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lovers-rck · 1 day ago

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price on emotion | caitlyn kiramman x vi

okay first of all hi.

okay second of all this fic is inspired by this drawing made by @/XWilson127 on twitter. can't stop thinking about it so yeah.

i lost my ability to write so this kinda sucks

enjoy

☆

outside its raining. lightning pierces through the curtains into that poorly lit room.

vi lies on the bed. her limbs feel incredibly tense to the point that she wonders if it is possible that her muscles have contracted so much that they can never return to normal. today it was her turn to fight, at first that giant man managed to destabilize her with a punch in her chest, so hard that she lost her breath for a good ten seconds. she thinks she only got air in her lungs back just because she saw that stupid smile of victory in that man's face and she got mad.

but she had won anyway, so she went home with a taste of victory and a bottle of alcohol. loris wasn't in town today to celebrate, so now she was in her rented room, watching how the light was hitting in the empty bottles of alcohol reflecting the color in her wall, like a cheap aurora borealis.

her room is a mess. besides the bottles of alcohol scattered on the floor, vi's room is decorated with clothes everywhere; on the floor, on the door handle, on her bed. from her point of view, she can see the little mark that jinx left on her last visit made with the paint that vi uses for her fights.

jinx has been in and out for a couple months now. last time she showed up when vi was sleeping; when the pink haired girl opened her eyes to hear drawers being rattled, a pair of long blue braids greeted her. vi remembers how her first instinct was to attack her, then jinx insulted her, then left. to this day vi doesn't know how she managed to get into the apartment.

so yeah, jinx has been... there.

before vi can wander further in her thoughts, a knock on the door catches her attention. she thinks maybe it's from the heavy blizzard outside, so she doesn't think much of it; she keeps looking at jinx mark.

a clap of thunder explodes in the sky, vi feels the earth that holds her rumble. she really wishes that loris would be here tonight. he is good company, she thinks; he is quiet, so most of the talking is on vi's part, usually riddled with strange babbling and exaggeratedly pronounced words because of the alcohol.

lately, vi has noticed how the alcohol has worn off; she still can't decide if she likes it or if it scares her. her life has been all about finding options to avoid consciousness for the past few months, from bruises to the cheapest alcohol she could find at the corner store. they work for a couple of weeks, then she is back at the same spot where she started.

another knock on the door comes.

she doesn't consider herself suicidal. she doesn't want to die, for sure, but she is aware of her personality's propensity for not-so-healthy methods. or so she thinks.

it's the third knock on the door that succeeds in calling vi to the surface of her thoughts. she lets out a groan of pain as she gets out of bed, her legs dragging heavily toward the door.

vi thinks maybe it's loris, deploying a sudden apparition that manages to save vi from that boring, lonely rainy night. she also thinks it might be jinx, but jinx isn't polite enough to knock on the door.

instead, a pair of crooked teeths greet her.

"what took you so long? it's raining outside."

her body instinctively slides to the side, leaving the way clear for the slender body to scurry inside quickly. a sea-blue haze pervades the room, and vi feels like she hasn't had a drop of alcohol in years.

"yeah, hello to you too" vi mutters, closing the door.

the noise of the storm leaves the room, but the presence of water makes an appearance; in front of her, caitlyn is soaking wet. the locks of her long hair shed fat drops of water, her uniform turns a darker shade where the drops landed, which becomes tighter and louder with every step she takes, leaving an unobtrusive trail for her craft.

cailtyn's eyebrows furrow. her lips open, but no sound comes from them. vi sits on the bed, her eyes match those of the blue-haired woman; it's been two weeks.

for the past few months an unorthodox routine has been going on in those four walls that vi calls home. she doesn't remember when it started, or how it became so recurrent, but when the nights became lonely and boring, she would catch herself waiting for a knock on the door.

or at least that was two weeks ago, when caitlyn showed signs of life.

"so, you came back from the dead" vi says, her legs manspreading

caitlyn purses her lips "i was busy"

"yeah, i can tell"

"things got... complicated" her hair sheds droplets of water; vi follows the path of one with her eyes, who descends caitlyn's long torso.

vi's eyes reconnect with caitlyn's as the droplet disappears "you don't owe me explanations" vi murmurs

vi can't figure out where in the recesses of her being such hostility comes from, she feels a little stupid about it, but she can't help it. two fucking weeks.

caitlyn's eyes transform, they become harder, less bright, emptier. "you are right. i dont owe you nothing" she says, her strong accent punctuating every word.

the atmosphere feels tense. the thunder continues to make a presentation in the sky, which lights up with each flash of lightning, small rays of light among so much darkness.

"so" vi says "what brings you here?"

vi knows, and caitlyn knows that vi knows. she knows why caitlyn is there, that night, when a thunderstorm is practically tearing the city apart. she could be anywhere, but there she is, in vi's disgusting room, which smells like alcohol and something that she cannot decipher.

caitlyn's furtive visits happen on random days of the week, sometimes in her civilian clothes, sometimes in her enforcer's clothes; usually at night time, when the streets of zaun lie uninhabited, where any sound could be mistaken for the rushing wind.

vi can recite this nightly routine as if it were the anthem: caitlyn shows up at her door with an excuse of being in the middle of an investigation, vi says she doesn't know anything about it, they argue, and then they fuck.

sometimes vi thinks caitlyn's lie isn't necessary, but she can't help but feel that it adds a more interesting twist to the whole thing.

"i heard that jinx has been around lately" caitlyn says, and vi smiles.

well, she hasn't used that one in a while. it's fair.

"mhm" vi says "so that is all it takes for you to come back. jinx."

"i already told you. things has been busy."

"no, i know" vi says "since deciding which fancy restaurant to go eat at every night must be complicated" she knows that she's been a little bit to hard on her, but she can't help to care.

caitlyn lets out a snort. everything she's saying is true, or at least partially true.

normally, caitlyn's secret, spontaneous visits occurred once a week, twice a week if she was feeling lucky, but those last two weeks luck was not something that characterized them. the weight of the power that her own family name inherited from her had been stealing overtime from caitlyn's life, and she had been feeling a little bit of a struggle to take care of it. sometimes caitlyn felt as if her last name was something tangible, a solid object she had to carry all day, every day, for the rest of eternity.

but her words aren't sincere enough to tell vi is that during these weeks apart, caitlyn has been searching for vi's essence in other women.

things were never easy between them. somehow, something always got left unsaid in between them, pricking like a thorn in the prettiest rose in the whole garden, pressing the skin against the thorn to see how long it can last before you hurt yourself.

she knows. she knows all of this is pointless, she knows that sex isn't enough with vi, that somehow nothing is enough with her lately. these last weeks, she found herself daydreaming about the curvature of her nose, the ink on her cheek, the scar on her lips.

but she can't afford that. even coming from a wealthy family, caitlyn can't afford the luxury of feelings, nothing there seems to have a price for her to get it, so the closest thing she can get is the sex.

and she knows that it may be selfish, but if that is the only thing she can get from vi, she will take it.

"i don't care if you don't believe me" caitlyn says "i dont know why i even bother to tell you".

her words sound harsh, her thick accent stands out.

when vi stands up, a few inches separate them. the only source of light from a dim lamp on the makeshift bedside table illuminates caitlyn's features, a dance of light and shadow reflected on her face. vi thinks that maybe the way her face is illuminated is her favorite aurora borealis.

vi's fingertips gently brush the seam of caitlyn's skirt, wrapping the fabric around her finger and causing a slight tug. she can see caitlyn's chest rise and fall.

