#he should have been older than 50 in game

[eavangeek]

I agree with other anon, how you wrote Raspberry Crisp to be so euphoric while I’m a trans man needs to be studied in a lab because I DID NOT think that would ever be my thing and yet…. Here we are.

Listen,,,, listen,,,,

I take the word "Carnally" very seriously in this house. I also take "fuck that old man" seriously too, that's why we got two (2) Soft Penis Centric Fics.

Also it's crazy how positive people have been about Raspberry Crisp, I was expecting some backlash b/c of the whole. You Know ™️ Blood clot Scene™️

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Slip Into Me part 2: Crash Into Me✨

QZ! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I really really love this Joel, and I love @alltheirdamn for letting me scream about these two with her 🩵 QZ! Joel is making me swoon 💕

Summary: After getting caught in the rain, Joel pulls you into his apartment. But you get much more than you bargained for from the brooding, broad man. You might’ve just fell for his chocolate eyes and soft Texas voice.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 12.2k

Chapter Tags: Tension, yearning, teasing, protective and soft Joel, no use y/n, teasing, oral (fem receiving), unprotected piv, cream pie, age gap (female late 20’s, Joel is 50), switching POVs, QZ! Joel

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  As the weeks go by in the sweltering summer, you start to see Joel Miller everywhere. When you’re organizing and polishing weapons for FEDRA, you sometimes see him walk by. He always looks like he’s on a mission. Furrowed brows, a scowl across his sculpted face, a large hand running through his tousled greying locks, a bite to his words when he’s deep in conversation with one of the FEDRA soldiers. 

   He seems to command people around him, acts as if he is the one ordering them around. You see they listen to him as he bites out a snarl their way, see the way they almost cower and can’t seem to keep eye contact when he’s giving them valuable information. You should be afraid of him, you think, but you’re not. You’re only intrigued more and more every single time you see him snap demands and push people to the edge. 

   He’s strong, broad, dominant. He likes to be in control, loves to push the soldiers to their breaking point like he did with Seth. He knows how to get his way, knows exactly how to play games with FEDRA. 

   He could snap the neck of any man that even tried to get their hands on him or order him around. His menacing gaze is all it takes for them to back off enough, drop whatever argument they try to start. You know this because you’ve been watching him on the streets when you work, stealing glances every second you can when you see the tall, broad man who saved you so many nights ago. Now you’re hooked. 

   You catch his dark brown eyes on you all the time, flicking amber shades your way when he catches you off guard while you’re working. You feel the heat in your cheeks burn hot when his eyes skate down your body, pretending like you don’t even notice. You notice, though. You always notice. 

   His looks aren’t harsh and threatening when he looks at you. His eyes are softer, jaw relaxed when he gazes your way. It calms you, like floating in a crystal clear lake in the middle of a quiet forest. Sometimes he nods your way, brushes against your shoulder as he passes you by on the busy streets, says a few words here and there in the dining hall. It’s like clockwork now, your favorite thing of every day is just to get your eyes on him. Even if it’s just a flicker of his broad shoulders disappearing in a sea of people or a brush of his fingertips in the dinner line.

   Sometimes when you’re focused on sorting through weapons, you can feel his eyes on you. He watches, stares with those hungry brown eyes. You’re not sure what exactly he’s hungry for, but you can tell he’s starving for something, begging for a taste of whatever that may be. 

   You feel his vision burn holes through your skin, feel the sweat glide down your skin when you look up and lock eyes with him. It makes you dizzy, makes you choke on a gasp when he focuses intently on you. He watches you day after day, this much you know. You don’t exactly know why, but maybe he’s trying to be protective, watching you from a distance to make sure you don’t get into any more trouble. You don’t mind. In fact, you prefer him to. Having a handsome, older man looking out for you is the last thing you expected here in the Boston QZ, but it made living here that much better. 

   He sees you shining FEDRA weapons day after day, watches the way you take careful attention to wipe every speck of grime off the sturdy edges of the guns. Sometimes you don’t look up, too busy working to notice him staring your way. 

   He tries not to look, careful to not stare too long, afraid he’ll awaken something he shouldn’t ever feel again. But when you lift your face and catch his eyes, he can’t help but stop and stare for just a few seconds too long. He thinks your eyes are the most beautiful shades of gemstones he’s ever seen, sparkling like glitter when they catch the rays of golden sunlight. 

   He sucks in a breath, clenching his jaw before he turns and gets back to work. He hates to admit that he finds you attractive, glowers at the fact that he cares what happens to you. 

   He shouldn’t dare start the cycle, shouldn’t walk the narrow ledge of developing feelings for a girl, especially a younger, absolutely gorgeous girl like yourself. He’d be a foolish man to even entertain the idea of thinking of you that way. But he’s fucked either way, so why not break his own rules. Hell, he already broke those rules when he fucking dreamt of you the other night. Your body splayed wide across his sheets, sweat collecting like rain over his skin every time he tasted the sweet jasmine scent of you, his lips crowding yours while your nails dragged down his back, your moans filling the shell of his ear with lust and want. 

   He snaps himself out of the moment and continues on with his day, giving you one more flick of his greedy eyes while you watch him walk the opposite way all wide-eyed and intrigued. He’s so fucking stupid for wanting you, but he can’t lie to himself that he’s not interested. Ever since he saved you from that piece of shit Seth, he’s wanted to take care of you. That’s the last thing he needs. Someone else to look after, but maybe he can keep himself away. 

   He chuckles to himself, scoffing at his own arrogance. Of course he can’t stay away, at least not for long. He’s fucking hooked off a girl that wandered into the QZ gates just a few months ago looking for a means to find a home. You didn’t come looking for him, but he sure as hell found you. 

   And now he’s fucked.

   The end of a long work day drags to a close when you scuff your feet over the warm pavement. The sky is murky, dark clouds collecting above you that threaten rain at any second. You make your way down the filthy streets, passing soldiers that brush past you and look you over as if you’re trouble. You just roll your eyes and huff, carrying yourself back to the warmth of your own falling apart apartment walls. At least there FEDRA can’t see you, can’t order you around like they do day after day.

   The humid air fills your lungs, the dark clouds opening up to patter rain down on your tired shoulders. Just a little longer, a few more feet and you’ll be inside. Almost there. Almost. 

   All of a sudden, you collide with a broad chest that feels like a thick brick wall. You gasp, thinking it’s a FEDRA soldier, eyes wide with fear until you look up and find familiar syrupy eyes, softer than the last time you saw them. Joel.

   He clasps a hand around your bicep and stops you dead in your tracks. “Well, look what we got here. In a hurry there, darlin’?” He smiles down at you, a crooked grin splayed across his plush lips, a trail of dust covering the top of his forehead, lines mapped out as he knits his thick eyebrows together. 

   Sheesh. He looks so good.

   “Just heading back home.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, not giving away the heat that builds underneath your warm cheeks. 

   “I see.” His eyes rake up and down your body, just a mere couple seconds. Enough to simmer heat low in your stomach. “You doin’ okay? Seth ain’t givin’ ya anymore trouble, is he?” His jaw ticks just the slightest, irises darkening as he thinks about the night he attacked Seth.

   You shake your head, crossing your arms to taper off the nerves running wildly through your veins. “I’m okay. Just getting by. And no, Seth hasn’t even crossed paths with me since that night he… since you…” Your voice falls off as you swallow the words. Since he saved you.

   He nods his head, a small smirk appearing like he might’ve said something else to Seth without you knowing. You can see him pushing Seth against the wall, his meaty hands wrapped tightly around Seth’s shirt, black eyes narrowing while he bites a sharp demand to stay away from you. And that’s exactly what you think he did. 

   Your eyes grow wide at the realization. He was like a protective watchdog, always ready to snarl his teeth and attack if someone messed with what was his. But you aren’t his, so why did he feel the need to even do that for you?

   His head cocks to the side, a lazy smile sliding across his lips, making his coffee colored eyes shine that much brighter. Jesus. He’s so fucking hot. 

   “Might’ve straightened him out. I’ve been keepin’ an eye on him. Don’t worry ‘bout him. It’s taken care of.”

   You stand there staring, mouth agape like you’ve got a speech impediment, words stumbling out of your mouth like you’re in front of a full gym giving a speech. “Oh. You didn’t have to… I mean, I could’ve handled it.”

   “Didn’t seem like it,” he mutters, dark eyes pooling in your vision as he shifts his weight, the tight denim button-up clinging to strong arms, biceps bulging with every moment he makes in the heat of the day. 

   You groan, biting the inside of your cheek before you say something stupid. He relaxes his jaw and gives you a smirk like he’s up to no good. When you don’t say anything else, he mutters another sentence. “FEDRA keepin’ you on your toes?”

   “How’d you guess?” you huff, eyes locked on his tightly.

   He chuckles and gives you a slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “I’ve seen you around. Workin’ on shining those weapons. See how miserable you look.”

   You gawk at him, unbelief in your wide eyes. “So you’ve been watching me?” You cross your arms and cock your hips, one eyebrow raising as you wait for his answer.

   He pushes his thick fingers through his sweat-filled tousled curls and stutters, ticking his jaw as he looks carefully at you. “No, that’s not… I’ve jus’ seen you around the QZ. That’s all.” He leaves it at that with a disgruntled huff.

   You take your tongue and run it along your bottom teeth, assessing the lie that falls right out of his mouth. You know he’s lying through his teeth. You’ve seen him watching you, day after day. He can’t fool you, but you play along with his little game. “Hmm. Okay then.” He gives you one more cautious look and flexes his fingers, pushing them deep inside his pockets. 

   Before he can say anything else, rain starts pelting down, soaking through your worn t-shirt as you try to cover your hair. “Shit. C’mon, let’s get out of the rain.” He grabs you by your bicep and leads you up his staircase, out of the drizzling rain. You mindlessly follow him, thankful to get out of the soon to be monsoon. And then there you are, standing in his quiet living room, just like that day he took care of you after the FEDRA incident.

   “You want some tea?” he asks as he slams the door, sliding past you as he stalks into the dimly lit kitchen.

   “Ummm yeah, sure,” you answer as you watch him get some tea bags and mugs out of the stained cabinet.

   “Tea ain’t my usual choice, but it sure beats havin’ nothin’. Shit, what I wouldn’t do for a fresh pot of coffee,” he sighs as he starts to boil hot water over the stove.

   You lean against the chipped kitchen counter, twiddling your thumbs nervously as you listen to the rain fall softly on the glass window, your eyes looking up through your long lashes as you watch Joel work. He paces impatiently, tapping his thumb against the worn-out fridge, his denim button-up straining against thick biceps every time he flexes his arms.

   How can he be so hot and dismantled at the same time? It shouldn’t be allowed.

   Gulping, you take a breath and say the first thing that comes to mind. “How did you like your coffee?”

   He turns his head quickly, his threaded eyebrows relaxing slightly, giving you a once over, a move that makes you shiver in place. “Jus’ black.”

   “No creamer?” you smile.

   “Does it look like I like creamer?” He gives you a stern look, but all you can do is shrug and give him a tight-lipped smile to try to alleviate his grumpiness.

   “I dunno. Guess a tough man like you doesn’t like sweet things in their life?” 

   He ticks his jaw and laughs, running a palm down his patchy beard slowly. “Ain’t nothin’ sweet in my life, darlin’.”

   “Would you want something sweet in your life?” Your eyes grow wide at the realization of what you just said. You were basically asking him if he wanted you. What the hell did you do that for?

   His chocolate eyes grow a shade darker as he assesses you, one eyebrow raising in curiosity while his mouth stays in a firm line. 

   Great, now he’s even more grumpy.

   But ever so slowly, he answers with a hint of amusement in his deep voice. “Depends on who’s askin’, I guess.” 

   The room grows silent as you look down at your dirt-covered boots mindlessly, nerves pounding through your skull. When you have the guts to look up again, his eyes are still fixed on you. And suddenly, the room grows ten degrees hotter. 

   You’re about to say something stupid, but he drops his gaze and tends to the tea. Apparently, it started to boil over when sweat pricked the back of your neck after he looked at you like there was fire licking his dark brown irises. 

   You wonder what it’d feel like to lick along his…

   “Here.” Joel interrupts your heated thoughts and hands you a ceramic mug, the warm tea steaming out of the top, surrounding your senses with a hint of citrus and honey. He nods to the table and demands you sit, his eyes swarming yours as he takes a place across from you, a blue mug of his own in his large hand, fingers curled over the sturdy handle.

   You carefully sit against the rickety wooden chair, gently blowing on your tea, cooling it down just like your body needs. Joel puts you on edge, and it’s terrifying that you feel this way about him. You should be very afraid of a man of his stature. He could kill a man in a split second but oddly, that just makes you feel at peace.

   An awkward silence falls over the room, the pelting rain against the window the only noise to save you from your racing thoughts. He saved you, took you in yet again, gave you a place to shelter from the rain, made you tea. You should thank him. You will thank him.

   Taking a generous sip from the citrus flavored tea, you clear your throat and meet his dark eyes with yours. “Umm, thank you, again.”

   “For what?” He sets his cup against the dusty table and shifts his eyes back to yours, something like surprise taking light.

   “For getting me out of the rain and for the tea.”

   He nods his head, and a faint smile shadows his plush mouth. “It was nothin’. Don’t mention it.” A slight grunt leaves his lips when he slides to the back of his chair, his tousled curls moving ever so faintly with the movement. Silver threads line his sandy hair, and you can’t help but to wonder what it’d feel like to run your fingers through it. It probably feels like silk. Smooth and velvety. 

   Rain continues pounding against the brick building, shades of muted greys lining the outside sky, night drawing near. Your eyes shift to the corner of the room, and you notice an old acoustic guitar with worn-out strings, still intact. 

   Leaning forward and nodding to the guitar, you say, “You play?”

   Joel whips his head around and huffs when his knee knocks against the leg of the wooden chair. “Mhm. Played a long time. Found it in an abandoned building out on a run. Figured it needed a new home.”

   Taking a second to assess his calm features, you pry just a little more, clearing the air. “Would you play something?”

   His jaw ticks, threading his eyebrows together in concentration. “You don’t wanna hear me play,” he laughs, shaking his tousled curls in return. 

   “Please?” you whisper gently, making puppy eyes at him, hoping the innocent look can convince him enough. 

   He looks at you intently, his eyes softening just the slightest, flexing his fingers like he’s trying to resist. He wants to resist but ultimately, he ends up giving in when you push him that much further with a small smile.

   “Oh, Christ. Fine. Why the hell not?” He grunts as he raises to his feet, heavy boots dragging over the thick flooring. Watching him grab the rustic guitar and bringing it back to his chair, he collapses and crosses one leg over his knee and positions the guitar securely in his arms. “Jus’ don’t give me a hard time. The guitar’s out of tune, and I’m out of practice,” he scoffs.

   “I would never,” you smile, feeling a blush creep along your cheeks as his eyes flick to yours for just a couple seconds, enough to make your stomach flutter from the contact. 

   He drops his head back down and hums, taking a moment to run his calloused fingers along the thin strings, dust blowing in the low lighting of the dining room. After a beat of silence, he starts strumming, a quiet melody flowing through the room, making a gentle lullaby that could put you to sleep.

   You can’t help but stare in awe as his thick fingers meticulously strum along the cords, each note more beautiful the longer he plays. He’s well experienced, probably played for years before the outbreak, and it makes a small smile curl against your mouth as you watch Joel lose himself to the song. 

   “Future Days” by Pearl Jam. It takes you seconds to recognize it. It’s a song your dad used to play you in his truck. A song that meant a lot to you because it reminded you of the good days. Days where there was no worrying about being killed or mauled by a clicker, only worrying about getting through the days that were filled with sunshine and laughter. Days that weren’t dark and ominous like today.

   But Joel? He seems to light up the room, even through his grumpy demeanor. He’s got a soft side. He’s got passion. And music was clearly a passion of his in a time before this. 

   You can’t describe it, but you love watching him. The slight pinch of his eyebrows, the crease of the deep wrinkles that map along his tanned forehead, and his eyes. Dark chocolate pits that seem to sparkle every once in a while. Like right now. They’re practically glowing and God, they look so beautiful. You wonder what it’s like to drown in those shades of brown. You might just float instead of sink. 

   “Future Days, yeah?” You let the words slip out, his eyes immediately shifting up to yours while his fingers still fluidly strum along the strings.

   His brows pinch together in speculation, his eyes flicking over you in deep assessment. Clearly surprised at the words that just came from your mouth. “You know Pearl Jam?”

   “Of course I do. They’re one of my favorites.”

   He lifts a brow quizzically and looks at you dumbfounded. “Didn’t take you to be the type to like rock music.”

   “Guess you don’t know enough about me to make that sort of judgment, huh?” you banter off, crossing your arms across your chest and giving him a snide smirk in return.

   “I reckon not…” He continues playing quietly, the soft melody floating through your ears like the rolling tides of the ocean, waves crashing through your chest. His deep brown eyes meet yours again and then he just stares, something forming in his glowing irises but yet still leery. He’s not sure about you, but he’s damn curious, that’s for sure. 

   But you’re not far off because you’re more than curious about him. You want to probe deep inside that locked up mind of his. Maybe take a key and pry it open so you can paint a pretty picture in there just so you can see what makes him tick. 

   After a beat of silence, except for the strumming of cords and the pelting of rain, Joel speaks again. “You ever play?”

   You shake your head and smile. “No, always wanted to, though. Never got the chance to before all hell broke loose in the world.”

   “Mmm. I see,” he hums, and then he goes silent again. His eyes still roam over you, maybe even trying to unlock a piece of your mind. That’s what it feels like when he stares at you like that. All deep and intense, like he just might swallow you whole one of these days.

   “You give lessons?” you ask quietly, hoping your question won’t send him pushing you out in the cold rain.

   “Depends on the day. Depends who’s askin.” That’s all you get from him. It’s neither a yes nor a no, but you have a feeling that tiny crack of a smile that’s blooming on his lips means it’s a yes. And you can’t help but feel all warm and tingly from the anticipation of those strong arms around you, guiding your fingers, lips brushing against your cheek, eliciting commands that you just have to obey. 

   Joel Miller is a menace on the streets of the QZ, but deep down he’s got a soft spot. And you think you just might find it. 

   Minutes go by, maybe even an hour. You don’t keep track. All you can focus on is the quiet strum of the guitar, his wandering brown eyes, his hidden smile that peeks out at just the right moments, the deft fingers that guide along the worn strings. You’re hypnotized by him, and you just can’t stop looking at the tall, broad man with pretty eyes. 

   It’s not until he stops playing and sets the guitar against the wall that you see the faint glow of the digital clock reflecting off the black stovetop. Your eyes grow wide, and it doesn’t take long for Joel to see what you’re staring at.

   “Shit. It’s after 7:45 p.m., past curfew,” he murmurs, pushing a hand roughly through his tousled curls like he fucked up big time.

