#beauty brings the predator

[ququoquaw]

she would do numbers on here

[goldemas1244]

Okay but Yautja husbands 🤎

[oca-rinn-a]

slorp... slirp...

"now it's time for cake!"

[dragonsholygrail]

Your Tiger hybrid bf has always considered you, an adorable little Deer hybrid, his prey. He thought you prey when he first saw you, he knew you were prey when he began courting you, and he successfully completed his hunt once you finally agreed to be his. It was only normal, it was the natural order of things.

To have an unrelenting and never ending need to devour you. It’s what always happens every time you manage to find yourself on his bed and underneath his big, strong, and dominating form. Just like you are now as you writhe and squirm on the soft sheets as your Tiger hybrid bf ravages you.

His prickly tongue setting your every nerve on fire as he fucks your pretty pussy with his mouth, bringing you to orgasm again and again until it’s all swollen and puffy. Making sure to leave an absolute mess of your release between your thighs in his wake.

One would think that would be enough, but no, not to your Tiger hybrid bf. He hasn’t had his fill and you’re still able to keep your eyes open. He isn’t anywhere close to be doing done with you yet.

Briefly lifting off your limp form he presents his cock to you with pride. Smugly watching as you automatically spread your legs wider for him. Still eager even in your exhaustion. Your adorable doe eyes staring up at him through a foggy haze of lust and desire.

With your body so welcoming towards him, he can’t possibly miss the chance to slowly stuff a finger inside your sensitive walls, pushing back your pussy lips so he can relish in your overstimulated hiss. Stretching you out in a way that has your toes curling so he can prepare you for his length.

When your cunt is all ready for him, dripping and clenching around nothing, he finds it in himself to be merciful. Giving into your begging and pleading as he thrusts his cock inside you in one long powerful snap of his hips.

Your body contorting as you arch into the fierce pace he sets, his cock slamming itself inside you with a ferocity that speaks to a predator trying to capture its prey. Loud growls escape his throat as he chases after both his own orgasm and yours as well. A deep satisfaction coursing through him as he sees the effect he has on you.

Cries of pleasure ricochet off the walls as his thick lengths pushes through your tight walls, stimulating every nerve in your body. You’re practically buzzing, pussy pulsating as your orgasm builds. Every clench of your cunt along his length as your Tiger hybrid bf gritting his teeth even more. His fingers finding your clit with ease and you shriek, body jolting and clenching down on him again.

Your Tiger hybrid bf can smell your impending climax, your arousal thick in the air and he purrs as it mixes with his own. His scent marking itself on you. He’s eager to unleash his load deep inside your pussy, make his claim even stronger. Carefully pushing down on your naval it only takes a few more snaps of his hips before your orgasm crashes through you and you scream, squirting your addictive juices all over your bf’s face.

With a primal roar your Tiger hybrid bf cums right after you, slamming himself inside you to the hilt, and making sure you can feel it as his release splashes against your womb. He grinds himself into you, not willing to let out a drop but working you both through your climaxes.

When weak whimpers leave you, the overstimulation setting in, he finally leans back slightly to admire his handy work. Your body splayed out on the bed, positively fucked out and drooling. Eyes closed and so still it would almost appear at a quick glance that you were dead. That he had demolished his beautiful prey as he was meant to.

And he had, in his own way, of course.

[lovegasmic]

⋆ MONSTERFUCKING ft. Neuvillette

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 cw. f!reader, semi dragon!form Neuvillette ( tail, double tentacle-ish dicks, horns, claws, his lower body is dragon like but the upper more human ), breeding, underwater sex in Fontaine but reader has a vision so it's fine, slight very very slight predator x prey, praising.

request from anon ‹3

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NAVI ⁞ EVENT MASTERLIST

being a vision welder had its perks, besides from allowing you to easily defeat possible threats to your home, the hydro vision hanging from your clothes also introduced you to one of your current favorite activities, diving in the blue waters alongside the multiple animals that lived underneath the city’s surface.

the waters were pacific, calm and without visible treats, or at least that’s what you believed, unaware of the lingering gaze of a certain someone who happened to scurry through caves and ruins only to get a glimpse of you.

perhaps your curiosity was beyond measure, perhaps the slight glimmer you found in a cave was merely a trap, but who could have placed so many silver trinkets and drinking cups in the middle of an uninhabited cave? somehow it reminded you of a nest... like some sort of creature hoarded all bright looking objects.

“Ah...” a voice echoed through the barely lit stone walls, forcing a small gasp to leave your lips, “so you have decided to grant me a private meeting with you... i must say... i am delighted” the voice continues, low and vibrant but smooth and tender all at once.

“apologies,” the voice speaks again, slightly laced with mischief, and with it, a man shows up, yet the idea of being holding similarities to a ‘man’ dies upon getting your eyes on him, “i should introduce myself first”

Neuvillette, how he introduces himself, may have the face of a human, with long white hair, two long blue horns ondulating behind his head, a bit of blue scales on his cheeks and littered across the milky skin of his chest, down, down, merging into a dragon like tail that could easily be at least two times your height and ended in a small pointy shape.

you swallow hard, both mesmerized by the creature and scared of what it might do with you, “i’m sorry for intruding” your voice is low, slightly shaky, “i will take my leave”

“oh, dearest, fear not,” he says as quickly as the words leave your mouth, swimming until his face is merely inches away from you and a clawed hand cups your face, a smirk adorning the dragon’s lips, “i do not intend to harm you” mesmerizing eyes, he has, enough to put you at ease and ignore the subtle grip on your ankle his tail has put on you, “i’m merely... curious”

“curious?”

he nods, softly tracing the tip of his pointy claw across your cheekbone, without causing any pain thankfully, but still enough to make you shiver, “that’s right, it’s been a while since I saw a human, especially one as precious as you” his gaze is warm, taking every detail of your face, but a hint of desire dance behind them.

“your face is absolutely beautiful” Neuvillette continues, “your body is driving me mad, I am certain many have courted you, am I right?”

flustered and heated is how you feel, every lingering touch of his on your skin making your breath hitch, “no... no one has...”

he tuts, cupping your nape and placing a sharped thumb on the side of your neck, “that is impossible, dear, with your beauty any man could fall to their knees” the tail that was once wrapped around your ankle starts to raise, slow and barely noticeable until it sets around your knee, “myself included”

a smile spreads through his face at your visible shiver, “now, would you allow me to... show you how beautiful you are?” Neuvillette purrs, sliding a free hand down your side until it holds your waist, bringing you closer at the soft nod from you, “that’s a good girl”

and you whine, almost immediately melting into the dragon’s touch, into the eager lips that trace across your neck, shoulders, shedding your clothes at the same time his lips seek for more, until they set on your nipples, sucking with eagerness while his hands massage your soft breasts, “divine” he groans, using his tail to squeeze your thighs, fondling on your skin, on wherever he could touch.

“i will make you mine” his words are heated, hastily pushing down your skirt and panties before a single finger pushes against your slit, rubbing up and down and catching on your clit at times, making you moan and shudder on his hold.

“Neuvillette...” you beg, holding onto his shoulders, hair, and finally horns with a satisfied groan coming from him, your body moving enticingly on his now two fingers desperately rubbing on your swollen clit, circling and teasing your slick hole with the bits of his fingertips, careful not to hurt you with the claws.

“gorgeous, so gorgeous” the dragon murmurs, licking on the skin of your collarbones while continuously testing your pretty pussy, “will you let me take you?”

you nod almost immediately, back arching and thighs trembling while gently rocking on the sides of Neuvillette’s hand in the translucent water, providing support.

“do not fear” he reassures you, yet the foreign sensation of a slick, pointy tentacle like cock against you is enough to make you yelp.

“w-what—” eyes immediately drifting down to where his hips should be, noticing how there’re two similar looking cocks poking from a slit hidden between the blue scales, “two?!”

a soft chuckle rumbles through Neuvillette’s chest, “i will do you no harm” he speaks gently, holding your thighs gently, like lifting the most precious possession in his hold, and bringing you to wrap your legs around him, “i will make you feel good”

and he was right, the tip of a cock began to push into your soaked cunt, it’s shape made the penetration easier, spreading you each time further with the thin point and thick base, all the way until you were fully impaled on his length, shuddering, moaning almost as loud as Neuvillette’s groans of pleasure, all while the other cock messily rubbed on your ass, and even underwater, you could feel the creamy, thick composition of precum smeared on your skin.

“ah, yes... so warm and perfect” the dragon roars, eyes closed in bliss while rocking your hips down against him, grinding your puffy clit on his toned abdomen and ripping a whine out of your lips at the multiple sensations.

and he waits no time, harmlessly digging his claws on your ass, using his hands to guide you up and down his cock rhythmically, turning into desperate and lust driven thrusts that knock the air out of your lungs, the water swirling, echoing the lewd sound of skin slapping in the cave, which only makes your toes curl and cunt clamp down his length.

“N-neuvillette..., so... deep!” you squeal, holding onto his horns and waist as if your life depended on it.

he groans in return, moving frenzied now, “perfect, my love, grant me access to your fertile womb so I can fill you with my seed” and his words, so unfiltered and raw cause you to shudder, a soft overwhelmed sniffle coming out like the immense amounts of slick Neuvillette fucks out of you.

“are you going to cum, my love? I can feel you clenching around me, it feels incredible, I wish to continue making you mine all day, every single day for the rest of your life” he mumbles against your neck, cuddling you into his arms, while forcefully penetrating you with his hands now under your thighs, keeping you spread and reaching impossibly deeper into your needy hole.

an answer isn’t needed by the way you wail and shiver, pussy fluttering around the dragon’s cock, nipples aching and rubbing on his chest and the occasional smack of your clit on his skin is enough to send you over the edge, screaming out his name merely seconds before he does the same, nails digging on your skin while he fills your creamy pussy with multiple ropes of his pearly white cum, enough to seep out of your messy insides.

“you’ve done perfect, my dearest, I shall wait for the next time you grant me another moment to enjoy your delicious body”

[sky-scribbles]

I'm in awe of how well each god's attitude toward Aeor reflects their divine domains.

Emhira, the matron of Ravens, sees no reason not to bring the city down. Death is inevitable. The Raven Queen does not quarrel with resurrection, and she does not quarrel with killing, because all souls come to her, sooner or later - what's a few decades more or less? What's the point of risking herself and the family she's joined, the order she's created, for the sake of postponing death?

Ayden, the Dawnfather, is the god of light and life and growing things. Those druid levels aren't for show; he's the god of agriculture. He looks at Aeor and sees that a harvest may yet come from barren ground. It's not in his nature to tear out roots; it's his nature to help things grow. You can't heal everything. You always have to try.

Silaha, the Arch Heart, looks at Aeor and sees its beauty. It's full of magic. Silaha is not opposed to destroying Aeor, because beauty never lasts: a flower dies, a spell fades, a shining tower falls. But neither is he convinced that Aeor has to die, because beauty is something to be treasured and cherished. Let's relax, let's get a drink, let's think this through. Beauty is wonderful, whether it lasts or not.

Asha, the Wildmother, wants to survive, because that is what wild things do. Predators kill to eat, and prey kills to defend itself. Aeor has backed her into a corner, and her fangs are bared. Nature is death as well as life, nature is brutal, nature endures at all costs. Civilisation no longer speaks to her. She's hungry. She's angry. Her teeth are looking for a throat, ready to tear, ready to protect what is hers.

Trist, the Everlight, hears talk of death and says no. The Everlight, who has let herself fall in love with a mortal and have mortal children, even knowing how much it's all going to hurt. Whose nature is to see the worth in broken things, violent things, irredeemable things. Who looks at the cruelty of Aeor and does not deny it, but will not let anyone forget that everyone here is a person. The bravest of all of them, to look at Aeor and say this, too, is worth saving.

[teojira]

Scar x fem! Reader/Rover from Wuthering Waves where Reader is trying to get Yangyang back, and Scar offers to give her back for a kiss from reader 🫦

[What's the harm?] [Scar/reader drabble]

Summary: Scar strikes a deal with you, for both your and Yangyang's freedom. (You are Rover in this!)

Word count: 1k+ (I got POSSESSED)

Pronouns: She/her implied

Warnings: Possibly OOC but the game is 3 days old, have mercy. Slightly nsfw! Scar is down bad. You're Rover in this and you're also down bad.

A/N: I want him so bad, the constant flirting with MC? The way his eyes soften at her? I'm in love with him so bad.

“Where is she?” He's already isolated you for Yangyang, bringing you into his domain.

 It's unnerving, standing alone with a man you've seen cause so much trouble, someone who constantly is trying to get into your head.

The comments he makes, there are so many of them and they just keep coming. 

Is he lying about wanting you? Lying about wanting your trust? Is this just a ploy to get you on his side? 

You're not sure, your brain can't deny that this is a trap, he trapped you, but your brain can't deny that he's looking at you with a soft gaze that you're sure he's never graced another human with. He looks like he simultaneously wants to eat you alive and protect you like he claims.

