. 

You seemed to have relaxed a fraction since the car ride over, Joel now beside you on the porch in his rocking chair. He strummed his guitar every now and then, foot ticking to the beat in his head. You had taken his flannel that had been draped behind the back of your chair and pulled it around your shoulders, even though the night was tepid and still. The porch light buzzed above you, casting everything in a yellow hue while the world around you began to quiet. Somewhere off in the distance, a dog barked and cicadas had started to hum low, almost lazily, as if even they were winding down.

You were in the chair beside him, your knees drawn in close, beer bottle in hand as you took slow, thoughtful sips. You looked at your toes a lot, where they curled under you, chipped polish catching what little light the porch offered. Every now and then, your cheek would rest against your knees, eyes drifting to him or across the lawn or up to the sky.

Joel didn’t say much, just enjoyed the quiet evening with the beer sweating in his hand between strums. His gaze moved over the yard, the porch rail, the stretch of gravel drive beyond the gate. He liked this, the stillness, the quiet. He’d even venture far enough to say he liked your company too. 

“It’s so nice out here,” you murmured.

He hummed in agreement, not looking over.

“Peaceful.”

Joel paused his playing and took a sip. “That’s the idea.”

You tilted your head back, hair falling behind you as you looked up into the sky, now washed in that rich, late-summer indigo. A few stars had begun to blink through the haze, faint and patient, waiting their turn. Your lashes caught the porch light when you blinked, and Joel had to look away. His fingers found the guitar strings again, plucking lightly.

You spoke again, quieter now. “You always sit out here at night?”

“When I can.”

“Even when you’re alone?”

He nodded, eyes on your shadowed features, “Especially then.”

You were looking back at him, something gentle in your eyes. Not quite searching, not quite curious. Just... seeing him. He didn’t get that often. You smiled to yourself and let your legs unfold and slid upright in your seat, shifting to face him more. The porch creaked gently under the movement, boards worn smooth from years of foot traffic and hot sun. You leaned over and set your empty beer bottle on the table between you, fingers brushing the edge of his side of the table. 

“Empty?” Joel asked.

You nodded, quiet, almost sheepish.

He set down his old guitar and stood, “I’ll go grab you ano—”

“I’ll come with you,” you said, almost too quickly. “If that’s okay.”

He hesitated, looked at you a little longer than he probably should have, but he nodded.

He opened the front door and held it for you, and you stepped through, bare feet soft against the threshold, the screen slapping gently shut behind.

Joel followed, heart ticking a little louder now with that strange, prickling feeling of someone else walking through his space crawling up the back of his neck. His house had grown quieter over the years, the corners taken over by clutter and dust, a man’s house through and through. Photos still lined the walls—Sarah’s drawings, her soccer trophies, a lopsided art project she made in elementary school that he could never quite bring himself to put away. There were old horse paintings on the walls too and a chipped mug still drying by the sink, the faint scent of wood shavings from replacing the cabinets a few months back. 

He moved to the fridge, grateful for the small excuse to make himself busy. The cool air met his face in relief as he reached for two more beers.

“You have a daughter?” you asked, your voice gentler now. He peeked over the fridge door to see you standing by the entry table, holding a photo of him and Sarah at a soccer game. He knew the one, it was when she’d won her first trophy, his arm around her neck in pride, both of them wearing winning smiles. He’d been so proud, so happy to see her so happy. 

He shut the fridge with a grunt, moving across the kitchen back to you. “Yeah, she’s in school now. All the way at UCB.”

You smiled faintly, still looking at the picture. “Smart girl.”

“Don’t I know it.” The corner of his mouth lifted despite himself and he held the bottle out to you.

You took it slowly, fingers brushing his as you wrapped your hand around the neck. He caught the movement of your eyes then as they flickered down to his left hand, to the bare stretch of skin where a ring might’ve sat. You didn’t say anything, and he didn’t ask.

But you set the bottle down then on the entry table, and Joel didn’t care if it left a moisture stain, not with the way something had changed in your expression. 

“You never told me your name,” you said softly, stepping in closer, your hands coming up to press gently against his chest. His breath stuttered, caught somewhere between his ribs and throat.

“I—” he started, voice catching, and, clearing his throat, said: “It–it’s Joel.”

You smiled at that, eyes flicking up to his again. “Joel.” You tried it once, rolling your tongue around with it. He didn’t let himself think too hard about how right it sounded in your mouth.

Your fingers spread wide as they smoothed over his shirt, slow and certain, like you were learning him by feel. Joel put his beer down and his hands came up, cold with condensation and grasping lightly at your wrists, stopping their slow climb just before his collarbone. 

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured, voice low. That ain't what this is.

“I know you did,” you said. “But… you’re just so…” you shook your head, tongue dipping out to moisten your bottom lip before tugging it beneath your teeth. He watched, transfixed, blood rushing in a low roar through his veins, dragging all his sense straight down with it.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, Joel,” you said softly, pushing up on to your toes, still barefoot and so god damn warm on him. Joel held his breath as your lips pushed against his jaw, through the thick scruff of his beard, and suddenly there was no more blood in his head, in his ears, in the rest of his body. It all rushed south. 

“Darlin’, please,” he begged, shutting his eyes tightly, gathering his wits, “I don’t…I don’t think it’s a good idea,”

Because he knew your mother. Because he’d loved her once, and that alone should’ve been enough to stop him. Because he saw you in church today and let his eyes linger too long, let his thoughts stray where they shouldn’t, let the devil lean in close and whisper. And God help him, he listened.

Because it was the devil, he was sure of it, who’d set you in his path. Not fate or chance or any hope of angels. The devil, grinning and cruel, who laid you out like temptation on a Sunday afternoon.

And even when he tried to ignore that pull, tried to quiet the ache, to drive home and forget the way you looked at him in that pew, there you were again laid out in his path a second time at the station. 

And maybe it was sin, or weakness, or something older than both, but part of him wanted to be the man who filled the ache he saw in you.

Because he’d seen the hollowness in your eyes, the sadness, the loneliness. And right now you were peppering kisses to his jaw, his neck, not listening to a word he was saying. He dropped one of his hands from your wrists, and you took that as some sort of consent to move in, but he stopped you. He pushed his hand into your hair, from your jaw to your ear to card his fingers through your locks, tangled and wind blown now, and latched his fingers at the nape of your neck.

You gasped in his hold, lips wet and parted, looking so goddamn tempting it made his teeth ache. But he held you there, held them away from his reach, scruffing your neck like a kitten too wild with need, your fingers clawing at his shirt, delicate and desperate.

“It ain’t right, darlin’,” he rasped, voice raw.

You whined softly, hips tilting toward him.

“If I do this,” he said, “there ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me from keepin’ you for myself. And that ain't fair. For you, for the boys your age.” 

“Don’t want them,” you breathed, “Want you,” you breathed, “Keep me, please.”

He groaned, low and pained, nose brushing your jaw, his mouth close enough to nearly taste the salt of your skin. Your hands curled tighter into his chest, and he felt you trying to close the distance, inch by inch, but he kept you in place. Far enough to keep himself from sealing your fate in him.

“Hurt me, Joel,” you whispered. “Please.”

That snapped him out of his reverie faster than a bucket of ice water.

His eyes narrowed, brows knitting as he looked at you. He let go of your hair, letting you fall away from him. You stumbled a little, hands dropping from his chest, your own brow furrowing in confusion.

“No,” he shook his head.

But you didn’t stay gone, you were clambering back to him, those kitten hands still needy, clawing and wanting. Your eyes were wild and shining now, lips pressed into a deep line. One hand grabbed his wrist while the other curled around his shoulder, anchoring you to him.

You pushed his hand under the curve of your jaw, “I know you want me,” you begged, eyes burning, lips parting now, “Please, Joel, I’ll be good, I’ll be whatever you want, just please…touch me, hurt me.”

Joel tried to pull away, trying to find the part of himself that still had a grip on this, but you were already kissing him, hot and frantic as you licked the slant of his mouth, hand threading into his thick hair. You clutched at him with such force, as if he might vanish if you didn’t cling to him with everything you had.

He didn’t mean to kiss you back, but he couldn’t help himself. A sound left him as your tongue pushed past his lips, low and guttural and equal in fervor, pulling you into him. He hoisted you up into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he took hold of you. He was losing this fight, losing his grip on the lie that he could be better, that he could say no, that he could walk away from this and still call himself a good man. That he wasn’t some pervert with a younger girl. He wasn’t he wasn’t he wasn’t—

Your tongues slid against one another, filling the desperate space between your mouths, teeth colliding, your entire body shaking against his. He was overwhelmed with the taste of you, the taste of his beer in your mouth, the warmth of it all. How fucking alive and needy you felt in his arms.

He barely remembered reaching the couch, just that he had you under him, laid out across the cushions like some sort of fever dream. He felt like he was eighteen again, desperate in his ache to have you. Your legs pulled him closer, your hands clawing at his shoulders, his neck, digging into his jaw like you needed him closer.

You arched beneath him, gasping, fingers clutching his shirt at his back.

“More,” you whispered, nearly sobbing it. “Please, Joel—please—I can take it—”

He caught your wrists in his hands, holding them down on either side of your head, not rough, but firm.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he rasped, breathless. “I’m not—I don’t want that—”

“But I do,” you cried, your voice cracking.

Joel stared down at you, chest heaving, and something twisted in him then. A wave of grief, of helplessness, of understanding he didn’t want. You weren’t playing, this wasn’t a game. This wasn’t kink or curiosity or seduction. This was a wound, deep and aching in its bleeding core.

“Baby,” he said softly, “Look at me,”

You paused, breath hitching, chest rising and falling as you looked up at him, eyes glassy with tears. It made his heart cleave in two, the way you looked at him like you didn’t know any other way to be loved. That it could be something else but violent.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked gently, “Why do you want me to hurt you?”

You looked away, eyes blinking hard. Your mouth trembled like you were about to speak, but the words didn’t come. You just shook your head, like you didn’t know either.

He let go of your wrists slowly, brushing his thumb across the inside of your arm, gentle now. Still between your thighs, but the fire had dimmed into something sad and raw.

“You want me to keep you?” he asked quietly, trying to bring you back. “You wanna be a good girl for me?”

You looked back up at him then, eyes shining, cheeks wet. You nodded, quick and desperate like your whole body needed to say yes.

“Then we’re gonna do it my way,” he said, wiping your cheeks, “Alright? Ain’t gonna hurt you. I’m gonna show you.”

“Show me?” you echoed, voice small, cracking right down the middle.

“That’s right, baby,” he murmured, petting your hair back from your face, his hand cradling the back of your skull. “Show you how good it can be.”

“Okay,” you whispered. He brushed his lips against your eyes, collecting your tears, kissing your lips again gently. 

“Gonna be a good listener too?” he asked against them.

You nodded, small and shaky. He could see how tightly your eyes were shut, how your lips trembled beneath his.

You threaded your hands back into his hair, tugging him close again, your mouth open, warm with tears and want, nibbling softly at his lower lip as you kissed him, tasting like salt and surrender.

“Such a pretty thing,” Joel murmured, pulling back just enough to take you in. He sat back on his haunches, hands gliding down the length of your sides, his palms broad and steady. He couldn’t help but admire how good you looked beneath him.

“Gonna take this off, okay?” he whispered, and you nodded as he pinched the hem of your skin tight tank top, peeling it up, revealing more and more of you to the quiet room. He did the same with his own shirt, tossing both pieces aside, not caring where they landed.

Your hands found his chest instantly, fingertips diving into the thick, wiry hair there. Your skin was so soft against his, so warm and open. He shivered.

“You’re so handsome, Joel,” you whispered.

He let out a breath of disbelief, smiling faintly, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He bent to kiss you again, slower now, deeper. His tongue slipped past your lips, mapping the shape of your mouth, memorizing it. He licked every part he could reach, wanting more and more. Then his mouth began to drift, trailing wet, reverent kisses down the line of your jaw, along your throat, until he reached the edge of your bra. Red, like your nails and your faded lipstick. He wondered briefly if it was your favorite color. 

His fingers found the straps, easing them down your shoulders with aching care. He watched your eyes as he did it, saw the way your breath deepened and your pupils darkened, your lips parting as you panted. He pulled the cups down, slow and steady, until your breasts spilled free.

“Look at you,” he said, more to himself, and then he was lowering his mouth, pulling one nipple between his lips, tugging gently with his teeth.

Your jaw dropped, a quiet sound catching in your throat as your hands flew to his hair, holding him there. Your eyes had gone heavy-lidded as you watched him.

“Oh,” you breathed.

Joel groaned softly at the sound, the vibrations humming through his chest. He suckled you gently, unhurried and savoring and letting the soft weight of your breast fill his mouth as his tongue swirled lazy circles over the sensitive peak. 

He moved to the other, brushing the soft underside with his nose before taking you in, mouthing at the tender skin with a kind of need he hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever. You smelled like salt and that sickly sweet perfume, like a summer night. His palm smoothed up your side, fingertips brushing the swell of your ribs, holding the shape of you close.

“You doin’ alright, sweetheart?” he murmured between kisses, letting his mouth drag up the center of your chest.

You nodded, breath shuddering as your hands traveled his body, delicate fingers feeling his shoulders, his arms, his wrists and fingers.

“I like it when you talk,” you whispered. “You have a nice voice.”

He huffed a breath against your sternum. “That so?”

You nodded again, eyes still hooded low and pupils blown wide as he looked at you.

“Mhm, makes me feel…” you trailed off.

“How do you feel, baby? Tell me,” he urged softly.

“Feel good, feel…safe,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. Joel blinked, that word doing more to him than anything else you could’ve said. It rooted him to you, to the moment. It kept him in the soft curve of your hip beneath his palm, the way your lashes brushed your cheeks as you blinked at him.

He smiled at you lightly, kissing down your belly now, your skin trembling as he descended your body. “That’s good, baby,” he assured you, tongue dipping into your navel, making you giggle. He would keep that sound in the back of his head for safe keeping, remember it for days after.

When he reached the waistband of your shorts, he looked up at you, hand already undoing the buckle. You squirmed, fingers flying to help.

“Easy,” he ground out, voice like gravel, a teased warning. You huffed but obeyed, hands retreating to trace over his knuckles as he dragged the zipper down. He kissed between the open denim, right where the little bow on your panties peeked out. That single spot made his mouth water. If he could unhinge his jaw, he’d have swallowed you whole.

He shifted down more, his shoulders bumping your thighs, pulling your shorts down. He kneeled over the side of the sofa to give you room and in one slow, reverent movement, he left you bare beneath him.

He groaned out a sound from deep in his throat before he could stop himself.

“Christ, baby,”

You smiled bashfully at him, your finger going to your mouth, holding your nail between your teeth as your knees bumped together. Your glistening puffy lips pushed together between your legs, until he gently nudged them apart, opening you. He swore he would’ve fallen to his knees if he wasn’t already there.

“Fuck,” he said, kissing the skin of your knee, your inner thigh, leaning his cheek against it.

His fingers came up, pressing into the apex of your thighs, collecting your arousal and spreading it. You gasped something blasphemous as he touched you, as he let his finger gently circle your shining little clit. He felt like he was drooling, his jaw slackening as he watched his fingers play with you. You looked so warm and wet and inviting, clenching and pulsing, needing to be filled.

“Joel—” you begged.

“I know,” he cooed, his eyes, black as yours, finding your gaze, “I know,”

You moaned and squirmed again, and he pulled his hand away to taste you even as you whined at the loss. His eyes rolled back at the taste of you, hunger flashing hot through his body. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He dove into you, head first, tongue hungry, all need and no hesitation. He ate you with slow, dragging strokes, his tongue flattened and curling to catch every drop of you. Your back arched in a perfect curve, your soaked pussy covering his face. He moaned against you, and you answered with breathy little sounds, each one sweeter than the last, like music pressed into his skin.

“Sound so fuckin’ pretty, honey,” he mumbled into your cunt, lips wrapping around your clit, sucking gently.

“Ah—!” you gasped, one hand fisting in his hair. He moved to bring his fingers up, prodding you with just one. He slid it in with ease, feeling you squeeze around him with a hiss.

“Oh my—” your eyes rolled back as he looked up at you, “You’re so—so thick,” 

“S’only one finger, baby,” he chuckled, kissing the skin of your thigh, “How we ever gonna get my cock in you, huh?”

“I can take it, I can take it,” you chanted, “want more, Joel, more!” 

“What’d I say about doin’ this my way?” he muttered, kissing your hipbone. “Gotta take my time, baby. Gotta open her up for me real gentle. You gonna let me?”

You nodded like your life depended on it.

“That’s my girl,” he praised, voice breaking on the last word as your whole body shivered beneath him.

And fuck, he was aching now. His cock heavy and stiff in his jeans, throbbing at the sight of you spread out and pliant—so ready, so damn pretty, and all his.

His mouth found you again, letting his teeth graze your clit as he slid in a second finger. His eyes never left your face. He watched as sweat beaded at your temples, your mouth parted in a perfect, wet little “o” as you watched him through heavy lids.

You clenched around him, your pussy fluttering as he felt your walls pulse and draw him deeper. He moaned into you, licking firmly, then suckling your clit between his lips, rolling it steadily with his tongue. Your head flew back, the long line of your throat catching in the light, letting out the prettiest yelp of pleasure he might’ve ever heard in his life.

“Oh fuck!” you cried, thighs trembling as you came hard around his fingers. He kept going, groaning against you, taking in every last second of it like it was the first breath after drowning.

When you came back down to earth, gulping in gasps of air, he was still kissing your clit, gentler now. His fingers slipped out of you slowly, careful not to jolt you.

You reached for him with both hands, cupping his face, your nails digging into the scruff at his jaw, “C’mere,” you said softly. He followed you, letting you pull him up and kissed you hard. You moaned into his mouth, tasting yourself as his swollen lips and tongue claimed you there. 

“Are you going to fuck me, Joel?” you asked, a little drunk on pleasure. 

“That what you want?”

You nodded quickly. “Yes. Please. I need it.”

“Okay, baby,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours. “Anything for my good girl.”

He stood up, pushed his jeans down his thighs, the denim stiff and dragging, and finally let himself breathe. No boxers. Just him, thick and aching and already leaking a pearl of arousal for you. He caught the way your eyes dropped to it, wide and wonder-filled, the way your breath filling your lungs in a little gasp.

You reached for him, helping him pull down the denim, your fingers finding the length of him immediately, panting like a puppy for him. You leaned up, only wrapping your delicate little fingers around him, that heartbreaker red glistening in the low light of the evening. You tilted your head up at him.

“He’s so pretty, Joel,” you said.

Joel’s stomach flipped at both your words and the contact of your hand moving to brush your thumb over the precum at his tip. He hissed between his teeth, watching your fingers curl around him, barely able to meet at the underside. That sight alone nearly undid him.

His hips twitched in your touch. He reached for your face, thumb swiping along your lower lip. You licked his digit without hesitation, parting your mouth in invitation. He pressed the pad of it against your tongue, slow and firm, pushing until the bend of his hand sat at the corner of your mouth and his fingers cupped the curve of your cheek. Your tongue fluttered, and he felt the moment you almost gagged, throat constricting just enough to make his eyes darken.

He pulled back with a soft hum, dragging his thumb across your lips, spreading your spit there like gloss.

“Think you can take it?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, lifting your hand to hold his palm to your mouth, nuzzling against him like a kitten again. Tamer now, domesticated.

Your eyes dropped back to his cock, mouth parted and inching toward him with intent, but he caught your scalp in one large palm, tightening just enough to hold your attention.

“Uh-uh,” he tutted. “Not today.”

“But–”

“Don’t start, baby,” he warned, voice like gravel. “Not if you want me to last long enough to fuck you proper. Need to be inside you, need to know how that sweet little pussy feels wrapped around me.”

You kissed the tip of his cock anyway, disobedient little thing, looking at him from under your lashes. It made his vision fuzzy around the edges, melting the shred of control he felt.

