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

[starkwlkr]

yap moment | max verstappen

an: finally the long awaited yapper max fic!! so sorry to keep you all waiting <3

As soon as you saw Max, you practically threw yourself on him. Finally he was back home. It felt like forever when in reality it was just a month. A month without Max’s lips on yours, a month without having his hands in your hair or on your body. A month too long.

“You’re so dramatic.” Max chuckled as you continued kissing down his neck. After stumbling through your shared apartment, you finally made it to the bed. You gently threw him onto the soft bed and straddled him.

“Oh! Before I forget . . .” Max spoke as you continue kissing his neck. “I watched that series you told me about. I watched it on the flight home and I can’t believe Beth and Benny don’t end up together! I mean they’re clearly meant for each other! I should be a writer on that series because I would’ve made them be together.”

You sigh deeply then decide to lay down next to Max. It was obviously going to be a long talk because once Max started, he wasn’t going to stop. But you loved listening to the sound of his voice, it was comforting.

“And it made me want to start playing chess. I ordered a chess board and books. I also played those online chess games and I��m getting pretty good,” Max pulled out his phone to show the screenshots he took of his victories. “I think I’m Beth Harmon reincarnated.”

“Wow, impressive.” You reply as Max showed all the screenshots.

“And I remember you telling me the series was based off of the book so I also ordered two copies so you and I can read it together.”

“Aw, Max. Thank you. Now how about—”

Max cut you off. “Did you know the longest game of chess lasted twenty hours? I read that it was played in nineteen eighty nine but I can’t remember who played it. Imagine just playing chess for twenty hours.”

Eventually, the sound of Max’s voice made you fall asleep. It wasn’t that you thought Max’s excitement over chess was boring, no, you loved how happy he sounded over the things he loves. It was that Max had that soft voice that made you fall asleep so easily. Sometimes you were thankful you had a talkative boyfriend.

[rafesangelita]

♡ deciding to take a ride on the ‘tunnel of love’ roller coaster at the annual valentine’s day fair, rafe happens to catch you before it starts, conveniently locking himself in next to you. annoyed, you tell yourself you’ll be out and away from the man once the ride is over but (un)luckily for you, it just so happens to break down, leaving you two stuck together until it’s fixed..

warnings: one sided enemies to lovers (reader is the one who can’t stand rafe lol), forced proximity, teasing, flirty banter, slight angst (just a teeny tiny bit, it’s literally almost nonexistent), light fluff

a/n: now presenting… ‘TUNNEL OF LOVE’ 🤍 my town just so happens to be having a valentine’s day fair.. maybe (hopefully) i’ll go!

link: VALENTINE’S DAY CELEBRATION ໒꒰ྀི｡- ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

wc: 1.4k

[7:57 PM] bestie ♡: it looks like kelce is going to take me out for v-day after all!! don’t wait for me, i’ll catch up soon, promise!

you had just bought an extra large funnel cake for you and your best friend to share when you read her text, your sugary sweet smile faltering as you took a seat at a nearby bench. “more for me, i guess..” you sighed, feeling a little bit silly at the fact that you sat here by yourself when everyone who passed you by was either in a group setting or hand in hand with someone who was most likely their significant other.

you picked at the fried goodness, not really feeling as festive as you were just two minutes ago. “yo, y/n!” you recognized the voice before you even looked up, your eyes immediately rolling as none other than rafe ‘insufferable daddy’s money’ cameron made his way over to you. ‘please let this be quick..’ you whispered under your breath, not sparing the man a single glance as he plopped down ridiculously close to you.

“what do you want, rafe?” he smiled when he heard his name roll off of your tongue, his muscular arm draping across your shoulders as his mouth dropped next to your ear. “can you at least act like you could tolerate me?” you scoffed, shrugging him off. “no, i can’t,” you finally looked at him, “because even that is too difficult to do.” he swallowed thickly, feeling slightly defeated before he went for the funnel cake that sat in your lap.

“i’m really not that bad, i’ll make you realize that soon.” rafe was also too confident and cocky for your liking— more reasons you could add to your seemingly never ending list as to why you think you two would never work out.

“i highly doubt that.” rafe was licking powdered sugar off of his fingers when you met his gaze again, your eyes flickering down to his tongue. the one thing that you couldn’t put on your list was that he wasn’t hot. anyone with eyes can tell you that rafe was insanely attractive, but of course, you’d never admit that to him out loud.. or so you thought. “you’re staring.” he smiled when he saw that your eyes stayed trained on his mouth, a smug expression taking over his features.

you blinked away, deciding you had enough chit-chat for one night. “in your dreams, ‘cameron.” rafe watched you get up from your seat, gladly taking the funnel cake you basically shoved into his hands. “why, thank you.” he took another piece, popping it into his mouth. you flashed him a fake smile before adjusting the strap of your crossbody purse. “i’ll see you around!” he called out, waving obnoxiously in your direction. “no you won’t!” you whispered to yourself, deciding to explore the fair a bit more.

little did you know conversation between you and rafe was far from over.

you walked around the fair grounds for almost fifteen more minutes before you had decided you were better off at home eating some greasy takeout and having a rom-com movie marathon in nothing but your comfy pj’s.

just as you were on your way to the exit, a flashing heart with the words ‘TUNNEL OF LOVE.. find your lover inside!’ caught your attention. deciding you’d at least inquire about it, you walked up to the ride operator and asked away. “excuse me! hi, i was just wondering what does the whole ‘find your lover inside!’ thing mean?” the woman lit up as if she had been dying to answer this question.

“so basically there’s another roller coaster coming from the other side, and once you two meet inside, the ride will stop for two minutes before coming back out to the respective entrances.” she explained. “so it’s like speed dating?” you smiled, the idea enthralling you. “yeah, that’s exactly it!” she nodded. you weighed out your options and decided a little excitement wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“i’m suprised you don’t have a line, how much is it to get on?” you took your wallet out of your purse as she replied. “if you have a full-access wristband it’s free, but if not then it’ll be five dollars exactly.” you handed over the small bill, smiling to yourself as she let you through the metal gate. “it looks like two people can fit in here—” just as you stepped in, rafe came running from the opposite direction.

“stop the ride!” he shouted, his chest rising and falling as he bent over to catch his breath. you blinked. “it’s not even on, you drama queen.” taking a seat, you were about to pull the metal bar over your lap before he shouted again. “i’ll give you fifty bucks if you let me get on with her!” you crossed your arms over your chest, not expecting the ride operator to actually let him in. “seriously?!” you gasped when he walked through, flashing you a wink.

“sorry!” she pushed the guardrail over you and rafe until it locked in place before starting the ride. “this will all be over in two minutes.” you glared at him, trying to scoot as many centimeters away from him as you could. “that’s fine with me.” he shrugged. he leaned back in the cart, red and pink flashing lights illuminating the space in which you two rolled into slowly.

rafe kept his eyes on you, watching as you avoided his gaze. “why don’t you like me? serious question..” you sighed, finally giving him your full undivided attention. you opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. “what?” you acted like you didn’t hear him the first time, wracking your brain for any kind of answer. he smiled teasingly, pointing a finger at you. “i asked you why you don’t like me and you can’t even answer me!” you waved him off, facing the other way to hide the smile on your lips.

truthfully, you didn’t really know who rafe was. like just by himself as an individual. you knew that his friends were all assholes though, including the one who your best friend was willing to drop everything for. “i hate your friends,” you started, “and you are who you keep company with, sooo..” rafe cleared his throat as the roller coaster came to a stop. the inside of the ‘love tunnel’ was lit up with baby cherubs along the walls, red hearts and fairy lights adorning the interior.

“me and my friends are very different from each other.. i think you’d be surprised.” you hummed, adjusting the pendant on your necklace. “maybe..” the other roller coaster cart strolled in from the other side, the seats empty. “i guess it’s a good thing that i tagged along, since you would’ve been all by yourself if i didn’t.”

you glanced over at him, his blue eyes standing out in the pinkish lighting. “..yeah, i guess.” rafe’s head shot up as soon as the words left your mouth. “you really think so?” he scooted closer, the action making you laugh. “don’t push it.” you warned him, in which he held his hands up defensively. “okay, okay!” rafe had this smitten look on his face as if making you smile was his life’s greatest achievement.

“so you told me why you didn’t like me, which is fair, but i want a real chance at proving you wrong. can you at least give me that?” rafe hesitantly rested a hand on your knee, the hopeful look in his eyes making your heart melt into a soft puddle of mush. “hmm..” you pretended to think, the anticipation making rafe’s leg bounce. “okay. only under one condition though..” rafe nodded frantically.

“anything.”

“tell me why you like me so much when i avoid you like the plague, and never seemingly look in your direction.. like ever.” the man next to you snorted. “you want me to go down my full list? ‘cause we’ll be sitting here all night—” just then, the ride operator’s voice boomed through the intercom speakers from inside the tunnel. “hi, i’m so sorry for the inconvenience, but we’re having some technical difficulties and my electrician guy says it’ll be at least an hour or two before you could leave. i promise to issue a full refund once you two are off.”

you and rafe looked at each other half concerned and half amused. “..so, you were saying?”

[goldenroutledge]

if tomorrow never comes

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k

prompt: ❛ i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, i just have a lot on my plate. ❜. based on this request.

summary: in which you and carlos drift apart and the tension boils over on your anniversary.

a/n: i’m having so much fun writing these requests! thank you to everyone requesting :)

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“When do you think you can be here, Carlos?”