Scar himself stands a few feet away, arms crossed as his eyes trail along your form, starting from your feet, lingering a bit on your chest until finally meeting your eyes. You swear you can see a twinkle in his eye, and he doesn't even remotely try and hide the way he licks his lips at you, a predator grin making it's way on his handsome face.

“Oh come on Rover, she'll be fine~”

“I'm not doing this with you, give her back.” You steel yourself, hand resting on the scabbard of your sword, ready for him to attack.

To your surprise, he knocks his head back and laughs, shaking his head, the movement jostling his locks. He turns back to you, moving closer, step by step.

“Look at that, that fire in your eye is mesmerizing Rover, you're that concerned with a woman who only wants to use you?” He coos, voice mimicking how an adult talks to a child and you feel small, taking a small step back but the distance still closes, he's not letting you get away.

“Stop. I'm not playing this game with you Scar, let me go and give Yangyang back.” You hate how your voice trembles a bit, hating yourself for his presence having such an effect on you.

“Yangyang This, Yangyang that, what about me my dear? Why don't you say my name like you do hers? With that fondness.” He glowers, finally closing the distance, stepping into your personal bubble and cornering you against a large rock.

“What are you even-” You can't help the flush that rushes to your face, your head dizzy at the proximity. The body heat radiating off of him is jarring, but not as jarring as his smell. He smells of ash and burnt wood, and a mix of his own natural scent and it feels warm and safe. For the first time since you've woken up, you feel protected, despite him being the enemy. The same one who the nation you're supposed to protect hates.

It's so stupid, it's so stupid.

"Say my name.” He's leaning down now, was he always this tall?

“W-” He cuts you off, grabbing your jaw with one hand, squeezing your cheeks ever so slightly, only releasing to brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Say it, Rover.” His face is so fucking close, you can feel his breath tickling your face.

"Scar." You breathe out, your head spinning, this is wrong, you shouldn't have let him get this close, you need to get out and find Yangyang, what the fuck are you doing?

"Give me what I want, and I'll let you both go." He murmurs, eyes zeroed in on yours.

His heterochromatic eyes are beautiful already, but the way they're so dilated, barely any of his color is shown.

"I'm not following."

"Just a kiss my dear, just one."

"How do I know you're gonna keep your word?"

"You don't, but I don't think that's gonna stop you." He coos again, moving to trail one of his hands down your back, pushing you closer to his body, your chests both heaving and resting on one another.

He's right, as of right now, there is absolutely nothing that will stop you from this, from giving in just this once.

You lean in first, shutting your eyes tight.

It's Scar who does the rest, crashing into you like a wave, trying to consume you.

He kisses you like you're long lost lovers, pouring so much passion into the kiss that you can't ever hope to return, so when he pushes you up against the rock, you know this'll be a reoccurring occurrence. It's addicting, the feeling of his lips finally on yours, all the tension finally reaching a climax. His tongue is damn near down your throat, swallowing down your moans as much as he could, his hands gripping your hips so hard, you wouldn't be surprised if it left a mark later (a small part of you hope he does).

It takes everything in your power to pull away, but the second you do, he moves to start licking at your neck, you can feel his canines run along a specific patch of skin that makes your legs weak. You place a hand on his chest, trying to gently push him away.and when that doesn't work, you bring your other hand up to run your fingers through his locks and tug him away.

The groan he lets out is downright sinful. He looks up at you, his expression as if he just fucked you within an inch of your life, his hair mussed, his lips glossy from your combined spit.

"Was that good enough?"

"Oh honey, you're lucky I don't take you right here. But I am a man of my word." He hums, licking his lips and letting out a snicker. With a shocking gentleness, he pecks your lips one last time.

"Wake up now."

"Rover! Rover! Are you okay?" Yangyang has your head on her lap, one of her palms on your forehead, feeling the warmth there.

All you can do is groan and bring a hand to your face, covering your cheeks.

"What'd he do to you in there?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏ��ᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀ��ᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴏɴ!

[jimvasta]

Humans and their pets

The sentient races of the universe have just about started to get their heads, or approximate similar in function body parts, around the odd nature of humans but only recently have humans begun to bring other Earth creatures into space with them.

“Don't worry about Fluffy, he's totally ship trained.” the human designated Bradley spoke with frightening casualness about the creature sat at his side. It's muzzle was level with his hips and it's forward facing eyes showed it had predator history just as much as humans did.

“It has fangs.” Captain Mota'tog was unimpressed. The permissions were correctly stamped on the file and yet such a creature hardly appeared inoffensive.

“He does not, he's not poisonous. Of course some of his teeth are sharp, he's an omnivore.”

“He's a hunter.”

“He mostly hunts biscuits. He'll scavenge in the canteen from anyone soft enough to feed him. He's a certified well-being dog. People stroke him, he's got really soft fur, it makes them feel better. Look, he's wagging his tail, it means he likes you.”

Mota-tog whistled uncertainly.

“Oh wow!” One of the human engineers arrived at the airlock and dropped her bag as she stared at the dog. “So cute!”

Fluffy jumped round, tail wagging furiously, nuzzling in as the woman buried her hands in his warm soft fur.

“You are totally gorgeous. You're so fluffy and beautiful, you're like a little polar bear. You're here to stay, yes you are.” the woman happily baby talked to the dog who was more than half her size.

Bradley looked at the Captain and indicated. “See. Dogs make us happy.”

“You do all the care for it.”

“Of course.”

There were some false starts with the rest of the crew who were not so trusting of the huge pack hunter in their midst, but over the next few months they slowly learned to trust that the worst he would do was beg for food off their plates at meal times. Some of the braver aliens even began to pet him.

Then an alarm sounded.

Everyone raced to their emergency stations.

Bradley was in the cargo hold, his duty was to check the cargo was safe and secure.

He had quickly trained Fluffy to sit in a corner out of the way. It kept him safe in case anything shifted. The last thing he wanted was for his pet to get hurt by moving cargo.

The clang of magnetic grabs was deafening.

The alert was for a boarding raid.

Pirates.

Bradley cracked his knuckles and picked up a pry bar.

Through the rest of the ship there were varying degrees of panic.

A few of the other species could fight but most looked to the humans, having learned the way they fought when cornered and knowing their best hope to survive was to stay back and wait for the screaming to stop.

“What the fuck is that?!” the shout was shock and outrage. More anger than fear in the moment.

Crouching as it came through the main airlock was a creature taller and broader than anything else on the ship.

“Star spirits preserve us,” Mota'tog whistled. “A Batath.”

“It's a bloody troll is what it is.” Martins snapped.

Everyone froze as they heard the snarling and growling.

It was not coming from the Batath.

Fluffy arrived at speed and leapt, not caring can his opponent was huge. His fur was already matted with the blood of pirates and this was just another opponent.

The humans charged.

The Batath could only concentrate on one enemy at a time, it was used to picking off creatures as they ran, not fighting them off as something had its teeth deep around a knee trying to rip it apart.

The pirates ran when the Batath fell and the gore covered humans turned to face them.

Bradley let himself drop to the deck. “Don't worry, I'm fine. Good boy, Fluffy.”

Mota'tog shook his feathers as he watched the dog go back from snarling killing machine to placid fuss receiver. “I swear to the spirits, all Earth creatures are insane.”

[kaiser1ns]

#. HUG ME ? BRING IT IN !

featuring 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ıllı. kaji ren, takiishi chika, togame jo, umemiya hajime, endo yamato

fluff. you were supposed to give all of your attention to him, rather than hugging the cute stuffed toy.

KAJI REN

Before getting a boyfriend, you had no problem falling asleep alone. It was you, the blanket, and the cute stuffed plushie who kept you company. But after you started dating and having sleepovers with Kaji Ren, you realized how you couldn't sleep without hugging something. First, it was one plushie, then two, then three, and you begged for a fourth, a fifth—the saga never-ending. Most were gifts from him, and that's why you held them so close to your heart, hugging them when you couldn't hug your boyfriend.

It was early afternoon when Kaji decided to stop by your place just to see you. Your mother greeted him, telling him you were in your room. When he reached your safe haven, he was left dumbfounded. There you were, hugging that damn pink bunny. Its left triangle eyebrow was thick while the right was thin—he hated it. It was like the plushie was mocking him, telling him it got you first.

Kaji frowned, clicking his tongue as he removed his headphones, placing them on the desk where your pictures were framed and … Why do you have a picture with the stuffed toy?

If you weren't asleep right now, you'd laugh at him for being so silly, but also so cute with his dark gray eyes intensely watching the plushie, and his pouty lips just waiting to be kissed. Acting on impulse once again, Kaji removed the pink bunny from your arms, threw it on the ground, and left your arms empty. He watched you breathe calmly, your chest rising and falling.

When he bent down to lay next to you, you snapped your eyes open and screamed, making him flinch and fall out of the bed, landing next to the plushie that seemed to mock him once more.

"Ren?" you said, sleepily peering over the edge of the bed.

He groaned, sitting up and glaring at the pink bunny. "Why do you always choose this thing over me?" You laughed softly, reaching out to help him up. "I didn't choose it over you. It's just... sometimes I need something to cuddle with when you're not here."

He sighed, sitting on the bed and pulling you into his arms. You smiled, resting your head on his chest. This time he needed something to hug to make him calm down. Nothing could get in the way of this moment, so peaceful and beautiful, with no worries, just him and you.

“I also ordered new plushies.” He thinks you should have stayed asleep because if he hears the word plushie one more time, he will go crazy. "For us to match when you can't fall asleep when I'm not with you.” That was, his breaking point, but it's okay because he is crazy in love with you despite your plushie obsession, but he won't tell you how much money he spent on limited edition stuffed toys for your upcoming birthday. Some things are better kept hidden, but a soft smile made its way visible on his face, betraying the mask of his annoyance.

TAKIISHI CHIKA

It was getting late and you still waited for your boyfriend to visit, after he said he would, but he probably got in another fight to pass the time. You loved him but sometimes you thought he loved fights more than you, in some way he did, but that didn't stop when Takiishi fought his way to you with the many plushies you owned when he got to your apartment and saw you asleep on the couch, hugging the stuffed lion plushie.

He remembered how you couldn’t stop looking at the stand with stuffed toys at the fair, and how, after much begging, he won it for you. You had laughed and said it looked just like him — your mini Takiishi. The big and fierce predator is just one little cute kitten. But there could only be one Takiishi Chika in your life.

He wishes he was as soft and squishy as it, hinting that he wants more physical affection. Since you started dating, he found himself wanting to be closer to you, to feel your warmth, and to know that you were always by his side. It was a vulnerability he wasn't used to, and it often led him to seek extra hugs and kisses for reassurance.

As if sensing his thoughts, you stirred awake, blinking sleepily up at him. A soft smile spread across your face, and you reached out for him with one hand, the other still holding onto the toy. "Baby, you are here." Your voice was a soothing melody in the quiet room.

Chika reached down, his larger hand gently pulling you up. The toy slipped from your grasp as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, hugging him just as you had hugged the stuffed lion moments before. Your fingers tangled in his long hair, and he couldn't help but sigh, feeling your warmth against him.

"You were hugging that thing," he murmured, in a calm soothing voice, though the jealousy was still there. You chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to his neck. "Well, it reminds me of you. But nothing compares to the real deal." Your words were a balm to his insecurities, and he held you tighter, burying his face in your hair.

"Is that so?" he asked, his breath warm against your ear. You nodded, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, his hands holding your legs more firmly.

"Absolutely. The plushie is cute, but it can't hold me like you do." You smiled, tracing your fingers along his jawline. He relaxed, but at the same time wanted to pull away from the affection. You laughed softly, leaning in to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. "Just so you know, you're my favorite."

But instead he pulled you into a deeper embrace, you felt the tension in his muscles ease. You knew he’d fight the world to be with you, but right now, all he needed was the reassurance of your love. And you were more than happy to give it to him.

TOGAME JO

Togame was enjoying his time listening to you tell the latest gossip as you moved around the room, his eyes following your every step. He sat on the edge of your bed, a tender smile playing on his lips as you recounted the latest drama among your friends. In your hands, you clutched a cute turtle plushie, and the sight of you so animated and engaged made his heart swell.

"And then you won't believe what she said, Kame-chan!" you exclaimed, pulling the plushie close to your face as if it could somehow share in your excitement.

Togame’s smile widened, and he couldn’t resist answering, his voice soft yet teasing. "What did she say, love?"

You froze, a look of confusion crossing your features as you turned to face him. "Wait, I thought you left?" you asked, your brow furrowing slightly as you tried to recall when you last saw him heading out for some business.

His eyes twinkled as he leaned back slightly, making himself more comfortable on the bed. "Why would I?" he responded, feigning innocence. His gaze flickered to the plushie in your hands, and he chuckled softly. "Besides, how could I miss out on hearing what she said?"

Your eyes widened as you realized what had happened. "Oh my gosh, you heard that?" A blush crept up your cheeks, and you hugged the plushie tighter, as if it could somehow shield you from the embarrassment.

Togame stood up and walked over to you, gently taking the turtle plushie from your hands and examining it with a mock-serious expression. "So, this is Kame-chan, huh? You named him after me?"

You nodded shyly, face in your hands to hide your red face. "I thought it was cute."

