#can’t wait to share it soon with you all

[pearlywritings]

Sometimes the name doesn't matter

synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife. PART 3

pairings: Childe, Neuvillette, Pantalone, Wriothesley x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship (married/engaged/mated), secret relationship, immortal reader in Neuvi's part

word count: 6.1k+ words

a/n: part 1 and part 2 can be read here!

Childe

Spurred by the whistles and a whip of a coachman three fine white horses are trotting along the snow-covered road, dragging a big sleigh. Made of the sturdiest wood and painted in red and gold, the construction is effortlessly sliding on ice crust, almost lulling you under all those warm blankets and furs Ajax has thrown over your half-sitting half-lying bodies. You are glad to have this instead of jolting in a carriage (not like it’ll even be able to ride through all this snow), sure to have an aching arse even under the thick sheepskin coat, and instead of whatever machinery your lover could’ve gotten his hands onto due to his position - otherwise it wouldn’t have been so romantic.

Resting your head onto his shoulder you sigh blissfully, puffing out a small cloud of warm air. The fluffy-looking firs, tall pines and naked larches are flashing past in a magical gleam of snow-covered branches; you think you see two grayish squirrels chasing one another on a tree on your left.

“Oh, little minxes. A couple of seconds later and that snow could’ve ended up on our heads.”

You giggle at the young man’s comment, taking your gloved hand out of the sable muff and reaching to adjust the hat with earflaps (which he once again refused to tie under his chin) on his head. Before you can retrieve, a bigger hand clad in mitten wraps around yours and brings it to the chapped pale lips. As if spellbound you watch him press a tender kiss just where your ring finger joins the palm - right where the engagement ring is hidden under the thick material.

Now it’s hard to tell if your cheeks are rosy from cold or the swirling emotions.

“A little bit more and we will be in Morepesok,” he says softly, deep pools of his blue eyes staring back at you adoringly. “I can’t wait to share the news with ma, pa, sisters and brothers…”

You know he’s written them a letter right after you said ‘yes” to him, too excited to wait. So excited in fact, that he couldn’t sit still in expectation for the response, so he solicited an impromptu week-long vacation with the help of Pulcinella, and here you are, on your merry way to his home village.

“I can’t wait for that too,” you smile, leaning up to peck his nose, eliciting the same smile from him. “But I worry a little - will they be happy for us? I mean, that it’s me who you are going to marry?”

“Absolutely!” He nods enthusiastically and you have to readjust his hat again. “They all love you very much, I promise you. And if I am being completely honest, mom and Tonia did keep asking me when I intended to make you my wife during the last couple of times we visited.”

“Wait, really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was already planning a proposal at the time - didn’t want to spoil it by accidentally letting my tongue loose.”

It’s hard to believe that this man is one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers. Childe is surprisingly good at separating his work and off work behavior, turning into a completely normal, maybe just a tiny bit unhinged, young man as soon as his family is involved. You know he’s built this facade to keep them and you away from harm, but you also know it comes from the heart as well.

“Then I can only hope we can bring the female members of your family to the capital soon - I want them to participate in the wedding dress shopping.”

You are immediately gathered into a tight embrace and your laughter is smothered by the fur on his collar. Yes, he is the Eleventh Harbinger, Tartaglia, Tsaritas’s soldier, Childe… But in moments like this he is just Ajax. Your Ajax.

His parents’ house meets you both with the quiet creak of the gates, the barking of two big fluffy malamutes outside, the clink of the horseshoe against the wood on top of the front door, the warmth of a well-heated inside and a bit taller than the last time you saw him Teucer, who runs full speed at his big brother, practically tackling him.

“Big brother is home, big brother is home!”

Ajax joyously laughs, somehow managing to take off his coat and dropping it to the colorful carpet at the front door before hoisting the exclaiming boy into his arms. Kicking off your felt boots to step from the anteroom, you watch with a smile as he squeals when your lover presses his cold cheek to the warm smaller one, squirming in the strong arms. 

Not a minute later more of his siblings appear, closely followed by their mom - freckled, with her ginger with gray hair tied in a thick braid and an apron thrown over her green dress, the woman smiles brightly and, letting her children surround their brother, walks to you with arms spread, ready to embrace you.

“Mother, my clothes might be cold,” you try to warn her, but she doesn’t listen, hugging you anyway.

“As if it can affect me! Oh, I’m so happy to see you, my dear. How was your trip? Are you tired, hungry? I’m almost done with lunch, and in the meantime I can ask my husband to throw in the firewood and heat the bathhouse for you two.

“It’s very kind of you,” you smile, wrapping your arms to give her a hug in return. “But I think we’ll wash up in the evening - I really doubt Ajax’s sibling will let him go in the following couple of hours.”

Before she can say anything, a tall, wide man appears from the other room. His beard and hair are gingerly brown with gray too, thick brows naturally furrowed. By the rosy cheeks, the remnants of snowflakes melting on his hair and the choice of clothing you guess he’s just returned to the house through the back door - probably after chopping wood.

Upon lowering his gaze to you, his facial features smooth out.

“If it isn’t my son and a dear soon-to-be daughter-in-law!” His gruff voice booms across the house, immediately redirecting everyone’s attention to you and making you blush. “I knew Ajax was too impatient and would rather come to visit and bring his fiance along than wait for a response letter.”

As he moves to greet you properly and help with discarding the outer clothes, you notice your gingerhead whispering something to his siblings, to which they giggle and throw glances at you. Catching the gaze of your lover, you lift an eyebrow, as if asking ‘should I be concerned?”. But he only shakes his head with a smile and ushers everyone to the dining room.

However, the curiosity is getting better of you, as throughout the evening you keep catching the glances, watch Tonia whispering something to her mom, and the woman giving Ajax a ‘really?’ kind of look, but with a fond smile, and then his dad slapping his back with a boisterous laugh, saying something along the lines ‘I was the same way with your mom too’.

So you confront him once you are left alone in the room.

“Hey, foxy, what’s going on?”

“Hm?” He lowers the blanket that he’s just tucked inside the duvet cover and reaches for the sheets. “What do you mean, bunny?”

“Whatever you’ve been doing,” you put one of the pillows down and reach out for the other as well as the pillowcase. 

“And what’s that ‘whatever’ I’ve been doing?” You don’t miss the sly smile finding its way onto his face. You huff.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

The man hums, tucking the edges of the sheet between the mattress and the bed.

“Nothing you should worry about. I just asked them all to practice a little.”

“Practice?’ Cocking your head, you throw both pillows onto the bed. “Wait, did you start planning something for the wedding?”

“Not quite. Rather for after it.”

Confused, but intrigued, you step closer when your lover sits down and beckons you, being dragged into his lap a second later. Blue eyes look at you in an unspoken fascination, as he leans forward to place a kiss to the corner of your mouth, prompting you to loosely wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Since we are getting married, I deduced that it would be only right for my family to call you my wife. Thus I asked them to get acquaintanced with the term, so they could start doing it as soon as we are pronounced husband and wife.”

You blink at him once, twice. After the third time you exhale, shaking your head, but the lift of your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by your fiance.

“I should’ve known you’d pull something like this, I am not even surprised, let alone mad. But they could just keep addressing me by my name. Plus your siblings already call me ‘big sister’ and your parents made me an honor of acknowledging me as the ‘daughter’. It won’t change much.”

“But it will!” He pouts and you can’t resist the urge to pinch his cheek. “You will be my wife and I want everyone to help me show it! Does it bother you though?”

Looking into those uncharacteristically begging eyes, you really can’t deny him his little antics. Not like you were going to in the first place.

“No, no, I don’t mind, love. Honestly, it's very sweet how excited you are. Makes me look forward to it.”

“Yeah?” Look at him, smiling like a satisfied cat, who's had too much sour cream for its own good. His embrace tightens on you a little.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes as Ajax enjoys the many kisses you pepper to his face, squeezing his eyes shut, grinning, boyishly eager for more.

“Do you think I should ask the whole village to do the same?”

“Ajax, no.”

Nuevillette

“Mother, do you mind helping me a little? I can’t reach over there…

“I’d be delighted, my dear.”

Neuvillette watches with a fond look as you put the tea cup down and stand up to walk closer to Verenata and assist her with whatever the potion maker needs. Your figure is ethereal, clad in the finest fabrics, flowing with every step and gently dropping as you crouch gracefully to hoist the melusine in your arms. From above the rim of his silver goblet the Hydro Dragon can't tear his eyes from the way one of your many “daughters” wraps an arm around your neck and reaches up, while the corner of your lips, which he can see from his position at the table, is turned upwards.

“Mother is so kind and patient,” Laume says just a step away from Neuvillette’s chair. When the man turns his head to look at her, there is Flo standing too.

“Yes, and she is so beautiful,” the other melusine sighs, clasping her hands together. “And she always brings us such nice and comfortable clothes…”

“Monsieur Neuvillette married a wonderful woman,” a couple more melusines nearby agree and there is a warm and fuzzy feeling takes place in the Judex’s chest.

Marriage… Such a beautiful concept humans came up with to validate the union of two. It begins with the wedding - a day full of happy tears and blissful smiles, shared vows to be together in sickness and in health, sweet claims of love and promises of joyful life ahead. Then this very life begins and for beings like you and your husband it’s a long, but welcome trip.

You’ve been claimed by each other for quite some time before the more ‘mortal appropriate’ ritual, and the melusines - the wonderful creatures Neuvillette once took under his wing - were aware and happy for your relationship. And it was actually their idea to hold a wedding too, once Sigewinne naturally asked how the two of you planned to introduce your bond in civil words to humans.

And it was their initiative to start calling you “mother”. With your actions you quickly became one for them anyway, and the girls actively sought your company when it was possible. Thus, such tea parties at the Merusea Village as today are a common occurrence (besides, you always welcome them because it's a great opportunity to dig your husband out of the pile of responsibilities he tends to bury himself under).

However, lately Neuvillette started noticing that when he heard the word leave the girls’ mouths, a strange feeling began rising in his chest. Even though not quite familiar with the concept of jealousy, the Judex was sure it was not the case - he loved when the melusines called you that. So, he could not really put his finger on why the action caused such an indescribable reaction.

He decided to observe. On his walks throughout the city, the man seeked the sights of parents with children to attentively listen and watch while leisurely passing by or stopping at the shopping booths to linger on the scene. He was quick to note that the interactions were hardly different from the ones between you and the girls - kids would call for their mothers in all the same tones: when happy, when asking for help, when seeking comfort and many other typical occurrences he’d seen a handful of times before.

What really caught Neuvillette’s eye was the way the parents behaved. And soon his focus shifted to the married couples instead. As reserved as the nobles seemed to appear, the ones in love still managed to slip a murmured ‘my dear’, or ‘beloved’ or ‘my sweet [Name]’ in their speech. All the things the Hydro Dragon was all too used to call you too, relishing in the image of your loving smile and joyfully crinkling eyes as you responded in kind.

But it is like a waterfall pours on him when a week later, after that tea party where he once again sunk deep in thought, a keen pointy ear makes out a simple word in the crowd.