"what are you really here for, cupcake?"

and that is all it takes.

vi still has her fight makeup on; the black shadow is scattered across her eyelids, there are spots where the shadow has patched and left large uneven chunks. she has a band-aid over her eyebrow and the artificially dyed hair lie messily across her face, but still, underneath all that, it doesn't stop her from seeing the moment when caitlyn leaves her performance and launches into her touch.

everything feels desperate. their lips fight fiercely in an intense kiss, the sound of saliva and wet lips floods the room that was once tamed by the rain outside. vi's hands clutch at caitlyn's jaw, who allows herself to be manipulated with pleasure.

none of it is tender; it's carnal. bot of them are aware of the sound of spit and heaving breaths heard in the room, but none of them seem to care enough to stop. two weeks.

caitlyn's slender, nimble fingers drop vi's leather jacket to the floor, which falls with a thud. her fingertips touch every inch of accessible skin with desperation, trying to memorize every detail, every texture of her physiognomy, to absorb every reaction of her body and then repeat the action and get the same results. the blue-haired woman's hands slip down vi's shirt until they find her breasts, where she squeezes and rubs, pinches and plays.

she loves vi's body. maybe it's superficial, but the way her muscles contract and her skin lies so tight is something that caitlyn could swear changes her brain chemistry.

she can feel how vi drags her toward the bed with steps too clumsy that they are both surprised when their bodies collide against the soft mattress and not the cold floor. caitlyn falls on top of vi, but quickly vi goes on top, leaving caitlyn's long body under her power. vi's hands navigate the full expanse of skin, her fingers sliding the fabric of caitlyn's skirt toward her hips, leaving the flesh of her thighs exposed.

vi's lips leave caitlyn's for a new adventure that begins at her neck. vi sucks and bites lightly like a famished animal, she can feel the taste of rain on caitlyn's skin, who lets out muffled moans.

she can feel vi's fingers squeezing the flesh of her inner thighs. the touch is hard and ecstatic, and both can predict the marks that will appear in the not-too-distant future. their fingers entwine in vi's hair, who whimpers as she is tugged with pleasure.

she has missed this. no one has ever treated her, or well, fuck her, like vi does. she likes that she doesn't feel the necessity of being in control with her, that she can lay down and vi will make her feel good no matter what. with vi, everything flows.

when other women got to touch caitly's body, she often found herself being overly calculating, the need to be in control of the situation overtaking her in a way where enjoyment was the last thing on the list, focused on displaying that performance for an imaginary audience.

last week, caitlyn found herself in a brothel. when the girl was eating her out, caitlyn couldn't force herself to enjoy the moment, so when she faked an orgasm and went home, she vowed never to return.

with vi, caitlyn is stripped of this obsessive need for control.

a flash of lightning illuminates the room. vi can see the desire in cait's eyes.

sometimes vi feels like it's all meaningless; too many nights have passed where the alcohol doesn't work as intended and her mind navigates the sea of worries that inhabit her being, convincing herself that the next time caitlyn shows up at her door, vi won't open it, that she will stop satisfying the needs of a piltover enforcer who only comes to her aid when the nights seem endless and sleep is not present, when frustration and the desire to ignore the exaggerated power she possesses suddenly invades her, guiding her blindly to that dark and lonely room. vi thinks that this is the only way she can break the cycle in half.

but then, for a fraction of a millisecond, she sees that familiar look in caitlyn's eyes and vi knows that her desire has betrayed her once again.

and she hates it. she hates that when all of the sex is over, she goes back to the same place where she started; drunk, beaten and missing a warmth that doesn't belong to her. there have been multiple nights when caitlyn's face where the only thing she could see, where every tone of midnight blue sent shocks through her whole body reminding her that she is alive, and alone.

but she'd rather have a little bit of caitlyn than none of her.

one night, after vi won a fight against a fucking monster -that's what she called him-, she went to a bar with loris, with the excuse that she deserved a good drink after she was about to be beaten to death. the night went well, loris bought her a drink and they talked about the next rounds, training, among other things, but when vi turned to look at loris, a flash of blue eyes caught her attention.

her ears were deafened and loris' words were forgotten. vi could have sworn she felt her heart stop for a few seconds, her skin drained of any trace of color and a bead of cold sweat ran down her spine, paralyzing her completely in a pigsty in the depths of zaun.

it wasn't many seconds before that woman turned around and her identity was revealed; it wasn't her. of course. she took a shot after that, and ended up throwing up on some random people's porch on the way back home, with loris by her side.

but that doesn't matter at the moment, not when vi's fingers slip inside caitlyn's underwear, the fabric of the skirt covering up that indecent act taking place in the privacy of four walls.

she didn't tell violet that these last two weeks she's been away she touched herself imagining that her fingers were vi's. or that she put a handful of pillows down imagining that it was vi beside her and not her usual solitude.

she wasn't allowed to say that.

vi straightens up. look at that view; the way cait is spreading her legs, the way her hips chase vi's touch, how her eyebrows furrow and her lips search for air. caitlyn's hands tug vi's t-shirt hard enough for vi to get the message. she pulls it off and tosses it to the floor, revealing her breasts to cait, who is already drooling.

they usually don't talk when they have sex, the only things that are uttered aloud are directions, like faster or louder, or some insult when vi pushes cait too hard when she is overstimulated.

the lack of talking is not because they don't care about each other, but because they have learned each other's bodies in such a way that they don't need words. a language so intimate that there are only two speakers in the whole world.

the bleached locks fall over her face in a perfectly messy way that caitlyn doesn't know whether to run them off or leave them there for her enjoyment, but before she can even decide, vi leans over and drops a trickle of saliva toward caitlyn's pussy.

caitlyn stifles a moan, her body getting used to the change in temperature. she feels vi's saliva running down her folds.

all of it it's so nasty, but she likes it.

vi's fingers quickly unbutton her pants, revealing the strap clinging to her pelvis. caitlyn wants to roll her eyes at that.

then she thinks if she is seeing someone else.

the head of the fake penis rubs against caitlyn's entrance. vi takes the length of it and moves it up and down, spreading that whitish liquid and sending shudders through the blue-haired woman's body.

vi feels mesmerized. the wet noises make her go crazy, the way caitlyn moves her hips in desperation, her lips letting out low moans. her fingers attack her clitoris, massaging that bundle of nerves as if all the time in the world belonged to her.

she knows she can make cait feel good, and that fills her with an explosion of power that vi feels drunk.

a thunderclap explodes outside, the earth beneath the floor that holds them trembles. the whole world belongs to them.

the light in the room is not bright enough to reveal how much they have missed each other.

another thunderclap.

caitlyn loves being teased by vi, but it's been two fucking weeks, and she can't wait anymore longer.

so when vi pulls out the strap, caitlyn pulls on vi's arm until her back hits the mattress and she's positioned on top of her body, her thighs on either side of vi's legs, who lies mesmerized by the sight.

her uniform is still on as if nothing has happened, the fabric of her skirt bunched up over her hips, a wet mark revealed in her underwear where vi touched her.

vi rests her weight on one of her arms, her torso is leaning back slightly, her other hand holds caitlyn's bare thigh.