He groaned, remembering himself, and sat on the couch in one fluid motion, pulling you into his lap. You squealed, giggling breathlessly at the motion, but he had you steady between the breadth of his hands. His cock throbbed beneath you, so hard it almost hurt, balls drawn tight from how long he’d been aching for you. 

He smiled, nuzzling his nose beneath your jaw until you turned to kiss him, lips meeting his slow and deep, your mouth warm and wanting. He guided you lower, your hand wrapping around him again. He groaned at the feel of it, his cock heavy and aching as it notched at your entrance, arousal already dripping around the head of him.

“Gonna take all of me?” he rasped, voice rough with restraint. “Gonna make me proud, baby?”

“Yes, Joel… yes,” you whispered, eyes squeezed tight as you began to sink down on him.

His palm found your cheek, thumb stroking lightly. “Look at me,” he said, breathless, “open those pretty eyes… lemme see ‘em.”

You did. And when your gaze met his, he felt his control fray. You looked so undone, lips parted, brows drawn, tears threatening from the stretch of him inside you. He moaned, the sound caught low in his throat, as you sank down another inch, and then another. Your thighs trembled against his sides, hands clutching his shoulders, and Joel couldn’t take his eyes off you. He could hardly breathe as he watched you take all of him. And when you finally seated yourself all the way, your ass resting against his thighs, Joel’s jaw slackened in ecstasy.

You felt like heaven and sin all at once, velvet and silk and so god damn warm. 

“Oh, baby,” he exhaled, kissing the corner of your mouth. “That’s it. Just like that. So good. So tight around me.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your arms wrapping around his neck as you clung to him, your chest pressed flush to his. Joel brought his chin to rest between the soft weight of your breasts, brushing his lips along your jaw as you shifted against him. You whined, gasping at the feeling of him opening you.

“I know, baby, I know.” he soothed, “Don’t move just yet—gotta let yourself adjust. Gotta take it slow.”

“But I wanna,” you whined petulantly, a bratty little sound as your hips rolled, slick and insistent, breath warm on his neck.

He wrapped his arms around your back, pulling you in tighter, his voice slipping lower.

“Told me you’d be a good listener, didn’t you?” he murmured, “So listen, baby.”

Then, as if he’d torn free from whatever leash he thought he had on himself, letting that buried, wanton part of him take over, he added—

“Listen to daddy.”

You froze for half a second, and so did he.

Your breath caught, his grip tightened.

And then your hips rolled again, slower this time, steadier, your voice a little dazed.

“Yes, I will, I’ll be good,”

Joel sighed in relief, heart still punching his ribs from the inside.

“Yeah?” he asked, a small smirk pulling at his lips as he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Need daddy to take care of you, huh? That all you wanted, sweet baby?”

You whimpered, nodding into the side of his neck, and he couldn’t help the low groan that escaped him as you clenched around him again.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, holding your hips down so you couldn’t move, keeping you filled to the brim. “That’s it honey, I know, just needed to filled up and taken care of, like a good little girl.”

You were panting above him, your thighs slick with arousal and anticipation. Joel kissed your collarbone, your jaw, your cheek—murmuring quiet, dirty little things between each one as you clenched around him.

“You ready, honey?” he whispered against your ear.

“Yes,” you sighed dreamily.

“Yes?” he asked with a crooked smile. He felt one spread on your lips against his shoulder, and you turned to bite his earlobe.

“Yes, daddy,” you whispered, and the words hit him like a spark to dry kindling, skin lighting up in goosebumps, cock jumping inside you as his blood rushed hot and fast.

“Atta girl,” he said, lifting you slightly, just enough to slide out an inch, then dropped you back onto him. The sound you made was sharp and breathless, like the air had been knocked clean from your lungs. Joel pulled you closer, leaning back into the couch, one hand threaded through your hair, the other curling around your spine.

He started to move, thrusting with even, sawing strokes, letting you just lean into him and take it. Each one was deep and controlled, his cock dragging through every inch of your sweet, wet, addicting center. Your body trembled and beaded with sweat against his, your breath catching on each pass as he filled you again and again. You were so warm and velvety against him, pulling him in deeper, squeezing the life out of him every time he bottomed out.

“How’s that feel, hm?” he murmured, pushing your hair back with gentle fingers before sitting you up to face him.

He was surprised to see tears flowing down your face.

“Baby…” he cooed, stilling his hips. But you let out a helpless breath at the pause, rocking against him in search of friction.

“C’mon, talk to me,” he said, his hand firm at your back to keep you still. 

“I just…” you sniffled, voice catching. “I want you—I want—” Another breath. “It feels so good, Joel.”

“Yeah?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded, tears streaking your cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” you said, wiping at your face. Mascara smudged under your eyes. “I’ve just never felt like this before.”

Joel kissed your trembling lip, soft and reassuring. His hands never left you, anchoring you in his lap.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here, I’m gon’ take care of you. Tell me what you need.”

“Don’t want you to stop. Please don’t stop,” you hiccuped. “Even if I cry. Just—hold me. Please.”

He nodded, brows knit as he kissed along your jaw, your chin. “Okay. You sure?”

“I’m begging you,” you whispered. “It feels like heaven, Joel. You feel so good inside me.”

He let you rock your hips, guiding you with a hand at the base of your spine. Your clit caught on the rough thatch of hair at his base, drawing a breathy moan from your lips.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice rough. “How’s that?”

“Perfect,” you breathed.

“Good girl,” he moaned, thrusting up into you again, slow, deep, and steady, "I got you, I got you, take what you need,"

Joel kept one hand on your back and the other cradling the side of your face, thumb brushing under your eye where a fresh tear slipped free. You weren’t sobbing or in hysterics, but the tears kept falling, thick and hot, like your body couldn’t contain the multitude of emotions, like it was breaking open somewhere soft and untouched inside you.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “You feel good, baby? I got you.”

You nodded again, lip caught between your teeth, still trying to keep quiet even as your hips moved with more urgency, chasing the fullness of him. Your hands gripped his shoulders, then his hair, like you didn’t know where to hold on.

“I—” you started again, breath shaking. “I want you, want to be with you, want to feel like this all the time,”

“I know, honey,” Joel murmured, kissing your cheek, your temple, the corner of your mouth. “I know. And you can, I’m right here, gonna keep you, gonna show you how good you are.”

You moaned louder when his hips rolled up to meet yours, slow and deep. His cock hit that spot inside you and he felt you flutter around him. 

“There she is,” he praised, voice low, lips brushing yours. “Look at you, takin’ me so good. You’re so pretty like this.”

Your hands found his chest, nails curling into him as he fucked up into you. He kept it deep and measured, taking his time with you, letting you feel every inch of him that burned for you, that ached and needed. And maybe one day he’d give in to all of it, that hunger to take you hard and fast and leave you marked and shaking. But not tonight. Not when you were looking at him like that, when your brain and your body needed to be shown softness, gentleness.

He wanted to show you something else. That you didn’t need bruises to feel wrecked. That it could be slow, and warm, and still ruin you completely. That he could be that for you. 

His nose nudged yours, voice barely more than breath. “She’s close, I feel her chokin’ me, feel how much she loves it.”

You mewled, your thighs beginning to tremble around him. “So close. Joel—please—”

“I know, sweetheart, I know. I got you. You’re doin’ so good. Yeah, that’s it.”

His arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight to him, guiding your rhythm as he fucked up into you just a little harder, a little deeper, dragging those moans out of you with every pass. Tears clung to your lashes again. Your mouth hung open, eyes unfocused, your hands clinging to him like you’d fall apart without him to hold onto.

Joel stared up at you, undone by the sight. Every time you rocked down onto him, every time your body gripped him like that, he felt it deeper. Felt something in him start to fray.

“Christ,” he breathed. “Look at you.”

His hand slid to your cheek, thumb brushing the edge of your lips.

“You’re takin’ me so good, baby. So fuckin’ pretty like this. Makin’ me proud, sweet girl.”

You moaned and panted, head tipped back in a mix of agony and pleasure, “I’m gonna—oh god—I’m gonna—”

“That’s it, baby. Let go. Let me feel ‘er. Come for me, sweet girl, gooood girl—there you go—oh, fuck—”

You cried out, body clenching down around him, your thighs tightening as your orgasm crashed over you hard and electrifying. Joel held you through it, kissing your face, your neck, rocking into you. Your walls clenched and fluttered around him, pulling him in deeper, squeezing him like you needed him deeper, milking every last bit of him. It scrambled his thoughts, popped them like fizz in his chest. 

“Oh fuck that’s so—” he groaned, head falling back onto the back of the sofa, “so fuckin’ pretty,”

You returned to him, kissing his jaw as you came down from your high, dazed and breathless, your lips trailing to his throat, to the thrum of his pulse. Your tongue flicked there, tasting the salt and skin, and Joel let out a strangled sound. He gripped your hips hard, rocking into you, his cock pulsing, twitching deep inside, thick ropes of his spend coating your walls, leaking down between you as his whole body tensed and strained. His mind went white around the edges, like all he could feel or think about was you.

He stayed there through it, and eventually his panting turned to a soft, easy sigh and he tilted his head up to look at you with a lazy smile on his face.

Bringing a hand to your face, he brought you down to him to kiss your temple once, then again, then your cheek and your jaw. Soft, aimless kisses like he didn’t want to stop touching you, like he couldn’t.

“You okay?” he murmured into your hair, his voice low, still wrecked from everything he’d just felt.

You nodded against him, slow and a little dazed, your fingers weaving into his hair. The curls behind his ears were damp with sweat, soft between your fingertips. He didn’t move, just let you touch him. Let you stay.

Joel exhaled and pressed his nose to your hair, breathing you in. The room had gone quiet now, save for the soft sound of your breaths mingling. His cock was still tucked deep inside you, softening, but still thick with presence, the warmth between you both beginning to fade.

“How about I start you a bath, hm?” he said softly. “Get you cleaned up. That sound okay, baby?”

You leaned in, placing your lips against his. Not even a kiss, just a gentle press, in the shape of one, soft and plush and lingering. Joel kissed you back with the same careful slowness, like he didn’t want to startle whatever fragile thing was unfolding between you.

Then, his voice came quieter than before. “You can… stay here. If you want.”

He felt it the moment the words landed. The way your body stilled, the shift behind your eyes. Not a flinch, exactly, but something close. Like a thread inside you had pulled too tight, stretched too far.

You inhaled the tiniest gasp, gaze dropping down, retreating into yourself. He saw it, saw the question in your eyes, saw the moment of uncertainty. And for one awful second, he wondered if he’d broken whatever this was, if he’d asked for too much.

But you didn’t move. You just sat there, caught in the space between something old and something new.

Joel watched you, silent and waiting, even as his heart started to ache with the fear that you’d pull away. He knew that look. The kind of quiet panic that wasn’t about him, not really, but about what came after. About what it meant to be wanted and not just… used. To be safe and not trapped.

He didn’t rush you, he let the quiet stretch as his thumbs softly brushed over your skin in wait.

And then you looked up at him slowly, studying him. Your fingers brushed through his hair again, slower this time, thinking. You combed it back, tracing the lines of his face with your eyes like you were memorizing something. 

Joel let you. His eyes never left yours.

He saw the flicker of something in your expression—fear, maybe, or hope. Maybe both.

Then your hand paused at the back of his neck.

“Okay,” you whispered, so quiet it barely reached him.

His heart kicked hard in his chest. He slid his hand to your nape, curling his fingers gently there, pulling you in for another kiss, this one deeper, but still sweet and soft. 

“You won’t ever have to do anything you don’t want to,” he murmured against your mouth. “You don’t have to stay if it feels too much.”

“I want to,” you whispered.

Joel closed his eyes, and you leaned down to press your forehead to his.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, voice so full of quiet emotion it ached.

You nodded, your nose brushing his.

Joel kissed you one more time, a little peck, a little check in. It didn’t need to be some grand gesture or heart filled confession just yet, no explanation of everything you’d seen and everything he’d done. He knew that. Knew it would come, when you were ready. When he could finally let himself believe you might actually want to stay.

He exhaled like he’d been holding it for years, something heavy easing in his chest as he shifted beneath you. His hands slid under your thighs and he rose carefully from the couch, cradling you close to his chest.

“Alright,” he whispered. “Let’s get you in that bath.”

don't talk to me for 7-10 business days this ruined me and IM THE ONE WHO WROTE IT

[johannestevans]

I Am Bad Representation

And I could not care less.

This post also on my website for easy sharing.

Yesterday, I went to my GP and got my testosterone injection administered. It’s an intramuscular injection generally administered to my backside, where the fattier, softer flesh makes the intramuscular penetration of the needle less painful, and also gives it space to settle in the flesh and slowly be assimilated into my endocrine system over time.

Every 12 weeks — 3 months — I get this injection administered. I have been on it for about five years. 

Prior to that, I was on Testogel, a topical form of testosterone where you slather a very strong-smelling slime over your shoulders every day and sit uncomfortably, waiting for it to dry, before you can put your shirt on, and trying not to sweat in the meantime. 

The nurse at my local GP has been administering this T-shot for about a year. 

Previously, I had been prescribed an oestrogen cream to help with the symptoms of vaginal atrophy — when you have a vulva and vagina and you, for whatever reason, have low oestrogen and progesterone, the mucous membranes that make up the inside of your vagina and your labia minora become thinner and produce less lubricant. It can make it harder to produce enough lubricant whilst having sex, make you more prone to tearing, and contribute to muscular pain and discomfort. 

As you might have surmised from how I described the Testogel, this cream was Bad for me. It was very texturally unpleasant and awkward to administer with a little syringe, and I despised it. 

So I made a mistake. I said, hey, can you guys give me a suppository version of the same cream?

The receptionist seemed surprised by how comfortable I was talking about my vagina in the waiting room, but hey. Such is life. 

I receive a phone call the following morning at a few minutes past nine. With delight, the receptionist informs me, “We’ve made a referral to the gender dysphoria clinic for you!”

And I say, “Well, you shouldn’t have done that. Why did you do that?”

And she goes, “Oh.”

“I don’t need to speak to a gender dysphoria specialist. This is for a vaginal suppository. It’s the same thing you’d give to a cisgender woman experiencing vaginal atrophy after experiencing menopause — it has nothing to do with being transgender.”

“Oh. Well. Erm. The doctor just doesn’t feel comfortable prescribing you hormones without you talking to a specialist.”

“What about the hormones you already give me?”

“… What?”

“I was literally there yesterday getting my T-shot administered. You’ve been giving me my testosterone for a year. Is the doctor suddenly going to take me off a medication I’ve been on for eight years? Is he comfortable putting me at severe health risk for no reason?”

“Oh, er, well, I’m sure, um, I don’t — I’m just a secretary, I don’t, um, I don’t know about… I’m sure he wouldn’t… But I can’t guarantee that — “

I was pissed. I made it very clear I was pissed and that I felt this was a waste of time and resources.

I know exactly what happened. Because many doctors don’t actually know anything about much of the medicine they administer unless it comes up on a Google search, they immediately react to base assumptions like “transgender” (or “woman” or “disabled” or “Black”) and attribute any issue you’re having to that. 

My doctor looked at the fact that I’m on testosterone, then saw that I’d asked for oestrogen. Aaaaah!!! That’s so confusing and weird! I must be confused about my gender identity! You can’t just mess with all this stuff and brew it all together!

The fact that I’ve been given a cream-form of the same medication in the past is irrelevant. The fact that what I’ve requested is a LOCALISED form of HRT, which will not impact my broader endocrine system, is irrelevant — he doesn’t know that. The fact that again, the same exact thing can be given to cisgender women, is irrelevant. 

He doesn’t know how any of these medications work. Hormones + transgender = ooh scary!!!!

When you have any sort of chronic health condition — which my transgenderism will be until someone makes an implant for my T — you end up having to learn how a lot of these medications work and how they work together. You have to actually pay attention.

And then you have to manage healthcare practitioners who are acting based on bias and assumptions rather than actual healthcare comprehension. 

And then, infuriatingly, after all this, I was put in the position of having to say, “Look, I’m sorry, I know you don’t know anything about this, and I’m very clearly aggravated, but it feels like I’m being targeted for poor medical care simply because I am transgender, and that my health is being put at risk at random.”

Which is what’s happening. 

But when your doctor tries to do malpractice on you because he’s anxious about the fact that you’re transgender, you’re not allowed to get angry and upset about it, because that makes you scary and intimidating and a Bad Patient. It might make you worthy of even more punishment, or being struck off. 

So that ruined my day. 

I now have to go to the endocrinologist, and hopefully, I’ll be able to say, “I’ve literally been on T for eight years. Do not fuck with me. I do not need a fucking assessment. I do not need to prove for a second time to some stranger that I’m transgender. Just give me the suppository to make my dick work better and fuck off.”

And the endo will just give me the suppository, and my doctor will go back to giving my testosterone every three months, and I won’t have to ruin anybody’s life or publicly embarrass my GP surgery into treating me like a human being. 

It’s so frustrating to have to constantly think about what damage control I’m going to have to do to just be given the basic medication I require to live my life and that I’ve already been on for the better part of a decade. 

The thing about the fact that it feels like this whole thing has put my general life at risk is that it feels like a punishment for caring about my vaginal health and wanting to be able to have comfortable, good sex — and that makes me a bad transgender person.

Cis people don’t want to think about trans men having sex or being sexual beings. That’s gross and scary and weird and uncomfortable. 

Doctors don’t want a patient advocating for their own sexual health or being empowered and knowledgeable about the ins and outs of their own healthcare, let alone contradicting them just because they very clearly not only don’t know how my healthcare works, but because they can’t be bothered to learn. 

Cis people don’t really want trans people to exist, because the concept of trans people disrupts the things they would like to believe about “biological sex” and how it contributes to the roles they choose for each other and pressure one another into.

If they’re okay with trans people existing, they only want trans people to exist in perfect theory. 

They “grieve” over the cisgender children they “lose” when they transition to their correct gender. They don’t want kids and teenagers to be given puberty blockers, but they also don’t want them to get the right hormones — and now even as an adult, I’m constantly put in the position of having to be worried about my T getting stopped at any moment in case a doctor has Feelings about having a transgender patient. 

Because it’s too scary and too hard to actually do any research about my medication. They want our healthcare to go to nebulous “specialists” who, frankly, know more about diabetes and menopause — which is what most endocrinologists study! — than they do about being trans.

Cisgender people are often very fixated on the idea and the narrative that transgender people live in fear and anxiety and self-loathing because we’re so cursed by our bodies and our lives.

But almost every negative experience I have is to do with a cisgender person choosing to make my life difficult rather than any internal issue I have with my actual life or body or gender. It’s cis people using slurs or making places inaccessible, refusing to learn or be educated on any subject, and trying to push any kind of transgender person out of their lives, their facilities, their society.

And so yeah, I’m bad representation.

I’m openly gay and fruity, and I wear sexy fun clothes, and I write erotica and I talk openly about sexual health and resources, and I’m open about being transgender. I’m not ashamed of my sexuality or my gender — or my disability and chronic illness, which I’m also open about, God forbid!

And who cares?

I could be the absolute perfect example of transgenderism — invisible, meek, silent — and I would be treated with the exact same level of disrespect and ignorance. I would just feel like it was genuinely my fault for existing instead of theirs for treating me poorly. 

At the very least I can complain loudly where other people can see and hear me, and it can make other trans people feel better about advocating for themselves and telling cis people and cis-focused systems to fuck right off. 

And I can create bad representation proudly in my own fiction work — trans people who are criminals and assholes and sluts and freaks and actual monsters, who are off-putting and autistic and disabled and weird — and let people enjoy that as well. 

[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: protective Simon Riley, brief sexual content

It was an accident, and your fault.

You weren’t paying attention when Blue swung her head into yours, when she shook her neck out and brought her skull crashing into the side of your face, hard enough to make you stumble, sending you gasping out of the stall while she snorted an apology.