"Wife"

Male’s heart flutters. The understanding quickly dawns on him, even more so when his eyes find the couple on the other side of the road, - it was no simple term to introduce the partner to the third party. No, the tenderly spoken word was used by that man to address his lover, to softly draw her attention to him, to remind her he is happy she is holding such a position in his life…

At least that’s what kind of puzzle pieces together in Neuvillette’s head. The couple is long gone, yet he is still standing there, hand resting on the handle of his cane and eyes staring into space.

He starts to remember all the sweet names he called you, each and every one stored in his memory with the heart-warming images of your reactions. There are all kinds of those: my love, my pearl, lizzy (affectionate from ‘lizard’; you used to tell him that dragons are just big lizards and it kinda stuck), kisses-stealer, fairy-tail nymph… The man is surprisingly creative with his words when it comes to you.

Sure, he calls you his mate, quite often too, but to his chagrin it has never occurred to him that he could call you ‘his wife’ too! It’s so simple, so absurdly logical, yet it took him weeks to figure out.

Humans are truly fascinating.

When Neuvillette returns to his office in the Palais Mermonia you are already there, lazing on a sofa with a bunch of papers, in which your husband guesses the script of probably another upcoming play of Furina. And judging by the more than a half pages turned you’ve been waiting for him for a while.

When the door closes and the cane disappears in the myriad of sparkling bubbles, you lift your gaze, and a smile immediately lights up your lovely features.

”Neuvi,” You speak softly, getting on your feet and leaving the script behind, “I hoped we’d depart on the afternoon stroll together. So imagine my disappointment when Sedene told me you had left just ten minutes ago! Oh, I knew I’d be late if Lady Furina had kept me for another minute, yet I still hoped I’d be on time…”

As you are approaching him, the Judex remembers the melusine’s words upon arrival: “Mother waits inside”. This makes all his previous thoughts resurface, and when he meets you half-way and reaches for both your hands to place a kiss to the back of each, Neuvillette has half a mind to try out his new discovery.

“Our Archon enjoys your company a lot, and, knowing you, you are not really mad,” you roll your eyes playfully, tiptoeing to peck the tip of his nose, murmuring a quiet ‘hush, let me be a tiny bit indignant’. “And I’d be honored to keep you company for the evening stroll,” and then, after a little pause of hesitation, he adds, “wife.”

He watches as the previously present smile on your face grows even bigger, but after a couple of seconds starts to fade slowly, eyes squinting a little bit to stare at him in hardly-concealed curiosity.

“What was that?”

“What was what, dear wife?”

“This!” As if to emphasize your words you point your finger to his mouth, and it’s Neuvillette’s lips’ turn to curl in a small smile.

“It’s something I hoped to discuss with you,” his gloved fingertips soothingly brush over your knuckles and soon your hand is clasped into his, as the man leads you both back to the sofa. “You see,” he starts when you sit down, “I am fascinated with the notion hidden behind the word ‘mother’ the melusines like to call you. That’s who you are for them both in reality and in terms. I’ve made some observations, and figured that sometimes humans in marriage also use the…familial terms to address one another. It seemed lovely to me and I wanted to try it out with you. What do you think?”

You hum in thought, replaying in your head the way Neuvillette spoke to you twice. It is hard to explain, but you somehow immediately see the appeal and understand why your lover got hooked on it. Seems lovely indeed. You wonder, what if you…

“Will you tell me more about those observations on our evening stroll, husband? Ooh, it does sound wonderful!”

Mark him stunned, but for a moment Judex grows speechless. The violet depths of his eyes swirl with adoration as you clap your hands gleefully, and he knows, that from now on your everyday routine will never be the same

“With pleasure, wife.”

Pantalone

Dancing snowflakes are slowly descending in their tender waltz and are gleaming like the tiniest of gems in the streetlights’, enveloping the already magical winter capital of the Cryo region in a solemn atmosphere. The white cover of the ground is crunching with every step of a passerby and every wheel rotation of the fancy-looking carriages, while the street is a jumble of fur coats and heavy military overcoats, finally breathing life into the afternoon-quiet city.

It’s a wonderful evening, too marvelous to spend it at home, too enchanting to miss the new ballet at the Bolshoy Theater, the true accumulation of the Tsaritsa’ nation’s nobility and intelligentsia. The wonder of Snezhnayan architecture is both the place to rest and enjoy the purest form of art and home to many gossip circulating in society. Some fresh and just hours old, some ancient and undying, like the topic of the Ninth Harbinger’s lovers.

Lord Pantalone is well-known and often-praised for his contribution to the Snezhnaya’s economy, along with extending the Fatui influence all across the Teyvat. But also he is quite famous for the women he appears in public with. It’s always someone new, it’s never the same one as before. Different shapes, different hair, different style - it is impossible to guess the raven-haired man’s tastes. However everybody knew - the Harbinger never entertained the company of the ladies who made attempts to catch his attention. Those ladies themselves say as much.

The Regrator’s companions never open their mouths, never utter a word - at least not when there are people around. There has never been a single name, never a remembered face - all women wear the mask covering the upper half of it, concealing the identity of yet another lucky choice of the rich man. 

Never the same woman - always the same mask.

This evening does not disappoint the gathered crowd - lifting their gazes, directing attention to the Harbinger’s personal box, they once again see the notorious mask. The long fringe of wine-red hair is coquettishly framing the ever-lasting piece of leather, similarly flaming lips are tugged in a haughty smile - as if the young lady doesn’t realize that once the night is over, she’s going to be discarded like many others before her. The dress according to the latest fashion trends and the beautiful garnet necklace do not surprise the audience anymore - even known for his love for replacements, Lord Pantalone dresses his partners royally.

The man himself has chosen yet another black costume, with a dark burgundy shirt hidden underneath and bird-shaped garnet brooch on the left side of his chest. Multiple beautiful rings catch the light when he lifts his gloved hand to adjust diamond-shaped glasses, before turning his head and addressing something to his tonight’s escort. She boisterously laughs, saying something in response, but even if attendants tried to strain their ears, they wouldn’t hear anything so far away. Even harder it gets when the third ring of the bell echoes across the theater chamber and both the Harbinger and the woman are forgotten, until the performance is over.

So no one sees when the ring-decorated hand reaches for a smaller female one, fingers sliding under the chintz-covered palm, thumb immediately reaching to tug on the hem of the glove, so the thin cool lips could press against the small patch of bared skin. A glimpse of a smile is what Pantalone gets when you glance at him with amusement playing on your lips.

Always the same mask, never the same woman, huh? 

Pride has long slithered into your heart, yet it still lifts its snake-like head every time your act of decisiveness succeeds, happily hissing. Every time it’s a test of your skills, a gamble with the eyes of ones around you, and every time you hit the jackpot, leaving the people guessing, staying the only one in possession of the banker despite the speculations.

As long as Her Majesty Tsaritsa is aware of your existence and the place you occupy next to Pantalone, you are free to do anything you want with his reputation relationship-wise. And he allows it, because should you desire the whole world - he’ll throw it to your feet like the cheapest trinket. One would say it’s because he is prideful too - he knows it’s because he loves his wife.

Loves to the point of entertaining the masquerades she stages whenever the two of you need to appear in public. It plays wonderfully into his possessive nature and desire to keep his precious beautiful wife to himself and helps with the enemies - “changing the ladies” minimizes the chances of putting at risk his one and only. Not like many know of you in the first place.

It���s a win-win arrangement for you as well - there is still an opportunity to cling to his arm, to use his expensive cologne, to play with the rings on his fingers and sneakily make out in a dark corner where no one can see. To be tugged into his lap in the carriage on the way back to his mansion, to have his long fingers undo the strings of the mask, and once the piece of leather falls onto the floor, have the palms slide down the sides of your neck, swiftly fiddling with the heavy necklace, only to let it be, the caress the shoulders, pushing the sleeves down… 

…to leave them at the elbows and grab your arms to push your back into his chest as the warm lips press to the juncture between the neck and the shoulder.

And what if you’ve lost your name in the process of this disguising? Having been an actress a long time ago made you used to it. But isn’t it fun to come up with the new ideas for your next performance? Your husband gifts you way too many dresses and jewelry sets - you must find use to all of them! He now has to simply spend a bit more on the wigs and makeup to fit each combination of fabric and gems.

“Did my wife have a pleasant evening?” The velvet voice of the man behind you caresses the ear and you meet his gaze in the full-size mirror in front of you. Amethyst eyes sparkle in the bedroom light and you smile coquettishly, red lips stretching seductively.

“Did she? How could I know?” You tease, reaching to your back to undo the corset, just to be stopped by his hands, fingers digging into the dozens of strings. “And don’t you know, Mr Harbinger, that it’s very offending for the woman, when the man speaks about another lady in her presence?”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware,” he muses, tugging a bit harsher on the ties and making you gasp, “that my dear wife can be jealous of herself.”

“When you know her poorly. Tsk-tsk, what a bad husband you are.”

Pantalone laughs behind you, shaking his head at your untrue words, and you reach to your head to remove the fiery wig. By the time Pantalone is done with your corset, you are done letting your naturally beautiful locks down, sighing in relief from both the released ribcage and hair roots.

The dress, having lost its vital support on your body, falls to the ground next to the wig and quickly becomes forgotten as you two step away from the mirror.

Your husband is still mostly clothed, having only eased out of his coat and unbuttoned the jacket, so you busy your hands with tugging the black article off and then reaching for the gleaming tiny buttons on the shirt. Your figures bask in the warm light of the room as you continue undressing the man - your eyes concentrated on the expensive fabrics, his - on the lovely expression of your face.

“But if you must know,” Pantalone raises his brow, when you look up at him, a much sincere and tender smile lighting up your visage, “your wife loved the evening very much.”

And that’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear. Fingers tangle in your hair, you harshly inhale, and his lips are on yours. Lipstick is smudging, your fingers accidentally catch the silver chain, and his glasses get slightly askew, but it doesn’t matter. His wife loved another thing he’s done for her. The banker’s day has ended in a great profit.

Wriothesley

Fortress of Meropide is a huge metal labyrinth of floors and corridors, where noise is never-ending even in the late hours of the night. The metal box which is the Duke’s office however, is constructed to mute the annoying sounds or else the one inside would have a very hard time concentrating.

Usually, even the ruckus happening outside and the clanking of the heavy machines underneath can’t sway Wriothesley’s attention if he has his mind set on doing the paperwork, even something as boring as bills. Today, however, the man has caught himself multiple times glancing at the clock he’s hung up a couple of years ago - there is no way to tell the time all the way down underwater, true, but it serves him a greater purpose. It helps him count hours and minutes before you arrive.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are the days when you take a half of the day off to come down to the Fortress to meet up with your husband. You both quickly realized that traveling back and forth together in either of the directions (fortress or home in the city) would be way too inconvenient. So, you improvise by visiting him throughout the week a couple of times and then he comes home to properly spend the weekend, having learnt to delegate his responsibilities to the most trustworthy guards. So far you’ve been extremely pleased with the arrangement, and the Fortress’s crew have learnt your face by heart to not cause you any obstacles in reaching your beloved’s office.

Today, nevertheless, something must’ve gone wrong. Pale blue eyes are practically drilling the minute hand of the previously mentioned clock, watching it moving further and further from the tiny 10-minute bar, which should’ve marked your appearance at the top of his stairs. And he gets it, everything could’ve happened, something as trivial as the queue at the pastry shop that might’ve gotten longer today, but when the delay surpasses the half-hour mark, the warden puts his fountain pen down and follows it by the creak of the chair legs on the metal floor.