His voice is tight on the other end of the line, knowing that you won’t like the answer. “An hour. Ninety minutes tops.”

You want to scream out and repeat his answer back to him so loudly that he can hear from the balcony of your shared apartment. It’ll let all of Monaco know how ridiculous he sounds. The flight attendant’s presence at the other end of the cabin helps you keep your composure. “And you’re sure that’s it? One hour?”

“Yes cariño, I promise.”

“Don’t call me that when I’m annoyed with you.”

“Can’t help it.” Carlos smiles cheekily, you can hear it in his voice. You can’t help but roll your eyes, feeling that he’s not taking you seriously. Postponing time spent together, sometimes venturing into canceling dates altogether, was becoming too frequent for your liking. But patience had to be your strong suit dating Carlos. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah. See you soon.” You end the call abruptly, leaving him to a last minute business meeting while you’re sitting here, awaiting your boyfriend on the private jet he has abandoned. Then again it would only be considered abandoned had he shown up on time to begin with.

He’d returned home from training yesterday exhausted as ever, yet reassured you with the promise that you two would spend a few days on a quiet getaway for your anniversary. Just the two of you, alone together. A trip you’d been planning for weeks now, with the need to make it an anniversary you’d always remember. If getting away was what it took to get Carlos to relax again, to be with you free of any distractions from work, you’d do that.

Carlos regards his career with a dedicated spirit, diligently organizing his schedule to make sure nothing falls between the cracks. His training, his sponsorships, his future at Williams… As badly as he feels to leave you waiting, duty calls. A last minute Zoom meeting with a new sponsor held him back at the apartment for longer than he anticipated. While most people have already resigned themselves to the fact that they can’t have it all, Carlos Sainz is not most people. He’ll either have everything, or die trying. It’s one of the many traits you love about him. Your heart aches at the thought of it being what tears you apart.

“Champagne?” The flight attendant offers you the drink, one of two that was meant for your celebratory toast with Carlos to kick off your anniversary trip.

“Thank you, it’s been a long day.” The flight attendant gives you a sympathetic smile, watching you down the drink with no effort. If this keeps up, it’ll be a long weekend too.

–

Once Carlos finally joins you on the plane, his ask for forgiveness is difficult to deny. He brought you a bouquet of flowers so large they took up their own seat on the plane, and he hadn’t stopped showering you with love since he arrived. Something about making up for lost time, he’d mumbled into your ear when you questioned his overwhelming affection. The colors of the flowers tied in beautifully with your outfit; Carlos was sure to capture it with a few photographs.

His attention to detail was another thing that you loved about him, it drew you in everytime. When you’re together like this, free of the outside noise, you wish it could last forever. Always on the other end of the phone or outside the airplane window is something ready to whisk him away. Ideally, an anniversary spent with him would consist of a lazy morning making breakfast together, simply basking in each other’s company.

His company was hard to enjoy when you were barely experiencing it, now sitting alone at your anniversary dinner hours later. Your mood turned sour when Carlos excused himself to take a call, walking away from the table before you had a chance to express your distaste. The tension that had been simmering between you two was bound to bubble over once again as Carlos returned to your table with a guilty look, phone to his ear as he ended his call with his cousin/manager.

You didn’t bother to look up, taking your anger out on your meal instead, poking and prodding the food with your silverware. It was a delicious meal that did nothing to deserve a brutal assault by fork and knife, ruining its picturesque presentation.

“Mi amor, I’m sorry.”

“Did you know that the more you say those words, the more they lose their significance each time?”

He sighs, running a stressed hand through his dark hair. “You know the kind of pressure that I’m under right now, cariño. How much this year has worn on me in general. Please, I just need you to be a little more-”

“Understanding? Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.” You cut him off harshly, and the look you give him across the table is worth flinching from.

“You have. And I feel terrible, but it won’t last forever.” He attempts to soothe your worries, reaching for your hand. You don’t accept or deny his touch, you’re just still. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“You’re right, Carlos. It won’t last forever. You’ll make sure of it.”

“What do you mean by that? You think we’re going to break up?”

“I’m saying that if you don’t make time to nurture our relationship, there won’t be a relationship left! I’ve been here, Carlos. For you, for us, while juggling my own life and career, so don’t tell me it’s impossible. There was a time when you balanced it all before, when you weren’t working yourself to the bone because you decided you have something more to prove to the world.”

“I’m trying to balance everything, but it’s not always going to be smooth sailing. You know it’s not easy.”

“I know it’s not. I don’t need it to be, but I miss the days when you felt like our relationship was worth making time for. When I wasn’t the last of your priorities.”

“Maybe I miss the days when you understood that I’m not always going to be available for you 24/7.” Carlos rants, feeling defensive at how this time, the gloves are off, you’re finally letting Carlos feel the weight of the burden you’ve been carrying– loving enough for the two of you. Your pounding heart reminds you that it’s impossible to carry on like this. Something has to give. “Do you realize how much time I’m spending away from training to be with you? Is that not making time for our relationship?”

Tears prick your eyes in frustration, the air suddenly feeling warmer than before. Your nervous system begs you to get out of there, to leave the conversation before either of you say something you’ll regret. If it hasn’t been said already. “You still don’t get it, do you? I don’t even need any of this! I just want you! I remember the days when that wasn’t too much to ask for.”

Your hand has long dropped his, and Carlos’ eyes widen in panic as he watches you move out of your chair. “Amor, stay. Please, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Confliction moves through you like a strike of lightning, torn between staying to talk it through or taking a moment of space, after pouring out the feelings you’d spent so much time locking away. The last straw is when your waiter approaches your table, holding a small cake in his hands. On the top of it is a picture of you and Carlos together on your first anniversary, more content and in love than ever. A candle burns on the cake and wax melts down the sides, resembling the tears that wish to fall. Carlos’ eyes plead with guilt, begging you to stay and forget. Smile and pretend that right now, you’re still that happy couple printed on the cake.

Instead, you throw your napkin to your plate. “I need some air.”

–

Carlos watches you go, he doesn’t stop you. A timeout will do you both some good right now. He tries to tell himself that it’s not that bad. Couples fight. But he sits there, sullen, knowing that he’s fucked up this time. His heart burns as he stares at the picture of you two on the cake. It’s unbearable, and that little surprise he orchestrated now feels like a pointed joke at his expense. He blows out the candle and the light goes out. But closing his eyes won’t help his fear of the dark. Even he can’t run from this.

He finds you outside of the restaurant, sitting on a bench, staring down into the renewing waters of the fountain. It’s mesmerizing, the way you can drown in the sight and get lost in the calming sound. He slides his jacket off and wraps it around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, mi amor. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, I just have a lot on my plate. But that’s no excuse to put our relationship on the backburner. I’m so, so sorry.” Carlos presses a chaste kiss to your temple, and feels comforted by how you subtly lean into his space. It’s a step. “I love you, and I’m going to listen to you. I want to make this better because there’s not a life for me without you in it. I need you, cariño. I want to be with you, always.”

“I’ve felt so disconnected from you lately and being here on our anniversary, reminded of all the happier times we’ve shared, I just… that scares me. I’m scared we won’t get back there if there’s any more distance between us.”

“I should’ve seen it sooner. The truth is, I am able to do what I do because you’re always there. You support me when things are up, when they’re down. When I lost my seat, when I got sick with appendicitis, when I won races… you’re there for it all. I took you for granted thinking that I could give everything I have to my career, when it’s you who deserves it.”

“You do give it everything, but I think you’ve lost sight of things a little bit. Usually you give me everything you have too, I mean the little cake with us on it… I love that you did that for me, Carlos. I’m only so upset because I love you too.”

Those words haven’t stopped echoing in his mind. He swears he’ll engrave them into his brain forever, as long as you’re happy. “Maybe I have been overcompensating a little bit, feeling pressure to make things perfect in my career. The year has been difficult, but I couldn’t have gotten through without you.”

You kiss his cheek, warming up to his affectionate words. He’s sincere, he truly means them. “You’re more than enough, Carlos. Just the way you are. Weathering the storm isn’t always easy but there’s nobody else I’d rather be with either.”

“Can we start over?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

“I have an idea. Should I throw my phone into the fountain, cariño? You’ll have my undivided attention for days.”

“Tempting, but no. Keep your phone dry, my love. Would you be opposed to going back to the villa? Enjoying the rest of the night in?”

Carlos wiggles his brows, as he recognizes that familiar glint in your eyes. One that shimmers with hope and longing. “We do have a pretty sweet cake being boxed up as we speak.”

“Maybe we can light the candle again? I promise I won’t leave the room this time.” Your hearts soar at the thought of blowing out your candle together, hands held as you make a new promise to each other. The past years together have been bliss and the rainbows have always shined through the cloudy skies. The next years together, you will wish for the same and even more.

“Anything for you, cariño. Happy Anniversary.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving you with no choice but to cup his jaw and bring your lips to his. The cool breeze outside is no match for either of you– you’ve got your love to keep you warm.

“Happy Anniversary, Carlos.”