"do you need help?" vi says. she feels like she hasn't used her voice in a million times. her throat itches.

caitlyn shakes her head. her hands seek support on vi's broad shoulders, which lend themselves without complaint. her body lifts a little, vi can see her chew her lower lip hard, and before sinking into the strap, caitlyn pulls her underwear to the side.

vi thinks that was the hottest thing ever. she also thinks she can cum with just that.

when caitlyn feels the base of the strap touch her skin, she lets out a sigh. she never tried this position with vi before, or with any other women. she feels full. somehow, her throat feels full, as if a million moans made themselves at home in her throat, and that at the slightest movement of her hips they'll all come rushing out.

she goes up, and then down. she does this a few times before she can get used to. her hands never leave vi's shoulders, squeezing the tanned skin tightly as the strap hits some sensitive part inside her. quickly, caitlyn's rhythm increases, who dances her hips faster and harder.

the sound of skin colliding is as dirty as it is addictive. vi lets out slight moans, not just from the sight, but because csitlyn's thrusts cause the base of the strap to rub against her clit, making her see stars.

vi's lips find their home again on caitlyn's neck, who facilitates access. everything feels hot. the redhead's skin burns, her neck carries a flush that extends into her cleavage, a path vi has traversed countless times. the pace only increases with each second, caitlyn's hips become unruly, the movements more awkward and faster. vi tilts her hips up, and the sound caitlyn makes is one she's never heard before.

she does this a couple of times before caitlyn starts to shake. vi's lips come up, capturing caitlyn's in a wet kiss, caitlyn fucks herself into vi while her mouth is getting fucked the same way by vi's tongue, who shamelessly assaults caitlyn's mouth.

more than a kiss it might seem like an attempt to shut the other up mutually, the guttural moans die on the other's tongue, vibrating at the movement of the onslaught. vi's hand travels from caitlyn's throat, caressing every inch of her body, squeezing the flesh of her hips and thighs, until it reaches her clitoris, where it presses.

she can't kiss caitlyn no more. she can't keep her mouth shut, her legs tremble and vi knows she's on the verge of an explosion. her moans sound more like whimpers, jumping on vi again and again.

"violet" cailtyn moans, her voice is shaky and high-pitched.

her pleasure is so great that it drugs her. caitlyn feels the need to vomit all her feelings to vi, to tell her that she really is the woman she imagined every time another girl touched her, that when she closes her eyes her scar on her lip is the only thing she can see, that her heart constantly seeks her warmth.

but she can't do it, so when she climaxes and the orgasm passes, she rises from vi's lap, her legs shaky and sticky

"let me know if you hear from Jinx."

and she's gone.

#caitlyn kiramman #vi arcane #arcane #league of lesbians #caitvi #vi x caitlyn #caitlyn arcane #loser lesbians like me #lesbian

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6rookie-writer0110 · 1 day ago

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A new life together

Dick Grayson and Male Reader

Request - If you can do a DC's Titans Dick Grayson and male readers birthday and dick plans a special birthday dinner for him then proposes to him after dinner reader says yes and just end up cuddling in front of the fire.

Today is your birthday and tonight your boyfriend is going to take you out. He takes you out to eat first and it was at the restaurant where you had your first date with him.

“Wow, we haven't been here since our first date,” You said

You drink your soda and he is smiling at you.

“Yeah, it's been a while now. I thought why not here and the food is still good” Dick said

“Remember you accidentally spilled your drink on me” You giggled

“I was hoping you forgot about that,” Dick said

“I didn't forget, Dick. The date wasn't that bad and we are still together” You said

“When that happened I thought you wouldn't go out with me again, I thought I ruined the date,” Dick said

“Before you spilled the drink on me, I did have a good time and that's why I agreed to a second date,” You said

“Well, I’m glad you did agree to see me again,” Dick said

You and Dick are still smiling at each other. Then you two started to talk about something else, then he ordered dessert. You ordered a milkshake and he is holding your hand.

Later, He surprised you by taking you to the aquarium. You and Dick have been dating for a long time and are madly in love with each other. You know that he is Nightwing and he doesn't hide secrets from you. You and Dick try to have date night often but it can be hard when he has to go fight criminals.

You are holding his hand while walking around. Then you take a selfie with him by the turtles and you send him the picture.

“That looks so cool,” You said

“I really like the picture. Do you want to go look at the otters?” Dick said

“Sure,” You smiled

You and Dick head to see the otters. You take pictures of the otters then you and Dick went to pet the stingrays. Dick takes a picture of you touching the stingrays and sea stars.

You go to the bathroom and he waits for you outside. Dick has the ring box in his hand and he is feeling even more nervous. He starts to think about how to ask you to marry him. He saw you come out of the bathroom, he quickly put the ring box away and stood up fast.

“Do you want to go look at the sharks?” You asked

“Yeah,” Dick smiled

You hold his hand and head to see the sharks. You and Dick started to look up and saw different kinds of shark swim by. Dick can feel his heart racing ‘Now or never’ he thought to himself. He lets go of your hand, he takes out the ring box and he goes down on one knee. Some strangers started to watch him

“Y/N” Dick smiled

You look down and you are in shock and feeling speechless.

“W-what-what are you doing?” You stuttered

You don't move your hand away, then he opens the ring box.

“Y/N, I love you. Since our first date, I knew I wanted to be with you forever. You make me happy and I want you to be my husband. I want to create new memories with you and I will never stop loving you ever. I know we belong togther, Y/N. In every universe I know we belong together. Y/N, will you marry me?” Dick said

Everyone is still watching and you feel their eyes on you and him.

“I love you and forever. Yeah, I will marry you!” You smiled big

He puts the ring on your finger, people Cheer for you two. He stands up and you kiss him on the lips and he can't stop smiling.

“I can't believe we are getting married,” Dick said

“You thought I was going to say no?” You asked

“Yeah. Some people run away once marriage is mentioned. I can't wait to tell the others” Dick said

“Me too,” You said

You kiss him again.

✫ ✫ ✬

You and Dick went home. He is putting wood in the fireplace then he starts the fire. You and Dick sit in front of the fire and start to eat the cheesecake togther, but he feeds you a piece.

“How did you know my ring size? I don't even know my size” You said

“I checked online and I printed a ring size chart. When you were sleeping, I put it around your finger then I went to the jewelry store” Dick smirked

“That was smart to do. I really love the ring” You said

“That’s good to know. I wasn't sure about the style but I’m glad I picked that one” Dick said

He gives you a peck on the lips. You cuddle with him. He puts the blanket over you and him then you and Dick start to talk about wedding plans.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x male reader #x male reader #male!reader #male reader #male reader fanfic #male reader insert #male reader imagine #dick grayson imagine #dc imagine #male reader fluff

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mixterglacia · 2 days ago

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CONTENT WARNING: Vivziepop Critical/ Stolitz Critical below the cut.

This episode made me incredibly angry, so it's not going to be as well structured as I try to manage.

TL;DR The pacing and tone was a horrible mess, and this should have been split into at least two episodes to pull this off.

To start, we prove in the first five minutes how little these two actually know each other. They're surprised by very simple things and I don't like that. It tells me that neither of them, but especially Stolas, EVER asked about the other's interests. Cool, that's good to know I was right about that the whole time.