As he descends down the stairs - each clunking under the heavy soles of his boots - a fleeting thought of you stopping by at the medical bay first is immediately brushed aside - his office is right on the path of entering the Fortress’s main body, and you love your husband too much to let him sulk in his longing. 

When he pushes the colossal doors open, eyes instantly start searching the area ahead of him. However, nothing unusual is spotted - two guards are standing at the front of his abode, not even flinching at the unpleasant scraping noise the metal makes; a couple of inmates are walking past them, bowing their heads right as they see the appearing the figure of their warden - Wriothesley simply nods and sends them off with a flicker of his hand; then there is Monglane’s desk with its irreplaceable owner. And no trace of his beloved wife.

Closing the doors behind him, Wriothesley comes up to the guards, inquiring if they’ve happened to see you. Getting a negative response, he hums and starts walking forward, to the corridor leading to the elevator, not bothering with asking the very same questions to Monglane.

With every passing minute, especially while waiting for the elevator, the man starts realizing how impatient he is growing, if the tapping of his foot and crossed arms are not an indicator enough. Even with just one day apart, he’s missed you so awfully much, your adoring smile, your soft voice and cute little giggles, that he feels rightfully robbed since you are not yet in his embrace, showering his face with kisses and then whining pretentiously because he’s forgotten to shave once again. Sometimes you swear he is not a big bad wolf, but a mean huge hedgehog.

He almost stomps inside the cabin the second its doors slide open and pushes the button to the reddening of his fingertip. It is a long trip up to the next level, and he admits he’s tugged on his leather straps wrapped around his arms a couple of times, but Archons, how little it all matters, when, exiting the elevator, he finally hears such a familiar voice. Your voice.

Your husband’s legs carry him like they obtained a mind of their own, following the full of amusement lilt he knows can belong only to you, just to come to a halt next to the wooden boxes piled up on the side of the path. 

He can see you, quite clearly, adorned in a cute pair of pants and a shirt, shoulders covered in a crocheted shawl - always ready for the cool air of the Fortress, yet looking so comfy, that Wriothesley can't help but desire to tackle you to the sofa in his office and cuddle this instant. And he would've done just that, if the conversation you've been having didn't catch his attention.

“No, it's wrong again. It's not Britney, it's Brytnneigh.

“But you are saying the same thing!"

"No, it is not B-r-i-t-n-e-y. It's B-r-y-t-n-n-e-i-g-h."

"Slower, please."

In the second voice the warden easily guesses a new guard that has just been employed a couple of days ago. He remembers signing the papers his weekend substitute brought him on Monday. Wriothesley also remembers how the man swore that he’d passed on to the newbie all the information and training he needed to know. But, it appears, he forgot to mention the most important thing…

“Did you make sure to write my name with two N’s?” Your voice is laced with hardly concealed mirth, and, though he can’t see the face of the guard talking to you, your husband is sure the poor young man looks quite miserable.

“Yes, mademoiselle, I did.”

“Wonderful, but it’s ‘madame’, I am a married woman after all. But no worries, I am flattered you think I look so young,” Wriothesley shakes his head with a silent chuckle. He adores you so much, but maybe it really is time to stop your little play of a new inmate, or else he’ll surely have to call for Sigewinne to check on the poor guard.

“And your last name, madame?”

“I am Brytnneigh Deirdrophnea de Troistêtesloup. Do you want me to spell it for you, dear?”

Yes, he really should stop you.

Before you can open your mouth again, you see in your peripheral vision a figure moving. Upon turning your head slightly, you are graced with the sight of your beloved husband, walking towards you with a quirked thick brow, and crossed arms. All you can do is sheepishly smile, waving at him.

“O-oh! Duke Wriothesley, Sir!” The guard behind the registration desk immediately jumps to his feet, squaring his shoulders and saluting at the arrival of his superior.

“At ease, young man,” Wriothesley nods, stepping even closer, practically invading your personal space, icy blue eyes looking at you unblinkingly. “What is going on here?”

“Nothing much, Mr Warden,” your eyes crinkle in the corners, a sight so infectious, that the man’s lips turn into a small smile. “Just a cute old me, ending up in the Fortress for Archon knows what time.”

“M-madame!” The guard exclaims rather loudly, that even your husband turns to look at him. “Even if it's not your first stay here, you shouldn’t be taking liberties with the Duke!”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Wriothesley raises his hand. “She is no longer your headache-”

“Hey!” You elbow his side to the bewilderment of the guard. In his shock he doesn’t even reach for his weapon.

“-I will personally escort this troublemaker inside. And cross out that abominable name out, would you? It’s not her name.”

“It’s not..?” Now Wriothesley really sympathizes with the guy, he looks utterly lost.

“It’s not. But,” a big scarred hand gently cups you under the chin and turns your head more properly towards the guard, “be sure to remember this adorable face very well for the next time. You’ll need that to let her in and out.”

“...out?”

“Yes, indeed. This woman is my wife.”

As the elevator doors slide close and the cabin starts moving down, you turn to Wriothesley and throw your arms around his wide frame, face burying into his chest.

“Are you proud of me for coming up with such a long and difficult name in a single thought?”

“Oh, for sure,” strong arms circle your waist and chapped lips press to the top of your head, “I bet you would be hard-to-catch if you were a criminal. But why did you decide to play such a prank on a poor man?”

“Well… I just wanted to see his face when he found out that I am the wife of the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide himself. Another reason is that there was no guard who knew my face and I doubt he would’ve believed my word. I just got creative with the way of making him summon someone else. You simply got here before anything could happen. Plus, it’s good to keep them on their toes with a job like that. Besides, I did apologize and praise him for his patience.”

At that Wriothesley just sighs and then chuckles, raising one of his hands and threading his fingers through your hair, pressing your head even closer to his chest. He is not even feeling iffy about the lost half an hour of your time together anymore. Because you gave him an opportunity to introduce you as his wife once again.

[formulamar]

puppy love (but it’s cats!) part 1

max verstappen x vet!yn

fc: girls from pinterest

summary: as a Monaco native, Yn has had her fair share of encounters with F1 drivers. and as a vet, she has even fostered close relationships with some of the driver's pets. what happens when she is introduced to a single Max Verstappen who has two adorable cats?

vetyn

liked by albon_pets and 2,568 others

vetyn we had the cutest visitor today! 🐱💗

210 comments

ynbestfriend: hard at work or hardly working 🧐

vetyn: you’re just jealous i’m not crunching numbers all day 🙄

ynsfriend: can’t decide who’s cuter!

albon_pets: Dr. Yn we thought WE were the CUTEST?

vetyn: i promise YOU ARE! also some of my finest patients 🐾

albono23: now i can’t help but wonder which sibling commented this 😭😭😭

rumorhasitf1

liked by lion33, maxiellvr and 4,672 others

rumorhasitf1: 🚨 RUMOR HAS IT 🚨

Nearly 7 months after his dramatic split with his ex-girlfriend, it appears like Max is on the hunt for love 👀. Sources confirm the World Champion has recently joined the popular celebrity dating app Raya and he has been spotted out on a few dates. Is it possible we might see a new face in the RB garage soon?

531 comments

maxiellvr: lowkey i feel like he's going to end up dating who we least expect

30three: like Kendall Jenner or something 😭

rbgirl: no because when i saw that TikTok with his Raya profile I actually jumped!!!!

dutch1: sooooooooo who's gonna help a girl out and let Max know i'm free any day of the week!

vermax: no fr I wish he would do a Jeremy Fragrence type thing so I could apply to be his girlfriend 😒

verstappen4life: NOT THE JEREMY FRAGRANCE LMAODHJ

maxisfast: I never thought this day would come...@/maxverstappen1 OF COURSE I'LL MARRY YOU

frmlamax: yeah so, actually, he was on those dates with me sos xx

jimandsas1: hey, girly! so I know we don't know each other but...

maxstap1: dates. DATES. we all see that s at the end of DATE right? oh those lucky girls...

twitter

vetyn’s story

translation: “new client”

twitter

vetyn

liked by lilymhe, alexandrasaintmleux and 2,954 others

vetyn: joyeux anniversaire à moi 🥳 (happy anniversary to me)

it's been 6 AMAZING years of having my dream job. feeling very grateful today. can't wait to keep learning, growing and meeting adorable friends 💘

245 comments

lilymhe: LETS GOOOO YN! WE'RE ALL SUPER PROUD! (but mostly me duh)

vetyn: thank you! you're my fav! (don't tell alex pls)

alex_albon: Oh ok. Cool. We pick favorites now.

char16: now WHAT is going on in the albono house 😭

ynbestfriend: ily girl. can't wait to celebrate you this weekend 😝

liked by vetyn

alexandrasaintmleux: Félicitations, belle ❤️‍🔥

vetyn: merci belle 🥰

albon_pets: Thanks for everything, doc 🤓

liked by vetyn

ynfriend: so proud!

roscoelovescoco: All's My Love's Dr. YN

vetyn: Awwww thank you Roscoe, I miss ya!

russ63: NOW WHY AM I JUST FINDING OUT YN IS ROSCOE'S VET TOO????

ham1lton: omg yes. I believe he was the og f1-related client and then it was the albon pets

ynsister: love you. almost reunited 🇪🇸

liked by vetyn

rumorhasitf1

liked by maxlov3r and 5,728 others

rumorhasitf1: Looks like Max Verstappen had a wild night out celebrating his 6th win of the season in Barcelona 👀

1,034 comments

rbgirl: THAT SHOULD BE ME HOLDING YOUR HAND THAT SHOULD BE ME MAKING YOU LAUGH THAT SHOULD BE ME THIS IS SO SAD THAT SHOULD BE MEEEEEE THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE

maxstap1: you're so quick with it LMFAO

maxlovescats: WOAH I JUST WOKE UP?????

butfirstmax: honestly i'm so happy for him go live your life king

maxisfast: is this like his frat boy era

hamstappen: I swear if they're back together and I threw that party for nothing

hamstappen: just kidding hehe

rbgirl: HELPPPPPPPPPP

vermax: rb pr team prob freaking out as we speak

30three: and Max is sleeping soundly

sluttycatdad: IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS

maxielno1: okay now... doesn't that kinda look like....

justaninchident: that's what I was thinking too

username: wait who

maxielno1: his ex

maxverstappen1

liked by redbullracing, vetyn and 1,309,672 others

maxverstappen1: Barcelona, that was fun! Let's do it again?

23,672 comments

redbullracing: 🦁

rbgirl: oh trust we saw it was fun

maxisfast: 😭

maxielno1: SIMPLY LOVELY 🥰

f1fan: LETS GO CHAMP 🙌

vetyn: mega! 💙💙

maxverstappen1: 😘💙

albono33: YN?

rbgirl: idk who this is but what is happenig here....

30three: so proud of you! 🧡

verstappen4life: yes! let’s do this everytime!

vermax: great job!!!! glad you had fun 😉

martingarrix: Mate how was the club?

maxverstappen1: Pretty good 😂

f1fan: 🔥🔥🔥

somedutchguy: LEGEND

twitter

vetyn's story

to be continued..