💌: thanks for reading! reblogs & comments are very much appreciated :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld

[bravo666]

insecurity

price x reader

you don’t really get why he picked you.

it’s not really his fault that you’re confused. when you manage to ask why you—letting insecurity fizzle up and rise like ginger beer in your stomach—john tells you all the right things, the things that you would expect: you’re beautiful, a sight for sore eyes, his one and only. “oh, sweetheart,” he says, and his soft brow furrows with something that brushes close to pity, his only wish for you to see what he sees in you. you look into those blue eyes and try to catch the curve of your own reflection.

it’s good. really, it is. his murmured praise and whiskered kisses make that insecurity die down and grow flat for a time. john loves you. you hold fast to that.

but, sometimes, you just can’t make sense of it.

something else that isn’t his fault: john’s a certain kind of man. a man’s man, one might say. being a military captain has that effect, though you can almost imagine a newborn john price coming out of the womb gruff, bristled, and with bad knees. he’s the type of man who has opinions on alcohol and cares a lot about how his favorite football club fares this season. his ideal future involves a dog, a yard, and a run of children, and he’s not shy about it.

you’ve known men like that before. moreover, you’ve known their wives—and it always is their wives, not partners or anything as newfangled as that. they’re not all the same—nice women, rude women, pretty or plain—but there are certain qualities that they all share. housewives in spirit, chins raised. pampered. manicured. best in show. knows when to nod and smile and give her man a knowing look. the missus.

it’s safe to say that you don’t quite feel like you measure up to the mold. you have edges, hard and frayed, that don’t fit into the soft mold of the person you feel that john wants. it’s just not very you. your anger, your anxiety, your hard-headedness, your tears: none of these feel like something cute—so why does he coo over you like it is? it’s not even that john wants something else; from the warm spot you occupy by his side, you can see the way the road maps out before him in his eyes, contextless and spit-shined.

(dinner burns in the oven. he says it’s okay, that you’ll get it right next time. these things happen. don’t get upset, sweetheart, i’m not mad while he holds you round the middle.)

you labor over these thoughts, rolling them between your hands with the biscuit dough you knead out. the question remains: why, exactly, did john price pick you to lay his head down besides when the world is teeming with more eligible candidates?

an answer comes when you meet his team for the first time. they arrive for dinner after john and them have been off on a short deployment—you promised john a roast when he got back because a little extra motivation for him to come home in one piece can’t hurt, and one of them must have overheard it turned into them inviting themselves over—and soon you’re putting faces to names that have lived only in john’s all-too-brief stories. you greet them all as they arrive at the door to john and your’s home: handsome kyle and boisterous johnny and quiet, intense simon. normal men, you think—well, barring the balaclava simon won’t take off, but at least you were forewarned about that. normal soldiers.

but then the five of you sit down to eat, and—well, it’s still normal. except it isn’t. It’s impossible to explain, and you’re sure that if you tried to talk to john about it, he’d laugh a little and say i don’t know what you mean, lovie, but you’re quietly sure you see something in the way they all lean their shoulders to your john. a deferential quality, even subconsciously, one that stretches beyond what you think is typical for a commanding officer to hold with his subordinates. it’s in the way simon pauses and flicks his eyes to john, waiting for a tiny nod before he rolls the bottom half of the balaclava up to eat, or how kyle sits on john’s right and keeps passing him the food first, or even the way johnny straightens his spine a little when john nods at something the lad said mid-story, the sergeant all puffed up with pride.

and when the boys break the scotch out near the end of the night and the lips get looser, it’s not hard to guess why.

“price picked me. i felt like my hands were tied in my old life, and he gave me a new one.”

“‘e’s a good captain. not many other men can see past all the shite and cut to the ‘eart of what matters.”

“aye, the captain? ah’m wi’ him all the wey, the surly bas’. made me the soldier ah am today.”

you sip your own glass and the room feels just a little bit smaller as the boys banter on. they owe him their lives, they say, before segueing into hey remember whens and ribbing laughter. your boyfriend catches your eye across the table, your place among his boys, with a smile.

he’s a man’s man. good with his hands. you should have realized that he had a knack for fixer uppers.

(after dinner, he slides an arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your hair. “thank you for dinner, love,” he says, and when you’re pulled into his chest like this, the rumble of his voice tucks itself away into your bones.

“of course,” you say, and then, “john?”

“yes, lovie?”

“why… why did the boys invite themselves over?

he chuckles like you’ve told a joke, and you’re half expecting him to say silly rabbit. but instead, he just leans back and grants himself enough access to smooth down the back of your shirt and gently re-tightens the strings of your apron, his favorite of the ones that he’s gotten you.

“well, love,” john hums, “what can i say? they all just wanted to meet the missus.”)

[swtt4hk]

Sang-woo finds out that you’re pregnant {Fluff}(Oneshot)

requested by: @daeholuvs

it was a normal morning…not for you though. You have been feeling really sick lately and it has worried your husband , Cho Sang-woo , a lot. He has suggested you went to the doctor or even taking some days off work to take care of you which was unusual of him since he’s a workaholic. You really appreciated his care and love for you but you kept telling him that you’re okay and it’s gonna go away soon…

…but it hasn’t. You knew that something’s wrong but you couldn’t possibly tell Sang-woo because it was gonna worry him more and get distracted from work.

today you woke up feeling extremely exhausted, with a sharp pain in your stomach and you felt nauseous. That’s when you realised. You were late on your period too but you thought it was just a coincidence but now…it can’t all be just a coincidence.

—are you sure you’re gonna be fine? You look exhausted, honey.

Sang-woo says with a worried look

—don’t worry , sweetheart, I’m gonna be just fine , I’ll drink some tea and take some medicine and I’ll be as right as rain immediately!

You say with a reassuring smile as you’re caressing his cheek. Sang-woo sighs and gives in.

—if you say so…but call me if anything happens to you , please don’t hesitate, alright?

—okay baby I will…now go , you’ll be late!

You and Sang-woo share one last kiss before he leaves for work. As soon as he leaves , you decide to take action. You get ready and go to the pharmacy to get a pregnancy test.

positive.

you look at it with tears in your eyes. You don’t know if they’re happy tears or tears of frustration. “How is Sang-woo going to react?” is the only thought in your head right now.

“call me if anything happens to you , don’t hesitate.”

you keep rethinking his words. You don’t know if you should call him or keep it a secret. Which would be the best choice to make?

you decided to keep it a secret , just for a while. Keeping your pregnancy a secret from your husband wouldn’t hurt…right?

Your morning sicknesses have been getting worse and it worries Sang-woo so much. He keeps trying to convince you for him to take some days off to take care of you or for him to help you with the chores but you’re playing tough and immediately turn them down. He can’t lie , he has noticed you gaining a little bit of weight recently but his mind doesn’t go to pregnancy and of course he doesn’t mention your weight gain because he knows that you’re insecure and that it would be rude of him to tell you something like that. (He’s such a gentleman hehhehehe😍🙏😜)

it has been about a month and a half since you found out that you’re pregnant. You still have your doubts about telling Sang-woo but you can’t keep lying to him that you’re okay. You finally take the courage to tell him after he comes home from work. You prepare his favourite meal , tidy the house and wait for him to return.

The clock strikes 6:00. It’s time. The door slowly open , revealing the familiar figure of Sang-woo.

—honey , I’m back!

He walks to the kitchen and see’s his favourite meal on the table and you , sitting there and , in his eyes , looking beautiful as ever.

—hey baby…how was work?

You give him a kiss and you both sit on the table.

—does it matter? Right now , I’m home , with my amazing wife who has once again made a delicious meal for me…I really don’t deserve you.

You blush but also feel guilt on the inside. How could you lie to such an innocent and kind human being?

—um Sang-woo I would like to talk to you about something—

he gets up as your talking and interrupts you by leaning over you and kissing you. As you’re both melting into each other’s lips he wraps his hands around your waist and they go down to your stomach but feels something weird…this is not the stomach he’s used to touching…it’s…round? He freezes. You realise where his hands have gone to and you freeze too. You pull out of the kiss and look at him with an anxious look.

—honey…

A tear rolls down his cheek.

—y/n…

You caress his cheek as your eyes tear up.

—I’m sorry…

—don’t apologise my love…it’s okay…but you should’ve told me sooner , do you know how worried I was?

—I know I know , I’m sorry…

Sang-woo wipes his tears and smiles. He places his hand on top of your belly and caresses it with his thumb.

—you’re gonna be a great mom…

You try to fight your tears back. You feel so happy but so sad that you didn’t tell him earlier. You blush at the compliment and a wide smile forms on your face.

—and you’re gonna be a great dad , Sang-woo…

—I love you , my wife and mother of our kids.

—I love you more , my husband and father of our kids.

———————————————————————

the end! I almost cried writing this but definitely enjoyed writing it! Special thanks to @daeholuvs for requesting this! More fics soon!

[sosasturns]

bad ideas & good distractions - c. sturniolo

fic, part one of bed chem… next door neighbor!chris x beauty influencer!reader

the first time you notice the moving boxes in the hallway, you don’t think much of it.

it’s a nice apartment building, and people come and go all the time. besides, you’re too busy editing a new video to care about whoever’s moving in.

then, later that night, it starts.

the music.

so loud it rattles your walls, pulsing through your head as you stare at your laptop screen. you try to ignore it, try to focus, but the bass is relentless.

eventually, you sigh, shut your laptop, and crawl into bed, hoping it stops soon.

it doesn’t.

this continues for the next few nights—loud ass music, doors slamming, voices in the hallway. annoying as hell, but not enough to make you confront your new neighbor.

until one night, around 1 a.m., when it’s actually a full-blown party.

laughter, shouting, people stumbling up and down the hall like they pay rent here.

you lay in bed, glaring at the ceiling, seething.

what the hell is his problem?

but instead of doing anything about it, you toss and turn, forcing yourself to sleep.

the next morning, you’re filming a get ready with me for an upcoming event, sitting at your vanity, blending concealer under your eyes.