Blitz is WILDLY out of character in the bulk of this episode. I LOATHE how he's waiting on Stolas hand and foot. If we're being honest, he'd probably just say "figure it out yourself" and focus on his life, business, and daughter. Why are we always having to baby Stolas' feelings? It feels like he's the only one allowed to actually be doted on. (In a non-humorous way.)

And now he remembers Via? Sure, just run off without thinking about your family. You have never let that stop you before. And now Stella is being cartoonishly evil in front of her daughter? We've never had it proven that she's a bad mother. In fact, from what Via states later, that's the case! I really think they have no idea on how to be subtle with her.

In a similar vein to the moment with Blitz watching the family later. You didn't need to tell us who he was imagining in that window. The moment worked without you punching it down our throats.

Likewise with Millie's pregnancy. I wish they'd left that as an open thread, rather than taking time to fully confirm it. Like maybe all the way up to the point where she went into the bathroom and left looking a little fucked up? That way it can be an engaging thing to return to in S3.

The non-drama parts of the episode (especially the first five minutes) dragged HARD. They gutted any emotional moments and just felt like padding for the runtime.

I am so annoyed at the way this show is trying to lessen what Stolas did.

HE CHEATED ON HIS WIFE. HE DESTROYED HIS FAMILY. HE ABANDONED HIS DAUGHTER. HE IS A TERRIBLE MAN WHO GETS EVERYTHING HE WANTS BECAUSE THE SHOW BABIES HIM.

This is not some cute little quirk. His wife was never implied to cheat on him first. She was a bitch, but she didn't do anything to deserve this. I can't stress enough that if you showed her playing around too, it would immediately solve most of the hypocrisy with this.

Trying to weasel around that by Blitz trying to say cheating really so bad is fucking gross. It's not like they had an open relationship and Stella got jealous. Stolas is a slimeball. He doesn't deserve Blitz. He doesn't deserve Via.

He hasn't earned any of this.

While it came out of nowhere, the Via song is STELLAR. As a product of divorce, she owes her father nothing. She deserves to feel so hurt and betrayed.

"My tears won't fall upon your shoulder...I'll just get older and you'll only know my name." Hit me like a truck.

So imagine my outrage when we aren't allowed to sit and think about her feelings for more than a few seconds after the song. We aren't allowed to focus on her pain. If they staged a sequence between the number and her finding her dad's pills, I think it would work better.

Or even uploading the song by itself. But no. You have to CONSTANTLY remind us to feel bad for the stupid fucking owl. Feel bad because he's depressed. Feel bad because he's trapped in the same loveless marriage as his wife. But don't feel bad for her because she's a bitch.

Fuck. Off.

My dad was manic depressive, that doesn't mean he got to treat our family the way he did. Stolas didn't even think about her before throwing his life away over his booty call.

This show has so much potential that it just squanders. There are two different series being forced together and it doesn't work. You have the comedy series shoved into the same sweater as the soap opera. They aren't mutually exclusive, but truly the team seems incapable of making this work.

I'm done.

This isn't even fun to critique anymore.

If folks want my opinions on future Helluva Boss content, you'll have to directly ask me to watch the piece in question. I'm still going to give S2 of Hotel a shot, but as far as this?

I'm throwing in the towel. Of the two, I was so excited for Helluva. I loved the characters, I loved the idea, and I truly loved the first couple episodes.

But that show doesn't exist anymore.

Once again, I'm going to take a moment to remind you all:

You are allowed to love this series. I am just a dude on the internet. I am not trying to change your mind. I am not trying to ruin your fun. If you love it, that's awesome. I am so happy you found something that sings to your soul.

Don't let me harsh your buzz. Okay?

#logan laments #vivziepop critical #stolitz critical

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sunfoxfic · 2 years ago

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Idk. There's just something about Inej meeting Alina in the show I don't like. Because in the books, Alina doesn't want to be worshiped, and you know she doesn't want to be worshiped - she doesn't even want to be a saint. But by the time Six of Crows comes around, she's divorced herself from that life entirely - there is no pain in people worshiping an already martyred saint. She made the decision that she would give up that life and that name at the cost of never getting to say anything about that life.

But in the TV show, Inej is worshiping a person who she met. A person who does not want to be worshiped. A person who can say as much. Book Inej would have immense respect for Alina if they met, but she would also respect Alina's wishes - which she didn't in the show, even if she had every opportunity.

I'm also generally not a fan of the way Alina's sainthood was pre-ordained in the show rather than being an intentional result of manipulation of her image; that very manipulation of her image and the subsequent loss of autonomy are so important to her character. But the fact that people were waiting for a saint in the show cheapens that a lot; it's like, well yeah, it sucks that Alina is getting this image of sainthood pushed onto her, but it would have happened to anyone. No one is to blame for her being a saint.

But there were so many people to blame in the books! The Apparat, mostly, but also the Darkling and even Nikolai to a degree. That manipulation is so twisted in the books, but in the show, it's just another Situation, and it feels so much more random

#there were two things i thought the show did really really well on #i know one of them was the ravkan civil war which i absolutely loved and i think the plot benefited so much from that addition #i can't remember the second but i know it was really good too #but in general i think the s&b and soc stories were shoehorned together for no good reason #they could have been adapted in continuity without blending them #im just :(( about it #i feel like alina's arc might be heading in the direction of hashtag owning her power like a girlboss #rather than taking power in her own way (by finally giving herself a small but comfortable life)#and its just disappointing #even if they don't go in that direction i think the arc will ultimately seem more jarring #ask to tag

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hauntingblue · 9 months ago

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Oden's prophecy of young pirates coming to save wano becoming yamato's hope for his freedom.... and him becoming oden because of it.... it's just so good... on the other side luffy taking ace's spot for liberating yamato... I think I hauve covid

#the spades pirates in wano to save children... omg... deuce.... i have heard so much of you....#yamato complaining about how eveyrhing is his father's fault and ace getting violent...#it is so sad that in the end it was (partially maybe) his father's fault... if not roger then whitebeard..... maybe both #the hibiscus flowers..... rouge....#yamato telling ace he talks too much about luffy.... omg.....#NAMI TELLS TAMA LUFFY LOST ACE TOO!!! AND LUFFY CAME BACK TO WANO BC ACE SAID HE WOULD!!! OMG...... THE LINGERING.....#talking tag #watching one piece #episode 1014 #pink haired samurai is still alive and kicking... hell yeah....#ODEN WAS THE SECOND COMMANDER FOR WHITEBEARD??? OMG???#whitebeard dealing with his rebellious son ace akshaksjak.....#ace wanting to save wano for his husband and child but wb wouldn't let him bc he is still caught up about his ex husband's death... complex #TEACH GO TO HELL!!! FUCK YOU!!! DIEEEE!!!!#they can't put luffy crying about ace dying here again.... tama feeling bad about yelling at luffy....#YAMATO KNOWS ABOUT THE D????#big mom wants robin.... i mean of course.... curious about pudding and her third eye.... we will meet again i guess...#PONEGLYPH!!!! kaido little borther to mom...... god valley.... rox.... i remember.... she gave him his power omg...#episode 1015 #ace face down smiling after whitebeard beats him up reminded me of ace dead smiling. hell on earth this is my last straw. goodbye.#the animation <3 ace i love you <3 yamato you are great <3 #omg... little ASL with the big pirates saying he will become pirate king omg...#PAUSE!! ACE HEARING GOOD THINGS ABOUT ROGER AND SAYING HE SOUNDS NICE THIS IS CRUCIAL TO MY ACE LORE OMG #yamato didnt say who it was... did ace really die not thinking his father was good this is my roman empire... critical hit to my brain #yamato made aces vivre card.... should i end it all for realsies this time....#his cunty skate boat 😭😭😭😭 i could cry #he really is looking like a beautiful dead wife this episode.... yamato......the vivre card omg..... NOT THE FLASHBACK ENOUGH #THE TRANAITION BETWEEN ACE FALLING OFF LUFFY AND HIM FALLING TO THE GROUND OMG AKFBSKDNDKSKLWKWNSKWK NOOOOOO #OH FINALLY THEY ARE ALL THERE TO FOGHT BIG MOM AND KAIDO!!! FUCK YEAAHHHHHH a good drag for the mugis for good measure #episode 1013