   “Oh no. I completely lost track of time! I’m sorry, I should go.” You push yourself forcefully out of the wooden chair and rush toward the front door. Just as you’re trying to pry it open, Joel pushes hard against it and growls.

   “No!”

   “No?” you ask shocked, standing back to look into those focused dark eyes.

   He sighs and shakes his head. “Y’can’t be caught outside after curfew, remember? FEDRA would have your ass.”

   Taking a moment to compose yourself, you snake your arms across your chest and mewl. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

   Joel flicks his eyes toward the leather couch and back at you, weighing his options carefully, and then he sighs. “Y’can stay here for the night.”

   Dropping your arms in disbelief, a soft awareness spreads over your surprised face. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

   “‘M’sure. And don’t worry ‘bout it, trouble,” he smirks with the flash of his teeth. “Got a spot right over on that couch with your name written on it.”

   You chew your bottom lip and smile. “Guess thanks are in order then.”

   He laughs and stammers out, “Jus’ promise me to try to stay out of trouble, but I know that’s hard for you since your nickname is trouble. Ain’t that right?” A sly smirk spreads across his plush mouth, and an eyebrow ticks up slowly, like he’s calling you trouble all over again. You think it’s your new favorite word when it comes from his mouth.

   “Guess so,” you giggle, flipping your hair behind your shoulder.

   “Umm. I got a spare blanket and pillow y’can use. Let me go grab ‘em.” He leaves the room and leaves you waiting, slowly removing yourself from the entryway and making your way toward the tiny living room. The one with the sunken couch and white curtains that hang loosely around the glass window that leads toward the FEDRA infested streets. You’d rather not look out to see your prisoners that hold you captive in this city, so you divert your attention to the hanging portrait of a painted herd of wild horses that sits above the leather couch. It’s prettier than facing the outside world where nothing but turmoil and death lay. 

   “Here ya go. Hope this’ll do,” Joel says, handing you a fluffy white pillow and a soft beige blanket, warm enough to keep you cozy tonight.

   “Thanks, Joel. Really, I appreciate this more than you know.”

   “It’s really nothin’, darlin’. It’s the least I can do.”

   When your hand brushes against his rough skin, you freeze, gasping at the electric spark that zaps through your fingers. You think he feels it too because he jumps back and stares at the back of his hand, like he just got burned by your touch. 

   Gently laying down the blanket and pillow on the couch, you watch him carefully, mulling about what just happened. It was nothing but yet, it was everything. All it took was one touch, and he fucking set your entire skin on complete fire. 

   Breaking the thick tension, you help deter the awkward silence away. “How long have you been here in the QZ?”

   He looks back up hesitantly, and the flames in his eyes immediately die out. “Too damn long.”

   “How long?” you press.

   “Close to twenty years. Too fuckin’ long,” he scowls, something like anger contorting on the edges of his sculpted jawline. And you get a sense that this was never a home for him. It was just his own personal hell.

   “Oh. That is quite a long time… I can’t imagine being inside these walls that long,” you mumble, afraid to raise your voice beyond a whisper, not wanting to stir up a concoction of grief.

   Was that sadness beyond those deep brown eyes, golden flecks that reflect a hint of sorrow, tragedy, heartbreak? You’d like to know. Maybe one day you can scratch that surface, see what’s really under Joel Miller’s brick walls.

   “Exactly. I can’t imagine anyone bein’ here for even a year, but here we are. Jus’ some slaves to FEDRA. But I won’t let them boss me around. Hell, I boss them around most days,” he growls, a storm of violence in those pools of autumn darkness. “Fuckers can only make me do so much. One of these days I’m jus’ gonna snap.” A crack of thunder makes you nearly jump out of your skin, adding to Joel’s wrath that makes him fume and tick his jaw. He’s angry, as he should be. 

   “I see that. You really don’t take shit from anyone, do you?” You give him a small smile and surprisingly, he gives you one right back.

   “Maybe from Tess, but not anyone else if I can help it,” he chuckles, huffing out a long sigh.

   You shift your weight on the wood beneath your feet and drag your tongue along the roof of your mouth, preparing to ask something you probably shouldn’t. He’ll shut you down, maybe kick you out, have Tess knock some common sense into you. But you just can’t get the fascination and curiosity of what he does out of your head. Smuggling is dangerous, but wouldn’t you be in good hands with Joel? 

   Here goes nothing.

   “So, the smuggling. How’d you get in it?” you press gently.

   His eyebrows raise in response, and a quizzical expression bleeds down his face. “Why do you wanna know?”

   You shrug in response. “Because I’m curious.” 

   Keen eyes stare you down, and his jaw clenches at the words. “Well, you don’t jus’ pick that field. They place you there. If they think you’re good, strong, slick. If you can show ‘em you’re trustworthy enough, jus’ like a fuckin’ watchdog, then they’ll be breathin’ down your neck for you to smuggle for them.”

   “Sounds… interesting.”

   He chuckles, shaking his head in agitation. “Ain’t really interestin’ to be under watch of those lowlife scums they call soldiers. What’s interestin’ is gettin’ the fuck out of these gates. Bein’ out there in nature away from their hateful glares is what’s fuckin’ interestin’. You stay in these gates too long and you start to go a little insane.” He huffs, scuffing his weathered boot along the wooden floor in irritation, his eyes lit up like onyx flames.

   Clearly, he isn’t a fan of his job, but that doesn’t deter you from wanting to learn a thing or two from him. “Could you teach me?”

   His jaw goes slack, and his eyes widen at the question. “What kind of question is that? Didn’t you hear what I jus’ said?”

   “I heard you just fine. But I’m being serious, Joel! I want to learn!” you mewl, crossing your arms and jutting out your bottom lip like you’re pouting. You’re being ridiculous, but how else are you going to show him you really want this?

   “Nah, sweetheart. You’re too—”

   “I’m too what?” you spit, turning your head and pursing your lips tightly together.

   “You’re weak and you’re slow,” he boldly states, not even caring if he thinks that’ll hurt your feelings. He obviously doesn’t care.

   “Then teach me!” you stomp, throwing your arms down at your sides and balling your fists, just like a child who wants their way.

   “Teach you? Are you high?” he chortles, pressing his fingers against his temples in frustration.

   You take two steps forward and curl your fingers against the bottom of his denim button-up, desperate for a yes. But he pries them off and pushes your hand away. “Joel, please! I want to know how to defend myself, how to fight, how to survive. Show me how to do that.”

   He scoffs and shakes his head no. “You don’t know what you’re askin’, sweetheart.”

   “Yes, I do. Come on, please?” you beg, putting on the big puppy dog eyes, hoping that’ll be enough to persuade him.

   “I said no. It’s too dangerous,” he states with finality in his deep tone.

   “And this entire world isn’t?”

   Joel flinches and gives you a stern look. “Jus’ quit askin’.”

   You sigh loudly and groan. “Fine. If I find myself pinned against a wall by a soldier again because I couldn’t defend myself then I—” That seems to get his attention, and something changes in the light of his dark eyes. Something snaps, and he stands a little taller, his spine fully straight. 

   “Take out your knife,” he murmurs lowly, his husky voice almost coming off as a growl.

   “What?” Your eyes widen, and you’re shocked he’s saying yes in his own way.

   “Take. Out. Your. Knife.” He accentuates every syllable, snarling the words like he’s giving you an order. 

   “How do you know I still have the knife you gave me?” you question him, your tongue prodding at the inside of your cheek, eyes slightly narrowed in challenge. You shouldn’t challenge the Joel Miller, but it could be fun.

   “Take out the goddamn knife if you want to learn so badly. I know you have it. I can see it in the outline of your jeans.” He nods to the curve of the small knife in your front right pocket. Of course he’d notice that. He has the eyes of a panther. 

   “Oh, right,” you mutter, digging the balls of your feet into the floor, your fingers hovering over the pocket.

   “Well, we ain’t got all night, trouble. C’mon then.” He curls his fingers, demanding the knife, dark eyebrows furrowed together and his plush lips in a tight line.

   “What do you want me to do with it?” you ask, grabbing the end of the bronze pocket knife and pulling it free.

   “I want you to take it from me,” he states simply, like it’s as easy as writing your name in pencil.

   “Take it from you?” you scrunch your forehead together in question. That’d be too easy, wouldn’t it? 

   “That’s right. Take. It. C’mon now. Don’t be shy. Show me what you got,” he beckons, egging you on. Before you know what’s coming, he snatches it out of your curled hand, not even giving you a moment to flinch. 

   Shit, he’s fast. Just like lightning. 

   “Hey!” you shout, sweeping your arm out in front of you to try to steal it back. He steps back and wags the blade in your face, grinning a mile wide as he taunts you on.

   “Gonna have to try harder than that, trouble,” he teases, smirking devilishly your way as if this will make you snap.

   You shake your head and scoff, laughing under your breath. “You want trouble?”

   “Yeah, I really do,” he chuckles, tossing the knife in the air and snatching it back in a second. 

   “I’ll give you trouble, Miller,” you glare with narrowed eyes.

   His eyes darken with fire flecks glinting in his eyes, and he’s practically smoldering. He curls a thick finger his way and coaxes you forward. “Oh, I know. I’m counting on it,” he muses.

   And that does it. Those fucking heated brown eyes send you forward, nearly barreling into him, but he moves out of the way effortlessly, leaving you to run into the chipped counter. 

   “Nice try, sweetheart. You can be quicker than that though,” he jostles, tapping the edge of the bronze blade against his dark jeans.

   You huff and jump at him, curling your fingers around the end of his denim button-up just as he moves away. You lose your grip and tumble forward, almost tripping on the blue rug by the broken coffee table. When you get your feet underneath you again, you let out a frustrated growl. “Give it, Joel,” you demand.

   “Come. Get. It,” he bites out, flashing his teeth as a smug grin cakes his face. He’s having so much fun with this that it starts to get under your skin. One more wicked smirk and you bare your teeth and go lunging for him. 

   Just as you reach out and skim the blade, his body collides with yours, and then he pushes you against the peeling white wall, locking his arms tightly around you and caging you in, to the point where there’s nowhere to go. You’re stuck, trapped against his heavy weight, and you suddenly feel so vulnerable and breathless.

   “That’s not fair,” you choke out, your meek voice betraying you.

   “Not fair, huh?” he chuckles, slipping his hands closer to you, skimming the outer edges of your shoulders, the heat penetrating past the cotton of your layers as he slides down to the curve of your hips, pressing just enough to make heat rise like a tidal wave in your chest. 

   Oh, God. He’s so warm, and the way his broad chest feels against yours sends sparks shooting down your nerve endings. He’s so close that you can practically taste the sweat of his tanned skin. His lips probably taste like sunshine and sweet tea. And as you breathe him in, you swear you can almost feel him inside you, right where you need him most. 

   “You’re not playing fair,” you pout, mesmerized by the curl of his smirk, his mustache shadowing over his plush lips. 

   Whiskey. That’s it. That is what you’d taste if his lips decided to meet yours. And you want it, the rush of him kissing you. You need it desperately. You might just die if you can’t have just one taste. 

   He chuckles and twirls the edge of the blade around a loose strand of hair, making you gulp at the slow motions of the bronze weapon. “You think a soldier is gonna play fair with you? You think a raider is gonna go easy on ya? You think anyone is gonna let you off jus’ like that?”

   His dark eyes bore into yours, and there’s nothing playful about his gaze. Not this time because he’s trying to teach you this world isn’t kind, and you can’t always take the easy route out. “No…” you whisper, letting your eyes drop to the ground, right by his leather boots. 

   “No, they ain’t.” He tips the cool bronze end of the blade under your chin and pulls your gaze up to his, his eyes lighter and full of onyx shards that nearly have your heart in your throat. “Now try again.”

   You push him off you with a huff, banging your fists on his broad chest like that’ll do you any good. He barely flinches, only chuckles in amusement.

   “You think this is funny?” you scoff.

   “Maybe,” he laughs, tossing the knife back and forth while he stares at you with humor glinting in those dark eyes of his. 

   “Oh? What’s so funny, tough guy?” You reach out and swipe through the air, barely missing the handle of the knife. 

   Shit. 

   Another chuckle leaves his lips, and he just shakes his head in enjoyment. “You,” he answers plainly with a smile.

   “Me?!” you scream, trying your best not to lose control.

   “Yes, you. Think you’re so tough, but you’re jus’ a feisty little pussycat, ain’t ya?” he teases, throwing the knife out of reach while you work to slip your fingers around it, but it’s too far away.

   “I’m not a pussycat,” you seethe, your lips pursed in anger at the crude name.

   “Sure act like one. All teeth and paws, but you can’t even get a lick of a mark on me. Can you, pussycat?” The flicker of amber crosses his irises as he smirks at you with trouble written all over the creases around his eyes. He wants to get under your skin because he thinks this is fun. But all it’s doing is making you mad as hell. 

   “I’m not a cat,” you spit with venom on your tongue. “I can take you,” you challenge.

   A smirk curls over his mouth and his eyes lace with darkness. “Show me what you got then, trouble. Show me those sharp claws you got. Come. Get. Me. Pussycat.” 

   The taunting words out of his mouth start a fire in you, and then you snap from irritation. You go full force on him, punching your arms and clawing right and left, but he averts from your advances each time. 

   “Y’can do better than that, pussycat. Don’t fuckin’ hold back when I know that feral cat is deep inside you,” he taunts, his strong body zipping around the little space between the dining room and living room.

   “Give it,” you growl, eyes slitting with anger fuming from your body. 

   “Then take it,” he barks.

   You lash out again, Joel ducking and reflecting off each movement you give him. It’s like he knows exactly what move you’ll make next, like he knows everything before you can even think. And it’s frustrating when you know you have no chance at getting your knife back, unless he hands it over, which he won’t. Joel Miller doesn’t give up but neither do you. 

   Thunder cracks against the gloomy sky. And when he turns his head to look out the foggy window, you see your opening right there. Your body moves, your leg kicking out, trying to make him topple to the ground, but you’re too slow. His head whips around and instead of him falling, it’s you. 

   His foot catches the inside of your ankle, and he smiles as victory flashes across those dark brown eyes. You tumble down, your body free falling for only a second until you’re met with the harsh kitchen table colliding against your back. You grunt, pain radiating through every bone in your body like you just got knocked off a horse. 

   Joel’s broad body crawls on top of you, his hands snaking their way around your wrists and pinning them high above your head, to where you can’t move. The bronze knife falls to the table with a loud clatter, but you can’t wiggle free to get it. You’re completely and utterly stuck because Joel’s entire weight is pressed firmly against yours.

   Your eyes widen into large domes, your mouth suddenly as dry as a desert because this beast of a man is hovering over you, and it shouldn’t be erotic at all, but it’s hot as hell. You’re equally terrified and turned on at the same time. 

   “Like I said, darlin’. Slow and weak. Gonna have to work on that, won’t we? Pussycat.” A devilish smirk curls against his lips, and his eyes are lit with fire. The kind that’s dangerous and tempting, that’ll maybe burn you alive.

   You try your best to kick him where it’ll hurt, but he pins your leg down with his knee, glueing you in place to his large body. “I’m not a cat,” you snarl, bucking your hips up, but you’re only met with the leather of his belt and something that feels a lot like his cock hardening. You gulp at the realization and cower back down.

   “Maybe not. But you could be. All cute and feisty tryin’ to fight. Shit, might jus’ be a new nickname for you. But I think trouble fits you better,” he smirks proudly at the name he branded just for you.

   “You think I’m… cute?”

   His jaw slackens and the smug smirk is gone in a flash. Maybe he didn’t realize what he was doing, but he was definitely flirting with you. And maybe you invited that, kept it going, but the way he’s looking at you all soft and lost, just like a homesick puppy, is almost swoon-worthy.

   “No. I uhhh… that’s not what I was tryin’ to say,” he stutters, licking his bottom lip slowly as his eyes swirl with hesitation.

   “But you just said…”

   “Enough. I was jus’ tryin’ to teach you a lesson. That’s all.”

   “I see…” A hint of a smile meets your lips because a red blush stains his cheeks at the question. He’s flustered, just like you are.

   His tight grip doesn’t let up on your wrists, his broad body still laying on top of yours, hovering like a buzzing bee, his heart racing a mile an hour. You know because his fast breaths are mixing with yours as thick tension fills the air like the fog clouding the outside of the living room window.

   His eyes flick down to your lips, his golden flecked irises swirling with something like desire. Maybe he wants to kiss you. You think you’d let him because the thought of having his plush lips melded to yours makes butterflies flit through your stomach and other places you don’t want to think about. 

   He shifts his eyes back to yours, and your body hums with need. Those syrupy brown eyes could bring you down to your knees. God, they’re so beautiful under the dim light of the dining room, making them look like molten lava and painted sunsets on the beach. You could just drown in them if he’d let you. 

   He’s struggling, his body tight and his breath ragged, fighting something he doesn’t understand. You almost think he’ll kiss you by the way his eyes flick back and forth undecidedly. Joel Miller may not be weak, but he’s got something in that thick head of his that’s weak for you. 

   “Joel?” you whisper, watching the way his eyes widen when they stare waveringly at your mouth.

   His jaw clenches into a tight fist and then he’s climbing off you, freeing your wrists from their restraints, leaving you feeling empty and breathless with a need that thirsts to be quenched. 

   “I uhhh, got a shower. Y’can use it if you want,” he murmurs quickly, like he’s in a hurry to get away from the heat of the room because it’s stifling in this moment. And the way he was looking at you just a few seconds ago? It was like he wanted you. And maybe he does. Maybe, just maybe…

   “Ummm, yeah. Thanks,” you mumble, collecting your bearings as you smooth your shirt out, the inside of your thighs burning with desire. Joel lit a spark in you, and it set your core ablaze like fire.

   “Towels are in the first cabinet on the left. Jus’ help yourself.” He threads his fingers through his disheveled hair, nervously pulling at the strands like he’s in pain, like he’s fighting something.

   “Joel?” you ask again, calling his name like it’s the only name you know.

   “Yeah?” His voice is deep, clipped, like he wants to run far far away from you.

   “So. Does this mean you’ll teach me?” 

   His eyes linger on you for just a second too long, and the tick in his jaw tightens as he thinks it through. Eventually, he nods with a tight-lipped smile. “Consider that your first lesson. We’ll go again tomorrow.”

   “Really?” A large smile covers your face, and your eyes light up with glee.

   “Mhm. Don’t make me regret it. Goodnight, trouble.” He disappears through the thresholds of his room, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall, waiting for what? Something, but his door stays shut tight.

   You sigh and make your way into the bathroom, flipping on the lights. It’s a simple layout. Cracked tiles in the shower, a tan shower curtain, a small ceramic sink with a fading countertop, stained white walls with small water leak marks on top of the ceiling, a rugged blue mat in front of the tub. Slightly better than your rundown bathroom. 