“i did not sleep last night,” you say, “my new neighbor—who, by the way, i have not met yet—thinks my apartment complex is a frat house, apparently.”

you shake your head, dabbing in more product. “anyway, i’m going to this event later, so let’s fix my face and act like i’m not sleep deprived as hell.”

you post the video and go about your day, shoving the whole situation to the back of your mind.

but that night, when the music starts up again, you’re done.

at first, you try to ignore it, sipping on a glass of white wine as you edit a brand deal video, but then there’s moaning. loud, exaggerated, fake as hell.

you slam your laptop shut.

this motherfucker has lost his mind.

you storm into the hall, crossing your arms as you knock on his door, loud as hell.

the music doesn’t stop, but the door swings open a moment later.

and that’s the first time you see him.

low sweats. shirtless. hair slightly messy.

he leans against the doorframe, eyes dragging over you—your heartless hair curlers. pink pajama set. silk robe. fluffy slippers. the sleep-deprived glare on your face.

you looked like you just woke up from a slumber on twenty mattresses and still felt the damn pea.

then he smirks. “cute pajamas.”

you shift your weight onto your hip, unamused. “most people on this floor are in bed sleeping right now.”

his smirk deepens. “clearly, i’m not most.”

your eye twitches. “turn the music down. and the fake ass moaning, too.”

he chuckles.

you wait. “so?”

he shrugs, barely moving. “i’ll think about it.”

oh, you hate him.

“whatever.” you spin on your heel, stomping back to your apartment and slamming the door behind you.

the next morning, your head is pounding, but you push through and meet your girls for brunch.

“babe,” one of them says, stirring her mimosa. “you look rough.”

you sigh, stabbing your eggs. “my new neighbor is a fucking menace.”

they lean in. “spill.”

so you do.

you tell them about the loud music, the party, the smug ass smirk.

they listen, nodding along, sharing their own bad neighbor horror stories.

but one of them grins. “he’s hot, though, right?”

you hesitate. “that’s not the point.”

“but he is, isn’t he?”

you purse your lips, sipping your mimosa. “whatever.”

they laugh. “oh, you so think he’s hot.”

you don’t answer.

but you don’t deny it, either.

a few days pass, and you avoid him.

not hard to do.

but the thought of him lingers, especially late at night, especially when you’re in bed, mind wandering.

he’s just a guy.

just your annoying ass neighbor.

but you can’t stop thinking about his voice, his smirk, the way he leaned in the doorway—

get it together.

except you can’t.

and eventually, you come to terms with it.

it could just be a singular fuck. nothing more.

just something to scratch the itch.

so, one night, against your better judgment, you grab your keys, take a breath, and step out into the hall.

heading straight for his door.

@ sosasturns

part two 02.14

sosa mafia taglist: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef @gabri3la-sturns @inspiredangel @sturn777 @et6rnalsun @faiyaz555 @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13 @katie-tibo @ifwdominicfike @raesturns @adoremattsturns @conspiracy-ash @chrisslut04 @ily-tothemoonandback

+ @riasturns @angelic-sturniolos111 @cinnqmonsw1rl @blushsturns @fratbrochrisgf

[emotionalhottiee]

Our First Valentines Day

February 13th

As i sat in my living room putting the final touches on the gift basket i put together for Jey. I wanted to do something special for our first valentines together. So i bought him all of his favorite things. Plenty of Waffle House gift cards, some new air force ones, 49er gear and other little trinkets. Now i was just sitting here struggling trying to wrap the plastic around the basket, so i could put the blue bow on top. I went with blue to replicate his signature YEET colors.

After a while of fumbling around, i finally got the plastic around the basket. I added a blue bow for the finishing touch. I hope he likes it, i wanted to show him how much he means to me.

Valentines Day

I was so nervous for today. Jey told me he had something special set up for us. I just want today to be amazing, i wanna make sure Jey knows how much i appreciate him.

I put the final touches on my makeup, and made sure my hair was perfect while waiting for Jey to get here. So we could go out to dinner. The first part of our Valentine’s Day.

A few moments later i heard the door turning, it was Jey using the spare key to my apartment that i had given him. We embraced in a hug with an exchange of kisses. After we finished our canoodling session, I had Jey cover his eyes & wait. So that i could get his gift basket and put it in the trunk of his car, since Jey wanted us to end tonight at his house. He said it was apart of the surprise.

We made it to the restaurant, where he rented out the place so it was literally just the two of us aside from the restaurant staff. It was so beautiful.

We were enjoying our date when Jey spotted the empty piano. He took a seat and began playing “All My Life” by K-Ci & Jojo. I sat in a chair right behind him admiring him. He is literally so talented. I watched in adoration, taken aback by how perfect this man was. My Man. After he finished playing he turned to look at me, i was just grinning from ear to ear. While wiping away the tears that had fallen. Amazed by the man sitting in front of me. My heart was full.

We finished the rest of our dinner, laughing and sharing stares of admiration for one other. As we finished our dinner we, made our way out of the restaurant to Jey’s house. The ride went by so fast, due to us loudly singing our favorites love songs. One of us a bit more off key then the other, but we listen and we don’t judge.

Before i knew it we were back and Jey’s house.

Jey walked over to my side to open the door for me. As soon as i stepped out of the car i instructed him, to go inside and close his eyes. While i got his surprise out of the car he left the door open, standing next to it, with one hand over his eyes. Making sure i made it inside safely. Even without looking, he was protecting me, just another reason why i loved this man.

Once inside he locked his car & the front door. He grabbed my hand leading me further into the house and my jaw dropped when i saw the decorations he had set up for me.

My heart was racing and my eyes filled up with tears as i stood in awe. Seeing the effort Jey put into this, made me love him even more. If that was even possible. I thanked him for the beautiful decorations, and then he bought out the rest of my gifts. And all the gifts were so thoughtful. I finally gave him the gift basket and he was so excited. I was happy that he genuinely loved his gifts.

We held each other exchanging more “I Love You’s” and passionate kisses. This was an amazing first Valentine’s Day together.

I can’t wait to have more with him.

[missbuckyhellfire]

Cat And Mouse : Emperor Geta (3/?)

Previous Part

Plot:

The Twin emperors have a problem : A little thief who steals form the rich and gives to the poor. The rich despise them yet the people of Rome love them. However, the thief's little game can only go on for so long before the elder twin catches them and discovers their identity: Sabina, daughter of Marcus Acacius. Rather than executing her, he decides to marry her as a way to gain the Roman peoples approval. To Sabina, it is another way to get closer to the large stashes of gold in their keep. The two see this as a opportunity to gain power , but what else will they gain along the way?

Warnings: MANIPULATION EVERYWHERE! CHEATING! NSFW content,Language, The Emperors being themselves, Flirting, Concubines, Bullying, Fluff

Terms to know:

 Dulcissima: Sweetest

Mel: Honey

************************************************************************

In Macrinus chambers, Sabina didn’t focus on any of the lush, lovely couches that laid before her, or the flowers freshly picked in the most elegant vase she ever saw. No, her dark eyes stared into oblivion, thinking about what had happened moments before. 

To her, she felt like she witnessed something that clearly raised her position to him. Even after the night that the two had, she thought she was something special to him.

Obviously not.

Macrinus had noticed her lack of emotion and pulled her in for a hug. She paused for a moment then wrapped her arms around him. She took in his strong scent of oils around his body, but it was far too strong for her, and she turned her nose away.

“Even the highest of honors, the Empress does not deserve to see the cruelest acts of adultery.”  He muttered in her ear. “ I thought Geta would have stopped his sexual escapades as soon as he wed you. “

“Clearly he hasn’t “

Macrinus had took a step back and gestured for the two of them to sit down on the couch. Sabina hesitated and let out a soft whimper from the previous nights events after joining Macrinus. On the couch. “Have you and Geta consummated?”

Sabina cocked a brow, thinking back to what they did the pervious night. She shook her head, knowing exactly what he was referring to. “Sure we explore each other, but we never took that step. He wants to wait until I feel ready.”

“Which is why he is playing with that concubine, what is preventing you from submitting?” Macrinus chuckled to himself.

“I don’t just submit to anyone Macrinus, you know that” Sabina smiled and shook her head. Macrinus thought for a moment then laughed and clapped his hands together.

“Then why don’t you get yourself a concubine?”

“Empresses don’t have those. We only have our husband’s and that’s it.” Sabina thought he was losing his mind. “Your insane Macrinus.”

“Maybe but that’s how I got here. “ He looked at all of the luxurious things around him.  “You need to make him beg for you but putting your attention elsewhere. Another man perhaps or woman, just someone who you think will get on Geta’s nerves and make them a concubine of yours. Then watch him want your devotion. If there’s anything, I know for a fact that Geta does not like sharing.”

“Then lets make him jealous.”

“Yes, no Emperess, especially one as fair and a spokesperson for justice as you should put up with that bullshit from their husband, is he blind?”

“Or perhaps afraid knowing what may happen if he hurts me.” Sabina stated. “The people of Rome would revolt, you remember what happened when Geta locked me up.”

Macrinus nodded. “The romans don’t want their Emperess harmed, whose to say, you could take over you know.”