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keeps-ache · 2 months ago

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buttered noodles 💫💛🍜

#just me hi #it's just a Lot of butter cuz i don't like having pasta sauce w/ parmesan (something wrong w/ that idk hfbshv) so :3 #i was thinking of putting garlic in it but idk if that would be good... do i wanna take the risk.. i mean you can't really go wrong with #garlic... Hmmmm....#//oh yea i am definitely gonna switch up my main blog theme ehe :3 #and maybe my rb blog's theme too cuz i liked it when the colours were matching lol #maaaybe to blue.. i don't remember if i've ever had a blue theme so this might be the first blue theme ehe :3 #i just like to have an Image for the banner so i need to figure out what i'd like that to be.. hmnmnmnmnm!#//alright you know what i'm gonna put garlic in this one second lolll #okay i put black pepper and garlic in it's not too bad :)#prolly shoulda put more salt in too cuz i'm craving it. salt <3 #/having spaghetti cuz the meal is actually supposed to be eggs and i cannot have that lol #some people are upset about this! like my dad. and my brother who is making the food lmfsh #i didn't know food was being made i am innocent in this !! probably anyway #like nobody is more displeased by this than me dude. i wish people could actually like. describe what some foods taste like so that i could #actually see why they like them #but you ask and they say 'what are you talking about? it's just egg' but 'Just Egg' SUCKS dude what is Your Egg like. pretty please kfshvjg #and grapefruit? grapefuit sucks but my mom likes it and i can't understand Why #and i wanna ask what it's actually like and why she likes it but she only says 'idk it's good with salt' what does that MEAN #how does the taste change?? how would you describe it before that ? clearly it was good enough before the salt or you wouldn't have tried i #with that!! i just wanna know !!!!!#dark chocolate ?? Please ??? do you like the taste of restrained anger and resentment cuz that's what it tastes like lmao ???#Coffee ??????? i can't understand coffee without a bajillion tons of sugar (+ other things) masking the taste how do you. Deal #not even deal- Enjoy !! how are you enjoying it !!! Why !!!! and why does everyone think i'm trying to convince them it's bad when i ask #LMAO--#like i'm not trying to say it's bad i'm trying to figure out how it's good please. Please Man lmfvshjfvhgfks #okay so clearly i have thoughts on all that LMfvshgjhfs #bitter stuff sucks and i barely like sour stuff Sometimes. food is all around good though so lol 👍#//alr i'm gonna. [starts scooching away]#i am almost out of tags (rip unlimited tags i miss you so bad hfsvh <3) edit: i ran out LMFVHS ; TOODLES !!

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inbabylontheywept · 4 months ago

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i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

#whew boy this make me anxious just typing it #wrestling #middle school #the dread #i feel like i have to write some stories about my grandpa not being a dick #because he was actually an amazing grandpa #he just had a few goofs are very comedic moments #and you know if you're gonna have a goof making it comedic is a virtue in itself #he was there for me more than a lot of my classmates dads were #and i dont want that undervalued #yeah #babylon-lore

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joelsgoldrush · 1 month ago

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“lovers once a year” | 9.4k

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

SUMMARY: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. joel’s POV. a lot of introspection. mentions of alcohol. miscommunication. no outbreak. dbf!joel. age gap (25 and 56). petnames. religious imagery. car sex. oral sex (f!receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. riding. missionary. doggy style. orgasm denial. crying. hair pulling. thumb/finger sucking. cum shot. creampie. reader sits on joel’s lap and has hair. moodboard for aesthetic purposes only. A/N: the fact this idea has been sitting on my drafts for over a year is just crazy. i finally found the time to put into words, and i know i’m a little late to the whole dbf!joel trope, but i’m a real sucker for it... hope you like this one! <3

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend.

For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the sentimental type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length.

Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state.

Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree.

Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing could throw him off.

Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

His gaze drifts across the room, settling on you at a smaller table a few meters away, surrounded by your younger cousins, ages five to fifteen. He watches as you scroll absent-mindedly on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, only tearing your eyes away from the screen when one of the kids hurls a handful of salty peanuts at you.

You press your palms flat against the tablecloth, eyes narrowing as you scowl playfully at the child, a mischievous glint in your expression. “You’ve got ten seconds to run,” you utter in a tone meant to sound ominous, tickling his sides until he erupts in laughter, his giggles filling the dining room with raw joy.

Joel’s been here for over two hours, but he can’t recall a single detail about the night’s events. All he knows is you—he’s studied your every movement, following the shape of your silhouette through the crowd. He’s accepted a few drinks, engaged in shallow conversation with your relatives, trying his best to play the part of a man with nothing to hide. But despite his efforts, despite every attempt to appear unaffected, he feels a slow burn kindling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that curls through him in a deliciously destructive way.

It’s when you look up, locking eyes with him, that he nearly mutilates the chicken breast on his plate, the knife skittering over porcelain with a screech. He quickly mutters an apology, excusing his clumsiness and blaming it on one too many drinks. Meanwhile, you don’t quit glaring at him, a hint of a challenge dancing in your stare.

This shouldn’t feel the way it does, this hazardous, risky game you’re playing. At one time, he might’ve thought this was something only seen in movies, something imagined and unreal. But here you are, and here he is, and the indisputable hunger in your eyes is as real as anything he’s ever known.

Suddenly, his memories drift back to a year ago, to your grandmother’s 84th birthday—the night it all began.

Stephen had left Austin when he was eighteen to pursue a college degree. That’s how he’d ended up in New York, and from that point on, he never came back. It’d been amazing to see him as an equal when they were teenagers, but as they grew older, the only things they shared were the white hairs scattered all over their beards and the memories of much better days.

Whenever they got in touch—which didn’t happen often—your dad would talk about you. You were just a name without a face, an empty canvas. Close to graduating, with only a few subjects and finals left. Psychology was your major—weren’t you smart? Joel remembers typing back with a string of exclamation marks to show his contentment. His best friend’s daughter was a success; how could he not be happy?

One random day, Joel’s phone buzzed late in the afternoon, flashing with Stephen’s name. It was rare for them to talk outside the usual birthdays and holidays, so seeing his name on the screen sent a small jolt through him. A dozen scenarios raced through his mind as he picked up, each one edging between concern and curiosity.

