#and i know that if you like me are between the ages of 18 and 25 you probably started paying attention to politics

[baronessvonglitter]

Guessing Game

stepdad!Javier Pena x fem!Reader

Word count: 2.8K

Summary: Your stepfather is a DEA agent. When he finds drugs in your room you have to find a way to keep yourself out of trouble.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Step-cest (if that's an ick for you please do not read - you are responsible for the content you consume 🖤). Age gap (reader is early twenties, Javi is mid-to-late forties). Reader wears makeup and a dress and has hair long enough to get in her face. Cocaine use. Sexual proposition/exploitation. Dub con. (Reader is high during the act.) Oral (m receiving). Drug use during oral. Come swallowing. Fingering. *Spanish terms at the bottom. If I've missed anything please lmk!

Author's note: Big thanks to those of you who asked about this when it was just a baby wip -- now it's fully grown and I so appreciate the support! 💜

JAVIER PENA MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"Please tell me you're coming out tonight."

You pause a moment before answering your friend Gabi, switching your phone to your other ear as you check your reflection in the mirror. You apply dark burgundy lipstick to your bottom lip: Guessing Game by MAC, and top it with a swipe of clear gloss.

"I'll be there. You can bet your tits on that," you tell her with a smirk before you end the call.

Sure, you're technically still in trouble for staying out all night the past weekend. That's the thing that sucks about  commuting to college instead of moving out-- having to stay under your mom's roof and adhere to her rules.

Not just her rules, oh no. Your new stepfather is a hard-ass too, and a DEA agent on top of that. Javier Peña's over half your age and a stickler for rules. He's down your throat any chance he gets when you talk back to your mom or do anything that he finds disrespectful. 

It's stressful having to walk such a thin line. You deserve to go out tonight and show off the slinky, short black dress you're secretly borrowing from your mom's closet. It's not like she wears stuff like this anymore. She won't miss it for one night.

Almost ready to go, you do a last minute checklist. The only thing missing from your purse is your baggie. 

Shit! Where is it? You check your usual hiding place but find nothing. Your stomach swirls with unease.

"Looking for this?"

You turn to the sound of the deep voice coming from your doorway. There stands Javier, big bad DEA stepdad, holding your baggie of coke between thumb and forefinger.

"That's not mine," you automatically deny. 

"Bullshit," he mutters, stepping into the room. "I found it in here earlier. You want to tell me what you're doing with cocaine, chiquita?"

"Like I said, it's not mine," you insist. Deny, deny, deny. 

"How stupid do you think I am, huh? Just be damn glad I found it and not your mother. She'd kick your ass out on the streets for having this." The offending white powder in its baggie looks tiny in his large hand.

"Did I interrupt your big plans tonight?" he asks smoothly, shutting your bedroom door behind him. "Were you gonna go out and party, do a few lines, let some pendejo fuck you up the ass?"

"Javi!" You instinctively cover yourself as his eyes linger over your figure in that short, tight dress.

He comes around the bed, towering over you as you sit on the edge. Still in his suit and tie and his hair still in its neat, swept-to-the-side style, you imagine he must have just gotten off work. His dark eyes challenge you to do one more thing to piss him off. Despite the severe disdain you hold for one another, in the back of your mind you've always wanted to fuck him. Him being alone with you in your room, that dangerous, pissed-off look in his eyes only serves to make you wet. 

"You should know better," he says. "I can't have a fucking druggie for a stepdaughter."

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "But you shouldn't be going through my shit anyway."

"That's not a fucking apology, cariño," he gripes. "When you say 'sorry, but' that means you're not truly fucking sorry."

"You're giving me a fucking semantics lesson now?"

"Don't fucking talk back to me," he growls. "I'm not your mom, I'll beat your ass."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Keep it down, she's asleep in the next room."

It's late and by now your mom's taken her sleeping pill. You'd counted on her staying practically unconscious as you snuck out. Until Javi came along. You don't know what his plot is but the fact that he's here in your room with the door closed and it's half past midnight gives you a feeling that he wants something he shouldn't be asking for.

"Just.. give it back to me. I'll flush it, I promise."

A dark chuckle leaves his throat and sends a chill up your spine. He holds the baggie out and flicks it with his finger. "Who's your plug, baby? Give me that much. Possession with intent to distribute is a worse crime than just possession. You could get off with just a slap on the wrist if you just give me a name."

"I'm not telling you shit.."

"That stubborn, eh, princesita?" He smirks at even you have to admit he's a little handsome when he looks at you like that. But you still fucking hate him. You make a low sound in your throat, akin to a growl.

“You got something in your throat, chica?”

“No.. but I’d like to..”

His gaze darkens as he looks down at you, that barely-there dress leaving so little to the imagination. He recognizes it from his wife's closet, the very same dress she wore when they went on their first date. And now it fits you like a second skin. "Careful, chica. You might be an adult under the law, but you have no idea what the real fucking world is like."

"What are you gonna do, turn me in?" you challenge him.

"Maybe we can come to a compromise," he says, his gaze on your wet, glossy, darkened lips. "I'll keep quiet about the drugs if you do something for me."

"Like what?" You lean back on the bed, acting bored with the conversation though you're secretly glad he's about to let you off the hook.

"You're a smart girl. Use your imagination."

You separate your gaze from his, traveling down to the prominent bulge in his trousers.

"You're disgusting, you know that? Exploiting your own stepdaughter like that.."

He shrugs. "I have no problem bringing you in for this. It's a shame, though. You're a bright kid, you have your whole future ahead of you. You gonna let a little cocaina put an end to all that?"

"Fuck you," you mutter, sitting up. What does it matter anyway? It's just a dick. Not like you haven't sucked a few in your time. "Fine. I fucking blow you and you don't tell anyone about the coke, okay?"

A little smile curls his lips upward. "Deal, princesita."

He puts the baggie on the nightstand where you can't reach it and turns to you, hands on his hips. You realize he's waiting for you to start. 

Smart guy, having you make the first move so it's not on him later. "Nobody knows about this, either," you demand, your fingers hovering just over his belt buckle.

His breath hitches before answering, excitement hidden in his voice. "Just between us."

You feel your heartbeat in your throat as you undo his belt and pants, letting them fall to the floor. He's wearing white briefs, though you know him to typically go commando when he's not working.

"That's it, bebita linda," he coos as you free him from his underwear. His thick erection curves upward, slapping his belly as it swells and rises. Your mouth waters just feasting your eyes upon it.

"Ain't got all night," he grumbles.

"So fucking impatient," you grumble back, wrapping your hand around his hefty cock. It's bigger than any you've ever had, already weeping from the tip. Without hesitation you lick up the salty precum, delighting in the way his breath catches in his throat.

"It's not gonna suck itself," he grunts, putting his hand on the back of your head and pushing you towards him. "C'mon, baby, wanna see that pretty lipstick ruined and slopped all over my cock. The deal doesn't count if you're just gonna give it kitten licks."

Grabbing the base in one hand you slide the tip between your lips. Already it feels like too much, but you're not going to let him think he's got the best of you. 

"Open wide, baby, I know you can suck a cock better than that."

Forcing back an exasperated sigh you practically unhinge your jaw to get your whole mouth around him, his fat cockhead hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. Javi laughs as you pull away.

"You a fucking amateur, mia linda?" he chuckles. "Or am I just too big for that bratty mouth?"

"Fuck you."

He grabs you by the chin and forces you to look up at him. Your eyes are big, wide, a hint of fear there mixed with desire. "Be good for me. Or do you need something more to keep you sweet?"

He reaches for the baggie and scoops out a small amount, making a nice line on the top of his cock. 

"C'mon, do a line for me, sugar." He brings your head down and immediately you snort the white powder off his dick.

"There you go.. putting those vices to good use for once. Now maybe you'll suck my cock like the proper little slut you are."

You're still sniffling up the remnants of the coke when he shoves himself inside your mouth again, the bitter taste of the drug mixing with the salty taste of his flesh. 

"Relax your throat," he commands. "I can't believe I have to tell you how to suck a cock," he tsk-tsks.

Your eyes are brimming over with tears as you take him deep inside your throat. He stays there, guiding your movements with his hands on the back of your head. You start to breathe through your nose as your airway gets stuffed full of Javi's throbbing dick.

"Just look at that pretty mouth, pretty purple lips spread open wide around my cock," he whispers. "That's right, baby, get my cock all messy with your lipstick."

He lets you pull away from him to catch your breath before pushing back in, thrusting into your mouth. Whether you like it or not, saliva fills your mouth, making the slide in easier. If he knew your pussy was getting just as wet right now he'd take full advantage.

By now the coke is taking effect, making your heart flutter, and your pleasure receptors are buzzing off the charts. If you were only a reluctant participant before, you're voracious now. You put all your effort into blowing Javier, eager for his moans and sharp curses, even when he pulls out and taps your cheek with his dick you can't help but giggle, seeking him out with your tongue so you can drag it along his length.

Soon you're getting into a rhythm, following his lead as he thrusts into your mouth, pulling you away, only to push in again, stuffing you full and deep as he grabs your hair. Your mascara runs down your face, black streaks down your cheeks, lipstick smeared, Javi's dick now a strange purple.

He likes watching his whole member disappearing inside you, excited by the way you're learning to take him. He stops playing nice and stuffs himself down your throat, shoving himself deep and thrusting shallowly while your arms flail in a vain attempt to push away from him.

"Nuh-uh.. we agreed. I can just take you in right now, all wrecked and ruined. I can already see the mugshot. Bet your mama would be so proud," he says sarcastically.

"Fuck you," you manage to say, lips swollen, saliva running down your chin and neck.

"Hey, that's not very ladylike. Then again, you're not much of a lady, are you? Now suck."

He thrusts inside you again, even though you gag on him, tasting the bitterness of your own bile creeping up your gullet.

"If you puke on me I'll just keep going. You think I'm worried about a little vomit?"

You force down the remnants of your dinner from earlier, simultaneously bringing him deeper into your mouth.

"Lift up that dress for me, want you to play with your pussy while you're sucking me off," he says, stuffing your mouth full with more of him.

You do as he says, picking up the hem of the dress over your hips and sticking your hand under your black lace thong. You're drenched and Javier can see it, smell your arousal as it fragrances the air between you. He's never smelled a sweeter pussy. 

"That's right, circle that pretty little clit for me, mamacita," he grunts, exiting your mouth to pull back and watch you for a little, a long thick string of saliva connecting between your lips and his dick. You look totally wrecked and he's not even done yet.

You work on yourself, pressing your clit, your little gasps fueling Javier's need. "There you go, drive yourself crazy for me," he says.

You dip your fingers inside your warm cunt, closing your eyes as you seek out the relief from the heat building between your thighs. "Nu-uh, baby, eyes on me," he purrs slipping back in, thrusting deep and slow, watching you, feeling how good it is when you moan around his dick.

"Perfect, fucking perfect," he moans when you deep throat him again, your tongue peeking out to lick his balls. "Fuck," he says, tightening the grip he has on your hair. "Freaky mamacita, aren't you? Done this before, haven't you? To a lot of guys, I bet."

You whimper around his dick, pulling away to get some air. You finger yourself into a frenzy and start to come. "Not yet," Javier growls, pulling you back onto his slobber-coated cock. "You gotta earn it if you wanna come," he tells you.

You whine about it but the energetic buzz the coke has given you is still at work, putting extra effort into sucking off your stepdad, a renewed energy and vigor to your mouth sucking his cock. 

"Damn, cariño.. you really want your bad little habit kept secret, huh?" Javier pants, head thrown back as you sloppily suck him off. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna come.. gonna spray that sarcastic little bitchy mouth with my cum.. you ready?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, slamming into your mouth with urgency, not a care for your comfort until he bursts in your mouth and you have no choice but to taste the hot saltiness of his release.

He pulls out slowly, and when you try to spit out his release he shoves it back in with his fingers, effectively gagging you in the process. "Swallow," he commands, and you do so obediently just as his other hand finds its way to your core. 

He curls his fingers into the waistband, pulling the thong up, rubbing the material against your wanting and willing core, rubbing hard against your clit. It's pleasure bordering on pain.

"Fucking hell, look how soaked you are," he coos. He watches the way your stringy slick clings to the lace of your thong. "You got all wet sucking me off, didn't you? Dirty girl. Muy sucia." He rubs the pad of his thumb over your exposed clit and smirks when you start panting like a dog in heat, thighs open to him, head thrown back, your hair sticking to the mess of saliva and lip gloss on your mouth and chin.

"There it is.. just what you wanted, huh? What you think about every time you look at me. You dream about my cock in your mouth and my fingers in your cunt, just like this.." He delves two thick digits into your wetness while stroking your clit and it's embarrassing how quickly you come on his fingers, your core quivering around him, expelling more fluid, coating his hand.

"That's it," he says gently, staying inside you until the little aftershocks are complete and your body is utterly spent. Your mouth tastes like his cum and the lingering bitterness of the cocaine is at the back of your throat. Despite your orgasm being over your heart is still jackhammering away. The high of both the drug and the orgasm combine to leave you teetering on the edge of sanity.

"Drugged out and fucked out," Javier mutters, watching you as he removes his fingers. He lets out a small noise of approval, his thumb gently tracing along your lip and the edge of your tongue for a moment before slowly sliding it inside your mouth. “Taste yourself, princesa.”

You make a little sound of pleasure, swirling your tongue along his thumb, your gaze on him.

His free hand moves to tangle in your hair to keep your head still as he slowly pulls his thumb out of your mouth, a thin string of saliva connecting his finger to your tongue as he looks down at you with half lidded eyes. "God, you look so good down there, cariño." 

Then he pushes you back on the bed. "Such a fucking mess," he mutters, tucking his cock back in his briefs and doing up his pants again. "Go clean yourself up. And no more fucking coke, got it?" he growls as he leaves, taking the baggie with him.

"We're square now, bebita," he says, giving one last look to your prone form, your skin flushed and sweaty, legs splayed out like a true coke whore. "But if I ever catch you doing something like this again, I'll do more than fuck that sweet little mouth of yours."

*chiquita ~ little girl | pendejo ~ idiot | carino ~ dear | princesita ~ little princess | chica ~ girl | cocaina ~ cocaine | bebita linda ~ pretty baby | mamacita ~ gorgeous/hottie | muy sucia ~ very dirty

dividers by @sweetmelodygraphics 👑

taglist: @myownwholewildworld @milla-frenchy @604to647

@vichons @itwasntimethatdidit40 @probablyreadinsmut

@drewharrisonwriter @joelmillerisapunk @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

@everybodylovedcontractors @almostfoxglove @cxrsed-angel

@ohlookitspaperpixel @victorian-cherub @sawymredfox

@friendly-neighborhood-boricua @notgoingtomalta @darling-stevie

@letsgobarbs @devineconjuring

[rezwrites]

If it is okay, can I request Agatha x innocent reader + corruption kink?

Agatha wants to be Reader's everything, she has opted for the slow way and tries to be patient but when she discovers that Reader has not yet had her first kiss, Agatha can't help but spring into action. Agatha teaches her how to kiss (a tongue kiss) and then more

Plsss

Agatha and corruption, hell yes.

Warnings: MDNI+18, dubcon, gaslighting, coercion, legal age gap, fem-bodied reader, reader wears a dress, fingering(r!receiving) nicknames(dear, honey, baby, babydoll, princess)

taglist: @harknessshi

The doorbell sounded at Agatha’s front door, with an accompanied rap of soft knocks. Agatha swiftly opened the door revealing you, bearing a huge smile on your face holding a pyrex dish in your hands, “Hi, Agatha! I brought cookies.”

“Hiya, dear. That’s very sweet of you.” Agatha stepped aside, letting you in her home. The two of you met through your mom, Agatha being your mother’s friend from spin class. The two of you started an unlikely friendship after bonding over a movie franchise. Due to your mother being out of the house so much you mostly spent your spare time at Agatha’s. She would help you with your schoolwork when she could, and you’d offer to help her with anything in return, however Agatha would always insisted that you didn’t have to do anything.