“Why would I? I can’t take over Rome. The people wouldn’t take me, especially as a woman.” Sabina looked down. Being in charge with Geta and Carcalla to the sidelines would indeed be easier for everyone on many levels, with money being the top one. But would she really want all of the responsibilities.

“Why not, it wont be a invasion, just make him submit to you completely and essentially Rome will be all yours.” Macrinus shrugged.

“What you suggest is treason.” Sabina stared into his eyes. “And even you telling me this…..”

“You wont tell anyone, besides I know that you want what’s best for the people, and overthrowing them may be an option.” He said in a lower tone.  “Think about it, but for now, lets have some wine.”

************************************************************************

Geta watched Sabina storm out of the room as the concubine began to rub his shoulders. He didn’t understand why she was angry with him, they did have a good time. But he had other needs that needed to be met. Geta didn’t even notice that his concubine, Rosa moving her hands lower  on his body much like she did before they had their ventures with each other the previous night.

When Sabina fell asleep the previous night, Geta still had a strong urge in his body. He wanted to release his tension, his urges as well. He knew better than force his body on a Demi-goddess and the daughter of a beloved general of Rome. She was intoxicating to him though, the scents and  the curves of her body, her overall beauty. But, he made a promise to wait until she was ready.

He slowly slipped away, and put on his robe. He took one last look at his beautiful wife before he walked out of the room and closed the door behind himself. The emperor made a right and made his way to the Concubines chambers. He only wanted something quick to get the edge off and he planned to run back to the room by daylight.

The emperor was greeted by a swarm of concubines and his brother being surrounded by his “favorites” on the bed by the window that oversaw Rome. There were a range of concubines before him, thin, curvy, light haired, dark haired various eye colors and more. He scanned through them all and found one. She was considered as his concubine as they spent nights together before. Yet she looked the most like his beautiful wife, with dark hair and dark eyes not as lovely but close enough.

Rosa looked at him and waited for affirmation and took his hand to the other bed on the opposite side of the room, and pulled the canopy around them so they could have privacy and be enveloped into the darkness. Geta always preferred to have his intimacy in private. She watched as he took off his robes then commanded him to get on his back so they can begin. Usually it would begin with a back massage, then she would get a bit lower and start kissing his body. At some point, Geta would have enough of the teasing then he would flip himself over to face her and would command her to ride him.

And that’s exactly what happened.

Geta lost track of time and was still in bed cuddling with Rosa when sun broke and his wife was a distant thought in his head.

After a while, Caracalla noticed his brother’s state and took a sip of wine while turning back to the dancer.

“She will get over it,” Caracalla muttered. “It’s part of being an Empress, you remember how many father had? Each day he had a new one running out of his room.”

“But Sabina is different brother.”

“Clearly, she is.” Caracalla stated. “Tell me brother what made you interested in her after locking her up for what ever crime you won’t share with me.”

Geta looked down and played with the rings on his hand, “She is just something special in my heart, I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Fucking her won’t hurt her brother. It’s her job now.”

“Yes, I just don’t want Rome to go up in flames if I took her flower’s petals too soon.” Geta cleared his throat. “I’ll take it when she asks for it.”

“Asks for it, brother we are emperors everything we see is ours. Including your wife.” Carcalla chuckled. “I would have just taken it on our wedding night if she liked it or not,”

“I know you would have but  I am not you.” Geta couldn’t take it anymore, so he stood up and excused himself from his swarm of concubines and the dancer to think.

“I can’t do anything right now, why can’t I have a good time while having my wife? Yet, pissing off the gods as I am doing now is quite possibly the worst thing to do.” Geta thought to himself as he stormed through the halls. “ I haven’t even fucked her yet”

SMASH.

Geta blinked twice at the shattered pot once on the pillar. It was a bright pink one with lovely gold , silver accents with pearls. It was their mother’s favorite vase that was gifted to them by the general of the time. There was no sign of any force pushing it over so he could only see it as a sign of the gods rage towards him.

He looked down to see the painting of Venus’s face on one of the larger pieces that smashed to the ground.

Fuck, he knew he had to apologise, even if he didn’t mean it.

There was a rush of servants that began to sweep up the vase as he kept on walking down the hallway.  He went on his way to his chambers but started halfway when he heard chuckling from one of the rooms.

That familiar high pitch of his wife.

It took a few moments for him to recognize it as his advisor’s room but he couldn’t help himself, he had to lean against the door. Obviously, there was something going on that peaked his wife’s attention.  

At first he just heard wine being poured and the clinking of glasses, but then he began to hear more of their conversation. By the tone of their voices, they already had a few glasses.

“When you say, explored each other do you mean like ….” Macrinus began

“With our tongues and lips, yes, but I am not ready for making love with him. I just feel like we need to form some sort of bond first. Sure, we are married and everything, but he hardly knows me more than the thief of Rome, and pressured with his duties to impress the people.”

Geta understood that. They didn’t know each other, they hardly were able to spend time with one another without the pressures of the city and the gods.  Yet, where was he to start, he was always given things, how was he to earn this?

“How would he be able to get you to open up then?”

“Spend time with me even! Learn about my favorite things, my hobbies and interests, there is more to me than just being a thief who is also his wife.”

“That I know,” He heard Macrinus chuckle. “Does he know of your writing or poetry? People would talk of the general’s daughter’s writing pieces.”

“I usually base my pieces on Virgil, but I do like venturing on my own works as well. I doubt that he has heard of my pieces which is why he didn’t bring it up.”

Geta honestly had no idea that she wrote creative pieces. He hasn’t even heard about it, now he grew curious about it. That’s a place to start at least to get her attention. But he also needed to learn more about her as well. He took a step back from the door and kept walking, deciding to take a stop in the library in hopes of finding something written by his wife.

************************************************************************

After the glasses of wine, Sabina decided to take a walk in the gardens. She had yet to visit them, but she figured it would be a good way to take a breather and take in what Macrinus advised her to do.

Getting a concubine? Who would want to do that?

Sabina knew she was attractive to many, her husband and oddly her brother in law included. But, who would want to live in that lifestyle? Only being treated like a toy to the Emperor or Emperess on the whim they wish it. She wanted to make Geta jealous though, but to treat someone like that…

She couldn’t do it, she may have to explain everything to the future concubine she picks. They may also appreciate the arrangement more if she treated them with dignity. Even pay them if it is a way to ensure their secret would be kept or whatnot.

Her disturbing thoughts stopped when she seen a large patch of  red roses, fully bloomed and opened up to her. She admired how thick the stems were and couldn’t help herself but pick one out for her to take with her. A knife was by the pot so she used it to pick the one that attracted her the most.

She had the rose in her hand and put it against her nose to take in the scent. There was a range of different scents around her, but she only focused on this one. She closed her eyes for a moment to take in the scent.

However her dark eyes opened when she had felt lingering eyes watching her. She scanned around the area, only to find Geta’s dark eyes watching her. The rose bush was in front of the library entrance, and of course, the windows were there. She scanned him for a moment as she noticed some books were in his hand.

Didn’t know he wanted to read.

His eyes didn’t leave her as he noticed the red rose in her hand, freshly picked by her. He should have known she was an admirer of red roses. He hoped she would see his books in hand as perhaps it would be a sign that he is at least trying.

Sabina couldn’t care less though, and she kept walking through the gardens. To her, she just learned that he enjoyed reading.

However, Geta had talked to the librarian and couldn’t find any copies of her writing anywhere in the palace. He had requested that the librarian find some of her written works and bring them to the chambers immediately.  The books in his hands were some of Virgil’s works and introductions to writing creatively. It was an attempt to build a stronger relationship between them.

************************************************************************

That evening, the Emperors decided to have a party at the palace since they felt the gods blessed it upon them to have one.

Caracalla wanted to get drunk with people and Geta wanted to find out more about Sabina through the mouth of the people. They knew her more than he did so he thought it would be a good chance to find more about her while he awaited for her creative writing.

Sabina knew what she wanted to do this evening. She wanted to shock, seduce and get under her husband’s skin. She knew that she would have to dress slightly more risky than normal to do this and get a “concubine”.

Her low cut stola was a very faint sheer pink that hardly hid her daisy covered nipples. She picked them from the garden and thought they would be a unique twist to nipple coverings. She let her dark wavy hair down but used a shell clip gifted to her by her father to remove the strands of her face to reveal the pearl earrings and necklace. Her eyes were painted with silver metallics that made her brown eyes stick out. Her cheeks were graciously blushed with shades of pink and her lips were colored with a dark deep pink. She made sure that her husband didn’t see her until the party. She knew he would likely tell her to get changed, her father would have.

She waited for a few minutes after the party started to make her entrance.  Her husband and brother-in-law were already greeting the guests entering as their paid entertainment began to sing for the guests.

That was when she casually walked inside the event. Sabina knew she was going to have heads turn to her, but that was the point. She wanted to find the perfect person to make a “concubine” and get her husband jealous.

Sabina was right, everyone was essentially staring at her. She however, focused on walking over to her husband and her brother in law with their concubines together. As she got closer, she could see his cheeks turning pink.

“Husband,” She bowed at him and the entire room was silent.

“Wife, what are you wearing?” Geta stared at the entire outfit, perhaps staring at the nipple daisies a few seconds too long.

“Do you like it ? To honor my mother.” Sabina said boldly in which there were whispers amongst the crowd.

“Can we see the ring your husband given you?” Rosa asked. She was next to Geta with her hand on his lap. “I am sure it is lovely.”