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩

a/n: y’all probably caught on already but this is set during the 2024 season anddddd i just wanted to do one part but tumblr is super annoying with the image limit 🙁 but lmk if you’re interested in a pt. 2! have a great day/night 🫶💐

[letternotekisses]

Ur assistant AU has me losing it. I love it so much n i havent been able to stop imagining assistant!reader being "borrowed" by another talon member, and coming back to Akandes office dizzy and exhausted, well used and stumbling towards him @_@

(nsfw) wait cuz this is delectable anon ur juicy little brain I could kiss u

—

You’re panting when your legs are folded into your chest, Gabriel’s cock sinking deep enough into your cunt that you feel unbelievably full of him, his mask is staring you down, watching uncaringly as he knocks the wind out of you. You’d been at this for hours, bent over surfaces, pinned against walls and even put into a full-nelson a few times. You’d cum so many times that you were starting to get dizzy and breathless, your nails creasing the leather of Reaper’s cloak as you hold on for dear life because he just can’t seem to get enough. As soon as he fills your cunt and pulls out to marvel at the hefty load he’d dumped in you - he’s soon growing hard again.

You’re there until the late evening, limping out the door with an aching pussy, bruised skin and now a sore ass - seeing as Gabe gave it an appeased slap on your way out.

—

It’s dim and quiet in Akande’s office, lamplight casting his shadow large and intimidating across the cream walls, flickering over the ornate wood of the glossy floor and desk. There’s an old stereo playing soft music somewhat in the background, one he usually kept on to entertain you whilst he zoned in on important documents or paperwork. Only, you weren’t here this evening.

The last he’d seen of you was with Gabriel, chittering away whilst the wraith sat and stared with all the grace of a brooding hen. Not that Akande minded all too much, it kept you content and busy while he was occupied, and it helped soften Gabriel’s tolerance to sharing. All in all, there wasn’t a concern for Akande, apart from how late it was getting. Most nights he would take you to bed, fall asleep with his legs intertwined with yours and your head resting softly on his chest. Only some nights would he allow the others to see you so soft, so precious and so vulnerable.

His office door opens with a sharp click, sapping him from his monotony, and Akande’s eyes snap to it almost instantaneously. He softens when it’s you who steps past the heavy oak door, closing it with a soft yawn. Your hair is messy, your mascara smudged, your blouse open and your tights torn to shreds. You’re even holding your heels in one hand, it’s why Akande didn’t anticipate your arrival, he couldn’t hear the soft pattering of your footsteps in the hall.

There’s bruising on your pretty neck, and it makes him frown.

Usually it wasn’t an issue, but it seemed Gabriel had worn you out exceptionally today, and you were practically swaying on your feet. Akande stands to greet you, and you chuck your heels onto the chaise lounge across, practically melting into his arms once you feel the familiar weight of his his hands on your shoulders, pulling you against his chest.

Akande is enriched with the softest parts of you. He pulls you from your messy clothes and chucks them across his office, bundling you up and into the en-suite where he bathes you with a tenderness the outside world were unfamiliar with. All of his bathrooms are stocked and lined with your products, full of life and love and colour, and he follows your routine for you, step by step, perfect and meticulous even when you can’t lift a muscle to help. You don’t have to, he will take care of you.

He dries you off, slipping a silky soft chemise over your arms, one of the many outsides he kept for you in his rooms - all lined next to his suits, they were just as important to him. Before settling you gently into his huge bed, you’re out like a light almost immediately, and Akande is more than happy to let you cling to him like a koala until he’s ready to sleep himself.

He waited. As strong as he may be, the soft underbelly of the leader of Talon is bared only to you. He can only be well rested with you by his side. It’s pure, something a man like him isn’t accustomed to, and Akande will treasure it despite its oddities.

(And no, he doesn’t care if you drool on his pillows.)

[winchesterwild78]

An Unexpected Friendship pt 9

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Reader’s daughter, Jensen’s children

Warnings/Trigger Warnings: FLUF

A/N: This is a short story written in collaboration with @cheekygirl2309.

This chapter is so full of fluff. It’s a roller coaster, but a good one. Some big things happen in this chapter. 🥰 A few time jumps.

No disrespect to Jensen or his family. This is a work of fiction and does not depict real life. Written and edited fast-please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

Jensen left a few weeks later to go back to work. The kids and I were excited to follow him as soon as school got out for the summer. When Jensen arrived in Canada he signed the paperwork for the house and he had been living there, waiting for us. 

I was packing the kids and I up for our trip. Jensen suggested I pack enough clothes for a week, and we would get some more clothes when we got there just to keep and use while we were there. 

As we boarded the plane, the kids and I were so excited. In a few short hours we would be back with Jensen. Halfway through the flight the kids fell asleep. A middle aged woman sitting near us smiled softly, “Your children are so beautiful, and so well behaved.” I smiled at her, “Thank you. Their dad and I are incredibly lucky to have all of them.” 

She nodded and smiled. I sent Jensen a text.

Me: Hey baby, we have a few hours left, the kids are fast asleep.

Jensen: I can’t wait. Clif and I are going to meet you guys at the airport. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms. 

Me: Me either. I can’t wait to see the house either. Maybe break in that new bed. 😘

Jensen: You better believe it, all night long baby. 😀

Me: I’ll hold you to it. I love you, see you soon.

Jensen: I love you too, and I can’t wait. 

I set my phone back down and looked over at our babies. They were all sleeping peacefully and my heart warmed at the sight. These four beautiful, sleeping children were now a huge part of my life, and I couldn’t see a future without them in it. 

When we finally landed and were headed towards the gate my anxiety started to creep up. I was anxious about getting the kids off the plane and to the baggage claim where Jensen was supposed to meet us. I knew this airport was large, and I didn’t want to lose them.

“Okay guys, when we get off this plane you four hold hands and JJ, you hold on to me, okay?” They all nodded. Before we could get off the plane a stewardess approached me. “Ma’am, are you Y/N Y/L/N?” “Yes, I am. Is there a problem?” “Oh no, we’ve been asked to escort you and your children off the plane to prevent any issues with fans. Mr. Ackles called the airline and told them there were pictures of you and the children on social media with your travel information. We just want to make sure you are all safe.” “Thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

“Okay, please follow us and we will get you guys out and through the airport and to Mr. Ackles.” We followed them and hopped on a transportation cart that zipped through the airport. I’d noticed a few people had their phones out, so I told the kids to keep their heads down. I didn’t want their pictures taken unless Jensen was okay with it. 

We pulled up to a private room and we were ushered in. Inside I saw Jensen and Clif standing there. I leaped into Jensen’s arms. “Jensen! I’m so sorry baby. I didn’t know anyone was taking pictures of the kids.” He held me tight, “Hey, it’s okay baby. It happens, you are all safe and here where you belong.” 

The kids ran to Jensen when I let him go, each one hugged him tightly telling him all about the last few weeks. “Hey guys, let’s get our stuff and go home.” I smiled at Jensen when he said that. “Yes, home.” I said.

We grabbed our bags and Clif drove us to the new house. It was even more beautiful in person. The kids had their own rooms, even though Jazzy and Arrow decided to share a room, and of course Jensen and I had a beautiful suite for our room. The bathroom was just as big as the bedroom. It had a double shower, and a huge double soaker tub. “Lots of room for both of us in that shower and tub, darlin’.” Jensen said with a smirk on his face. “We might have to test them out soon, baby.” 

We got the kids in bed, and Jensen and I sat in front of the fireplace, he had a glass of whiskey and I had a glass of wine. Everything was perfect. “Jensen, the house really is beautiful. Thank you.” “Oh baby, you’re welcome. This is our home. I want you to make any changes you want to make it feel more like ours. I nodded. 

As we sat sipping our drinks my mind kept wandering back to our conversation about marriage. “What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” “Honestly?” Jensen nodded, yes. “Us, our future, getting married.” 

Jensen sat his drink down, “What about it? Are you having second thoughts?” “Oh absolutely not. I want that more than anything. I was just thinking about what life would be like being Mrs. Jensen Ackles.” I blushed a little. 

“Well sweetheart, I can tell you it would look pretty much like this, the only difference is you’d be recognized more in public.” “Yeah, I just want to make sure the kids are safe when we go out.” “They will be, you will be, I promise.” 

Jensen stood, pulled me up and into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re here baby. I’ve missed you, your lips, your body.” He started kissing down my body, “Jensen, let’s take this upstairs.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the stairs, “You don’t have to tell me twice.” I giggled as I ran with him. 

We made it to the bedroom, Jensen closed and locked the door, and we made up for lost time, and Jensen was true to his word. We broke in the bed, all night long. 

*Time Jump December*

Jensen had just gotten home from a convention. I was supposed to go with him, but I had gotten sick and couldn’t go. I was completely bummed. Jensen and I had been dating for almost a year and there were pictures of us online with speculation we were dating. Jensen and I hadn’t confirmed anything yet, but he was going to confirm it at this convention since it was the last one of the season. 

“Jens, I’m so sorry I got sick and couldn’t go with you. I know you were excited to share our relationship with your fans.” I sniffled and coughed. “Hey, it’s okay. You can’t help you’re sick. We can always make a post online if you want to.” “Once I’m better we can if you want to.” “I do, Y/N. I can’t wait to share you with everyone. I’m so proud you’re mine and Jazzy is mine.” He placed a soft kiss on my forehead, “Now you lay back down and get some rest. I’ve got the kiddos.” I nodded and snuggled back down in bed. 

A few days later I was feeling better. I was thankful Jensen was home and was able to take care of the kids while I recovered. I jumped in the shower and went downstairs to find four very excited children and an even more excited adult. 

“What are you guys so excited for?” “Mommy, Daddy Jensen is going to take us to the Austin Trail of Lights tonight.” “Oh that sounds like so much fun, do y’all have room for one more?” I chuckled. 

Jensen stepped forward and put his arms around me, turning to the kids and said, “I don’t know. What do you guys think? Do you think we should let Mom come along?” The kids looked at each other like they were considering the question. I feigned hurt and laughed. “Yes! We want mommy to go with us.” 

“Whew, I was a little worried.” I said. Jensen pulled me close, laughing as he kissed me. “Eww, stop it.” The kids said. Jensen and I laughed. 

As night started to settle over the Austin sky, Jensen, the kids and I got ready to head out to see the lights. I had never taken Jazzy, and I hadn’t been since before she was born. The hum of excitement filled the car as Jensen drove with his hand in mine. 

I glanced over my shoulder and looked at the kids’ faces as we got closer to the trail. I loved seeing Christmas through their eyes. It always reminded me of what the season was truly about, magic, love and service to others.

Jensen helped me get the kids out and we walked to the gate. We held the kids’ hands in between us. As we approached the gate, Jensen pulled out his phone and showed the lady at the front the tickets. She smiled, looked over at us and nodded. “Have a great time, Mr. Ackles. You and your family. Merry Christmas.” Jensen tipped his head at her, “Thank you, Merry Christmas to you too.” 

The six of us started to walk the trail. Jazzy was completely blown away. Her and the other three were holding hands, giggling and walking just in front of Jensen and I. I took out my phone and started taking pictures of the kids, and a few of Jensen and I. 