   After finding a folded white towel in the cabinet and turning the faucet of the shower, you strip your worn clothes and step in, letting the grime and sweat wash down the drain in a swirl of sudsy soap. It feels weird being in Joel’s shower, but you’re grateful anyways. He could’ve said no, could’ve kicked you out, but he didn’t. He did the unspeakable. 

   He let you stay. 

   After relaxing for several minutes under the warm spray of the shower head, you cut the water and dry off, squeezing all the leftover water droplets from your clean hair, brushing your fingers through the tangled mess. 

   When you take a step out of the shower and onto the now damp rug, you freeze. There, right on the edge of the counter, is a folded up navy colored t-shirt that wasn’t there before your shower. Your eyebrows pinch together, questions rolling through your wide eyes. You didn’t hear him open the door, not when you were under the noisy shower head. 

   As you pick it up, you see it’s long enough to fall past your knees, and it’s soft and smells like Joel. A hint of pinewood and smoke lathering in the cotton of the material. You inhale his scent, breathing deeply in before you slip it over your head, the cool cotton molding to your body like a weighted blanket. All warm and cozy and his. 

   But why did he leave this for you? He could’ve left you to throw on your sweat-drenched clothes from earlier, could’ve given you some old ratty thing. But he didn’t. 

   Shaking your head in disbelief, you let the door click open with the twist of the doorknob and step out, your eyes falling on his closed door like you could walk right through it, breaking every barrier down he had built against him. But instead, you decide to retreat to the couch and snuggle into the thick blanket, the worn leather sticking to your clean skin, your head hitting the pillow in just the right spot.

   Visions of Joel flood through your mind the moment you close your eyes, remembering the intense knife lesson, his broad body hovering over yours, his dark eyes staring directly into your soul, tempting you to mold your lips to his. He wanted to kiss you, at least you think. And maybe you should’ve helped him take that leap, but you didn’t. And that’s your downfall you’ll always regret. 

   Sighing deep against the fluffy pillow, you toss and turn until you fall asleep. The soft pitter patter of the rain lulling you into a deep sleep after a brutal day in the heat. The last thing you see before you slip into darkness is the color of mahogany eyes haunting your mind.

   Joel tosses and turns, letting the slick sheets wrap around his legs, groaning against the mixed feelings that swirl around his conflicted mind. You. You’re the reason he can’t sleep or think straight. All he sees are the flashes of your pretty eyes, eyelashes batting against the deep blush that painted your cheeks crimson when he was hovering over you on the kitchen table, your wrists constricted around his fingers, just a breath away from his mouth meeting your glossy lips.

   He groans and lets the palms of his hands dig into the socket of his eyes, muttering curses under his breath. He doesn’t get feelings, doesn’t get wrapped around pretty girls’ fingers, but you have him wrapped tight like a noose around his neck, one step away from tipping over the edge to his death. 

   He can’t help himself, can’t fight off the way he wants you so fucking badly that he can hardly stand it. He shouldn’t want you, but here he is like a whiny dog begging for attention. He wants you to want him like he wants you. And maybe you already do. He doesn’t fucking know anymore.

   He should’ve never saved you from Seth, but he’d never forgive himself if he let Seth lay one more finger on you. And then he invited you inside to shield you from the rain, offered to let you stay, kept you past curfew when he knew this would happen. He should’ve sent you off to Tess’s apartment, but he didn’t. He didn’t do one goddamn thing that he should’ve. 

   And now you’re trapped like a fly under his watch. Because now… he’s never going to let another man touch you. Not under his radar. Not ever. Unless it’s him…

   It’s only a few steps from his bedroom to the couch, would only take a second to brush his palm down your cheek, let his mouth envelop yours, only a breath away from wrapping you so tightly around his tired body that you’ll never be able to let go.

   He’s being selfish, but he can’t help it. He fucking wants you, but only time will tell if he’ll fully give in to what he truly needs.

   You…

   A loud clap of thunder stirs you from your deep sleep, nearly sending you tumbling off the edge of the sunken leather couch. Another big boom explodes across the dark night sky and has you tossing the blanket aside. Your stiff body shakes from the thrashing storm as you push yourself off the faded couch, rubbing the sleep from your tired eyes. 

   You pull back the torn curtain and fix your eyes on the blackness of the storm, large lightning strikes splitting across the sky, reflecting off the foggy glass. Your slow breaths fill the room, your finger sliding down the windowpane, condensation dripping down the clear glass. You never were a huge fan of thunderstorms, unless they were calm. Slow, gentle rain storms were always something you loved but this? Well, it certainly had you on edge. 

   You spend the next few minutes pacing across the wooden floors, taking caution not to be too loud, not wanting to wake Joel up. You can’t sleep, can’t process that you’re in his apartment, in his shirt. 

   God, you really hope he doesn’t walk through that closed door because the only thing you’re wearing right now is his shirt and your lacy panties. Even though the length of the shirt covers your thighs, you still feel completely vulnerable and bare. 

   Chewing the edges of your long nails, you pace back and forth nervously against the wooden floorboards, careful not to step on a creaky spot. The thunder claps through the sky, startling you once again. You jump back with a jolt and hit the side of the coffee table, catching yourself from falling face down to the floor. But before that happens, you step on a particularly noisy wooden plank and an ear-splitting groan carries through the entirety of the room, alarming anyone who’s mere feet away of your mistake. 

   Shit.

   And in less than ten seconds, Joel’s door pops open with a squeak and out slips Joel. Your eyes widen at the picturesque view that stands in front of you. You gulp and step back, taking in the broadness of his entire body, like it was being displayed in a fucking art gallery. 

   His tousled curls are disheveled and pushed back, making his deep brown eyes somehow brighter, like the midnight moon. A short sleeved white t-shirt clings to his bulky arms, the large veins cascading and spidering down the entirety of his tanned arms. His grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, one hand shoved deep inside his pocket, the other running smoothly through his greying locks. 

   You’d be lying to yourself if you said you felt nothing for him because right now, your heart is thundering loudly in your chest just by standing in his presence, wearing his t-shirt. And suddenly, you feel exposed and completely naked. 

   “Thought I heard something in here. You alright?” he asks carefully, eyes locking like a magnet with yours.

   You gulp and push a lock of hair behind your ear nervously. “I’m fine. Just the storm woke me up, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I’m sorry if I woke you, I didn’t mean to,” you press, fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of his shirt that clings like static to your clammy skin. 

   He holds out a palm to silence you, but he only shakes his head and laughs quietly. The sound reverberates down your body like music. “S’alright, darlin’. Didn’t wake me up. Wasn’t having much luck sleepin’ anyways.”

   “Oh, I see.” Your hands clamp together behind your back in a nervous fit of jitters, your mouth suddenly as dry as a desert. 

   Why the fuck are you so nervous? He’s just a guy, but then again he’s not. He’s Joel Miller, and there’s nothing remotely average about him. 

   “The couch comfortable enough? I know it ain’t much, but it’s the best I got,” he drawls, flexing his bicep each time he runs his thick fingers through his soft curls, making you nearly pant at the sight of the ripped muscles pulling at the edges of his t-shirt. 

   “It’s perfect, Joel. Seriously, you didn’t have to let me stay.”

   He chuckles and sighs slowly. “Like I said, it’s no trouble.”

   “Thank you.”

   Shaking his head slowly, he replies, “Gotta stop thanking me, sweetheart.”

   “And for letting me shower and borrow your shirt. You really didn’t have to.” Your fingers pick at the frayed edges of the t-shirt, your eyes widening when you see his dark eyes roam the expanse of your body, flicking his gaze up and down your legs at an extremely slow pace, your cheeks burning with redness seeping in. 

   You don’t know why, but his smoldering stare sets your core completely on fire. 

   “Again, don’t mention it. And uhhh… it looks better on you.” You nearly choke on the words that just slipped free from his lips, like it was all casual and not a compliment. He basically just told you how good you look in his clothes. And that in itself makes your insides smother with need. 

   “You didn’t have to, you know,” you laugh, eyes peeling to the floor, a nervous flutter kicking inside your chest. 

   “But I really did…”

   Your eyes snap back up to his, tension forming like the thick fog that covers the windows. And suddenly, the room feels much hotter than it should be. Almost like a suffocating sauna.

   He takes a step forward, the floorboards creaking beneath him, and then he takes another, one step closer to you. His eyes flick down your legs once more, his golden brown irises glistening with something like mischief and fire igniting with every glimpse of your skin. 

   The scent of pine cones and autumn permeate throughout the still air, igniting your heightened senses, kicking them into overdrive the closer he gets to you. His smoldering eyes rake over your body, a smug smile tugging at his plush lips, and there’s trouble written all over that smug look. The kind of trouble you wouldn’t mind falling into. 

   Thunder crashes outside, making you jump at the sudden explosion of the raging storm, putting you on edge even more than when Joel walked into the room.

    “You scared of storms?” he asks quietly, eyeing you closely, eyes roaming down your bare legs in slow motion, lurching your heart in your throat.

   “No,” you barely mouth, gulping as you watch his hand rake down his patchy beard slowly, his eyes devouring your skin. Fire burns hot in your core the longer you watch him. Maybe he’ll pounce, put the fire out himself or make it burn ten times hotter.

   “You sure ‘bout that?” He smirks, lighting the fire into a full on inferno. You’re burning.

   Another step closer, thunder vibrating in the dark sky behind you, his breath fanning warmly across your face, conjuring feelings that shouldn’t even be blooming in the first place.

   “I said I’m not scared,” you mutter courageously, holding your breath, scared of what you might smell if he takes one step closer.

   “Then why are ya shakin’?” He takes two more slow steps toward you, prowling like a starving wolf, ready to sink his sharp teeth into the side of your neck. 

   “I’m not.” But that’s a damn lie. You might as well be shaking the entire floor with the way you’re shuddering violently in place.

   Another step and then he’s toe to toe with you, the smell of mahogany and pine trees invading your body, making you want to just melt into the fragrance of his scent. 

   He smells like honeydew and a warm summer’s day. And you’re fucking addicted.

   “You are. Fuckin’ tremblin’, sweetheart.” You audibly gasp when he brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, lingering his fingers slowly down your jawline, pulling out need and yearning like you’re dying for just a drop of his taste, his tongue.

   “I’m not scared of the storm…” you answer calmly, your voice giving away with how badly you need him. 

   God, you want him. Almost as badly as you want to be out of the QZ.

   “Then what? You afraid of me?” He cups your chin and lifts your eyes up to his, pulling out a sound that almost sounds like a moan. He chuckles at that. You’re so embarrassed.

   “No…” you murmur, your voice deceiving you once again. 

   “Well, ya should be,” he smiles, his honey eyes turning into deep black pits, making you want to drown in his dark pools of lust. 

   “Why’s that?” you whisper, voice cracking when his other hand pulls you by the waist, your body flush with his broad chest.

   “‘Cause you scare the hell out of me,” he states with a sharpness to his deep timbre. 

   “But I didn’t do anything…” you mewl, too scared to back up, not wanting to break the thick tension that permeates like fire around the room.

   Another crack of thunder makes you jump, but he only pulls you tighter, his warmth coursing through your entire body. 

   “‘Course you did. Comin’ around here with those big, beautiful eyes. Tryin’ to sweeten up my life. Causin’ a bunch of ruckus and trouble. Who gave you the right, huh?” he asks accusingly; his voice soft but ravenous.  

   Your eyes widen at the meaning of his words. He called you beautiful. “Joel… I’m not trying to...”

   “Ya are. And I won’t stand for it. Won’t stand a goddamn second of it. Now c’mere and fix the mess you started.” 

   Before you can say anything, he cups the back of your neck and pulls your mouth to his. He crashes his lips desperately against yours, knocking the breath clear out of your lungs. It’s not soft or slow, it’s reckless and electrifying as you match his energy and kiss him in the same starving-like way. 

   You part your lips and let him slot in. His tongue dances wildly with yours, a sultry tango that spins out of control. You wrap your arms tightly around the back of his neck and he picks you up and wraps your legs around his hips, pinning you against the crumbling walls while you moan desperately into his mouth. 

   He takes his lips off yours for just a breath, enough to pant out a series of serenaded words. “Christ, you taste better than a cold glass of whiskey. Might have to brand you as my new favorite flavor, trouble.” He clashes his mouth back on yours, moans bleeding into each other like the whiskey that burns through his bloodstream.

   “Joel, need—” you whine between thunderous kisses.

   “Know what you need, sweetheart. Don’t worry. Gonna take real good care of ya, babygirl.” You moan at the name babygirl and let him whisk you away to his bedroom. 

   The door crashes against the wall as he barrels through the room, throwing you on his large bed, your fingers brushing against the cool sheets. He hovers over your body, eyes marinated in complete darkness, dying to sink his teeth in your skin.

   “You look mighty pretty in my t-shirt, sweetheart. But you’re gonna look even better when you’re completely naked in my bed.” You pant as he rips the t-shirt over your head, tossing it on the floor in a heap, leaving you in nothing but your lacy panties that are completely ruined. 

   “Jesus Christ,” he groans, taking his large hand and slowly dragging his fingertips down your body, slowly making his way between your breasts, down to the waistband of your panties. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” 

   You buck your hips up to try to get friction, and he just chuckles as he leans over and hovers his large body over yours, slipping his white t-shirt off until his hairy, bare chest is flush with your skin, igniting your nerve endings like the lightning that strikes the dark sky outside. 

   His mouth suctions to your collarbone, sliding up to ravish your neck, sucking and biting till you pant his name out, his fingertips trailing over your core. You suck in a breath when he takes his thumb and slides it between your clothed folds, rubbing light circles over your clit. 

   “J—Joel,” you gasp, a fresh wave of slick covering the lace with the friction he’s giving you.

   “S’that right, darlin’? Haven’t even gotten these off you, and you’re already fuckin’ drippin’ for me,” he smirks, teasing his fingers beneath your waistband, making you practically beg with your wide eyes and open mouth. 

   “T—take them off, please,” you whine, thrashing beneath his hold, begging for more. You want more, need more. 

   “That what you want?” he smirks, lust-filled eyes black as midnight, feasting those deep pits right on you, threatening to swallow you whole.

   “Y—yes,” you choke out, gulping when he brushes over your clit again, eliciting more slick in your lace. 

   He smirks devilishly up at you while he drops to his knees on the rickety floor, pulling you to the edge of the bed. You gasp when he takes his time pulling your panties down, savoring your naked body under the moonlight, licking his lips when he sees you bare and writhing for him, your slick reflecting in his glassy irises. 

   “Goddamn it. You’re so wet for me, sweetheart. C’mere.” He gives you no time to comment back until his large tongue is flat against your slick core, slowly licking a thick strip up the entirety of you. 

   “Ohhh,” you moan while he meticulously circles your puffy bundle of nerves, eyes blown wide at the mere bliss he’s giving you. 

   “Taste so fuckin’ good. Like sweet, sticky honey. Fuck.” He growls as he slips two thick fingers inside your dripping hole, caking his fingers in slick while he makes out with your puffy clit.

   You thread your fingers through his tousled curls, hear him groan as you rake your fingernails against the crown of his head. And when he hits that spot, you arch your back as he repeatedly curls his fingers against the spongy, sweet spot inside that you can never reach yourself. Your eyes roll back into your head, your body humming with electricity. And soon you’re every single lightning strike that flashes in the cold, rainy night. He’s the thunder that crashes through your veins, bringing you to life with every flick of his tongue and motion of his experienced fingers. 

   You’re right on the edge of coming undone, your hips writhing beneath him, slick covering his thick beard. The sight makes you want to spill right there just by looking at the glistening slick sticking to his beard, his mustache, his lips. And God, you fucking love the sight of him covered in you. 

   “Joel, I’m gonna—”

   “C’mon, baby. Come for me. Cover me, spill for me. Wanna taste jus’ what I do to you,” he growls, releasing his fingers and filling you with his tongue instead. He tongue fucks you fast and hard, making you snap as the feeling takes you over the edge.

   “Joellll—” you cry out, feeling the white-hot heat slide down your body, releasing a flood of arousal and slick against his mouth, covering him in your orgasm. He slowly laps it up like it’s the breath of life, consuming all of you until there’s nothing left between your thighs except his thick fingers and warm tongue. And then you’re nothing more than the glistening raindrops that pelt the side of the bedroom window softly. 

   “That’s my good girl,” he praises, crawling over you, crowding his sweat-covered body with your own, slowly lifting your legs over his shoulders. You have no argument, can barely speak, but you need him like you need air to breathe. 

   “Joel—need you. Need you to…” He stops you right there, smirking when he starts to pull his grey sweatpants lower. Dark coarse hairs appear, and you choke on a gasp when you feel just how hard and big he is against your thigh. 

   “Shh. Save your breath, trouble. Gonna need it for what I’m about to do to you next.” He smirks like the handsome devil he is, his pupils blown as he stares at you like his next meal. 

   His grey sweatpants and black boxers fall to the floor, and your mouth drops open as his thick, hard cock springs free against his soft tummy. He’s massive. Deep veins twist around the underside of his cock, his tip angry, red, and leaking precum. He’s so fucking beautiful from his glowing dark eyes, to his disheveled hair, to his broad body, and to his giant cock. 

   He’s all just so fucking perfect, and you want him to be yours. 

   “You gonna keep starin’ with your mouth wide open, sweetheart?” he teases, taking his tip and smothering it over your folds, collecting more slick as you groan beneath his touch.

   “Maybe,” you giggle, grinding your pussy against his tip, begging him to take you. 

   “You want this, sweetheart? Want me?” he asks softly, staring down at you with vibrant chocolate eyes, golden flecks glittering bright under the moonlight from the window. 

   “Yes, want you, Joel. Please, take me. I’m yours.”

   He smiles  and then he crashes his lips down on yours, smothering you in him. He pushes inside you slowly, stretching you out like you’ve never been stretched, moaning into his open mouth as he starts to rock back and forth, thrusting as deep as he can go inside you until you feel him bottom out.

   Pretty soon Joel’s matching your moans, an exchange of pleasure coursing through your bloodstreams. He feels like heaven each time he claims you with his cock, rutting deeper and deeper until you can feel him everywhere inside you. It’s a euphoric bliss, thunder crashing outside the window, lightning tearing through your veins.

   Joel Joel Joel. He’s all you feel, all you see, all you hear. He’s everything all at once. The missing piece you’ve desperately been searching for your entire life.

   “You feel so perfect, sweetheart. Takin’ me so well. Want you to come again. Come for me, baby,” he coos, teeth clenching with every deep thrust he gives you.

   “Ohh,” you moan when he takes the pad of his thumb and starts circling your puffy clit, putting just the right amount of pressure where you feel it the most. 

   “Come on my cock, babygirl. Let me feel you. Fuck. Squeezin’ me so tight,” he grits out, your walls clenching tight around his thick length. You scream out his name as you come undone around him, your release drenching his cock as you squeeze him. 