Sabina and Geta looked at each other for a moment. He never did give her a ring for engagement or their wedding. Sabina hid her hand behind her body as she looked down.

“No ring! I would have thought you would have been given the loveliest one of Rome. Guess the rumors are true, this whole thing was arranged last minute. I suppose that’s why your husband is still swarmed by concubines.” Rosa smirked at Sabina. Having no worth to speak to her husband’s whore, she turned away and walked off.

“That was cruel Rosa.” Geta finally said to her. His hand pushed hers off his leg.  She shook her head.

“Then why doesn’t she have a ring, without it she is like a concubine.” Rosa snickered with his brother joining in.

“Yea, she is a virgin concubine.” Caracalla raised his voice a bit louder, just enough for Sabina to hear them on the other side of the room.

************************************************************************

Sabina didn’t need any of that. It was Geta’s doing that he didn’t get her a ring at the very least. Forced marriage or not, a ring would have been nice to at least make it official. She had lots of rings, but having a ring as a promise of protection and love meant something to her.

Not like this entire situation was full of love anyways.

But it still would have saved the embarrassment that even the Gods could have seen.

She stood in the corner with a glass of wine in hand and sweet treats in the other. She scanned the room to see if there was anyone worthy of taking in as a “concubine”. Or at the very least, someone who would get the attention of the emperor.

Her eyes met with someone who came in with the Advisor. A younger man, with piercing blue eyes and short darker hair.  His face was affirmed and straight ahead as Macrinus talked to him all he did was nod and mutter a couple additional comments.  He was a handsome man, who worn extravagant clothing.

He gotten her attention. She felt like a magnet to him, not by attraction but by curiosity. He looked exquisite and she wondered if the advisor brought him intentionally or if this was just a coincidence. Something told her it was the former.  She didn’t hesitate to walk over to talk to him.

Geta didn’t let his eyes off his wife since the incident. He didn’t want anyone touching her in the wrong way after the way Rosa talked to her.  The concubine kept trying to place her hand on his knee, but he kept slapping it away. His brows began to lower as Sabina walked to the advisor and uninvited guest. He knew that Macrinus and Sabina were getting accustomed to each other, but he wasn’t too sure about the guest.

Sabina smiled at Macrinus as he clapped his hands together. “Ah the jewel of Rome, I would like you to meet someone.” The stranger’s eyes had brightened up to her, in pure interest.   He took her hand and admired her face for a moment before he kissed her knuckles.

“I am Felix Remus Julius, second son of a nobleman of Rome, speaker of 4 languages, poet, and in the presence of the loveliest woman I met.” He kissed he hand again. “I am in the highest of honors to be in the presence of the Emperess, the hero of Rome” He bowed lowly to her.

“I am honored to be in your presence. My father spoke highly of you, even considered…” Sabina paused at her thought, remembering where she is.  Speaking of possible marriage arrangements of the past were not wise in the presence of two power hungry emperors.

“I do recall, perhaps in another path if you weren’t caught.” He winked at her.

“Perhaps.”

“I brought a gift to honor the Empress.” He stated as Macrinus had smiled at Sabina then glanced at Geta who was cocking his head trying to see what kind of gift the man was gifting her.  In Felix’s pocket was a pretty closed seashell, It was white and polished. Sabina would have been happy to just take the shell, but he opened it to reveal a gorgeous ring before her. A golden ring with a ruby in the center.

“This is too much Felix” Sabina commented as he placed the ring on her right hand’s ring finger.

“Nonsense, soon enough your going to have so many jewels on your fingers from your supporters.” There was a silence in his voice, noticing no ring on Sabina’s left hand.”It will be the first of many.”

“Regardless, I am sure that none of the jewels will be as lovely as the one you gave me.”

Geta eyed the jewel on his wife’s finger. She had her cheeks flush slightly red at the sight of this noble. Caracalla noticed the change of his brother as Geta had clawed his hand into the sofa.

“Better watch that one brother, your wife may have another lover soon enough.”

With a couple more chuckles, Sabina ushered Felix to join her in the gardens. As the two left, Macrinus went to the younger brother to discuss something. Geta stood up, leaving his concubines alone as he kept his distance behind them.

************************************************************************

 Felix and Sabina snuck away quickly. The two-holding hand in hand, giving soft chuckles to one another. They rushed to the gardens quickly and quietly in hopes that no one will find them there while they talked in private.

Geta on the other hand was quick and sly. He wanted to be close but keep his distance. He was furious on how quick the physical contact was happening while he had to work so hard to get what he got, and he still didn’t consummate the relationship!  Regardless, he is learning more about his bride that she is not speaking up about. He wanted to learn as much as possible before he tries to get closer to her. He can’t fuck up again.

Finally, Sabina and Felix stop by a rose bush under the moonlight.  The light highlights their features and beauty which makes them both more alluring to the other. Geta noticed this in his hiding spot, a simple pillar. He should have planned this ahead of time as he had to be very selective with his movements.

“So why are we sitting by the dark blue roses? “Felix asked trying to scoot closer to her.

“They are my favorite, my second are red roses” Sabina answered.  “My father used to bring a set back home from his ventures. They remind me of the stars, when the fresh rain leaves them as they twinkle.”

“You are a poet even when you don’t try  dulcissima” Felix chuckles as he put his hand on her thigh. “ My father spoke of how skilled you are, how you fight for what you want and how beautiful you were.”

Geta felt the rage of heat in his cheeks, thinking of what things must be going on inside of Felix’s head. The way that he touched her was angering him, in more way than one. Geta had to steady his breaths, so he won’t get caught.

“That is kind, Felix but what is the real reason why you came here tonight. I am sure it wasn’t to impress an empress”

“I came to get to know you better, was curious if you would be interested in having a companion. Word goes around Rome fast and I heard that your husband isn’t treating you right as you should be treated.” He said  moving his hand to her upper thigh. “Macrinus is a close ally of my family and when he told me of the crimes your enduring daily, I had to come to help you.”

“You don’t know me.” Sabina said.

“I want to take the time to.”

If he wasn’t hiding, Geta would have sliced the pretty boy’s head off. The emperor wasn’t the most pleasant at this moment and each second it was getting harder and hard to calm his nerves.

“I am flattered with that offer, I am looking for one too. I really need someone to talk to who I can trust.” Sabina bites her lip. “I need someone to be my friend, my family is miles away and I hardly have a place to keep to myself. I am not ready for anything sexual, but I am looking for companionship.”

“Don’t worry we can take it slow Emperess, “He muttered as he was getting rather close to Sabina.

Geta couldn’t believe what he is hearing. Was Sabina in the slow process of getting a concubine?  His first one was in the same way, a friend then eventually much more.  He was supposed to be enough for her, now she’s seeking guidance elsewhere.

“O..oh” Sabina said and then all Geta heard was the sounds of two lips crash against one another.

He couldn’t hear anymore of it, so he slowly made his exit, finding no purpose to be sticking around while his wife is making out. Sure he did a lot worse the previous night, but still it made him sick to his stomach hearing it. He managed to leave without Sabina or Felix knowing.

The two kept their lips on eachother’s for a few more moments before they parted from each other. Blue eyes looking into brown eyes, both were full of uncertainty.

“Let’s take it slow.” Felix said.

“I don’t want the romance; I just want a companion.” Sabina stated. “I am flattered of the kiss though.”

 “It is alright, we can be companions, just remember if you need anything I am here to aid you.”

Sabina smiles. “Great, you can come with me to the library and help me with my writing”

Felix nodded eagerly and follows her.

************************************************************************

Geta waited for Sabina to come back to their shared chambers after the party. He wasn’t going to say that he heard everything between her and Felix, but he knew it was going to be hard to hide what was going through his head.

How could she do this?

It also gave him the opportunity to hide the books of her written works from her before she came back. He didn’t want to read them in front of her, he intended to surprise her with some of her writing pieces and perhaps some of his own.  He already had talked to the gardener to change the flowers into red and blue roses for her.

He has to find out more about her by spending time with his wife.

The emperor heard his wife’s laughter in the hallway with his voice. He muttered a couple curse words as he heard Felix say goodnight to her. She opened the door and Geta had tightened his housecoat.

“I missed you at the event wife, where did you run off to?” He asked instantly. He watched Sabina remove the hairclips and her dress. The dress that mentally drove him wild. Why did she decide to wear that? To bring Rome to their knees in the most unintimidating manner? He felt his inner needs grow when he watched her remove the daisies from her nipples. After a few moments of her being completely nude in front of him, she placed the robe on her body. He still stared, admiring the curves of her body.

“I went to the library with Felix, He is quite knowledgeable you know. “ She remarked.

“I see,” Geta was trying to bite back remarks. “So what’s the plan tomorrow for you?”

Sabina cocked a brow. “ Very curious of you of asking of my plans, I am going to the market to shop.”

“Is anyone going with you?” Geta wanted to make sure this was an opportunity.

“No, no one is going with me.”

“Great I will join you tomorrow, I need to grab a few things anyways.” Geta tuts walking to the bed. He wasn’t going to do anything until he gets to know her, its going to be a long process but he wanted to make sure that things will please the gods and her.

“Join me? You haven’t spent time with me yet.” Sabina slowly walked to the bed and laid down. “But this is a good place to start, be ready we will leave in the morning.”

“I am eager to, Sleep well mel” Geta said as he shut his eyes, thinking about the upcoming day and what it will have in store for them.