He chuckled, placing the plushie back into your hands before pulling you by the waist sitting on the bed again, as he sat you on his lap, wrapping his arms around your body. "I'm flattered, really," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "But you know, the real Togame is right here, and he loves you just as much as Kame-chan does."

UMEMIYA HAJIME

You clutch the Cinnamoroll plushie tightly, its soft fur pressing against your cheek as you glance at Umemiya. The plushie, a recent gift from him, has quickly become your favorite, and you can't stop talking about how much it reminds you of him. The white hair, the blue eyes, the insatiable appetite, and that pure-hearted nature—Cinnamoroll is practically Umemiya's spirit animal. Every time you hug it, you feel a rush of warmth, as if you're holding a little piece of him close to your heart.

"Isn't it just the cutest?" you gush for the umpteenth time, eyes shining with joy. "It's just like you, Hajime! Always happy, always there when someone needs you. If you were an animal, you'd definitely be a puppy, just like Cinnamoroll."

Umemiya gives you a small smile, but there's something behind it, a hint of something you can't quite place. As the day goes on, you notice he seems quieter than usual. You catch him glancing at you and the plushie with a look that almost seems…jealous? It was rare to see him looking anything other than cheerful, and it tugged at your heartstrings.

Finally, during a quiet moment on your date, you catch him pouting slightly. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you ask, "Hajime, what's wrong? You've been a bit off today."

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, looking slightly embarrassed. "It's just…you've been hugging that plushie all day, and I haven't gotten a single hug."

You blink in surprise, then burst into laughter, feeling a bit guilty. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry! I didn't realize." Setting Cinnamoroll down gently, you step forward and wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. "You know you're the best, right? Not even the cutest plushie could ever replace you."

He relaxes into your embrace, a contented smile spreading across his face. "I guess I can share you with Cinnamoroll," he murmurs, hugging you back even tighter. You chuckle softly, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "As long as I still get my daily doze of your love."

ENDO YAMATO

The night was perfect for a cozy movie date, as you had planned it for weeks, and now you were finally together, nestled on the couch. "Face mask time!" you announced with a playful grin, holding up two colorful packets. Endo raised an eyebrow but didn’t protest, instead he just smiled with that charming smile of his and leaned back, letting you apply the mask on his face. You took your time, smoothing the cool gel over his skin, "Mmm, it feels nice." he murmured, eyes closed in relaxation.

As the movie continued, you snuggled up with your favorite dinosaur plushie, he, however, didn't like the fact that you hadn't snuggled into him. With a quick move, he grabbed the plushie out of your arms and got up. "Yamato!" you protested, pouting playfully, as the tattooed boy held the plushie high above his head, his height giving him an unfair advantage. But you were smarter, as you stepped on his foot, gently without as much power, catching him off guard. He wobbled, just enough for you to grab your plushie back.

He chuckled, pulling you close again. "Alright, alright, you win," he said, his voice warm and teasing. You nestled back into his side, plushie securely in your arms, feeling his arm wrap around you protectively. "Thought you would have made me go extinct like this little guy with that stomp of yours." he teased, as you rested your head against his shoulder. "I guess you'll have to share me with the dino."

Endo sighed dramatically, but his eyes were soft as he looked at you, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. "As long as I get most of the snuggles~"

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[ventique18]

When grandma Maleficia hears that her grandson is planning to propose, she thinks it's time to hand over one of the greatest heirlooms in their family.

Grandma: "It is your turn to hold on to this, dear. Your mother used it to propose to her husband, as I did to mine. This tradition dates back to the very first Draconia: the Thorn Witch herself. May this bring you everlasting happiness and a lifetime of blessings."

🐉: "Many thanks, my most kindly grandmother. May our glory give me strength."

... And he dismantles it to repurpose it into a design he made himself. Absolutely crumbles the huge gem into pieces because he thinks it's tacky and waaaay too unfashionable for his future spouse to wear on their beautiful finger.

But his main reason?

"My family's history is part of me, but it is not me. I am offering myself for my beloved to accept, and so this ring must be a reflection of who I am."

When grandma heard of what her idiot of a grandson did to an artifact that predates even the most ancient of civilizations, she was livid. Extremely furious. She had to order an entire reconstruction work to her castle because the amount of damage her outburst did to it was beyond anyone's magical ability to repair.

But when she calmed down and received a photo of the moment Malleus slipped on the ring to his beloved's finger, a little smile crept on her lips.

"... Not bad."

Perhaps it was time for a little fashion update for the rickety old thing, after all.

[ququoquaw]

[thedomesticanthropologist]

Astarion has so much guilt about victims like Sebastián because he had no excuse for targeting them beyond wanting to feel good, himself, and get some comfort for an evening.

I'll elaborate

No matter what, he HAS to try to bring back a victim. This is the order, and yeah he railed against it a few times and tried to escape/refuse but it's quickly shown that he gets that beaten out of him

So, who does he usually target? Easy prey. Drunks, brothel-goers, idiots. His words. He brings back people that are easier to catch, won't be missed, ect. But what is the reality of having to do that?

- Victims who are unwashed, sometimes to the extreme

- Victims who are physically and verbally abusive

- Victims who are esthetically unappealing/unattractive to him, sometimes to the extreme

- Shitfaced drunk victims who have all the appeal of your average shitfaced drunk

Then there were the unlucky, these would be neutral victims that he probably felt suffered the same fate of wrong place wrong time, like getting crushed by a falling air conditioning unit except it's getting brought back to Cazador.

But "then there were a few Sebastians"

His type. Soft, sweet, innocent. Genuinely interested in him. Caring. Beautiful. A victim that Astarion could actually pretend with, if only for a night. Where he could fake being on a real date, where he could dream of being free to make his own choices.

And by doing this, by targeting THESE people, he knows he's murdering them just for a brief chance at an encounter that serves him slightly. He's trading their entire lives for an evening away from his own torment.

He can rationalize the deaths of theives, beggars, predators, rapists, drunks,slobs, Because he dehumanizes them or judges them as not being worth a life (or having much of a life) anyway.

But those sweet moments where he got to play pretend? He can't excuse himself. He can't. He knows what he's done. He knows exactly what he's done and how he's ruined someone who otherwise would have or COULD have otherwise had a beautiful life. Been a good person, contributed to the world. He traded that for a brief, brief respite from his own personal hell.

No wonder he wanted to kill all the Spawn down there. No wonder he didn't want to face it. Because can you judge a dagger for being used to murder someone? No, you judge the wielder. He could easily have written off so many of them as him just being Cazadors dagger.

It's the ones he chose.

Those ones are the crux of his guilt.

[pearlessance]

Our Little Secret [part two]

[PART ONE]

Summary - Joel Miller has commited an act of sin with the girl next door and seeks out penance.

Pairing - dbf!Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings - explicit sexual content MDNI, angst, infidelity (not against reader or Joel), heavy on the breeding kink towards the end, jealousy, oral sex, unprotected sex

[crossposted on AO3]

Joel’s fears return with the sun and are amplified tenfold when he wakes up alone. 

You must have come to your senses, he thinks. Must have finally seen him for the terrible man he truly is and escaped while you still could. Like fleeing from a predator's clutches; because that’s what he was, wasn’t it? A predator? A man who exploits young girls for his own benefit, who takes advantage of them in an act of personal desire. His stomach turns. 

Except that isn’t the whole truth. It isn’t the plural form of girls, it’s just one. Just you. You, who he wants to nurture, to protect, to take care of in the way a man is supposed to take care of a woman. You, who entices him with short skirts and soft touches and tempting words about keeping you all to himself. They must have been words said in the afterglow of sex, Joel tells himself. They didn’t mean anything. Right? Endorphins were high because all of that long laid, pent up sexual tension finally came to fruition. But it was over now, and Joel was alone. Again. 

The abrupt shattering of glass slashes through his bleak thoughts. He wrenches himself out of bed, takes the stairs two at a time, and stops in the kitchen. 

You’re still here, and Joel can breathe a little easier, but there’s glass at your bare feet, and that’s a problem. “Don’t move,” he says. He turns to grab the broom, but out of the corner of his eye he sees movement and repeats a little harsher this time, “Don’t. Move.”

“I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed,” you say, your lips pushed out into the cutest little pout. 

He sweeps the glass away from you, careful to get every last piece, and dumps the shards into the trash can. It’s only then, when he knows for certain the risk of harm has well and truly passed and he’s the only threat to you left in the room, that Joel can appreciate the sight before him. There’s a heaping plate full of pancakes on the counter, a mug of steaming coffee, and the orange juice carton, unopened, is sitting beside two forks. The pancake on the top of the stack has chocolate chips in it. 

Maybe its because he never thought you’d actually do it, or maybe it’s because of the grim mood he’d just been in, but Joel finds himself feeling appreciative for more than just breakfast. It reminds him of that morning all those years ago, when you’d been in his kitchen wearing his flannel. He wonders if you still have it, if you still wear it, if you still put it on and think of him late at night. You’re wearing something new this time. It’s just an old, faded t-shirt Joel had forgotten about at the back of his closet, one he hadn’t worn in years. It swallows you up. It’s long enough to cover all of your most intimate parts, and yet somehow you still make it look sexy and erotic and slutty.

He knows it's wrong. He knows its a terrible, awful idea…but it’s the next morning and you’re still here and Joel just cant’t help himself. He smiles softly at you. “It’s okay,” he promises. He closes the distance between you, crowding you against the counter. He puts his hands on your hips and you look up at him with parted lips. “I won’t make it back upstairs anyway. I’m too hungry.”

You put your hands on his bare chest, delicate, red painted nails scratching softly against his skin. “Is that right?”

Joel nods, and decides to soak up the moment. Your hair is tangled around your shoulders, and you smell like him, and your makeup is smeared around your eyes, and he thinks you’re beautiful. He never wants to forget the way you look right now, in his clothes, in his kitchen, in his hands. He can’t help himself from leaning his head against your shoulder and kissing the juncture of your collar bone. He can’t help himself from tasting you, from using his teeth, from leaving a bruise to make certain he’s in your head for a few more days. He wants the sound of your breathy moan embedded in his fucking brain, wants it stamped in his skin. “Yes,” he answers, lifting you up with his big arms around your waist and setting you on the counter. “I’m starving, actually.”

Starved is such a perfect term for it, he thinks. Because Joel lowers himself to his knees before you, and his mouth waters like he hasn’t eaten in days. He massages the supple flesh of your thighs, presses his mouth to the inside, and leaves marks there, too. He has suffered for so, so long without you. And if you come to your senses, he wants you to think of him every time you look in a mirror. 

He wants you to think of him and the way he makes you feel, wants you to think of the way your legs part for him on instinct, like your body knows him. If you come to your senses, Joel wants you to remember for the rest of your fucking life how it feels to have his tongue inside of you, to have your clit between his lips, to have your hands in his hair. 

He wants you to remember what it’s like to grind your pretty pussy on his face, what it’s like to have his fingers inside of you, what it’s like to shake and tremble at his touch and whine when he pulls away moments before you cum. He wants you to remember the lingering taste of yourself in his mouth when he kisses you, wants you to remember how fucking perfect it feels when he pulls his cock out of his sweatpants and buries it deep inside you. You like it when he pushes in so far there’s no telling where you end and he begins, Joel knows. You make the prettiest sounds, and your hands grip his shoulders a little tighter. You’re so needy for him it’s unreal, so reactive, so perfect. He wants you to remember what it feels like when he kisses you with all the love he has left in him, hoping you can hear the words in his movements. He wants you to remember what it feels like to cum on his cock and leave a mess on the counter.

Joel wants you to remember what it’s like to be so desperate for him you call out for God.

When the two of you finally get around to eating the breakfast you spent all morning making, the pancakes are cold and the coffee is tepid. Joel wonders why it’s still the best cup he’s ever had.

After breakfast, your cell phone buzzes. It’s a voicemail from campus housing, and Joel realizes you can’t stay here in his kitchen forever. You help him clean up the dishes, and the counter where he made a mess of you, and then you abandon his old, faded t-shirt and pull your dress back on. He helps you find your shoes (and conveniently fails to mention the pink panties still stuck between the couch cushions. Joel is a terrible, sordid man, and stealing a bit of lace is the least of his recent transgressions). You pick up the Evil Dead DVD, and start to leave. 

But just as your fingers touch the handle, the door is swinging open and Sarah is standing in the threshold.

Joel doesn’t know what to do. His heart is stuck in his throat, and he sort of feels like a kid again, being caught by Tommy while sneaking back in through his window. He doesn’t know how to explain, doesn’t know where to begin, is terrified his daughter will begin to see him differently, or— 

“Perfect timing,” you say, and Joel is more confused than he’s ever been in his life. “Here.” You hand the DVD to Sarah, who’s face splits into a grin the moment she reads the title. “I have to head back to campus today, but wanted to give this to you before I go. Figured you’d get more use out of it than I would.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!”

“Language,” Joel chastises. 

You and Sarah both turn your heads to him simultaneously, and shoot him mirrored dismissive looks. Joel knows his only child is older now, growing into a young woman with a colorful vocabulary, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hear it.