   “Atta fuckin’ girl,” he praises, his dark eyebrows threading together as he concentrates to hold on. “Where do you want me, baby? Not gonna last much—longer,” he seethes, teeth clenched from his own building release.

   “Inside me,” you whine out, panting.

   He speeds up his thrusts faster and faster, and then he spills his warm seed inside you, both of your moans crescendoing together like a symphony of rolling thunder. He takes his time slipping out of you, dragging his release between your thighs. He grabs a towel from the bathroom and cleans you up, then pulls you toward the head of the bed until both of you are collapsed, panting breaths and glossy eyes staring back at one another.

   You both just lay there for minutes, bolts of lightning lighting up his beautiful, sweat-covered skin, igniting fire in his onyx eyes. He almost looks ethereal, so flawless that no one could touch him. But you touched him, and he lit you up like a thousand galaxies colliding straight into your heart. 

   Another moment passes and then he’s softly tracing the pads of his calloused fingertips across your cheek, mapping lines that connect right back to him. 

   “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers out, brushing a loose strand behind your ear as softly as the rain that patters lightly against the window. 

   “You think so?” you ask quietly, eyes wide and mouth dropped open the moment the word beautiful slipped off his tongue.

   He takes the pad of his thumb and runs it along your bottom lip, gently humming in response. “Yes, sweetheart. So beautiful,” he repeats, the words sounding like melodic music to your ears.

   “Joel, I—like you,” you say bravely, your fingers tracing the coarse hair on his broad chest.

   “And I like you. A lot,” he smiles, eyes melting into a warm, syrupy color. One you want to drown in.

   “Enough to be mine?” you whisper out meekly, afraid of what he’ll say.

   “Sweetheart… I’ve wanted you from the moment I set eyes on you. Wanted you the minute you stepped foot into my apartment that first time. Wanted you the second those beautiful eyes of yours tore open my soul.” His soft brown eyes are tearing your walls down, and you’re stunned in awe.

   “You… want me?” you breathe out, breathless.

   “Oh, sweetheart,” he chuckles, tracing heart shapes on your skin. “There’s not a second I don’t want you. You’re mine. Now c’mere.” He pulls you to him, his lips colliding with yours, and then you slip into the softness of him, tangling your body with his until you’re one.

   When the kiss ends, he keeps you against his warm chest, his hand running lazily through your hair, his lips brushing against your forehead. You get lost in his warmth, in his musk, in his woodsy scent that you revel in. He’s everywhere, surrounding you, melding into your soul. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

   You’re falling hard, fast, but he’ll catch you. Every brush against your skin just solidifies that, his lips making it official. You’re mine. His deep timbre lingers in your mind, and then you’re falling into a deep sleep in his arms while the rain soothes you into bliss.

[feefivefoe]

Please can we hear your thoughts on what Bruce does/thinks when being confronted with his neglect by Jason (and maybe the other boys too)??

Thank you, and have a nice day!

Bruce is the one I have the hardest time characterizing tbh.

I think his first reaction would be denial? He hasn't been the best father, but even he wouldn't go as far as to forget his own chi...

Oh my god he doesn't know how old you are. You were...you were older than Tim but younger than Dick, he thinks.

Wait.

When was your birthday?

Did he ever give you a birthday party?

What wing of the manor did you sleep in?

Where were you right now?

Unlike Tim who starts the unofficial search, Bruce heads right to the batcave to find your official records. Social security number. If you worked anywhere or has anyplace legal to stay, you'd have to input that. He's ashamed he has to go through a government database to find it, rather than simply knowing it.

And just like Tim, he finds nothing. Which scares him beyond belief. Had he lost you already? Did he actually forget about one of his children and then unknowingly replace them? Was he actually guilty of what Jason had accused him of years ago, albeit to a different child?

In reality, you're living solely through cash. Plenty of individuals are eager to avoid paying all their taxes, and are thrilled to accept cash only payments on your rent, or paycheck. Legally, you haven't done anything since graduating high school.

Not necessarily hiding from them, per say, as you don't think they'd go looking, but just because you don't want to be known as a Wayne.

And god, there is so much guilt, fear, and anguish rolling around inside that man. He needs to find out where you are, and if you're okay, and if anybody had done anything to you.

He swears if they have, he'll rip the motherfucker to pieces-

No. That isn't going to help. So instead he checks every reported death within not only Gotham, but any city within a 50 mile radius. For the last 10 years.

As well hidden as you are, nobody can hide from Batman while he's concentrating every effort to find you.

He's hesitant to bring you home at first. How can he call himself your father after forgetting you for your whole time living with him? But his regard for your safety eventually wins out. Until then, you just get a concerning amount of money just...stashed in your apartment??? What the fuck??????

Dick also feels a lot of guilt, but he somewhat subconsciously channels that into abundant overeagerness. Instead of focusing on how many important moments he missed...that he can never get back with his first baby sibling...

...ah, he should focus on all the memories you can make going forward! He has to take you to all his favorite spots, and you take him to yours!

What interests do you have? Are you a go to the aquarium person? Family movie night? Spa night? Just having fun with everyone at dinner? He has to do these things with you! And then you'll be his family again, and he'll love you, and you'll love him-

In spirit, he shows up outside your door like Damian. But he is self aware enough to know that'd freak you out, so instead he 'coincidentally' shows up at your work...in the bad side of town...and his attitude definitely gives away it was planned.

He messes up your "I'm a nobody like all of you" persona you'd spent years cultivating, and by the time he leaves, all your coworkers and customers know that you're Dick Grayson's sibling...which means Bruce Wayne's child, but he likes saying you're related to him more.

Tim doesn't give a fuck at first, like I established. It really is a game to see if he can find you before anybody else does. When he loses that to Bruce (damn it-), he decides he'll just know you BETTER than the others to win.

So he starts literally stalking you and making a psyche profile, like you're a case rather than his sibling. Any interest you've ever listed in your social media is cross checked with any belongings of yours. Merch or posters? Songs you listen to? Any of that content, he consumes as well. He's going to need conversation topics with you.

I'm not entirely sure if he actually loves you as family, or if you're just a hyperfixation that's consistently buzzing at his brain. It's like he wants to dissect, then digest you. Pick you apart piece by piece so he sees every last skin cell, then make that information a part of him

Though, he'd claim it's the former. To him, there's no discernable difference.

He's the one who meets you at your hobbies. Claims an online friend brought it up, but hey, it's crazy to see you again!

Even though it's your first conversation...maybe ever?

He's chatting to you like you haven't been estranged your whole life.

And the look in the eye is...a little unnerving.

[little-diable]

Working for the devil - Tommy Shelby (smut)

It's been a while, huh. Anyway, I'm back with another Tommy fic, finally. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Reader has been working for Tommy for years, but every now and then it's time for some negotiations about her worth, just pwp really

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, power play, undefined relationship

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (2k words)

“50? That’s more than last month.” Arthur’s voice filled the night, louder than both had anticipated. Her glare forced his eyes away from her features, rather focusing on the shovel she leaned against.

“The risk of being caught is getting higher, it has to be worth it.” A smirk played on her lips, fuelled by the uneasiness the older Shelby brother emenated. She hadn’t been surprised to see him instead of the others, knowing that he was the one that supposedly feared her the least, and yet she couldn’t help but silently hope to see a certain pair of piercing blue eyes again. 

“I have to talk about that with the others, I’ll be back in an hour.” She didn’t get a chance to protest, could only watch the man be swallowed by darkness once again. Silence wrapped itself around (y/n) as she sat down on the bench near the entrance of the cemetery. Her eyes wandered up to the sky to count the stars, getting lost in her thoughts while the minutes kept fading by, slowly turning into a full hour.

Only the sound of boots meeting the gravel ground managed to rip her out of her trance, having to shake her aching neck before rising back to her feet. (Y/n)’s eyes met the pair of blue ones she had been hoping to see, unable to bite down her growing smile, „It‘s good to see you again, Tommy.“

"50, (y/n)? I thought we had a deal.” She allowed herself to study the handsome man for a moment, watching the blue smoke engulf him as he exhaled his drag. The cigarette kept burning, shedding some light onto their surroundings. 

“We did until I was arrested last month and you didn’t come to my help like our deal promised. Deal’s off the table, Shelby, have to make a new one, and that one will cost you some more.” The grin tugging on her lips drew a humourless chuckle out of Tommy, a sound that was swallowed by his movements as he pointed his pistol at her forehead. The sight drew another laugh out of (y/n) while she shook her head at the man she had known for years.

“Should I sink to my knees? Add some drama to your play?” Her tongue kissed her teeth as Tommy cocked his gun, staring at (y/n) as death clearly whispered to him, urging him on to kill her. “I have to say, I’m almost disappointed, is this the price I have to pay for doing all your dirty work?”

“I don’t have time for games, (y/n). You’re not of high value to me, you’re just my property, I can do with you as I like.” Another chuckle, another impatient drag of his cigarette. Life was slipping right through her fingers and yet (y/n) couldn’t find it in herself to care. She had always known that her dirty work would eventually force her to end up like this, facing a gun while tainting the one who had pushed her into her misery all those years ago.

“Perhaps I should have joined the brothel all those years ago instead of working for you, your reasons for a visit would have been more pleasurable than this.” The cigarette was thrown to the ground, stumped out by his shoe. 

“Is this what you want? A fuck?” She couldn’t deny the attraction she had for Tommy, the draw she hadn’t been able to get rid of ever since meeting him. He held some special kind of magic over the girl who had worked for him since she had been a mere teenage girl, preferring to be close to the devil himself than living on the street without a safe place nearby. A draw he had always seemed to ignore while it had swallowed her wholly. 

“I’d certainly prefer it over being shot by you.” A beat passed, then another before the gun was dropped from her forehead only for (y/n) to face his emotionless features. Tommy’s gloved hand found her throat, pulling her in for a teeth-clashing kiss that left (y/n) choking on her gasp. The kiss was heated, fuelled by desperation and anger, emotions she had never linked with Tommy Shelby but which were now more prominent than ever before. 

“Swap the bodies, bring me the skull and then come find me.” He left her standing in the dark, heavily panting with a racing heart. And with one last laugh clawing through (y/n), she slowly turned towards the graves, set on getting another job over and done with. 

……

“Here, the skull.” Dirt clung to every part of her body, from her boots to her hair. She had instantly found her way back to Tommy after the job had been done, entering the mansion without waiting for another command. A trail of soil and mud had been left behind on the floor, painting her walk from his entrance hall to his study. 

“Go wash up, I’ll find you something to wear.” (Y/n) didn’t ponder over his words, happily grasping the opportunity to clean herself up in a space that was much nicer than hers ever would be. She didn’t spare her reflection a single glance as she cleaned herself, stripping out of her dirty clothes with a happy sigh. 

The sound of Tommy knocking on the door to push a shirt into her direction, without looking at her, interrupted (y/n)’s well cherished silence. She tugged the shirt over her wet hair, letting it cover most parts of her clean body with a smile. It smelled like him, engulfing her in the scent that hadn’t changed over the past years. A comforting sensation that left her heart skipping beats while she found her way back to Tommy. 

“Where’s my payment?” He watched her from his chair, smoking another cigarette while his eyes wandered up and down her frame. Slowly, she walked closer - all until she came to a halt in front of him, shuddering in delight as his hands found the backside of her naked thighs to pull her into his lap. The smell of smoke and whisky wrapped her in its embrace, clinging to (y/n) just like she was now clinging to Tommy, waiting for his next move. 

“What will it be, (y/n)? 50 or the fuck you’ve always been desperate for?” His low voice made her shudder, a sight that made a knowing glint appear in his bright eyes. Tommy’s hand grasped the back of her neck to pull her in for another kiss, similar to the one they had shared hours before. But something was different this time around, he tasted of longing and an unfamiliar kind of urgency that made hope grow deep inside of her. 

Perhaps this hadn’t been as one-sided as (y/n) had always feared it may be. 

“What about next time? What will my next payment be?” Her trembling voice filled his study as Tommy’s hands wandered down her back to grasp her waist. She feared he may leave marks on her skin, marks that may never fade again and remind her suffering self of her weakness when it came to Tommy Shelby. A childish weakness she won’t ever get to shake off. 

“I won’t pay you more than 30, (y/n).” The shirt was pulled from her frame, exposing her naked body to his wandering fingers and his hungry eyes. Tommy’s fingers felt cold against her heat, he brushed them along her folds to spread her dripping arousal on her pulsing bundle. (Y/n)’s moans grew louder with every unfamiliar touch, unable to hold back as he claimed her body while already owning her soul. 

“40,” she choked on the number she spoke. Tommy had added more pressure to his touch the second his hot mouth found her hardening nipples, sucking on one. She was losing her grip on the situation, on her negotiation about the payment allowing her to feed herself for the next month. All her mind could focus on was Tommy Shelby, the devil himself, the one soul even the reaper feared. 

“We’ll see about that once you leave.” He rose to his feet with her clinging to him, legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her to the couch placed close to his desk. He sank back down to keep her settled in his lap, all while she worked on the buttons of his trousers, feeling his hardening cock press against the fabric. 

“Tell me, (y/n), how do you want it?” Tommy’s raspy voice made her chuckle, eyes focused on his while grasping his twitching cock. She held eye contact with him as she spat down on his tip, allowing her to pump him while a groan clawed through the handsome man. 

“Now I get to choose? What a privilege.” Power thumped through her veins, urging her on to move her hand faster while Tommy reached for her waist, keeping her close with a tight grip. It almost felt as if he was scared of her being nothing but a play of his mind, a vision that would fade the second he came. A vision he’d cling to for all restless nights to come. 

“Fuck, be careful, doll, I can take away that right from you any second now.” She gave him a tighter squeeze, leaving him groaning once again. After a few more pumps, she allowed herself to kiss him, tongue meeting his for a small fight for victory.

“Can I ride you?” Perhaps she was simply aching to feel the power she currently held over him for a tad bit longer, perhaps she wanted to keep control over the situation, whatever it was, it kept her focused on his surprised expression. Tommy stayed quiet for a moment or two before he slowly nodded his head, allowing her to align his cock with her aching heat before sinking down on him. 

His head rolled back, just like hers, letting deep moans claw through them as her walls clenched his cock. (Y/n) moved slowly, trying to adjust with her hands placed on his shoulders and her eyes squeezed shut – no money would ever manage to give her this sensation, nothing would ever make her feel as appreciated as she did at that very moment. Pride simmered inside of her, a pride that was rooted in the knowledge of her being the one that had forced Tommy Shelby to hold back, to accept her conditions this time around. 

Tommy’s hands found her behind to guide her movements, to bury his cock even deeper inside of her to make this moment memorable for them both. Their moans bled together, forming sounds so intimate neither had ever picked up on them before. He marvelled at her, watching (y/n) fuck herself on his twitching cock with an unfamiliar passion, making his body burn in excitement. 

“Tommy,” (y/n) whimpered his name as she slowly lost her grip on reality. Darkness had hugged her frame, wrapping itself around her to guide her towards the edge. “Touch me, please.” 

His piercing eyes didn’t stray from her pleasure-drunken expression, not even as his fingers found her bundle of nerves. He moved with enough pressure, making goosebumps rise on her body while her orgasm crept closer and closer.  Tommy would follow her down the edge, finally feeling what he had secretly been wanting to experience ever since crossing paths with her, the young woman who hadn’t ever feared him.

“Look at me, doll, let me watch you come undone on my cock.” Tommy’s raspy command left her moaning. Their eyes held contact as she came, fucked through her high with his jerking hips and his eager fingers. He pushed her off seconds later, groaning in surprise as her hand found his cock, giving him the needed pumps for him to paint her hand white. 

“35, I won’t go lower.” With a grin tugging on her lips, (y/n) mumbled the words – words Tommy could only chuckle about before pulling her in for one last kiss.

[anjellaufeyson]

The truth lays within jealousy- Bellamy Blake

Warnings: basically just cursing and knife play

Summary: Bellamy's your enemy but things begin to take a turn once you start fighting to push through emotions you feel towards each other.

Bellamy Blake made my blood boil, and I prayed I made him feel the same way. I was best friends with his sister, Octavia. Meaning, I had no choice but to be in the same tent or room as him. The rivalry between Bellamy and I formed when the 100 first came to Earth. We were on dividing sides, he had everyone in his control and made them feel free but that ended dangerously. I was with the group that wanted to help and make sure we survived. 

“Do you always have to disagree with me, Blake?” 

He turned to look my way, his hand resting on the map below our waists laying on a table. “Do you always have to have disagreeable ideas–Kane?” He spit my last name out as if it left a bitter taste. 

I’m just thankful he didn’t call me that other name, the one he knew I so deeply despised. My eyes rolled on instinct, “You’re such a dick, you are aware of that flaw right?” 

He glared my way, “You always keep me aware don’t you, princess?” 

I fucking hated him, “Don’t call me that, Blake.” 

“What will you do if I say it again?” 

My father made me train with guards on the Ark since I was a child, I could easily take Bellamy, and him forgetting that made me always want to remind him. I stabbed my knife into the wood table and as soon as I did Octavia walked in. 

She moved the tent opening away, “What is going on?” 

Bellamy folded his arms making his muscles fight with his shirt. I tried my best to not stare but as much as I loathed this man and wished him nothing but the absolute worst–he was the formation of my desires. And that left lingering resentment. “Your friend is threatening me, O.” 

I unstuck the knife and pointed it at him from the other side of the table as I talked, “He was testing me, Tavia. It’s his favorite pastime,” I said staring harshly at Bellamy. 

“How about you both go train, maybe away from each other? You can work with Murphy and I’m sure you can find someone, Bell.” 

I gave a half smile, “I’m sure every–what’s the number now?” I made it look like I was deep in thought, “Like 50 girls now? Are willing to train with you, you know your way around the 100, Blake.” 

Bellamy gave me dead eyes as his jaw clenched. I struck a nerve. “O, get out.”

Octavia usually hates when Bellamy orders her around just cause he's older than her but she listened without a fight this time. She knew I crossed some form of a line. She mouthed sorry to me and walked out. 

I moved over to him, my knife laying close to his throat. He didn't care, he didn't even bat an eye. He almost smirked at the notion.

“Tell me, princess, was I supposed to pent up everything I was feeling like you do? Tell me, how's that going for you?” 

My eyes widened a bit, “I’m sorry do you want me to just go sleeping around with every dude on this earth because what? I can’t deal with my emotions correctly?” 

He bit his tongue. 

“I guess maybe I should take your advice because I see how greatly it’s been going for you. The known asshole you only go to for a hit and quit it.” 

Bellamy eyed me, “Is this you trying to offer up, princess?” 

My breath was shaky, I scoffed, “Go float yourself.” I stormed out of the tent and went to the only place inside Arkadia where you could blow off steam. The training spot. Bellamy usually overwatches, sometimes with Lincoln so I wouldn’t be surprised if he made his way over here.