************************************************************************

Sabina and Geta got up early in the morning to prepare themselves for the day ahead of themselves. Both worn more modest, casual simple lavender purple embroidered stolas for their activities ahead, with minimal jewelry. Sabina wanted to enjoy the day without being dragged down by precious metals while Geta didn’t want to be robbed.

The couple did minimalist work on their faces, besides purple eyeliner swiped on their eyes, giving it a cat eye look.  Their brown eyes popped with the purple color and it made them more intense and intimidating looking.  Sabina decided to braid her hair back into a braid for the day, having a feeling she was going to need her hair up.

A quick breakfast was in order so they were given some cheeses, fruits and bread to start off their day. Servants kept filling up their plates with food and Sabina kept politely saying no thanks after the fourth serving. Geta let out a soft chuckle.

“They just want to make sure your well fed in case…”

“Of?”

“If your with child.”

“Oh well I am not and this food is getting a bit overbearing”  Sabina looked at her rather large plate of her favorite things.

 Geta cleared his throat “ LEAVE US!”

“Thank you for the food, but I think this is enough for now.” She cleared her throat , trying to clarify the negative remarks given to them by the emperor. They servants seemed to reciprocate the remarks given to them from her before they left,

Geta scanned her plate. Bryeria, lacterine and ricotta cheeses were on her plate, often spread with a piece of fresh bread. On the side there was apples, grapes, peaches slices with a few cherries. He made sure he mentally took note which foods she had on her plate. He watched her from across the table eating her food and enjoying the luxury food,

“Are you enjoying your food wife?”

“It is delicious, however…”

Geta almost stood up from the table about to send back in the servants to fetch something. But Sabina lowered her hand to reduce his excitement.  “I am going to the market, I will buy the breakfast wine I enjoy. Perhaps you will enjoy it too, it reminds me of morning meals with my family.” Sabina was going to say something more but bit her lip.

“I can’t wait to try this wine “ Geta smiled at her. He watched her dark eyes look down at her plate and pick up a piece of lacterine cheese and place it in her mouth.

“Where are your concubines today?” His wife asked casually going for another bite of food. Guilt and panic flooded over him, wondering what brought up the question. Frankly, he didn’t care what they did, just as long as they were there when he needed them.

“Not sure, probably in the chambers reading or something.” Geta shrugged. Then he thought of the prick from the previous night, the noble that kissed her. Her new concubine, that she has yet to address to him.  Geta has hardly met him, but he hates him. “You met that noble last night,”

“Yes Felix, a smart man of the mind. We spent last night in the library writing poetry.”  Sabina looks down. It was what they did for part of the evening. The rest was just talking about the new arrangements, as she planned to introduce him to the court in the next party.

“You never said you wrote poetry.” Geta tried to pretend to be shocked, he has been trying to read each of the poems that she wrote to get an idea of her creativity, but with no avail. The emperor even got writer’s block when trying to write a small piece of written work for her.

“I did, it’s a habit I am trying to get back into.”  Sabina said snacking on a slice of peaches.

“Why did you stop?” Geta tilted his head at her.” Writing is a gift”

“It is, I couldn’t write when I was happy. Been thinking about writing again as I can write when  I am sad.”

That statement made Geta speechless.

************************************************************************

Sabina told Geta she wanted to go the market closer to her father’s home so she could welcome him back as soon as he returns. In addition to that, it had sold family comforts that she had growing up. She missed the simple things that she had, and wanted to bring them to her new home, for some type of comfort in a forced situation.

Even though Sabina wanted to have a private, relaxing day in Rome, her husband always had to make an entrance. He had to swing his cloak around for the public to see and he craved the attention that he got from commoners oogling his clothing.

However, he didn’t get as much attention as Sabina as a crowd of people rushed to her feet, some people even kissing her legs, singing praises to her.  As soon as she stepped out of the carriage, she was treated like the goddess that she was. Red rose petals were placed around her feet as the they would mutter praises to her. Each step she took they created a pathway for her. Geta got tossed a couple of the red roses, but almost all eyes were on her.

Including Geta’s.

He wondered why there was no proposal planned in the first place. A beauty like her, he could have married her years ago. Things would have been different, perhaps she wouldn’t have went through her endeavours, stealing. Perhaps things would have changed for the better, there would be less war, less conflicts.

Sabina reached into her bag and grabbed some jewels that were at her disposal. It didn’t take much for everyone to notice the jewels in the palm of her hand. Her dark eyes went to a group of children who wore dirty toga’s and had dirt on their faces from playing around in their families garden.

She ushered them to come closer to her. Hesitant at first, they did, the eldest girl was the first one to come forward and gave a small smile.

“Emperess,” There was a pause then she looked up at Geta. “Emperor”.

“I bring gifts to you and your siblings.” Sabina said softly to them as she knelt down. “What are your names?”

Geta watched as Sabina took the time to talk to the children. He didn’t focus on the words that slipped out of her mouth, but rather watched her actions with the children. They came up to her, scared at first, but eventually they came close to her enough to reach for a hug. She wrapped her arms tightly around them with the largest grin across her face as she gave each of them a sizeable jewel to take home with them.

He began to wonder if he waited too long to bring her into his life. Rome was power hungry, and yet there are children wearing clothing like these children and less. Sure he craved power, he couldn’t deny it, but seeing people  like this was concerning. With this, he began to understand what the purpose of her crimes.

She did it truly for the churches, the adults, the children.

He watched as she tossed the remaining jewels in the air. Her hand grabbed his and pulled him away before they were swarmed by the locals.  She giggled to herself as she turned to her husband.

“Don’t you see how happy they are?” Sabina said in a joyful tone.”We should bring more to them.” She muttered but looked down when she remembered their arguments a few nights before.

Geta cleared his voice. “No I think we should as well. The people of Rome need to be watched over.”

“Really?” Sabina muttered looking up to him, she didn’t know what to believe anymore from his lips. Was this real? Was this a myth? Or was he only doing it to appease the gods?

“I am sure, I loved watching the joy it brought to you, the children and the others with your generosity.” Geta smiled at her, “I find your kindness attractive, I can’t wait to learn more about you.”

************************************************************************

Sabina and Geta walked around the markets keeping close to one another. Sabina’s hands were full of the spices and goods that reminded her of home. Her husband insisted he would let the cooks to prepare her the food while she just brushed it off.

“I like cooking my own food too actually And making my own sweets.” Sabina shrugged. “I learned how to cook, especially when my servants were away or completing other duties. Besides,I can say I am a pretty good cook” She smiled at herself as Geta noticed the bright sparkles in her dark eyes talking about an interest of hers.

“Your going to have to cook for me sometime.” Geta said to her. “I would love to taste my wife’s cooking.”

“You probably would find it minimal compared to the fine foods your servants make.” Sabina chuckled. “They are amazing cooks.” She didn’t want to disappoint him in her skills when he has servants with skills that pass hers.

“I would love to try it, Your cooking sounds enticing to me.” Geta leant over to her ear to whisper into it. “Besides, I can’t imagine you making anything sweeter than…” Before he could finish his statement, he noticed that there was a man in front of them with a bunch of jeweled rings. They were rubies, emeralds and sapphires on the marvelous silver and golden rings.  Geta didn’t say a word, he only watched which ones his wife was eying. He did owe her a ring after all.

He watched her eyes go to the sapphire rings. There was one that sparkled like the evening stars on Palatine Hill. Around them were sapphires that were almost white that were banded together on a silver band. She smiled for a couple moments as her eyes were captivated by it before she muttered a “no thank you. “. She turned her head then made her way to an astrology tent.

Geta was confused by her movements and wanted to follow her, but not before whispering in the seller's ear to bring that ring to him with a range of sizes to Palatine Hill by the evening.

************************************************************************

Sabina admired the astrology charts provided to her from the seller as Geta stared at the maps before him. He never fully understood the concepts of stars, but he couldn’t say no to the bright smile across her face admiring the dots in the sky.

She spoke unfamiliar terms with the seller as her eyes began to sparkle like the stars themselves. Her eyes began to glow even brighter as she seen the map of the night that she was born. Geta admired the stars but took note on writing on the bottom of the scroll.

Veneralia Rital

From Geta’s knowledge, that was a few days away. With the empress’s name day arriving, he had to start planning for it as well. He had to plan games, a party and make sure her family arrives for the occasion. He did find it funny that her day of birth was aligned with her mother’s annual ritual.

He watched her bring coins, and then some to purchase the scroll, commenting how she was going to hang it somewhere in the palace. Both her and her husband were shocked to see Marcus Acacius right behind her.

“I shouldn’t let my daughter pay for this! This is a gift” He acclaims as he spins his daughter around and she hugs him quickly. However, the general’s eyes never left Geta.

“That is too kind father!” She muttered in their hug as Geta given him a soft nod.

“I was expecting to see you tomorrow.” Geta stated.

“I always come in a day early to see my wife and daughter” He said. “It was a wise guess to find my daughter here! Always looking up in the stars dreaming.” He looks down to Sabina and flashes a smile. “I sure hope that you are writing as well! You will see me tomorrow” The general passed a note to Sabina, which Geta didn’t fail to notice. He placed a kiss on his daughter’s forehead then left the tent.

Geta wondered if Sabina’s father knew about something. Why would he say that in front of him? About her writing? Does he know she writes when she is sad? Of course he does! He raised her and allowed her to live with him until she was married. However, the worrying thoughts went away after noticing the bright grin across his wife’s face.