Sarah turns to you, cheery demeanor falling away. “I wish you could stay,” she says. “I miss having you around.”

Joel does too, but he keeps his mouth sealed firmly shut. 

When you’re gone, he feels empty. He falls back into his normal routine of work and beer and pool, and you leave town to finish up your school year, and the only time he ever hears about you is when your dad drinks a couple too many and talks about you over the football game on TV. Joel hears about how you finish your junior year of college, still with those straight A's, and he feels the need to express how proud he is of you. Because he really, really is…but it’s your dad’s job to gush about what an extraordinary woman you’ve become. Not Joel’s. So, he keeps his mouth shut about that, too. 

He thinks about the saying distance makes the heart grow fonder, and thinks it’s such bullshit. Because the longer you’re away, the more he realizes how stupid he’s been. How dispicable and sleazy he’s been, how he could have potentially fucked up not only his relationship with his very best friend but with his own daughter, too. You deserve more than what he can offer, Joel knows. You deserve someone to experience being a young adult with, someone who you can relate to, someone who can take care of you for the rest of your life. You deserve someone better than Joel, and even though it hurts to admit, he does it. Distance has made his heart grow smarter.

Sarah graduates, and you stay in town for only two days to attend her graduation party. Your dad offers to host the celebration in his backyard, and Joel reminisces about your graduation party. He remembers how pretty you looked, how happy you were that day. And when you come back to town to celebrate his daughter, he loves that you’re still so bubbly and airy and carefree. He loves that you spend an entire day with Sarah picking out decorations and hanging up streamers and ordering cupcakes and making a poster board filled with Sarah’s favorite pictures.

During the party, you’re leaning your shoulder against the fence, red solo cup in hand, talking to Tommy. You’re wearing a black skirt that’s too short, too tight, and you have a pretty pink blouse tucked into it. When you cross one leg casually over the other, Joel realizes you have a run in your sheer, black tights. How did that get there, he wonders? He wonders too, why you’re giggling like that when Tommy just isn’t that fucking funny. 

Joel crosses the yard and twists off the top of his beer. “You two enjoying yourselves?”

“Yeah! It’s been a great turn out, and she seems happy,” you say, nodding to Sarah on the other side of the yard. She’s talking to a group of girls in her class.

“You did great with her yesterday, you know,” Tommy tells you. “You’d be a great mom. When’s it your turn to have babies?”

“Oh, God,” you say. Joel hears the echo of a very, very different sounding ‘oh, god,’ and takes a hefty sip of beer. “Probably not anytime soon.”

“No? Why not? Finish college first, of course, but after that?”

You only have one year left of school. There’s no rush. Why is his brother so interested in your contribution to procreation, anyway? It’s fucking weird, Joel thinks. 

“Maybe one day. I’d have to find the right man first,” you say. “You know, do it real traditional.”

“Any prospects lined up?”

“Christ, Tommy,” Joel sneers. “Leave the poor girl alone, would you?” He has no room to talk, Joel knows…but he can’t help himself. Not around you, anyway. His self control goes out of the window. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “And…no. No prospects.”

Tommy shakes his head in disbelief. “Now I know you’ve got all those big city boys up there waiting on you to give them a little attention. A girl like you?” He sucks in an exaggerated breath. “You’d get scooped up real fast.”

“That’s the problem though, isn’t it,” you say dismally. “They’re all boys. I said I want a man.” 

Joel can’t believe the words he’s hearing. Can’t believe how you could be so obvious, but how Tommy could still manage to look completely oblivious. He’s relieved when Sarah steals you away to introduce you to a friend. 

Joel helps your dad prepare the grill, and they talk about how crazy it is that both of their girls are grown up now. They talk about how old they’re getting, and how fast time flies, but Joel can’t pay attention because he can feel you. Can sense when you steal a glance at him from across the yard, because goosebumps break out across the back of his neck. He watches you disappear into the house, and excuses himself to follow you. 

He shouldn’t. Joel knows this. But, Christ, is he bad at following his instincts. He finds you on the tips of your toes, hands in the liquor cabinet, and wants to laugh at the irony. History repeats itself, it seems. He stands behind you with a hand on your hip and reaches for the half empty bottle of tequila. He sets it on the counter and when you don’t even turn to look at him he says indignantly, “You’re welcome.”

You wiggle the cork free and take a swig straight from the bottle. “You want me to thank you? For what, exactly?”

Truthfully, Joel doesn’t understand your bad attitude. He doesn’t understand why you’re so happy and bubbly to everyone else, but for some reason seem so… dissapointed with him. Joel might be a pervert when it comes to you, but he’s never, ever done anything you didn’t ask him for first. And it’s not fair, he thinks, that you get whatever you want. You get to go off to college and fuck boys that leave you unsatisfied. Because Joel knows Tommy was right — he knows they’re lined the fuck up for you. He’s not stupid. You get to leave him, and live your life, while Joel is forced to stay right where he is and think of you. You, you, you, all the fucking time. It’s not fair. If anyone should be angry, it’s him. “Oh, I dont know,” he says sarcastically. “Maybe for keeping all of your secrets.”

You turn to face him and lean your back against the counter. You’re in the same exact spot you were the first time you kissed his cheek, except this time you’re narrowing your eyes at him instead. “They’re your secrets now, Joel,” you tell him. “Not mine.”

“How are they not yours?”

“Because I don’t give a shit if the whole world knows them,” you say. “I don’t care if everyone here finds out what a slut I am. I don’t care if my dad finds out I fucked his best friend. But you do. Which makes them your secrets.” 

He doesn’t understand. “Are you saying you want him to find out?” The thought alone chokes him with anxiety. It would change everything — everything. No one would ever look at him the same. His perversion would be loudly on display. “Are you insane?”

“No, Joel,” you say. “I’m not insane. I just don’t lie to myself.”

“I don’t—”

“Then tell me right now you don’t want to be with me.” 

He’s in way over his head, Joel thinks. He doesn’t know how to navigate this, doesn’t know how to explain to you that it has nothing to do with what he wants and everything to do with what he is. He can’t lie, not to you, so he says nothing. Not yes or no, just nothing.

It’s answer enough, though, and when you speak again your voice is a whisper, a breath of life into a brand new secret. “You can have me,” you say. “I want to be yours. I think I always have been. Please, Joel… please.”

He hates the way you sound. He wants to fix it, but doesn’t know how. So, he does what he’s good at, he does what he knows makes you feel good. Joel kisses you hard, and savors the taste of cherry because something tells him this might be the last time. Your mouth opens, and your tongue is so soft against his, and he can’t get enough. Does it make him a bad person to want you so badly? Twenty-one-almost-twenty-two is a fair bit of life lived, isn’t it? Maybe it could work. Maybe he wouldn’t drag you down or keep you in Texas when you’re meant for far bigger things.

Joel slips his hand between your thighs and lets out a ragged moan when he realizes that you’re wearing nothing beneath your skirt. It’s just the nylon fabric of your tights, and he can feel the wetness gathering, can taste you on the tip of his tongue like a word he can’t quite remember. Joel wants a refresher. “Fuck, baby,” he sighs, forehead resting against yours. “I need you to be real quiet for me, okay? Can you do that?”

You nod frantically, and Joel gets on his knees. He pushes the fabric of your skirt up your legs and it bunches around your hips. He rips the nylon tights apart, giving him a perfect, unobstructed view of your pussy, shiny with desire. Desire he created, desire that belongs to him and him alone. Pride fills him when he thinks about it for too long. 

He doesn’t waste a second. Joel worships you like a man starved, and wonders if he’ll ever be satisfied. Wonders if he’ll ever get his fill of the sweetness between your thighs, wonders if he’ll ever tire of hearing you whimper. He licks at your clit, leaving no part of you untouched, and his cock strains in the confines of his jeans. Just tasting you has him teetering on the edge of release, but he wants this to be about you. He wants to show you how much you mean to him, wants you to know that just because he can’t be with you doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be. He slips two fingers into you and curls them upward, and you have to cover your mouth with your hand because you promised to be quiet. 

Joel makes you cum in his mouth, and feels like maybe his place in the world is right fucking here, on his knees for you, because its the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. Better than cherry, he thinks. But not as good as it feels to be inside of you. 

He turns you around and shoves your chest down against the counter. As he unbuckles his belt, he presses a kiss to your spine and says, “You want a real man, is that right?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “Yes. I want you.”

Joel slides the tip of his cock through your slick, lips turning up at the corners as you roll your hips back towards him. “I know you do, sweetheart,” he says. “Slutty girls need a little bit more, don’t they?”

You nod, a desperate whine coming from your chest. “Yes, yes—please, Joel, please.”

His name in your mouth is the end of his restraint. He eases into you, memorizing how it feels to stretch you out, memorizing how tight your pussy is, how fucking perfect it feels wrapped around him. Joel kisses your cheek softly and buries himself inside of you completely. “I want you to think about me,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, hips rolling against yours slowly. “When you go back to school and do this with all those other boys, I want you to think about me.”

He pulls out at an agaonizingly slow pace, and slams into you without warning. Your hand over your mouth barely muffles the sound. “Fuck.”

“They can’t make you feel like this, can they, baby?”

“Mm’no,” you answer, and Joel rewards you with another hard, deep stroke. “Just you, Joel, just you, just you, just you.”

It’s a prayer, he knows. He can feel the devotion in your words, and the piety makes him ache. Is this how it’s supposed to be? Is it supposed to feel like this? Like pain, like loss, like finality? Like intensity, like consumption, like religion? Joel wants to say it. He wants to say it so fucking bad. He says something disgusting instead. “This pussy was made for me, you understand?” He reaches beneath you, and his fingers swipe over your clit, and your legs start to shake. “It’s all me, pretty girl. It’s all fucking mine.”

You clench around him, and he has to hold you up to keep you from falling. Your eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and Joel wants to stay inside of you forever. “Yours,” you say softly. “I’m yours, Joel.”

Oh, how pretty you sound, he thinks. He’s going to miss this. He’s going to miss you so fucking bad. And because he may never get another chance to say it, Joel decides to make one more really fucked up, awful decision. 

He decides to tell the truth. 

When he spills his cum inside of you, he buries himself as deep as he can. He kisses your forehead and murmurs, “I love you, baby.”

He feels lighter, now that the words are no longer trapped in his chest cavity. You don’t say anything, and he’s not sure what that means, but Joel knows it’s not smart to stay like this. So he pulls out of you, tucks himself back into his jeans, and fixes your skirt.

The door flys open, and Joel is absolutely fucking mortified to see your father and Tommy walk into the kitchen. 

You uncork the tequila and raise the bottle to the air, cheeks flushed but easily passable as a buzz. “To growing up,” you say proudly. You take a swig and gimace at the taste.

Joel pulls the whiskey from the cupboard and pours shots for himself, your dad, and Tommy. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you pulling at the ends of your skirt, barely covering the rip in your tights. 

“To graduations,” your dad says. “Sarah’s today, and another one of yours next year.” He tilts the shot glass toward you before tossing the liquid back. 

Tommy raises his glass. “To hopefully getting little nieces or nephews soon!” 

Joel thinks his brother is drunk on shitty beer. Joel also thinks about his cum between your legs. He raises his glass. “To getting old,” he says, though he’s not particularly happy about it. The whiskey feels good going down. It acts as a buffer to shield him temporarily against the truth that gnaws at his psyche; he’s going to lose you. 

Sarah decides to attend college at the same university as you, and Joel can’t help but be a little nervous. It’s your senior year, and Sarah’s only a freshman, and Joel knows she’s going to cling to you, and you’re going to let her, and he isn’t sure how he feels about Sarah hanging out with people older than her. 

It turns out okay, from what he can tell, though. It’s weird to have an empty home, but he fills his time with work and helping your dad renovate your house. Joel doesn’t hear from you. Even when you visit during Christmas break, you barely manage to look at him. He doesn’t force the conversation, either. He knows it’s for the best. And that deep, aching feeling in his chest is just something he’ll have to find a way to get over. 

Sarah drones on and on about how much she loves college, about how many friends she has, about how you’re tutoring her in English and how thankful she is when you help get her a job as a barista.

And when the holiday is over, you’re standing outside beside your car, saying goodbye to your dad while Sarah hugs Tommy beside you. Joel approaches, holds his daughter tight, and reminds her to let him know if she needs anything. 

There’s a weird, uncomfortable moment when your eyes meet for the first time all week. It would be weird if he didn’t say goodbye to you, wouldn’t it? It would prompt questions from both Tommy and your father, because the two of you had once been so close. 

You move first. You plaster an awkward smile on your face and wrap your arms around his neck. Joel’s shoulders relax for the first time in months. 

It feels so right to hold you, as easy and painless as breathing. He puts his hands on the small of your back, and his fingers twitch with the urge to slide them down and grab a fistful of your ass. Instead, he holds you tightly and relishes in the feeling of your head on his chest. He lays his cheek against your hair and breathes the sweet scent of vanilla deep into his lungs. “You too,” he says. “Call if you need anything, alright? Anything at all.”