Murphy made his way over to me, “Need a partner?” 

I nodded my head and decided to not take my anger out on him–at least not with words. “Yes, but I can’t promise I’ll go easy on you, Murphy.” 

He smiled as he got into his stance, “I didn’t expect you to. I remember seeing you training from time to time with soldiers. I’m going to have to bring my A-game now.” 

I laughed and it made me feel a bit better, say what you want about Murphy–but his sarcasm and wit will always make you laugh. I got into position and Murphy punched towards me and I moved my hand fast enough to push it away and block it. We kept going back and forth, not taking it seriously. 

Soon, as expected Bellamy appeared. He crossed his arms as he analyzed our performances. Suddenly both of us began to take it a bit seriously, but I chose to ignore Bellamy. He knew I was holding back, it showed in Bellamy's face.

“Let me try.”

I ignored him but Murphy stopped fighting, I tried to regain my breath. Murphy was like Bellamy’s sidekick since the beginning, that faded and nobody tried to make an enemy of Bellamy. Like it or not he did run a lot of things we live by. Especially with Clarke gone. 

He got into position and I immediately went to attack. I moved close and elbowed his face causing him to move forward. I went straight for a kick to his bent knee and easily got him down. When getting up his hand stayed on my thigh as he rised up, it was like he was purposefully trying to mess me up. That could be the only reason.

“Damn Bell, maybe she should replace you as a trainer,” Octavia said while spectating. Monty and Jasper laughed. 

Bellamy stood up and hit me immediately in the gut. From the force, I took a couple of steps back, and I cursed under my breath. He shrugged with a grin forming on his lips. When he went to pull another move I grabbed his arm pointed it up, and used my left arm to push down on his arm. I twisted his shoulder and I knew I was causing pain. I had this move done to me and I was in pain for a couple of days. 

For a split second, I heard a groan from him, it almost put a smile on my face. “C’mon Blake, are you even trying? If you lose this–I can only assume where you’re going to go to…or who.” Maybe it was a low blow but he pissed me off before. 

My fist came towards him and he grabbed my arm tightly, almost hard enough to leave a bruise, and flipped me onto the ground. I tried not to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was hanging onto this fight by a thread. I kicked his stomach and he caught my leg and tried to make me fall but I did the one trick that took me years to master–I kicked with enough force off the ground for a second to gain a stance to be able to kick him back. 

Bellamy went to hit me in the face but I got to him first and elbowed him. He spit out blood and turned his head up with a grin as he wiped the blood. He tricked me and by making it seem like he was going for a low attack, I didn’t move up in time to block him and he punched me. My lip began to bleed. 

“Guys, I think you should stop now. You proved you both can fight–now stop,” Octavia warned. 

We ignored her warning and kept going. I was determined to beat him, and I didn’t have a real reason why. Part of me wondered if this was my only source of letting my emotions go, maybe I wasn’t that different from that man that I hated. We are both stubborn, witted, determined, quick-tempered, reckless, and aggressive. 

“One hit and we’re done,” he said. “Better make yours count, princess,” he whispered. The way he made it seem, that nickname was for our ears only. He never said it loud enough for others to hear and I almost preferred it that way. And when he did, he was only focused on me. As if nobody else was on the earth with us. 

My thoughts were distracted and he immediately brought me down. My back hit the ground and I winced in pain, my back arched a bit hoping that would help the pain. Before anyone could help, Bellamy quickly moved to my side. “Are you okay,” he asked almost frantically in a low voice. He sounded genuine.

The gaze I had on him changed, it softened even though I was in pain. I was utterly confused. “What are we doing,” I whispered, his back covering everyone’s view of my lips. At best, they’d hear mumbles. 

“Your solution to letting your emotions out, remember?” He lightly laughed, “Fuck, we’re idiots.” Bellamy brushed his thumb on my bottom lip, “Truce?” 

My brow almost furrowed, “Truce? Does that mean we suddenly don’t hate each other?”

He laughed and began to help me up, “No, definitely not. You’re still the bane of my being.”

I stood up and got my words out fast enough before everyone crowded me to see if I needed Abby, “And you’re still the only person I hate in this world.” 

Bellamy slowly backed away as we kept our eyes on each other, everyone kept asking if I was okay but I didn’t reply. I was too fixated on the man I detested. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said while brushing past them. The one person who got horrendously hurt was Bellamy, yet he didn’t complain or stop them from helping me. 

“I’ll help you to, Abby,” I said putting his arm around my shoulder which felt oddly–right. When I looked back to show Octavia I was going to help him, I just saw a group of disbelieving faces. I’d be shocked too, never would I have ever felt pity or thought of helping Bellamy. “I kicked your ass.” 

He laughed as if he didn’t have drops of blood on his shirt, “I’d call it a fair fight.” 

“I’d call it my win.” 

He glanced at my lips then my eyes, we came to a halt. “You want to finish this?” 

I could feel his hand brushing along my neck, “I think we’re probably banned from training together for a bit. Though I think that wasn’t a training session–that was fighting.” 

Bellamy’s gaze dropped, he stared at me, almost desperate as if he was yearning for something he never even got to get ahold of for years. His touch became more apparent, he stared at my lips as he talked. “I’m not talking about in the training spot.” 

My lips parted and suddenly every feeling I had for him disappeared. Only one stayed- the desire I clung to. Instead of going to Abby, Bellamy and I went into his tent.

It was as if both our strengths had been regain, like we were both pushing our limits to be ignoring our pain to mix it with pleasure. Bellamy took his shirt off with such poise and it made me roll my eyes. I started undressing myself also. My eyes lingered on his chest, God, he was so defined. Like a Greek god or a statue made out of generosity.

"My eyes are up here, princess," he said as he pushes me down onto his bed.

I didn't like how much I secretly enjoyed him calling me princess. "You're so full of it, Blake."

He kissed me roughly, as if we didn't have time to spare to be kind to one another. Our hate lingered and I loved it. I winced in pain because of my lip and that caused him to groan into my mouth. He was making it harder and harder for me to not rush this.

I switched spots with Bellamy, God forbid he lets me control one thing. I kissed down his neck being anything but gentle to the parts I knew he was going to have a bruise at tomorrow.

"Fuck," he whispered.

My hands traveled down his chest and before I could do anything he traded spots with me. "Watch yourself princess, if you keep going- I don't think I can stop myself."

"I don't want you to."

Bellamy used his knee to spread apart my legs. He put his hand around my neck and slowly pushed down so I’d be lying flat on my back. I felt my stomach growing butterflies. “I will be anything but gentle with you–” He paused and stared at my lips. “But I think you can take it.”

[toocabaret]

I’ve been having some Thoughts™️ about the weird meta paradox of gerri kellman’s sexuality. as basically The Older Woman on the executive floor she’s trying as much as is possible to blend in with her male colleagues while also not being perceived to be doing so. muted colours and understated makeup. a competent filing cabinet. her husband is dead and her daughters are nameless. she was sexual once but that’s out of sight out of mind and now it’s just the work. it must be a relief in some ways to become finally unfuckable because you’re over 40. she can finally be taken seriously, but only if she toes the line between being too female and not female enough. trying but not too hard. desirable in the past tense only. an honorary man but still in a skirt. and while the men around her can fuck their much younger assistants and get sports massages and run a sex trafficking ring on a cruise ship, she is the job and only the job and that keeps her safe. for a bit anyway.

the irony of gerri saving the company from the full legal extent of a sex scandal by dating someone from the DOJ??? like i’ll never be over it. even filing cabinets have to flatter and please and fuck when called upon. i genuinely don’t believe any of the other execs could have swung it because they’re not women. she dated laurie (generally unseen unless framed from another man’s possessive perspective) to save the men from going to jail for covering up rape allegations. the irony is delicious. and even though she did that, she’s discarded once she’s framed sexually. Dick Pic Gate was out of her control and yet when confronted with any element of gerri’s sexuality (even her PASSIVE sexuality, even after using it to save his company), logan dismisses her as weak or impractical or failing or whatever other excuse he uses to justify his disgust.

i would argue that roman’s interest in gerri is not in spite of but BECAUSE of her asexual framing. it’s a challenge that he’s never going to win which is ideal for his impotency issues; he can push and push and get the thrill out of it, out of the fucked up power dynamic, but he knows he’ll never have to actually fuck her. it’s all hypothetical: down a phone, through a door, half-joking, covered in sensible skirt suits. gerri’s deliberate lack of sexualizing is counterintuitively a turn-on for roman. and i bet the game of chicken they play is freeing for her too because the fact that she has to be professional and cannot be sensual is part of the fun of it. “roman is weird about gerri”. “it’s fucking disgusting”. not because of their family history, or their professional positions, but because she’s old. because the absence of her sexuality is enough of a presence to be off-putting. shiv patronising her about it as a power play is so weird because she’s talking to her simultaneously like a child and like an old woman, and gerri, agency-less, just has to keep reassuring her “i can cope”.

BUT it’s worse than that because it’s so meta. Because gerri is hot. her actor is attractive and like roman, many people watching find her sexless, no-nonsense framing to be titillating. me included. what if roman likes gerri not because of oedipal issues but just because she’s hot and god forbid we find a woman over 50 hot? but whether or not gerri is hot in the context of the show shouldn’t be a big deal, she should have been able to escape this by now!!! she’s in her 60s she’s a widow she’s tired stop sexualizing her!!! but don’t NOT sexualize her either because that’s problematic too and old women can be hot and old women shouldn’t have to be hot and suddenly i’m making gerri do what waystar does and exist as something sexual and non-sexual at the same time. she has a huge plotline in which she’s essentially a sex object. whether or not gerri is fuckable is talked about as much in the show with mildly-disgusted fascination as it is in the real world!!! she can’t win she’s hot she’s old she’s sexually framed she’s deliberately trying not to be she wants sex she doesn’t want sex she’s covering sex with sex and she’s telling roman to leave her alone so she can just do her damn job because she knows that this is what will bring her down!!! sex scandals historically don’t get men fired but an unsolicited dick pic knocks gerri off her podium in logan’s head forever. even now i’m talking about it at such length because i’ve given it so much thought!!! she’s the only woman in the old guard and she’s one of the most sexualized characters in succession. but only as a joke. in the abstract. never actually. because that would be weird. right?

[thankyouforthememoriesworld]

🔎 I wanted to send a better article after that last post of randomness. I LOVE these articles (which then send me down random side quests).

First one features a bunch of high school coaches talking about facing Azzi. I love reading what they have to say because they all respect her so much.

https://web.archive.org/web/20211127092909/https://www.ctinsider.com/uconn/article/Scouting-report-on-UConn-freshman-Azzi-Fudd-16550275.php

The coach for Sidwell talks about the gameplan for the championship game. What I didn't know is Kiki Rice played that game for Sidwell as a sophomore. And I found this long highlight with their commentary.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VvJB3byj7lM

This video has Azzi's championship interview:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePII9w82ijA

Of course step up has highlights: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ZfVsCCGOIg

Houzmazoo does as well and I love him just yelling that's the match up right there (for Azzi vs Kiki): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPboERy3n8o

Second article is a month after Geno has gotten to work with Azzi.

https://web.archive.org/web/20211108155314/https://www.ctinsider.com/sports/article/UConn-freshman-Azzi-Fudd-everything-Geno-Auriemma-16288873.php

“I think most of it is what I expected,” Auriemma said. “She’s very quiet, very much introverted, really doesn’t say a whole lot. But her game is much older than her age. Her footwork is the kind of footwork that you would expect from someone going into the pros, someone who has spent three or four years perfecting that. That’s how good her footwork is. And her ability to get shots off and the way the shot comes off every single time, the exact same way, I mean, I knew it, but when you’re watching on a regular basis, it’s pretty amazing.”

On Thursday, he just motioned, letting his arms flail and swing to represent Bueckers’ herky-jerky style and closing his hands together to demonstrate Fudd’s skills — coordinated, tight, together.

Third is a month before she started freshman year basketball season. Just 5 things about her. It is fun to read that she caught Geno's eye as a 7th grader.

https://web.archive.org/web/20211020221324/https://www.ctpost.com/sports/article/She-hates-the-spotlight-5-things-to-know-16181444.php

I love it when you go down a rabbit hole because you always make amazing discoveries and I get to enjoy them 😘.

Newbies should be required to read these articles and watch these videos to be able to talk about Azzi.

Fudd is, in essence, a supernova — a complete scorer with unlimited range, a point guard’s handle, and no ego. Her jump shot has been lauded by NBA superstar Stephen Curry, and there are comparisons to WNBA and UConn legend Maya Moore in her overall game.

Azzi basically met all the NCAA players in high school, she knows everyone. I wasn't expecting 50 minutes for the highlight video (I'll watch it at another time 😅).

Of course, Azzi was MVP of another championship game.

When can I see her play again? I miss her shot so fucking much😭.

Give us Houzmazoo as a commentator in the NCAA, he's so entertaining: "oh that's far enough" "tough" "step back, shot *lol*" "good D, that's the match up".

Fudd’s footwork in drills is just about always the same, which is to say it’s almost always perfect. The way she catches the ball and shoots it? Same every time, whether 10 or 25 feet from the basket. “Azzi just walks around like she’s good,” Auriemma said Thursday outside Gampel Pavilion

Geno is going to play her 30 minutes per game, isn't he? He loves Azzi too much 😌.

“All we have to do is get her open,” Auriemma said a couple weeks ago. “Boom, boom, boom. It’s up in the air before you can get your hands up. Swish, swish, swish. Right in (the defender’s) face. Her free throws and her shots from three feet beyond the 3-point line are exactly the same, no difference, no added anything, same routine. A lot of it is God given. A lot of it is her working her butt off every day. I don’t say anything about her shot other than ‘Good job.’”

The Bueckers-Fudd era has begun — almost. (we're having it this year 💫)

Fudd landed on the Huskies’ radar as a seventh-grader, and took an unofficial visit to Storrs during her freshman year at St. John’s College High School in Washington, D.C.

I don't even have to say anything about this 🤠:

Fudd and Bueckers are nearly inseparable. They’ve been spending most weekends together since UConn’s season ended, working out privately with Alex McLean, an assistant coach with the NBA’s Washington Wizards.

“They’re very, very close. They’re also extremely competitive with each other, which you would expect,” Scribner said. “While they’re great, great friends, they both want to beat each other on the court.”

[y-rhywbeth2]

Next stage in the 'who has a bigger body count' competition Astarion started yesterday, while praying I can use a calculator correctly:

Bhaal VS Cazador: Deaths in Baldur's Gate over the last 15 years.

I counted about 22 active Bhaalists (including Orin, Sarevok and Durge), who, having to murder once every ten days, have about 12,045 kills between them. However, as briefly mentioned in game, most of them do not reside in Baldur's Gate and also Bhaal's clergy are usually a little nomadic, so this wouldn't have been too highly focused on the Gate.

They do need to kill a living thing every day, so that's also another 108,405 dead things which may or may not be human/oid.

As for the vampires, assuming they don't have a massive herd of blood dolls:

While vampires do need to feed a little less as they age, it's still not that much lower.

A typical Fledgling vampire must drink 12 hit points worth of blood in every 24-hour period. The source of this blood is immaterial; it can come from living victims, fresh corpses, animals, or even sealed “caches" of chilled blood. - Van Richten's Guide to Vampires

The typical person, people with adventuring classes being rarer, has 4 hit points. Or less. Sometimes you're lucky and 5e upgrades them to 1d8 with an average of 4. Add in older editions and level drain and normal people do not survive being fed on by vampires.

Judging by talking to Astarion, Cazador does drain his prey dry more often than not.

So on average Cazador has needed 3 kills a day, and over the past 15 years that's 3 kills every one of 5,475 days. Which is apparently 16,425 dead bodies. (7000 is small change to vampires and Archdevils alike, apparently. I keep coming back to this, but Mephistopheles' deal is extremely and suspiciously cheap.) Each spawn has needed about 12 rats each: 65,700 rats dead each, 459,900 rats altogether. I assume they feed the corpses to the ghouls.

Cazador forbidding his spawn human blood actually makes perfect sense. Aurelia and Astarion have been with him for most of that 200 years. Cazador has murdered at least the equivalent of 73,000 people, if those two also feed properly it's now 219,000 people. Petras and I assume Violet, are about 100: 109,500 kills each (or more). 438,000 people. Yousen is 60 (65,700), Dalyria less than 50 due to being a Peer (54,750); Leon's less than 12 (13,140). Altogether this 'family' would have killed aprox. 571,590 people over the last two centuries.

The Western Heartlands' city and town populations, circa 14th century, were:

Baldur's Gate: 42,103 Elturel: 22,671 Evereska: 21,051 Berdusk: 20,242 Iriaebor: 16,193 Scornubel: 14,574 High Edge: 9,716 Asbravn: 5,668 Hluthvar: 5,668 Beregost: 2,915 Secomber: 1,417 Daggerford: 891 Corm Orp: 810

Census indicates the Western Heartlands' total permanent population was 163,919, of which Cazador would have consumed the equivalent of 44.53%. I can only assume that he either fasts a lot or mixes in some animal blood (which would not have made him fun to be around for the spawn), or we're drawing off of VtM logistics and he has control of blood banks and a herd of living people he keeps alive plus just feeding off of his spawn to top him up between murders (which does explain the human staff).

I'm not counting the amounts of rats and mice consumed, but honestly I think there's money to be made hiring your spawn out as a pest control service. Assuming they don't drive themselves out of business.

There is absolutely no way the 7000 spawn in the cells should be anything but feral howling messes who are scrabbling for rats and bugs and cannibalising each other, assuming they haven't just shrivelled into the state of torpor from lack of blood to fuel the magic keeping their bodies animate. There is no feasible way to keep them fed. I don't even think there are enough rodents in the city to feed them...

Meanwhile Bhaalists have been active for 130 years since the end of the Bhaalspawn crisis, and have killed around 4,745 people each in that time. Luckily, they've been quite low in number, mostly nomadic, and only recently had a revival (which is still low population) so that probably not too many.

Verdict: DnD maths is poorly thought out and the vampires win the murder competition by goddamn miles. While Bhaal wins overall, due to having 1300+ years of murders to his name, Cazador's recent activity is higher, and Astarion has been accomplice to the number of murders that Durge only dreams of. Durge is still winning in the sadism and first degree murder count though.

[ladylooch]

Birthday Suit - [Mack X David]

A/N: Happiest of birthdays to our 👢 anon! We are so grateful to you for providing us with Our Little Family! Personally, I'm grateful for you support, friendship, and always talking AUs in the DMs. I hope you have a wonderful birthday. Please know that you are loved and appreciated here 😘

Timeline wise, Mack and David have been hooking up for a few weeks at this point, but are not dating. 