Offering Agatha the container, you slipped your shoes off by the door. Opening the air-tight lid Agatha picked up a cookie, taking a bite. She let a low groan out as soon as the sweetness of the cookie hit her tongue. “So how are your classes? Oh, how is it going with that girl you like?”

“Classes are good. Things are going well, but it’s getting to a point where she wants to start being.. intimate.” You sat down on the plush gray couch, moving the pillow out of your way.

“Well, that’s good isn’t it?” Agatha sat next to you, setting the cookies down on the coffee table.

“Yes, but I’ve..,” you trailed off clamming up, shoving a cookie in your mouth. Tears began to well up in your eyes.

“Honey?” Noticing your demeanor, a frown appeared on Agatha’s face. She took your hands, placing them in her lap, “you know you can tell me.”

“I don’t know how to kiss, or do anything of that nature, so I’ve been avoiding it,” The tears started spilling as you shied away from Agatha, “It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh, honey.” Guiding you into her lap Agatha held you until you calmed down, periodically sniffling. Agatha’s mind was sent into overdrive upon hearing this revelation of yours. She figured you never had sex before, but now knowing you never even had a kiss elated her. Leaning back Agatha wiped away any stray tears, “I can show you, so you have a little experience. Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

Your eyes widened, breath stuttering as you looked at her. Opening and closing your mouth you struggled to find an answer, heart pounding in your chest. It was such an out of place invitation. Yes, you wanted experience but with Agatha? She’s your mother’s friend, but she was also your friend. You could trust her, right?

Once you gave a soft nod Agatha’s smooth hands cupped your face, her eyes flickering between your lips and eyes watching your reactions, “If it gets too much, tell me.”

You gave a weak whimper in agreement, closing your eyes. Agatha slowly moved in closer, allowing you time to change your mind. Her nerves are jumping with excitement to be your first kiss. Dejection hit her like a truck when you told her about your crush on your classmate a few months ago, however she persevered trying to sow tiny seeds of doubt about your crush. Now that she has you like this, she refuses to let this opportunity slip through her fingers. The overwhelming urge to be your first pushed her forwards, soft lips melting into yours.

Due to her close proximity her light perfume invaded your senses, the heat of her body radiating around you. Unsure of what to do with your hands, you placed them on her jean covered thighs for stability. Slowly, you fell into a steady rhythm. Her tongue lightly tapped at your lips asking for entrance, startling you.

Agatha kept her hands on your face, keeping you from going too far, “It’s alright. You’re fine, honey.” Relaxing, you slightly parted your lips allowing her tongue to slowly wriggle its way into your mouth. It was strange having her warm, wet muscle rub against yours, but not unpleasant.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” Agatha pulled back, swiping her thumb across your bottom lip. Agatha enjoyed watching the dazed look on your face as you processed everything, “It was nice, right?”

A slight nod was all you could muster. You looked so small avoiding her gaze. She watched you shift, thighs flexing and rubbing each other. Oh, this was too perfect. She held back a sinister smile. Even if you didn’t know it, you were practically offering yourself to her on a silver platter.

“Would you like me to help you with that, too?” Agatha whispered, gesturing to your fidgeting.

You prominently shook your head, pulling your dress skirt down to your knees. The kiss was enough as is. It was nice, but anything more would be wrong. Shame bubbled up in your chest, desperate for a way out.

“It’s natural for your body to react like this. It’s not wrong, or weird.” Agatha’s hand fell on yours, fingertips grazing the skin of your inner thigh.

“Sweetie, I wouldn’t want you going into this kind of situation freaking out. Girls don’t like inexperience,” Her voice full of concern matched with a pout, “You don’t want to push your crush away do you?”

“No.” Your eyes widened in fear of that possibility. More thankful now that Agatha is willing to show you, but you still have doubts, “What if I don’t like it?”

“That’s why we need to find out. Would it make you feel better if you saw how I’m touching you? It might not be so scary then.” Before you are able to get an answer out, Agatha picked you up from your spot on the couch carrying you to the back of her house.

Crossing into her bedroom Agatha placed you in front of her full-body mirror. “Go ahead and take your clothes off, sweetie.” Agatha ordered, striding over to her nightstand.

Releasing a shaky breath you pulled your dress over your head, keeping it close to your body. Watching Agatha approach with a bottle of lube in her hand, a pit began to sink in your stomach. Setting the bottle down, she helped you unhook your bra. Tossing your clothes onto her bed she admired you in the mirror, releasing a low gasp, “Babydoll, you’re so beautiful. Your crush will be so lucky.”

Not lucky enough to be your first though, she thought.

Pulling her sleeves past her elbows Agatha sat on the floor with her legs spread, patting the spot in front of her. The softness of her purple sweater met your back as you settled down. Lithe digits slipped under your chin, tilting your head towards her, lips meeting again. Finger pads gingerly danced across your shoulders, traveling down your arms, and across your chest. A soft moan fell from your lips once they ghosted the top of your breasts. Agatha fully fondled you, pinching your nipples. Opening your mouth to squeak, Agatha took advantage to push her tongue into your mouth, swallowing any noises.

One hand continued twisting your nipple, while the other trailed down your torso. Once Agatha’s mouth left yours you sucked in as much air as possible. Her nose dragged along your neck, before attaching her mouth to your throat, sucking hard.

Agatha stared intently at the mirror taking in every dulcet sound, and movement you made. Her hand stopped on your lower stomach just above your panty-line, azure eyes fixated on the growing wet patch over your cunt.

Releasing you neck with a quiet pop, Agatha spoke in a honeyed voice, “You got this wet from kissing, and some touching? It must’ve felt good, hm?” The tips of her digits ghosted over your the seems on your panties, teasingly, “Let me take these off, babydoll.” Lifting your hips Agatha’s thumbs looped into the sides, dragging the material down your legs.

Once your panties were off you kept your legs shut, shyness getting the better of you. Agatha’s hands crept to your inner knees as her body leaned closer to you. Her breath fanned over your earlobe, “Don’t hide from me, princess. We’re already this far. It’d be a shame if we stopped now.”

Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, allowing her to part your legs. Her hands fell to your hips, drawing circles for a moment. The bottle cap snapped open, hearing her squirt some lube on her hand, “Watch me, baby. Take note of what feels good.” Eyes fluttered open, gazing at Agatha’s hand creeping closer to your core. The cool liquid spread over your pussy, between your folds, slickening them.

Her fingers ran up your lightly circling your bud. Sucking in a sharp gasp, you grasped the hand that was resting on your hip. Agatha halted her movements, “Calm down. It’s just your clit, it’s very sensitive whenever you’re aroused.”

Mumbling a “felt good,” Agatha hummed in acknowledgment, resuming patterns on your hip; helping to relax you. Feeling your body slump back against her chest she continued exploring your pussy, noting each hitch of breath or facial twitch. She’s sure you can feel her heart pound in her chest, excitement seeping down to her own core. How she wished she had her strap on, the perfect position to watch your pussy split around her cock, but her fingers will have to do for now.

She rubs the entrance to your cunt before easing a slender finger in, your hole tightly gripping her finger. You shut your eyes, squirming at the new sensation, odd and uncomfortable. Quickly you slammed your legs, trapping her hand. “Come on, princess, open up for me,” Agatha urged.

You shook your head frantically, a low cry erupting from your chest. She watched the tears prickle your eyes, despite them being clenched shut. “Baby,” Agatha sighed, with a hint of disappointment, “you need to relax, or it will hurt worse.” She slid her finger out cupping her hands behind your knees, placing your legs on top of hers. Her thighs prevented you from closing your legs, from hiding yourself from her. Beginning to weep, tears fell down your face, landing on your chest. Agatha shushed you, “No, princess, there’s no need to cry.” She kissed your tears away, licking the saltiness from her bottom lip, fingers returning to your entrance, “Deep breath.”

Not waiting she sunk her pointer finger in halfway, before adding a second digit. Groaning at the stretch and slight burn, more tears slid down your cheeks. Placing her other hand on your chest, Agatha assures, “I know it feels weird for the first time. It’ll feel good soon, I promise.”

Her fingertips grazed over a textured spot, causing your hips to jerk backwards. Agatha’s hand on your chest stilled you, “Shh, princess, it’s okay. Just keep breathing.”

Overjoyed she found that spongy wall, Agatha swore to bully that spot until you’re crying through your orgasm. She wants you to see that your little infatuation won’t be able to give you this kind of pleasure mixed with pain. That’s even if you continue seeing that girl after this encounter.

You forced yourself to release a long slow breath, accompanied with a shiver down your spine. Her fingers plunged back into that same spot, expelling a squeal from you. The end of each deep thrust was coupled with a curl of her fingers, working in tandem of her thumb circling your clit. The coil in your lower stomach tightening.

The pleasure built up too fast for your mind to comprehend. Attempting to pull away and close your legs, Agatha spread her thighs wider. A hard slap rang in your ears as the pain in your breast radiated. Agatha’s tone turned to stone, ”Stop squirming. Don’t make me have to hold you down.” You froze in fear, knowing Agatha is the type of woman to always follow through. Noticing this, her voice immediately softened, “I don’t want to have to do that, princess.” She used the back of her hand to soothe the stinging pain.

Her thrusts started up again, pace switching from slow to fast every few minutes, keeping you on edge. Breaths became ragged and short, hands flying to her thighs; unintentionally pushing yourself back against her chest. “Good fucking girl,” Agatha grunted, picking up her pace, heavily focused on that sweet spot of yours. Overwhelmed with pleasure, tears streaked down your face. Unrestrained moans resounded from you as your legs shook, coil breaking. Agatha watched you fall apart in her arms, pride swelling knowing that that no one could ever top this.

She removed her fingers, slowly rubbing your clit as you came down from your high. Once your breathing evened out she helped you stand up on your shaky legs. Guiding you to the conjoining bathroom she stopped you in front of the sink, retrieve something from the closet. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you spotted all the tear tracks that ran down your face, how disheveled you looked. Agatha dropped a small cloth in the sink, running water over it.

“It was really good, but a lot.” You spoke up, voice hoarse. Agatha thought you were the cutest thing looking up at her with big, wet eyes and a little pout.

Agatha sported a small pout of her own, hands cupping your face, “I know. I got carried away. I’m sorry, princess.”

Wringing the washcloth out, Agatha gently ran it over your face; the warmth making you feel a little cleaner than you were before. Agatha didn’t bother cleaning between your legs. She wanted you to go home feeling your stickiness the whole way.

Agatha had a light smile when the washcloth was pulled away from your face, “You did very well for me though. I’m so proud of you.” As she planted a soft, slow kiss on your lips, warmth grew in your chest. A whine of displeasure followed when she stepped away, leaving a chilled space around you. She came back with your clothes in hand, helping you redress; pressing butterfly kisses to your face.

“It’s gotten late, sweetie. You should get home before your mother does.” She states, walking you to the door. A steady hand stayed pressed to your lower back as you put your shoes on. Hold the door open for you she planted a quick peck on your lips, before sending you off.

[stardustrebels]

A Hunger Like This- A Joel Miller x f!reader one shot

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E/ 18+ MDNI WC: 5k

Summary: I really wanted to write a Joel Miller Valentine’s Day story, but couldn’t decide between naughty or nice so I wrote both.

Tags: No Outbreak!AU, established relationship, Joel Miller x f!reader, no/ minimal age gap, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV, pet names (darlin’, sugar, honey, baby,) dirty talk, rough sex, creampie and some bdsm elements- D/s dynamics, praise, light spanking, pussy/ clit tapping, edging and orgasm denial. Use of traffic light system & aftercare. Everything’s safe, sane and consensual. No use of y/n, minimal descriptions of reader. She wears fishnets, a bra and heels and has hair long enough to pull. Joel Miller is a competent partner because of course he is. Possessive dom!Joel comes out to play. He eats pussy like an absolute beast, as he should. 

A/N: A Valentine’s day story with a rough Joel Miller who’s had a bad day and a reader who likes to tease. I just wanted an excuse to write something porny for fun and it ended up a bit of a monster. I’m not even sorry. 1/2 of my Joel Miller Valentine’s day naughty & nice one shots. Enjoy!

You knew by the way Joel answered the phone at lunch time that he was having a bad day. He was still kind, called you the sweet names he usually did, and still told you he loved you before he hung up, but you could tell from his tone that something was wrong. He was dog-tired from working too hard and trying to hide it from you. He’d told you he booked a table at your favourite place for that night to celebrate Valentine’s day with you, but you knew it was only to make you happy. He’d told you once he’d do anything to see you smile. 

You figured you could probably make his day at least a little better by offering to spend the night at home, but you wanted to make it extra special, and when you eventually decided on how you would do that, your insides fluttered with anticipation. Joel wasn’t one to talk much about what he wanted, but you paid attention when he did. One night during lazy conversation between tangled sheets he’d let something slip. 

“Fishnets, huh?” You’d teased, grinning as you lay draped across his chest. 

“Mhm.” His voice had been thick with sleep, his fingers trailing idly across your skin as he admitted there was just something about the idea of fishnets and heels that drove him wild, that they had since he was a teenager, and you’d stored that little detail away knowing that you’d use it one day. Today was that day. 

By the time Joel’s truck pulled in to the driveway, you’d positioned yourself in the entryway, leaning against the wall in black fishnets, the bra from the lingerie set Joel had bought you last year, a barely-there skirt that left little to the imagination, and your favourite pair of black heels. 

When he stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the bouquet in his hand- red roses held together by brown paper with a familiar logo stamped on it. This man, despite his tiredness, had gone across town after work to pick up flowers from your favourite shop. Your heart stuttered and for a second you almost abandoned your plan and ran straight in to his arms. 

You stopped yourself as soon as you saw the look on his face.

“Jesus Christ.” Was all he offered as he closed the door behind him.

You stepped forward, smiling sweetly as you reached out to lay a hand against his arm.

“Rough day, baby?” 

Joel’s fingers tightened around the bouquet, the paper crinkling under the grip. His gaze dragged over you so slowly you could practically feel it. 

You took the bouquet, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Are these for me? They’re so beautiful, thank you.” You said, tone saccharine as you placed them down on the console table beside you. 

Moving your attention back to him, you slid your hands up his chest to push his jacket from his shoulders. He let you, though you could feel how tense his muscles were under your touch. 

“Darlin’…” he muttered, so low you would have missed it had you not been standing right in front of him. You shushed him, giving his jacket one last shove, letting it land on the floor by his feet. 

You leaned in, lips grazing the shell of his ear. “You’ve been working so, so hard,” you said, emphasising the words with an exaggerated pout and a whine. 

The way his eyebrows shot up towards his hairline almost made you break, but you caught yourself before you laughed, pressing a kiss against his shoulder to hide your smile before you continued. “Why don’t I help you relax?” 

His hands drifted up to rest on your waist, fingers pressing gently in to the soft skin there, one of his favourite parts of you, he’d admitted one night. You peppered gentle kisses up his neck toward his jaw as your hands wandered across his chest and down the firm muscles of his arms, before moving to undo the buttons of his shirt. His jaw clenched hard under your lips as your fingers ghosted over his bare chest, and you expected him to snap, to take control the second your hand touched his bare skin, but he didn’t. 

Interesting. 

You felt his stomach tense under your touch, heard the tiny intake of breath as your fingertips dipped lower and brushed just past the waistline of his jeans, but he didn’t move. 

You grinned and leaned in to brush a kiss under his ear, where you knew he was sensitive. His fingers twitched against your waist, but still he held back. 

“You must be exhausted, baby,” you murmured against his skin, voice dripping with sympathy. “I thought for sure by now you’d be telling me exactly how you wanted me.” 

The hitch of his breath was almost satisfying, but he still didn’t react. It made you pause for a second. Was he too tired? Had you misread this? Doubt crept in around the edges of your plan, and you faltered a little, until you glanced up at him.

His lips were curled in to a devilish grin, dark eyes locked on yours, dazed with a look that was nothing more than pure, unadulterated lust. He was letting you have your little game, enjoying it until it was time for him to play.

Oh. 

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the heat now pooling in your stomach made it difficult. 