“Fuck.” Her halter had clipped your skin, and you don’t need to touch the side of your face to know you’re bleeding. One hand over your eye, you close her stall with gritted teeth and make for the house, silently praying it’s not as bad as you fear.

It’s pretty bad. It's already tender, and your skin is open across your cheekbone. You’ll be able to get away with two butterfly bandages instead of stitches, thank god, but it looks awful, though not nearly as awful as your eye and its broken blood vessel.

Shit.

The cut stings as you clean it, and your entire face aches even after you’ve swallowed down two Tylenol. You’re not sure which is worse, the injury, or the anxiety it’s giving Riley, who clings to you for the rest of the morning, right up until you drop her off, her hug nearly choking the life out of you.

“I’m okay, I promise.” Her eyes are wide and worried, and you tap her nose. “I love you.”

“I’ll see you after work?” You get home a few hours after her on work days. Her sitter, Callie, hangs out with her after school, or during the day if needed, and she does it for free in exchange for free boarding of her two horses. She’s a college student, very sweet, and takes good care of her. You’d be screwed if she wasn’t around.

“Of course ladybug. Now give me another hug and then you’ve gotta go okay?” She nods reluctantly, and wraps her arms around your neck until she’s satisfied, before taking off into a sea of kids.

“Holy shit!” Key’s mouth drops open, and you groan.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Isa startles as she comes around the corner.

“Oh my god what happened to your face?” This is exactly what you did not want. A scene.

“It’s not a big deal, I swear.”

“What’s going on?” Doctor Riley appears out of nowhere, and you force your breathing into a steady rhythm.

“Daisy got beat up.” Key sounds almost happy, pleased with herself, and you briefly think about murdering her. When you shoot a glare her way, she only raises an eyebrow. His usual gruff tone turns to ice.

“What?”

“No! I didn’t. She’s just making shit up, I-” Pressure closes around your jaw, your chin, and it takes a split second to realize it’s not a some phantom limb but him, his fingers holding your face, tilting it to the light.

“Who did this?” There’s a red flash of anger in his voice, and it settles oddly in your stomach, almost like its heat could keep you warm through a winter. You try to speak, try to spit it out, but the feeling of his skin against yours is overwhelming. “What happened?” When there’s more silence, he gentles his tone, shifts it into something safe and coaxing. “It’s okay Daisy, tell me what happened.”

“A horse.” You croak. You try to pull away but he refuses to let go, holding you firmly in place. “My horse. She smashed her head into mine, and the metal of her halter cut me.”

“A horse.” He deadpans like he doesn’t believe you. The girls, you realize, have mysteriously disappeared, leaving you alone with him, the man who still has not let go of your face.

“Yes, a horse. I have horses. And I’m fine, really. It’s just a bruise.”

“And a cut, and a broken blood vessel in your eye.” He snaps, and again, you try to move away. “Hold still.” He’s scrutinizing you, focused on the blossoming tender skin, the angry red splotch stretching across the white of your eye. This focus, the contact, its all making your heart race, turning its steadfast rhythm into a gallop, one you can’t control. You lick your lips.

“Doctor Riley-” You don’t need this, you don’t need him holding you, exposing your weakness.

“Any problems with your vision?” His fingers trace the curve of your cheek, carefully palpating the swelling and you hiss.

“OW. No. Like I said, I’m fine it’s-”

“Headache? Dizziness? Did you lose consciousness?” Jesus christ. You shake your head with what mobility you have while still trapped in his grip. “Did you clean this?” Does he think you’re an idiot?

“Of course I did.” He hums, blatantly ignoring your annoyance to inspect your injury until he’s satisfied.

“If I told you to take the day off, would you listen?” What? Your thoughts run dry, but somehow he doesn’t need an answer. “No, I know you wouldn’t.” His touch eases, and with his free hand, he strokes the backs of his fingers across your cheek. The room spins, and not because you took a horse’s skull to the face. This moment has gone from intense to intimate, all of it still intimidating. He’s trying to shatter you, trying to break you. He must be.

“I can work, I’m fine.” You need distance. You need his anger, his temper, his impatience, not this. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m okay.” His hand falls away.

“Are you?” You blink.

“What?”

“Are you okay?” His voice is still soft, soft enough to seep into your bones and spread like a disease, poison your marrow until you can’t stand. It will make you sick, weaken you, and it's not like the situation with Beckert, where you knew well enough you didn't have the power, when you accepted you had to acquiesce.

This is different, and you won’t let it in. You won’t let him in.

“Yeah I’m…” No. You’re not okay. You’re not fine. You’re failing. This weight is crushing you, and you can’t hold it up any longer. You’re not strong enough. The flame is back, the one that wants you to let go, to fall, the one that will burn your control to ash, and you're forced to extinguish it, shove it down. “I’m fine.” His expression shifts into indifference, eyes turning to stone, all of it happening so fast you get whiplash. He shrugs.

“Alright then.”

“I can’t.”

“Come on you said Riley is at a sleepover.”

“She is. But I still can’t.” Olivia stamps her foot like a petulant child. “Liv, listen. I can’t. I’m on a tight budget this month, I can’t spend any money, and I can’t just be going out to bars nowadays.” You have chores to do too, and going to bed while sun is still up sounded so nice, but Ava is grinning at you from across the table, and you know it means trouble.

“Who said anything about spending money?” You roll your eyes, and Olivia doubles down.

“You need to get out Daze, you go to work, you go home. That’s it. You need a break, just for a few hours. It’ll be us three, low key, and I’ll buy your beers.”

“There will be plenty people who want to buy you a beer, Daisy. Trust me.” Olivia is hopeful, and you sigh.

“Fine. But two rounds at most.”

Before Riley, you used to come to this bar often. It’s a hospital hang, they have live music on the weekends, and the beer is generally affordable (if you’re drinking Coors.)

Now, you can’t remember the last you were inside. Here, or any drinking establishment, or even a restaurant.

“How’s the new hire?” You sip your beer. It’s cold and tastes like weekends past. Far, far past.

“She’s good!”

“She sucks.” They both answer at the same time, and Ava scoffs. “What? She’s a new grad. It’s like having a toddler.”

“Everyone is new at some point.” Olivia chastises her, and you smile, enjoying the rarity of this entire night even if they’re bickering.

“Oh shit.” Ava’s eyes go wide.

“What?” Olivia scans the room, confused.

“Two if by sea.” No.

“You’re joking.” She shakes her head.

“Looks like they’re all here too. And the radiologist, what’s her name?” Your stomach swoops. You’ve been avoiding Doctor Riley since the incident with your face, dodging him in the hallway, and trading OR duties. The few times he’s managed to catch you, he’s seemed less than pleased.

“Laswell.” Ava smiles at whoever she sees past your shoulder, but judging by the seductive tilt of her lips, you’d lay money on it being John. That’s your cue.

“I should go.”

“What?! We just got here.” You can feel Doctor Riley in the room, his eyes on you, examining, studying, and you shiver.

“She doesn’t want to see Riley because she’s avoiding him.” You grit your teeth.

“Thanks Ava, I think we’re all well aware.” Olivia grabs your hand.

“Stay. Please. We’ll pretend they’re not here. Ava will keep her daddy issues in her pants. Come on, we never see you at work now. I miss you.” The guilt trip is obvious, but she does have a point.

“Fine. For a little while.”

Olivia practically screams. You wipe your face, trying to dry the tears that have wet your cheeks as Ava struggles to breathe. People are staring, and you couldn’t care less.

“You’re insane. Did you get in trouble?”

“No! I never heard about it. I think he probably didn’t report me because he knew he was in the wrong.” The three of you try to tamp down the laughter, and you take a deep breath to alleviate some of the burning in your stomach.

“I miss you guys. The NICU is so fucking serious. They’re all nice but it’s like if you breathe wrong your baby could tank. It’s terrifying.” You leave out the obvious, he’s terrifying, and let your eyes wander instead. You tell yourself you’re not looking for him, but that feeling is back, and the draw is too insistent to ignore.

You get what you’re looking for.

He’s watching, clearly waiting for you to find him, and your vision tunnels as you lock eyes. The room fades away. You’ve been mixed up over him, turned upside down and inside out. The memory of his hand on yours, how he cradled your face, that simple, stupid contact, is playing on a loop in your head, in your dreams.

Except it’s worse in your dreams. It’s out of control. It’s not just his hand on yours, his fingers on your face, it’s his everything on yours, it’s you bent over his desk with your pants pulled to your ankles and his cock buried inside of you. It’s him telling you he knows what you need, and it’s his fat cock shoved inside you so deep you can feel it in your stomach. And then it’s you waking up to a wet pussy, your fingers already circling your clit and on the verge of coming.

Worst of all, it’s him telling you to fall, and promising to catch you. It’s him holding your face in his hands and telling you everything is okay.

Nothing about any of it makes sense, and you chalk it up to the obvious tension and the fact that you haven’t had sex in years. That’s what it is. That’s all it is.

You force your eyes away. It’s too much to even think about, let alone try to compartmentalize, and you polish off your beer.

“Alright. Sadly, my carriage is going to turn into a pumpkin soon. I’ve gotta go.” They whine, but they know the reality. They understand.

You’re halfway across the parking lot when you hear him.

“Daisy.” The grit and the grind of his voice is your ghost now. It lurks in the darkness and between your ears. You can’t evade him, and you’re so fucking terrified of him being so inescapable and shredding your control, adding fuel to the fire that is already threatening to engulf you, encouraging those flames of need to burn brighter and brighter. You try for a deep breath, but it comes up short, and your courage fades as you face him.

“Hi, Doctor Riley.” He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie, plain black, no logo or lettering, all of it seemingly stretched just a bit to fit across his chest, his thighs. Your heart pounds.

“We’re not at work. It’s just Simon.” Simon. You’re sure your swallow is audible. “Headed out?”

“Yeah I’ve gotta get home.” He takes a step forward. His one is like three of your own, and he’s close now, too close, so close you have to tilt your head to look at him when he speaks.

“It’s good to see you laugh. Thought you might not know how to for a minute.” The world stops turning. You trip over his words in your head. “I haven’t been much help with that though, have I?” You’re frozen. There’s no rhyme or reason for this, no explanation. Why does being this close to him make you so dizzy?

“I have to go.” You fall back on your instincts. Flee. “I’ll see you at work on Tuesday?” It shouldn’t be a question, but for some reason you’re lingering in the unknown tonight.

“Daisy… ” he trails off, and your breath gets caught in your windpipe. The parking lot is silent, and you stare at him, waiting, wondering, and when his fist clenches at his side and he steps back, a twinge of disappointment pinches beneath your ribs. “Have a good rest of your night.”

“You too Doctor Riley.”

[allsteddie]

Richard Harrington is not happy when he finds out his son is queer. Even less so that he’s not only queer, but also fooling around with the town freak. Disappointment doesn’t even begin to describe what he feels; disgust is a little closer, but still not enough.

And Steve is not surprised when his father proves to be exactly the fucking discriminating asshole he’s always known he was. Their confrontation after his dad found out about him and Eddie is not pretty, but goes just how Steve expected it would.

Steve is not welcome in his father’s house anymore, and he is officially cut out of the Harrington money for good. That’s okay, though. Again, Steve has been expecting it to happen sooner or later, so at least he’s had time to prepare for it in advance.

He packs his things and leaves the house without looking back. That place has stopped being his home years ago, finally leaving it behind is pretty easy, almost a relief.

He and Eddie move in together. Steve has quite a bit saved up from his jobs at Scoops Ahoy and Family Video, and Eddie has been working with his uncle since he graduated, so between the two of them they can easily afford a small apartment downtown. It’s nothing fancy, far from it, but Eddie is not a fancy guy and Steve honestly doesn’t care at all; he’s learned a long time ago that money really doesn’t equal happiness.

Life is not easy. There’s no upside down anymore, but there are so many people still judging Eddie for things he didn’t do, and also so many people judging both of them just because they decided they’re not afraid to love each other openly. They face everything together, as always, but things get harder when their friends start going away to pursue their personal goals and they are the only ones left stuck in Hawkins, with no back up if needed.

Almost a year after they drop Dustin off at college, Steve and Eddie make a decision. They pack everything they have, load it into Steve’s car and move to Indianapolis to start over, this time without the weight of unfair misconceptions hanging over their heads for once.

It’s the best decision they could have made. Eddie finds a job at a record store, a dream come true for him, really, and Steve has enough experience with customer service (and the face and hair) to land a position in a designer store not that far from where they live. Money is not a problem, their past is just that, past, and the two of them make a real home out of their modest apartment. For the first time in a while, life is good.

Then, a couple of years after they leave Hawkins, Steve’s mom shows up at their doorstep, unannounced.

Eddie prepares himself for the worst. He hadn’t been there the night Steve left his parents’ house, but he had seen the bruises and the split lip the asshole had left behind when their argument escalated to something more physical. And even though Steve has never said bad things about his mother, not the way he’s said about his father, Eddie can’t bring himself to trust someone who doesn’t fight to protect their only son.

So imagine Eddie’s surprise when the first thing the woman says when she opens her mouth is, “I’m going to leave him, Steve. I can’t take it anymore.”

And Steve clearly also wasn’t expecting that because the “What?” he lets out is more a squeak than anything else.

Steve’s mom (‘Laura. My name is Laura. It’s nice to finally meet you, Eddie’) spends the afternoon at their place and the three of them have a very long, very needed talk.

She apologizes. She says she recognizes she should have said something when her husband was being a dick, that she should have intervened when he tried to kick Steve out, but she had been so afraid that she just couldn’t.

“I know this is not an excuse,” she says. “You’re my son, I should have fought for you. But believe me when I say I’ve regretted it every single day since it happened.”

She also hands Steve a small piece of paper with the name of a bank and a bunch of numbers scribbled on it.

“This is the bank account I opened for you when my mother died and left you half of her money,” the woman explains before either of them can ask. “You probably don’t remember her; you were three when she died. You were also her only grandchild, so half of the inheritance went to me, and half to you.”

“And how much money is that?” Steve asks, surprised.

“Over four hundred thousand dollars, I think. Close to five hundred, because I put part of it in a fund, but I don’t know exactly how much.”

“What the fuck!?” Eddie wheezes.

“Mom, I don’t want your money,” Steve argues.

His mom shakes her head. “But it’s your money,” she insists. “Your grandmother left it to you, so it’s yours.”

She doesn’t stay much longer after that. Steve asks if she’s gonna be okay facing his father by herself and Laura brushes off her son’s concern.

“I doubt Richard’s gonna care if I’m gone. I’ve barely seen him these past months, too busy with his new mistress, I guess.”

She hugs Steve goodbye, promises she’ll keep in touch from now on and leaves. Just like that. As if giving her son almost half a million dollars was something she did every freaking day.

“Babe, no offense, but your mother is crazy,” Eddie says after the woman leaves, still pretty stunned by how things turned out.

“She married my dad, of course she’s crazy.”

There’s a total of $357,461 in the bank account his mother handed him, plus $183,972 in the fund she mentioned. They don’t touch the fund money, but they do use a good chunk of the rest to open their own record store in Indianapolis; Eddie taking care of everything music related, while Steve handles the boring business side of things.

And although running their own business is hard work, it’s something they enjoy because they can do it together. They faced literal monsters together, for fuck’s sake, dealing with annoying costumers is child’s play.

(As for Laura Harrington, she does leave her husband. The money she gets out of the divorce, plus her inheritance money, is enough that she’s never gonna have to worry about working a single day in her life. She visits Steve and Eddie occasionally, as she promised, but most of her days are spent travelling all around Europe. Eddie still thinks she’s crazy, but he admits she’s also kinda fun to have around now and then.)

[housepartyprotocol]

Save a cowgirl?

Logan Sargeant x Cowgirl!Reader

Summary: Daniel Ricciardo borrows your horse for his classic COTA GP antics, and you happen to meet a man needing some joy in his life

Masterlist / TipJar

ynusername

liked by yourbff, bellahadid, and 4,240 others

ynusername gotta ride gotta ride

view all 31 comments

yourbff i volunteer to save a horse!

ynusername ha! you wish ;) yourbff i do dream of it

user omg this is liked by bella hadid!

user yeah they do rodeo stuff together i think user it's something like that!

user God i need to watch the rodeo more if this is what is in it!

user Gourgeous! <3

bellahadid cowgirl queen!!

liked by ynusername

logansargeant

liked by alexalbon, williamsf1, oscarpiastri, and 21,445 others

logansargeant Not the happiest race results, but we stay positive going into COTA!

view all 201 comments

user When is Williams gunna drop his ass

user IKR, he is such a bad driver

alexalbon WTFF IS A KILOMETRE!!!

logansargeant shushhhhh alexalbon never

oscarpiastri Can't wait to race again!

logansargeant Dude be realistic, we aren't directly competeing anymore oscarpiastri Nah don't be like that logansargeant hmm

user God Logan is so depressed isn't he

ynusername

liked by bellahadid, danielricciardo, yourbff, and 6,541 others

ynusername A man stole my horse.

view all 57 comments

user THATS DANNY RIC!

user Danny ric liked it?!?! user a new f1 wag pairing... user nah i swear he is taken

yourbff How intently did you watch that horse...

ynusername he was never more than 2 meters away from me yourbff does he have separation anxiety lol ynusername GIRL I DO!

user Who is this, she is an icon omg

user Scroll through her account, she works on a ranch? and does rodeo? I think

logansargeant

liked by danielricciardo, oscarpiastri, alexalbon, and 19,115 others

logansargeant Not a good day today, yet saw an Australian man on a horse in the paddock

view all 178 comments

user he is a horrendous driver, get him out

user Omg he probably saw YN then!

user who? user the woman who owns that horse! she is friends will bella hadid user shes so pretty!

oscarpiastri Cheer up man! you saw a pony!

logansargeant I did indeed

alexalbon Keep cool and calm and carry on?

logansargeant God what if I don't want to alexalbon oh

ynusername

liked by bellahadid, danielricciardo, logansargeant, and 5,120 others

ynusername shes a cowgirl icon!

view all 43 comments

bellahadid no YOu are the cowgirl boss

yourbff so true, she is queen ynusername aww i love you guys

danielricciardo I was told this account contained horses

ynusername hahah give it a few days, im waiting for the horse you stole to come home danielricciardo Oh HA, not sorry, I loved him

user BELLA HADID??

user there are f1 drivers in the comments this is off puting

f1news

liked by williamsf1, and 20,242 others

f1news OMG Logan Sargeant to be replaced immediately by Franco Colapinto! Williams final sucked it up and sacked the weak link (is my bias showing...)

view all 95 comments

user FINALLY!!

user Ding dong the witch is dead?

user I feel so sad for Logan

user Why he was SO SHIT

logansargeant

liked by alexalbon, oscarpiastri, ynusername, and 10,450 likes

logansargeant First I just want to say thank you to the Williams F1 team for giving me this opportunity. I'm taking some time, finally, to travel and plan for my future

view all 67 comments

user long time coming

alexalbon Nice to see you in a lovely environment

logansargeant Thanks man alexalbon where is next? logansargeant homeward bound alexalbon AMERICA!

ynusername I've dropped you a DM, no pressure!

liked by logansargeant

user gawd he seems so depressed

ynusername

liked by yourbff, logansargeant, and 6,325 others

ynusername Took a shot and invited a sad man to my home for therapy horse time (none of my horses are in any shape or form therapy animals)

view all 40 comments

logansargeant Wow

logansargeant Thank you very much, it was a lovely addition to my travels and a great experience ynusername No worries! You can always come back yourbff she is drooling at her phone looking at the photos of you ynusername SHUT UP liked by logansargeant

user ew a man

user not on this girly account

yourbff SHES BARKING

ynusername I WILL BLOCK YOU, GET OUT OF MY COMMENTS

logansargeant

liked by alexalbon, ynusername, oscarpiastri, and 9,467 others

logansargeant Lovely detours done, finally home

view all 62 comments

user is he ever gunna get back to racing?