We were halfway through the trail when something caught the eye of the kids. It was a beautiful display of a gingerbread house with gingerbread men at the front “Mommy look!” The kids called as I turned towards them. 

“Can we take a picture, mommy? Please?” I nodded and walked up with them to the house. I was snapping pictures of them doing different poses. I was laughing at their antics and turned to get Jensen’s attention. 

When I turned I gasped. Jensen was behind me, down on one knee and a small velvet box in his hand. I turned and looked at the kids who were now holding signs that read, “Mommy, will you marry Daddy?” 

I turned back towards Jensen, completely speechless. I noticed people standing around taking videos and pictures. “Well, darlin’, what do you say? Will you marry me?” Tears fell fast from my eyes, “Yes! Yes, Jensen, I’ll marry you!” 

I leaped in his arms, kissing him and hugging him. He slid the ring on my finger, and when we looked at the kids, JJ had flipped her sign over and it read, “FINALLY!” Jensen and I laughed. 

The group of people who had gathered around us were clapping and offering congratulations. I finally took a moment to look at my ring and it was breathtaking. There was a large solitary stone in the middle, and the four colored stones around it. Each stone represented the kids’ birthstones. 

“Jensen, this is so beautiful.” “I’m glad you like it. I hope you don’t mind. I added the kids to it too.” “No Jensen, I don’t mind at all. It’s perfect.” 

When we finished the trail Jensen pulled out his phone to message Jared, Nichole and his family to let them know. He asked, finally. “So I had already told them I was going to ask you, I figured there would be people there and I didn’t want our families to find out through social media.” “That’s smart. I’m sure it’s all over social media now.” “Yeah it is.” He chuckled as he showed me his phone. 

After we got home the kids were so excited and talked non stop about Jensen and I getting married. I noticed Jazzy was a little quiet, so I pulled her to the side with Jensen to talk to her. 

“Hey Jazzy girl, are you okay? You seem sad.” “No, I’m just thinking. I can’t wait for you and daddy Jensen to get married. Are you going to be an Ackles, mommy?” “Yes baby, when I get married to Jensen my last name will change to Ackles.” “Oh, will mine?” I looked at Jensen and he looked at me, “No baby. Your last name will stay the same. Your name changes when you get married or if you get adopted.”

I saw the tears form in her eyes. “So I won’t be part of the family?” Her voice is soft and sad. Jensen pulled her into his lap, “Oh baby girl you are part of the family. Your last name doesn’t change that.” She nodded. “Daddy Jensen, what is adopted?” 

“Well, for some people it means they get a new mommy and daddy, but for you that means I would go to a judge and ask them if I can be your daddy for real. If they say yes, then you get to change your last name to Ackles.” “Daddy I want to be your baby girl for real.” 

Jensen pulled her into a tight hug and looked up at me. “Sweetie, you are my baby girl, for real and forever.” “But I’m not an Ackles.” Jensen’s heart broke a little, “Do you want to be?” He asked her. “Yes! Then I can be your real baby.” “Well if it’s something you really want, we can see about it.” 

“Yay! I get to be your baby for real.” She hugged Jensen’s neck tightly and jumped down. “Bye mommy, bye daddy.” She waved as she went out of the room.

Jensen let out a deep breath. I touched his arm, “Jens, are you okay?” “Yes, I just want her to know she’s loved and I adore her.” “She knows, Jensen. She really does.” “What do you think about me possibly adopting her?” “Honestly that would be amazing, but it’s up to you.” “Darlin’ I’d love to, but it’s not just my decision. Do you think you could arrange a meeting for me and Josh’s parents?” 

“Yes I can call them, but why do you want to speak to them?” “I think it’s only right to ask their permission for me to adopt their granddaughter, since Josh isn’t around for me to ask.” I hugged Jensen, “That sounds perfect.” I kissed him. 

The next morning I called Josh’s mom and asked if Jensen and I could come over. She was more than willing to have Jensen Ackles in her house, she was a fan. 

When we arrived, she giggled when she answered the door and I introduced them. “Jensen, these are Josh’s parents, Margaret and Bill Johnson.” They shook hands and we were invited in. 

“So, Jensen, Y/N told us you wanted to speak to us. Oh and congratulations on the engagement. We are so happy for you two.” Josh’s mom said.

“Yes ma’am, and thank you. I love her and Jazzy very much. So I wanted to speak to you two about Jazmyne. She’s an amazing little girl and I love her like she’s my own. She fits perfectly in our family. When I marry Y/N, she will officially/legally be an Ackles, Jazzy will not. So, I’ve come to you both today to ask your permission to officially adopt her. You have my word she will always be your granddaughter, you two are always welcome in our home, and she will know what an amazing father Josh was. She will just be an Ackles, legally.”

Margaret was wiping tears away, and Bill was hard to read. Then he spoke, “Son, she’s our only granddaughter. Our only connection on this Earth to Joshua. If we give you our blessing, I need your word that she will still be in our lives. We wouldn’t survive losing her too.” 

“Yes, sir. I understand completely. You have my word, I wouldn’t dream of taking her away from you two. She needs you two in her life. You two are her direct connection to Josh, and that is something that can’t ever be replaced. I assure you, I’m not trying to replace anyone in her life. I’m just trying to help her feel like she belongs with all of us too.” 

“Jensen, honey, do you mind giving myself and Bill a few days to think about it?” “Oh absolutely, please take all the time you need. Here’s my number if you two have any more questions or any concerns come up.” Margaret took Jensen’s number and nodded. “Thank you, Jensen. We really do appreciate you coming and asking us. That shows amazing character.” 

Jensen and I stood to leave, Bill pulled me into a hug and whispered in my ear, “You make him take care of you and that little girl. I’m glad you found him. He seems like good people.” I smiled and nodded, “He is, and he loves Jazzy so much.” 

Margaret hugged me after she hugged Jensen. Bill extended his hand to Jensen and shook his hand, “Jensen, son, thank you again. We will be in touch soon.” Jensen nodded and the two of us walked out to the car hand in hand.

Climbing in the car, there was a silence that fell between us. “I think that went well, Jensen. I really do.” Jensen nodded, “Yeah. I just hope they say yes. I don’t want Jazzy to feel like we don’t want her to be part of the family.” “I think they will, they just need to talk about it. They just want to make sure you are true to your word. I know you are, but they are a little worried.” “I get it completely. I would be too. I just wish there was a way I could convince them.” 

I took his hand in mine, “I know baby, just be patient.” He nodded and we drove home. When we got home Jensen went ahead and contacted his attorney to find out what he’d need to adopt Jazzy. “No, I’m not ready to move forward yet. I just wanted to know what the process would be. Yeah, okay. Thanks buddy. Yeah, I’ll call you back when I’m ready.” 

“So it seems like it's a pretty easy process. Since Josh is gone I don’t have to wait the standard length of time when two parents are involved. I just need your permission as her surviving parent.” “Well you know you have it, Jensen.” “I know, baby. I know.” 

A few days later Jensen’s phone rang. He showed me the caller ID. It was Josh’s parents. We walked into our bedroom to take the phone call. “Hello?” Jensen answered. “Hello, Jensen, this is Bill and Margaret Johnson. How are you today?” “Oh hello, Mr and Mrs Johnson, I’m doing great, how are you two?” “Please call us Bill and Margaret, and we are great. So I’m gonna get right to it. We talked about what you asked. We definitely have some reservations about it.” 

Jensen’s face fell slightly. I touched his hand. “I understand, sir.” Jensen said softly.

“However, we talked and we know how much you love our girls. We’re going to trust your word, son. You keep us in her life and take care of her, and we are more than happy to give you our blessing.” 

Jensen sat stunned. I squeezed his hand. “Son, are you still there?” Bill asked into the phone. “Oh yes, sir. I’m sorry. Thank you both so much. You have no idea what this means to me, to Jazzy.” “I think we do, Jensen. You take care of our girls.” “I promise I will. Y/N and I would also like to invite you two to celebrate Christmas with us and the kids. You’re family now, and that means you come for holidays, birthdays and other important things. You’re also going to have three more grandchildren by proxy.” Jensen laughed. Bill and Margaret chuckled, “Well I think we can handle that, Jensen. Are you sure we won’t be intruding on Christmas?” “Absolutely not, please come.” “Sure, we will be there.”

“Great! I’ll send you all the details when we get them finalized, and Bill, Margaret, thank you both again.” “You’re welcome, Jensen.”

Jensen hung up and pulled me into his arms, spinning me around. “I need to call my lawyer. I want to get this done ASAP.” I smiled at him, he was so excited and he was making me fall more in love with him. 

He came back into the room with a smile on his face. “Our court date is next week.” “Wow! That was fast, Jensen. How did you pull that off?” “Well I went to high school with the clerk of court, she pushed us on to the calendar. We have to go by the lawyer’s office to fill out the paperwork so he can file it. We can stop by tomorrow.” 

I nodded, “That sounds amazing, now we have to tell Jazzy.” Jensen nodded and walked downstairs to where the kids were playing. 

“Jazzy, can you come here please?” Jensen asked as he walked into the room. Jazzy came over and sat down beside us. “So Jazzy, mommy and I went to talk to Grandma and Grandpa Johnson about me adopting you. I told them how much I loved you and mommy and I asked them if they would be okay with me adopting you so you can be an Ackles. They told me they were okay with it.” 

“So daddy is going to adopt me?” Jazzy asked with wide eyes. “Yes baby girl, if you want me to.” She leaped into his lap, “Yes! I get a daddy again, and a brother and sisters.” He kissed her head and she jumped down.

I chuckled, “Well, I guess that was a yes.” “Yeah I think so too.” Jensen smiled, leaned over and kissed me.

*Time Jump Day of Court*

The kids, Jensen and I walked hand in hand into the courtroom. Josh’s parents, Jared and Gen, Nichole, and Jensen’s parents were all there. I was shaking and I was so nervous. Jensen held my hand, kissing the back of it, trying to steady my nerves. 

When the judge called our case, Jensen’s attorney spoke first. Then the judge, “Is the child present in the courtroom today?” “Yes, sir, she is.” “Can she step forward?”

I took Jazzy’s hand and stood beside her in front of the judge. “Jazmyne, I’m Judge Matthews, do you understand why you’re here today? She looked at me and I encouraged her to speak.

“Yes sir. I want Daddy Jensen to be my daddy for real and you get to say if we can or not.” “That’s right. So I just have a few questions for you, if that’s okay?” Jazzy shook her head, “Yes, that’s okay.” 

The judge smiled at her, “Okay young lady. Why do you want Jensen to be your daddy?” Jazzy stood there for a minute thinking about what to say, then when she opened her mouth, the whole courtroom fell silent. “I want Jensen to be my daddy because he makes my booboos better. He gives the best, biggest hugs. When mommy got hurt he kept me safe and when I was sad he made me better. He loves me and mommy too. He’s my daddy, like my Daddy Josh.” 

The judge nodded at her and smiled. “So you want Jensen to adopt you and you become an Ackles?” “Yes!” She squealed in delight.

The judge talked to me and Jensen for a few minutes. He asked if there was anyone present who wanted to make a statement on the adoption and Bill raised his hand, my breath hitched and a lump formed in my throat.