You pressed a couple more kisses down his neck and onto his shoulder for good measure before taking his hand to lead him further in to the house. You made sure to sway your hips just enough, knowing damn well that his eyes were fixed on your ass. 

You could practically feel the tension radiating off him when you stopped in front of the couch, and a heat crept up your neck at the severity of it. You resisted the urge to look at him, knowing if you caught another glimpse of that dark, hungry look in his eyes, you’d lose your nerve entirely. 

You stepped close to him, your focus fixed on your hands dragging up his chest, slow and deliberate, pushing his open shirt to hang loose on his shoulders. You traced a nail lightly across his sternum, revelling in the subtle shiver that ran through him at the sensation, and you couldn’t help your smirk when you noticed his jaw tick out of the corner of your eye. 

You pressed yourself against him and reached for one of his hands, guiding it to rest on the front of your thigh. A sound rumbled from his throat then, a low groan that he couldn’t hold in, but he still didn’t move. His fingers trailed up with encouragement from yours on top, his rough skin catching against the delicate net. You pushed his hand up further, brushing past the hem of your skirt and between your legs. His body went rigid against yours when he realised you’d forgone any underwear as part of the surprise. 

Something in the air around him shifted as his fingers hovered between your legs, just shy of where you wanted them. Resisting the urge to buck your hips up in to his hand, you finally met his gaze and his expression made your heart skip more than a few beats. He’d never looked quite so intense; pupils blown with lust, nostrils flared, taking slow, deep breaths. You were struck with the sudden urge to run. 

As if he could sense it, he pushed you down on to the couch before you could move. The air left your lungs with a squeak as you collided with the cushions. He caged you in with his arms and took one last deep breath as he smiled down at you. 

“My turn,” he said in a growl, kicking your legs apart with a gentle tap of his foot before sliding down to kneel between them. 

You let out a whine as he admired you for a second, head tilted slightly at the sight in front of him. He trailed his hands up, pushing the skirt up to bunch up around your waist.  “Is this what you wanted?” He murmured, eyes locked between your legs as his thumb brushed over your clit, pushing the net against it ever so slightly. You sucked in a breath and raised your hips, trying to gain just a tiny bit more friction. 

He stilled and his other hand slapped the inside of your thigh, just hard enough to sting and send a jolt of electricity through your core. 

“I asked you a question, baby.” He said, his voice thick with arousal. “This what you wanted when you decided to tease me like that?” 

You swallowed hard, head spinning from how quickly he’d flipped your game on its head. 

“Yes,” you whimpered, gasping when his thumb pushed harder against the seam over your clit. “Yes, Joel, it’s what I wanted.” 

He hummed in approval, adjusting his weight to pepper kisses up your thigh. You bucked your hips again and Joel tapped your clit lightly with his fingertips, making you gasp and grip the cushions on either side of you. 

“Uh-uh, dirty girl,” Joel muttered against your skin, resuming his trail of kisses, torturously slow. “For all your teasin’? You’ll get what I fuckin’ give you.” 

When he reached the apex of your thigh you let out a long, needy whine, trying desperately not to squirm as he nudged his nose against your mound, pressing his tongue flat over the net that barely covered your folds. Your head fell against the back of the couch and you let out a string of curses, causing him to chuckle, the vibrations of it heightening every sensation. 

The seams between the holes of your tights were scraping against you as he licked, adding a new level of torture as his tongue flicked up and down, catching tiny points of your skin underneath. Your legs trembled, heels sliding against the floor as you tried to arch up to his mouth, desperate for more, but his fingers dug in to the outside of your thighs, keeping you pinned. Every time his tongue dragged against the fabric, it was almost where you wanted it most, but not quite. It was torture. Exquisite, delicious torture. 

You let out another whine, this one more frustrated than the last and Joel stopped altogether. 

“Somethin’ wrong, darlin’?” He drawled, lips ghosting over the netting, his breath hot against the dampness that had gathered there. “Thought this was what you wanted?” 

You groaned and gripped fistfuls of cushions in clenched fists. Joel hummed in amusement and kept going, alternating between light flicks of his tongue and slow, dragging licks that made you squirm uselessly under his hold. Every time you tried to angle yourself so that your tongue would hit where you ached for it, the fishnets got in the way. It wasn’t until you felt the breaths of another soft chuckle that you realised he was doing it on purpose. Another frustrated noise bubbled up in your throat, and you grimaced at how sensitive your clit was under the seams dragging against it. 

“Joel, please-”

He exhaled sharply, the sound almost sympathetic, but the way his tongue continued its ministrations told he wasn’t quite done making you suffer. You gasped when he sucked gently on the sensitive spot just above your clit, his teeth scraping lightly, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. Your legs twitched, thighs threatening to close around his head, but he gripped your hips and held you where he wanted you. 

“Jesus,” you gasped, panting now, every muscle tight with need. “Joel, I- I can’t-” 

He groaned against you, tongue pressing a little harder, still blocked by the crosses in the fabric. You let out a desperate sob and raised your head from the back of the couch. He stilled and locked eyes with you. 

You felt as wrecked as he looked, and he must have felt some pity for you because the next thing you knew, his fingers were tearing a hole in your fishnets, right at the center of your soaked aching core, earning a gasp and a shocked, breathy laugh from you. 

He ripped at the fabric until he was satisfied with how much of you he’d uncovered, groaning at the sight now in front of him. He swatted lazily at your thighs, pushing them further apart. 

“Spread those legs, baby. Let me see what’s mine.” He rasped, voice dripping with desire. 

You hardly had time to take another breath before he was on you. His tongue was everywhere- hot, wet and relentless. Now that there was nothing in the way, Joel was devouring you like a man starved. You struggled to focus on anything, but obeyed and spread your legs wider, earning a muffled hum of approval as he buried his face deeper. 

Your fingers found their way in to his hair, threading through his thick curls as his tongue worked you over, unsure if you were pulling him closer or trying to push him away. Either way, Joel wasn’t going anywhere. 

His grip on your thighs tightened as he flattened his tongue and dragged it up through your folds again and again, his low groans mingling with yours in the most intoxicating way. 

“Fuck, sugar,” he murmured against your heat, “Ain’t a single inch of you I don’t wanna put my mouth on.” 

You gasped as he latched on to your clit, sucking just hard enough to make your back arch. The pleasure was sharp, coiling tight at the base of your spine, dancing just beyond your reach and tempting you to chase it. 

And then, he pulled back. 

You groaned in protest and your fingers tugged uselessly at his hair, trying to guide his head back to where it had been. Joel chuckled, pressing a wet kiss to your inner thigh instead. 

“Not yet, darlin’,” he murmured, glancing up at you. His face would have been the picture of innocence had it not been absolutely saturated in the evidence of your arousal. 

His fingers replaced his mouth, teasing through your folds, barely pressing where you needed them. You writhed beneath him, trying to push in to his touch, but he only pulled away again, leaving you aching. 

You whined a plea down at him, voice cracking with frustration and he hummed back in mock sympathy.  “Y’gonna be a good girl f’me?” 

“Yes,” you gasped, more desperate than you’d ever been for him to make you come, “Yes, please I’ll be good. I’ll be a good girl just please-”

His tongue was on you again in an instant, causing your rambling pleas to morph in to a deep moan in your throat, but it was too soft and slow, keeping you just on the edge without allowing you to fall over it. 

“Joel,” you sobbed through your moans, rocking your hips, “I- I need-”

“Oh, I know, baby,” he said, pouting before pressing a teasing kiss on to your clit. “Poor thing. You’re real close, huh?” 

Your fingers tightened in his hair. “Yes!”

He pulled back again, lips curling smugly as he looked up at you, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. 

“You’ll come when I let you.” 

The whine that left your lips was such a foreign sound to you, you almost couldn’t believe you’d made it. Your thighs were trembling uncontrollably and you glanced down at Joel, tears blurring the edges of your vision. His smirk softened just a fraction at the sight of you and his fingers moved from your thigh to trace the curve of your hip. 

“We green, darlin’?” His voice was rough with restraint. Your head was swimming, but the mention of your safe word system grounded you for a moment.

You swallowed thickly, nodding. “Yeah,” you gasped, breath hitching at how delicately he was caressing your skin. “We’re green.”

“Atta girl.” He rumbled, voice thick with approval. He traced slow circles back down to your thigh, his eyes fixed on yours, watching your changing expression intently. “You’re gonna be good f’me, ain’t you? Good girls get to come.”

When you let out a sigh and shot him a relaxed smile and a nod, his satisfied smirk returned, sharper this time. His head dipped again, and he pressed teasing kisses around your clit before flicking his tongue over it, making you shiver. It wasn’t long before you were moaning and gasping again, whispering broken pleas up toward the ceiling. 

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he ordered, his thumb taking over, pressing against your clit in the way he knew drove you crazy. “Beg for it, baby.” 

You had no pride left, no shame. They were gone and raw, desperate need had taken their place. Your head fell back and your hand left his hair to grasp at the edge of the couch and you rocked your hips against his hand, legs threatening to close around his head. 

“I need it, I need to come, I- please, fuck, Joel, I-”

He groaned and slid two fingers inside of you, curling up to press against the spot he knew made you come undone. The moment he nudged it, you let out a sharp cry, hips jolting toward him as the heat coiled tighter in your stomach. 

“There it is, pretty girl. Come f’me, let me feel it,” he murmured, before flicking his tongue back against your clit. 

You clenched around his fingers in response, thighs twitching, pleasure so sharp it was almost unbearable. Your moans gave way to a garbled sob, fingers clutching the cushions in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. Joel grunted and lapped at your clit like a man possessed. Every flick, every calculated curl of his fingers, every slick, filthy sound had you spiralling toward your inevitable release. 

You held your breath as your body went tight, pleasure knotting so tightly you thought you might snap in half. When you finally fell over the edge, it hit you like a truck; pleasure slamming through you so hard your vision went white. You let out a choked cry as your entire body seized, back arching clean off the couch. The pleasure was devastating- wave after wave of it crashing through you, with Joel’s fingers dragging every last drop of pleasure from you as you sobbed his name, trembling under his touch. 

After a moment, his hands slid down your legs to your feet, his touch gentle and reverent. He sat back on his heels and slid your shoes off one by one before tossing them over his shoulder. His hands continued their tracing, back up to your waist. He unbuttoned your skirt before pulling it off in one smooth motion, leaving your wrecked fishnets firmly in place. 

He stood, unbuckling his belt and shrugging off his shirt. You bit back a moan when he shoved down his jeans and boxers, freeing his hard, leaking cock. He stroked himself, breathing heavily as he watched you squirm and lick your lips beneath him.

Before you got a chance to really admire him, Joel grabbed you and flipped you on to your front, setting you on all fours, fingers hooking in the net to drag your hips toward him, causing the fabric to rip again. He ran his palm over the curve of your ass and gave it a squeeze as his other hand slid between your legs, fingers pressing against your swollen clit, drawing a choked moan from you. 

“So sensitive, sugar. I know you can take it, though.”

You whimpered, pushing back against him, silently begging for more. Joel huffed a laugh as he lined himself up against your entrance, teasing. 

“Tell me you want it.” 

“I want it,” you gasped, hands clutching against the cushions, scratching at the fabric as you keened.. “I want you. Please, Joel-” 

He didn’t make you wait any longer. With a low, wrecked groan, his entire length was inside you in one slow, ruinous thrust. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he hissed through gritted teeth, fingers digging in to your hips. “You feel so goddamn good. Gonna let me take what I need, darlin’?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, arching your back to press further into him, revelling in the way he was stretching you: overwhelming in the best way. 

Joel pulled back and slammed in to you again, setting a ruthless pace, dragging you back to meet him with every thrust. His hands were rough, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding up your back to fist in to your hair.

“That’s right, pretty girl,” he praised. Each thrust was deep and desperate, stealing what little breath you had left from your lungs with each sharp snap of his hips. Joel sounded like he was hanging on by a thread, babbling strings of praises punctuated by hissed curses, voice wrecked and rough with need. “You’re mine, ain’t you? Mine. Takin’ me so well. Made for me. So fuckin’ perfect.” 

His hand left your hair and you almost whined with the loss of contact before his fingers curled around the nape of your neck, the feeling pulling a deep, animalistic moan from your throat. The sound only seemed to spur Joel on, and he dragged you up against his chest, keeping his rhythm with near-perfect precision against something blissful deep inside of you. 

He pressed a burning kiss to your neck, growling against the spot just below your ear. You could barely keep yourself upright, but Joel was one step ahead of you, wrapping an arm around your middle to keep you pressed to him, his other hand reaching between your legs, fingertips circling expertly against you, despite the rapid pace he’d set. 

“Love havin’ you like this,” he rasped, rhythm stuttering just slightly as you clenched around his cock. “Fuck, that’s it, you’re gonna give me another, ain’t you?” 

A sob tore from your throat, a familiar pleasure tightening like a vice inside of you. 

“I got you, sweet girl. C’mon, come on my cock. Let me feel it.” 

You shattered with a cry, pleasure ripping through your muscles so intensely you thought you might collapse beneath the force of it, but Joel held you steady, his movements turning frantic, losing his perfect rhythm as the tight heat of you squeezed him, pulling him over the edge alongside you with a deep, guttural groan. It vibrated against the damp skin of your neck and contorted in to something soft and raw, breaking apart in to broken whimpers as he spilled inside of you, his body wracked with tiny, involuntary shudders. His hands trembled where they held you, fingers flexing and gripping like he needed you closer, even though there wasn’t a single inch left between you. 

It left you gasping, sucking in the air even though it felt like there was none left in the room; overwhelmed by the sheer intimacy of it all. The way he clung to you, the way his lips imparted breathless murmurs of your name, the word falling over your skin again and again like a confession. His devotion to you rolling off of him in waves, pulsing through you with every thump of his heart against your back, along with aftershocks that made you quiver along with him. 

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds filling the space were your gasping breaths -  lingering echoes of your pleasure. You turned your head just enough to press a shaky kiss to the side of his jaw, the sharp scratch of his scruff pulling you further from your reverie. He let out a heavy exhale and rested his forehead against your temple, his breath cool against your scorching skin. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he finally said, voice scratchy and worn. You gave a satisfied hum. You knew he did. How could you not - he was clutching you to him like some precious thing that might fizzle out of existence the moment he let go. 

“I love you too,” you said in return, lifting a hand to cup the back of his head, carding your fingers through his thick, tousled curls. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.” 

He peppered kisses down your neck in response and shifted so that he could slide out of you. You groaned in unison as he did, his spend leaking out on to your thigh. He ghosted a finger between your legs to feel it, and a low hum rumbled from his chest; the feel of it igniting the residual embers of possessiveness, ever-present at the edges of his desire for you. 

“Can you stand?” Joel said against your neck. You nodded, and moved away from him, but the moment he eased his grip and your feet hit the rug, your legs wobbled beneath you. His reflexes were quicker- of course they were, and his strong arms were around you before you could sway even an inch.

“Yeah, I figured,” he chuckled. “C’mon, sugar. Hold on t’me.” 

He slid a hand down your arm and laced his fingers with yours as you clutched his arm to steady yourself. Even when you found your footing, he kept his hold on you, making sure you were alright on your own before he even thought about letting go. He turned you to face him and lifted himself from the couch to press a soft kiss against your lips, the energy of it in such stark contrast to how he’d fucked you not ten minutes before. You sighed in to the kiss, tasting yourself on him as his tongue danced over your lips, coaxing yours out to meet it. 

“Let’s get these off,” he said, crouching down to help you out of your torn fishnets. He peeled them off with care, muttering about how it was a damn shame, before glancing up at you with such a salacious grin that it made you giggle. 

“Guess I owe you a new pair of these, huh?” 

You smirked, “Only if you wanna do that again.” 

His smile grew, crooked, lazy and just shy of arrogant. 

“I’d do that every day if I could, sweetheart.”  

Joel stood and his hands moved to your bra, unclasping it with practised ease, his fingertips following it as it slid from your body, his gaze tracing over every inch of exposed skin. 

“Christ, look at you,” he muttered, tone tinged with reverence, “Most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on.” 