yourbff he said your detour was lovely...

ynusername this is his PERSONAL comment section ynusername GET OUT yourbff ha. no. liked by logansargeant

user thats a fish, well done

alexalbon Glad ya home mate !

alexalbon Lovely?? detour?? logansargeant A perfect one yourbff SEE! ynusername OUT!

ynusername

liked by yourbff, logansargeant, alexalbon, and 5,458 others

ynusername Girls that slay together stay together

view all 35 comments

user SLAYYY

yourbff I don't remember this...

ynusername Don't worry I'll show you all the videos yourbff BUT I DO REMEMBER YOU CRUSHING ABOUT HIMMM.. ynusername OFF THE COMMENTS

logansargeant Looking very lovely!

ynusername Thank you, that's so sweet <3 yourbff Gag...

logansargeant

liked by ynusername, alexalbon, oscarpiastri, and 12,562 others

logansargeant Home town finally feeling like home again

view all 79 comments

user GIRL?

alexalbon Love seeing your spark come back mate

logansargeant Feeling practically alive again alexalbon Wanna address the lady? logansargeant Pretty lady

user man is just straight unemployed

ynusername Ooo she pretty

yourbff girl... ynusername THATS ME yourbff *left out of embarrassment* liked by logansargeant

ynusername

liked by yourbff, logansargeant, alexalbon, and 6,456 others

ynusername Cowboy boots -> clubbing with my Miami tour guide!

view all 38 comments

user aww i miss the country content already

yourbff GIRL GONE WILD OVER A MAN

ynusername oh i still have my wits about me don't worry yourbff I have your location, its no stress logansargeant I am not a creep yourbff HMM ynusername HMM

logansargeant Glad I can be a helpful guide

ynusername I'll have to come back logansargeant Or I'll come to you liked by ynusername

logansargeant

liked by ynusername, alexalbon, yourbff, and 10,987 others

logansargeant I may stick around this town for longer this time

view all 87 comments

ynusername you use that photo of me?

logansargeant .... you look lovely yourbff ... WHY DO YOU THINK ynusername there were better ones logansargeant so sorry for wanting to keep your pretty face for myself yourbff Wife him up now liked by logansargeant

user logan got a lady!

user is he going to go to indycar?

alexalbon you and horses, you're a changed man

logansargeant what can I say, she's amazing alexalbon the horse?? logansargeant NO YOU IDIOT, THE HUMAN logansargeant shes gorgeous

ynusername

liked by yourbff, logansargeant, bellahadid, and 8,976 others

ynusername We will make a cowboy out of him soon enough

view all 67 comments

user my wife is taken noooo

yourbff GAG I LOVE YOU TWO

yourbff told you you wouldn't regret sliding into his DMs ynusername don't remind me that's how we met ynusername I am pretending that we met at that grand prix yourbff you delulu

logansargeant beautiful lady x

ynusername who me? logansargeant oh why yes ynusername how very kind of your good sir yourbff you two are so weird liked by logansargeant, and ynusername

user SAVE A HORSE

user RIDE A COWBOYYYYYY

a/n: okay so first fic i have written in a while, not my proudest work but i have been BINGING cowboy romance books and this just scratched an itch!

[timsrins]

“i grew one centimeter.”

you look up, deadpan. rin is standing there just past your bedroom door. he stands like a ghost, no greeting whatsoever, just straight to the point. as blunt as his brother’s bangs. 

“nice to see you too, rin. hello. yes, i missed you too. i haven’t seen or heard from you for fourteen days. i thought ego sent you off to war. i already got my stationery prepared, i was about to write you a letter confessing—”

“i grew. one centimeter.”

he says it again, like repetition will make it more meaningful. like the metric system is the most important thing in the world right now. he’s still by the door, arms by his side, shoulders stiff, and his bag hanging on his back. you don’t know whether he’s proud or just incredibly weird about measurements.

“as i was saying,” you continue, undeterred, “if you didn’t tell me beforehand that ego sent you guys training, i would’ve thought he killed you off for some petty reason. but then i thought, no, ego isn’t that bad. he’s actually a really good mentor. so you getting killed off was out.”

“i said i grew a centimeter.”

you finally lower your phone, staring at him like your brain has frozen halfway through processing. there’s a beat of silence. one. two. maybe three. hell, might as well take five.

“…okay,” you say slowly. “what do you want me to do about it?”

he meets your gaze without blinking. not a hint of irony. voice low and flat and utterly serious.

“praise me.”

you just stare.

nothing comes out of your mouth. you physically cannot form a response because what the hell did he just say to you. you refuse to believe this is happening. what the hell happened? where the hell did ego send him?

your eyes narrow in pure disbelief. like you’ve accidentally walked into the wrong conversation. like you’re still waiting for the punchline and realizing, with growing horror, that there isn’t one.

“praise you?”

“i worked hard,” he says, cutting you off like that explains everything.

“... for growing?”

“sleep schedule, posture work, morning trainings, meditating, yoga.” he says it with that same mechanical efficiency he uses when analyzing plays on the pitch. “ measurable progress.”

you just keep looking at him.

he looks back, completely unfazed.

he’s serious. itoshi rin is dead serious.

this man walked straight to your apartment as soon as training ended just to tell you that he grew a single centimeter and expects verbal validation for it. 

“you’re unbelievable,” you mutter.

but your body betrays you—because even though your face is blank and your tone is flat, you reach up a hand and let him bend down and touch his head to your palm.  you press your palm to the top of his head like you’re measuring it yourself.

okay, maybe he does feel the tiniest bit taller.

you drop your hand and sigh in defeat. as always you can never say no to him. curse you and your soft spot for one itoshi rin.

“congratulations on your one centimeter progress. growth arc of the century. it’s very impressive and inspiring.”

and like that, rin just plops onto you.

literally. like gravity ceased to exist for a moment and he decided your body was the most suitable mattress in the world. you grunt under his weight, your back hitting the couch cushions as he crashes on top of you like a human plank. his duffel bag falls to the floor with a thud, completely ignored.

“rin—”

he doesn’t say anything.

doesn’t have to.

his arms slide around your waist with zero subtlety, his face burying into your shoulder like it’s instinct. you’re still half-frozen from the whiplash of the past five minutes. your brain hasn’t even recovered from the praise me incident, and now he’s lying on you like he lives here (he does.)

you feel him breathe out. slow, deep, and heavy. the kind of breath someone takes when they’re finally safe. when they’re home.

and then—he bites you. not hard. just enough to feel his teeth graze your shoulder. no warning, no reason. like a cat acting out affection.

“did you just bite me?”

he hums. that’s a yes. completely unapologetic.

you tilt your head, staring at the ceiling like it might offer you clarity. it doesn’t. “you’re insane.”

“missed you.” rin says it so quietly. mumbled into you skin like he’s etching his word in your being and it makes your heart do its stupid backflips. 

he presses closer, like he can’t get enough. like fourteen days was fourteen lifetimes.

and just when you think he’s settled, he mumbles again:

“…still want that praise.”

you close your eyes. not in annoyance, but because itoshi rin is exhausting (affectionately) and unfortunately, yours.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Commonly Asked Questions #8:

Is writing a Black character doing something bad a stereotype?

What are stereotypes I should avoid?

Is [idea] racist/a stereotype? How do I know?

Why do you always say, the premise will only be racist if you write it that way?

Why do you always say, avoiding racism in your writing is not a checklist?

If racism happened in real life, is it racist to include that in story? Is it racist to ignore it?

Why is overcorrecting for stereotypes in my writing still racist?

When do I cut a portion of a story versus following through with it?

Why does real world racism matter, in my racism-free story?

Answers (and there are a LOT) 👇🏾

(notice how the attention to the lessons decreased with each one. You gotta have the CARE to finish reading em, babes!)

[buckysouvenir]

just a dress “Doesn’t matter what you wear,” Bucky murmurs. “I’d still fall for you.”

There are a few constants at Avengers Tower.

Tony’s ego. Steve’s early morning runs. Sam making playlists no one asked for. Bucky Barnes sitting across from you every morning at breakfast. Waiting, always waiting, with a second mug of coffee he’d never admit was specifically for you. And you showing up on time.

Which is why it makes sense that every morning at breakfast, Bucky Barnes is already sitting at the table, two mugs of coffee in front of him. One for him. One for you.

“You’re cutting it close today,” he says one morning, flipping the page of his book as you slide into your seat.

“It’s 9:01,” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

He grunts. “Still late.”

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it,” he mutters, but hands you the coffee like always.

It’s a ritual neither of you talks about too much. It started months ago. You’d show up late to breakfast, blaming your alarm or your book or that “one last video” at 2AM. Bucky would already be there, freshly brewed coffee in front of him… and a second one just happened to be sitting next to it.

At first, you thought it was a coincidence. But then Sam teased him about it. Loudly. And Bucky stopped denying it.

Now it feels like a fixed point in the universe. Just like how you always sit beside him during meetings. Just like how he always makes sure you get home safely from late-night gym sessions. Just like the way he glances over when you make a bad joke, just to smirk when you laugh at yourself.

You aren’t anything. Not really.

But you move around each other like planets stuck in orbit. Quietly, consistently, unspoken.

And everyone notices.

It’s a Thursday when Stark makes the announcement.

Tony Stark stands on the lounge coffee table in his socks and dress shirt, arms spread like a game show host.

“Formal gala next Saturday!” he declares. “Right here in the penthouse. Black tie. String quartet. Be sparkly, be charming, be fashionably unarmed.”

“Another one?” Sam groans.

“It’s an annual Stark tradition,” Tony replies. “You’ve survived worse. Plus, open bar.”

You blink.

You try to act normal. Cool. Unbothered. But something in your stomach flutters.

Fancy events aren’t exactly your comfort zone. You’re more a “cozy café and soft playlists” kind of person. The thought of gowns and heels and being watched makes your heart beat a little too fast.

You give a little nod, mostly to yourself. “Cool. Sounds fun.”

Across the room, Bucky looks at you from where he leans against the wall, arms crossed. He doesn’t say anything, just raises a brow like he’s already reading your mind.

You pretend not to notice. You’re getting very good at pretending.

The days leading up to the party pass in a blur of missions and meetings and movie nights on the couch. Somewhere in there, Nat and Wanda stage a coup.

“You’re not wearing something you already own,” Wanda declares. “This is not a ‘recycle your last wedding guest outfit’ situation.”

“I wasn’t going to-”

“Yes, you were,” Nat says, cutting you off. “We’re going shopping. You’re coming.”

“I have dresses.”

“Non-negotiable,” Wanda says sweetly, tugging you toward the elevator.

You open your mouth to argue but are immediately handed your jacket and pushed toward the elevator.

It’s a whirlwind. Nat is a force of nature, striding through boutiques like she owns every mannequin. Wanda flits between colors and fabrics like a kid in a candy store. You mostly follow, trying not to get overwhelmed.

Until you see it.

It’s tucked behind a rack, almost hidden. Deep sapphire blue. Long. Satin. High neckline. And when you pull it out, the back dips low. Dramatic, elegant and beautiful in a way you don’t usually let yourself wear.

You hold it up, hesitant.

Nat appears behind you. “Oh, that’s the one.”

You laugh. “No, it’s too much.”

“It’s perfect,” Wanda says. “And so are you.”

You blush. “I’ll try it on."

You do try it on. Alone. And when you turn toward the mirror, your breath catches. It fits like it’s been made for you. The satin clings and drapes in all the right places. Your hair, loose and natural, spills perfectly across your shoulders.

For a second, you see someone else in the reflection.

Someone effortless.

But then the light shifts, and the old doubt creeps in… quiet, uninvited. Not loud or cruel. Just a whisper.

The dress is beautiful. You’re just wearing it.

You step out of the fitting room slowly.

Still, when you step out, Nat and Wanda audibly gasp.

“That one,” Nat says. “No contest.”

You smile back, but your voice is soft. “Okay. Just in case I don’t chicken out.”

They don’t argue.

Back in the tower, nothing changed… on the surface.

You had breakfast with Bucky. Teased Sam during movie night. Trained with Steve and actually knocked him off his feet once, which became a three-day bragging right.

But in the back of your closet, behind your “safe” black dress… that sapphire gown waited.

And sometimes, when you were alone, you took it out and ran your fingers along the satin.

The week passed in fragments.

Mission briefings. Morning coffee. Shared elevator rides. Stark’s party was all anyone could talk about, mostly because Tony wouldn’t shut up about the custom glass champagne tower being shipped in from Paris. Steve had started practicing his waltz “just in case.” Sam was planning a pre-party playlist “for the vibe.”

But if someone looked closely, if they knew where to watch, there was something else underneath it all.

Something unspoken.

Something that looked a lot like almost.

You weren’t entirely sure when it had started, the slow unraveling of comfort into longing. Maybe it was the way Bucky always poured your coffee first without asking. Or how he lingered at the edge of rooms when you laughed too loud, eyes flicking toward you like it was a sound he didn’t want to miss. Or how his voice always softened when it was just the two of you, even if his words didn’t.

He was still Bucky. Still sharp-edged and dry-humored, still grumpy in the mornings and skeptical of movie nights. But with you… he was something else, too.

And with him… you let yourself be a little more, too.

You didn’t tell anyone about the flutter in your chest when he passed you a protein bar without looking, knowing exactly which kind you liked. Or the way your heart stalled when he leaned close during training, murmuring corrections just low enough for only you to hear.

“You’re dropping your left shoulder,” he said on Monday, fingers brushing your arm to correct your form. “You’ll get thrown off balance.”

You nodded, distracted not by the advice, but by the feel of his touch, light, careful, familiar.

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“Anytime,” he replied, already a few steps away.

He didn’t say much. Never did. But his presence lingered like a gravity field. Constant, quiet, and hard to pull away from.

On Tuesday, you walked into the lounge to find him asleep on the couch, book splayed open on his chest, the TV playing some old black-and-white movie.

You stood there for a moment, just watching. His features, usually guarded, were softer in sleep. Less worn down by memory. More like the man he let you see in glimpses.

You sat beside him without waking him, gently pulling the blanket over his shoulders.

He mumbled something. Your name, maybe.

You didn’t ask.

Wednesday, he found you in the kitchen at midnight, digging through the fridge.

“You always eat like this before missions?” he asked, leaning on the counter, arms crossed.

“I get hungry when I’m anxious,” you said, holding up a half-eaten leftover taco. “Don’t judge me.”

He smiled, actually smiled, and shook his head. “Not judging. Just wondering why you never share.”

You slid the other half toward him. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “This is awful.”

You laughed. “You’re welcome.”

By Thursday, the party talk has fully taken over the tower.

Tony hands out gold-foiled invitations (dramatic, unnecessary, very Stark). Wanda drags Sam to a tailor for a fitted tux.

And you… pretend you’re not thinking about it.

“Do you have something to wear?” Bucky asks over lunch.

“I’ve got dresses.”

“Multiple?”

“Yeah. I bought a new one with Nat and Wanda but I don't know if I'm gonna wear it.”

“Why?”

“It’s not really… me.”

“Then why did you buy it?”

“I liked it!”

“Then it is you.”

He gets you.

Saturday comes fast.

The tower transforms. All warm lights and string music, trays of champagne and crystal bowls of things no one can pronounce. Everyone looks like movie stars.

Wanda curls her hair into soft waves and wears a wine-colored dress that makes her look like royalty. Nat, of course, wears black. But somehow manages to make it look like it belongs in Vogue.

The guys are in suits. Steve somehow looks both uncomfortable and handsome. Sam gets complimented three times by the catering staff.

And you?

You’re upstairs. In the dress.

Frozen in place.

The clock ticks. Time passes.

And for the first time in months, you’re not there.

You can feel the nerves setting in.

It’s the dress.

It’s always the dress.

You keep pacing your room, staring at the mirror, biting your lip. The makeup is done. The heels are on. The earrings are clasped. But still, you hesitate. Looking at yourself feels like holding your breath.

The dress looks the same as it did in the store. A deep sapphire blue, smooth satin, the neckline high and elegant, the back open and dramatic. It clings to you in a way that should make you feel powerful. Beautiful.

But tonight… it just feels like it isn’t yours.

You’re not panicking. Not exactly.

It’s quieter than that. A slow, creeping sense of not belonging. Like the longer you stare at yourself, the more the magic unravels thread by thread. The dress is stunning. That isn’t the problem. The problem is how perfectly it fits.

Because sometimes, when something fits too perfectly, it feels like it’s shining a light on everything you wish it could hide.

You sigh and stand, adjusting whatever you think could be wrong with it.

Downstairs, Sam glances at the elevator again.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asks.

“Probably fixing her hair,” Wanda says, sipping a drink.

“She’s never late,” Steve adds.

“She’s not,” Nat agrees. “You want me to go check?”

Before anyone else can answer, Bucky stands up from the leather armchair near the bar.

“I’ll go,” he says, too fast. “She’s probably wearing heels. Better if I go.”

No one argues.

Not even Sam, who raises a brow but says nothing.

Bucky adjusts his suit jacket, smooths down his tie, and heads for the elevator, ignoring the flutter in his chest.

You brush your hands over the fabric. The material shimmers when you move. Your heels are black and slim, your earrings match. On paper, it all works.

So why can’t you walk out the door?

You glance at the clock. Nearly 40 minutes late.

Your stomach drops.

“Damn it.”

You move toward the chair, where your backup dress still waits. The black one. Safe. You’ll throw it on, pull your hair into a low slick bun, and no one will even-

Knock knock.

You freeze.

Another knock. Firmer this time.

“Y/N?”

Your heart jumps. Bucky.

You nearly trip over your own heels rushing to the door.

“Coming!” you call, trying to gather yourself. You crack the door open, just wide enough to peek out.

And then forget how to breathe.

Bucky stands in the hallway in a tailored black suit, no tie, collar open just enough to be unfair. His hair is slicked back slightly, but still soft. He looks like he’s walked out of a noir film. And he’s staring at you.

Staring.

His eyes drop, slowly… from your face, to the curve of your shoulders, to the way the blue satin hugs your waist and falls in a soft, perfect line. His lips part just slightly.

He blinks once.

“Wow.”

You flush immediately. “What- what are you doing here?”

He clears his throat. “You’re late.”

Your brow knits. “What?”

“You’re never late,” he says softly. “Sam, Nat, Steve… everyone noticed. They were worried. Natasha was about to come up, but I figured… heels. Safer if I came.”

“Oh.”

You glance at the clock again and wince. “I didn’t realize. I lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, voice gentle.

You reach for the door. “You should go. I’m just going to change dresses. I’ll be down in five-”

His hand, cool metal, presses gently against the door.

“Wait.”

You pause.

“What do you mean, change?”

“I…” Your voice falters. “I don’t think this is the right dress.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow slightly. Not judging, just reading you.

“Why not?”

You look down at your hands. “It’s just too much. I thought it looked better in the store. It's fine.”

The words are barely a whisper.

Bucky is silent for a long moment.

Then he steps closer, just slightly, enough that the air between you shifts.

“Y/N.”

You look up.

“You’re already wearing the dress,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. “And you look…” He exhales, shaking his head slightly. “You look incredible.”

You swallow hard. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I’m not saying it because I have to.”

He tilts his head, eyes warm. “You walk into that room tonight, no one’s gonna be able to look at anything but you.”

You blink. Your chest aches in that soft, quiet way that comes from being seen — really seen.

He lets the moment breathe between you, then offers you a small smile.

“I’ll meet you downstairs.”

And then he turns and walks away.

Just like that.

Leaving you breathless in the doorway.

Five minutes later, you’re still staring at your reflection. The dress hasn’t changed.

But maybe… you have.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime, and the room stills.

You step into the penthouse, the soft click of your heels echoing beneath the music. The lights are low and warm, spilling golden across the polished floors. Glass clinks, laughter hums, and in the middle of it all—Bucky looks up.