“Your honor, my name is William Johnson. Jazmyne is my granddaughter. Her father was my son Joshua. I came here today in support of this adoption. It saddens me that my son was never able to be the father that Jazmyne deserves, but I know with all my heart he sent Jensen to her and Y/N. This man loves this child like she was his own, so this adoption is just a formality at this point. I implore you to allow Mr. Ackles to adopt our little Jazzy.” 

The judge nodded, thanked everyone and said there would be a brief recess so he could come to a decision. 

About 30 minutes later we were being called back into the courtroom. When the judge was seated he asked for Jazzy, myself, Jensen and the other kids to step forward. 

“So making a decision like this isn’t one I take lightly. I look at all the evidence, talk to everyone I need to and above all I take into consideration how the child feels about it. Jazmyne, you, your mom and Jensen step forward slightly, please.”

The three of us moved forward. 

“After carefully weighing all the evidence I’ve come to the decision that from this day forward, Jazmyne Marie Johnson, will now be legally known as Jazmyne Marie Ackles. This is my order, entered this 13th day of December. Congratulations, Jazmyne. You are now an Ackles. 

The courtroom erupted in applause and Jazzy leaped in Jesen’s arms. Her arms pulled tightly behind his neck, she placed a soft kiss on his cheek and said, “You’re my daddy now, please don’t leave me.” He kissed her softly on the head, “I’m not going anywhere sweetheart, and neither are you, Jazmyne Ackles.” 

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[kquil]

hi hope ure okay 🤗 will u be posting a chapter 7 preview?

i'm doing great, thank you (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)♡ i've been getting pretty busy lately and have just gotten over my monthly visit with mother nature (ಥ‿ಥ) so i'm sorry for being late with my preview. here it is for you!

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER 7 (PREVIEW)

Screams rang out through the night, horrific and painful, that was what had woken Sirius up. Shaken by the disturbing sound, Sirius clambers out of bed to look out of the dorm room window. Like some sort of haunted picture, the full moon hangs suspended in the night sky, laying claim to its dominance over the vast expanse of space, outshining the stars and ousting all clouds that still linger. It glowed like the many poltergeists that roam Hogwarts’ halls but the moon’s presence was incomparably menacing. 

“What is that screaming?” Sirius utters, his grey eyes searching the landscape through his window for some form of explanation. 

“I don’t know but Remus still hasn’t returned,” James speaks up from the shadows, nearly making Sirius jump out of his skin. 

“W-wait, Remus isn’t back yet?” Peter asks, also slipping out of bed and the three make their way over to their friend’s absent bunk. “Where could he be?”

“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out,” James grins and holds up a cloak. 

“How is that gonna help us find out where Rem—” Sirius begins, rubbing his eyes from sleep but stutters to a stop when James’ figure disappears beneath the fabric. The eldest Black brother shares a look of surprise with Peter before turning a grin back to James who was now a floating head. 

“I like your thinking, James old chap!” Sirius jests and slips beneath the invisibility cloak with him. 

“Will we all be able to fit inside?” Peter’s eyes swim with a healthy level of uncertainty, only to be pulled under the cloak despite his protests. 

“We’ll fit, just keep in time with my pace and be very very quiet,”James warns and the two nod affirmatively, Sirius being much more enthusiastic compared to Peter’s hesitance. 

“I hope we find, Remus soon,” Sirius comments under his breath, pressed against James’ right as Peter staggers along at James’ left. 

“I know… with all that screaming outside, I hope he isn’t in any trouble.” The three make their way to the hospital wing but falter at a hallway junction. Which way was the hospital wing again? 

“I-I think we should go right,” Peter helpfully stutters after some thought. 

“I thought it was left?” Sirius scratches at his head as James gnaws on his inner cheek. The three collectively decide to go right for the time being and if it was wrong, they simply turn back and go the other way. 

Later that night, you ask Kreacher for more information. The topic clearly made Regulus uncomfortable and you didn’t want him to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with, which is why you didn’t ask any further questions, especially at the dinner table where the atmosphere should be lighter. Hopefully, you can fully dismiss all tensions from dinner when you tuck him into bed later on. 

Seated at your desk, you suppress the groans of discomfort that were being conducted through the walls from Orion’s private office — you can’t believe he’s still hasn’t asked Kreacher for a healing potion. But you suppose it’s fitting that his ego is making him suffer more at this point. You savour the sounds of his pain for only a few moments more before calling for Kreacher yourself. 

“Mistress has called for Kreacher?” the hunched house elf immediately asks after appearing before you with a pop. He remains ever aged and wrinkled but his unruffled demeanour and, somewhat, contented expression certainly makes him appear brighter. 

“Yes, I was wondering if the house had any secret rooms, perhaps down the hall from the library,” Kreacher gives you a skeptical look, one that was doused with suspicions you immediately set about diffusing, “it seems my fainting spells are getting to me and tampering with my memories,” At this, Kreacher’s expression morphs into worry and he begins to clutch tightly at his ragged clothes while falling into rambles upon rambles of heightening anxiety for your health. It was a rather endearing sight, knowing someone cares so deeply for your well-being, but you think the poor elf might just self-induce a heart attack if you let him continue like this, “it’s okay though Kreacher, I’m okay. Please just tell me about that secret room?”

Kreacher takes a moment to catch his breath and flush away his anxiety before answering, “Ladies of the noble and most ancient house of Black were the only ones, Mistress, they be the only ones allowed into the parlour,”

“Parlour?”

“The private parlour, Mistress, yes,” Kreacher nods, subconsciously flattening the wrinkles of his clothes with his hands, standing a little straighter and subtly puffing out his chest, “the powerful, esteemed ladies like to talk in priiiivateeee,” he drags out the word in a low tone, which spikes your interest and reaffirms your speculation on the room being used for dark purposes. 

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Regulus reads his letter again and nods in satisfaction. This was his third draft of it but he felt his efforts to be worthwhile. Letters were a special occasion and something that made a person feel immediately special when they read a letter that’s addressed specifically to them so he wanted to put in a good effort for Sirius. He just hopes it reaches him in good time. 

“Mother,” Regulus stands with his letter in hand, ready for postage, “my letter is finished, may I deliver it Sirius now, please?”

You smile warmly and nod, slipping Alphard’s letter into the main drawer of your desk. With a small wave of your hand, you gesture him over to you, “would you like to give it a wax seal?”

Regulus’ eyes sparkled with excitement, “I’m allowed?”

“Of course, little love, come here,” you pull him into your lap and gesture to the apparatus around you to create a wax seal.

“First, pick out the coloured wax you want for your seal,” Regulus picks metallic silver wax, a perfect choice for the black envelope he was sending it in, a signature of the Black Family. “Now you put it in this little spoon and melt it over the candle,” with an eager nod, Regulus holds the spoon over the candlelight and the two of you wait for it to melt together. 

“I think it’s melted now mother,” 

“Let me see…” he shows you, swirling around the liquid wax to demonstrate it’s fluidity and grins at your approving nod, “good good. Get the seal ready,” he diligently takes the Black Family seal in his other hand, “now, when you stamp the wax, don’t wiggle it around or else the design will get muddled,” Regulus gives an affirming nod and waits for your instruction to pour the wax before stamping it. He doesn’t wiggle it as you’ve advised. After a few moments, you whisper that it was finally okay for him to take away the stamp and he gasps in delight at the beautiful seal that was left behind. 

“Thank you, Mother!”

“Would you like to post it or ask Kreacher to post it for you?” 

“I’d like to post it please,” his request pulls you away from your desk, just in time as it was nearing 5pm already. You patiently lead him to the family owl and watch with a smile as he hands over his letter and waves off the owl with a cheer. “Sirius is going to love the letter, darling,”

“I hope he sends one back soon!”

“I don’t doubt that he will,”

navi. | series masterlist

i hope you darlings enjoyed the preview and are looking forward to the full chapter on 1st December!ヾ(。✪ω✪。)ｼ

[peppymintdreams]

Sakuverse Daycare: Thanksgiving Celebration

Hello my children this is peppy (pre break) I just want to say happy thanksgiving to all whom celebrate the holiday I’m extremely grateful for all of you, with the love and support you give to me for simply writing I wish you all a happy holiday and I will see you all soon

-Mama Peppy

The daycare room was buzzing with excitement, filled with crayon-colored turkeys and paper leaves taped to the walls. A big "Happy Thanksgiving!" banner hung lopsided over the snack table, where the smell of mashed potatoes, stuffing, and pumpkin pie made little noses twitch in anticipation.

In the middle of it all, a kid-sized table stood ready, with brightly colored plates and plastic forks. Each chair had a wobbly nametag written in messy crayon. At the head of the table sat Xanthus, who somehow always ended up in charge, even though he never asked to be.

Elias was already squirming in his seat, his legs swinging wildly under the table. His eyes kept darting to the cookies on the counter. He had a plan. A very sneaky, not-at-all-obvious plan to get one before everyone else.

“Do we have to do the thankful thing?” Elias groaned loudly, flopping forward onto the table like a very dramatic starfish. “Can’t we just eat already?”

Across the table, Isaac adjusted his tiny glasses with a sigh that was far too grown-up for a four-year-old. “Yes, we have to. It’s a tradition, Elias.” He said tradition like it was the most important word in the whole wide world.

“But it’s so boring,” Elias whined, flopping his arms for extra effect.

Andrew, sitting perfectly still beside Isaac, crossed his arms. “You can sit still for two minutes, Elias. You’re not gonna die.”

“I might!” Elias shot back, sitting up and clutching his chest. “Two whole minutes! That’s like…forever!”

Luca, at the far end of the table, giggled softly into his stuffed bunny’s ear. He liked watching Elias be silly. It made the room feel a little brighter.

The teacher clapped her hands. “Alright, kiddos! Let’s go around and share what we’re thankful for before we eat.” She gave Elias a pointed look. “Then we can have cookies.”

Elias perked up instantly. “Cookies?” His eyes sparkled with renewed energy. “Okay! I’ll go first!”

He didn’t even think for long. “I’m thankful for… recess! And cookies! And not having to take naps anymore!” He grinned, clearly proud of himself.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Very important stuff.”

Elias stuck his tongue out. “It is!”

Isaac went next. He sat up straight, his hands folded neatly in front of him. “I’m thankful for books. And for my mom. She reads with me every night.” His voice got quieter when he mentioned his mom, and he glanced at Andrew, who nodded like he understood.

Andrew’s turn came, and he didn’t need any time to think. “I’m thankful for quiet. And… organizing things.” He paused, sneaking a look at Isaac. “And friends who help me with puzzles.”

Elias leaned over to Luca, whispering loudly, “He means Isaac.”

Luca giggled again, squeezing his bunny tighter.

When it was Luca’s turn, he looked down at his bunny, then up at everyone else. His cheeks turned pink. “I’m thankful for… Bunny. And… everyone being nice.” His voice was soft, but everyone heard him.

Elias reached over and patted Luca’s arm. “We’re thankful for you, Luca. Especially when you share your snacks.”

Luca smiled shyly, his heart feeling warm like his favorite blanket.