You felt suddenly shy at the way he was looking at you and you shot him a coy smile. His hands cupped at your waist and he guided you in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Let’s get cleaned up, darlin’.” 

The steam of the shower curled around you both as Joel pulled you under the water with him, his broad chest solid against your back. He took his time, lathering shampoo through your hair, massaging at your scalp until you melted against him. His lips found the curve of your shoulder and he pressed soft, lingering kisses between quiet murmurs of praise. 

Once you were both clean, wrapped in the fluffiest towels you could find, Joel led you to your bedroom and draped your robe over your shoulders while he rifled through drawers for the comfy clothes he knew you favoured on nights like this. He froze when he turned back to you, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. 

“Shit,” he said, “We’ve missed our damn dinner reservation.” 

You bit your lip, sheepishly avoiding his gaze as you took your clothes from him. 

Joel squinted at you, catching the shift in your expression. “What?” 

“I canceled it earlier,” you muttered, a shy grin curving your lips. 

His brows lifted. “You did?” 

You shrugged, reaching out to clasp his hand in yours. “I thought we could just have a quiet night at home instead. Just us. Order a pizza or something. I just wanna spend some time with you, Joel, I don’t mind where we do it. I bought you some beers, or we could have some wine- maybe just relax for a bit?” 

Joel only stared at you, the crease between his brows deepening like he was trying to work through what you’d just said. His throat bobbed and his fingers twitched against yours as he let out a shaky breath.

A quiet chuckle slipped past his lips, but there was a slight waver to it. “I’d love that, sweetheart. It sounds perfect.” 

You barely had time to register the movement before he was wrapping his arms around you, tugging you against him so tightly it almost knocked the breath from your lungs. His nose nestled in to your hair as he held you, chest rising and falling in controlled breaths beneath your cheek. 

“You’re so good t’me.” 

Joel had dressed in his sweats and left the room after checking in with you one last time and pressing a kiss to your temple. You agreed to meet him downstairs once you had dressed and dried your hair. 

By the time you made your way down, Joel had cleaned up. The evidence of your earlier tryst had been erased: your shoes, the fishnets and Joel’s clothes were gone. He’d placed your favourite blanket on the edge of the couch and there was an open bottle of wine on the coffee table between two glasses. The bouquet of roses he’d brought home was already in a vase on the side table, and you allowed yourself a second to admire them. 

Joel was leaning against the counter in the kitchen, phone in hand. The sight of him in comfy clothes made your heart ache- you couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen him in them. He glanced up when you walked toward him, a smile breaking through the tiredness on his features.  “Pizza’s on its way,” he said as you reached for him, tucking your hands under his t-shirt, suddenly struck with the need to feel his bare skin against yours again. 

“Great,” you said, “You wanna come cuddle with me on the couch?” 

He cupped your cheek and his eyes flitted between yours as he looked down at you, his expression overflowing with adoration. 

“I’d love nothing more, darlin’.” 

[akawifeyy]

RISK! | smau & fic (FC43)

description: franco colapinto is a playboy — everyone knows that — but he does have some boundaries that he’s unwilling to cross. that is, until he meets you. the younger sister of oscar piastri. then he’s willing to risk it all.

tropes: forced proximity, mutual love, forbidden romance, age gap (18 and 21), op81 sister!reader!

face claim: gracie mckenna

trigger warnings: suggestive content, swearing

| note: this is a combination between a smau and a fic, meaning that some social media snippets are mixed throughout, along with blocks of prose. hope you enjoy!

tagged: @ williams, @ francolapinto, @ f1

comments (2718):

@ user1: this is so ridiculous, he's literally just being used to get girls to watch F1 ��

-> @ user2: I agree, he can't even drive

@ user3: CONGRATS FRANCOOOO #argentina 🇦🇷

@ williams: We're so grateful to have Franco on our team, and can't wait to see what he will achieve in these upcoming races!

Melbourne, Australia (2025)

There was no way you could ever do this. Get in a tiny metal race car and go spinning around in circles against nineteen others for almost two hours? That was a tall order for anyone, yet your brother always exceeded expectations. You watched him glide through the track, his papaya car shedding sparks as he pushed the engine to the max. He was incredible, carefully looping around and setting records.

It was his home race; nothing lesser would have been expected. Oscar needed to excel, to survive against the pressure. Over the past few weeks, it was like he was glued to the sim, practicing this circuit repeatedly, making sure every movement was executed flawlessly. This was the final countdown: FP2, meaning that in less than a day, Oscar's skills would be put to the test.

Behind you, your best friend Georgia, wolf-whistled. Lando Norris, Oscar's teammate, had just entered the paddock. His curly hair was obscured by his classic neon-green helmet, his race suit hanging loose around his waist. "I'm so ready..." You heard him say to Zach, and then you turned your attention back on Oscar, who was on his final practice lap.

The car moved around as if it were a dagger, slicing through the track like the weapon it was. When he finally slowed to a halt, you rushed to meet him. He exited the car, removing his helmet, chest heaving with exertion. "Hey, Y/N," he said, smiling.

"Hi, Osc! You did amazing!"

He flushed, not one for compliments. "Sure. Where's Mom?"

"I think she went inside because it was too hot. I'll go get her," you said brightly, trailing after him.

Oscar shook his head. "It's OK, don't worry. Stay out here a bit, I think Lando's about to go on."

"I don't really care about him," you blurted. "I was waiting until you were done to go walk around the track."

Oscar raised one eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Even though you were younger than him by only five years, he acted like you were still a child. You were eighteen, and just one semester away from going to uni! You wouldn't have constant supervision there.

"Mom said I could," you pouted. "You're not in charge of me, I'm an adult now."

"Yeah, but you can't read a map, and you're naive," Oscar pointed out. "You trust everyone."

You gave him a look. "Like that's a bad thing. Anyways, I'll see you later!"

Oscar hugged you quickly, his eyes watching you concernedly, and you rushed off to explore the circuit.

Melbourne, Australia (2025 / continued)

You exited the McLaren paddock, tugging off your jacket and tying it around your waist securely. It had been a while since you'd been able to go to a Grand Prix; your parents hadn't let you because of all your studies. But this was Oscar's home race, and it was monumental. After months of arguing (and failed attempts at bribery), you'd finally convinced them to let you tag along.

The sun beat down on you, warming you from head to toe. It felt nice to finally feel a bit of a breeze, since you'd been cooped up in your room all week, prepping for your finals.

As you wandered through the grounds, you watched as fans cheered for their favorite drivers. You saw a few Australian flags here and there. One even had Oscar's face on it, next to a koala on a eucalyptus tree and a kangaroo, and you laughed.

You passed the Mercedes and Haas motor homes, where you saw Kimi Antonelli and Ollie Bearman talking. They were close to your age, and potential friends, but whenever you tried to talk to them, Oscar ushered you away.

"They're guys. And F1 drivers. They can't be trusted," he told you.

You rolled your eyes. "So that means I can't trust you."

Eventually, you found yourself in the Williams paddock, watching as they prepped the car for its final practice before the race. A man with the most attractive dimples you'd ever seen was talking animatedly with his race engineer, discussing potential strategies.

You were enthralled by his lilting accent, caught on every word and phrase. He finished with the race engineer and turned to his car, but then he stopped, noticing your presence.

You were wearing a bright orange blouse, and the jacket wrapped around your waist had Oscar's number on it, immediately incriminating you.

"Hello there," the man said, a grin dancing on his lips. "I'm Franco. And you are?"

Seven words, and you were hooked.

Text messages between Oscar and Y/N (2025):

@ yourusername: home is where the heart is 🩷

tagged: @ oscarpiastri, @ f1

comments (182):

@ yourbffusername: had sooo much fun w you!

-> @ yourusername: i love being with youu

@ oscarpiastri: I already miss it

-> @ yourusername: go kick ass in china 😼

@ user4: Just dropped to my knees in the middle of the grocery store. She's just that beautiful

Two weeks after the Melbourne Grand Prix

You flopped down on your bed, feet kicked up in the air as you texted none other than Franco, the same driver you'd met in the Williams paddock. He was funny and flirtatiously silly, but he was smart too. You had a lot of conversations about your upcoming university days, and he gave great advice on the topic.

"You don't always have to listen to your brother," he texted you a few nights after you'd met. "You're your own person, cielo."

You two had bonded over your mutual love of horse riding, a hobby of yours that you were trying to continue despite all the stress of the past year. Franco sent you a few photos of his horse, and one where he was shirtless. You spent more time ogling that picture than you'd care to admit.

Talking to Franco was therapeutic, and you didn't want to hide the blossoming friendship (or more?) that you two had. But you knew how overly protective Oscar was of you. You didn't want to spark a rivalry that could play out poorly on track. It wasn't worth the drama.

You weren't going to avoid telling your brother forever, but you wanted to wait a while to make sure that you didn't give him an aneurysm for nothing. Franco had a reputation as a playboy, like all other F1 drivers, but he was still young and a rising star. He could be using you — at least, that's what the little voice in the back of your mind warned. It spent too much time listening and believing everything Oscar had told you.

There was a knock on your door, and you jumped, turning the screen off so that no one could see the conversation you'd been having.

I've never met a girl like you before.

You're my princesa, you know that? All pure and perfect. I wonder how long it would take for me to absolutely ruin you.

"Dinner's ready," your mother called through the door.

"Thanks, I'll be there in a minute!" you responded. Once you heard her footsteps recede, you texted Franco that you had to leave, and hurried outside, your cheeks blushing red.

@ francolapinto: ¡P8 en el Gran Premio de China! Es muy emocionante ver todo el progreso que ha logrado Williams. Estoy agradecido de ser parte de este equipo. ¡Hasta la próxima carrera!

(P8 in the Chinese Grand Prix! Very exciting to see all the progress Williams has made, I'm grateful to be part of this team. Until next race!)

tagged: @ williams, @ f1

comments (489):

@ user11: Amazing work, Franco!

@ yourusername: podium coming when???

-> @ francolapinto: Soon 😏

Text messages between Franco and Y/N (2025):

The Confrontation:

You fidgeted under Oscar's heavy stare. Even through a phone screen, his brown eyes pierced you. "I need to tell you something, but you can't flip out, OK?" you said.

"Oh God, what did you do now?" Oscar responded, preparing for the worst.

You shook your head, putting your palms up in a gesture of surrender. "Nothing bad! I swear!" You hesitated. "Well...I've been talking to someone. A guy, for a bit now."

Oscar sucked in a breath. "Not Lando."

Your jaw dropped. "Absolutely not."

"Good. Who is it, then?"

You closed your eyes, praying to God that Oscar wouldn't explode from anger. "Um...Franco?" You waited for the name to register.

Oscar blinked. "The new Williams driver?"

You nodded. "Yeah, that's who it is."

"That's who you chose?"

"Yeah?" you questioned, cocking your head to the side in confusion. "Is there something I should know? I mean, other than the fact that he's a supposed playboy and —"

"— He's fine, I suppose," Oscar mused under his breath. "Just be careful, alright?"

You froze in shock. "Yeah, I will be. Thanks for not freaking out."

"You're eighteen, I can't stop you from being romantically interested in someone. All I ask is that you don't engage in activities that should be done after marriage." Oscar pursed his lips. "I love you, Y/N. I'm always looking out for you."

"I know, and I'm thankful. You're the best older brother in the world."

@ francolapinto: Felices tres meses para mi hermosa novia, Y/N. Gracias por escucharme hablar y estar siempre ahí, incluso en los momentos más difíciles. Hasta pronto, corazón mío.

(Happy three months to my beautiful girlfriend, Y/N. Thank you for listening to me speak and always being there, even in the most difficult moments. See you soon, my heart.)

tagged: @ yourusername

comments (5895):

@ user11: I KNEW IT 🥳🥳🥳

@ user12: we weren't delusional guys!!!!!

-> @ user7: I love clowning and then being right

@ yourusername: hard launchhhh ‼️

-> @ yourusername: love you so much franco, i don't know what i would do without you!

-> @ francolapinto: Muchos besos, mi amor 💋

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[demon-at-peace]

hi, so i generally don't like demon twins, like it's fanfiction, but relationships don't work like that, they aren't brothers. Even if they separated at age 6, 7 or even 8.

because you don't remember stuff. You remember a teacher making you cry, the friends you have. With the terrible dynamic portrayed in most of the fics, both of them would likely only hold on to the bad memories. I'm also between 16-18 and it's like that for me.

I was thinking about it, and why don't they have a terrible relationship in these? it makes more sense then suddenly being brothers. Often we see a cruel Damian, with a neglected Danny in flashbacks. And even more common is Danny and Damian dueling to the death to decide and heir.

Logically then the hate would be one sided, Danny would hate Damian, but Damian wouldn't hate Danny. And Damian (after apologies and treating Danny better) he would expect to be forgiven. He was just a kid, he didn't understand surely Danny can see that.

Danny would see someone who tried to kill him, who betrayed him, who left him to die, and of course he'd hate Damian. but a even cooler response would be fear, he was a kid and trauma exists.And normally these start like that, before they smooth it out in a chapter or 2.

but that's not how it works. I think Danny would avoid Damian he'd snap at him, and on principle he'd dislike the bats, I can see him heading to crime alley because they don't patrol there only to meet Jason and panic.

And Damian would chase him, it's his brother, he has a second chance, and the bats would too. And it would end up terribly. Danny runs and hates them so much and avoids them. they also might remind him of Maddie and Jack or Skuller and lead to panic attacks.

So Danny runs for a year, and the Bats regret their actions. they were rash. They lost a brother, they still search, sifting through reports, looking into people, checking data bases for fake ID's.

Danny is paranoid, he's still quips, still a hero, but he has a mask, he changes his speech patterns, he changes his name entirely. He changes his style to be more like Sams, he looks almost unrecognizable. And he's still scared, and on rare instances he still wakes up with dreams from when Damain stabbed him.

of course to make it worse he could become an established part of the JL a couple years or so after he leaves Gotham. so he's finally settling down finally has friends, and he avoids the Bats. No one in the JL know why Danny hates them, why he's skittish, why he looks at them with so much fear.

Oh misunderstandings! please, have them think Bruce hurt Danny, but he's the worst around Robin. Have Jon try to convince Danny that Robin is nice and all Danny can see when he offers to spar is the duel!

So while I personally don't enjoy this in general this is a concept I would read avidly, though this principle would likely be a heart wrenching angst fic now that I think about it. Anyhow thanks for reading my rant.

i'm sure there is overlap on this idea out there, and I had zero intention to plagiarize anything, please let me know too.

edit: apparently there is a fic like this, and all credits go to the author, thanks to the commenter who told me or I wouldn’t have known,

it’s called Broken Bonds https://archiveofourown.org/works/54372952/chapters/137720050

thanks :)

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

a/n: thank you anon for requesting this one, I miss the hype!

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・This relationship is a balance of pure chaos and serenity.

・Astarion brings the mischief, the flirtation, and the decadent indulgences. He thrives on teasing both you and Halsin...

・Halsin is the grounding presence.

・Calm, wise, and deeply affectionate. He counters Astarion’s sharp edges with quiet strength and welcoming warmth.

・And you, well you’re the anchor between them

・Sometimes siding with Astarion in his playful antics and other times melting into Halsin’s steady, nurturing embrace.

・Halsin, as the druid, is deeply in tune with nature, and his personality reflects that harmony.

・He is understanding, compassionate, and protective, with a natural inclination to support and nurture his partners.

・Both you and As know that you can go to him with anything. Halsin is amazing at giving advice. He's wise and forgiving, and the ultimate comforting force.

・Halsin would take you and Astarion on peaceful walks through the woods, showing you the wonders of the natural world. But, you know As just has to complain...about bugs or animals...and yet really, he does enjoy these walks.

・An activity all three of you love doing is reading together. You’d take turns reading passages aloud, each of you offering a different voice, tone, or interpretation.

・These intimate moments would be filled with warmth and understanding, with occasional giggles

・Halsin wakes up at dawn—he’s an early riser

・Astarion stays curled up in bed for as long as possible, pulling you back down when you try to get up.