His heart stops.

You move slowly, a soft wave of deep sapphire satin sweeping around your legs as you walk. Hair swept to the side, silver glinting at your ears, that impossible dress catching the light with every step. But it isn’t the dress that stuns him.

It’s the way you hold yourself.

Quiet. Glowing. Real.

Everyone notices. Sam gives a low whistle. Nat smirks like she’s known this moment was coming. Even Steve, standing near the drinks, raises his brows in quiet approval.

But Bucky?

He doesn’t move.

He just watches you cross the room, like time has slowed and sound has faded and the only thing that matters is you.

You find him near the balcony doors, where the crowd is thinner, the music softer.

“Hey,” you say, voice light but a little breathless.

His gaze travels over you again, slower this time.

“You came,” he says, as if there had been any doubt.

You smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Took me a while.”

He offers his hand, not breaking eye contact. “Dance with me.”

Your breath catches.

The music shifts into something slower—something with strings and soft piano. You hesitate for a moment, then place your hand in his.

He pulls you gently toward the floor.

You fit together easily.

Your hand on his shoulder, his at your waist. The press of satin and silk. The low hum of music. And somewhere beneath it all, the quick, fluttering beat of your heart — mirrored in his.

Bucky doesn’t speak for a moment. He just sways with you, moving like the rest of the world has faded behind you both.

“You’re good at this,” you murmur.

He smirks, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m old.”

“I didn’t want to say it.”

He chuckles, low and quiet. “You almost didn’t come.”

You shrug, trying to play it off, but your voice betrays you. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“It is,” he says gently. “You are.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his. You don’t know what to say.

So you don’t say anything.

The dance ends, but neither of you let go.

The music shifts again. Someone laughs near the bar. A camera flashes. But here, in this small space between breaths, you stand close. Too close. Not enough.

“Wanna get some air?” Bucky asks softly.

You nod.

The balcony is quieter. Cooler. The city stretches out below you, lights twinkling like a second sky. You lean against the railing, your hands brushing the cold metal.

He slips off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before you can protest.

“It’s not cold,” you say.

“You’re still getting the jacket.”

You smile, tugging it tighter around yourself. It smells like him — clean soap, something warm and familiar. The sleeves are too long.

“I feel like a kid playing dress-up.”

“You look like a goddess.”

You laugh.

He doesn’t.

You turn to face him, the night wind catching your hair, your cheeks flushed from dancing, from nerves, from him.

“I meant what I said,” Bucky tells you. “Downstairs.”

You bite your lip. “About the dress?”

“No,” he says. “About you.”

There’s a beat of silence, full and fragile.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say it for a while now,” he admits, voice low. “You’re not just part of the team. You’re not just… around.”

You blink.

“You’re the best part of my day,” he says. “And that dress didn’t change that. It just made it harder to keep pretending I don’t want to hold you like this all the time.”

You open your mouth. Close it again.

And then?

You kiss him.

It’s soft, barely more than a press of lips. But it carries months of unspoken things. Warmth. Tension. Relief. All of it wrapped in satin and city lights and the sound of your heart racing like it finally has somewhere to go.

When you pull back, he’s already smiling.

“I should’ve worn this dress a long time ago,” you whisper.

He leans in again, forehead resting against yours.

“Doesn’t matter what you wear,” he murmurs. “I’d still fall for you.”

The tower feels different the next morning.

Maybe it’s the way the sun comes through the floor-to-ceiling windows in lazy gold streaks. Or maybe it’s just you.

You pad quietly into the kitchen, still wearing soft pajama pants and one of your oversized sweatshirts. Hair a little messy. No makeup. Bare feet against the tile. And yet, for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel the need to shrink yourself.

You’re not glowing. You’re not dressed up.

You’re just you. And it feels… enough.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

You turn, startled, to find Bucky leaning against the counter, mug in hand, already dressed in his usual black T-shirt and jeans, the picture of quiet calm. His hair is a little rumpled. He looks unfairly good for someone who’s probably been up for hours.

“You’re up early,” you say, grabbing a mug of your own.

“Old man body clock,” he says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes and step closer. “How long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Since last night,” he replies, voice lower now, softer. “Wanted to see you again.”

And just like that, you melt.

He hands you the coffee. Your fingers brush. Neither of you pulls away.

The rest of the team trickles in slowly.

Wanda first, hair tied up and looking far too put-together for 9 a.m. She spots the two of you leaning together by the counter and arches a brow.

“Good morning,” she says, sing-song.

You sip your coffee like it’s not obvious. Bucky stays still beside you.

Then comes Sam, dramatically hungover. “If anyone mentions classical music or champagne, I swear I’ll jump off the roof.”

Steve follows, clean and annoyingly alert. “Nice party.”

Natasha, last, in her I don’t do mornings sunglasses, grabs toast and mumbles, “You two looked cozy on that balcony.”

You nearly choke on your coffee. “What?”

Nat doesn’t even look up. “Relax. We all saw it coming.”

You blink. “Saw what?”

“You and Barnes. I mean, please,” she says, waving her toast. “The tension has been driving everyone insane for months.”

Sam nods, dead serious. “I literally bet Steve ten bucks it would happen before the end of the year.”

“I won,” Steve says, smugly.

Bucky chuckles beside you. Quiet, amused.

He reaches down under the table and laces his fingers through yours.

And just like that, the noise fades. The teasing doesn’t matter. The looks don’t matter.

All you can focus on is the warm weight of his hand, the soft pressure of his thumb brushing the back of yours.

You turn to him, lips tugging up.

“You okay?” he asks gently.

You nod. “I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I just… didn’t think it would feel this easy.”

Bucky smiles, small and sincere.

“It was never supposed to be hard,” he says.

You look at him then, really look, and something inside you softens.

For weeks, months, maybe, you’ve been carrying this quiet ache around like armor. The weight of feelings you didn’t know what to do with. The fear of hoping too much. Of reading into things that weren’t there. Of thinking you mattered more to him than you did.

But now, standing in the golden spill of morning light, fingers still twined with his under the table, you don’t feel foolish anymore.

You feel… known.

And that scares you more than anything.

“You’re always so calm about this stuff,” you murmur, eyes on your joined hands. “Like you already knew.”

“I didn’t know,” he says, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just hoped.”

You blink, surprised. “You?”

His smile turns a little crooked. “You think I spent all this time saving you the last cup of coffee every morning just because I’m a gentleman?”

“You don’t even like mornings.”

“Exactly,” he says. “That’s how serious this is.”

You laugh then, a soft, genuine sound that makes something in his chest ease.

“I guess I thought I’d have to be… different,” you say after a beat. “To be noticed. To matter. I’m not the loudest or the strongest. I’m not Nat. Or Wanda. I’m just-”

“You’re you,” he cuts in, gentle but firm. “And that’s always been enough.”

You swallow hard, throat tightening around the words you don’t know how to say.

“I notice everything about you,” he adds, quieter now. “The way you wrinkle your nose when you’re reading something complicated. The way you hum off-key in the lab. The way you always walk out of the room last because you’re checking that everyone else is okay.”

You look up at him slowly.

“You think no one sees you,” he says. “But I do. I always have.”

Something unspoken passes between you. A slow, electric stillness.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitates, eyes soft. “I didn’t want to risk losing what I already had with you.”

“And now?”

“Now I’d rather risk it than pretend anymore.”

You blink fast, like that might keep the emotion at bay. It doesn’t work.

“Okay,” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He leans in, forehead brushing yours for the briefest second, not quite a kiss, just… closeness.

“I’m in this,” he murmurs. “Whatever it looks like. However slow you need.”

You nod, the edges of your smile trembling.

“I’m in this too,” you whisper.

The kitchen fades away.

The clinking dishes, the sunlight, even the teasing voices echoing from down the hall. It all fades. There’s only the soft grip of his hand on yours and the quiet warmth building between you, solid and real.

And for the first time in a long time, you’re not wondering what comes next.

You’re just here.

With him.

A Tuesday Morning, Three Weeks Later

The tower is quiet.

Not silent, the way no home is ever truly silent, but the kind of soft hum that means the world is at peace for a little while.

The sun has barely risen, casting a warm gold light through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Somewhere down the hall, the elevator chimes. In the distance, the coffee machine gurgles to life.

And in the kitchen, you stand barefoot in one of Bucky’s sweatshirts, stirring cream into a mug with your eyes still half closed.

Behind you, footsteps.

You don’t need to turn around.

“You’re up early,” you say, voice husky with sleep.

“Technically,” Bucky replies, stepping up behind you and wrapping an arm loosely around your waist, “I haven’t slept yet.”

You lean back into his chest without hesitation.

“You brooding again?”

“Just watching the sky.”

“Romantic.”

He kisses your temple. “You bring it out of me.”

You snort and hand him his mug. “Don’t lie to me before caffeine.”

You move through the morning with the ease of something settled. Something earned.

He leans against the counter while you make toast. You sit cross-legged on a barstool while he recaps an old dream he can’t make sense of. You pass each other plates and comments and quiet smiles like it’s always been this way.

Like there was never a time you weren’t his favorite part of the morning.

At some point, Nat wanders in, squinting at the sunlight. She takes one look at the sweatshirt you’re wearing and smirks. “That’s not yours.”

You sip your coffee, unbothered. “It is now.”

Nat grabs an apple and mutters something about “finally” before disappearing again.

Bucky looks at you, eyes warm with amusement. “Subtle.”

“She’s not wrong.”

“No,” he agrees, stepping closer. “She’s not.”

You lean into him again, letting your forehead rest against his chest. He smells like coffee and clean soap and something that just feels like home.

“Did you think it’d feel like this?” you ask softly.

He considers it. “I hoped.”

You tilt your face up toward him. “Me too.”

His eyes drop to your lips, but he doesn’t move just yet.

“Hey,” he says gently, voice barely above a whisper. “You know what I see when I look at you now?”

“What?”

“Everything I ever thought I couldn’t have.”

You blink, chest tightening, not with fear, not with nerves, but with something whole. Something steady.

“You always had me,” you say.

“I know,” he whispers. “Took me a minute.”

You smile, eyes crinkling, and then he kisses you. Slow, soft, like he has all the time in the world.

Because he does.

Because you do.

Because after all the waiting and wondering and quiet hoping…

This is the part where everything begins.

[a99jazzybean]

What Happens in Vegas... (Part 2)

Part 1

synop: After your embarrassing morning, the boys say it's water under the bridge. Little do you know, Chance has been plotting. He offers a bet between your trio, which you ultimately accept. What happens if you end up losing?

words: 8.5K

includes: chancexafab!reader, parkerxafab!reader, chancexparker, friends to lovers, fluff and smut, gambling, drinking, masturbation, threesome, cuckolding

a/n: I learned the rules of craps and blackjack for this. Why does craps have so many rules??? Another thing, Brennan admitting he’s been cucked gave me the idea for this fic. 🤭 Also, very smutty. No minors!

Immediately, you jumped back from Chance and out of bed. Eyes wide as you were mortified. For a moment, the three of you stood there in silence. Darting between each other, unsure of what to say. 

“I’m so sorry!” You felt tears prick at your eyes.

As fast as you could, you sprinted to the bathroom. Slamming the door shut and locking it behind you. Pacing around you tried to calm down your labored breathing. Tears had now begun streaming down your face. 

Oh my God! I fucking came on his leg! How am I supposed to look at them in the eyes now?

Hands tangling in your hair, you let out a groan. This cannot be happening. Using Chance like that? Even if it was in your sleep, that was a terrifying boundary that you crossed. 

“What should we do?” Parker looked to Chance with concern. 

“I don’t know.” He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Apologize? Explain how it’s a physical response they couldn’t control and I hold no hard feelings?” 

“That seems like a good start.” Parker gave him an awkward thumbs up. 

Chance grabbed his glasses, then stepped out of bed. Quietly, he padded up to the bathroom door. Letting out a deep sigh, he softly knocked. 

Pausing your pacing, your neck cracked to the side at the sound. No, no, no, no…

When you didn’t answer the door, he called your name softly. 

“Are you okay?” 

You shuffled in place, unsure of how to respond. 

He knocked on the door again.

“C’mon, I know you’re in there. Let’s just talk.” 

“I don’t know what there really is to talk about.” He heard you muffled through the door. 

“For starters, I would like to apologize.” He leaned against the door frame.

“Why would YOU need to apologize? I was the one that humped your leg!” You let out a groan.

“I should’ve woken you earlier. I’m sorry I didn’t.” He bit his lip at the confession.

Your eyes widened. Bile rose to your throat, you felt like throwing up.

“How long were you awake for?” You asked quietly.

“A while. Like ten minutes.” 

“W-what?!” Oh you really were going to throw up. 

“I’m sorry…” He bit his lip. “You just seemed like you were enjoying yourself.” He slapped his head with his hand after saying that. 

“Chance! What the fuck? Why didn’t you stop me?” You could feel your cheeks heat up. 

“It felt rude to stop you?” 

“I was literally using your thigh to masturbate! In what world would it be rude to stop me from doing that?” Good lord, your friends were too sweet for their own good. Putting your wants and needs before their own. 

“Look, I don’t feel bad about it. If that helps?” He bit his lip, hoping to get a less frazzled response.

“It does.” You said quietly. “ A little.” 

Opening the door, you peeked out. Meeting Chance’s eyes, you felt your cheeks flush. With the opening, Chance managed to pull you from the bathroom into a tight hug. On instinct, you wrapped your arms around him. The move made him sigh. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled into his chest.

“It’s water under the bridge.” He pulled away to look at you. Worry furrowed his brow as he saw you had been crying. Wiping away your tears, he assured you. “It wasn’t a problem to begin with. Like I said, a natural thing that happens. Okay?” 

Looking away, you nodded. It was still going to take you a little bit before you could feel normal again. 

“Okay.” You said softly. 

Chance gave you one more tight squeeze, then let you go. 

After taking a few more moments to calm down, you decided to just forget it happened and get ready for the day. With disgust, you stripped off your sleep shorts. Throwing them in your laundry bag, and hoping that your other pair would avoid the same fate. 

When you were done, Chance and Parker appeared to have let the occurrence pass by. Both excitedly discussing their plans for the day. Which consisted of gambling, eating at a buffet, and more gambling. While the two of them were planning on hitting up various tables, you were planning on loading up a card and sitting around at the penny slots. Preferably with an overpriced cocktail in hand. 

Noticing you were finished up in the bathroom, Chance took his opportunity to get ready as well. Desperately needing a shower after the events that had unfolded that morning. There was also one more thing to take care of… his raging hard-on. 

He had remained hard since you had begun grinding up on him. No amount of your embarrassment had made it go down. He did his best to hide it from you and Parker, but the feeling was starting to become unbearable. 

Once in the shower, he looked down at his swollen cock. Tip red and dripping precum. God, why did you have to be so fucking hot? He wrapped his hand around his thick length, rubbing up and down with a tight grip. Biting his other hand, he muffled out a choked moan. He couldn’t get the picture of you fucking his thigh out of his head. The little moans and whines that escaped your lips replaying in his mind like a song stuck in his head. Oh, he would love to make you make those noises. 

He pictured what it would be like. To run his hands over your soft body, touching your most sensitive parts. Make you keen and whimper against him. He let out a groan at the thought, hand pumping faster. 

With how soaked he felt you on his thigh, he bet it was easy to get you dripping wet. What would it be like to sink into your wet heat? Fuck, he knew it would feel amazing. Having you wrapped up around his cock as he fucked into you. Oh, it would take a lot of willpower to not just cum in you right away. 

He flicked his thumb over the head of his cock. The thoughts of fucking you made it twitch in his hands. Closer and closer. 

Then he thought about Parker. They had spoken about sharing you, but Chance knew better. He wanted the man just as equally. What would it be like if he joined? He could tell Parker was just as turned on at the sight of you grinding on Chance's thigh. 

What if you and Parker both worked Chance? Talk about cumming quickly… He thought about the two of you on him. You planted on Chance’s face as Parker sucked his cock. Oh fuck, that would-

Chance bit onto his hand again. Streams of cum shooting out of his cock harshly. Through his teeth, he let out a low groan. Feeling the aftershocks of his orgasm pump out the final strands of his release. 

Slamming his hand on the shower wall, Chance caught his breath. Damn, if he came that hard with just the thought of you guys. How would he actually feel when he got with you? If he got with you. 

As he finished readying himself for the day. He couldn’t help but continue to think of you. Hearing the way you said his name over and over in his head. He tried his hardest, truly he did, but he couldn’t stop. Pausing, he came up with an idea. Something he had a feeling Parker would be on board with. All that was needed was your participation. 

“Wanna make a bet?” Chance asked as he sauntered back into the room. 

“Um, I’m pretty sure we’ll be making multiple today?” Parker raised a confused brow. 

“Yeah, yeah. But I mean a bet between us.” Chance motioned between you three. 

“What kind of bet?” You leaned your head on your hand, intrigued. 

“One that involves two winners, and a loser.” He gave Parker a pointed look. 

“Two winners?” You pondered on it. “Sounds different. Interesting.” 

Chance lit up at your words, nodding enthusiastically. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. What are we betting on?” You wanted to know where this was going. 

“We’re gonna see who can win back the most money today. Whoever loses has to do whatever the winners want.” Chance crossed his arms with a smug smile. 

Shit. You knew your friends were good at gambling games. Chance especially had a knack for all things luck-based. Parker, with his vast knowledge of rules, was extremely good at card games. Cheating the system without actually cheating. You, however, stuck to the simpler things. The thought of touching a card game that wasn’t Go Fish or Solitaire had you sweating. 

Still, perhaps Lady Luck would be in your favor today. Granting you the ability to receive a jackpot at all of the penny slots you would play at. Besides, even if you did lose the most the guys would do was make you embarrass yourself in some way. Right?

Looking up at them, you felt a shiver run up your spine. As they waited for your response they watched you with a glimmer in their eyes. Something you couldn’t quite name, but could feel. Hunger. 

If you made the deal,  that meant you were agreeing to them asking you to do anything. Anything. The implications were somewhat electrifying. But you shouldn’t dwell on those thoughts. 

However, part of you wondered what they would ask of you if you lost. What they would want you to do for them. To do to them. 

Nope, no. You shook your head. They were your friends. Silly, goofy, Parker and friendly, cheery, Chance. Both lovable as friends, but they couldn’t be more than that. 

“So, whaddaya say?” Chance held out an outstretched hand to you. 

“I’m in!” Parker swooped in, taking the hand and vigorously shaking. He shot a knowing wink at Chance. 

“And you?” Chance asked, his eyes now pleading like a puppy-dog’s. 

“You know using that face is unfair.” Still, you grabbed and shook his hand. 

Chance’s face lit up as you shook. Everything was going according to plan. 

He knew you didn’t stand much of a chance against him and Parker. While the two were willing to go high-risk/high-reward, you played it safe. It did earn you some cash, but not nearly as much as a singular win could get him at a table. 

“How much are we putting on the table?” You didn’t wish to put out more money than you were willing. 

“How much did you bring?” Chance asked. 

“$1,500.” You said. 

Chance put his fingers to his chin in thought. 

“And you?” He motioned to Parker. 

“$3,000.” That had your brows raising. 

“Really?”

“I like playing! Plus I wasn’t planning on spending it all. Just being safe.” He shrugged. 

“Well I brought $2,500. Since I know you’ll likely stick to the slots, let’s do $400.” Chance nodded at his thought process. 

“And the two who win the most win the bet?” You asked, despite knowing the answer. 

“Yup!” Chance gave you a bright grin. 

“Why two winners?” You questioned. 

Looking at Parker, Chance shrugged. 

“Thought it’d be fun to spice it up. Then two of us can be entertained by the loser.” Again, you spotted that hunger in their eyes. 

Grumbling from your belly interrupted your conversation. Both the boys snickered. 

“Let’s get something to eat before we hit the casino, yeah?” Chance asked. 