Finally, it was Xanthus’ turn. The table got quiet as everyone waited. Xanthus didn’t speak right away. He sat with his hands folded, staring at the ceiling like he was thinking about something way bigger than Thanksgiving.

“I’m thankful for… stars,” he said finally. His voice was quiet, but everyone listened. “Because they stay up there, even when you can’t see them.”

Everyone was quiet again, even Elias, who looked like he was actually thinking for once.

Then Elias broke the silence. “Stars are cool,” he said, tilting his head. “But cookies are cooler.”

Everyone burst into giggles, and the serious moment disappeared like bubbles popping.

The feast began, and little hands grabbed for mashed potatoes, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. Elias stacked his plate as high as he could, sneaking a cookie when he thought no one was looking. Isaac carefully scooped small amounts of everything, making sure none of his food touched. Andrew cut his turkey into perfect, tiny squares, like a little grown-up.

Luca took small bites, occasionally offering his bunny a pretend piece of pie.

Halfway through the meal, Elias leaned over to Xanthus. “Hey. Do you really think stars are better than cookies?”

Xanthus didn’t even blink. “Yes.”

Elias gasped like Xanthus had said something completely outrageous. “No way! Cookies are way better. You can’t eat stars!”

Andrew smirked. “You have no taste, Elias.”

“I have great taste!” Elias said, stuffing a cookie in his mouth for proof. “See? Delicious!”

Luca giggled so hard he almost dropped his bunny. Isaac shook his head, a tiny smile on his face.

As the teacher brought out pumpkin pie, Elias reached for the biggest slice before anyone else could. “Thanksgiving is the best,” he declared, crumbs already on his face.

Isaac looked around the table, Andrew sitting quietly, Luca hugging Bunny, and Xanthus watching the group with that faraway look.

“Yeah,” Isaac said softly. “It really is.”

Xanthus looked up at the ceiling, thinking about stars and cookies and friends, he thought, Maybe it’s not just the stars that stay. Maybe it’s friends too.

[dioles-writes]

• WRITING SHARE TAG •

Masterlist | Full fic | Characters: Felix (he/him), Paisley (she/they/he)

Credits to @jiphenn

Felix looked over, and for a second, time stopped.

Paisley.

They stood in front of a pile of monsters, their back turned to him, but it was definitely her. His hair wasn’t the purple that it had been the last time he had seen them, instead a gentle blue, but Felix would’ve recognized her anywhere.

“PAISLEY!” He screamed, loud enough that it could have been heard back at the Mansion. He shoved past Akali and Una, forgetting about January, about Rory, about the monsters that were swarming them. Forgetting about what they were fleeing from. Nothing else in the world mattered to him at that moment, all except that she was okay. That she was alive.

He tackled her in a hug from behind, grinning from ear to ear.

Paisley didn’t turn to face him. They stood there for a second before elbowing him harshly. “Get off of me.”

Felix’s smile started to fade. “Huh?”

“You have someplace to be. Hurry up and go.” They turned around to look at him for the first time in five months, but when they stared down at Felix, it wasn’t their familiar look of gentle kindness that he had come to expect. Instead, he stared at him like he was nothing but a bug. Nothing but an annoyance.

“Paisley?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” He started walking away.

This was all wrong. This was all wrong.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Paisley was supposed to hug him back; she was supposed to turn to him with a soft smile, eyes gentle and kind. And then Felix would apologize a million times over. He’d tell her everything, starting from all the way back in September, starting from his very day at school. And Paisley was going to cup his face, her hands rough against his cheeks, and give him this look that meant “it’s okay”.

And he would knew it would be. Because it was Paisley, and as long as he had her and Reagan then everything would end up fine.

Everything was going to be fine.

“Paisley, wait!” He grabbed his arm, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t be mad. I’ve missed you so much. I’m sorry I lied, I promise I’ll explain everything as soon as we get out of here.”

“I told you to get off!” Paisley snarled. He punched Felix, sending him to the ground.

Felix looked up at her in shock. “Paisley please, I just wanna go home. Please don’t go.” His voice cracked.

“I’m no longer a part of your home, so don’t make it sound like I’m going there with you.” Her dark eyes swirled, the gray contrasting against the black. Her gaze made him feel so incredibly small. No one had ever looked at him like he was such a disappointment, like he was so… insignificant. But especially not Paisley. He was sure this had to be an imposter. This couldn’t actually be her standing in front of him, because Paisley would never say that. Paisley would never look at him like that.

It couldn’t be her. It couldn’t be her.

“You are! You are.” Felix shakily got to his feet again, looking at her desperately and reaching out with trembling hands. “I’m so sorry. I’ll fix things, I promise. I was just trying to protect you.”

They slapped him, their jewelry raking across his face. His mouth was filled with a metallic taste, which was oh so familiar, but never from Paisley. He reached up to touch his burning cheek, looking at them with wide eyes. “You’re nothing but a burden.” They spat. “You always have been and always will be.”

She punched him in the face again, just as hard, if not harder, than the first time. But the calmness in her voice stayed unwavering. “You’re always making sorry excuses and promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m sorry.” Tears slipped down Felix’s cheeks, hot and salty. His chin wouldn’t stop trembling. “I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll be better. I can- I can control my powers now. Just let me fix things.” His voice didn’t sound right. It was whiny and shaking, as much as he tried to force it not to be. He swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in his throat, trying to look up at Paisley, trying to make her see that he was sorry. He was so, so, sorry.

They grabbed Felix by a clump of his hair, pulling him up to his feet again so that his face was only inches away from theirs. “There’s nothing to fix, we aren’t family anymore.” He said in a low voice, staring at him with a hollow gaze. His eyes burned with a pure hatred that shouldn’t have been there - not on Paisley - as she punched him to the ground again.

Felix choked out a broken sob. “Please, I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me. You’re all I have left.”

She kicked Felix on the ground, the heel of her boot connecting with his stomach harshly, making him cough and gag. “I don’t know why your sister wasted her life for someone as pathetic as you.”

“I’m sorry, please, don’t go. I’m so, so sorry.” Felix stared at her pleadingly. She had been the only person he could think about for over two months. The one person that he had searched endlessly to see. He would’ve given anything to know that she was okay, to have her at his side again. He would have given anything. He couldn’t even recall the amount of times he’d asked Haven about her, just begging to hear about them. And now here they were, standing before him, alive.

And all they could do is stare at him like he was the last person they would ever want to see. Like he was the root of all their problems.

Like he wasn’t their son.

“I don’t know why I stuck around all those years. I wish I never signed those papers.” She said coldly. She gave him another well-placed kick, this time in the face, and his nose started to gush blood, his face stinging all over in pain.

“I love you.” Felix sobbed harder. “Please, forgive me. We can just go home. I just want to go home.”

“There’s no home for us to go to together.” Paisley kicked him more violently than before, no longer holding back. Little bursts of pain shot up his body for every time her foot came back down, but he couldn’t make himself move. He couldn’t make himself do anything other than stare at her, silently begging for her to please, understand. Begging for her to just take him home. Just take me home.

“There is, there is. Please don’t say that.” He begged. “Please.”

Paisley delivered one final kick, a million times rougher than the past ones, before squatting down and yanking Felix’s hair, forcing him to look in her eyes. “We’re no longer family. You’re nothing but a stranger to me.” They shoved his head into the ground, hard enough to make his ears ring. Felix sobbed harder, wretching and coughing as she forced him down.

Slowly, she stood back up, keeping their harsh gaze on Felix’s curled up and shaking body for a second longer. He could feel their eyes sweeping over him, filled with nothing but loathing and disgust. She turned her back to him, stepping over his sprawled out limbs, and began to walk away. She didn’t respond to his cries, to his begging, to his pleading apologies, simply leaving him to sob on the ground.

Alone.

ty @seastarblue for the tag ^^

[melmedardasworld]

Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Who Got Her Revenge

Qetsiyah delivers her promised torment on Silas

The Other Side

A perpetual gloom hung heavy in the muggy air, casting a wan pall over the entire realm. The landscape, a mirror of the mortal world, is eerily desolate. Gnarled trees reach their skeletal limbs toward the foggy sky. Amidst this silent wasteland, a stone sculpture lies in the center of a clearing. The slab, covered in enchanted scripts in Aramaic, marked the focal point of distorted energy. A spectral hand reaches out, attempting to touch the humanoid bust, but the male's fingers pass through without effect.

A slither of frustration rose within Silas as he realized the full extent of powerlessness. "Beaten through the combined efforts of a teenage witch and my crazy ex." Lost in thought of his defeat, Silas suddenly keeled over when a searing pain tore through his stomach from the inside. His mouth dropped, but he suppressed the cry ripping from his burning throat. Silas's body shuddered from the aftermath of the sudden soul passing through for the nth time.

Silas muffled grunts turned into a wheezy chuckle. "You think this is going to break me, Qetsiyah?! I was desiccated for 2000 years. I can handle pain double that amount!"

"No need to keep track of time," The sultry voice brushed and whispered close by, "we have an abundance of it together." Silas whipped around. The shadows on his face twisted at the sight of the beautiful woman.

Recovered from the numbing pain, Silas narrowed his eyes and smirked, aiming to strike at Qetsiyah's deepest vulnerabilities. "You think this will break me? You've already given me what I wanted. You released my true love from her torment. Amara is at Peace. Nothing that you can do here will ever change that. You were merely a means to an end, and like the lovesick fool, you gave it to me."

Qetsiyah's eyes glinted with amusement as she observed Silas's futile attempts to hurt her. She had long forgotten those feelings. Qetsiyah didn't say anything but flashed Silas a soft and lovely smile.

Silas grinned like a madman." You love me. No matter what I've done or how much pain I've caused you, you'll never stop loving me. You know you do, Qetsiyah. This prison proves it."

"I did love you once, and then you broke my heart," Qetsiyah answered calmly, her smile unwavering. She had long since accepted the twisted nature of her feelings for Silas, and his taunts could no longer shake her resolve. Qetsiyah had heard all his cruel words before, his repetitive egocentric claims and immortalized love for Amara.

Qetsiyah raised her hand in a dismissive gesture. A tingle crept up Silas's spine, and he whipped around when countless apparitions surrounded them. He stiffened, anticipating the agony that was to come. Qetsiyah's narrowed eyes sharpened beautifully at the edges and gleamed as she manipulated the very nature of the Anchor, her creation, the Other Side, her domain, and the Spirits waiting to pass with childish ease.

"Since you're so confident in your convictions, let's put it to the test, shall we?" In an easy, fluid motion, Qetsiyah waved her hand. She dismissed the invisible barrier she had placed, allowing a torrent of freshly departed supernatural souls to appear and pass through Silas all at once.

The moment the partition vanished, Silas braced himself for the imminent onslaught. But nothing could have prepared him for the excruciating torment that followed. Once the first soul passed through, it felt like a white-hot blade slicing through his core. Silas gasped, his body tensing as the pain intensified. The sensation was akin to being flayed alive, each nerve ending set ablaze by a relentless fire that seemed to consume him from the inside out.

The second one tore through him like a barbed whip, ripping at his spirit with a ferocity that left him breathless. Silas gritted his teeth, his eyes wide with shock and horror at the relentless brutality of the assault.