・Astarion craves devotion; though he won't admit it. He needs reassurance that he’s wanted for more than just his beauty or usefulness.

・Halsin, ever perceptive, makes sure Astarion is cherished with slow, patient affection, something the vampire struggles to accept at first.

・Halsin’s love is vast; just like the wilds he worships. He enjoys physical touch, holding you and Astarion both as though you are his greatest treasures. His touch is healing, protective, and reverent.

・You become their shared sanctuary; a place where Astarion can be vulnerable without fear and where Halsin can express his devotion freely.

・With Halsin’s calming presence and Astarion’s intense passion, your emotional needs would be fully met from different angles

・Despite the differences in their personalities, Halsin and Astarion would share vulnerabilities that would deepen their bond with each other and with you.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Soulmates Sometimes Come In Threes

"Shut Up” (You) x “Make Me” (Astarion) x “Just Kiss Already.” (Halsin)

Makes A Mess (You) x Cleans The Mess (Halsin) x Is A Mess (Astarion)

Moon (Astarion) x Eclipse (You) x Sun (Halsin)

Thinks He’s In Charge (Astarion) x Is Actually In Charge (You) x Knows He’s Not In Charge (Halsin)

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆 in this order...

Enemies to Lovers

Slow Burn Romance

Forbidden Love

Found Family

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Sex On Fire by the Midnite String Quartet

Goodnight Sweet Possums by John Powell

The River by Brian Tyler

Cherry by Lana Del Rey

To Bring You My Love by PJ Harvey

Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞 No one under the age of 18 past this point, makes me feel weird if you read it.

・Astarion...well he loves building it up. He goes slow, teasing and pushing both you and Halsin to your limits.

・He thrives on making you beg...with his feather-light touch one moment and then overwhelming grasping and grabbing the next

・On the other hand, Halsin is raw - he's primal. He wants a connection; he needs to feel everything.

・Halsin needs to lose himself in the moment. With skin to skin complete contact, your sweat-slick bodies tangled together.

・Astarion owns the night with his sinful ways. Whispering dirty, teasing words until you're both desperate and at his mercy.

・And, Halsin owns the morning. With lazy, deep thrusts while you're warmed by the sun. His lips whisper sweet words of devotion.

・Astarion has a love for control. He pins you down, biting, leaving marks that only fade because of Halsin's magic. (This annoys As to no end).

・Halsin on the other hand is a force of nature. He lets As have his fun. Lets him play his games...but when he's ready to take over? No more games.

・And when Halsin finally takes control? Gods help Astarion. Pinned down, breath stolen, utterly undone.

・Halsin talks you through it, telling you how good you're doing. How pretty you look underneath him.

・Astarion is a little more mean; making you beg and plead for him.

[drdemonprince]

Even very progressive, kinky people think about "protecting children" the wrong way imo. I wish kinky people wouldn't insist on telling minors to disengage from the scene completely until they're older. The line between "educating" and "participating" in kink is too blurry to be useful.

I'm so grateful I found other people with my fetish online as a kid. I clung to the snippets and articles I found as early as middle school. It probably changed the trajectory of my life. I didn't have to go through the pain of trying to make vanilla marriages work like so many people do because I had a clearer idea of what I was and I knew there were other people out there who wanted the same. Researching and exploring my fetish as a child was hugely beneficial for my wellbeing.

unfortunately, kink communities feel very much beholden to the law and to maintaining social respectability, and so they replicate a lot of the same unhelpful attitudes towards sex and it's separation from regular life, especially as doing so pertains to kids. you see people on here claiming to be personally victimized or put at risk when a person under 18 follows them for example, as if it is the child in that dynamic that is responsible for anything that has happened, or people will simplistically claim that no one who is not of legal age can or should ever participate in kinky activities -- when that's just not realistic to how the budding sexualities of kinky young people who are sexually active will play out. people are reasonably very afraid of being accused of grooming or praying upon minors, and so they have to protect themselves and their spaces against the appearance of such things, but what this means in practice is that young people who are curious about kink or who are already sexually active are even more isolated from helpful resources and adults that could potentially assist them if they got themselves into a dangerous situation. and if anything it delays them developing negotiation and safety skills with regard to their sexual practice. it sucks.

I know that I was certainly heavily engaged in the kink community online as a young teenager, and that consuming blogs and media about my various fetishes was enriching and positive for me. if I hadn't had that outlet, I might have been even more likely to seek out the power dynamics that I craved through imbalanced relationships with actual people. furthermore I wouldn't have even had any knowledge that the desires I was experiencing were fetishes, and could be satisfied in a relatively safe way. I would have just felt all the same longings and lacked any framework for how to meet them or negotiate them. that already ended up being a problem for me -- for many years I got into abusive relationships to satisfy my need for control rather than seeking out control within a consensual kinky relationship-- but I'm really thankful that I at least realized there were fetishes that I had, even if it took me years to believe that I could speak about them to anyone or seek them out intentionally.

[dilf-docs]

This Thing Upon Me, Howls Like A Beast

professor!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: to cover some social hours and as a favor to your recently fallen-ill friend, you become your research methodology professor's TA. but here's the catch: you've got history, and what you really mean is beef; good, pure, unadulterated loath.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, pwp, rivals to ??, hate sex, p. in v. (do i even wrap it atp), degradation kink, daddy kink, lwk exhibition kink bc this happens on his office (rip to the furniture), bit dom!pedro + brat taming (again?? stop it mayor we get itttt omg) sprinkled here and there, fingering, squirting, creampie (everyone got invited to the party), reader is a loud-mouth (who's this divaaa), pedro's kind of an asshole and a perv in this one (ooc sorry), don't expect a second part this is literally just self-fulfilling filth without a storyline

word count: 6,451 words

side note: hello! this won the poll. am i the only one with this fantasy? pls tell me not; i feel insane looking some of my professors like a fucking starved drooling dog. giggling as we speak, bc the movie's got everybody insane between marvel renaissance, gif dump, new content, husband!pedro material and professor wet dreams out there... this piece of work is the last. hope you enjoy it, citizens! ps. jin of bts makes an appearance bc i love my seven men and i'm currently sick so he is sick too lmao (ah pero para escribir cochinadas ahí sí estás sana verdad)

It's your fault, really, for opening it in the middle of the class. It was a link, and you should've saved it for later, but then your thumb clicked into the blue underlined text your friend sent, and the reel popped up on your screen.

Your laugh erupted before you could cover your mouth, your professors' words hanging mid-air.

"Who did that?"

Everyone looks at you. Those sell-out, ass-kissing, boot-licking dicks.

His eyebrows furrow until they seem to melt into one, a big angry scowl on Mr. Pascal's face.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Ms. Y/n?"

His voice reverberates on the class' walls, sounding even scarier.

You shake your head, tone quiet as you let out a small, "No"

"No?" he repeats your words, mocking your insecure demeanor, "because with that loud ass laugh, it seemed like something important enough to dissrupt my class. So please, share. You can't leave us wondering in here"

People cough and avoid your gaze while you wish the building would collapse and kill everyone inside, you included. Oh, that would be good. But no, you're stuck on a space that now feels too small and his persistent gaze cuts right through you.

"I-It's not important-" you stumble over your words.

"Can't speak anymore? All that boldness, suddenly gone"

"Mr. Pascal" you plead. God, you had never even begged for anything in your life. But there's always a first.

"I said share" his voice menacing, like he's got not an ounce of sympathy in that sturdy body that could fit plenty. No, wait. Focus!

He grows impatient at your lack of movement, practically growling his next words:

"I won't repeat myself"

"I-I I don't know how to-" you cut yourself off, cringing at how pathetic you sound. "It's a video, so-"

"Then cast your phone and project it" he clicks his tongue, clearly enjoying this. What a sadistic motherfucker.

"I-I can't-"

Can Jesus please hurry up and come fast? Even better, immediately take this one to hell, please.

"Aw, you poor thing" he tuts, mockingly. No one dares to speak, and you'll learn later that he's got his own reputation. For a reason.

"Don't worry, I'll help you myself"

Turns out, the fucker made you and your shaky legs stand up and walk the walk of shame. Then, you had to proyect the silly video, which in handsight, wasn't funny anymore. While some of your classmates laughed, that didn't lessen how humilliated you felt.

It had happened during your first year at university, on a subject you really couldn't care less and when you were still (practically) a baby; freshly eighteen. But now you were twenty, almost finishing your career, and the shaky insecure teenager was long gone, replaced by a secure (albeit a bit of a bitch), confident woman.

That had been your first encounter with professor Pascal.

You have to give him some credit: he is kind of the reason why you did a full 180 on your personality.

But life always comes back to bite you in the ass.

"What do you mean you're sick?" you scoff, "we were supposed to go to Dave's party tonight!"

Your friend lets out a cough that sounds borderline animalistic.

"First of all, don't come closer. I'll pass it to you" Jin speaks up, voice rough from the earlier death-threatening cough. "And second, do you think I care about a stupid party? I'm dying here"

"Don't be so dramatic" you roll your eyes.

"Hello? Didn't you hear that cough?!" he sounds offended, reinforcing the feeling by throwing one of his used tissues at you. You dodge his lame throw with a yuck. "I think you're devoid of empathy"

"Well, thank Mr. Pascal for that"

Jin wasn't your friend when that happened, but when you became buddies, he eventually came to know about your beef with the older man. Yes, beef, because after the Reel Deal (as you both have come to call it), he made your life impossible. If it weren't for your skills and intelligence, you'd probably fail his subject. Mr. Pascal gave you the hardest time ever: be it pairing you with the absolute worst students or making your assigments more difficult, for an "unknown" reason.

Eventually, even after such a traumatic experience and subject being way behind, it became a staple in your duo to bring him up everytime something negative happened or was mentioned.

("You're so funny!")

("Thanks, a professor pushing fifty made my life impossible when I was eighteen")

But here's an even funnier thing: for unknown reasons, Jin became his TA last semester. Probably he didn't know that you were friends, and that has to be the reason he's actually a decent human being towards the younger boy. I'm telling you, Jin would insist, the whole mean asshole shtick is propaganda!

"Talking about him..."

"Stop" you raise your hand dramatically, "enough bad news today"

"You can still go to the party, you know?" he giggles, earning another cough that practically leaves him voiceless. "Why do you insist on taking me? I don't know this people!"

Jin was two years older your senior.

"But it's not fun without you!" you insisted on dragging him around everywhere after you met because he tutored you. "Who will I bore with all my failed flirting attempts?"

"Thank God, not me" he ignores your pout. "Besides, wasn't like Marcos insisting you went with him? There's your chance!"

"But Marcos is boring..." you draw out, "and I need a man who makes me laugh"

"You can't really ask for that much in this economy"

Okay, here's the deal: there's another reason you can't let go of the Mr. Pascal subject, and it's not because of the beef. Hell, Jin can't know about this or he'll never let you live.

The answer is quite simple: as infuriating as he is, Mr. Pascal is hot. Like, middle-aged hot, with the greying hair and face marked by lines that tell time. If it wasn't for him you'd probably never discover your preference towards more... aged meat. You should be furious, and you were, but during all your petty arguments over topics or slides that didn't deserve to be reviewed for more than five minutes, the fire that ignited in your lower belly? You've never felt it before, and if that managed to get you more hot and bothered than a fresh boy ready to kiss your lips, neck and below? Well, that's a serious issue.

But it was his voice, that treated you with such vitriol, a deep and rich sound reserved just for you, or be it the way his auburn eyes seem to catch fire whenever you opened your mouth, dark forests burning in flames that threathened to reduce it all to ashes; yo were eager, anticipating the burn.

He saw your defiance, and instead of putting you in your place, he matched that wild rageful spirit of yours that refused to be tamed.

And that you liked, despite the history of hate between you.

"What about him?" you appear nonchalant, while retouching your makeup for the party.

"About him who?" Jin quips, "we just talked about two fine men-"

"The much older man"

A weird smirk forms across his lips. "Sure, of course"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. But it will be fun, nonetheless" he sits up straight from his previous surrendered position on the couch. "So, remember how I'm his TA, right?"

"Yes?" you pause. "Wait, if this is for me to help you check again more homeworks, no. I am not helping you read a hundred papers again for free"

"They weren't a hundred!" he barks. "Besides, it's not that"

"Then?" you press, not admiting how interested you were.

"Do you see my poor state?" you nod, not understaning where he's going. "Then, you're aware I'm not capacitated to do said task as of right now"

"I'm aware" you repeat, "what I'm not, is what does that have to do with me?" you resume your activity, going for your eyeliner. "So much mystery when you could've just said it in a pass"

"I need you to cover up for me"

The liquid eyeliner paints a line across half of your face. "What?!"

He laughs at your reaction, "You heard me"

You leave the mirror, now focusing your attention on him. "It's not April Fools yet, Jin. Heads up, it was a terrible prank"

Even if it made you hot to have such dynamic with your former IM professor, you weren't exactly keen on seeing him again. For you, he had turned into a memory slash fantasy at some point: an asshole that got your panties wet and pussy slick when you touched yourself at night, on behalf of all the dumb uni boys who couldn't reach that sweet spot of yours. What a dirty girl, his velvet voice on your head would say. Why are you touching yourself to your supposed foe, a much older guy? Fucking slut. Yeah, there was no way you'd go back to the real thing for the real him to taint the image you got off almost every night to, so he could say your name in that animosity that leaked with a barely contained rage and poorly disguised distate that left a bitter taste on your mouth, ego and self-steem on the ground. Because the truth is, no matter how much you argued back, he always won. You had just found your voice, but all efforts to bring him down seemed powerless, and he had won every single battle: even if he didn't have the last word, just with a look, he made you feel small, stupid and meaningless.

Nope. Not going back.

"And you have a terrible way of coping" he's quick to counter back. "Listen, it's not so bad. You just have to do meaningless tasks and pretend to be interested. Simple, right? Look, those extra credits could be useful, you know? And you excelled the class, y/n. Easy!"

"You're making it sound trouble-free as if the man doesn't hate me"

"He's definitely forgotten about it!" he waves his hand, dissmisively. "Probably jokes about it, like us!"

"Mr. Pascal doesn't seem the type of guy to have humor"

"Humor me, then" Jin sighs. "Do this for me, yes? When have I ever failed you?"

You wish for some sense to get into his skull. Had he forgotten every single anecdote?

"Think of all those times where I've taken you home, carried you drunk. Or the sad heart breaks I've been through with you, remember? Brought you ice cream and watched your favorite movies. Or when I used to tutor you? Or-"

"Enough of your emotional manipulation, Mr. Kim" you shake your head, dissapointed, all to avoid the quiet rage to settle in. "I thought better of you"

"It's for a week. Days if this pills do a miracle" his big black eyes look at you, pleading.

"Jin, you're not being a very good friend"

"It's just this one favor" he sighs. "Look, I can't loose this thing, okay? I get the credits I need to finally leave this shithole. If I don't show up, they'll hand it to someone else. You may not believe it, but it's very demanded"

People making lines to be emotionally abused by your former IM professor? Sure thing!

"Can't you tell someone, though? I'm sure they'll understand and you can go back once this cold is gone"

"I already did so, and they told me to show up or quit, due to the wait list of people applying for the position" you roll your eyes at your university's antics and their bullshit policies. "I don't trust anyone else to not fuck it up, but you. You'll just have to tell him about this minor inconvenience, and Mr. Pascal will understand. You know, I'm kind of his favorite guy in there..."

Great, just what you needed.

"Sorry to break it to you, but as soon as I walk through that door, all that pretty boy privilege would be gone"

"Please, y/n. Please"

"You'll never ask me any other favor?"

"No" he looks rather desperate; it's funny. "Hell, you can use the lake cabin for your birthday bash if you-"

"Deal"

Were you that easy to buy, huh? What does that say about you? Fucking ass sell-out.

Okay, but a birthday party in that all glass modern cabin with a deck and a jacuzzi does sound tempting. Who could be blamed? Not you, who will have to face her biggest foe in exchange for one wild bash.