Word Count: 4.3k

Late on a Friday night in New York City, Mackenzie Hischer stuffs the gold key to her apartment unit into the lock, flipping it open and dashing into the darkness. The minute the apartment air wraps around her skin, she feels herself beginning to decompress. She just spent the last six hours smiling and laughing, shaking hands with sponsors, to help keep her job funded for the next year. She knows it was all a huge success, with discussions beginning to happen as early as next week for more features she will do later in the year. At this rate, her schedule is almost completely full, which is impressive for a first year journalist in her field. 

Her right hand wraps around the heel of her red pump, sliding it off her foot. She drops down three inches, then pulls the other one off. Her bare feet savor their freedom, ceasing the non-stop cramping she has been trying to shake off since hour three. Mack  moves to her bedroom, throwing herself onto her bed in a tired heap. She pulls her phone out, beginning to scroll through the 50 notifications she has from various apps. 

The first place she goes is to Messages. She bites her lip, not seeing anything worth responding to right now. She clicks into her message from David. The last time she heard from him was three days ago after she stopped by for a post-game romp. He had asked her to stay, she said no, so he asked her to text him when she got home that night. His last message was:

Glad you’re safe. Sleep well 😘

She re-reads the message again, then sighs, flipping over to Instagram to doom scroll through her friend’s various Switzerland themed posts. She checks the time, realizing most of them are getting ready to start their Saturdays. Photos of European markets, the ski slopes, and pastries fill her feed until she gets to a post from the New York Rangers, wishing their #14 a happy birthday. She perks up, slowly moving back into a sitting position. 

It’s David’s birthday.

He didn’t mention that when she was him last, nor has she heard anything from him today. She double checks the date on the post, then contemplates. Should she text him? Should she quick try to order something for him to have ready for when she sees him next? Ugh no. That’s not appropriate. She scrolls past the post, not sure how to handle this new information. Her sister posted a picture with David and Stella, saying happy birthday to Stella’s favorite Ranger. Mack chuckles at Connor’s pouty response on his wife’s post. She hovers over the heart button, then likes it. She scrolls up to the Rangers post and likes that too, then takes a screenshot. 

Before she can think it through fully, Mack sends the picture to David.

You up, birthday boy?

Mack tosses her phone to the end of the bed, closing her eyes to give them a rest while she waits to see where the rest of her night is going.

I’m older than you, but not that old.

Mack giggles. Her body awakens at fleeting thoughts of the last time his hands were on her. The sex keeps getting better and better every time they have each other, surprising considering how glorious their first time was. If Mack was honest, she’s starting to crave his skin on hers at the most inappropriate times, but tonight isn’t one of them.

Are you up for one more birthday present?

Mmmm, what do you have in mind, Mackncheese?

Mack bites her lip, looking over at her dresser where various, unused pieces of lingerie are resting in a drawer. No she doesn’t have a gift he can take home with him, but she has herself, willing and interested. She is thankful her makeup is done and presentable. All she needs to do is put on a little more lipstick, then she changes into a blue teddy she’s been wanting to wear since her spontaneous purchase of it in Paris. 

Going with modestly, she takes a few pictures with her silk robe, letting it fall slightly off her shoulder so he can see what’s underneath. 

Any interest in coming this way?

Give me twenty minutes.

She smirks at his instant response, then falls back onto the bed. Men are so easy. Every minute passes painfully slow. Her heart rate accelerates then evens out. Her stomach dips and swells in anticipation of seeing him. This all feels dangerously like crush territory, but she figures that’s normal. They are regularly hooking up, so it’s natural to be excited about seeing him.

When fifteen minutes have passed, she gets up, heading out to the living room to wait for him in the kitchen after pouring herself a quick glass of wine. She sucks it down, then runs her tongue over her teeth, feeling the warmth spread out from her chest to the rest of her body. It’s a minuscule buzz that takes away any waining apprehension about letting him see her like this. 

Ron buzzes up to her apartment, asking if she is expecting a “David Carlson” again. Mack blushes but allows Ron to send him up. She adjusts the tie of her robe, then waits for his confident knock on her door. A smirk stretches her lips, then she rolls her neck, allowing her greedy need to begin to consume her body. All she wants is for him to touch her tonight, stroke a fire and frenzy in her core, put it out, then leave her to fall asleep in a satisfied, uninterrupted heap. 

Mack opens the door for him. He grins at her, stepping forward immediately to carefully back her into the apartment again. He kicks the door shut with a slam that makes Mack jump a bit.

“Sorry.” He mumbles against her lips. “Gonna kill me sending pictures lookin’ like this.” Mack holds onto his huge shoulders as he continues to walk them backwards. Her body buzzes with his hands on her hips. The back of her knees hit the arm of her couch. He sets her down onto it, then pulls apart the satin robe. 

“I didn’t know it was your birthday today.” Mack murmurs. “I would have bought you-”

“I don’t like my birthday.” He cuts her off. “Plus this is a nice present.”

Warmth fills Mack’s chest as he steps back to take her in. Her pink nipples are budding through the blue lace, catching his attention. Then he glides his gaze the rest of the way down her. He takes her hand, then pulls her back into a standing position. His hands come to her hips, twisting her so her back is to him. 

He kisses the vertebrae of her neck, then raises his fingers to the collar of her robe, slowly maneuvering the silk down her warm skin. Mack shivers at being fully exposed. The robe gets tossed onto the plush, arm chair, then he steps back again. Mack stands there for a moment, feeling his hot gaze troll over the curves of her ass. She looks over her shoulder at him, watching as he drags his eyes begrudgingly from her ass to her face. 

He steps forward, bringing her lips to his at that angel. He pulls her hips flush with his, letting her feel his hard arousal press into her ass. David forces his tongue into her mouth, lapping and swirling to taste her fully. The fingers of his right hand glide past her stomach, feeling over her belly button, then hovering above her clothed core. He pulls away before he presses the tips against her clit. Mack’s eyelids flutter, losing the battle to stay open. It’s only been three days, but she is drunk on how he touches her.

At this rate, he is ruining her for anyone else, but Mack doesn’t particularly care. 

David’s lips cover hers again. His other hand slides up her chest to grip the side of her neck. He holds her head steady as he rolls two fingers into her clit and makes love to her mouth. Mack’s body leans into his, her back pressing to his strong chest. She brings a hand behind her butt, giving his thick shaft a squeeze. David grinds his hips into her hand as she sighs a moan to him. His fingers slide from her clit to her entrance. He moves the wet fabric aside there, feeling how soaked she is for him. 

He pulls away from her mouth in a lust haze, watching the widening and softening of her eyes as he slips a finger inside of her. 

“Fuck, honey.” He groans when she drags her swollen bottom lip between her teeth. “You’re going to look so good getting fucked on this couch.” He grins down at her, then kisses her softly while sliding his finger out of her. He pushes at her hips, but Mack shakes her head, turning in his grasp.

Her hands work their way from his shoulders down his chest as she falls to her knees in front of him. Her eyes trail down from his to his zipper. She licks her lips, kissing his bulge over the denim of his jeans. David holds her face as she slides him from his unbuttoned pants. She rolls her hand up the hard velvet, then kisses the tip to hear him hiss. While maintaining eye contact, she lays her flattened tongue at the base of his cock then licks a straight, seductive line up. She is patient in her pursuit to his tip, hugging the thick vein at the bottom of his shaft until his head knocks back towards the ceiling, then she sucks his pulsing head between her lips. His knees lock into place and he sways slightly forward, resting a hand on top of her head for balance.

“F-fuck.” He blinks, exhaling heavily, then looking down at her face. Her wet cheeks collapse inwards as she sucks him harder. His head rolls back towards the ceiling again. Mack increases the tempo, adding her hand around the remaining length that won’t fit in her mouth. She strokes her hand and mouth simultaneously. “Honey, you’re a star.” He murmurs to her.  “You suck my cock like it’s your favorite thing to put in your mouth.”

“Maybe it is.” She murmurs, sucking his tip while letting her hand fall away to grip one of her breasts. 

“Holy…” He trails off, rubbing at his jaw. He collects his bottom lip against his pointer finger, pulling it down as he moans again. Mack relaxes her mouth more, taking in as much of him as she physically can. His hand comes to the back of her head, resting there respectfully as he praises her. “So fucking good, honey. Shit, I could come down your throat right now.” He moves his fingers around to her chin, cupping it and pulling her off him. “But that’s not why I’m here.” His eyes darken.

“Why are you here?”

“To hear you scream my name while you ride me.” He smirks, giving her his hand to help her back to her feet.

“Sure, but only because it’s your day.” She teases, taking his hand and leading him towards the hallway to her bedroom. David raises an eyebrow at her taking him to her bed. He hasn’t been there yet. They’ve mostly fucked and fooled around on her couch. But tonight, Mack wants the comfort of her King mattress, not to awkwardly fumble around on the couch.

Mack looks around her bedroom with fresh eyes, realizing how feminine it probably looks to him. It’s mostly white, with accents of pastel blues and pinks. The comforter is huge and cozy, perfect for cold nights like this in the winter. David flips the light on when they get in. Their hands drop as Mack goes to the side of the bed, watching him as he soaks in her space. He fingers a fake plant coming out of a vase on her dresser, then chuckles at her with a questioning look.

“It’s art.” She cuts him off before he can say anything.

“Sure, honey.” He murmurs, then goes to the picture on her dresser of her parents and sisters. He places it face down. “Not gonna let Captain Hischier see what I’m about to do to his daughter.” Something about the gentle respectiveness of this entire moment has a searing heat sizzling in Mack’s core. She watches him look round the room, noting the art on the walls, the soft rug beneath the bed and the plush, coziness she has created by filling her bed with pillows. He’s so fucking sweet and hot and good. Mack can’t hold back the urge to touch him, stretching her fingers out anxiously by her hips. 

David turns back towards her and Mack rushes around the bed to reach for him. They meet in the middle with a renewed frenzy of hands and lips. Their heavy breathing engulfs the room as they touch each other, awakening a new urgency. 

“Smells good in here.” He murmurs as he backs her up.

“It’s a vanilla candle.” She breathes out.

“Mmm, sweet like you, honey.”

He reaches his hands under her thighs, lifting her up onto the bed easily. He crawls on between her legs, forcing her back towards her pillows. When she doesn’t move fast enough, he picks her up around the waist, hauling her with him, then drops her onto her pillows. Together, they shove them off the bed, letting the decor fly to the left and right so they can get comfortable together. He grips her chin, kissing her deeply, letting his mustache tickle at her nose before he kisses over to her jaw, yearning for her throat so he can feel her moan vibrate on his mouth while he grinds his bare bulge between her legs. 

“As much as I love this… it’s gotta go.” He smirks, pulling off the strap of her top. He kisses the line it dug into her shoulder, then follows the falling cup down to her nipple. He sucks it into his mouth, releasing it with a slurp, then repeats those actions with the other side. 

His hands drag the teddy down her body, revealing new slices of her skin to kiss. Mack dashes her fingers through his hair as he licks back up her stomach. He hovers over her mouth again, smiling when she takes his hard cock in her hand. 

“Had to take a break there.” He murmurs, thrusting his hips forward into her hand.

“You about done?” She whispers. 

“Mhm.” He kisses her nose, then rolls to the side of her to take off his pants, but not before grabbing a sleeve of condoms from his back pocket. He rips one off, then slaps it in her awaiting palm. He tosses the rest onto her nightstand. Mack raises to her knees. David brings a hand to the back of her knee, then trails it up her thigh to her ass. He massages the full cheek there, watching her hand roll the latex down his shaft. He adjusts it slightly at the tip then pats her butt to hop on. 

They watch each other as David grips the base of his shaft for her, guiding her wet heat down him. Their mouthes drop open in unison, little noises spilling out as she settles down on him. 

“Oof.” Mack mutters. David notes her discomfort, lifting her up gently, keeping her up at a lesser depth until she moves his hand away. She settle down on him completely again, then moves her hips forward and back along his abdomen. David’s legs harden under her resisting the urge to push them further until she is ready. Mack tries to breathe through the stretch, but it is painful. So much that she can’t ignore the pure terror at the thought of him thrusting up into her this way. “Maybe not this position, actually.” Mack mumbles. 

“Okay.” He says, helping her off him. “What do you need?” He cups her face, kissing her lips. His thumb presses into her lips. She kisses it, closing her eyes for a moment, trying not to be disappointed she can’t give him what he wants right now. 

“Um…” She shakes her head, distracted by the dull ache settling between her legs.

“How about you lay on your back, honey? Then I can control the depth.” 

“Okay.” She nods. She bites her lip, laying down. He smiles gently at her, kissing her lips.

“I’m big.” He reminds her. “If it’s not good for you, then we need to stop. Okay?”

“Yes.” She agrees.

But that’s the last they need to hear about anything not being good for her. David wets his fingers with his mouth, rolling them through her folds, focusing on her entrance, then presses his plumped head into her pussy. Mack swallows him more comfortably, stretching in a delectable way that has her hips trying to list off the bed. 

“Behave.” He mumbles above her, smirking at her eagerness. 

“I don’t like to behave around you.” She mewls back. He chuckles, then rocks his hips in a way that has Mack gasping. “Oh.” She moans.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven.” He mumbles into her mouth. “Made for me.” 

Mack cups his head, fingers rushing through his black hair as she holds him to her throat. His thrusts are slow but deep, wakening her up and softening her resolve. Her walls contract around him, pulling him deeper than he is trying to go, which makes him groan in appreciation for how well she has adjusted to him. His hips roll deeper into her, curly hair tickling her clit with his thrusts creating an erotic sensation that has Mack’s eyes rolling back into her head.

“Right there.” She whispers. “Keep going… don’t stop. Please.”

Her words fall from her mouth like breath, escaping without her trying to push them out. His arms come under her shoulder to hold her neck, other hand bringing her leg around his hips. Their bodies move like a wave, hips thrusting and colliding with each other in blissful slaps. Mack crunches up, kissing along his shoulder for a moment. Her head falls down, only half on the pillow as his thrusts explode through Mack’s core. David pulls away from her neck, looking down at her face. His hand moves from her hip, bringing the pillow more under her head to keep her comfortable. Mack’s eyes close, she moans loudly, then comes with a bang around him.

“Oh my god.” She squeaks as he works her through every flutter of her orgasm. He is biting down on his bottom lip to keep focus, then slows his thrusts when he feels her relax down into his arms. “I wanna ride you now. I can do it.” She practically begs him. She wants to watch him come undone under her, because of her. 

“Yes, honey. Whatever you want.” He smirks, then hits his back again. His hands reach for her, helping her climb on top, not that she needs it. That first orgasm was great, but she’s chasing another high already. 

She lines herself up with him again, gliding down him better now that she is sickened from her first round. She drops down on him, forcing her ass cheeks to slam into the top of his thighs.

“Oh fuck.” David groans, running a hand over his face. His other hand comes to her hip. “Look so good up there.” He compliments her, top lip curling up in a slight sneer as she moves slowly on him. “You got more in you than that.” He demands, slapping her ass. “Give it to me, girl.” 

Mack rolls her eyes, leaning over his face, palm pressed into the bed below him. Everything around him is girly and feminine, but his dark, masculine presence overshadows all the frills and fuss, taking over her room and senses like he owns the damn place. But he doesn’t and Mack thinks she should remind him of who is in charge here.

“Keep your hands on the bed.” She murmurs, kissing along his nose. He pulls his hands away from her hips, letting her fuck him the way she wants to. 

Her hips snap and roll, forward backwards, up and down, working his cock like a seasoned vet.  His hands grip into fists on the bed, taking some of her comforter in his palm, wrinkling it against his skin. Mack sits up, pressing her biceps into her breasts to make them tight and bounce right over his face. David is speechless, for once in his damn life. He raises his neck, trying to catch a nipple. Mack puts her hand on his neck, forcing him back down. 

“Be good.” She snaps at him. He laughs, eyes rolling back into his head.

“You know, honey. I think I like this version of you the best.” He grits out. “Fucking me like that. Shit.” His eyes close, a blissed out smile covering his mouth as she falters slightly from how good she feels stuffed full of him. He opens his eyes feeling her legs struggling a bit. “Don’t quit on me now, Hischier. Not when I’m about to cum this fucking hard.” His teeth are mashed together, words barely getting out through the thin spaces. His hips begin to move under her, pressing her up when her legs give out a bit more. It feels too good. Mack has to surrender to him, knowing his powerful thighs can do the rest of this job easily.

“C-Can’t help it. Touch me. I need you.” She begs, reaching up to hold her breasts. David’s hands fly to her hips, then he forces her into a tight rhythm, hard and fast, punishing almost, until they both fly over the edge into the abyss. David gushes into the condom, savoring her ripples, careful as he works her up and down his cock a few more times to finish himself fully off. Mack collapses onto his chest like goo, unable to hold herself in any type of position except horizontal. David’s hand goes to her hair, holding her cheek on his shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Happy birthday.” She whispers to him. David’s face gets lost in her hair to kiss her scalp.

“Thank you.” He responds quietly.

In ten minutes, the aftermath of their sex has been washed from their bodies and they lay together in silence, soaking in the warmth of each other’s skin. Mack’s eyes droop, tired from a long day, ready to surrender to the tiredness that collects in her veins. Beneath her, David’s chest rises and falls consistently. His hand trolls up and down her arm, until he twitches hard, inhaling deeply to awaken himself.

“I should go.” He mumbles, rubbing at his face with his free hand. He drops a kiss to her head, then rolls out from under her.

A big yawn stretches his lips apart as he works his jeans back into place. He pulls down on the bunched up crotch, then rushes the zipper back into place. He looks around for his shirt as he buttons himself back up. Mack watches him from the comfort, warm cocoon of her bed, feeling bad that he has to drag himself back across town after 1:00am.

She should let him stay. It’s the decent thing to do.

“What’s your day tomorrow?” She inquires. 

“Ah, day off again. Coach is giving us some rest.” He yawns again, leaning down to pick up his shirt by her dresser.

“Oh… Well, maybe you want to stay then?” He pauses with his shirt at his biceps. 

“I…” He trails off, then licks his lips. He drops his arms and cocks his head at her. “You’re gonna have to ask. You don���t get outta this by making some half assed statement.” Mack hides her grin, rolling her eyes to seem annoyed.

“I just don’t want your blood on my hands when you tiredly drive off into a ditch.”

“In New York City?” He chuckles.

“Okay, fair. Or onto a sidewalk and killing innocent people.” 

“So I would be staying over purely for safety purposes?”

“Mhm.” 

“Okay, but you still got to ask.” 

“Ugh! You’re so annoying. Will you stay? Pleeeease.” She huffs at him.

“Okay, geez, I’ll stay.” He holds his hands up at her, making a show of dropping his shirt.“You just want me safe for my dick.” He jokes as he works his jeans back off so he is naked again.

“Is it that obvious?” She wonders, batting her lashes at him.

“Yeah.” He nods. “But I’m okay with it.” He walks over to the light, switching it off to allow darkness to take over the room.

Mack grins, collecting him back into her arms as he crawls under the covers with her. 