As more and more souls surged through him, the pain only grew, each soul carving its own unique path of destruction through his being. Every ounce of suffering the departed had experienced was channeled directly into Silas, amplified a hundredfold. His immortal essence was stretched and torn, twisted and shredded, as the relentless tide of agony threatened to overwhelm him completely.

Silas's screams grew louder, more desperate, until they were nothing more than ragged, anguished sobs. His body trembled, convulsed, and writhed in torment, every muscle and tendon straining against the onslaught. His vision blurred through the haze of pain, his surroundings twisting and warping in a nightmarish kaleidoscope of color and shadow.

The air around him seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his pain as if the Other Side was recoiling from the brutality of his torment. But he was immortal. Silas possessed an infinite physical and spiritual life span, immune to death.

Finally, as the last of the supernatural souls passed through him, Silas's body went limp, his spirit battered and raw. The once-proud Immortal lay broken, now a tormented shell of his former self. In the aftermath of the indescribable pain, he struggled to draw breath, his mind reeling from the intensity of the experience.

"...your reality now, Silas. You will endure this pain for all eternity, and you can do nothing to escape it." Qetsiyah muted voice gradually trickled through his ringing ears. Silas's eyes flickered with pain and hatred as he looked upon Qetsiyah. Her captivating presence taunted him, a cruel reminder that love had led him to this infinite torment. Her raven hair cascaded down her back, framing the delicate contours of her face. Her eyes, a deep, enchanting brown, shimmered with triumph. Even her lips, curved in a sinister smile, held a cruel kind of beauty.

As Silas lay there, his spirit bruised and battered, he knew his torture had just begun. He would be subjected to this pain and suffering, a never-ending dance of retribution. But even in his weakened state, Silas clung to a flicker of defiance, a stubborn refusal to be defeated. "Give me your best shot."

Qetsiyah's lips curved. "Don't worry. I will."

They were bound together in this realm of perpetual gloom, locked in an eternal dance of suffering and retribution. The realization that the nightmare had just begun began to sink in, but deep within Silas's soul, a flicker of defiance still burned, refusing to be extinguished.

The spectral energy in the clearing swelled as a timeless woman of beauty that echoed her ancient lineage drifted into the scene. She emanated an aura of calm, counteracting the chaotic air of the Other Side. Her dark gaze was steady as she took in the sight of Silas, writhing in the aftermath of his torment. Her eyes, however, held a more profound layer of caution as they moved onto Qetsiyah.

"Taking pleasure in the suffering of others?" The woman's voice held a trace of disappointment, but her gaze remained unwavering.

Qetsiyah, unperturbed, turned to face her descendant. "Ayana, here to nag and judge me again? Know that none of it has any sway here."

[babygirlwolverine]

big changes but the same fluff blog! get ready for double the kisses with deancas and poolverine 💋

deancaskiss >>>>> babygirlwolverine \|/

thank you to everyone who voted in my url poll. y’all chose this url so this one’s for you! and don’t worry, there will still be plenty of destiel on my blog with lots of poolverine too ❤️💛

[everythingsbetterunderthestars]

Writing is so fucking fun you guys

[magmakrystal]

hey ! just wanted to let you know that when i was 13 infamy made me cry and i still think about it since. thank you so much for this fic ! i don't know if you've finished it or not but the impact was IMMENSE

Oh my goodness, thank you so much! I really appreciate you telling me that. I’m so happy that it meant something to you.

Infamy continues to be unfinished (for now). I’m currently deep into writing an original book at the moment so that’ll be what I’m working on for the foreseeable future, but Infamy is still in my head, and I genuinely do believe that someday the time will be right to come back to it.

[rosicheeks]

i do not know if i ever sent this to you. i have posted it. i hope you like it Princess.

[sednonamoris]

I just wanna say that your fics are *actually* top tier and we really appreciate all the work, time and effort that you put into them, love it 🙏

thank youuuuuu ily 🩷💕💞💓💗💖💘💝

[whumpypepsigal]

My dude I'm frothing your gifs from The Recruit. Thankyou fairy whumpmother.

this is so sweet of you! thank you my dear anon and im so happy you are enjoying the gifs.

to be a called fairy whumpmother… aww im so honored 🥹😁🧡

[gloomybugs]

Curating perfect moments / storylines can be quite a struggle for me, especially as someone who’s a bit of a perfectionist on top of being easily critical of myself and in return I end up thinking nothing is worthy enough to post.

Now with that being said, I’ve taken a bit of inspo from some of my favorite creators on here ( @milkemie @nemisoup to name a couple ) with how I’ve wanted to approach my gameplay. I spent most of the day yesterday just playing the game, letting things pan out naturally and seeing what my sims get themselves into and it was.. a breath of fresh air. It’s easily the most fun I’ve had on the game in months and because of that, I actually look forward to sharing my little gameplay and the things that have ensued. ♡

love, gloomy

[gutsby]

Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.

At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.

All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.

From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.

Joel frowned.

“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.

“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”

That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.

Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.

“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”

“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.

He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.

You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.

“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.

But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.

“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”

In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.

“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.

“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.

“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”

Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.

A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.

You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.

“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.

Dogs no longer on the dash���and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.

You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.

Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.

Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.

The police officer hadn’t bought it.

He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.

You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.

Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.

This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.

But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.

“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.

“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”

He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.

“Needin’ a room?”

The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.

“Smoking or non?”

“Smoking, please.”

Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.

“King or two Queens?”

“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.

At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.

“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”

No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.

“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”

The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.

“Alright.”

Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.

Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.

He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,

“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”

You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.

You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.

You turned back to Joel.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.

“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”

In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.

If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.

A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.

Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.

He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.

Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.

He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.

So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.

He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.

Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.

To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.

Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.

Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.

Fuck, he needed a shower.

Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.

You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’

But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.

Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.

All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.

That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.

For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.

Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.

Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.

Fuck this.

He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.

And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.

You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.

“Sofa’s broke,” you said.

Joel blinked.

“Broke?”

You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.

The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.

“You can sleep there.”

Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.

“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”

“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”

Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.

Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.

“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”

Fuck.

“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.

“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”

By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.

“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.

“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”

Joel swallowed.

“Tails, what?”

“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”

Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”

Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.

“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”

“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”

You raised both brows, mildly amused.

“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.

“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.

Joel tensed under your touch.

“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.

It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.

“What game?” he asked.

“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”

“Too Hot?”

“You heard me.”

“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”

Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.

The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.

Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.

“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.

He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.

“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”

Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,

“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”

To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.

“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”

Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.

And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.

You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.

“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.

“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.

“I bet you will.”

The man was a menace when he had the will to be.

At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.

“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.

“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.

Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.

His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.

Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”

Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.

“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”

“Twenty since I felt one this good.”

You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.

It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.

Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.

Even through the towel, he felt huge.

You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.

“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.

“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.

All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.

He peered down at you with a curious look.

“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.

You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.

You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.

“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.

Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.

“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.

You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.

“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”

Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.

“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”

Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.

“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”

Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.

You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.

“Joel.”

Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.

“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”

Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.

Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.

Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.

“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”

“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”

“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”

So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.

Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.

“Touch me, Joel, please.”

His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.

“Nah.”

Curt and cruel as ever. Then:

“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”

He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.

“Motherfucker.”

“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”

And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,

“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”

It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.

At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.

You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.

And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.

A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.

While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.

“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”

“Out.”

This motherfucker.

“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”

Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.

“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”

Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.

You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.

“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.

“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”

“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”

You stared him down, incredulous.

So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.

“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”

You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.

You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.

You were still hungry as shit.

Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.

You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.

By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.

You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.

You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.

Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.

What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.

You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’

Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.

In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.

You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.

Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.

You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.

Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.

“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.

You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.

You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,

“Like this?”

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.

A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.

The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.

Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.

Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.

Well.

You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.

You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.

You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.

“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.

“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.

Daddy?

There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.

“Y’all been spying on us?”

“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.

You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.

“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.

It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.

“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.

“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.

You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.

Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.

“We’re about out.” Micah announced.

Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.

“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.

You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”

“Do I?”

You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.

He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.

“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”

The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.

“You think so?” you hummed.

“I do. I really do.”

“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.

“Wyatt can fight.”

Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”

Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.

“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”

“Six.”

“Fifteen at least.”

You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.

This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.

“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.

“Twenty.”

“Honey?”

The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.

It was Joel, of course.

Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.

Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.

“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.

Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.

‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.

Instinctively, you recoiled.

“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.

“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.

He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.

Joel raised both eyebrows.

“No?”

His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.

“Fuck no,” you answered.

A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,

“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”

“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”

No one moved.

Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.

Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.

“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.

“You’re a brat,” he fired back.

In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.

“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”

“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”

Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.

“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”

Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?

“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”

“If that’s what you—”

“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”

Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.

“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.

You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.

Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.

So you took off running.

Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.

You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.

“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.

Fat chance, Miller.

You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.

Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.

Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.

It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.

“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.

“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”

You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.

Then he pulled you over his lap.

Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.

“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”

You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.

Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.

“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.

Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,

“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”

You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.

“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.

Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.

“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.

Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,

“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”

You fuck with my head.

Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”

You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.

“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.

“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”

At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.

Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.

“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,

“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”

It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.

Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.

“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”

His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.

“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”

Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.

You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.

“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.

No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.

Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.

“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”

Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.

He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.

“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.

“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.

“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.

It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.

You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.

“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”

The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.

He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.

“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.

“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.

“Cobwebs and all.”

Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.

“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.

“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.

“So Prohibition-coded.”

“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”

You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.

At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.

Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’

No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.

No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.

Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.

“Good?”

“Great.”

You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.

“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”

“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.

His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.

“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.

The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.

In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.

When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.

Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—

“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”

Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.

“Joel, please,” you begged him.

“Baby, I’m—”

About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.

“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”

On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:

Dad 💙

Fuck.

FUCK.

Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.

You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.

Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.

“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.

Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.

“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”

But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.

It stopped.

Then started again.

The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.

It stopped once more.

The screen stayed black.

You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.

Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.

“Answer,” you hissed.

“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.

“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”

Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.

“He-e-y man.”

You were so fucking dead.

Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.

“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”

A beat.

“She’s good, she’s good.”

For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”

“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”

“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”

You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.

When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.

You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.

At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.

“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”

You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.

The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.

Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.

“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”

You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,

“This is not a fucking game.”

He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.

In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.

Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.

By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.

When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.

The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.

His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.

The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.

“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.

“Joel,” you choked.

Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.

With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.

“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.

He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’

“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”

Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.

He couldn’t finish off like this.

Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.

Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.

He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,

“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.

You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:

“Hey, dad!”

Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.

Might as well make it fun while it lasts.

“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”

Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.

You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.

He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.

Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.

“My sweet girl.”

“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”

“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”

From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.

At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.

“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.

Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.

“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”

As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.

He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.

So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.

He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.

You covered the mouthpiece.

“I can’t, Joel.”

“Sure you can, sugar.”

“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.

Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:

“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”

Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.

“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”

You didn’t need much more instigation than that.

You came. He followed.

And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.

Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.

Until it was in you.

Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.

You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.

“Did it…”

“What?”

“Joel!”

You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.

“JOEL!”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”

Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.

“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”

Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.

“What’s…ovulating?”

You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.

There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.

“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”

That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.

“Where are you going?!”

“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”

Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.

“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.

“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.

Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.

“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”

Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.

As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.

Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.

“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.

Joel turned his head and almost groaned.

Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.

Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.

Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:

“I’m not actually her dad!”

All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:

“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”