You take a deep breath, imagining the lake water splashing and champagne on the deck (ugh, Jin's parents had a waterbike too. They were loaded), before knocking on his office. The door flings open, almost hitting you in the face, and there he is: Mr. Pascal, with his brown hair with white on the sides, loose curl over his face. Your fingers definitely don't itch to touch it, of course.

He's sporting a grumpy look (when doesn't he?), his big hands (you had forgotten how big they were) holding a bunch of papers (great, work!).

"Goddamn it, Jin. I was about to call you for standing me up, you know I hate when people don't tell me-"

He stops on his tracks, and that all too familiar scowl deepens his face.

"You"

Seethed with such venom, it's quite scary. Your legs tremble, yet your pussy clenches.

"Yes, me" you can't help but let out a little laugh at his antics. What did Jin said about him not remembering you? Well, can't be blamed; you weren't easy to forget.

His jaw clenches while looking down at you, but this time, you don't dare to flinch.

"What are you doing here?"

"See, Jin is my friend-"

He interrupts you, body frame resting on the door with a relaxed posture, but his shoulder looks tense.

"Oh, I liked him. Liked, as in past tense" he emphasizes, like a child throwing a tantrum. "How can a kid like him be friends with you?"

"We're best friends, thank you very much. As a matter of fact, I'm here as a favor" you hand him Jin's written apology, that may have one or two sneezes over it. "He's sick, and I'll cover him for a week, just so he doesn't loose the position. Said you would understand"

"I do" he replies on an instant, "you I don't"

"I passed your subject. With honors, even after you made my life impossible" you reply. "I'm the best candidate, face it"

He's rendered speechless for a moment, before he bites back:

"What makes you think I won't do it again?"

Now it's you who doesn't know what to say. It's infuriating how he still keeps winning.

"That's right" a wicked smile adorns his face. "Stay and find out"

Boy, don't you love a challenge?

So you stayed, much to his surprise. The bastard probably thought you were still the same scaredy mouse from first year.

Oh, it was delicious the way his whole face fell at your entrance next morning, how he quickly replaced it and introduced you in a clipped tone.

"Where's Jin?" a girl sitting in the front row had asked, more students joining to ask for his absence. You wonder if your friend's popularity stems from his brain or looks.

"He's sick" you answered. "But don't worry, he'll be back soon"

"Thank God" Mr. Pascal voices out loud.

You shoot him a look. He wasn't joking about not making it easy, was he?

"Oh, I didn't take you as a man of faith, Mr. Pascal, but you're right. It's important to thank our Lord everyday. So, thank Him for this week where I get to offer my suffering. In reward" you turn to face him, all the class silent as they take in your weird exchange, the atmosphere tense, "I'll never see your face again"

This time, you weren't going down without a fight.

"We'll see about that"

There it was: the fire to your gasoline.

So you pushed back, and argued everytime you disagreed, things that weren't part of your work but you still did because well, if he was still hellbent on making you suffer, you weren't going to make it easy for him this time.

If students argued against him, you took their side; even if just one did, you had their back.

You finished grading, but when returning the papers, you'd let them fall with a heavy thud over his desk, not even daring to look back.

At the time he'd talk to you, you wouldn't answer, instead just doing so, but no words to be uttered his way, as if he wasn't worth the effort. Not even a clipped okay.

And you enjoyed this; savored how he'd take every one of your petty actions with his full chest, eyebrows furrowed and face red in anger, but never answering, just silent, like deep in thought, a cold and calculated look overtaking his brown eyes.

Then the veins on his neck would pop as the ones of his tight white-knuckled grip on his mug. He'd speak up, and his voice had your legs shaking for some friction, wet spots now more often on your lingerie.

That he didn't know.

All he did was you were now more than a pebble on his shoe: a huge fucking stone, going down the hill, ready to squash him.

But boy, didn't he love a challenge?

It's Friday, aka last day of Torture Week.

You drop the quizzes for next Monday on his desk with the same harsh movement you had done all week.

"And it's over" you announce, papers plopping next to him, who is writing something. Mr. Pascal's hand moves, his L much longer than it should be. He looks up at you, annoyed, but his eyes flash with a hint of amusement.

"I see you can talk"

"Well, you already know me, Mr. Pascal. So you should be aware of what I can do"

"Love if you'd enlighten me"

He leans back on his chair, arms resting behind his head. It's hard not to take a brief glance to the flexing muscles, or how he's rolled up his sleeves, arms bulking up with the action, the fabric tense. It's hot in here. Wait, or has it gotten hot? Your face feels red, and when he catches your lingering gaze, he smiles devilishly.

"Like what you see, Ms. Y/n?"

No. You refuse to let him win this again, so close to the end.

"The release from prison?" you regain your posture, "very much"

"You may be a loud-mouthed brat, always knowin' what to say. I'll give that to you" he props himself to the front, elbows now resting on the desk as his eyes scan yours with a shade of dark covering them. "But a good liar you ain't"

You try to remain still, face emotionless, but your professor is a man of experience; an expert on his field. He who investigates, who has majored to be able to notice every small detail that can contribute to a hypothesis, has now formulated his.

You want this as much as he wants to.

You, with your wobbly legs and nervous eyes, glancing up at him with a hungry gaze that matches his own, despite your angry posture and irritated tone. You, that picked up petty arguments just to rile him up, because you liked the command for power on his voice. You like this, didn't you? Feeling small and weak, fangs pointy, just barely gracing the skin; the edge what set your skin on fire.

He isn't one to hold grudges (he's just mean all the time), but Pedro is willing to show you he hasn't forgotten about the years, and he'll be more than willing to fuck that bitchy attitude out of you.

"Hello?" you snap your fingers in front of him, "are you there?"

He snaps back to reality, your face covering his vision. In his position, he gets rewarded with a delicious peak at your breasts and the nude lingerine hiding them. He can imagine the perked nipples and the rosy plush skin he'd love to trace his tongue with, because even when you speak in a harsh voice, your eyes speak another thing. Fuck, he thinks he can even smell your arousal.

"I was talking to you" you don't even give him room to reply; snotty ass. "Said I was already leaving"

He thinks of himself as merciful. So he stands up, your bodies barely brushing against each other for a second, before he's opening the door, towering over you. He's so close, you can see the grey hairs mixed with the brown ones on his beard and mustache. God, you can smell him: coffee, cigarrettes, sandalwood and leather.

"You're free, Ms. Y/n" he follows your line of joke from before. "Just, humor me with one last thing"

You glance over at the clock above his desk. It's barely noon.

"Yes?" as dry as possible.

"Why did you accept?"

It's a simple question, really, but it manages to catch you off guard.

His tone is so different, maybe that's why: it's low, impossibly low. For less attentive people, it could even pass as a growl. But you hear, the amusement and dare laced within the velvety tone.

"Because I'm a good friend" you manage to speak, his body caging your smaller frame against the door.

This is ridiculous. You can leave at any time. Hello? Have your legs not gotten the memo?

"I didn't think you were capable of good things"

You huff, annoyed. "Well, I passed your subject, didn't I?"

He clicks his tongue.

"Many before you, and more after you have. Doesn't make you special, y/n"

Your name alone leaves a savory and toxic sweetness on his tongue.

"But how many of those you remember?" Mr. Pascal shots up an eyebrow, confused. "Tell me, how many can you name? That's right. I changed your life, whether you like it or not"

He's quick to reply. "Bullshit"

"Bullshit" you mock his angry tone, "but you recognized me the moment you opened the door. It didn't even take you seconds, hell, you hadn't even fully seen me and you knew who I was. Doesn't take a great investigator to figure it out, does it? So I take you missed me"

He can't believe your fucking mouth.

But then Pedro's remembering the way his pants tightened when you started to stand up to him, getting even worse when he still managed to shut you up. Fuck, the way you had smirked when you approved his subject during your last project delivery. He let you, because well, you had earned it: for the way your image had been the perfect companion for his hand pistoning his cock will full force, thinking of that loud mouth of yours gagged with it. Or when you walked past him in the hallways, wrapped in your own little bubble, your carefree laugh erupting and bouncing off the walls, tickling every hair of his body.

Part of him had accepted Jin to be his TA if that meant having a piece of you, even if a small connection, to you. Did you think he wouldn't know? That he wouldn't see you walking by in those small skirts that rode over when you bent? He noticed you; after all, you were in the same place most of your day.

You had excelled his subject after all, hadn't you?

So of course you'd notice his stare lingering in your back like a hand over your ass. How his eyes would dart to the skirts you wore on purpose, attentive to the moment you'd drop a pen on accident and your panties would be on sight, a wet spot in the middle you hadn't even noticed that smelled. Fuck, and wasn't it sweet?

You really feel like you have won this, don't you?

"Miss you?" Pedro hisses the words out. "I didn't miss you. What I think is happenin', is that me missing you is what you want"

"And I think you're repeating the same words and fumbling thoughts because you're a big egocentric prideful asshole who can't admit he's got the hots for his younger student"

"God. Don't you have such a filthy mouth, baby?"

Before he can register and you've fully let the nickname sink, your hand slaps his face with a potent movement that reverberates across his office's walls.

"You're a fucking piece of work, Mr. Pascal" but instead of being offended (or you don't know, fight back?), he remains silent. "You dirty old spoiled prick. Think I would never fight you back? That you can get away with whatever this is?"

"Whatever this is?" he chuckles, a sound rumbling deep from his chest. "Well, pretty girl, ain't you started this?"

He looms over you, hot breath carressing your face softly.

"Me? Unbelievable" you scoff. "You're one to talk, humiliating a poor freshman"

"Poor? You were distracted, in my class! Did your parents never teach you manners?!" his words leave droplets of spit that land in your face. "I had to put your stupid ass in place; that'll teach you something"

"Like what?" you taunt, recklessly, chest up and down with uneven breaths.

"I see it didn't work" his body language does an immediate switch. You remember a predator ready to strike their prey. "Maybe I should've tried harder"

His eyes do a wild dance over your body as so do yours.

Lip. Eyes. Skin. Cleavage. His tight pants. Biceps. Legs. Hair.

Before you can register, he's got you pinned against his desk, door closed in a loud move. There's a click sound somewhere in between, but you're too busy feeling his big hands grabbing your face roughly, as if he wants to consume your skin and feel your very bones on his calloused tips.

His lips are impossibly wet and eager, hands needily gropping your body. He pushes all his weight over you as he deepens the kiss, his tongue now inside your mouth, making you falter.

You let out a breathy moan when your back hits the desk, the wood digging your skin, but he swallows it whole, making it impossible for you to talk.

"Mmph-"

"Mmph?" he mocks between kisses, not giving you the chance to take a breath, or maybe he was scared you would get the time to think and would push him away. "Just my mouth got you all worked up, baby? Can't even speak"

Your fingers run through his hair for support, curls between your fingers. They felt soft, like they were meant to be combed through over and over again. He dives his head in your neck, hot mouth wet with its trail of kisses, making you squirm.

"I see" his breath ghosts over your reddened skin, "you wanted this just as much, don't you? This boys aren't enough for you?"

Every hair on your body prickles, his mouth claiming every spot he could, bites and hickeys all over your skin. You whine, pouting your lips, missing his already.

"It's okay, baby" he laughs, "just gotta show them who's enough for you" he grunts, "a man"

Mr. Pascal takes off your shirt, well, basically rips the poor thing, his hands relieved to finally touch your breasts. He roughly grabs one of them, and you bite your lip so hard, you almost feel the bitter metallic taste in your mouth. He lowers himself, despite his aching joints, to play with your hardened nipples, lapping them with his warm tongue, sucking and swirling until they turn swollen.

Your hand finds its way to his formal pants, fingers gracing over the fabric, feeling his cock straining against it. Just like you imagined it: big, like his presence. If it could, your pussy would jump in excitement, realistically just throbbing and leaking.

You untie his belt and buttons so you can begin to rub over his boxers. You can feel him trying to meet your touches, grinding onto your palm. He groans, deeply, enjoying your hungry stare, steady beat, parted lips and wet cunt.

He bucks his hips against you, propping himself on the wall behind his desk, which had moved from its original position thanks to the mayhem.

"You clearly don't know what you got yourself into, baby. But don't worry, I ain't letting you go just yet"

He pulls the skirt up, revealing the damp panties and mess between your legs. He licks his lips before rough digits find your wet folds. His fingers carress your impossibly tight walls, coating them with your slick.

"So fucking tight" he groans against your collarbones, "thought of yourself as uptight but I can fucking smell you dripping, you dirty slut. Could tell you loved provoking me becayse that's the only way your snotty ass can get off"

"F-fuck you, Mr. Pascal" you manage to choke out.

"Where are your manners? After how I've rewarded your big mouth, you bitch" he takes off your panties with skilled practice, the piece falling to the floor with a weak sound. Your bare cunt makes you shiver. "You think you're smart, baby? You think you can play these games and face no consequences at all?" he tuts. "No, Ms. Y/n, you know I hate wastin' my time, so be a good girl and don't make this harder for you, get that?"

You whine at his words, but refuse to shut your mouth.

"Oh, I'm smart" you laugh, "smart enough to have you on your knees for me"

An ugly grin spreads across his features.

"I will never bend for a bratty pretentious slut like you" he grips your hair with force, leaving your neck exposed, "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, stupid cock hungry whore. You wanted my attention? It's all yours"

Then, with a low, almost feral growl, he grabs your hips and hoists you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He sweeps the papers and books onto the floor with a clatter, setting you down on the edge.

"You better behave, baby" Mr. Pascal bites your lower lip, "don't want people to know what we're doing in here, do you? Or would you want them to know just how much of a slut you are, spread on my desk as your cunt drips for me?"

He steps between your legs, pushing them further apart, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He leans in, his face inches from yours, voice low in a threatening rasp.

"I'll behave, I promise" mind in blank.

"No loud mouth bitchy stuck up attitude?"

You free his cock, hands scouting his shaft, his base, and balls. You fondled them while his fingers lingered closer to your pussy.

"No"

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be fucked stupid and used for my pleasure? Well, get ready, because I'm not going to stop until I've had my fill of this sweet little cunt"

He savors at the sight of your glistening folds.

"Let me-"

He laughs, seeing how you desire to guide his cock towards your entrance.

"Eager, little one?" he teases.

"Yes" you whimper, "I need you so badly, papi"

Your plea mixed with Spanish sends him on edge. His eyes darken with a primal, almost feral hunger at your desperate plea.

His voice is strained, rough with barely restrained lust.

"Fuck, you needy little thing. You want to take my dick until this desk breaks?"

He rubs the swollen head of his dick against your dripping slit, coating it in your arousal. Then, with one powerful thrust, he slams into you, burying himself to the hilt in your tight, hot cunt.

"So tight" he groans, starting to move and setting a brutal pace from the very beginning. The desk shakes and creaks beneath you with each forceful thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the empty office. He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit. He sets a relentless, punishing rhythm, determined to fuck you into oblivion.

It's a goddamn view in here: him above you, droplets of sweat falling to your face, pristine hair now disheveled.

At this point, you were clenching so hard it hurt, walls fluttering around his massive girth. But he's greedy, and he's pushing himself deeper and deeper.

"Runnin' your mouth but now all quiet as you take all of me, hungry greedy whore" he digs his fingers into your cheeks harshly, but you find pleasure in the sting the pain causes. "Bet this is all you been thinking since you started talking back, huh? Don't worry, daddy's got you"

Surprisingly, he leans down, capturing your mouth in a dominating kiss, tongue invading your mouth. His hand comes up to wrap around your throat, squeezing lightly, a silent reminder of who you belong to.

"God. You're wet everywhere, baby"

His sweaty chest presses itself onto your tits as he forced his cock deeper within you, the plaid shirt sticking with sweat to his ablazed body, temperature high.

"T-the desk" you protest numbly; mind-fucked.

And oh, boy, doesn't he enjoy this view? Your fluttering eyelids, hazy eyes and trembling body.

So he keeps fucking you: pounding into you, rolling his hips skillfully, taking up all the space within you.