“This is a nice bed.” He compliments her.

“Mhm. It’s the one house thing I always spend good money on.” He nuzzles his stubbled cheeks into her chest.

“Could get used to this.” He mumbles against her left breast. Mack presses her lips into his hair, rubbing his shoulders with her fingers.

She could too.

Fuck.

Read more Mack and David here.

[misseviehyde]

ROLE-MOMMY

Even though Abi was only a few months older than Nikki - her bestie often joked, "You're like a Mom to me!"

Nikki's real Mom had died when she was young and she and her dad Michael had been left to fend for themselves. Nikki had been searching for a mother figure all her life and in a strange way she'd found it in Abi.

Abi was mature, sensible, organised and caring. She looked out for Nikki and inspired her with love and affection. She had to admit she often did feel a maternal affection towards Nikki and even more... she had a massive crush on Michael her friends Dad.

There was just something so... hot... about an older man. Michael had a great body and he was wealthy, mature and sexy. Of course he would never consider dating someone his daughters age so Abi knew it was just a fantasy.

Until the girls found the game of course.

Nikki and Abi volunteered at a charity shop at the weekends and it would often be very quiet. After an hour of chatting they got so bored that they began looking through some of the items. That's when Nikki found 'Role-With-It.'

Laughing the girls looked through the game. You had to pick a card and then dress up and act like the character on it. Other players scored you on your performance.

Giggling, Nikki shuffled the deck and Abi took a card. "Step-Mom," she laughed delightedly, "hah - it's like this game read my mind! Well there are plenty of clothes to choose in here... let's play."

Abi wandered over to a rack of dresses hanging by the window. She smiled happily as she saw a cute spotty dress, the sort of thing a home maker in the 50's might have worn. She was about to reach for it when she noticed a tight black leather dress hanging next to it.

Abi hesitated. The spotty dress was cute and fit with her idea of motherhood, but there was something dangerous and exciting about the leather dress. Michael wouldn't be able to resist a woman wearing something like that. It would make her look so... so fucking powerful. Maybe she should try it... after all, this was only a silly game to pass the time.

To her surprise Abi found herself reaching out to take the dress. It felt good in her hands, shiny and eager to be worn. But she wasn't done shopping yet...

Walking to the shoe rack - Abi's eyes were immediately drawn to a pair of tight black knee high boots. They were wickedly heeled and would look AMAZING with her new dress. Ignoring the other shoes she gathered them up too and headed to the dressing room.

Nikki watched uneasily. Abi had a strange feverish look to her. Her usually kind eyes shone with a weird lustful fire and her fingers were already tugging at her own clothing as if she were desperate to rip it off and get into something better.

The clothes Abi had picked out didn't look very motherly. Well... evil step-mom maybe.

Disappearing into the changing room, Nikki heard the rustling of clothes... maybe even a tearing sound. It almost sounded like Abi was ripping off her old clothes in her eagerness to wear the new items.

She heard the creak of tight leather, the zipping of boots and a moan of evil satisfaction.

"Ohhhhh fuck yesssss."

"Abi? Are you okay in there?"

The curtain was suddenly thrown back and out stormed Abi with a disdainful sneer on her face wearing her new outfit.

"I'm good - in fact I'm fucking perfect actually."

Nikki backed away in fear as Abi emerged into the light.

The new clothing squeezed her body in ways she had never seen before. Abi now seemed to have wider hips and larger tits. Her posture was more ultra-feminine with hands on a cocked hip and her whole body language screamed 'fierce'.

Her face now wore a hot sneer and her eyes seemed to flash with wicked glee as she studied herself with satisfaction in the mirror.

"Mmmmh these clothes make me feel so fucking good. Now I just have to start acting like the role too."

She spun on her heels and advanced on Nikki. "I guess that makes me your step-mom. Your clearly more attractive than you step-mom."

"Abi... something is wrong, we have to stop playing..."

Nikki gasped in fear as she watched blonde roots suddenly begin to spread and flow through her friends once brown hair. Long lashes grew heavy with mascara and slutty nails shot out of every finger.

Abi's bust got even bigger and she started to age and mature.

"Stop playing? I'm only just getting started 'dear'. Being your stepmom means I get to be a spoiled rich bitch and fuck your delicious Daddy. I love it!"

"No Abi - this isn't you... this isn't the kind of Mom you want to be... fight it!"

But Abi wasn't listening anymore. She was orgasming, her eyes rolling back in her head, as her tits pumped full of plastic and she aged into a viscious thirty year old gold-digger.

"No Nikki. Mommy likes what she has become. Mmmmh I feel like such a fucking evil bitch and I LOVE it. This is so much better than being some kind wallflower. Haha - now I get your Daddy's big cock and I finally can free myself of your parasitic presence."

Nikki sobbed tears rolling from her eyes as Abi stood over her with a gloating expression.

"All those years you moped around after me because your pathetic Mommy was dead. Eughhhh the years I've wasted looking after you... well I'm finally free."

"Now call me Mommy. Let reality become what it always should have been. Forget about your friend and let me replace her."

"Noooooo," sobbed Nikki as she tried to fight the fog growing in her head. "Please nooo!"

"Fucking say it... you little bitch."

"No Mommy, I... ohhh what have I done!"

As Nikki spoke the words and accepted Abi in her new form, reality locked and with a cry of triumph Abi threw back her head and laughed...

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

Abi felt good.

She always felt good, but right now she felt super good.

Her husband had just spent an hour fucking her in every position she'd demanded and now she had an appointment at the nail bar to look forward to.

Dressed in designer clothes, her massive tits creaked in their barely contained leather prison as she glanced contemptously at her pathetic miserable step-daughter Nikki who was busy scrubbing the floor of the kitchen where Abi had squirted earlier.

"Make sure you don't miss a spot this time you little bitch. You're fucking useless."

Abi smiled. The girl needed bringing in-line. It was good that she had such a perfect role-model in Abi to aspire to.

Not that she ever could. Abi was perfect of course...

THE END

[amazingmsme]

Have you ever considered

lee!Athena and ler!ares or lee!ares and ler!athena

I can imagine when they were younger they had a tickle fight (you know Ares will never back down from a fight), only for Ares to lose because Athena is the big sister and that's just how it works, and then when they are older Ares is able to get some revenge (but it's fluffy because Athena is sad about Ody).

IDK I'm currently obsessed with the war siblings dynamic I love the both of them so much

I might just write a fic about them even though I've never written a fic before

- 🧁 anon

YEEES I HAVE! I seriously love Ares so much, I’ve been lowkey obsessed with him ever since god games! He’s one of the most misunderstood gods, & he deserves way more love than he gets! He’s such a tough guy, all big & mean & scary, but he actually has such a soft side. He loves his family, even when they fight & piss each other off. He & Athena actually get along pretty great! No one else really gets their love for war & violence, so they understand each other on a level that most others just can’t grasp (if you can’t tell, I have a lot of feeling about them)

They’re definitely each other’s favorite sparring partner cause they don’t have to hold back & they always have fun, no matter how bad they get hurt lmao. But sometimes, especially when they were younger, their play fights would turn into tickle fights! They’re so evenly matched, so it’s literally a 50/50 chance for who wins, & it mostly depends on who manages to get to whose death spot first. Ares tries to insist it’s stupid & he hates it, & they should be above this by now, but he never really tries to stop it from happening & he acts SO happy afterwards! Like he can’t stop smiling & he’s just in a more playful mood, it’s precious. He’s like a scary looking dog who just wants to play!

So glad I’m not the only one obsessed with their dynamic! If you do write that fic, PLEASE let me know! I need to see him go from grumpy to giggly

[thatbigbisexual29]

Getting Pushed Off the High Horse (Haikyuu!!)

Soooooooooooo... hi everyone! It's been a while since I've posted a fic, and I deeply apologize! Life has been busy so hoping on the computer and writing is kind of a hard task, I'm sure some of you can relate. And don't worry, I'm still working on that lee!Hobie fic, but after that's posted I might stop with the Spiderverse fics for a while. I still love the movies, but I've ran out of tickle fic content for that certain fandom. So I'll try posting something new! Hence this fic! I've been a fan of Haikyuu for a while and started watching it again *shoves down at least 50 animes I've been putting on the back burner* Okok I've been rambling now, so here you go! Enjoy! :3

“Hell yeah! That spike was even better than my last one! Eat my dust Akaashi! Woo!” was what Bokuto was currently shouting at his teammate.

It was very uncaptain-like, but his friends knew him well to know that this was a common occurrence. Whenever the team practiced together, Bokuto’s gloating personality shone. Akaashi didn’t mind the showboating, he honestly didn't. But today was not the day.

First, he woke up 30 minutes late to school, had to make up an exam in his first period, spilled his lunch all over himself, read a passage wrong in his English class and got laughed at, found out he failed that first period exam, got a C on another exam, got fussed at for sleeping in class, and accidentally packed his dirty uniform rather than a clean one for practice, so he stunk really bad. Out of all the days the gods wanted to test him, this was the day. And Bokuto was no help. In fact, he was the one that caused Akaashi to spill his lunch. He apologized… but not after he cackled like a lunatic! He even threatened to make ‘soup crotch’ his new nickname. A ‘don’t you fucking dare’ look ended that threat quick and Bokuto even offered some clean clothes he had. Which was surprising since… well, since it’s Bokuto. 

And now, after that extra mean spike Bokuto just served, Akaashi’s anger was near its boiling point. He glared at his captain from the other side of the next, wanting so badly to wipe that smug smirk off of his stupid face. Bokuto caught on and had some shit to talk.

“Oooh, is someone mad he can’t block my spikes? You should have gotten used to it by now~ Isn't losing to me your strong point? Since you’ve been losing to me ever since we met, I thought you would have rolled over and accepted your fate already~” Bokuto purred, snickering when Akaashi’s glare grew sour. The ravenette responded with a quick, “Shut up, owl.”

“Don’t let him get in your head!” Konoha shouted. Akaashi shook his head and tried to focus. But today’s events just kept piling up every time he looked at Bokuto’s stupid, annoying face. He took a deep breath in and exhaled in an attempt to calm himself. As soon as these practices were over, he could go home. He just wanted to go home.

Washio served the ball and the game was in motion. After the back and forth tosses, Bokuto took his stand.

“Pass it to me!” he called. Akaashi kept eyes on his friend, watching the ball spin in the air towards him. He watched as the ace readied himself then ran to the net, Akaashi right in front of him. They jumped at the same time, Akaashi ready to block. Bokuto had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, one his best friend could spot a mile away. Then, there was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Take THIS, soup crotch!!!” Bokuto’s scream echoed across the gym as the sound of the ball slamming on the court followed suit. When they landed, Akaashi struck. He immediately ducked under the net and tackled the older boy to the court. Surprised, Bokuto let out an undignified squeal before bursting into maniacal laughter. He guarded his head as Akaashi attempted to collide his fists to the other’s shitty hair. He wasn’t trying to seriously injure, he would never go that far, but a few bruises wouldn’t kill the ace.

“I! Told! You! To! Shut! Up!” Akaashi growled between blocked hits. Bokuto just laughed and laughed as he grabbed Akaashi’s wrists and held them up.

“Hahaha! Looks like soup crotch can’t take the teeeasiiiing~” Bokuto just had to keep it up. Akaashi’s eyes burned bright with a murderous fire. Without knowing what else to do, Akaashi ripped his arms from Bokuto’s grip and shoved them into his armpits. That probably wasn’t the best idea since his pits were extremely sweaty, and because Bokuto decided to show everyone his best rodeo bull impression.

Bokuto proceeded to shoot his arms to his sides and hug his chest, cackling hysterically as his friend attacked a particularly bad spot. Their teammates watched on with exasperated yet understanding smiles. And plus, they didn’t dare intervene. Not when Akaashi’s face looked like he was happily skinning his prey alive.

“Yeah, yeah! Nothin’ to say now, huh? Huh? You were all big talk not one second ago, where did that talk go? Where did it go Bokuto?! You shut up real quick when someone gets a few tickles in, don’tcha? Come on, tease me again! One more jab, one more mock, one more word I dare you!” Akaashi bellowed with a sadistic smile on his face. Bokuto howled with mirth as he rocked side to side, kicking his feet to try and lessen the tickly feeling somehow.

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! A-AKAASHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI! NAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA! EHEEHEEHEE- GAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!” screamed Bokuto. He could never handle tickles well, his friends knew this. Even a squeeze to his side would send him through the roof. But this was plain ol’ mean. Akaashi knew his weak spots better than anyone, and how to tickle just right so Bokuto ends up crying.

“Oh nuh-uh! You deserve this, you bastard! How are you able to read the court, but not your friend?! Why do you have to be so. Damn. Annoying?!” Akaashi growled as he now focused on Bokuto’s ribs, alternating between his massaging technique and his clawing technique. The poor ace finally managed to roll onto his stomach, but somehow, not being able to block out the tickles from behind made him even more ticklish. 

“REEHEEHEEHEEEEE!! AKA-AKAAHAHAHAHAHAHASHI! SAHAHAHAHAHAHAHARRY! I’M SAHAHAHAHAHAHAHARRY!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! IT'S JUST- BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! IT’S SOHOHOHOHOHOHO EHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEASYYYYY! REEEEEEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEEEE!” Bokuto cried. He attempted to crawl away, but Akaashi kept him down by laying his shin over the small of his back. The rest of the Fukurodani team, who decided to take a water break since this might take a minute, laughed from the sidelines.

“Oh my god, he sounds like Scooby Doo!” One of them remarked. The others cracked up even louder, joined their voices with Bokuto’s in the echoing gym. Akaashi himself couldn’t stop himself from smiling earnestly either. Bokuto was a dummy, that fact wasn’t to be argued with. But at least he was a loveable dummy. Even when he’s more aggravating than sin. All the teases and jabs he made to Akaashi were all friendly. He didn’t have a sinister bone in his body. He probably thought that he was cheering up the setter, so no harm was truly intended. Such a moron, Akaashi thought to himself.

“Apologize! Or else!” Akaashi demanded, pausing the tickling and placing his hand on the back of Bokuto’s thigh. Bokuto flipped himself on his back with a panicked scream.

“I’M SORRY!!!! I’m sorry for calling you soup crotch! And for making you spill the soup! And for hitting those nasty spikes! Please please please please have mercy Akaashi!” Bokuto begged. Akaashi smirked and stood up, putting his hands on his hips.

“That’s right dumbass. Learn to cheer your friend up in different ways.” Akaashi was about to walk away when he felt Bokuto’s weak hand clasp his shorts. The ace panted heavily and gulped a few times, wanting to say something but unable to get it out just yet. Akaashi rolled his eyes fondly and waited.

“Aka- *gulp* Akaashi… *pant pant pant* Let’s stop by a store… *pant pant* and get… *gulp* meat buns? I’ll *pant* pay…!” Bokuto asked. The setter looked at him surprised, then smiled and nodded.

“That’s fine with me. Now get up and drink something before you pass out.” He pulled the ace to his feet and pushed him towards the bench. After practice, Bokuto kept to his word and bought them each five meat buns from a local convenience store. Akaashi didn’t need that much, but it was the thought that counts. He reflected back on today while walking home with Bokuto, who wouldn’t stop talking, and smiled. Eh, today wasn’t so bad, he thought. 

[gnomey22]

Failtopia Age Headcanons

It's my birthday today, so I thought I'd post a little something along those lines to celebrate. I would do birthday headcanons for everyone, but those are really hard to come up with, so I'll go for something I can come up with in, like, ten seconds instead.

Specificially because the entirety of The Incident has a canon age range in S2, if not an actual age, such as Failboat (23/26), Erica (22/25), Chi (15/18), Bill (18), Shrimp (14), and Chat (mentally 12).

Aside from that, let's go down the list, in the usual order:

Simple Bob reads as a little older than Fail or Erica to me, but still not quite at his 30s, so I'll go with 28. Same with Smuk, but not to the same degree, so let's say 26.

Deko is 16, only slightly older than Chi, and Lanc is 15, the same as her, ties into how Deko wants to seem older and more mature than them, but is actually on pretty much the same level.

Rose is 23, about the same age as Erica, but similar to Deko, a single year up on her that she can brag about.

Pirahnyawn is complicated, because of everything Daniel Failboat said in post-game about plants aging faster, and how he's actually an old man on his deathbed after the timeskip, but I'm just going to assume that's not canon yet, and that the timeskip where he's on his deathbed is a more reasonable gap, but plants should still age differently to account for Petunyawn, so. I don't know. How about, plants age way faster for their first few years of life, but age at a human pace after that? So, he's been alive for around 22 years, but his actual age is around 28. Yeah, that makes enough sense.

Joker's age in Persona 5 is 16, and he should probably be about the same age as Deko, so I'll just stick with that.

We know Mar is mentally in his 40s, but I'll stick with 40 itself for my headcanons, because I don't see him as being that much older than the rest of the adults, but not that much younger than Orion either.

And speaking of, we know Orion's in his 50s or 60s, but I think I'll stick with 51 specifically. This is the only age I actually tried to calculate, to some degree - Slapo is seven years old, and is Orion's biological daughter, which means he isn't likely to be any older than his early fifties, in order for that to even be possible. Assuming his wife was around his age, she couldn't have had Slapo later than, like, 43, so add seven or eight to that, and you may have Orion's age.

In my personal opinion, Friend's been alive for around two hundred years, but for a specific number, I'll go with 243, first number that popped into my head. They're definitely not keeping count, though.

Another personal opinion of mine is that Bo has been "alive" for around three hundred years. For the numbers, she's physically 339, and mentally 25, with 314 years between her death and rebirth.

And that's the list, I think. Feel free to reblog with thoughts of your own, if you so wish!

[angel---eater]

i think hal is way WAY more eager to sacrifice things to get what he wants than dirk will ever be. things like his connections and parts of himself specifically. hes got no things or stuff to sacrifice in canon. dirk offshoots and splinters just seem to go down in waves like theyre actual fuckin mayflies out here, living for 24 hours with no mouth to scream with. i mean brobot literally sacrificed his heart for jake. dirk himself ended up sacrificing his own head not once but twice for his loved ones

i think dirk/dirk splinters really truly depend on the people around them to really feel like they have meaning in life. i mean the entire reason why meat!dirk runs off is to continue the narrative for his friends. bro seemed to live and die for both dave and lil cal, for better or worse. so when you have a dirk splinter who's been displaced from himself and his surroundings and his friends, a splinter whos been pushed to the very edge of the narrative despite needing to be an active player because they know they can contribute, they KNOW they can help... they start gettin real fuckin desperate

i still find it interesting how bro took off to the beat mesa. he had his own copies of the Game (assuming he didnt know that dave would need 2 copies. 50/50 on that one), he started the Scratch, AND he tried to take down Jack.

honest to fuck i think we should start analyzing hal and bro in tandem more often. hal as a splinter is the closest we're gonna get to bro. i dont buy the 'ult!dirk grew into bro' stuff like AT all. ult!dirk is still alpha kid dirk, like, hes still the kid we watched willingly take his own head off for people he loves twice, hes just a little older and living through all his splinter's fuckups in paradoxical realtime on loop

[anathemafiction]

Inflation prices

Hosted Games is going to raise the price of all of their games on January 19th — it's been years, but it seems inflation has caught up with them. This won't affect newer releases much, like the Rose, but it may have a pretty substantial price increase in some of the older titles. 