You nod and pull away, and Joel wonders if you know how much he means it. A single phone call and he’d be on the other side of Texas in an hour, because that’s what you mean to him. You’re not his, but he wants to love you like you are.

And he’s given the chance to prove himself just a few short days later. 

He’s watching the soft flakes of snow fall from the sky through his bedroom window when Joel’s phone rings. It’s an unknown number, which he’d normally ignore and block in the morning, but something tells him to answer it. Just this once. So he does, and he’s getting ready to tell the telemarketer to fuck off, but then he hears your voice. 

“Joel? Are you there?”

“What’s wrong?”

You sniffle, and he’s throwing the blanket back and searching for his jeans on the floor. “Nothing,” you say. “It’s…it’s nothing. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you crying? And why are you calling from an unknown number?”

“My phone’s dead,” you explain. “There’s, uhm—there’s a pay phone outside of my dorm. I didn’t want to wait for my phone to charge.”

Something is off, Joel can feel it in his bones. He holds his phone with his shoulder and pulls on his leather boots. “Talk to me,” he says. 

“Actually, I—I’m sorry. It’s late. This is stupid. I don’t know why I called. I’m sorry. Have a good night, Jo—”

“Baby,” he interrupts. “Baby, baby—don’t hang up. Talk to me. Please talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it, yeah? Tell me.”

You don’t say anything, but Joel can hear you breathing on the other end of the phone, can hear you teetering on the edge of a decision you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about. He understands. He really, really does.

Finally, you sigh heavily and say, “You told me you loved me Joel. You said…you said that and then you just let me leave. You just—you—you…God!”

The hands of guilt wind themselves around his neck and squeeze as realization hits. He is the reason you’re upset, the reason you’re crying, the reason you’re hurting. He hates it more than he’s ever hated anything in his life.

He doesn’t speak. He lets you get it all out, lets you purge your anger and disdain, your disappointment. It’s all rightfully placed, Joel thinks. “You asshole! Why would you do that? How could you say that and then go back to acting like it changed nothing? I’ve tried to get past it but I can’t, Joel! You never should have let me leave or—or you never should have said it if you didn’t mean it! It’s just—I don’t…it hurts! It’s mean! You’re being so—!” 

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. Rightfully placed or not, he’s not strong enough to hear the sorrow in your voice, not strong enough to hate himself more than he already does. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. He’s not apologizing for it. Joel’s not sorry at all for that overwhelming feeling you elicit in his chest. He’s only sorry he said it, sorry it’s caused you so much pain. If he’d known it would hurt you this much, he would’ve swallowed those words and kept them locked up for the remainder of his life.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” you say. “I want you to say it again and mean it this time.”

Joel doesn’t understand. It’s cruel, isn’t it, to ask him to do something knowing it will hurt you? He can’t. He’s already done enough damage. He can’t.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, Joel.”

He runs an exasperated hand down his face, and pressure builds behind his eyes. He can’t. He can’t. How is he supposed to live with himself? How is he supposed to hurt you, this little girl whose life has been made miserable because he couldn’t resist your temptation? 

Joel knows he loves you. And he thinks you know it, too. But saying it opens a wound better off sealed, and he wants to watch you flourish. He wants to watch you become your own person, wants to watch you live a full, satisfied life. And you can’t do that with him. He doesn’t think it’s possible. 

You let out a breath. “It’s snowing,” you say, voice thick with emotion. “It’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, he wants to say. Instead he says, “You deserve someone better.”

“I don’t want someone be—”

“You deserve someone you can relate to, someone you can grow old with.”

“I can grow old with you, J—”

“I’m already old, god dammit. Listen to me. You deserve something that doesn’t hurt,” he interrupts. “You deserve someone who’s good to you, someone your own age who doesn’t make you cry in the middle of the night. You deserve—”

“I don’t care about any of that, okay? All I’ve ever wanted was you.”

You’re making this impossible, he thinks. He drags a hand down his face. The forbidden fruit is in his hands, begging him to take a bite, and he nearly does it. He opens his mouth to say it, to damn all of the consequences and succumb to whatever hellish fate awaits him in the afterlife all to have you for himself, and then—

“Please insert twenty-five cents for an additional three minutes.”

“I have to go,” you say, voice cracking. “I guess I only wanted to say that I love you more, Joel Miller. Because I would have never let you walk away.”

The line goes dead, and Joel’s sitting there in complete silence with one boot laced, and for the first time in all his life he feels himself swell with grief. The loss is so heavy, so final—and he can’t breathe. His lungs are filling up with all the words left unsaid, and he’s afraid that if he digs out the roots you’ve grown in his chest that nothing will ever feel quite the same again.

The pain is there, and it’s smothering, but if not the pain then what else would he have left of you? 

He doesn’t sleep that night. Or the night after that, or the one after that. It takes less than a week of canceling plans and insisting he just has a cold before Tommy is pulling into the driveway and slamming his fists against the door, demanding to know what the hell is going on. 

Joel tells him. Over six shots of whiskey and a panic attack, he confesses all of his sins at the kitchen table to his little brother. He expects Tommy to be angry, or disgusted—but he isn’t even surprised. He says, “Well, shit, Joel,” and runs his hands through his hair. “Now what are you going to do?”

A million dollar question, it seems. He wants to drive up to that big university of yours and knock on every door until he finds your dorm room. He wants to exhale all those words trapped inside his chest cavity and keep you for himself like he’s always wanted. But that’s such a selfish thing to do, Joel thinks. It’s not what’s best for you, or him, or anyone. 

So he does nothing. Even on his fortieth birthday, when he gets a text message that reads Happy Birthday. I still love you more. He doesn’t reply, because he doesn’t know what to say. 

Well, that’s not entirely true—he knows exactly what he wants to say, but chooses to say nothing because if he does it would change his life, your life, the lives of those around you. So Joel suffers in silence and dreams of you instead, repeating the same old habits. 

You and Sarah come home for spring break together. And a boy your age gets out of the passenger seat. You introduce him to your dad, and Joel doesn’t catch his name but doesn’t really want to know, anyway. 

He tries to swallow the anger in his chest. He can’t expect you to live an empty life that mirrors his. That’s not what he wants for you. The whole point of his avoidance was to make sure you were able to live fully, happily, with someone your own age. Even though his brain is calm enough to rationalize this, it doesn’t change the fact that Joel thinks the boy is a terrible match for you. 

Joel’s helping your dad renovate the kitchen, and he’s waited a month so he could get your opinion on a couple things. At the hardware store, the four— five —of you are debating between three different backsplashes. Joel and Sarah stand a foot behind, watching the scene unfold. 

Your dad has a single white, porcelain tile in his hand. “It’s nice and bright,” he says. 

“But you painted the cabinets white,” you argue, holding up the sage green ceramic piece. “Change it up a little. The green would look better, I swear.”

The boy at your side holds a piece of sand colored masonry, and says, “You’re crazy. White on white is no good but neither is green. What is this, a soup kitchen?”

From a contractor’s standpoint, Joel agrees that the  warm toned green would look far better than the cool toned masonry—but it’s not his place for input. He’s only here to help haul the tiles home and grab the tools they need. And even though the way your little boyfriend speaks to you grates against his nerves, Joel says nothing. 

Your dad ends up going with the masonry, calling it a happy medium, but Joel can tell that you're the least happy out of the three. He doesn’t mention it.

Everyone decides on pizza for dinner, and Joel teaches Sarah how to grout tile, and for a single moment everything feels good and normal. Tommy comes over to help with the project, and you’re laughing at something he’s saying with your hands covered in masonry dust, and you seem content—but then your eyes meet from across the room, and Joel feels the Earth tilt on its axis. 

Your smile falters, and your jaw feathers, and you quickly look away but not before he catches the flash of hurt in your pretty eyes. It makes him feel nauseous. Joel abandons his tools and heads for the front door. Sarah asks if he’s alright, and he says he just needs some fresh air. 

Joel can feel the panic attack coming from a mile away. His palms begin to perspire, his chest constricts, he can’t suck in air fast enough. He reminds himself that you’re here—here, and safe, and happy if not for him. You’re fine. Even if he’s not, you are and that’s all that matters. That thought combined with the cold night air helps a little, abates the fingers of grief around his neck, but then he hears it. 

“I know, babe. I’ll be back in town soon. I just need to get through this week and then I’ll take you out to make up for it, alright?” 

Joel freezes. He strains his ears, trying to pick up the rest of the words as his anxiety hones itself into fury. 

“You know I love you more than her. Of course I do.”

He’s off the porch before he can think better of it. The boy you brought home is standing on the side of the house, cell phone pressed to his ear, and his eyes widen when he sees Joel. “I’ve gotta go,” he says quickly, but before he gets a chance to hang up the phone Joel grabs him by his shirt collar and slams him up against the side of the house.

The words come out slow, even—despite the seething rage that fills him. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t knock your teeth down your throat.”

He laughs, actually laughs in Joel’s face and says, “Cause I’ll air out all those dirty little secrets our girl keeps.”

Joel’s grip tightens. The word our grates against his spine.

“What? You don’t like it when people refuse to mind their fucking business? Me either,” he says. “So let me go, or I’ll tell them everything.”

“Let me tell you what’s actually gonna happen,” Joel says, slamming him against the siding, relishing in the gasp of pain he makes in response. “You’re going to go in there and apologize for being such a scumbag. You’re going to come clean, beg her forgiveness, and if she forgives you maybe—maybe then, I’ll let you walk out of here with no broken bones. Do you understand me?”

“And why would I do that? You think she deserves an apology? We’ve been together for over a year, you know that? When was the last time she spread her legs for you, huh?” The timeline slots together in Joel’s brain, and his jaw ticks. “I’m not apologizing for cheating on a slut.”

Joel’s fist flies across his face, leaving a split lip and blood in its wake.

He doesn’t understand what the fuck you even see in this guy. You obviously care about him enough to bring him home, to let him meet your dad, to stay with him for so long, but God —this is the worst person you could’ve ever picked. 

“Ooh—good one! Does it make you feel better to hit me ‘cause I can have her and you can’t? Wanna know another one of those dirty little secrets, Joel?” He tilts his head forward and whispers. “She can’t get off unless I let her call me daddy. And ya know, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think her daddy issues come from her real father, do they?”

Joel hits him again, an elbow to the jaw this time. 

“Dad!” Sarah’s panic stricken voice cuts through the fog of Joel’s rage.

He just doesn’t get it. You’re smarter than this. You deserve way fucking better than a half-assed relationship with a boy who—Joel stops.

In the dim glow of the porch light, he sees it. He finally fucking sees it. The boy has dark hair, has messy curls on top of his head, has tanned skin and calloused hands and warm eyes. It’s all vaguely familiar.

He looks like Joel. Or, what he looked like twenty years ago, anyway. 

Tommy grabs his brother by the shoulders and hauls him away, giving you just enough room to swoop in and coddle your little boyfriend, dabbing at his split lip. Tommy’s shoving Joel backwards, away from you and towards his house next door, but the force isn’t necessary. Because now he knows your newest secret, a real one. He knows you don’t care about this boy—you only care that he looks like Joel, and it brings him a strange satisfaction. 

“What the hell is going on?” Your dad asks, standing between the two families.

For a moment, he thinks about outing the bleeding boy to your father. Thinks about telling him how, at the hardware store, he sided with a boy who cheats on you, betrays you, disrespects you. Your father would be just as furious, Joel knows. 

But then he thinks about last summer in the kitchen, less than a year ago. He thinks about your phone call in December, he thinks about the look you shared inside moments ago and how deeply that pensive sadness seemed to run. And then he decides he’s already caused enough suffering, and so Joel shrugs and says, “Honest mistake. I thought he was an intruder.”

It’s a shitty lie, and no one believes it, but Sarah has her arm around Joel’s elbow and leads him home before anyone can ask any questions. Tommy says he’ll come over tomorrow to finish the backsplash, and Joel is thankful because he won’t be able to look at you and see that sad look again without crumbling. 

Joel’s sitting at the kitchen table with a beer in one hand and a bag of frozen peas on the other when Sarah sits beside him with a scolding look on her face. “You don’t get to fuck this up for her.”

“But I didn’t mean to—”

She holds up her pointer finger. “Stop talking. I’m not finished.” Sarah waits until Joel sighs and shrugs his shoulders before continuing. She leans on the table with her elbows and says, “She told me everything.”

His brows pinch together as he searches his daughter's face for something, for anything—but it’s completely blank. “What do you mean?”

“Cat’s out of the bag, dad,” she says. “I know about all of it. The night she brought over that DVD, the night of her grad party, the night of my grad party, the phone call. I know all of it.”

Joel doesn’t know what to say. He isn’t angry with you for telling Sarah. You should have someone to turn to, after all. He doesn’t fault you for that, but Joel also understands how it likely appears. He doesn’t know where to begin, how to apologize and explain that what you mean to him is so much more than attraction. “Sarah…Sarah, I—”

“Stop. Talking,” she repeats, and Joel silences. “I honestly was hoping you would tell me before I felt the need to do this,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “But you’re a typical man so I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

He opens his mouth to defend himself, to offer an explanation, but promptly closes it when she narrows her eyes. 