************************************************************************

After their long day, Geta and Sabina went back home. They were silent in the carriage ride home, but the Emperor couldn’t get his eyes off of her. He wondered if his father ever felt this way about his mother, even though Geta could recall all of the concubines and servants running out of his chambers only with bedsheets wrapped around them. This marriage between Sabina and him was not that much different, but he wanted to not be like his father. Even though last night was proven different. Macrinus was the one who suggested the Emperor to find a bed warmer so he could “practise” ways to please his wife. But the sadness in Sabina’s eyes had said a lot to him.

He didn’t want this, especially with her.

Once he spent the day with her. He watched and understood why the people of Rome loved her and admired her. He understood why Felix was so quick to become her concubine, though he didn’t understand why she wouldn’t sleep with him, but read books with him unless if she is truly lonely. If he was only being used as a friend, but then again he did kiss her. He did do the same to her, plus more so it was the least of his concerns. He hoped that he could have a chance to prove himself to her and perhaps it could just be the two of them.

An Emperor could only dream as there are temptations on every corner. The same goes for his wife beyond the sins of the flesh.

Sabina on the other hand had enjoyed the time outside of the palace and the time with her husband. She honestly had no choice but to have him tag along, but it was an opportunity to get him to know her better. She thought he did and hoped that he would join her in a few days time on her name day as she was returning to donate to the temple of Venus.

But she shan’t tell him yet as she thought it wouldn’t be something of interest to him. It was a blessing enough that Geta agreed to give more to the people.

She admired his dark brown eyes that reflected into the sunlight as he watched the views from outside the carriage. He tried to avoid eye contact, but he felt her eyes growing on him.

************************************************************************

Geta was in his chambers late at night, wondering where wife is was. First thought was Felix but he found him with Caracalla and his concubines reading poetry to them. Thought it was odd, but he figured it was fine which meant Sabina wasn’t sneaking around with others. She was alone in the palace somewhere he just needed to find somewhere his bride could be hiding. He checked the library but rather found Macrinus sitting at a table with the stack of scrolls that Geta asked for early in the day.

“Your wife is quite the poet, Roses that bloom in the saddest of times often grow the toughest thorns to fight.” He read out loud. His eyes never left the paper as he came closer. “A fighter for the people of Rome is a fighter for love”.

“I never heard any poetry from her, provides insight into her head.” Geta mused. “I asked for those books this morning, thank you for holding them for me.” He walked over to take them from him. That was when his eyes darted back to him.

“My pleasure, I wanted to read some more of them before you got your hands on them.” His advisor smiled. He gave him the collection of scrolls as his hands were overwhelmed by the scriptures.

“I noticed you took your wife out today to the city. I hope you had a good time”

“We did, I learned a lot about her. Glad we could spend time with each other.” He muttered as he seen the flash of dark hair in the gardens just outside of the library. This followed with a flash of silver.

His eyes fixated on her as he seen her swing a blade around and began to practice movements and attack methods. Around her were the dark blue roses that he asked for but the true beauty was the one with the blade. Macrinus noticed this and gestured the emperor to go to her. He didn’t need to be told twice, he  dropped his scrolls and left the library to meet with her.

************************************************************************

Sabina was so focused on her blades movements that she didn’t realise that Geta was leaning against a pillar,arms crossed. He admired her form with the blade. Hours, days earlier he would have spat at her for using a weapon, and that it brings her back for her thievery roots. But now, he knows this is just how she is.

He admired her form, how the gods made her. How he ended up with her, even thought he knows it was fate still baffles him. He was an emperor, he could have anyone, anything but he has something much more precious.

Sabina.

Brown eyes meet with brown eyes. Before her mind for process who it was, her dark orbs turned to rage and pointed the blade angrily towards him. Showing a look of darkness and determination to execute anyone who stood in her path. Geta, shocked, put his arms up, surrendering quickly.

“Mel” Geta greeted. “I hope you don’t mind that I changed the garden” He glanced around to the fresh new blue roses that surrounded them. “Someone told me that you may have liked these the best.” He really hoped that she would drop the blade. After a few moments, her eyes softened and dropped the blade.

“I do thank you husband.” She muttered. “Roses are my favorite because….”

“Roses that bloom in the saddest of times often grow the toughest thorns to fight” Geta muttered, remembering the quote that Macrinus had read to him moments earlier.  It suited the moment really but he needed to learn more about her poetry. It flowed off his tongue quite tell.

Sabina cocked a brow at him as she took a step closer, admiring the matching black robe that he worn. “Your familiar with my poetry, must have been hard for you to find it.”

“What do you mean?” Geta asked.

“I mean my father worked hard to make sure you wouldn’t find copies of it, thought you wouldn’t like my writing style.” She looked down. “The most beautiful of things often are hidden and secluded in the deepest of caves, and the few who find it are in pure bliss.”

Geta looked down. “ I found out regardless, but I was concerned where you were after our journey.”

“I was just here, admiring your gift to me. Thank you.” Her eyes were sparkling like the stars,

“It is my pleasure, it was a pleasure to spend the day with you to get to know you better” He took her hand and kissed it softly.  Yet he didn’t let go of it though as he went on his knee and reached into his robes where he had the rings of various sizes. He wanted to make it right with her, and this would at least be a start. Sabina’s eyes stared at the ring in his hand and watched as he placed on her left hand’s ring finger. The ring was a perfect fit on the first try.

“For my dulcissima, the Emperess of Rome. A ring to claim you as ruler of Rome, and my wife.”

Her eyes looked at the sapphire, reminiscent of the stars in the sky. Her glance was so quick, but it warmed her heart knowing that Geta had planned to grab the ring himself to give to her. She smiled brightly as she admired the sparkles and glamor the ring given to her. She didn’t say anything to him, her dark eyes did all of the talking as he watched her. He stood up and before he could say anything to her, Sabina pushed her lips against his. She thought on how soft they were. She traced her blade down the side of his neck as he let out a soft whine in response. Yet, he wasn’t complaining, the slow movement did drive him closer to her.

“Do the blades excite you wife? Geta asked. Sabina put the blade down for a moment, embarrassed with the movements. “It is nothing to be embarrassed about, in fact I am willing to explore this further if you wish.”

Sabina felt that he over stepped and shook her head. “Not tonight, thank you for the gift husband, I would like to get to spend more time with you.”

“As do I” Geta tried to not sound disappointed, but he can wait for as long as it takes for her to bed her. He knew he had to learn more about her and her people before she can fully accept him.

Geta went to bed shortly after, falling asleep shortly after. He dreamt of Sabina with her blades against his neck as she slowly rides him. Sure this was a impossible dream now, but it may happen one way or another in the future.  At one point, he woke up and noticed his brother staring at something in the middle of the night. Curious, Geta peeked out of the balcony to see Sabina still practicing. She, however was being watched by a cloak of three figures. However, when Geta blinked they were gone. His eyes went to his brother, who watched his wife hungrily. Geta will make it to his best interests that Sabina wont be touched by him.

[bluebirdinhissky]

A Lover’s Duty is to match outfits.

Hyunjin x reader

Bird note: So finally A Best Friend’s Duty turns to A Lover’s Duty. I was going to end the series when he confessed but I just can’t bring myself to do it!. So expect more of these. Also, I’m working on that angst story I told you about a while ago, will update soon-ish. MDNI.

[The confession]

[Masterlist]

Hyunjin had never been great at keeping secrets. At least, not the kind that made his heart race every time he looked at her, not the kind that curled warmth into his chest when her fingers brushed against his. And yet, here he was lying beside her, still tangled in the moment they had just shared, trying to wrap his head around the fact that she was his now.

His best friend. His girlfriend.

It didn’t even feel real.

They had talked about it, what came next. It had been an unspoken agreement at first, something understood without words. His life wasn’t simple. Dating, for him, wasn’t just late night walks and hand holding in public. It was hiding, secrecy, and the constant weight of knowing that if the wrong person found out, the consequences could be overwhelming.

She knew that. And still, she had chosen him.

So, for now, it would stay between them.

At least until they were ready, until they figured out how to tell the people closest to them. Stray Kids wasn’t just his group; they were his brothers, and they deserved to hear it properly, one by one. He didn’t want it to be a bombshell in the middle of practice or some awkward, accidental discovery. He wanted to tell them, “Finally. She’s mine.”

But all of that could wait.

For now, he just wanted her. Hyunjin had been so close to kissing her. His fingers had already cupped her cheek, his breath mingling with hers, their bodies drawn together by something they had both been holding back for too long. He had felt her hesitation, the same fear he had of losing what they had, of ruining the best friendship they had ever known. But he had also seen the trust in her eyes, the way her lips parted just slightly, as if waiting for him to close the distance…

“Breakfast is getting cold!” Hannah’s voice had shattered the moment, sharp and impatient from the other side of the door. Hyunjin had nearly whined in frustration, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as she stifled a laugh. He had squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the fabric of her shirt as if that would somehow hold onto the moment they had just lost.

Instead, she had only pressed a teasing kiss to his cheek, murmuring, “Guess that means we should go.” And just like that, the moment was gone.

But not the feeling. Because now, as he lay there watching her breathe, he knew that kiss was still waiting for them.

Later that evening, each of them went to their respective bedrooms to get ready for Jeongin’s dinner party.

[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."

[babyboywilson]

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 🩷💕💞💓💗💖💘💝

[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!”