Just like that, Stephen dropped the news without any preamble. “I’m moving back to Austin,” His voice came in clear, and there was something unusual about it, brisk but almost nostalgic. Joel gripped the phone a little tighter, processing the words. “In fact, I’m filling up the gas tank as we speak. There’s someone at home who wants to see you.”

That someone had been your grandmother. With a twinkle in her eye, she’d insisted on inviting Joel to her 84th birthday. “It’s the perfect chance for you two to reconnect,” she’d declared, her tone laced with warmth and hope. She adored Joel, practically worshipping the ground he walked on, often reminiscing about the vibrant young man he had once been.

Who could deny anything to an elderly person, especially one as cherished as her? He was strong, physically imposing, but not strong enough to resist her wishes.

The reunion was going as well as it could, given the circumstances. After all, it was a strange kind of delight, seeing his best friend for the first time in decades. Joel thought they’d do what friends do—sit back, drink, smoke, and trade stories about the good old days.

Then you walked into the room, absolutely gorgeous and with a smile that was all teeth, and you reached out to shake Joel’s hand as you introduced yourself. The contrast hit him instantly—your skin was satin-like against his, smooth where his was rough and calloused from years of handling concrete and steel. A subtle heat bloomed where your fingers touched, the chill of the rings on your hand sending a shiver through him, as if his senses had sharpened in that brief instant.

You pulled away, taking a step back, your eyes flicking between him and your dad. Joel’s arm fell back to his side, his hand forming a tight fist, the bite of his nails embedded into his palm to keep him grounded. But he couldn’t stop himself from scrutinizing you—every detail of your face, the curve of your smile, the effortless way you carried yourself. Your beauty was at fault, not him. You were completely out of reach, yet close enough to marvel at. He was no more than a man, bound to notice the charm of a pretty girl like you.

That you happened to be the daughter of his best friend—that was just a cruel stroke of fate.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m glad you got to meet Joel at last!” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, an arm draping across Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. “He’s that friend from school I’ve been telling you about.”

Stephen looked so at ease, so utterly pleased, that Joel could only swallow back the lump in his throat. What kind of sick joke was this? What could he have possibly done to deserve this twist of the knife?

With a soft laugh, you folded your hands behind your back, tilting your head to the right. “My father wouldn’t shut up about you,” you said, light and melodic, drawing him in like a lure. Joel found himself adrift in the sweet cadence of your voice, entranced by the delicate chain glinting at your throat, resting just above the neckline of your shirt, the v-cut hinting at a world of temptation.

He blinked owlishly, fighting the images clawing behind his eyelids. “Well, he’s a good man, your father,” Joel managed, his smile strained. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was a blaring alarm in his head, warning him to get a fucking grip. He knew himself well enough to read the signs, the underlying meaning beneath these nerves, the quickened pulse, the quiet, undeniable urge to reach out and feel you.

He was gone already. He fancied you, and his mind raced with thoughts he knew he had no right to entertain. He imagined what you’d taste like, the way you might sound if he were between your legs, encouraging you to gasp his name. Yet, he was aware that these fantasies were as treacherous as they were forbidden, even more with you standing right in front of him. And your father, just inches away.

From the kitchen, someone called out to Stephen, and with a weary sigh, he unhooked himself from Joel’s shoulder. “Coming!” he shouted back, already angling himself toward the door. He glanced back at the two of you, half-smiling while rubbing his temples. “I forgot how exhausting it is to host a family birthday party. I’ll be right back. You two go ahead and chat without me.”

Fuck, no, Joel thought to himself. Don’t leave me here. Where the hell are you going?

Joel resorted to remaining silent, choosing instead to take a long sip of his beer to avoid the occasion of sin. He refused to look in your direction, fixing his gaze on anything that didn’t involve your bare legs—the same legs he’d just been eyeing in those damn denim shorts, which exquisitely hugged your thighs. But, then again, he shouldn’t even be noticing that.

As he peered down at the carpet, he couldn’t ignore the movement of your shoes as you stepped closer. He observed your fingers playing idly with the frayed edges of your shorts, your body inching nearer, and he braced himself in anticipation of whatever you might say next. When his eyes landed on yours, he was met with an aura of expectancy, a cocky smirk pulling at your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with effort. Letting your hand linger beside your face, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him through your lashes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and there was no mistaking it—you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to push him off balance, to see how far he’d bend before snapping? Was this just a game for you, a bit of mischief to spice up a family gathering? The idea irritated him, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the thrill woven into the discomfort. A quarter of his mind itched to play along, but the rest of him screamed to find the nearest exit.

“Y’can just call me Joel. No needa be so formal,” he mumbled, lifting the beer bottle to his lips once again, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.

“But I like Mr. Miller better.”

His mind conjured all those images of fire and damnation, of being dragged to some dark, smoldering pit. Rotting in hell, he could already see himself within the flames. Tugging at the collar of his flannel, now too tight and hot, he gave a rough, clearing cough. “M’gonna—go find your dad.”

He was glad you didn’t try to approach him in public again. For a few hours, he felt something close to tranquillity—not fully, though, as he could still hear echoes of your voice in the silences. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch you orbiting near him, lurking in his peripheral vision, even though you sat at a different table.

Later in the night, he wandered upstairs in search of the bathroom, instead stumbling upon your father’s childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he took the liberty to enter it, a familiar scent filling the room. He ran his fingers over the walls, still papered with posters he recognized well. It was as if time had paused there—everything remained as it had the last time he’d been in this very room. The framed portraits, the worn bedspread, and Stephen’s desk, scattered with foreign bills under a layer of glass, each one a memento from the different countries he had visited.

It was only a matter of time before you found him, a light knock on the open door drawing his attention. Joel turned on his heels, catching sight of you, acknowledging your presence with a slight bow of his head. You ambled toward him, curiosity alight in your steps, twisting the chain of your necklace, a restless gesture that betrayed the energy simmering beneath your calm exterior.

He scratched the back of his head, offering a half-hearted smile. “This isn’t the bathroom, right?” he joked, attempting a casual tone. The joke was a weak one, admittedly, but you laughed anyway, a nonchalant sound that showed the gleam of your teeth.

“No, I don’t think it is,” you replied, sliding onto the edge of the desk with an effortless ease. “What brought you here?”

“Birthday parties can be a bit overwhelmin', dontcha think?”

“Totally.”

And then you went back to watching him, your eyes tracing his features with an almost stubborn intensity.

“You gonna stop doin' that?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant, though they didn't make you flinch.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Lookin' at me all doe-eyed.” His voice didn’t waver, but he advanced in your direction. His knees nearly brushed against yours, the weathered denim grazing your bare skin, and only then did a flicker of uncertainty soften your confident stance. “Whatever it is you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. So quit tryin’.”

You drew in a slow breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “You sure about that?” Before he had the time to react, you were standing inches from him, your chest pressing against his, just close enough for him to feel the soft weight of your breasts. “Should I pretend, then, that I haven’t noticed you’ve been half-hard all night?”

Joel's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting almost painfully. His fists flexed by his sides, his entire body feeling heavier, muscles pulled taut by some invisible thread. "Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” You hooked a finger inside his belt loop, tugging him that much closer. Your breath, fresh and minty, mingled with the faint scent of your perfume, and he inhaled both, heady on the mix. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”

There was only so much patience a man like him could summon, and you were a thorn in his flesh, determined and unyielding. He leaned in, voice gruff as he uttered three words that made your brows knit together. “Close the door.” You stayed frozen, lips parting in surprise. “Did y’hear me? M’not into exhibitionism. Close. The. Door.”