“I can get over the fact that you’re…I don’t know, involved or whatever with my best friend. I can get over that. What I can’t get over is you being a dick to her.”

Joel doesn’t get it. He’s never, ever been disrespectful towards you. He doesn’t have it in him. And the pain he has caused you has always been for your own good— never out of malicious intent. If anything, he’s been nothing but selfless with you. He’s suffered in your place, and he’d do it a hundred times over if it meant you’d end up happy in the end. He gnaws on his bottom lip as Sarah continues. 

“She has spent half the semester crying over you and just decided recently that she’s ready to leave the past in the past. She likes him.”

He can’t stay silent any longer. “He’s not good enough for her. You didn’t hear—”

“I don’t care what he did or didn’t do,” she interrupts, holding up a hand. “Right now, we’re talking about you. If you don’t want to be with her, if you don’t love her, then let her have this. Even if he breaks her heart, let it be her decision to be with him. Not yours.”

Joel picks at the peeling label on the glass bottle. He stares at it as if the answer to all his problems lies underneath. Quietly, he asks, “And if I do?”

“Do what?”

He swallows, and asks a little clearer this time, “If I do love her, what do I do then?”

“Then you man the fuck up and put your money where your mouth is.”

Joel can’t even be mad about the crude language, because it sounds like advice he would give. There’s so much of his stubborn, loyal attitude in his daughter, and he can’t help but be proud of the woman she’s become. He nods stiffly. “I get what you’re saying. I really do, but—”

“But nothing. If you love her, then love her, dad. It’s not complicated.”

She makes it sound simple, Joel thinks. He wishes so badly that it was. 

“What are you so afraid of?”

He’s afraid of losing the friendship with your father, worried about tarnishing the relationship you have with him, terrified of getting old while you continue to exist in your youth. There’s a million things he’s afraid of, but he settles on the biggest one, the fear that sits like a brick in his stomach. “I’m not good enough for her, either.”

Sarah snorts. “You can’t be serious.” When Joel says nothing, she shakes her head in annoyance and says, “Honestly, dad, I don’t understand how you can be so blind. Let me put it in a way you can understand; you love her, and she loves you. Everything else? Get rid of it. It doesn’t matter. Her dad, her boyfriend, Tommy, me—none of us have anything to do with it. You’re both adults, and you’re doing nothing but hurting the both of you trying to be the good guy. Get it now?” 

He still doesn’t think it’s so simple, so black and white. But it doesn’t matter what Joel thinks, because there’s a knock at the door and you’re standing on the other side when Sarah answers it. She invites you in, but you insist it isn’t necessary. 

“It’s alright,” you say. “I just came to say goodbye.” There’s a sadness in your voice, a familiar sound of longing. “We’re leaving first thing tomorrow morning.”

Joel clenches his teeth and looks away when Sarah glances back at him. He can’t see you, and wants to steal one last sinful glance, but thinks better of it.

“You’re leaving already?”

“Yeah, yeah—I know it’s early, but I don’t…I don’t know. I thought I was ready but now I’m not…I’m not so sure.” You sniffle, and Joel feels his chest crack wide open. “I’ll come back at the end of the week to drive you back to campus. But you’ll call me every day, yeah? So I won’t miss you so much?”

Sarah laughs softly, and disappears from sight. Joel can hear your soft sigh of relief, and finds himself thankful that it’s his daughter you seek comfort in. He’s thankful Sarah is able to provide that for you, even if he can’t. 

Because he can’t.

When you leave after promising Sarah you’ll let her know when you’re back to your dorm, safe and sound, she returns to the kitchen with her arms crossed over her chest. 

Joel can feel the irritation, the disappointment. Sarah goes up to her room and slams the door, and Joel feels the reverberation of the wood in every disc of his spine. 

He sits there, in the deafening silence, and wonders where the hell he went wrong. He wonders why doing the selfless thing feels so awful, wonders if he’s destined to live an empty life and die an empty death. 

It isn’t until three hours later that Joel gets up from the kitchen table. It’s after midnight, and he drags his weary body upstairs. He has every intention of crawling into bed and slipping into a peaceful oblivion for as long as his body will allow. 

Except, Joel finds himself hovering in the hallway just outside his bedroom. He’s afraid to move, because if he walks through the door he’ll never be able to go back. He knows it, can feel the truth of it in his bones. But if he doesn’t…if he doesn’t, everything changes. And it might turn out bad—it might end up being the biggest, most selfish mistake of his life. 

But one aching, terrifying thought nags at him; what if it doesn’t?

“Joel?”

It’s as clear a sign from the universe as he’s ever seen. He makes his decision, and begins to feel at home within his own body after feeling so displaced for so long, and Joel’s so grateful for it. He’s even more grateful he never moved the spare key from under the welcome mat. 

This feels familiar. It feels like an echo of a time years ago, when he thought he ached for you but had no clue how deep his longing would one day be, a time when the scent of vanilla perfume wasn't a shock to his heart. It feels like an opportunity to do things right. It feels like a second chance. 

And he’s not going to fucking waste it. 

It’s his turn to confess his mistakes, though they’re not tequila induced and instead made completely of his own stupidity. 

“I just came to get my phone charger from Sarah,” you say. “I’ll just be a sec—”

“I mean it,” he blurts, swallowing his nerves. He repeats it again, clearer and more precise because it’s the truest thing he’s ever said. “I mean it.”

You wringing your hands around one another in front of you. And he can sense the buzzing of nervous energy, and even though you both know exactly what he means you still ask timidly, “Mean what?”

His heart is pounding in his ears. “All of it. Everything. You might not see it, Sarah might not see it, but you…you deserve better than anything I can ever give you,” he says. “I’m old and I’m tired and I don’t have anything but this house to my name. I can’t give you anything you can’t find a better version of after ten seconds of looking.”

“Joel…I—”

“Hold on. I need you to hear me right now, baby, okay?” His hands are shaking. When you nod, he continues. “I mean it when I say I’m no good for you. I never have been. I’ll just drag you down and hold you back from better things. All of that is true. You and I both know it, but god dammit, I mean it when I say I love you, too. I love your laugh and I love your smile and I love your heart. I love everything about you, and it makes me an awful person because I’m not supposed to feel those things for a girl half my age. But I do, I do—and fuck, baby, I know I’m a bad man, but I’m…I’m yours.”

The words are out. He’s said them, and there’s no going back. Everything he’s held inside for so long is sitting on the floor between you—the entirety of Joel’s perverted heart. Your eyes are glassy, and you're breathing slowly like it’s suddenly a task, but you’re saying nothing and he starts to fill with fear. 

Joel is seconds away from begging you to say something, to say anything—but then you’re there, you’re there, in his arms with your hands in his hair and your lips against his. Your body slots perfectly against him, and Joel thinks that if this is his greatest sin then God can cast him out of the heavens for all eternity and he’d say thank you on his knees. 

Your tongue is so soft, and Joel bites at your bottom lip, savoring the sweet and sugary taste of cherry. He lets his hands roam down your back, allows himself to grab hold of your curves and squeeze the supple flesh. Nothing has ever felt this good, he thinks. You pull away first, and you’re panting hard, and you whisper, “Prove it. Show me, Joel. Show me how much you love me.”

It’s the easiest request he’s ever wanted to fulfill. He grips the backs of your thighs and lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He uses one hand on the small of your back to hold you close, to press his lips to yours again, to moan into your mouth. He uses the other to open his bedroom door, the prospect of closing it behind him much less daunting now that your limbs are wrapped around his.

Joel lays you gently on the mattress, and straightens his spine to look at you. He soaks it up, memorizes the sight of your hair splayed out around you, your thighs parted for him, the pink flush on your chest. Nothing has ever been so beautiful, he thinks. Nothing and no one will ever, ever compare to you. He sighs blithely, licks his lips and says, “Fuck, baby.”

Through a soft giggle you ask, “Do you think I’m pretty, Joel?”

He pulls the collar of his shirt over his head and discards the fabric on the floor, leaving him in nothing but his jeans. He crawls between your legs and leans on his elbows, placing them on either side of your head. “Yes,” Joel says, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “I think you’re the prettiest.” He kisses your forehead, and then your cheek. “D’you wanna know what else I think?”

You can feel him smirk against your skin as you run your hands along the cords of taut muscle in his abdomen. “Yes,” you answer breathlessly, resisting the urge to lift your pelvis against his. “Tell me everything.”

Joel obliges. He kisses the tip of your nose. “I think you were made for me.” His kisses grow hotter, wetter, as his mouth graces your jaw, your neck. “I think I’ve loved you since you were eighteen, since the first moment I saw you.” He tugs at the seam of your t-shirt, and you lift your spine slightly so he can pull it off. You’re not wearing a bra, and seeing you bare again after so long makes his mouth water. 

He kisses your sternum, the soft tissue of your breast, and then sucks your nipple between his lips. He doesn’t realize until now how much he craves the taste of you—how much he’s missed it. 

“I think I’m gonna marry you one day, baby,” he says, pressing his mouth to your other nipple. He can feel the vibration of your laughter in his mouth, and his heart constricts at the sudden happiness it brings him. 

“Marry me?” Your hands are in his hair, giving him the slightest direction in the form of light pressure, and Joel is all too happy to follow it. But he does it slowly, giving himself enough time to drink you in.

“Mmhm,” he says, peppering kisses down your belly, across the plane between your hips. He hooks his finger into the waistband of your sleep shorts and pulls them down your hips. “I think I’ve wasted enough of our time. Don’t you?” Gently, he runs his fingertips over your panties. They’re pink, of course, with red polka dots—and Joel groans at the sight. It’s a ghostly touch, but enough to pull a strained gasp from your throat. Your hips buck towards his hand, and Joel reminds himself to take his time even though his cock is throbbing painfully in his jeans and every instinct in him begs to ravish you. 

“Yes,” you agree. “But…maybe we go slow.”

There’s a slight hint of unease in your voice, and Joel rushes to fix it. He reaches up and wraps his big hands around your ribcage, stroking the skin softly with his thumbs. He presses a kiss to your panties, right above your clit, and says, “Relax, baby. I don’t mean right now. Soon though, yeah?”

Your body loosens beneath his touch, and a pretty smile breaks out across your face. “Soon,” you breathe. “But right now, I need you to touch me. Please, Joel.

The sound of desperation in your mouth is so pretty, he thinks. And you deserve anything you want, and Joel intends to give it to you. He pulls your panties down your legs,  pushes your thighs apart, and keeps his eyes trained on yours as he slides his tongue through your slit. You’re so wet, and the sound you make in response to the feel of his hot, wet tongue is the most heavenly sound he’s ever heard. He licks and sucks at your clit until you’re a trembling mess beneath him. And when your breaths turn shorter and more labored, Joel slips two fingers inside you and curls them to meet the sweet spot that makes you writhe. 

One hand is in his hair, pulling at the strands desperately, while your other is twisted in the sheets. In his sheets. Joel can’t keep his hips from rolling against the side of the mattress at the sight of you, at the taste of you, at the feel of you in his hands. Because you’re here, in his bed, and he can taste your cum in his mouth, and fuck he’s so in love with you it fucking hurts.

When your body falls limp, only then does he come up for air. He cleans you up with his tongue, not wasting any of the sweet nectar you’ve cleansed his sins with. Joel stands up slowly, raking his nails across your sensitive flesh. “Does that prove my love, pretty girl?”

He can see the wicked gleam in your eye, and he knows it wasn’t enough. Of course it’s not. You prop yourself up on your elbows and confess timidly, “Maybe I need a little more,” you say. “Some more proof.”

Joel unbottons his jeans. “Hmm, I guess I should’ve known better.” He pulls the denim off and kicks it aside, delighting in the slight parting of your lips as you take in his cock, heavy and hard between his legs. “Slutty little girls always need more, don’t they?” 

You nod, and Joel returns to his rightful spot between your legs. He’s so close—so, so close to home, to resting his weary heart…but your body is his confessional, and Joel isn’t done repenting. 

He rests his calloused palm against your throat gently, a caress. “You wanna know what else I think about?”

You’re squirming beneath him, hips lifting desperately. “Please, Joel,” you beg. 

And he knows you’re not begging for his thoughts, but he gives them to you anyway. “I think about putting a baby in you,” he confesses, laying his free hand flat against your abdomen. He smirks when you let out a shallow breath and your hips start to move faster, seeking him out. 

“Oh—God, fuck,” you whimper. 

“Aw, I’ve hardly touched you yet,” he teases through a soft laugh, drawing his fingers against your ribcage delicately. “You like that idea? Hm? Want me to fill you up with my cum ‘til your belly’s swollen with my baby?” 

You’re nodding, and he can feel your quickened pulse beneath his hand, and Joel decides he’s put you through enough. “Yes,” you tell him. “Yes, yes—please, Joel, please please please.”

He reaches down and guides his cock into you, and your pussy takes him so eagerly that he can’t help but mirror your low moan. “Fuck, baby—you feel so good,” he murmurs. 