"I don't give a damn fuck about the desk, Ms. Y/n. I'm gonna fuck that attitude of yours until all you know is my name" he leans down, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. His hands grip your hips with bruising force, pulling you harder against him with each violent thrust. "Gonna break the desk, hell, fuck you on the floor if necessary, but you ain't leaving this office until my cum drips from your legs and everyone knows your tight little cunt is mine"

The desk groans and wobbles beneath you, the legs scraping against the floor as Pedro fucks you with wild abandon. The sound of your moans and the crude, wet slap of skin on skin echoes obscenely in the room.

His pubic bone grinds against your clit with each thrust, the rough friction sending jolts of electric pleasure shooting up your spine. His cock hits that perfect spot inside you, the one that makes your toes curl and your back arch off the desk.

He feels your walls starting to flutter around him, your body tensing as your orgasm approaches. Mr. Pascal leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, intimate rasp.

"Why don't you be a good girl and tell daddy how good he's making you feel? Show me and everyone else what a desperate little slut you are, waiting for me to fill you up nicely with my seed"

He makes out of you a loud mess, a series of sweet sounds falling from your lips. You clench and he twitches, his digits holding your waist, keeping you in place for him.

"Good girl" he praises, "now you're gonna take it all, milk me dry, you greedy cocksleeve"

His thrusts become erratic and sloppier. The older man can feel your walls starting to flutter around him, body tensing as your orgasm approaches. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, intimate rasp.

"Will you be a good girl?"

"Yes!" you cry out, "don't stop!"

You hated this humilliation, how easy it is for him to fuck you with his big cock. You fucking hated him. But didn't he make you feel so good.

"Then come on my cock, bitch"

You didn't think it was capable, no, but you did. A first, another first when it came to Mr. Pascal.

You squirt. You fucking squirted.

Pedro lets out a feral roar of triumph when your pussy spasms around his pistoning cock, your release gushing out and soaking his dick and the desk, papers and shit beneath you (no, not the quizzes! You had printed them this morning). He savors the way you throw your head back, eyes rolling until they turn white on your fucked-out face.

"Such a sweet cunt, baby" he praises. "Milk me dry, come on"

Your slick walls milking him dry pushes him over the edge, clenching around him, and he knew it was over. He snaps, arching his back as he roughly moans. With one final, brutal thrust, he buries himself balls-deep inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he starts to come. Thick, scorching ropes of cum paint your insides, flooding your womb with his potent seed, still pushing the remnants inside when he grinds against you, his pelvis pressed tight to yours as he rides out the waves of his intense orgasm. His grip on your hips tightens, fingermarks surely to be left in the soft flesh as he holds you in place, ensuring you take every last drop of his release.

"That's it, pretty baby. Can't even speak, can you?" he captures your mouth in a deep, dominating kiss. Like he owns you. "As you can see, I'm a man of my word"

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he pants softly. His eyes, when they meet yours, are dark and intense, filled with a primal, almost feral satisfaction.

It's humilliating, really, how your lips search for more. You need him, badly, despite how shit he treats you and how wrong all of this is. Is this a win or a loose?

"Good girl" he repeats, his sweaty forehead clashing against yours. The desk creaks yet again. You love when he praises you, and you whine on instintic, making him laugh. "Learned your place just yet? Listen carefully, Ms. Y/n: no matter what you do or say, I'll always win, get it? And you'll be nothing but a needy uptight slut who begs for my attention and cock"

He pulls out of you slowly, his softening dick slipping from your well-used hole with a gush of their combined releases. He tucks himself away, doing up his pants with quick, efficient movements. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, smearing a streak of his cum across it.

"Go on. Taste it, and tell me how it feels"

Your tongue does a lazy movement, making your lips moist thanks to the saliva and his cum, like a fucking gloss. You shouldn't enjoy this, really, but your body shivers when you feel the taste of him going down your throat as you swallow.

"Good" you manage to speak, salt on the tip of your tongue.

"Good" he repeats, voice low and menacing, "because we're just getting started"

[writingfics-passingtime]

Looking At Me by Sabrina Carpenter + Loki x reader! If you have an mcu character you’d like better for this then go for it! I’ve just really wanted to prompt you this song for a bit but didn’t know how.

This one-shot is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Steal the Show

Song Prompt: Looking at Me - Sabrina Carpenter

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word Count: ~2560

CW: swearing, innuendo/sexual jokes, threats of violence, objectification of the reader

Minors DNI: this work does not contain smut, but contains a romantic/suggestive relationship between the reader and adult-aged characters. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

Note: Thanks, anon! This sat, almost complete, in my drafts for well over a month because trying to end this fic felt impossible to get right, but I'm releasing it into the world and making peace with how it turned out. This song was so fun, thank you for sending it in!

The van smelled like stale coffee, ironically cheap deodorant, and your own frustration. The monitors flickered, casting a headache-inducing glow that only added to your mounting irritation.

You adjusted your earpiece as you stared at the ballroom feed, where Sophie Vallienne - the untouchable French billionaire dripping in couture - stood in the middle of her carefully curated world. The black diamond necklace she wore was your team's objective tonight.

Hidden inside that necklace was a microchip containing classified national security data - data she planned to sell to the highest bidder.

Your job? Sit in the van. Watch. Provide tactical support while the rest of the team got their hands dirty.

And dirty meant flirty; getting close enough, for long enough, for the micro jammers in your team's pockets to corrupt the data on the chip.

“Anything?” you asked through gritted teeth, eyeing the live feed where Sam leaned against the bar near Sophie, his boyish smirk in full force.

“She’s not biting,” Sam muttered. “Maybe she doesn't like Americans.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like try-hards,” Bucky’s voice cracked through the comms.

You glanced at another screen - one showing Bucky, all dark stubble and brooding stares, approaching Sophie by the champagne tower, only to get rebuffed embarrassingly fast.

“She’s a stone wall,” Bucky grumbled as he walked away without any successful show of interest. “No interest. Not even a flicker.”

“Perhaps she prefers her suitors with more refinement.” Loki’s voice purred through the line straight into your ear, deep and low, and you instantly bristled.

On the screen, he was moving toward Sophie, a sinuous shark among the crowd. His sharp black suit decorated his frame with tailored perfection, and even through the grainy surveillance feed, you could see the beautiful smirk tugging at his lips as he approached your target. Sophie’s gaze flickered to him, a polite smile gracing her features as he leaned in and-

Bastard! He shut his mic off so the rest of you couldn't hear his line.

For a moment, you thought he might succeed. But then Sophie’s smile faltered, her eyes glazing over with that same disinterest she’d shown Sam and Bucky. She excused herself, slipping away toward the bar without a backward glance.

Loki's voice cracked back to life in your ear. "That... should've worked."

“She’s losing patience,” you murmured, more to yourself than the team. "She's going to get suspicious if you guys keep pushing. Back off for a sec. Let me think." You rubbed at your temple, trying to piece together a Plan B.

“What’s your brilliant idea, Overwatch?” Loki’s voice drawled, a mocking edge to it. “Come now, I can hear the cogs turning.”

“Just give me a second to-"

And then you saw it. Sophie’s eyes lingered. Not on Loki, not on Bucky, not on Sam. They followed the sway of a cocktail waitress in a sleek dress, her gaze trailing up her legs and over her shoulders before sliding away.

The realisation hit you like a freight train.

“Oh, fuck me."

“What?” Sam piped up.

"You chuckleheads never stood a chance."

You were already yanking open the disguise kit you kept in the van, grasping for the nanotech bracelet, fingers fumbling to secure it around your wrist.

"What's wrong?"

"Our intel was shit, that's whats-" you finally conquered the clasp, letting out a huff of frustration and relief. "She's into women," you explained.

Why the hell couldn't Natasha be here instead?

“What are you doing?” Bucky demanded over the comms.

"Improvising."

The van’s limited space left you no choice but to strip right there, kicking off your boots and pulling off your practical black pants with a string of curses. The cold air hit your skin as you pulled up the bracelet’s holographic menu, scrolling quickly until you found a floor-length, elegant gown with a thigh-high slit and a neckline that made your stomach twist just looking at it.

The nanotech shimmered across your body, and you felt the dress form around you like a second skin, fitting you in ways you weren’t prepared for. You kept digging through the kit until you found a tube of lipstick perfect for your skin tone, applying it with a deadly hand.

After a few minutes of work, a quick glance in the van’s rearview mirror was enough to make your stomach drop.

You weren’t used to looking so…

Before you could give yourself time to doubt, you grabbed the spare jammer and attached it to a thigh holster, slipping it up the leg not exposed by the dress's slit.

After only a second's hesitation - what the hell am I doing? why do I think I, of all people, would be able to tempt anyone, let alone a beautiful woman like her? - you shoved the van door open, stepping out into the cool night air.

The stilettos pinched, the dress was too exposing, and you felt like you might vomit; never in your career had your armour provided so little protection.

But none of that mattered.

You were the only one here who had a chance at this.

So you threw your shoulders back, and strode toward the entrance of the hotel like you belonged there.

The ballroom swallowed you in a haze of glittering chandeliers and murmured conversations.

Heads actually turned as you walked in, eyes following the sway of your hips, the click of your heels. You ignored them, scanning the room for Sophie, but your eyes landed on him.

He was leaning against a marble column, drink in hand. His ocean eyes snapped to you, and for the first time since you’d met him, the ever-smirking God of Mischief looked utterly at a loss.

His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate, and your pulse quickened under the weight of it.

You felt exposed. Vulnerable. And yet, something in the way he stared made you feel like the most dangerous thing in the room.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered over comms.

“Did anyone else know she could look like that?” Bucky added, his voice incredulous.

You scoffed. "I can hear you, asshole."

Loki’s voice cut through, low and venomous, directed at Barnes and Wilson. “Eyes on the target, not on her.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t dare look at him again. Instead, you moved toward the bar, your shoulders steady with feigned elegance, every step a performance.

You perched on the edge of a stool, crossing your legs as you gestured to the bartender for a drink, letting your body language shift into something soft and coy.

Sophie didn’t make you wait long. She appeared at your side like a shadow, her smile sharp and satisfied.

“You’re new,” she said. Her French accent curled around the words like smoke.

“I am,” you replied, letting your lips curve into a slow smile. Her eyes dipped to your mouth, lingering. You leaned in, letting your voice drop to a low, teasing murmur. “How sweet of you to notice.”

Her laugh was light, intimate. “How could I not?”

Somewhere across the room, Bucky sidled up to Loki. “Good gods,” he muttered, his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry over comms.

Loki’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on you, gaze sharp enough to cut, hands flexing at his sides. “If a single finger is laid on her... I’ll break every bone in Vallienne's body.”

You leaned against the bar, swirling the last sip of champagne in your glass while Sophie Vallienne’s laugh slithered through your senses. She was so close, impossibly charming, her fingers swirling light patterns along the bar near your hand. You'd been flirting for the better part of ten minutes, and it was progressing. Quickly.

Her touch trailed onto your hand that was resting on the stem of a wine glass.

It sent a shiver up your spine, though you weren’t sure if it was from nerves or sheer absurdity of the situation. You’d never been the centre of such focused attention, let alone from someone as devastatingly beautiful as her.

“Tell me, what brings you here tonight?” Sophie asked, her voice a low, intimate murmur. Her perfectly painted lips curved in a smile that promised danger and delight in equal measure. “What caught your eye?”

“The Rembrandt. It called to me in a way I couldn’t ignore. I’m not usually the type to attend events,” you replied, and it wasn’t a lie. You weren’t used to playing this part, but something about it - about the thrill of being someone else, the control you felt over Sophie’s attention - was exhilarating.

Her eyes roamed over your face, lingering just a little too long on your mouth. “A shame. A woman like you shouldn’t hide.”

Your earpiece crackled, breaking the moment. Sam's voice came over the comms from your spot in the van. “And... done. The chip's fried. Let's move out."

You stiffened, and Sophie’s smile faltered. “Something wrong?”

You set your glass on the bar, shaking your head. “I’m spoken for,” you said, standing. “I shouldn’t have let myself get so… distracted,”

"Distracted, or tempted?"

"Both, if I'm honest." You offered an apologetic smile.

Sophie’s smile returned, sharper this time, but not unkind. “Should you ever find yourself unspoken for…” She stood and whispered some brief instructions on how to contact her, before backing away respectfully, and allowing you your leave.

Her gaze lingered as you stepped away, the heat of her attention following you through the crowd.

You pushed past a sea of glittering dresses and tailored suits, heart pounding in time with the sharp click of your heels on the polished floor. Your confidence waned the closer you got to the exit, the allure of the dress and the night and a beautiful person looking at you like that - all crashing back to reality.

None of it was real.

The cool night air hit you as you stepped outside, and you paused on the grand stone stairs to take a breath.

That was when you saw him again.

Loki was leaning against the railing near the bottom of the staircase, the faint glow of the streetlights catching on the sharp angles of his face. He looked up, and it was his eyes that caught you - they moved over your body, darkening with every inch they traveled.

You fought the instinct to cross your arms, to shield yourself from the way his gaze seemed to strip you bare. “Don’t start,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended as you started down the stairs. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Do you?” he asked, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. He pushed off the railing, his movements slow, deliberate. "Enlighten me."

You rolled your eyes, the heat rising to your cheeks betraying the nonchalance you were aiming for. “You’re going to tell me I look ridiculous.”

Loki’s smirk widened as you stopped two steps above him, putting you level with his eye-line. “Ridiculous,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “is hardly the word I’d choose.”

The way he said it made your stomach flip. You rolled your eyes again, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. “What word would you use, then? Enlighten me.”

“Dangerous,” he said simply. “In the kind of way that makes men stop thinking with their heads.”

You swallowed, the intensity in his tone catching you off guard. “Ha-ha” you started, trying to deflect with sarcasm, “I'm sure the rest of the team had a good laugh at this, too.”

“Oh, no one was laughing,” Loki replied, his gaze dipping briefly to your lips before snapping back to your eyes. “If I were you, I’d be careful around Barnes. He’s likely still piecing together a coherent thought.”

Your laugh was breathless, unbidden. You looked away. “Bucky wouldn’t look at me like that.”

Loki’s brow arched, his expression almost amused. “Everyone in that room... was looking at you like that."

You dared to glance up, instantly regretting it. His eyes were fixed on you, dark and wanting, but there was something else there, something that made your breath hitch.

"It's fascinating," he cocked in head in thought, "these mortal men are so blinded by their fleeting desires, that they only see beauty when it’s presented just so... gift-wrapped in silk and sequins." His voice dipped, rich and intimate, as he leaned close enough that you could start to feel the heat of him. “I’ve always known what you are.”

“Always known?”

“Always wanted,” he murmured, and the raw, unapologetic hunger in his tone sent a shiver down your spine.

The silence that followed between you was crushing, heavy with everything he wasn’t saying, everything you didn’t know how to respond to. You felt the heat coiling low in your belly. But you weren’t about to let him win this game. Not yet.

You smirked, trying to mask the weakness in your knees. “That’s a nice line, but I’m not in the habit of falling for silver-tongued gods.”

“No,” he agreed with a curious tilt of his head, the other way now. “You’re not in the habit of falling at all, are you?”

You shrugged with one shoulder. “Men talk. Big promises, sweet words. Yet somehow, I’m always the one left unsatisfied.”

Something flickered in his eyes - something dangerous, amused, and wickedly self-assured. “Ah, poor thing,” he drawled, the space between you shrinking with every word. “You’ve been wasting your time on mortal men, with their fumbling hands and unimaginative minds. You don’t have the faintest idea of what it feels like to be truly satisfied, do you?”

Your breath caught as you fought to keep your composure. “Like I said - big talk,” you said, your voice wavering slightly despite your best efforts. “But words are cheap.”

“Words are foreplay,” Loki countered smoothly. “And I never disappoint.”

Your eyes narrowed in challenge. “Do you rehearse this? Or is this just natural-born arrogance?”

His smirk deepened, like he could hear the pulse thrumming in your ears. He didn't answer, letting you seep in the abashment swarming through you.

Eventually, you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "I don't know why I'm entertaining this. You're just flirting for sport."

"You sound disappointed."