You did as he asked, obliging, stepping back to close the door before returning to your place. Without warning, he turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the cool glass of the desk, a sharp chill that made you yelp. His hand settled firmly on your back, guiding you down until your chest was flush against the surface as well. In one swift motion, your shorts were gone, followed by your soaked panties, a damp spot where your arousal had begun to seep through.

He slipped his fingers inside you first, his hand covering your mouth to stifle the needy whimpers escaping your lips. The roughness of his beard grazed your cheek as he hovered over you, his breath hot in your ear as he spoke. “Bein’ too fuckin’ loud, doll.” Matching the rhythm of the slow drag of his fingers, his hips pressed forward, grinding against the curve of your ass, each movement making his mouth go dry. “Y’want this cock that bad?” He nipped at your throat, and you, against his sweaty palm, mumbled what could have only been a muffled Yes. “Then I need y’to keep real quiet for me, alright?”

His jeans and boxers hung around his knees, his cock leaking and throbbing at the tip. Joel realized what true desperation felt like, dangerously close to busting his load at any given moment before even getting the chance to be fully inside you. On top of the desk, your body trembled, and you reached back, pulling your top higher up to bare more of yourself to him. He unclasped your bra with one hand, while his other guided him to your entrance, his lips pressing reverently against your spine as he pushed inside, savoring the heat of your walls wrapping around him for the first time. It certainly didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty-six years of life.

It had been short, and harsh, and fast. Borderline animalistic, what experts would label as a quick fuck. The moment he breached your entrance, you begged for more, fucking yourself back onto him until his thighs met your skin. You acted as if possessed by a greater entity, diabolic, though Joel didn’t mind it. He relished it, welcomed it. But he couldn’t let you take the reins. He asserted his dominance, snapping his hips forward with a force that drew moans from the depths of your lungs. He was the one in control, driving himself deeper and deeper within you. Suffice it to say you seemed to love it, if the sounds he elicited from you were anything to go by.

It was what you wanted, what you needed. One way or another, he’d caught onto what those lingering glances throughout the party had signified. Every glance you’d thrown his way had been leading to this—a silent promise that whatever was happening had been destined to be the night’s climax.

You bit down on his palm as you reached your peak, tightening around him, and perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the knowledge that he’d need far more time to become well acquainted with your body, that had him chasing after you. Holding back until you came had been a feat, pulling out seconds prior to his release, stroking his length once before painting your skin with his seed. A low, primal groan escaped him as he slid his length between your cheeks, prolonging his high, each heated pulse marking you in a way that felt undeniably his.

As he regained his composure, he watched you swirl your thumb along your lower back, collecting a trace of his release, and bringing it to your lips to have a taste of him. You softly laughed when he cursed under his breath, turning your face lazily to the side. “Damn minx y’are,” he rasped, closing the gap between your mouths, his claiming yours in an urgent kiss. Your mewls faded beneath the insistent press of his mouth as he sought to suppress the strange pull in his guts, reluctant to confront the unfamiliar sensations churning within him.

Things wrapped up quickly after that. You both returned to your places, resuming the roles you’d stepped out of briefly: Joel had been in the bathroom; you had been on the phone with a friend. When he reappeared downstairs minutes after you, no one thought twice about his slightly damp hair.

For the remainder of the party, the two of you exchanged no further words. The time for him to leave came, and he offered only a nod of his head across the packed living room. It was a farewell only Joel would give, a subtle acknowledgment that left you wondering about its meaning. There were no explanations, no parting words.

The next time he saw your father, the mere thought of seeing you again terrified him. If it’d happened once, then the temptation would still remain undiminished, strong enough to awaken the lust and the longing veiled in silence. But you weren’t there anymore—back in New York, focused on finishing your semester at college. The surprise must have been evident on Joel’s face, a bewilderment that prompted Stephen to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember I told you she hasn’t graduated yet?”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember now,” he said, wishing to convince both your father and himself.

You were out of the picture, no longer around. Yet, the two of you now shared a secret. You still do, to this day. He’s no stranger to the notion that some things never seem to change. After all, he’s a creature of habit—same breakfast every morning, same brand of bread he’s been buying for years. Like all his other preferences, he’s come to realize he likes his women a certain way. And though he hates to admit it, you fit the bill perfectly.

Betty, Stephen’s mother, was turning eighty-five tonight. A seat with Joel’s name was saved at the big table; they wanted him there, his best friend and his best friend’s mother. How nice it was to actually feel wanted. He liked that feeling. Still, he’d had to bite his tongue when your father mentioned you’d be there, too. You had graduated at long last, with your birthday having been just a couple of weeks ago.

“Can’t believe she’s twenty-five already,” Stephen muttered with a chuckle, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Sitting beside him, Joel gripped the arm of his chair, sinking his nails into it. “Me neither, man.”

His choices had led him to this moment. The clinking of glasses rings in his ears, blending with laughter and the rich aroma of food that fills the air. None of it manages to distract him. He can't help but track you down, eyes scanning the room, relentless in their pursuit of yours. The need to see you goes beyond any shred of restraint he might have faked to have. Joel can’t muster the decorum to feign indifference—God, not when you’re near, when the pull toward you feels like gravity itself. He’s keenly, almost painfully aware, that he’s not even pretending to be indifferent, his interest etched plainly in the way his gaze persists, refusing to pull away.

It’s his first time seeing you in a year. A lot can change in that span of time. He can’t help but be amazed, because you look just the same as you did back then. Only your hair’s a touch shorter. He wonders if it’s even noticeable, or if he’s just spent so long memorizing your features that he’s losing his sanity. He bets it’s the latter.

A light pressure on his shoulder makes Joel jump, breaking down his reverie. He turns quickly, eyes widening. "Betty," he exhales, patting his chest with a smile, eyebrows lifted. "Jeez. Y’scared me."

“Y’alright, Joely? Y’look a bit pale.” The older woman reaches up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a gentle familiarity. Through her lens, he’s still young. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fever, though.”

"That’s ‘cause I’m not sick." Joel takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How’s everythin’ goin’ so far? Got all these people together just t’celebrate ya’."

"It’s a wonderful night, sweetheart. So happy y’found the time t’be here," she replies, pinching his cheek in that affectionate way that earns her a quiet laugh from him. Her eyes then catch sight of a familiar figure. "Oh, look who's here. If it isn’t my beautiful granddaughter."

He stops smiling. In fact, he thinks he even stops breathing for a second as you intrude yourself into the scene, settling yourself beside your grandmother, flashing him a knowing grin. “I was getting kind of bored with the little ones.”

“Y’know Joel, right, dear?”

“Yes.” A pause, a beat you draw out between breaths. “Yes, I do.”

Betty leans his way, her warm hand still on him. “Have y’heard the latest news? This young lady just graduated.”

“Stephen told me,” he answers, looking up at you with a reserved nod. “Congrats, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

There’s that damn name again. Were he alone with you, he’d laugh in your face, but he can’t. Under the scrutiny of family and friends, he knows he’s cornered. Joel’s starting to believe you think you’re untouchable, that there are no consequences to your actions. You might look the same, maybe a little older, but that teasing, provocative spark in your eye hasn’t changed a bit.