Slowly, he rolls his hips against yours. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, your arms are around his neck, and he kisses your bruised lips until all the air has left your lungs. “Oh, God—!”

“Shh,” he coos, moving his hand around your neck and instead using it to grasp your jaw. “Look at me. Look at me. Quiet now, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes are glassy and wide and beautiful, and Joel picks up his pace. His cock slams into you, filling you up, and it’s impossible to keep quiet. “I can’t,” you whine. “I can’t, Joel—it feels too good, it’s too much, I—!”

He kisses you hard, swallowing up your cry of bliss when he reaches down to circle your clit with the pad of his middle finger. “I know, baby, I know,” he soothes. “It’s okay, you can take it.” 

The prettiest sounds are falling from your mouth with each deep thrust of his hips, sending shivers down his spine. Joel wishes he could be here, be inside of you forever. He wonders how he’s ever going to get his fill, wonders if it’s even possible. You’re so fucking perfect and you’re his and God—he wants to eat you the fuck up. 

He can feel your pussy constrict around him, and he lets out a probably-too-loud-moan that mirrors yours in response. He knows you're close, can feel the rush of heat, can feel you tremble around him. “You gonna cum for me? Hm?” 

Joel slams into you relentlessly, obscene sounds filling the space of his room. Your second orgasm is impossibly stronger, sending electricity dancing across your skin.

You open your mouth to tell him, but Joel seems to know your body better than you do and before the words are out of your mouth he’s whispering in your ear. “There you go,” he says. “I love you so fuckin’ much baby, my good little girl. Give it to me. Thaaat’s it.”

His hips slow just slightly as you come down, but his thrusts are no less punishing. You press kisses to his collarbone, his neck, his chin—every place you can reach. Your mouth is desperate and needy and shameless, and there’s no better sin than the divinity of your lips, he thinks. 

Joel’s pace falters and becomes frantic, and he groans into the crook of your neck as he fills you up. You whisper, “I love you, Joel,”  and it does him in completely. 

He collapses on top of you, unable to move, but you don’t seem to mind. You stroke his spine lazily, tracing soft patterns into his flushed skin. He could sleep just like this, he thinks—but it can’t be as comfortable for you. So he pulls himself out of you wistfully and helps you crawl under the blankets. 

With a blissful sigh, he pulls you close and holds you against his chest. 

“What now?” 

Joel doesn’t know, if he’s honest. He knows he wants you, knows he has you, knows he’s unable to go on without you by his side any longer. But the rest? It’s all uncharted territory. “You go back to school,” he says. “You only have a few months left. Get that fancy degree of yours.”

You let out a soft groan. “I have to leave in the morning. I promised.”

He should feel bad for your boyfriend, most likely sleeping in the spare bedroom in your dad’s house that Joel just refurbished two months ago, but he doesn’t. There’s not an ounce of sympathy for him. But he does have sympathy for you, which is why he asks, “You want me to take care of it?”

“Like you did earlier tonight?” You snort, and the sound is light and airy and carefree and Joel is so happy to hear it. “No, I got it.”

“You gonna break up with him?”

“Mm. Haven’t decided yet,” you say. The sarcasm is thick in your tone, but Joel can’t help the slight panic that erupts in his chest. But the second you notice he isn’t laughing with you, you quickly amend, “I’m kidding. Of course I’m going to. First thing, okay? I promise.”

He nods and kisses your temple. “Okay. And while you’re gone, I’ll talk to your dad.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow. “Alone?”

“I’ll probably use Tommy as a buffer,” he says. “But you shouldn’t have to deal with it. He’s going to be upset with me—not with you. You’re not the bad guy here.”

“I don’t think you are either, Joel,” you say. 

But he doesn’t agree. And he never will, no matter how many sweet words and even sweeter touches you offer. “I’ll take care of it.”

You lay your head back on his chest, and his panic eases until it withers away into nothing. “Okay,” you say. “And…and after? After I finish school, will you still be here?”

Joel can sense the hesitation in your voice, can feel the sudden rigidity in your limbs. He caresses your face and promises, “Yes, baby. I’ll be here.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“Of what?”

He’s not sure what he expects your answer to be, but he definitely doesn’t expect the stab to the chest when you say, “Whenever I leave, you change your mind about me. How do I know you won’t do it again?”

“Look at me,” he says. When you do, his eyes are molten with affection. “I will be here,” he repeats. “I will be here, and I will still love you. Do you understand me?”

You nod let out a long, sleepy breath. “Good.”

That night, Joel sleeps better than he has in years. So much so that he’s up before you, and this time it’s his turn to make the pancakes. He doesn’t do nearly as good as you, burning half of them and undercooking the other half, but he doesn’t worry about it because he realizes he has so much time to perfect it. Time he never had before. 

You pad barefoot down the stairs wearing your sleep shorts and the t-shirt he discarded last night. Joel wonders if he’ll ever grow tired of seeing you in his clothes.

When you notice Sarah and Tommy sitting at the kitchen table with plates pooled with syrup, your eyes widen and your cheeks grow crimson. “Uhm—morning,” you murmur, sliding into the seat at Sarah’s side. 

“Morning,” Joel responds, sitting a plate of pancakes in front of you. “Coffee or orange juice?”

“Uhm…orange juice,” you reply timidly. 

Joel pours you a glass, and joins you at the table, and doesn’t know how to break the weird silence that’s settled over the room. 

Thankfully, though—his daughter volunteers to do just that. “It’s gonna take me a second to get used to this,” she says. “And I will, I swear—but I’m just telling you now that I’m never gonna call you mom.”

Laughter breaks out in the kitchen, and the smile on your face brings Joel so much joy he can hardly contain himself. 

“That would be so weird,” you say. “God—could you imagine?”

“Fuck that—can you imagine living together, dude? It’s going to be amazing! I’ll always have someone to hang out with. Plus I won’t be the only one in this house with decent film taste anymore,” Sarah says. 

“Don’t you dare throw me in with this guy,” Tommy says, pointing a finger at Joel from across the table. 

“No, no—you like terrible movies too,” you argue. 

It sparks a heated debate, and pancakes get flicked from a fork across the table, and there’s a giant mess to clean up afterwards, but Joel Miller has never been so content, so at peace, so happy.

When you take your little boyfriend back to the city, Joel reminds you to call him if you need anything. He uses the opportunity of your absence to do the scariest thing of his life. 

He’s playing a game of pool in your dad’s garage, and Tommy is leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand, and Joel decides there’s no time like the present. “I have to tell you something,” he says. 

Your dad doesn’t look up at him. He lines up his cue and lets out a heavy sigh that sounds so similar to the ones of your frustration that it’s startling. “This about my daughter?”

Joel and Tommy exchange a look of uncertainty. “Uh—yeah,” Joel prods carefully. “Yeah, it is.” He doesn’t know where to begin, so he decides to only say what he needs to say, to say it firmly and without room for question. “I’m, uh—I’m in love with her. And after she graduates she’ll be coming home and we’re…we’re going to be together.”

He doesn’t say anything and at first, it unnerves Joel. He simply draws his cue back, shoots, and waits until the ball falls perfectly into the table’s pocket. He calmly lays his cue at his side, picks up the black eight ball from the table, and chucks it at Joel’s head. 

It misses him by an inch, and something shatters behind him, but Joel is too busy running from your father to look back and assess the damage. 

“You motherfucker! I should kill you! That’s my fucking kid—!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Tommy is stepping between them, shoving your dad back. “Just hear him out, man! It’s not what you think!”

A warmth erupts in Joel’s chest to hear his brother’s words, to hear him defend his atrocities so easily. Joel knows exactly what thoughts are going through your fathers head, because they went through Joel’s first. He knows it looks like he’s just an old man trying to get his rocks off with the first pretty, young thing that ever looks his way, and maybe there’s some truth to that, but it’s also so, so much more. Still, Joel has a daughter, too, so he understands. “I swear I love her,” he says as if it’s some sort of consolation. “I really do.”

The vein in your dad’s temple protrudes as he shoves past Tommy and gets in one good punch, splitting the skin of Joel’s cheek. “Get the fuck out! Get out of my house before I break your fucking jaw!”

Joel listens. He slips through the half-opened garage door and goes home, adrenaline coursing through him. There wasn’t a lot of blood, and he considers that a win. He cleans out the cut on his cheek, orders a pizza, calls you to tell you how it went. You’re angry at first, when he tells you about his small injury, but Joel assures you that it’s the least he deserves. He says he’d do it a hundred times over if it meant you’d be coming home to him.

Tommy comes through the door a couple hours later with a weary look on his face. He flops down on the couch beside his brother, grabs a slice of cold peperoni pizza and says, “Fuck you for that, by the way.”

“How is he?”

“Fine for now. I think he’ll come around. Just give him a bit of time.”

They polish off the pizza, Tommy crashes on the couch, and Joel sleeps well with the scent of vanilla still lingering in his sheets. Several days later, he’s mowing the front yard with his t-shirt tucked into his back pocket when your dad gets home from work. 

When he crosses the yard and approaches him, Joel turns off the mower and prepares himself for another swing. Except, your dad only raises a hand and says, “I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t want to see it. We’re neighbors, Joel—keep the fucking windows closed or so help me God.”

“Done,” he agrees quickly with a shrug of his shoulders.

“And I swear to Christ, if you break her heart—”

“I won’t.” It’s the truth, and Joel thinks your dad knows it, too. He shakes his head and says it again, firmer this time. “I won’t.” 

There’s a second of silence, and it’s thick and heavy while your dad debates on whether he should hurt Joel again just for good measure. But he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “There’s a Longhorns game tonight. Tommy’s coming. You can…you know, you’re welcome to come too.”

“I’ll be there,” Joel promises. 

It takes a few weeks, but the comfortable energy between the three men returns, and one night your father even tells Joel, “Better you than that asshole she brought home for spring break. Kid was a cunt.”

Joel agrees, and all that’s left for him to do is wait for you. It’s only a few months until graduation, but it feels like a lifetime when he’s wasted so many years already. He calls you every night and his thoughts never stray far and for a little while, it’s enough.

He busies himself by finishing the renovations in your dad’s house, and then turns to his own to do the same. 

Joel starts with the kitchen, painting the cabinets and switching out the hardware. He clears out half of his closet for you, buys pink hangers to sit beside his black ones, buys a two pack of toothbrushes and sticks yours in the cup on the sink right next to his. Your dad offers to help when Joel says he wants to build a deck for the backyard, and they use Tommy’s truck to bring home new lawn chairs that recline so you can tan in those tiny bikinis comfortably.

He puts cherry chapstick on your nightstand. He buys pancake mix and orange juice and a bottle of top shelf tequila. And when you finally graduate and walk across the stage to receive your fancy degree, Joel is the second loudest person in the crowd. (The first is Sarah, who greets you with a flower bouquet bigger than your head.)

When you finally, finally come home to him, your eyes turn glassy when you discover what he’s spent his time doing in your absence. You say, thank you, Joel and throw your arms around his neck and drown him in kisses and he feels religion stir in his chest.

He asks you later that night what your favorite thing is, asks you whether it’s the deck or the tequila or the pink hangers. Your favorite part is him, of course it’s him, but you say instead that it’s the remodel in the kitchen. 

The backsplash is sage green.

[masterlist]

divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

a/n; i seriously cannot thank you guys enough for the unending support on this, i love you all so much <3

taglist; @aamatis-blog1 @goldenispunk @storytimeblog @locaparapedrito @bluesweaters15 @ace-27749 @joelmillerlover123 @shivkillian @bbyplutosblog @tiredbuthappy @samsamsantos @elegantduckturtle @pinkiec6-rubi @pascaltesfaye @pedropascalsbbg @heheheilovepedro

[hellaadead]

Body To Flame - A. Anderson

Kinks/Warnings: Rough sex, predator/prey dynamics, light bondage, strap-on sex/use, dacryphilia, light dumbification, degrading/humiliation, sub/dom dynamics (sub!reader, dom!abby), knife play, spit play, impact play, cum eating, throat fucking, voyeurism, strap referred to as ‘cock’, pet names, AFAB reader

🎙️ Sora Says: CHAT! I worked really hard on this (took multiple breaks from being distracted by Lucy Dacus) and I think it turned out kinda good! Please don’t kill me if this is super dark. 😭 I just think I’m into some weird shit and in turn, this appears out of the works! I wanted to release something with all the free time I had so this is it! Okay damn lemme stop rambling.. YIKES!!!

W/C: 1.7K

Running through the thick, luscious forest and taking in its greenery, you only had one goal in mind — outrun Abby before she gets you. Adrenaline pumps through your veins in a way it never had before. It was exciting on both ends; Abby giving you a head start while slowly creeping up on you, and you trying to escape her grasp.

Leaves crunch under your shoes as you run, your legs screaming in pain as you huff with effort. You take a second to catch your breath, leaning against a large willow tree while the forest continues making sounds around you. The hum of crickets, the chirps of some other animals and the faint flow of water combines and makes a beautiful sound — almost a perfect juxtaposition of the predicament you were in.

The tranquility didn’t last long as you heard heavy footfall behind you. Every sense in your body screams for you to run. So your body moves on autopilot, bolting off in another direction. 