"I don't like being played with."

"Oh, you've no idea the ways I could play with you."

Heat and want surged through your body, a shattered, flustered cough escaping you. "You mother fu-"

“Hey,” Sam’s irritated voice interrupted. “Whatever weird, sexually-charged argument you two are having, save it for later. Get in the damn van.”

You stilled as the moment shattered. Gathering yourself before looking over his shoulder to the van. "Let's go then, Trickster. Back to reality.”

“Gladly," he stepped closer, leaning down to whisper low in your ear. "When it comes to you, reality is far more enticing that fantasy or facade... Think about what I said."

He stepped away, hands sliding into his pockets, turning his back and sauntering towards the van with an arrogance that made you want to hurl your shoe at his head.

Think about what I said- who in the hell does he think he is? And what part? He talked a lot of shit. Surely he can't... he can't mean any of it.

But as you followed, dutifully returning to your real life and real job, you stood a little taller, had more surety in your step. And you realised, alarmingly, that this newfound confidence had nothing to do with dress.

Because when you thought about all the things he said, something, deep down, whispered those four little words in his beautiful velvet voice:

Always known. Always wanted.

You were in so much trouble.

[vivianbernadetteaurora]

Mars in pisces blurred lines . ♓️ 🐟 🐠

Here we go again with Mars in pisces because it didn’t let me do it last time well it didn’t let me upload it I put so much effort into it guys like I did with the whole Mars series and really went into detail but this time it is going to work believe me now when we talk about Mars in places we talk about boundaries and lines being blurred think about the song blurred lines by Robin Thicke. That song became such a controversy because of it um basically some people believed it was about rape and how lines are being played and who are seeing what’s going on and the ironic thing is that sounds like is 11 years old now nearly I wanna say it probably is 11 years old I think it came out at the beginning of 2014 so I remember when I remember the video of rodakowski and the lot. On the naked version with Pharrell but Robin more than places also and he did the song blurred lines his dad is somebody called Alan thick from a program called family ties .Anyway this song is about bloodlines as we know so here's some examples of people who have their Mars in pisces.

Starting strong Elizabeth Taylor now for me Elizabeth Taylor was always like my favorite old Hollywood person but here’s the big **** with Mars in pisces which people online on the discord that a lot of people do not like pisces placements I have noticed it could be because I have a pisces ex and it’s coming on my for you page I don’t know but it seems prevalent that people joke about Mars in pisces and we wonder why why is this. Well it could be little things or it could be big things so Elizabeth Taylor she had a big Hollywood career in the golden age of Hollywood they called it from around the 1930s to around the 1970s I believe. Anyway I think she was evil with MGM will golden mayor with the horrible leader of that Louis B Mayer. Who was very nasty to people like Judy Garland and Marilyn Monroe. I saw online recently as well that she was allegedly jealous of Marilyn Elizabeth well Elizabeth had many marriages so this could be the deception part with pisces because with pisces it can be very sneaky they’re almost like covert narcissists some degree.

Now hear me out don’t hate me places cause I don’t hate you I’m just going through the Mars signs and like some signs works and others don’t and I particularly don’t like Mars placements in astrology anyway because I have a day chart and Mars transits are generally quite tricky for me and I just I don’t like my own Mars placement so right yeah she had a multiple places and she had a very extravagant lifestyle with a couple of her husbands her first marriage she got with one of the Hiltons I think anyway she had a very abusive first marriage that she had to escape she was very young I feel like she was about 18 years old maximum I think she might have had two boys with this man as well. Now the blurred lines here could be between marriages she was married to the Hilton guy then she was married to Mike Todd, eddie fisher, Richard Burton a senator Richard Burton again and Larry some Jewish name. I think she married him after she left rehab which was quite different for her because he wasn't her usual sort of type he wasn't executive so maybe she went for something different..... but somebody I think Barbara Walters even asked her was she addicted to marriage and I think she answered no she goes I think that’s just what you did back then you love someone you got with them you married and she was asked did you think it would work every time. Ohh yes you don’t get an A marriage not for it to work. she says. So I truly believe as a pisces she probably fell for it hook line and sinker excuse the pun... and they caught her like a fish but I don’t believe that she loved all these men the same she loved Mike Todd and Richard Burton the most and they at the time helped with our extravagant lifestyle, they bought her nice jewels took her on holidays they did drugs together they drank loads of alcohol all over the world went all over the world to different places had an extreme lifestyle and they were known for it. Harry and Richard where she fell in love with him on the set of Cleopatra now Eddie Fisher is a bit of a weird one because she was best friends with Debbie Reynolds who was married to Eddie Fisher and when Mike Todd died he came to comfort her where Carrie Fisher another Mars in pisces, said he went to my Elizabeth’s side and then to her front. Which was quite funny. But the themes of drugs in this placement is very prevalent even the ones who don't like to admit they're doing it to some degree and they can even shame other people for their addictions and fables I know my dad does certainly but that could be his Virgo moon Virgo moons can be quite cruel when they want to be too, he’s got very similar hook-ups to me and his chart. Like moon opposition Mars. Anyway I’m going off track here a little bit so yeah Elizabeth lived an extravagant lifestyle but she was the first person to go to the Betty Ford clinic who is a celebrity.... which was big back then she was also the first to do a celebrity perfume now Aries are always first to do things in situations and her Venus is in Aries. Her and Marilyn both have their Venus in Aries and Mars in Pisces. Now the deception there could be of the Jews the marriages etcetera etcetera.

Then you have Lisa Marie Presley who’s another person with their martin pisces who got with Michael Jackson who has a lot of pisces and ..,That’s what everyone else is saying at the time also... because she didn’t fit the type everybody thought he was a child abuser but personally I’m pretty sure Diana Ross did that to Michael Jackson.

Anyway more deception let’s go with Marilyn Monroe Mars in pisces now she’s in every girl’s bedroom across the world. Fears that one figure that men and women love alike where does the deception lie with Marilyn. Well the deception with Marilyn was the way she was treated by others I believe the Kennedys, allegedly Fidel Castro and many other powerful institutions so these were the blade lines between Marilyn they used her for sexual favours and in the movie blonde although it’s very disrespectful it shows how young Marilyn would have been treated in Hollywood so in a way it was very truthful people were hurt because it was painful to watch. So I think the deception with Marilyn and lies between drugs studio heads and the people who abused her those were the blurred lines between who she was as a person the full stop and she was such a wonderful person so likeable so beautiful so charitable she even set up her own company like.

Elizabeth Taylor did exactly the same with her aides found HIV and AIDS foundation, where she has had family members continue on I think with this. So a lot of these people people I know in real life as well like to give to charity and they like to help people less fortunate than them. Not all the time but look how Paris did it with Provo Canyon and we fell in love with Paris all over again in 2021 when she did that documentary and we realised that her mum is a cold hearted ditch and ironically her mum’s a pisces which really shocked me because she’s very cold. She must have a lot of earth in her chart I’m going to have I look at it after I’ve posted this for the third time.Let’s see where we get with this but like I said the deception with Elizabeth is with her marriages and her drug use and alcohol use with Richard Burton where the lines get blurred in fact this title should be called blurred lines.. because I know people in real life obviously my dad has his Mars in pisces and he.. be a covert narcissist well more of a malignant narcissist at times I fill with water placements in Mars you don't really ever get to know them. you don't know who they really are.. so this is me doing it for the third time it’s not as in detail because I don’t want to lose it all again and this is my take on Mars and pisces. I mean then you could look at Paris and say how she was made fun of a lot in the 2000s as well as having the perfect body she was also made fun of and people would do parodies of Paris and her songs but I actually think Paris is a really nice girl.. she was in her 20s when all that stuff was going on with Brandon Davis and Lindsay Lohan worried thought she was out of order for laughing but I would have done the same as the 20 year old girl probably. And here’s another bloodline with parish sex tape one night in Paris. By Rick Solomon who is a lot older than her and she says she thinks she might have either just been underage or only just legal and he was like bragging about it on Howard Stern yeah it was just sick so be aware when you watch that she’s underage probably when you just legal. With Paris I don’t actually think she set out to release it like Kim did so that’s probably where they’re fallout came from because for a Hilton that ruined their reputation but for a Kardashian it was a money maker .

[kittykatninja321]

My less popular opinion (and what I believe to be implied by the art in Lost Days) is that rather than waking up in a fully grown body Jason didn’t actually complete his puberty until after his Lazarus pit dip while he was on his murder tour. Imagine you’re tied up in a basement in Berlin getting interrogated by a teenager and his voice is cracking the entire time and if you laugh he’s going to shoot you

[bitegore]

ok this isnt meant to be a dig or anything but it's always really funny to me when people like just cracking 30 are like "omg you're in your early twenties, you're a babyyyyyy"

babe you're like barely 30, you're a baby too. You're a blink and a half older than me. I spend too much time around people over 50, the difference between 23 and 33 is a few years at a job and a little more distance from living in your parents' house but it's like, nothing. the gap closes every time you breathe and every time i move. the difference between you and me is like one-fifteenth the difference between you and my dad's friend Joe or whatever. don't worry you'll get to live more life too, but don't kid yourself.

and this is doubled when it's coming from a 25-year-old currently experiencing a crisis of age because they're soooo old, they're 25, the horror! You are twenty-five. We have an age difference of three years. Your concern over this is embarrassing for you and highly entertaining for me. But like don't kid yourself here. You are 25. You are a like a fucking baby to me.

[samuraisharkie]

due to Life Shit I kind of stopped drawing much about a year or two after I graduated high school bc I just kind of didn’t have the time or mental/emotional/physical capacity to fit it in, despite art being something I really want to be a part of my career. It kind of makes me sick to realize how much muscle memory I lost just from that time (I had only about a year and a half total of absolutely no art but that was enough. doesn’t help that during that time I seriously injured my hands) considering I’ve been drawing my entire life. I really wish things had not gone that way and that I could have kept going, but expectations were on me to do something else and any time I sat down to draw was treated as wasting time. There’s also something weird about recovering from severe trauma that kind of adjusts how you engage with a hobby you used as a coping mechanism, which Art very much was. I almost never drew vent art, but I used it to focus on something and make myself happy and proud of work I actually could do, and once I was out of the environments that funneled me into drawing (being forced to go to church, school, anything involving sitting down for a long period of time) I found less time to actually have an excuse. Someone bought me a single college course of art classes right out of high school, and I think that was where I COULD have had the opportunity to really get started if I had actually had the money to continue and the college hadn’t been so far away. After that course ended I didn’t have that excuse anymore. I used to draw in DeviantArt and Discord art groups, but those began to fall apart and soon I didn’t have that option either. After that I doodled but didn’t really create Full Pieces unless some friend asked it of me, and it was never a commission bc I’d never trained myself to get that sort of shit done without taking too long, so I’d always do it for free. So even that wasn’t a big motivator eventually. Now that I’m struggling for work after becoming more physically disabled after COVID, all that time I could have spent honing my art skills so I could do SOMETHING with my art really is weighting down on me. I have the option to do freelance work, illustrations, pet commissions, even things like cards and cookies. I’ve seen these avenues open up for me gradually, but I’ve lost the skills I built up that I need to actually make something I’m proud of. I’ve taken to tracing old art to try and remember my thought process and my “style”… but my memory was bad BEFORE the covid, and it’s worse now, and my brain fog makes it hard to focus even if I could get back on the train of thought. I don’t remember the construction that would be in my mind’s eye. I barely can keep a clear vision in my mind’s eye anymore, worryingly. I never had a crystal clear imagination, it was always sort of abstract, but I could see the lines, I could construct a scene. Now I have to focus hard to get any sort of detail clear in my head. It’s like if you tried to look directly into someone’s face in a dream, or put in a prompt in neural blender. So I have to adjust to performing the entire thought process physically, slowly and tediously trying to figure out what I’m imagining before I can really get started. Those old art tutorials for constructing shapes and bodies and such just aren’t coming naturally anymore so I have to dredge deep into my mind to remember which advice helped “click” the best and knowing it might not do it this second time around. It’s like if you forgot how to ride a bike. It was something natural to you, you could even get started haphazardly and distracted and still be able to tell where you were going and not fall over or trip on yourself, but now it’s like you have to focus on each step and it constantly feels like it’s taking everything you have to not crash. I’m glad I can start drawing again, but it hurts that something so huge in my life has been turned into this. I’ve ranted about it before it’s just easier to notice when you’re not sketching out people’s pets or doing super stylized doodles.

[anaalnathrakhs]

...i'm starting to wonder if i wasn't actually pretty often failed by the adults in my life as a young kid tbh.

[actual-sleeping-beauty]

sorry but it's just like. exceedingly fucking clear to me that republican controlled state legislatures across the country are testing how far they can go right now. bills like tennessee house bill 0009, kentucky house bill 173, and kentucky senate bill 150 are intended to see how far the current political and judicial climate will allow them to restrict the rights of queer people. republicans did this for a little over a decade before they got roe overturned. (source: the first heartbeat bill was filed in ohio in 2011.)

they are setting up to challenge obergefell and lawrence v. texas. the majority opinion of roe cites the due process clause of the fourteenth amendement, arguing that abortion bans violate a right to privacy. obergefell guarantees the right of same-sex couples to marry through the due process clause and the equal protection clause of the fourteenth amendment. the majority opinion argues that marriage is a private decision the state cannot intrude on, citing loving v. virginia (also based on the due process and equal protection clauses of the fourteenth amendment). the equal protection clause protects same-sex couples from being barred from marrying while their opposite-sex peers can marry freely. the majority opinion of lawrence v. texas cites the due process clause as granting same-sex couples a "protected liberty interest" to have private sexual relations. in a concurrence, justice sandra day o'connor cites the equal protection clause as the reason gay sex should be decriminalized. (note: in some states only same sex intercourse between men was criminalized. in others same sex intercourse between women was also criminalized. in still others anal sex was criminalized regardless of whether the participants were of the same or opposite sex. the texas law being challenged in lawrence criminalized anal and oral sex between men only. the lawrence case made it legal for same-sex couple to have sex for the first time in FOURTEEN STATES. that's 28% of the country.)

bills like tn hb 0009 (which would criminalize "male or female impersonators" (i.e. drag performers) from performing in public; a second offense would be a FELONY), ky hb 173 (a don't say gay bill that would "establish limitations on school personnel related to instruction and discussion on sexual orientation, sexual preference, or gender expression," among other fucked up things), and ky sb 150 (which would force schools to out trans and nonbinary kids to their parents and prohibit schools from making teachers use kids' preferred pronouns) are clearly pushing at the limits of legality. they are trying to get the supreme court to uphold these laws when they are challenged so the conservative supreme court can say that according to historical precedent (cited in overturning roe) and publicly agreed upon morality (cited in bowers v. hardwick, a case that upheld georgia's sodomy law in 1986, which also cited historical precedent). whether publicly agreed upon morality actually condemns queer people is unlikely to matter, given the current leanings of the court.

this is all to say: we have to start paying very close attention. a felony charge means you can't vote. they are trying to make sure we can't vote. we have to start calling our legislators. we have to start engaging our politically unengaged friends. we have to. they are coming for us. they are playing the long game. we need to too.

i spent multiple hours researching this and i would appreciate reblogs. it feels like we have come to this crisis point so quickly. obergefell isn't even a decade old. we cannot be comfortable and we must act.

[iowafashionweekbegins]

the fact that someone from seven whole years ago still terrorizes my brain is. it's something. i guess being accused by an 18-19 year old of being a proshipper and abuser multiple times when i was 15 actually did legitimate, long-term, traumatizing psychological damage to me (the night everything went down i hallucinated a full-blown, crystal-clear, terrifying face in the dark, due to the stress). who woulda thought. i don't know. i can't stop thinking about this situation from 2018 and i still just feel this awful fear like i can't escape this. image of myself. that is in people's heads. an image that i'm very different from nowadays. its funny in a bitter kind of way how different i am now, meanwhile last time i checked on this person ey're still doing this exact same thing to other people, just on a smaller scale. i want to heal from this already but my OCD will not let me. i'm stuck in it forever, it seems.