“Yes, please!” You agreed, hoping to fill up on something good. 

You managed to find a nice brunch buffet. Stacking up on waffles and bacon, along with some mimosas. Chance being, well, Chance went for a morning Bloody Mary. 

You cringed your face as a waiter served him the drink. 

“Tomato juice and vodka at nine am. Delicious.” You nudged Parker, sticking your tongue out in disgust. 

“It’s five-o-clock somewhere.” He said, taking a sip. “Ireland, for example.” 

“Of course you would know that.” You rolled your eyes, then pointed a finger at him. “And don’t you dare take the words of our lord, Jimmy Buffet in vain.” 

“Technically the phrase was coined before the song…” Parker was about to ramble when he spotted your narrowing eyes. “Ooooorrrr, I’ll find a way to enjoy a cheeseburger in paradise in his honor.” 

Crossing your arms with a proud huff, you nodded at him. 

“That's what I thought!” 

The three of you finished your meal. Enjoying more banter and conversation. When you wrapped up, you headed back to the casino attached to your hotel. All of you loaded up cards with your cash, then headed in your respective directions. 

Waggling your fingers with excitement, you spotted the penny slots. You wandered around the area, then your eyes landed on the most kitschy slot machine you had ever seen. Titled “Pawsome Fun”, it had a display of cats and kittens. Some cat themed items were strewn about like balls of yarn and paw prints. From the machine you could hear a tinkling jingle intermixed with various cat sounds. Oh, you were gonna be sitting at this one for awhile. 

You sat in front of it and swiped your card. Watching as $400 of credits popped up on the screen. With the keys on the machine you decided to be a bit risky, betting 10 on two lines. (Ooh, twenty cents. How scandalous.) 

Meanwhile, Chance had bet  his first $50 at the craps table. In no time he managed to quadruple it. Somehow winning in the first round, then rolling doubles multiple times in a row. The dice dealer had to check to make sure the dice weren’t weighted multiple times. To his chagrin they were not, Chance just had a certain something about him when it came to luck. 

Parker was doing alright. While he wasn’t bringing boatloads of cash in, he was fairing pretty well at the blackjack table. Though, his fellow players weren’t particularly enjoying his “small talk” of regaling the history of the game. While he technically wasn’t talking about the game itself, it still felt like a bit of a faux pas. Eventually the group’s glares managed to shut him up. Though he was very fidgety during the rest of the games. 

You continued to enjoy the penny slots. Even earning a jackpot from the cat one. A celebratory chorus of meows greeted you along with your credits going up by $40. You pumped your fist at your win. Who says you couldn’t win this bet? 

Chance was feeling really good about his odds. Now $300 richer than he was at the start of the day, he decided to gloat. Looking around the casino he spotted you. A content smile on your face as you continued to press the “spin” button. Occasionally adding more cents to your credit pool. 

Sliding in beside you, you pretended to ignore your friend. It didn’t help that he wrapped an arm around you and leaned over your shoulder. 

“Are ya winnin’, son?” He chuckled, a hot breath hitting your neck. 

“I sure am!” You waved at your credits. “I got the jackpot!” 

Chance eyed your amount with an amused smirk. 

“Good job!” He said patronizingly. “You keep doing that and you’ll beat me in, I dunno… five days?” He gave you a toothy grin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“If you’re so great, how much have you won?” 

“Oh just $300.” 

You whipped your head, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“There’s no fucking way! We’ve been here for maybe an hour!” 

“Which means I have even more time to win!” With that, he left you with a wink and a wave. 

At your seat you sat open mouthed and dumbfounded. Your measly jackpot was nothing. You watched as Chance wandered off to the craps tables again. 

“That your boyfriend?” An old woman with a ragged voice had sat at the machine beside you. 

“What? Oh, um, no.” You rubbed the back of your neck, cheeks red. 

“Really? You seem like you’d be a cute couple.” She swiped her gaze card and punched in her bet. 

“You gleaned that from our brief interaction?” What was it with these old ladies and questions about your relationship?

She just shrugged.

“I’m old. You’ll learn about these things someday.” 

With that she turned to playing on her machine. You did the same, but felt a pit growing in your stomach. With each press of the button it grew bigger and bigger. After losing another round, you let out a groan.

“Everything alright?” The woman next to you asked. 

“No.” You sighed. “That friend you saw with me made a bet and I’m so going to lose it at the slots.” 

��What’s the bet?” She was intrigued, likely someone interested in gossip.

“The loser has to do anything the two winners want them to do.” You grumbled.

Cackling, the woman startled you. Her laugh eventually turned into a cough that she pulled out a kerchief for. 

“Oh dearie, are you sure you aren’t dating?” 

“Um, yeah? I don’t understand what that has to do with the situation?” You looked at her, confused. 

“It has everything to do with it!” She giggled. Oh the youth. 

“No, it doesn’t?” 

“Did you have any stipulations around what “anything” means?” She looked at you over her glasses. 

Her implication dawned on you, you had thought about it earlier. There was no way they would though, right?

“No, they wouldn’t do anything like that. The most would be embarrassing me.” 

“Whatever you say.” She eyed you, then leaned in. “If I were you I’d move from the slots to the tables. Better chances for you to win.” 

You glanced toward the area of the tables with a gulp. She was right. There was no way that you would win without betting higher. Sighing in acceptance, you geared yourself up to play games you had no idea how to play. 

You put the credits back onto your card, then made your way to the craps tables with Chance. He was leaned over the table, watching someone roll the dice with enthusiasm. Practically bouncing on his toes as he watched the dice roll to a stop. Then he let out a small cheer, pumping his fist. With sparkling eyes, he noticed your presence. Smiling brightly at you, he motioned for you to come over.

“Done with the penny slots?” He asked.

“Uh, yeah.” You said sheepishly. “There’s no way I’m going to compete with you guys doing that.” 

“Smart cookie.” He ruffled your hair. 

“So how do you play this?” You eyed as people set their chips down in spots listed with numbers. 

“It’s kinda a lot, but easy enough to get. I think, at least.” You watched him place a chip in the spot with an eight. 

“Right now we’re in the middle of a round. I just bet that he’s gonna roll an eight this next one.” 

“Okay…” You watched the man rolling kiss his fists, then released the dice. They clattered, both facing four side up. 

“Hell yeah!” Chance exclaimed. “You can basically win at any point in this game. Mostly, unless he rolls a seven. Well, you can technically bet against him to get a seven, so…” 

“This sounds very complicated.” You could feel yourself start to sweat. 

“Here, next round I’m shooter, so you can bet on me. Kay?” He pat your hand reassuringly. 

“Okay…” 

“Sweet!” 

When it was Chance’s turn to be the shooter, he had you get some of your credits transferred to chips.

“So at this table you have to make a minimum bet of $20.” Oof, while in the grand scheme of things it wasn’t a high number, penny slots had changed your perspective on wagers.

You placed the minimum bet on the table. This time you would be wagering in Chance’s favor. Which he seemed pleased about. 

With bated breath, you watched as he rolled. It landed on a six. He gave a nod to the dice, then prepared to roll again. You watched as other players put their bets on the table. For now you would stick with hoping he got a six. 

He made three more rolls without hitting a six, but you noticed others winning with their respective bets. Testing your luck, you put ten on nine. 

Luck appeared to be in your favor, Chance’s next roll was a nine. He gave you another classic bright smile. The look in his eyes made your stomach churn with butterflies. 

“Nice job!” 

Eventually, Chance rolled a six once again, earning you another win. 

“Looks like you’re getting it! At least a little. Wanna shoot?” He asked.

Biting your lip you looked over the table. The dealer eyed you expectantly. Shrugging your shoulders, you again decided to test your luck. You and Chance placed your bets on the table. With a deep breath you grabbed the dice. Praying to the gods of luck, you shook the dice. Upon release, you watched as they landed on fours. Alright, you could work with this. Chance watched you, a smirk on his face. Looking at the board, you realized he had placed his bet on the “don’t pass bet” spot. A look of disbelief was on your face. 

“You bet against me?” You asked incredulously. 

“Just don’t roll a seven and you’ll be fine.” He crossed his arms with a smug smile.

You placed down ten on two, hoping you could make him lose. Unfortunately, your next roll was a bust. The dice landed on four and three. You let out an audible groan as you watched your chips be taken away and Chance received more. 

“Damn, sorry sweetheart. Maybe next time.” He pat you on the back.

“There won’t be a next time.” You huffed. “I’m gonna play blackjack.” You practically growled. 

You wandered over to the table Parker was sitting at. The man doing his best to chat up a neighboring player. When he spotted you, he lit up. 

“Oh, ho ho! What do we have here?” He teased. “Come, join us, we’re just about to start a new round!” He pulled out an empty seat beside him.

“Thankfully, I actually know how to play this one.” You said as you plopped down. 

Technically you did, but you had never played in a casino before. Hopefully you could manage to win at least something. 

“Deciding to come to the tables now? What made you change your stubborn little mind?” Parker asked, poking you on the forehead for emphasis. 

“Chance told me he already won $300.” You grumbled.

“Sounds like our Chance!” He cracked his knuckles, then his neck. “Well, hope you’re ready!” 

You all placed your bets. Going for the minimum, you placed down twenty. Parker placed down 200. Sucking in a deep breath, you prayed to the luck gods once more. If Parker won, you were totally fucked. 

Cards were shuffled, then the dealer began handing them out. Parker received a Jack and a two. You got a seven and a five. Doing quick mental math, you knew you needed to get at least one more card. Parker was the first person at the table, so the dealer faced him.

“Hit.” He received an eight. “Stand.”

Gulping, you watched as the dealer turned toward you. 

“Hit.” The dealer pulled out a Queen. “Shit.” You said under your breath as you watched the dealer collect your chips. 

Parker patted you on the back.

“Better luck next time.”

When it was all said and done, Parker had managed to beat the dealer. Earning him more winnings. You let out a groan as you watched him receive more chips. He gave you an apologetic look. 

Deciding to stay, you managed to win a couple rounds of the game. However, you were nowhere near as close as Parker. You needed to up the ante. 

You placed down $200 in chips, making Parker’s eyes widen. 

“You sure about that?” He asked.

“Positive.” 

“I like your style!” He exclaimed as he set down $200 as well. 

You were dealt your cards, and cursed under your breath as you saw Parker’s hand. An ace and a King. Parker bounced in his chair, waiting for the dealer to flip his other card over. Parker had won. 

It was then that you admitted defeat. There was no way you were going to be able to match their winnings. Letting out a frustrated grumble, you left the table to cash in the chips that you had. Parker decided to follow you, excitedly talking about how much fun he had at the table. How he was looking forward to poker tomorrow. He stopped when he realized you weren’t engaging with him

“Are you okay?” He asked softly.

“I’m fine.” You said bluntly, not looking at him. 

Spotting the two of you heading to cash in your earnings, Chance jogged up to you. When he saw your expression his brows furrowed with worry.

“Is everything alright?” Chance’s eyes darted between you and Parker.

“Peachy.” You said. 

“Are you sure?” Chance reached out for you, but you swiped his hand away.

“I told you, I’m fine.” You sighed. “I just wanna get my cash and crash in the room. Then deal with the inevitable embarrassment you two are going to plot.” 

“Oh. I take it you didn’t win much?” Chance bit his lip nervously. 

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“How perceptive.” 

Chance and Parker shared a concerned look, hoping that they could change your mood back at the room.

When you returned to the room, you plopped face first onto the bed. Letting out a long muffled groan. You lost, you lost!

“You know, we can just drop the bet if it’s bothering you this much…” Chance didn’t want you to be this distraught. 

Without lifting your head, you sharply pointed in his direction.

“No! I am a person of my word!” You lifted up, turning yourself to face them. “I will complete this bet!”

A surge of confidence burst through you. So what if they asked you to do something embarrassing? You were friends, they wouldn’t hurt you. 

“That was a sudden change in mood.” Chance noted.

“A mood that has me filled with confidence and energy. Lay it on me! I can take it!” You gave them a grin. Surely you could have fun with it too. 

“Tell us what you were dreaming about last night.” Parker sat on the couch, looking at  his nails nonchalantly. 

As if on autopilot, your mouth slammed shut. There was NO WAY you could tell them about that. You thought maybe they would make you embarrass yourself in public. Telling them the intimate details of your very intimate dream, no, you couldn’t.

“Um, I’m sorry. I don’t remember.” You scratched at your head.

“We’ve known you for forever.” Parker stood up walking toward you. Leaning down, he booped your nose. “Which means, I know when you’re a fucking liar.” His voice was low. 

“I-I’m not lying?” You stuttered out. 

“Is that a question, or a statement?” Chance chimed in, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“A statement?” You squeaked. 

“Oh c’mon, your dream couldn’t have been that bad.” Parker sat on the bed then slid himself next to you. 

“Yeah. You know you can tell us anything, right?” Chance followed Parker, sidling up beside you. 

Heat flared to your cheeks at their proximity. In your peripheral you could see them smirking mischievously. That hunger had returned to their eyes. 

“Guys, you could choose something else…” 

“We could.” Parker said. 

“But we don’t want to.” Chance finished.

Sitting between them, a realization dawned on you. You jumped off of the bed, spinning to look down at them. 

“You planned this!” You exclaimed, red in the face. 

The two of them shared a look, then shrugged. 

“So what if we did?” Parker asked. 

“You still lost.” Chance tapped his chin with his fingers. 

Letting out a frustrated noise, you tapped your foot. Trying to figure out some way to not tell them anything. 

“So, your dream?” Parker brought you back to them. 

Sighing, you dropped your head. It was no use, you lost, you had to tell them. Gearing yourself up, you took in a deep breath. 

“Idreamedaboutyoufuckingme.” You said quickly and quietly. 

Parker did his best to not laugh. 

“What was that?” His voice held a teasing lilt.

“I said… Idreamedaboutyoufuckingme.” Though it was louder, you still said it quickly.

“I didn’t catch that.” Chance cupped his ear with his hand. 

You let out a strained groan. 

“Fine.” You said through gritted teeth. “I dreamed about you fucking me.” 

“There it is!” Chance said. 

“Took you long enough.” Parker chimed in, nudging the other man. 

“Ugh, you two are insufferable.” You tried to deflect the conversation, red blooming on your cheeks. 

“Did you like it?” Chance asked, eyes dark.

“Ah, um…” 

“That wasn’t an answer.” Parker joined in again.

“Maybe.” You blurted.

“Only maybe?” Chance stood up, walking up to you. He leaned down, nose to nose with you. Your breath hitched. “Didn’t seem like it when you came on my thigh.” He said lowly.

Softly, you let out a whimper. The sound sent chills through Chance. 

“Well?” He asked, the heat of his words against your lips. 

“I did. Like it. A lot.” Your eyes darted away from his.

What was happening? Sure, the boys teased you, but never like this. Was it some cruel joke? All because of what you unconsciously did to Chance?

A warm hand on your chin brought you back to the present. Chance turning you to face him, his gaze filled with adoration. It had your heart swelling. 

Perhaps this was something else entirely.

“If it helps, I liked it too.” He said softly. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

Clearing his throat, Parker caught both your attention. He was leaning back, enjoying the show you two were putting on. However, he wanted more. 

“I’ve got something else I want you to do.” He said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“What would that be?” You asked. 

“I want you to let Chance fuck you. In front of me.” He seemed giddy at the thought. 

Both you and Chance’s eyes widened. Did he really just say that?

“Y-you want to be cucked?” You spat out without thinking. 

Parker giggled at your shock, bouncing against the bed.

“Of course I do!” Parker looked between you expectantly. 

You looked at Chance, looking for any hesitation. 

“Do you-” Chance cut you off.

“Yes!”

Suddenly, you felt soft lips press against yours. A shocked noise escaped you before you allowed yourself to fall into the affectionate action. Your eyes fluttered shut as you pressed back against Chance. His tongue lapped at your lower lip and you opened your mouth for him. Your tongues tangled, making Chance groan.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted this.” He breathed against you, before pressing against your lips once more. 

Warm hands caressed over your body. One curled into your hair, allowing Chance to control the kiss. You moaned as he nipped at your lip, then slid his tongue against yours again. Pulling away, Chance took in your state. Hair mussed up, lips wet and kiss bitten, the cutest blush dusting your cheeks. Fuck, you are adorable. He kissed you again, then trailed his lips down your neck and jaw. 

“Fuck.” He said your name lowly. “I need to taste you, please.” His eyes pleaded with you, shooting heat straight to your core. Oh, wow. This was not how you imagined this would go, but boy were you loving every second of this. 

You nodded, and Chance took his opportunity. Pressing a deep kiss against your lips, he wrapped his arms under your thighs and lifted you up. Your legs locked around his torso as he lifted you. He carried you to the bed, setting you down gently. 

As he looked down at you, he tore off his shirt. Revealing a somewhat toned body. A tight broad chest with a lovely bit of a lower tummy. You kind of wanted to bite him. It looked like Parker did too.

The other man had moved to the couch to get a good view of the show you and Chance were putting on. His eyes were drinking in all of the sights as his cock grew hard in his pants. Fuck, you two were so hot. 

Planting his hands on either side of your head, Chance leaned down. Capturing your lips with his once more. Your hands trailed up and down his back, then scratched at his scalp, earning you a low groan. 

“That feels good.” Chance said against your lips. 

Warm hands slid under your shirt, then pulled it off. Your pants and underwear followed. The articles falling unceremoniously onto the hotel floor. 

Both Chance and Parker groaned at the sight of your naked body. Between your thighs, your glistening pussy peeked out. The sight made them groan again. Chance spread your legs, making sure Parker got a good look at your needy cunt. 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” Parker moaned out.

Chance slid two thick fingers between your pussy lips, making your hips jolt. 

“Ah, fuck!” You keened. 

It had been a bit since you had been touched by someone other than yourself. Your pussy was extremely sensitive. 

The fingers teased around your entrance before plunging in easily. Biting his lip, Chance moaned at the feeling of your cunt sucking up the digits. So soft and warm. His cock jumped at the thought of him finally sliding into you. Curling his fingers, Chance pumped in and out of you. The push of his fingers pressing up against your gummy sweet spot. 

“Ah, C-Chance!” You cried out. 

“Look at you…” He breathed out, eyes trailing over your writhing body and landing on his fingers pressing in and out of your cunt. “So fucking perfect.” The compliment shot sparks of pleasure through you. 

He pulled his fingers out, making you whine at the loss. Walking over to Parker, he offered his soaked fingers to the man. Parker opened his mouth, gladly taking the offering. He moaned around his fingers, eyes rolling back. Chance let out a moan of his own at the feeling of Parker’s tongue.

“Fuck, you taste good.” Parker said, face already fucked out. “You should taste her too, Chance.” 

Nodding, Chance returned to you. He kneeled at the foot of the bed, then pulled your body to him. Without hesitation, Chance dove into your dripping heat. Large, warm tongue lapping through your folds making you let out a loud moan. His tongue flicked at your clit, earning him a cry of pleasure. Fuck, he was good. He felt so fucking good. 

Chance moaned against you, loving how good you taste. Oh, he could just stay between your legs forever. Die in the closest thing to heaven he had discovered. He continued to lap at your heat, pressing hot kisses to your thighs. Occasionally he would wrap his lips around your clit. You cried out at the pleasure that coursed through you. That familiar heat building up in your belly. He had barely been going at you and you could already feel your orgasm growing. 

Watching you from the couch, Parker pawed at himself over his pants. His hard-on straining against the fabric almost painfully. Oh, but he loved the feeling. Edging himself over and over till he could finally cum. 

“C-Chance! Ah!” You cried out at a harsh suck on your clit. 

Chance hummed contently against you. The vibrations of his voice making you shiver. That heat continued to build. Just a little more, that’s all you needed. 

His tongue flicked at your clit quickly. He watched you writhe under his ministrations. Moans escaping you faster and faster as he forced your orgasm build. So close. Each lick against you had your thighs flexing. The heat in you growing hotter. 