The Golden Rose will go up 15% percent — so if you want to buy it, now's the time to do it! Outside of Steam sales, it'll never be this low price again.

However, some old gems will have bigger price changes, and I wanted to take this opportunity to shine some light on a few of my old favorite HG games. If the summaries interest you, give the free demos a try!

(I'll be linking the COG page, where you can find the links to Steam, Google Play, the App Store, and Amazon at the bottom of the screen).

Tin Star (50% price increase) — Step into the shoes of a US marshal in the old, wild west. It's a very big game, full of hard decisions and a great cast of characters (Preston, you cocky bastard, I love you). You can be a terrible person, a saint, or anything in between. 

Zombie Exodus (60% increase) — Try to survive a zombie apocalypse. There are dangerous missions to navigate, complicated power dynamics between survivors, and, of course, friends and lovers to remind you what it is you're fighting for. This is an old game, but it was one of the first IFs I read, and to this day the story and characters hold a special place in my heart. 

Zombie Exodus: Safe Haven (40%) — This one isn't really an old game, but I want to include it since the price increase is still substantial and, if you enjoy the first ZE, you will LOVE this. The author took everything from the first game and made it better. You can see how much he has improved. From customization (it's mind-blowing), to relationships, to writing atmospheres - I was legitimately scared in some parts! Plus, the different prologues are so good and... just try it! I adore this game so much. 

Way Walkers: University (40%) — Play as a student in a prestigious magic school. The magic system is super interesting, as is the world at large. But, by far, the best thing about this game and its sequel are the characters. It has one of my favorite ROs in any IF games, Semryu, and the way your friendship develops into a tentative romance is so well done. There's also mystery and tension, and I cannot wait for Book 3! 

Double/Cross (60%) — Okay, I'll admit: I don't remember a lot about this game. It's been years since I read it, but I do remember, however, really liking it! You work as a bodyguard for the richest man in England, and not everything is as it seems. I like it because it subverts your expectations, and when I got my "happy ending" I... did not feel happy at all. It's really interesting and not very long, so I encourage everyone to give it a try!

So, You're Possessed! (50%) — Oh, how to explain this game? You start as a pizza delivery person, and then you meet a demon and your life is thrown upside down. It's been years since I've played it but it has always remained a special little gem. I don't want to spoil the story too much, so just give it a try!

Evertree Inn (40%) — Again, not exactly old, but I think the price increase warrants it on the list. I also think most of you are familiar with the game and its sequels, but I want to mention it anyway. Solve a mystery in a secluded tavern and watch out for the murderer! You can play as a number of fantasy races — dwarf, elf, etc— and interact with a cast of colorful characters. It's just such a fun game, and it leads to a great adventure in the sequel. 

Fallen Hero: Rebirth (40%) — Okay, okay, I know. You all have the game already plus, it isn't technically "old". Well, may this serve as an announcement that Fallen Hero is about to get 40% more expensive, and if by some chance some of you haven't played it yet, you should absolutely do so now. The sequel is coming, and it's held as one of the best IFs ever published. A reputation that, in my opinion, is more than deserved. 

Happy reading! I hope you find at least one game that'll bring you joy.♡

[billthedrake]

DYNASTY

This story was inspired by A4F Tales' (@talesfromunderthemattress ) story Parental Unit. Consider this an unofficial sequel of sorts.

Kevin was driving. He almost always insisted on driving if it was the both of us. Now as I looked over at my older brother, I was glad he was behind the wheel since it gave me a chance to scope him out. Even now, after 8 years of being married, at least in our minds, I never got sick of looking at him. His hairline was receding but if anything that made his solid coach bod even better looking, kind of the best of both worlds, being a 31 year old dude starting to rock the daddy look a little.

"You think Dad hit the bars tonight?" I asked. Still feeling the glow of date night and the buzz of the extra glass of wine I had because I wasn't driving.

Kevin's normally serious expression turned into a slight laugh of a grin. "Probably bro. You know how he's alwasy going on about not getting enough pussy."

I chuckled and puffed out my chest like Dad as I imitated him. "What you boys have going on is great and all... but I'm 50/50, you know," I said in my best Craig Stansell baritone.

Kevin laughed. "Whatever it takes, babe," he said, looking away from the road quickly to flash me a grin. "Besides, the old man's almost 60. Let him have his pride."

"58 and a very fine 58," I chimed in. "You think we ever push him too much?"

My husband seemed to think that over a second. "Not really, no. If anything, maybe not enough." He patted my thigh. "If he found another woman, you know, settled down again... would you be upset, Kyle?"

I didn't have to think of my answer. "Selfishly, yes. But I want him to be happy bro, you know that."

"I do too, of course," Kevin continued, thinking out loud as he turned into our subdivision, where we'd been shacking up as brothers ever since I moved down to Florida to work under him in the college football program he coached. "I just think, you know, he's kind of what makes our relationship work so well."

I'd thought of that too. Kevin and I had both given up our asses to each other, many times, and would gladly continue to do so. But we both preferred topping and all around loved the rush of fucking a man. "We'd make it work regardless, Kevin," I objected. "But I know what you mean."

He nodded and held up his left hand after he turned toward our street. "It was fun wearing our bands when we go out."

"Fun's an understatement," I growled softly. It had been a nice romantic evening, but my big brother was gonna get me hard, fast. "Wish we could do it more."

"It's risky," Kevin said, lust in his voice. "But we'll have to find a way."

The Florida air was warm and muggy. That's the one thing I'd never get used to, but beyond that this was paradise. Maybe because it's a place Dad could take an early retirement to and not bat an eye, living in an in-law addition behind our place.

"Hey guys," our father said, peeling his eyes off a Ravens-Steelers game on TV. Ever since coaching college ball, Kev and I relished our Sunday days off, and had grown less interested in following the NFL religiously. But Dad was still sports obsessed and maybe missed his own coaching days, more than a little. "How was date night?"

Kevin casually patted Dad's meaty shoulder through the man's T-shirt. It still blew my mind how casually our father had sussed out me and Kevin's sexual relationship, early on and how he not only didn't seem to mind but actually covered for us. Only later did I discover he'd fooled around with our Uncle Rick growing up.

"Great," my older brother said, looking over at me with a wink. "Nice to have some one-on-one time with my special man."

Dad grumbled. "You boys should take your special time any goddamn time you want. Forget I'm here if you have to. You guys are married, and just because you asked me..."

"All right, Dad," Kevin laughed, holding up his hands like he was 17 and being delivered another lecture. "Me and me husband are gonna go to our bedroom and have hot date night sex, OK?"

Dad got a big grin on his gruffly handsome mug. Unlike Kevin he still had his full head of hair though it was almost entirely gray now and maybe not as thick as it once was. "That's more like it."

Kevin patted his shoulder and turned to walk back to our room. I knew he was horny from our conversation, and since yesterday was game day and as usual we didn't usually get around to sex, my brother was undoubtedly feeling as backed up as I was. "Good night, Dad," he said.

"Good night," I said to my father, only leaning in for a quick peck of a kiss. On the lips. "You OK on your own tonight, Dad?" I asked.

"Son... if you don't get back there quick, your brother's gonna have some major blue balls," he joked.

I about asked about his blue balls, but instead just took the hint. "All right, Dad. Have a good one."

Kevin was already naked when I got to the master bedroom. I liked stripping for him as he watched and stroked his fat brother bone. "Jack is doing a great job with you," he said, referring to the strength and conditioning coach for the team. Even if I wasn't a player, I took advantage of the man's expertise and encouragement. While Kevin had a naturally medium-build coach bod, I was getting more jacked, almost like a tight end. The more I did, the more my husband loved it.

"Remind me to thank him," I grinned, stepping forward naked to the bed.

We were both horny but we also loved the physicality of making out before swapping blow jobs.

I took my big brother's dick into my mouth, slowly working him up. "Damn, suck me KS," he urged, using my initials as a pet name ever since we first fooled around, back in the day. "Suck your big brother." Those words never failed to turn me on. I blew him with longer deeper mouth strokes, using my hands to feel his hairy balls and hold his prick. Kevin was in shape, but that coach-bod padding felt real nice and softly furred against my forehead as I managed a deep throat.

"FUCK!" my husband grunted, holding me down playfully on to his hairier crotch. "You're too good to me, man." He let up on his grip and I started bobbing again, trying to work him to a good, heavy cum.

Only as Kev was getting too close, he pulled me off, gently pushing my head back once his thick prick cleared my wet lips. "Let me return the favor, bro."

I nodded and I knelt on the bed, letting my older brother lean forward and start licking me. "God, I love date night," he hissed before he bagan taking me into his mouth."

It was hot, very hot, watching my successful head coach of a brother go down on me, his masculine face getting an intent look as he did his best to blow me. It had taken a few years actually to convince my cocky brother to actually go down on me. Now, he took oral service as a serious job, as much dedicated work as studying game tape. You'd think that approach would be a turn off, but instead it drove me wild to see Kevin treat my pleasure like his biggest mission in life.

I could have let him get me off, but something was on my mind.

"Think we should invite Dad back, bro?"

I thought Kevin might be pissed off or at least bark his usual reminder that it was date night. Instead he pulled off my hard dick and slurped back the excess spit before he nodded, "Go get him."

I leapt up like an excited puppy and strutted into the living room, naked and hard. Dad was still watching the game, and I startled him when I put both hands on his shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. "Feel like joining us?" I asked simply.

He looked up and his eyes went wide when he realized my nakedness. Kevin wasn't the only one into my new jacked-up body. "Don't want to spoil your date night, Kyle," he said softly.

"When did you ever spoil anything, Dad?" I asked. "But it's up to you. We'd love to have you with us tonight."

He nodded, and god I could tell he was horny for it. "If you're sure."

"Sure I'm sure," I said. I gave a reminder. "But it's the master bedroom."

We had a ritual about this. Turns out Dad was on board, as always. "I want that," he said quietly but confidently.

I appeared first, and Kevin was already lubing up his cock, confident Dad would come in too.

"Hey Dad."

It wasn't Kevin who said that but our father, who was stepping out from behind me and peeling off his T-shirt. His 58 year old frame had always been muscular, an ex-jock's build, but since moving to join us in Florida, he'd kept at the weights hard to stay solid. He was very much a silver muscle daddy, tanned and buff, though with the telltale roughness in his skin from a man that age.

"Pop says you guys want me to join you," our father added, getting into the psychodrama we'd honed over the years. One that played out not every night but at least once a week.

"Come on, son," Kevin said, patting the mattress and scooting to make a spare spot. "We love having you in our bed."

Dad never played favorites, but when we did role reversal like this, Kevin was Dad and I was Pop and that just intensified the bond he had with his eldest. I watched as Dad scooted next to my brother-husband, letting Kevin take the lead to claim a kiss as Dad's furry muscle daddy body almost arched like a cat in Kevin's greedy embrace.

I never got sick of watching those two men kiss. It was romantic and sexual at the same time, in equal parts.

It turned me on to see how much our father loved it. His old man had been a legendary football coach, and after a number of threesomes Kevin and I sussed out that Dad had some giant-sized Daddy Issues of his own. A little role play and pushing the envelope and we settled in on this.

Dad was our son only when joining us in the master bedroom, but we embraced it so heavily that for that time it felt real to us. Real to Kevin, real to me, and real to our dad.

For his part, Kevin outright loved playing Dad to our father. As hot as the sex was between me and my brother, this brought out his more assertive side.

Already he was making his way down Dad's silver-furred body, kissing down that mature muscle and nudging our father's legs up and back. Dad complied. "Oh yes, Dad," he hissed. "Eat out my son hole."

He got into it, into that intimate connection between my brother's tongue and his sphincter, gently loosened from Kev's and my regular fucks. "God, Pop, I love you guys," he hissed as I lay next to him. And like that, me and my father were kissing. Deep, tongues battling, sucking the air from one another.

We got lost in that incest kiss. Me being daddy for my father and both of us loving that head-fuck. Either we made out longer than I expected, or Kevin was real impatient that night. Before I knew it, Dad pulled back and turned to look at Kevin who was holding our father's legs and entering him with that heavy brother cock of his.

"God, yeah," Dad said. "Dick me, Dad. I need it so bad, sir."

The S word was like poppers to Kevin. He growled and plowed right in. The first time he'd taken Dad like that I was pissed off and a little worried. But turns out Dad loved it. Even if that ex-NFL-er cock softened at the rough intrusion, Dad was always back to full hardness quickly.

That's how it played out now. I watched excitedly as the dick that made me steadily got its lead hardness again. I slicked my father's prick up with lube and slowly stroked while Kevin pounded him with harder faster stokes.

"Fuck, son," my coach brother hissed, throwing that beefy body into an athletic performance. Even if I preferred to top more than bottom these days, just watching my husband in rut made my vers side rare up and crave Kevin inside me. We'd have to see how long I'd go before making that a reality.

"Fuck me Dad!" our father bellowed, getting real into it, his hips bucking a little to work his cock in my lubed fist and to meet the fantasy patriarch's thrusts. "Use my hole, sir."

Kevin's face scrunched up and I knew immediately he was coming. One of those sudden, no warning orgasm. His normally confident voice became a succession of whimpers as he ejaculated deep and heavy inside our father.

"Hell yes," our dad his, excited to be bred.

I was horny as hell now. Impatiently, I got up and practically pushed Kevin out of the way. "Fuck 'im babe," he growled, placing his meaty paw on my strong shoulder. I looked down and saw his amazing prick wet with fresh cum. The view of Dad's asshole was better. Legs spread wide, our father showed off the now fucked-open hole and the incestuous creampie oozing out.

I'd never done this before, though it had been on my mind. At that moment, horniness overcame any hesitation I had. I leaned down and started licking Dad's pucker.

"Oh SHIT, Bro!" Kevin exclaimed. I didn't have to see to know my brother's softening prick surged right back into a hard watching me felch on his load. It was evident in my brother's voice.

Dad actually chuckled at how nasty I was being. But didn't care. I licked deeper now, rooting for a stronger taste of Kev's cum. I figured if I was gonna have my first felch experience, I'd go all the way.

Dad helped me out, by pushing out a good bit of Kevin's load. That familiar brother-husband flavor filled my mouth, and it drove me wild to realize just how much he'd cum.

"Oh fuck!" I growled as I pulled back, my throat half clogged with that assload. I rushed as I got into the saddle. I hoped to god Kev's fuck was foreplay enough for Dad, because I was coming in. My entry was rougher and more sudden than Kevin's had been.

"Yeah, Pop," Dad hissed. No softening cock this time, my father's meat twitched in its hardness as I boned him.

The dad-son mating was fevered. Dad clenching at my body and me doing my best Kevin Stansell topping imitation. As I fucked Dad and as Dad called me Pop with every other stroke, I imagined doing this to my father over the years, as the man entered his 60s, and even his 70s...

The idea almost tripped my trigger but I held off so Dad could cum. I didn't want to leave the old man high and dry. So I slowed my strokes and tried to work his butt nut. "Yes," he hissed, getting into the new rhythm. It wasn't a Kevin imitation, but a Kyle Stansell fuck.

My brother had actually gone to piss, like he always does after a good fuck. I guess I'd forgotten about him, because I was surprised to feel his hands on my mind and his kiss along my neck. "You're beautiful to watch Babe," he whispered. Instinctively I leaned back into that kiss and embrace, even as I had to slow my fuck down to a slow hump.

It took me a second to register how greasy Kevin's lubed cock was and how adeptly it was rooting in between my tight-end-worthy ass cheeks. "Whaddya say, bro?" he grunted, licking and nibbling at my ear lobe.

I wanted it. God, I wanted. "Yeah," I replied, and all of a sudden I was the center of attention. Dad's eyes on me, hungry but amused at watching me take my brother's cock. Kevin feeling me up to coax me to relax.

My man knew he had to take his time. And it had been a solid four months since he'd fucked me. I was tight as fuck.

But something about that situation was opening me up. Slowly, then more steadily I felt Kevin's thick tool plowing in. Challenging me to accept all of him.

"He's big isn't he, Pop?" Dad asked.

I looked down in my father's brown eyes. "Feels even bigger going in," I answered.

"It's gonna make you feel amazing, Pop," Dad said with sincerity. "Always does."

Kevin loved being talked up like that, and he now thrust more excitedly into me. It was intense but in a good way. Particularly once Dad's ass started clenching down on my own cock, buried deep inside him. My father was stroking his meat once more and sending shock waves to my bone in the process.

I wouldn't saw we had a practiced rhythm doing a fuck sandwich, but we alternated between Kevin driving things and me being the one to move my hips between these two men.

Dad came first. The excitement of watching his two sons fuck combined with the stimulation in his ass.

"Fuck son!" Kevin exclaimed, watching over my shoulder as heavy spurts of semen spurted from our father's reddened cock. "Give it up, stud."

Just hearing those role play words in my ear got me off. I grunted in orgasm, wordlessly but my body tensing and revealing that I'd crossed the line in a major way.

Kevin's hips were now bucking faster, almost frantic in the guy's realization he had a brief window to get off in me before I lost the sex-fueled openness in my ass.

He made it, barely. My brother-husband's strong hands gripped my waist as he powered his second cum of the night inside me. Making up for no-sex Game Day. I accepted his seed, proud that I'd done this, put out for my man.

My brother gave a soft kiss to the back of my neck and slowly pulled out.

This was always the hardest part of the role play. Not going back to our real-life family roles. But we'd learned to keep it going. Wordlessly, we showered off, first me and Dad in the shower, before I stepped out and let Kevin join him.

"You going to sleep with us tonight, Son?" I asked as I toweled off and watched them rinse under the spray.

Dad looked over at Kevin, maybe expectantly but mostly trying to read his reaction. Kev patted Dad's ass. "Up you, son, but your dads would love to have you join us."

It was wild to see the mature man, a pro-ball veteran and a coaching legend in his own right, act like a deferential college kid with us. He smiled and his dick chubbed out a little as he nodded.

I thought I was spent, but my own prick firmed up at the sight. All the way to full erection. Kevin laughed. He'd cum twice and his beautifully thick prick hung soft, water dripping off.

"Gotta warn ya, Son," my brother said. "Us coaches can be real horny bastards sometimes."

Dad chuckled and I watched as he slipped out of Kevin's embrace and dripping wet, stepped onto the bath mat before crouching in front of me in that classic blow job kneeling position.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Dad.... Pop..." Then looking up at me he took my son-prick into my mouth.