Abby gets a thrill from the chase, a slight hint of amusement appearing on her face as she breathes somewhat heavily. 

Though you’d been two steps ahead of the girl, she was faster. Her big arms wrap around you, bringing you in her clutch as you pretend to struggle.

“Quit fucking squirming. Don’t pretend you don’t want this.” Abby barks, holding you tightly. “Leave me alone!” You shout. “Oh but baby, you wouldn’t want that would you?” She retorted. You stay silent. “That’s what I thought.”

Abby then pushes you to your knees, before walking behind you. “Gotta ensure you don’t run from me now. I’d be really sad if you ran from me.” Her belt comes undone before she pulls it off.

With an agonizingly slow pace, she bounds your hands behind your back. She pulls the belt extra tight before walking back infront of you. The bulge in her cargo pants was definitely prominent and it made you salivate.

She takes notice of the expression on your face and she smirks slightly. A hand comes down to slightly caress your face. “I’m gonna fuck your throat and you’re gonna take it like a good girl. Got it?” She asks, somewhat sharp in tone.

You nod, of course, and she wastes no time to pull off her boxers and pants. Her fingers slowly intertwine with your hair, grabbing into a makeshift ponytail. Your mouth opens without her even having to tell you to do so.

She started off slow, listening to each sound as she slowly worked its length into your mouth. She groans as if she can feel it. She wishes she could. “Takin’ it so fucking good for me baby.” She mumbles under her breath between breaths and moans.

She becomes absolutely feral for it, seeing you on your knees like this, taking her cock so good. How could she not wanna do nasty shit to you?

“Gonna cum down your stupid fucking throat, yeah, ‘n you��re gonna fucking take it for me, baby.” Abby speeds up her pace, feeling some kind of euphoric feeling. Could she have just cum from this sight alone? Probably. Hell, she might even do that right now. 

The occasional bump on her clit from her strap was only moving her to go slightly faster. “Look like such a whore on your knees like this. Cryin’ for me and shit.” She spat, tossing her head back. Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as the strap hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag slightly.

Abby looks down at you before she slightly smiles. “So pretty crying for me.” She seems to be getting a kick out of seeing you cry for her. And you were definitely certain of it when her breathing became faster and her moans got higher.

She was about to cum, and god was she close. With a few more harsh thrusts, she’d made a mess of herself. “Take my cum down that pretty throat.” She grumbles. Yet again, she tosses her head back as the aftershocks of her orgasm pass through her body.

But she was far from done. She stands you up, before leaning in to kiss you. It was hungry, it was needy, and it definitely made you moan and whine into her mouth. Her tongue intruded into your mouth, sliding against yours before she pulled away.

Opening your mouth with her thumb against your bottom lip, she instructed you to stick your tongue out. From there, she spits in your mouth.

“Go ahead and swallow it for me.” She says, harshly patting your cheek. You swallow it eagerly. You look her in the eyes all needy and she knows it. She knows you’re probably soaking wet right now.

“You need to be fucked don’t you baby?” She asks, cocking her head to one side. “Really bad, Abby.” You whine. A dark look twists itself onto her face. “Beg for it. Be nice and loud for me. And tell me exactly where you need me.”

It was embarrassing in a way to do this. She always made you do this. “Cmon, you know what I need. Just give it to me.” You say while looking up at her. “No, I don’t. You gotta tell me. Can’t read your mind.” Abby responds, chuckling at how needy you are. “So stupid and needy that you can’t even tell me what you need. How sad.” The faux sympathy was hard to ignore.

“Need you inside me. I wanna be filled up by you. I want your cock so bad, Abby. Please.” You whine yet again. “There she is. I knew you had it in you.” She coos.

Abby then proceeds to manhandle you, pushing you onto the ground with your ass in the air, and now she’s on her knees behind you. Your back forms a deep arch as she yanks your pants down.

The click of her switchblade could be heard behind you. It makes your heart race with anticipation. The cool steel of the blade makes contact with your exposed thigh. Slowly, she drags it up and up. It causes you to squirm. “Keep still. Don’t wanna have to make you bleed.” She instructed.

The blade finds itself under the fabric of your underwear. Abby drags the blade up until the fabric rips. The now torn fabric falls off your body, exposing your wet cunt.

“Look at her, she’s crying for me.” She teased, taking in the sight. She continued dragging her switchblade across your inner thighs until you were whining for her.

“Abby please. I dont wanna be teased anymore.” You say, almost crying from how bad you need it. Abby shushes you. “Lemme have my fun first.”

It feels like she’d been teasing you for what felt like hours before you finally heard shifting behind you. Abby spits on her hand before coating her strap in it. She drags her cock against your slit, listening to your desperate little whines.

When she notices you trying to push yourself down onto it, she harshly slaps your ass, making you whine loudly. “Nuh uh princess, wait till I give it to you.” She said while rubbing the spot she’d smacked. Now she makes you wait even longer before she pushes it into you. At first she doesn’t move.

She’s still as if she’d been calculating her next move. When you’d least expected it, she begins thrusting slow and deep. You moan loudly, your hands balling into fists, making crescents on the palms of your hands.

Her hands smooth over the globes of your ass before returning to your hips. “Faster please. I need it.” You say between moans. “Beg me properly.” She growls, keeping her pace steady.

“Please fuck me harder and faster, miss. I need it really badly. I wanna cum for you.” You whine out. “That’s a good girl.” Her thrusts pick up in speed, as you asked. She reached a hand around to vigorously rub your clit.

You’re whining and gasping, almost screaming her name while she continues fucking you. She’s hitting your g-spot and you feel like you’re in heaven.

A string of curses fall from your lips, ragged and broken, as she continues with her unrelenting pace. “Yeah? You needed it all hard like this. Anyone could just walk past and hear how fucking loud you are.” Abby says, grunting slightly. The idea was thrilling. Absolutely thrilling to the both of you. 

She gives your ass another smack. “Goddamn baby, you hear how wet this pussy is for me? And she’s sucking me in? This pussy was just made for me, wasn’t it?” She sounded absolutely feral for you. “Yes! It’s all yours— fuckfuckfuck, feels s’good!” You moan, your eyes rolling back slightly. “Damn right its all mine. You belong to me and nobody else.”

Wet squelching fills Abby’s ears, taking over her senses. She’s absolutely pussy drunk from you. She couldn’t get enough. She looks down at you, cursing softly. 

“Taking it so good for me. Making such a mess all over my cock baby.” She mumbles under her breath. She, at this point, wishes she could feel you. The way you were begging for her to cum inside of you encourages her movements.

Going faster, she watches you get dumber and dumber. Your moans are significantly louder and your babbling. “‘M so close Abby! Please don’t stop. Wanna cum for you.” You moan loudly, and she groans. Her pussy was soaking again. You’d made her this way.

“Gonna make you go stupid for me.” She promises. Your hands ball up tighter while your orgasm builds up in your stomach.

“I’m cumming! Don’t fucking stop!” You say, screaming almost. “Cum for me then, pretty girl.” Abby says softly. 

The orgasm washed through your body as you came all over her. Your legs shake slightly as she helps you ride through your orgasm. Your chest rises and falls as you moan.

She takes the belt off of your wrists before she pulls out, looking at the mess between your legs.

“What a messy bitch.” She says, then going in to clean you up with her tongue. You were still quite sensitive, everytime her tongue grazed over your clit you mewled out and squirmed. “Gotta clean you up baby, keep still for me.” She whispers. She laps at your cum, savoring the taste and letting out little moans. Once she’d had enough, the two of you take a second before getting up.

She was far from done with you, and you knew that you. That’s why she hauls ass back to her car while holding your hand. You look down at her back pocket, seeing your torn underwear. Your face heats up, but you pretend not to notice. Abby was already saying what she planned to do to you when you’d arrived back home. 

Taglist: @joliettes

[lonesomedotmp3]

it actually does uniquely infuriate me when a self confessed dyke is fucking transphobic and hates trans women more than when it's just some old heterosexual cunt like dykeism isn't a beautiful act of gender subversion and defiance as if lesbians don't have a unique relationship to gender and have experienced struggles that should align us with trans women and bring us close together we've felt like predators in women's spaces we've felt not woman enough (of course not even mentioning trans lesbians who have felt this multiplied) like what the fuck are you even doing. you are pathetic. and cisheterosexual society will never accept you.

[daycourtofficial]

Amber eyes, looking into mine

Summary: Eris finds something in his study that triggers him into a frozen state of panic. Who better suited to pulling Eris from his past than his future?

Author’s note: I wrote this in under an hour so please be nice and if there are any typos, no there aren’t 💕 Also technically this is part of my gingerfucker series, but can be read alone and she doesn’t make an appearance, it’s all Eris and the baby okay byeee

TW: panic attack, mentions of being whipped and being burnt

Word count: ~1k

A trade agreement sat on his desk, one that predates his tenure as high lord. Eris had found the document stuffed away in a drawer, abandoning what he was searching for as soon as he recognized it.

His father’s large, obnoxious signature at the bottom, the ridiculously high tariffs on imported goods. He could hear the whip in his ears, feeling his body tense with memory.

It was all too much. He had spoken with his father about the deal, wanting to give incentives for traders to come into Autumn rather than deterrents. Beron had laughed at him, telling him that everything anyone needs can be found in Autumn.

The night hadn’t ended there.

Beron had whipped him for having such a ridiculous idea in front of the other courtiers.

“No son of mine will appear so idiotic before others,” he had said, his voice ringing in Eris’s ears. 

Eris was seated in his chair in his study, but his mind was elsewhere. Down deep, deep in the dungeons of the Forest House, a trek he made many nights, his blood dripping through the house as he limped back to his own chambers.

Chubby hands grip the fabric of his trousers, a body too small traveling up his legs, climbing for what they love most in this world. Little feet find their footing on his thighs, hands leaning against his torso to support their weight.

Amber eyes look at him, searching for praise at the impossible task they just completed. 

His eyes.

What his eyes used to look like, before Beron burnt the joy out of them.

Eris is frozen in place, caught in a spiral of hatred and loathing by his son. His beautiful, wonderfully funny son, who looks at him with the love and adoration his mother looks at him with.

If his son knew all that he had done to prevent Beton’s ire, would his eyes still look for Eris in every room? Would his eyes still fill with tears, his lungs exhaling every breath at bedtime, unable to sleep without seeing his father one last time?

The spitting image of him, his mother finding an old portrait of himself at this age, his son a direct image of the portrait. Was this how he looked when Beron began his tirade of cruelty against his family? Did soft coos of a babe turn into wails at any contact with Beron?

All he had ever known was the flame, the flame within himself that refused to be extinguished, and the flames his father tormented him with for centuries.

He feels those flames on his skin, his own flame desperate to fight it. He feels the heat licking up his forearms, he feels it cascading down his back in waves, searching for every inch of unclaimed skin. He clenches his fists, desperate to bring himself back to reality. Instead, his breathing becomes more ragged, his jaw clenching.

He can smell the flesh burning off of him, feel his stomach churning, his throat filling with bile at the smell, so strong he could taste it.

Tiny fingers grip into his hair, yanking lightly, trying to find balance. The feeling jolts him back, back from the past, back from a place that doesn’t exist anymore. 

The babe stands in his lap, toes gripping his trousers as he tries to learn how to use them. A warmth so unnatural from something so young radiates off of his son. A tear splashes onto the little foot, which the babe immediately burns off. 

Giggles fill the room at his show of his powers and Eris is finally able to move again as he wraps his arms around the young princeling, so unaware of how the world can burn.

He holds him in a tight embrace, squishing his face into the tiny neck, breathing him in. He gives himself five seconds, clutching the clothes covering the babe’s chest.

Five.

He breathes in deeply, his chest heaving with sobs that escape his mouth.

Four.

It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. It had never been fair. Nothing was fair.

Three.

It took hours to kill Beron, centuries of scheming, and his presence was still felt throughout the court, throughout him-

He feels something cold and wet on his neck, tiny hands still gripping his hair, but his son is slobbering across his neck, his cheek, the movement tickling Eris’s neck. He laughs as he realizes that his son is mimicking how they make him laugh by blowing raspberries into his neck, his cheeks, his stomach.

He delicately pulls the face from his neck, leaning his forehead against his firstborn’s forehead. His eyes are wide with wonder. Everything is new to him and the worst thing he’s experienced is dropping his favorite toy in a mud puddle.

He looks at his father, not sure what to make of him, until Eris slowly smiles at him, his eyes lightening with fondness, catching a bit of the spark from his son’s eyes.

And the baby in his arms smiles back, grabbing Eris’s nose in excitement as he babbles noncoherent sounds. Eris stretches his legs out, sinking into his chair a bit, letting his back relax into the chair. Eris responds to the babbling, occasional hums and responses to whatever he was trying to convey to his father. 

Someday, the words would come. They would flow freely, spilling from his mouth in anger, in sadness, in disbelief. They would come more easily, small things setting off his memories and not allowing him to think of anything until they left him. He would share the burden of his memories.

Someday, the words would come. But not today. Today the incoherent babbling was enough.