One final lap against your pussy had you gushing. Throwing your head back, you came with a loud moan. Thighs clamping around Chance’s head as your release coated his lips and chin. He moaned against you. 

As you shook with aftershocks, Chance stood up. Pulling his pants and boxers down, he revealed his cock. It was even better than your dream. Large and very thick, you shivered at the thought of him inside you. Soon enough you would feel it. First, Chance wanted to feel your mouth. 

The man shifted your body around, making your head droop over the edge of the bed. Pressing his cock to your lips, he spoke.

“Open.” 

Complying, you opened your mouth. He slid between your lips with a groan. The feeling of your mouth and tongue around him made him shiver. Softly holding your head, he began to thrust down your throat. Making you choke on his cock in the most delicious way. 

“F-fuck, you feel so good.” He groaned. “If I knew you took cock so well, I would’ve done this sooner.” 

He continued to fuck your mouth. Loving the way you moaned around his length. Yeah, he could get used to this. Though, he didn’t want to cum down your throat. Not yet, at least. 

Pulling out, he crawled onto the bed with you. Warm hands manhandled your body as he pressed tender kisses over your sensitive skin. He pressed your back against his chest, his cock sliding between your wet folds from behind. The head pressed against your clit, making you jolt against him. 

“Want me to fuck you? Yeah?” He breathed against your neck before kissing our sweet spot. 

“Mmph! Yes!” You keened. 

Over your shoulder, Chance locked eyes with Parker. The dark look in Chance’s eyes made Parker shiver. He followed as Chance’s fingers slid down your front, spreading apart your pussy lips. In one fluid motion, he thrust his cock deep inside you. A choked sob left you. 

Parker moaned at the sight. Chance shoved deep inside your tight, wet heat. Your pussy drooling over his cock as the man began to fuck into you. Slick sounds filled the room along with your moans and whines. Just like your dream, Chance’s thick cock pummeled into your sweet gummy spot. The pure pleasure made tears prick at the corner of your eyes. 

Parker couldn’t stand being on the sidelines anymore. He needed both of you. 

As he stripped down, you watched with anticipation. Licking your lips as Parker approached you and Chance. He pressed a deep kiss to your lips, capturing your moans as Chance continued to fuck up into you. Turning from you, he pulled Chance into a kiss over your shoulder. The two tangling tongues with a groan. 

Parker’s fingers tweaked at your nipples, causing you to cry out. Then he trailed his hand lower, fingers dancing around your sensitive nub. You squirmed as he played with you, gasping as pressed harder. Chance hissed as he felt you clench around his length. 

“F-fuck! Make them do that again.” He groaned, looking at Parker.

The other man listened, continuing to play with your overstimulated pussy. Your soft walls pulsing around Chance’s length as your clit was brutalized by Parker’s fingers. Each squeeze against his cock had Chance moaning louder and louder. Balls growing tight as you clenched around him. Oh you were going to make him cum so hard. 

“I think they’re close.” Parker smirked as he continued to touch you. 

Loving your fucked out face. Eyes glazed over, mouth hung open, tumbling out a stream of moans and whines. The men force you to take every pleasurable touch. Leaving you shivering as another orgasm was building up within you. 

“God, you’re so fucking tight.” Chance kissed up your neck. “I bet you’re close, huh?” Fuck, he needed you to cum around him. 

“Mmm, make them cum. I bet they’ll squirt again.” Parker joined in, teasing you with his words. 

All you could do was let out a pathetic whine, your pussy fluttering at their words. 

“Mmph, keep going. They like it.” Chance groaned. 

“You like it?” Parker’s lips captured yours in a heated kiss. “You like us using your perfect body like this?” Parker’s hand slid down your front back to circling your clit. 

Pleasure courses through you, your orgasm just on the edge. 

“Ah! Mmm…Parker!” You moaned as sparks of pleasure shot through you. 

Parker grabbed your cheeks making you look at him. His eyes hungry as he smiled down at your ruined state. 

“You gonna cum? Make Chance fill up this pretty pussy?” He pressed a hot kiss to your lips. 

Both you and Chance moaned at the thought. 

“Fuck yes! I’ll cum in this perfect little cunt.” Chance groaned and kissed up your neck. Occasionally sucking against the sensitive spots. 

That heat in your belly was growing and growing. Ready to burst at any moment. 

“Please,” Chance huffed against you, “please cum for me. I need you.” He practically whimpered. His cock so sensitive. Needing to unload in you. 

With his plea you shattered. Cumming around his length with a scream. Your pussy clamped around him, forcing him to release inside you. A flood of warmth filled you as Chance shot hot ropes of cum. Each twitch of his cock had him moaning. He rut into you as you came down, making you whine at the overstimulation. 

Pausing, Chance caught his breath. Keeping you pressed against his chest as his cock stuffed you full. He left trails of sweet kisses along your neck and shoulders. Whispering “thank yous” over and over against your skin. 

Eventually, he slid out of you with a groan. Both of you slumped down. With your legs spread, they watched as Chance’s spend slid out of you. 

Parker couldn’t contain himself. Suddenly, you found yourself on your back. Parker pressing a quick kiss to your lips, then kissed down your torso. Reaching his destination, he began to lap at your overstimulating pussy. Licking up the mix of you and Chance and moaning at the taste. Oh, he could get used to this. 

“You both taste sooooo gooood…” He looked at you and Chance, a fucked out daze had his eyes glazed over. 

Parker returned his mouth to your cunt, desperately needing more of you. His tongue flicked against your clit, making you cry out. It was too much. You tried closing your legs, but Parker forced them back apart with a growl. He dove back into your heat, licking up and down your folds. Mouth encircling your sensitive nub, making you cry out. 

The scrawny man was surprisingly strong. A vice-like grip on your thighs. Making sure you took everything he gave you. He was going to have you cum on his face, he needed it. 

Between your legs your eyes caught his hungry stare. The sight had you shivering and moaning. 

All it took was a harsh suck on your clit and you were falling apart once more. Spraying your release on Parker’s face as your hips thrusted against his lips. He moaned, lapping at you greedily. Tongue abusing your swollen clit. 

When he had his fill, Parker crawled over you. Slowly, he pressed a deep kiss to your lips. Tongue meeting yours, making you taste yourself and Chance. Sitting behind you, Chance tugged at Parker’s hair. He pressed his lips against his. Tasting what you had, making him groan. Already he was growing hard again. 

First, however, it was Parker’s turn. His cock, red and beading with precum. He wondered how long he would even be able to last. It didn’t matter, he needed to feel you. 

Sliding his cock between your folds, the man’s eyes rolled back in ecstasy. 

“Oooh gosh, you feel amazing!” He moaned. 

Both of you moaned as he slid into your heat. Your pussy sucking him in despite how overstimulated you were. Parker didn’t start slow, opting to pummel into you quickly. As if he couldn’t hold himself back. 

He couldn’t, you felt so fucking good. Your sopping cunt pulling him in over and over again. Warm, wet, and so soft. He didn’t want to leave the feel of your pussy. 

With the little wherewithal he had, Parker reached for your swollen clit. Fingers circling around it once more. Every touch making your hips jolt. Your body matching with his thrusts as Parker forced your body to build up another orgasm. You sobbed as the pleasure grew and grew. 

Above you, Parker was in a daze. Loving how fucked out you were beneath him. Your writhing body just taking everything he was giving you. Eyes shut tightly as you gasped out moans with each of his thrusts. Soon enough you would be clamping down on him, making him join Chance with cumming in you. 

He leaned down, mouthing the crook of your neck. Leaving love bites down the column of your throat. Each bite made you tighten around Parker’s length. He whined at the feeling, continuing to leave bites and kisses against your skin. Needing to feel the way you clenched around him.

“Gosh, oh, oh, f-fuck.” He stuttered out. There was so much he wanted to say, but your body had him in pure bliss. Coherent thoughts were out the window with the way you felt around his cock. 

His fingers continued to work at you as he pumped in and out of you. Biting your lip, you whined at the feeling. The pleasure growing almost unbearable, yet you felt as if you needed it. 

“P-parker, mmph! It’s t-too much!” You managed to gasp out. 

“You can take it! P-please!” He cried out. Just a bit more, that’s all he needed. 

Locking your legs around his hips, you pulled Parker’s body flush against yours. Grabbing his hair, you gave him a hot open mouthed kiss. Your tongues tangled as you groaned. Out of nowhere, you felt your orgasm slam into you. Pussy clamping down and pulsing around Parker’s cock. A wave of your release gushed onto his lower half. 

“Oh! Oh!” He whimpered, feeling his balls tighten before unloading into you. 

With eyes shut tight, he pumped in and out of your wet cunt. Cock twitching as he shot ropes of his cum into you. Each thrust sending shocks of pleasure coursing through his body. Your pussy continued to pulse around him, making him moan. 

He pressed a long deep kiss against your lips, slipping his tongue against yours. Lazily, you wrapped your arms around him. Fingers tangling in his colorful hair, lightly tugging. His hands ran up and down your sides soothingly, helping you come down from your high. 

Looking up at Parker, you felt a swell in your chest. He was staring down at you in awe, adoration sparkling in his eyes. As if he couldn’t help himself, he dived toward your face. Peppering you with light kisses all over your cheeks and neck, the sweet action made you giggle. As if he hadn’t just fucked you silly.

“Mind if I join in?” Chance asked sheepishly, his cheeks dusted with red. 

“Come here, big guy!” Parker opened an arm to him, dragging Chance into a kiss. 

After a moment, Parker pulled out of you. Both of you groaned at the loss. Chance and Parker stared down between your legs, appreciating the collective mess they made of you. Sheepishly, you pressed your thighs together. 

“Awww, nooo.” Parker whined, pulling your legs apart.

“You guys are making me self conscious.” You huffed.

“You shouldn’t be.” Parker said matter-of-fact. “You’re really fucking hot.” 

Despite everything, that had your cheeks flaring red. 

It seemed like the men weren’t done with you. Chance was hard again, eyeballing your overstimulated cunt with that familiar hunger. While you didn’t know if you could truly take anymore, another part of you felt a rush at the thought of being fucked into a puddle. 

And fucked you were. Chance putting you in a mean mating press, his cock making you cum around him two more times before he came in you again. Parker pushing you facedown on the bed and taking you from behind. Fucking into you like no tomorrow. Every part of you becoming jello as they repeatedly used your overstimulated body. 

Eventually, everyone had tired themselves out. Both of them curled up on either side of you. Snuggling against your naked form. Multiple hands trailed over your body, leaving you shivering. Chance pressed soft kisses up your collarbone and neck, and planted one on your lips. Giggling, you felt Parker nibbling at your neck. Yeah, he sure liked to bite. 

“What now?” You asked, turning your head between the two. Head hazy with the bliss of your orgasms. 

“We take care of you.” Chance pecked your cheek. “It’s the least we can do, considering…” He motioned to your boneless state. 

“Ooh, how about a bath? Since we can all fit in the tub!” Parker’s eyes sparkled with excitement. 

You loved the man’s enthusiasm for even the most mundane of things. Something you hoped you could learn from him. 

“I like the sounds of that. How bout you?” Chance rubbed his thumb lovingly along your cheek. 

“Mmm, a bath sounds wonderful.” 

Parker helped get the bath prepped, while Chance took care of you. Wiping you down, then making sure you drank water and had a bit of a snack. As the tub was filling, Parker came back into the room and hopped back into bed with you. He snatched a chip from the bag Chance was sharing with you. 

“Did I miss anything?” He snuggled back into you.

“Just Chance babying me.” You teased. 

“It’s called aftercare, because you know, I’m not an asshole.” He teased back, pecking your cheek affectionately. 

“Bar. In. Hell.” You poked at his chest.

He grabbed your hand, pulling it to his lips. 

“And I know you’d follow me all the way down.” This time he placed a kiss to your lips, making your heart swell. 

When he pulled away, Parker stole a kiss from you as well. 

“Don’t want to be left out?” You teased your other partner. 

“Of course!” He blushed. “Plus, I really like kissing you.”

“May I have a turn as well?” Chance asked Parker with a quirked brow. 

“Why of course!” He leaned over you to kiss the man deeply. 

When the tub was full, Chance helped carry you to the bathroom. You had attempted to walk, but found that your legs were way too wobbly to do so. Perks of having a strong man that enjoyed manhandling you, you supposed. Parker slipped into the tub first with a content sigh. Gently, Chance placed you in, then slid in behind you. Pulling you to his chest, Chance placed a sweet kiss to your forehead. His hands caressed over your body. Parker ran his hands over your legs, occasionally massaging your calves and feet. 

“Mmm, I could get used to this.” You sighed with content, closing your eyes and leaning back against Chance.

“Yeah?” He asked softly.

Peeking an eye open, you felt your heart swell. Both Chance and Parker were gazing at you affectionately. 

“Yeah.” You sat up, giving each of them a kiss. “So, would you mind not leaving this in Vegas?”

“You can bet on it.” Chance pressed another kiss to your lips, then gave one to Parker. 

“Oh, I love you guys!” Parker teared up, embracing the two of you. 

“I love you too!” You smiled brightly. “Both of you.” 

[aetherograph]

^^^^^ I was scullery and kitchen maid for four eateries in Disneyland (they all had the same scullery): full-service, bakery, and an ice cream counter and a candy counter. I was very proud of the work I did, and very proud to be a servant. I learned so much about service, and the history of service, and how many people it takes to run a manor house, or a castle, or a ship, and I was so proud to be part of that tradition.

I love cleaning. I'm so good at cleaning and maintaining things like clothes and dishes and windows and so on. My body can't do it anymore and I miss doing it! I was happier doing that job than any other because when the work was done it was visibly done and I could look around at my gleaming kitchen and feel a sense of great accomplishment, feel that my sweat and toil had done something.

I wasn't there long, but even in four months, people noticed that when I was on shift, everything got done exactly as it should, and the chefs appreciated that, and started to get protective of me, and that was a good feeling to, a feeling that I belonged.

I'm sorry that there are people in jobs they hate. Everyone should be in a job they don't hate, that gives that same sense of accomplishment, community, and pride in a job well-done.

Like in fiction from time immemorial, the SERVANT is in charge. The servant is the one with power, with competence. That is what you pay for, that is what you hire. A competent person to help you with things. We are helpers. It's right there in the name "service". And this extends to retail and food as well--those are service jobs, and those jobs SHOULD have power. That service workers in those jobs are specifically sabotaged from doing their job properly is fucked.

Managers should not side with the customer, should not do nothing but abuse people all day--they have specific duties and 99% of them don't fucking do them, and it's fucked. I get so mad about it because those service jobs should not and do not have to be terrible jobs. I have been in retail, and my supervisors showed me just what a supervisor is supposed to fucking do! My manager was absolutely useless and did nothing but hamper everyone and do absolutely nothing else; but my supervisors actually offered support and protected me and the other workers from harm, and trained us, and helped us when we needed help, and trusted us to do our job and ask for help when we needed it! THAT is their job. I've had bad supervisors too, but I knew they were bad and not just mean because I'd had good ones. Most people aren't that lucky, which is why I'm explaining.

The toxic fucking environment of most service jobs--and most jobs in this country are service at this point, everything else is outsourced--is because of making up more and more useless positions of authority, and people knew this was happening even way back in the 50s and 60s, and complained about it. It's only gotten worse. Now we've got whole departments who just act as Employee Harassment and Throw Applications Away Before They Get Seen. We call them HR.

When the health food store unionized, something wild happened that I thought was just a goofy one-off, but makes more sense now.

There was a big push to eliminate "degrading jobs" but the strategy was to eliminate the position, then create a new position outside of the bargaining unit to do the work. So like, we wouldn't have dishwashers, but we'd have people who washed dishes that weren't eligible to be in the union.

I was like A) what the actual fuck? Dish washing isn't "degrading", it's fucking vital. B) What the actual fuck? You want to create a union just to exploit different people?

There were enough of us to be like "Absolutely the fuck not," and put a stop to it, but I was absolutely flummoxed that people involved in a union would say that out loud. Working with more leftists now, it makes sense.

[diormoon]

BLIND - n.mühl

- Nika Mühl x Fem!reader

- Nika doesn’t appreciate her girlfriend talking bad about herself.

- Insecurity

REQUESTED • YES x No

"God, my stretch marks are so ugly," you mumble to yourself, standing in front of the floor-length mirror with Nika's shirt pulled up to your chest—running your fingers over the stretch marks covering your stomach and thighs.

Nika, just passing by the door, hears you mumble something she never wanted to hear you say. "What did you just say?" Nika asks sternly as she makes her way into the room.

"Wha-?" You start. "No, there's no way my baby just said that she hates her stretch marks."

"Nika—" Nika shakes her head. "Are you blind? You're the most gorgeous woman alive. I love your stretch marks, baby."

Nika walks closer to you, grabbing your hands. "I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, baby. You're literally so breathtaking."

You don't say anything; you don't know what to say, and before you can even try to wrap your head around what she said, she's kneeling on the ground and kissing your stretch marks.

"I love you. I love your stretch marks. I love your smile. I love the way your face lights up when you see something or someone you love. I love how supportive you are. I love how caring you are. I love everything about you. I worship the ground you walk on," Nika said, pressing small kisses on each and every stretch mark.

"I love you," you mumble, your eyes starting to fill with tears.

Nika stands up again, grabs your face in her hands, and starts pressing kisses to your face. "I love you more."

—

After what happened yesterday, you both just cuddled for the rest of the day, but Nika was planning something.

She wants you to feel beautiful in your own skin. She wants you to feel confident. Most of all, she wants you to be comfortable. So... she planned a date for today.

The spa with facials and massages, getting nails and hair done, lunch, then a shopping spree.

All appointments have been made; she's already called her accountant to let them know that a lot of money will be spent today. All she has to do is tell you to get ready without spoiling anything.

"Hey, baby, go get dressed."

"Where are we going?" Nika shakes her head and smiles. "It's a surprise." You just look at her, feeling super confused about this, and you wish she would tell you so you know what to wear.

"How am I supposed to know what to wear if I don't know where we are going?" Nika clicks her tongue against her teeth, looking like she's thinking. "Cute but comfy, and wear walking shoes."

You just side-eye her—cute with tennis shoes? You don't have very long to ask questions before she's pulling you off the couch and pushing you toward the stairs. "Go get dressed."

—

You choose leggings and one of Nika's hoodies—basic, but you pair it with jewelry and curl your hair, trying to make it as cute and simple as possible.

Walking out of the room, you see Nika sitting on the couch on her phone.

She looks up once she hears you and immediately stands to make her way over. "You look beautiful," she says, wrapping her arms around your waist.

You hug her back, trying to hide your flustered face from her while mumbling a thank you.

The truth is, you still feel incredibly insecure. That's why you wore one of her hoodies instead. They're a little oversized, so it hides everything you want it to. But her saying you look beautiful? Obviously, you're going to fold.

Nika can also read you like an open book. So she can probably tell that you're still feeling insecure—and she wants to change that.

Nika has always been confident. Her mom was always confident around Nika, so Nika just grew up confident in herself, in what she wears—everything. She does have "off days," but she doesn't get insecure like you do. She's hot, and she knows it.

So getting with you and learning how to deal with and help with insecurities was a new thing for her, but she handled it like a charm. She knows what your expressions are saying; she knows when you're starting to feel uncomfortable in certain clothes or at certain places—she knows everything about you.

Sometimes you hate it, but sometimes she does things like today and hugs you while complimenting how good you look over and over again.

"Stop it. Look at me." She says, pulling your face out from nuzzling in her neck. "Stop hiding from me," she says, her hands on your cheeks, holding your head up — her thumbs slowly rubbing against your cheekbones.

"How did I get so lucky with you?" she whispers, almost as if she's in a trance — hypnotized by your beauty.

You can feel your face getting hotter and hotter, but you don't pull away. Nika keeps looking at you lovingly, up and down. "You're gorgeous, mama. Absolutely fucking beautiful."

Before you can say anything back, she leans in and kisses you. It's not passive or sexual — just gentle. A kiss filled with all the love and affection she has for you.

She pulls away first, both of your foreheads touching as you both breathe heavily. "C'mon, mama, we're gonna be late."

You may still be insecure today and tomorrow — but that's okay. It's not just going to disappear in one day. Nika knows that though and she plans on doing everything she can to help you love yourself — to help you love what you consider flaws.

Because she loves you. She loves everything about you, and when you look in the mirror and can only think negative thoughts, she truly thinks you're blind. When she looks at you, she sees heaven.

[reixtsu]

Saja Boys x Reader — "When Fights Happen" (Angst + Comfort) featuring Jinu, Romance, and Baby (pt 1)

Even demons aren't immune to heartbreak.

Jinu doesn't yell—his silence stings louder than screams. Romance overthinks, Baby panics and pouts.

When emotions run high and love feels uncertain, each boy handles arguments in their own flawed, painfully human way.

But in the end? It's love, always love. Just... a little messy.

(angst / hurt-comfort / established relationships)

[This was lowkey rushed, I'm sure that you will be able to tell towards the end.]

Jinu doesn't raise his voice. His anger is cold and quiet.

He walks away to cool off, but the silence is deafening.

Guilt hits him quickly, he hates fighting with you.

He expresses emotions better in writing, so if he can't talk, he'll leave a letter or text.

Apologizes with soft gestures, flowers, your favorite snacks, forehead kisses.

---

The argument started over something small-you were overworking, skipping meals again, brushing off his concern.

"I said I'm fine, Jinu."

"You always say that," he murmured, voice tight. "And then I find you passed out on the bathroom floor. Do you want to scare me again?"

You flinched, eyes dropping to the floor. "Don't be so dramatic. If I pass out, then I pass out."

The silence that hit was harder than a blood-curdling scream. Jinu simply stared at you, anger, hurt, and betrayal flickering behind his usually warm eyes.

"I'm going for a walk>"

And like that, he left. He didn't slam the door, and that alone almost hurt more.

Later, you found a small folded paper by your pillow.

> "I'm scared. Every time you lie about being okay, I lose another piece of peace in my chest. Please don't make me watch you disappear slowly. I love you, okay? Let me take care of you." - J

Romance takes everything personally in arguments-he feels very deeply.

Overthinks everything you say and spirals emotionally.

He'll storm off in a flair but literally come back after 10 minutes.

Apologies come with rose petals and declarations of undying love.

The boy needs reassurance that you don't hate him afterward.

Romance had been unusually jealous lately. A store clerk complimented you and he sulked like a forgotten puppy.

"Maybe you should go date him instead if he's so funny," Romance muttered when you both retired for the night at your place, tossing a pillow off the bed.

"What's your problem?"

"My problem is watching people look at you like you're not already mine!"

The air tensed, striking the two of you. You've never seen him so...territorial.

"That's not my fault! You're just being ridiculous-"

"You're not denying it!" he barked back.

You both fell into silence, and just like that, you heard stomps retreat to the door and slam it shut.

Minutes later, you heard footsteps return from the hallway. HE peeked back into the room, lip trembling.

"I hate fighting. I just... I'm scared someone else will see how amazing you are and take you away from me."

Arguments confuse and overwhelm Baby - he's not great at serious emotional confrontation.

Gets all pouty, sarcastic, or walks away with an unemotional "whatever".

Hates seeing you cry and immediately regrets anything he said, but he usually has a hard time expressing that too.

Later apologizes in silly forms - plushies, memes, over-the-top food deliveries.

Will physically cling to you until forgiven.

He forgot your anniversary. Or rather, he thought it was next week.

You had planned a small date and he didn't show up. No text, no calls, no nothing.

So when he came back home, holding a boba drink, you were silent on the couch.

"Hey babe - wait, what's wrong?"

"Today was supposed to be our day," you whispered, barely holding the tears back.

"Ohh shit."

Baby started to stare at you, unsure of what to do. "Uhhhh, don't cry. Um... I got boba? No. Okay. Bad start." He scrambled to place his drink down and cuddled you on the couch.

"I'll make it up to you, okay? I can rap to you, cuddle you, whatever you want!  So don't be mad! I need your warmth right now or I'll die."

[moodient]

sevika being accidentally rough in sex w u and aftercare <,3

With Care (Sevika)

tags: smut + fluff, strap-on, aftercare, lovey dovey, kissing, short cuddle, pouty sevika, animalistic smut, overstim!

a//n: whoever sent me this request, baby i'm so sorry!! but i hope this hopefully make it up to you.. hopefully...!

art by my beautiful wife: @lard100 (please please support!!)

....

"m-mmh! sevika!" is all she can hear before her mind becomes fogged, her eyes glossed over with lust and primal instinct. her hips slammed against yours as she loses control of herself, her grunts were jagged and raspy. she feels pleasure like none before, her clit throbbing as she thrusts her strap inside of you.

it's wet, it's thick, it's hers. it feels like her, just like her.. her thickness, her form, her wetness.. your body is completely overwhelmed by how good she makes you feel.. you can't remember how many times you came, how many times she's rubbed your clit while thrusting into you, how many she's licked and kissed on your back, how many times she's whispered sweet nothings into your ear.

how good you've been for her, how beautiful you look taking her in, how sweet your moans are in her ears. how perfect you fit in her hands. how tight you've been for her.

"you're absolutely fucking perfect for me.."

"mgh- g-good job baby.."

your body is crying out for you to take a break, to let it time to recover but you won't.. not until sevika comes, and you can tell she's close. her body shivers, her thrusts sloppy but fast, her grunts louder and her eyes rolled back. she holds your hips, and fastens the pace and you feel like your body is about to break, you feel the pressure building tighter.. and tighten in your stomach..

"t-that's it baby, let go one more time for me.. i promise this is it.." sevika shutters while grunting. her eyes rolled back as she lets a raspy grunt, thrusting one more time before her body slowly shuts down. your body makes a final effort to release one more time, grunting. feeling release like never before, your body shivering.

sevika pulls out slowly, your sticky juices covered her strap and you winced as her form starts to leave to your body, and that made sevika pause completely. her whole world stops, as she sees you panting.

"baby.. did i hurt you?" she asked, looking at your back. you nodded softly, not trying to make her feel bad but she already feels terrible. she lays you down gently down and immediately goes into caretaker mode.

she's up immediately, walking towards to grab you some water and painkillers. her footsteps heavy and panicked but her expression remains stoic. she places down the pills and a cup of water, almost waiting for you to take a sip.

but you don't, you hold your arms out and waiting to feel her body against yours and without fail, she lays on top of you but not fully putting her weight on you.

"s'rry, sugar.. i didn't mean it." she says, rubbing her face against your tummy, almost an apology.

"you're okay baby, i know.. and i accepted your apology." you giggled while rubbing her fingers through your hair. even though, she doesn't show it on her face, she's absolutely concerned and will make it her life mission to constantly remind you that she never wants to hurt you ever.

"can i have a kiss?" sevika asks, lifting her head up almost waiting for permission. you nodded and she sits up on your lap. even though she's way taller and bulker than you, you always want her on your lap, and she low-key loves it. you both are each other's safe space no matter what happens.

she places her lips on yours, soft at first but after you wrap your arms around her back. the kissing becomes more heated, it's fiery but contained. you pull away, watching sevika smirk as she rubs your cheek.

"as much as i would love to go again, my body needs a very much needed break." you said, teasingly. sevika pouts slightly but then gets off of you.

"how about.. i give you a much needed bath? i'll take completely care of you, no scrubbing your body, you will not lift a singular finger." she suggests, watching your eyes glisten. you playfully tapped your cheek, pretending to give a second guess.

"you know.. i think i can deal with that." and without a second thought, you're in her arms, safe.. secured.. and loved.

[atsa-star-wars]

Hard agree with OP. (I commented under my main, @alexthespaceace.) Here are some of my favorite comments and/or exchanges in case the comments to this post blow up and makes these ones harder to refer back to.

(It'd be nice if there'd been more to the Anakin/Padme relationship than being necessary to make Luke and Leia. As the Puzzle in a Thunderstorm guys often say in early "God Awful Movies" podcast episodes, "You're the movie!" The Powers That Be could've made a non-toxic relationship, but that wouldn't have been good cinema or shown what a shitty person Anakin grew up to be.)

===

jedi-enthusiast Original Poster @askteamgrey Relationships do not necessarily equal attachment.

Relationships are just having feelings for someone and forming a bond with them---whether those are familial, platonic, or romantic.

Attachment, as I've already outlined above, is being unable or unwilling to let someone go, no matter what that might mean for you or them, because you don't want to go through life without them.

They’re two separate things that have the ability to intersect.

ladystonedwolf only seen the movies, but anakin was told by a room full of adults when he was a kid that missing his mother was dangerous. that environment would emotionally stunt any kids ability to healthily process attachments and fears of loss

Avatar alexthespaceace That room full of adults thought he was too old and too prone to attachment (read: selfishness and obsession) to be fit for Jedi training, and Episodes II and III proved those adults right.

fai-gensou Pretty sure this whole argument about attachment wouldn’t be happening if the word obsession was used. Because Anakin didn’t love Padme; he was obsessed with her. You don’t care if your obsessions and your actions to keep it harm you or everyone around you

batidodehuevo I think you are wrong. Anakin didn't turn to the dark side because of his attachment to Pade, it was because he wanted to possess her. In the original triology they already prove that there is nothing wrong with being attached to others. I also miss that Anakin is acting out for Padme because the last time he had a dream his mother died and when he went to Yoda to talk about it he literally told him to let go because people die and there is nothing to do about!

alexthespaceace Yoda doesn't have all the details, and part of the Jedi religion, which borrows heavily from Buddhism, is accepting inevitabilities, like death, even the death of a loved one.

jedi-enthusiast Original Poster @batidodehuevo buddy, attachment IS wanting to possess someone—it’s about not wanting to ever let them go and being willing to do anything, no matter how heinous, just so you won’t have to. Attachment doesn’t mean love and the OT still goes along with Lucas’s message that attachment is bad.

And Anakin literally didn’t tell Yoda anything about Padme dying or a vision, he just said “i’m having dreams of someone close to me dying” (and Yoda even had to badger him to learn that much)—which is-

jedi-enthusiast Original Poster @batidodehuevo -pretty standard for a nightmare and very likely to happen in war. Not to mention that literally no one knew about Anakin’s visions of his mother and that they came true except Padme! Obi-Wan thought Anakin was having dreams and didn’t know what they were about, and Anakin never told him anything else! No one else knew!

So Yoda basically told Anakin that it’s better to celebrate the life someone lived and appreciate the time you had with them rather than being sad and angry-

Avatar jedi-enthusiast Original Poster @batidodehuevo -about not getting more time with them, albeit in typical Yoda-speak. Which is literally advice given in grief counseling. Not to mention that Yoda can’t read Anakin’s mind, so he can only give vague advice to a vague statement.

What else would you have had him do?

clairaworlds Also Anakin constantly undermines her autonomy in tcw. It bothers me so much. She's such a badass in that show and Anakin spends 100% of his time with her telling her not to do stuff she's fully capable of doing or dismissing her work in the senate as not as important as his work in the fighting. It's made me irrationally upset since I first watched the show at like 10

Ngl I think a lot of people, when they talk about Jedi and attachments and how "the Jedi should be allowed to have them," just plain ignore the single most important show of attachment in all of Star Wars.

Padme and Anakin.

Obviously people bring them up 24/7 when they want to bash the Jedi or pretend that Anidala is the epitome of a "healthy relationship" (lmao), but when it comes to the actual point of how their relationship is framed and how it highlights how attachment works/what it does---suddenly all the discussion around Anakin and Padme disappears!

Anakin's attachment to Padme and his unwillingness to let her go is LITERALLY what ends up killing her!!!

He has dreams of her dying, becomes convinced that those dreams are what's gonna happen (despite the unreliable nature of visions), and---instead of actually telling anyone anything in enough detail so they could actually help---he:

- Starts working with a Sith Lord

- Massacres a Temple full of children, the elderly, the injured, etc. and the people who were caring for them

- Helps commit a genocide

- Overthrows democracy

And then, once Padme won't support him vying for them to control the galaxy, he becomes convinced that she's betrayed him and attempts to kill her---then, later on, because of Anakin's actions Padme dies.

----------

THAT is what attachment is and what it does.

Attachment is being unable, unwilling, to let someone go, no matter what that might mean for you or them, because you don't want to go through life without them---and the people you try to hold onto so tight ultimately get crushed in your grip because of it.

Think of it like holding someone's hand.

Non-attachment would be, when the other person wants to stop, letting them slip away and being happy with what you had while you had it---being content whether they choose to stay by your side or run off to go do something else.

Attachment would be, when the other person tries to let go, tightening your grip or grabbing their wrist---hurting them because you don't want there to even be a chance that you would be without them.

----------

So no, the Jedi were not wrong to teach non-attachment and they should not have "changed their philosophies so they were allowed to have attachments" like some people have suggested, because attachment is unhealthy and selfish and all it does is end up hurting those around you.

[venusbyline]

Some modern Daemon?? He's so DILF

i never said that until now but imo stepdad!Daemon is sooo fucking hot 🤭🤭 i need him so bad

⚠️: SMUT & DARK CONTENT. dark modern!Daemon Targaryen, stepdaughter!reader, pseudo-incest (stepfather/stepdaughter), rape/non-con somnophilia becoming dubcon, non-con somnophilia, underage sex, age gap (older man/younger woman), no specific mention of reader's age but she's a high schooler, rough vaginal sex, missionary position, praise kink, dumbification, Daemon isn't Rhaenyra's uncle, non-con voyeurism, voyeur!Jacaerys Velaryon, minor Jacaerys Velaryon/reader, minor older brother/younger sister incest, modern AU. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

Daemon had married your mother a little less than two years ago, shortly after your parents' sudden divorce. None of the children quite understood what had happened, as Harwin was a good husband and Rhaenyra had always seemed to love him since she was younger.

However, all the relatives whispered about a cheating. Not on Harwin's part, obviously, but on Rhaenyra's. At first, no one knew who her potential affair was, until she became pregnant and, just a few months later, began a serious relationship with Daemon, the head of the company where she worked.

The relationship evolved into marriage a few months before the birth of your new brother, Aegon. Daemon's daughters, Baela and Rhaena, did not move with him, remaining in their mother's house. Which was a shame, since you would love it if your stepsisters lived with you too, considering you were the only daughter of four sons.

Five sons, actually, as Rhaenyra was already pregnant again.

The marriage was not exactly so happy. Daemon was not a loving husband like your father had been, and he did not care much for his stepsons either. Only for you — though no one of the family found that at least kind of suspicious.

Probably no one seemed to notice Daemon's intense obsession with you, or the way he always sneaked into your bedroom at night when everyone else was asleep.

"It's okay, princess. It'll be good, I promise." His voice against your ear sounded husky. One hand reached up to pull up the black pleated skirt you always wore to go to the high school. But this time you had forgotten to take it off when you got home, falling asleep and only waking up when Daemon entered the room, ready to take what he always took.

He did not care about your messy hair or about the way your skin felt a little sweaty from sleeping almost all day. Delighting with his young stepdaughter's body was all that mattered.

"D-Daemon..." You whimpered as he pushed your lilac cotton panties aside and then thrust inside you, not even giving you a chance to take a deep breath.

"Wrong name." He pulled his hips out enough to gain momentum and cause you nearly cry out at the sensation of his thick cock being thrust in with even less care than before.

You grimaced then, remembering what he liked to be called. Hands went to his shoulders as you searched for something to steady yourself while he began thrusting in and out with a pace too brutal for you to handle. It was almost impossible to remain silent.

No one would believe you if you told them what was happening, so you had already given in a while ago. "D-Dad... It hurts..."

Dad. Not "Daddy," like you had seen many girls calling their boyfriends. This was very different. Just "Dad," as if he wanted to take Harwin's place in every way, as if he truly wanted you to be his sweet daughter. A distorted image that this was how he would get closer to his new family.

"Your pussy feels so fucking wet today, princess..." Your cheeks flushed at Daemon's words. "You love feeling my cock inside you, don't you? Stretching that tight little pussy of yours and tearing it apart."

It was disgusting, and yet you nodded with a pout. He groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him.

Maybe you were getting sick just like him, because you could not cry or fight the act like you used to. Now you were getting used to being fucked in your sleep, used to being forced to ride his cock and hold your teddy bears when he was eating you out.

You felt bad for your mother, who did not even know the dirty things her husband committed against her own daughter.

Who did not even know you were starting to enjoy those things.

Who did not even know her eldest son loved to peek through the crack in the door and watch his sister being abused by his stepfather.

"Wanna join us this time, Jace?" Daemon asked with a smirk, not even having to break eye contact with you or to turning his head to make sure his stepson's face had gone pale already, opening the door hesitantly.

"S-Sister... I-swear I wasn't—"

The boy stammered in panic, realizing he might have broken your trust, caught watching Daemon fuck you on your own bed instead of running away to tell his mother.

"Don't worry, kid. Your baby sister is a slut." Stepfather chuckled with amusement, turning his attention back to you. "Tell your brother you want him to fuck your pretty little pussy. Show him what a dirty whore you really are."

You looked at Jace with tears in your eyes. Not due to the pain this time. It was lust. Imagining him joining in on that was horrible and wrong. And incredibly arousing, nonetheless. "Please, brother... Fuck my pussy too."

Jacaerys swallowed hard, trying to fight back those forbidden desires, his self-control fading after that request and the whimper you let out when you rubbed your own clit while Daemon continued to fuck his thick cock harder inside you.

"Good boy, Jace." Daemon praised, seeing the boy stripped naked and approached the bed, desperate to make his little sister give him a head.

[drchucktingle]

THE CRITICS ARE RIGHT

lets talk on big issue for artists, REVIEWS. lot of discussion on how to feel about these things when youve put so much work into your art. usually buds will assure you 'dont worry, that negative review is wrong,' but i disagree. i think it is important to remember that NEGATIVE REVIEWS are correct

lots of folks will look at subjective nature of art and say ‘well this reviewer doesnt know what theyre talking about because NOBODY does’, and HEREIN LIES MY POINT. i think there is a subtle but very meaningful difference in acknowledging that, when it comes to art, everyone is actually RIGHT

so why frame it this way? when you write a book or a song or make a film, the second it is released it is no longer yours, IT EQUALLY BELONGS TO THE AUDIENCE. i do not get to decide what my books are worth just because i wrote them, this timeline does, and how this timeline feels is never static

i happen to like pretty much everything so i would be a terrible critic, but those who CAN do this are also CREATING SOMETHING with their opinion, and that is just as important as the initial piece. it is PART of the initial piece, even when it is negative. everyone gets ONE vote: their perspective.

so how does this work in a practical sense? let me say, my first MAJOR REVIEW came when i was a literal child in an international publication. it was (drumroll) VERY, VERY BAD. it hurt, so i am not immune to those feelings, but i have not ONCE been bothered since then because it TAUGHT me this truth

criticism is not some opposing team. art and critique are the same thing, because creation is inherently a review of reality, and critique is a valid form of creation. WE ARE ALL WORKING THROUGH THE SAME GIANT PERFORMANCE TOGETHER and it is so much more beautiful by everyone having a say

now i am sure some buckaroos will think ‘well this person was mean in whatever bad review’ and SURE, sometimes people ARE unkind, but i would argue a bad review is not, by the nature of being bad, UNKIND. you can be very unkind in a good review. they are unrelated

anyway artist buds, i hope this helps. next time you see a bad review, instead of thinking 'well theyre wrong' consider thinking 'they are ALSO right and that is a really really cool part of creation.' always worked for me and being able to create with you all is one of the biggest blessings i have