“Always so polite, my child,” Betty says, cupping your cheek with a light pinch, a grandmotherly gesture perfected over the years which she seems to repeat often. “Any boyfriends back in New York?”

This would, without a doubt, be the perfect moment for him to excuse himself and stand up—a conversation he’d rather not be privy to. But with you positioned right in front of him, escape isn’t an option. “Still single, grandma,” you respond unfazed, as if you know exactly what you’re doing. “No one to worry about. Better like this, anyway.”

“But what’s the problem? There aren’t any boys y’like?”

He doesn’t even know what makes him say it—some impulse, some hidden tension surfacing—but he jumps in, his voice carrying a slight, sardonic edge. “Boys are more foolish than ever these days, Betty. Surely y’wouldn’t want her to settle for the first idiot who crosses her path.”

Betty clutches his arm, shaking her head in feigned shock. “Oh, not at all! It’s all about waitin’ for the right person. There’s no rush, for either of you. You’re still on your own, Joely?”

Time to drink again. He drains the last drops of alcohol remaining in his glass, feeling your eyes on him, intense and searing, and then he clears his throat, swallowing down the words he’d rather say. “Affirmative.”

“Well,” she sighs contentedly, patting each of your hands as though binding you both with some invisible thread. “Just means y’two have to wait a bit longer, right? Time has its way.” She chuckles, eyes soft with memory, turning to you. “Darlin’, this man here was quite the heartbreaker in his day. He and your dad would find all kinds of trouble with the ladies!”

“How so?” You cross your arms, playfully tilting your chin up. “Joel Miller, the charmer of the town?”

“Guess I’ve been known t’make a fool of myself,” he shoots back, silently cursing the moment he missed his chance to slip away. “Stephen got more fans than I did, though.”

“I did what?” Joel feels an elbow nudging his back, and there’s his friend, grinning in his usual easy way.

Joel's luck in life had been more bruised than blessed, a string of hardships that seemed amplified compared to what most people experienced. Being drawn in by you—in which category did that fall? Good luck or bad? He couldn't decide. Every glance and delicate smile you aimed his way stirred something reckless within him. Was it pure thrill, or a warning?

He laughs every time Stephen cracks a joke, but he’s barely listening, his mind half-tethered to the present. It’s like he’s watching himself from afar, observing his reactions as if he were an outsider. He isn’t stoned or drunk, just acutely mindful of your presence. He catches himself peeking up at you from where he sits, jaw tight, his brow creased. You meet his gaze with a slight squint, a polite look that hides something far more dangerous.

Boys are more foolish than ever these days. He’s sure of that much. They’re young, untested. But what about him? He’s no model of virtue, either. He’s made his share of mistakes, left good women behind—women who were willing to love him in spite of his flaws. They’d seen through the layers he wore like armor, and yet, in the end, he couldn’t hold on to any of them. He carried the ghosts of every past life, fragments of who he’d been and what he’d left behind, and he knew those shadows weren’t for everyone.

A thought pierces through him, sharp and sobering: what would Sarah think? His lovely daughter, grown and settled into her own life, would likely be mortified to know her father’s infatuation with a twenty-something. The weight of that realization sinks into his chest, and that seems to be his last straw.

He can’t possibly take it anymore. Rising from his chair, he mutters something to Stephen about needing fresh air and makes his way to the backyard door, exhaling deeply and gripping his car keys. The cool night air hits him, stepping outside, a temporary relief as he heads toward his truck.

Just as he’s about to open the door, he hears your voice. You call his name, your tone soft but distinct. He doesn’t turn, only lets out a long, weary sigh. “What?”

“Where are you going?” You stop a few steps behind him, watching the way his shoulders visibly tense. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” He faces you, almost snapping his neck in his rush to look at you. “Why would I be—I’m not mad at ya’.”

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you leaving so early?”

He scrubs a hand over his nape, fingers pressing into the tension gathered there. “Would y’like me t’break it down for ya’, how messed up this is?” His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet yours. “I’m riskin’ the only real friendship I’ve had here for… for somethin’ that I can’t even wrap my head ‘round. This isn’t okay, no matter which way I look at it.”

In that moment, it’s as if reality pulls you under. The mask of subtle, practiced arrogance falls apart, scattering in fragments around you. He watches, waiting for you to gather them up, to hide behind that composed veneer again. But you don’t move. You leave the pieces where they lie. Instead, you confront his gaze, unguarded, and ask, “Do you regret what happened between us?”

Another question. You seem to be full of them. They just keep coming, one after the other, as if you already had them prepared. I don’t, he thinks to himself, but would it do you any good if you knew it? “Don’ start with those mental games.”

“Then come back inside.”

“I know myself well enough to know what’s gonna happen if I do that, darlin’.”

Neither of you breaks the silence that’s settled between you, thick as the night air. You slip your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders slightly hunched, head hanging. Once again, like all those times before, he’s struck by how young you are compared to him. The difference stretches between you like a chasm, bridged only by these stolen moments. The weight of his years presses down on him, the choices he’s made—the mistakes and the half-hearted attempts to mend them. He’s got decades on you, three of them to be precise.

Joel never thought of himself as an ever-lasting free spirit, the kind of man who clings to youth or pretends to be something he’s not. Right now, with you here, he feels reckless, like a boy again. Stupid, impulsive, like the foolish young men he used to shake his head at—the very ones he’d warned your grandmother about.

“You left without even saying goodbye last time,” you mumble, low but clear, as you scuff the toe of your shoe against the grass. “And now you’re doing it again.”

He inhales sharply, clenching his keys, feeling the edges of the brass biting into his palm. For a moment, he thinks the sharpness will give him something to hold onto, but he knows the sting is nothing more than a weak anchor. “You’re a smart girl. Don’ need me to spell this out.”

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I get it.”

“Then why do you keep pushing?” His pent-up exasperation slips through despite himself, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, the way your forehead barely puckers as his words hit harder than intended.

Even as you look away, a trace of that hurt fading, you stand firm. You shake your head after a beat, seemingly trying to brush off your doubts and confusion. Joel can’t decipher if you’re feigning innocence—if you are, he thinks, you could be one hell of an actress. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see how far this can go.”

You take a small step forward, testing the waters. Your feet move cautiously, not aiming to scare him off. Each step draws you nearer until there’s only a whisper of space between you, close enough for him to catch your scent, and he has to force himself to peer down to meet your eyes. They hold a quiet intensity: pleading, wide and earnest, already trained on him. Gleaming like two lone stars cutting through a moonless, empty sky.

It baffles him, the question forming unbidden in his mind. He goes even further, can’t help but wonder: why him? What is it that you see in him? What makes you keep coming back for more? You’ve already had a taste, a story you could tuck away, a secret to be shared with your friends someday around a campfire. So why, he would like to know, are you still here, seeking something from a man like him?

“I like you,” you blurt out, fingers drifting to skim over the worn fabric of his flannel, almost hesitantly. That tentative gesture sparks something raw in him, a low rumble of desire that feels like it’s been lying dormant for too long. Heat pulses through him, hot blood racing through his veins, awakening every nerve, each beat of his heart more insistent than the last one. “I think you like me, too.”

“You’re insufferable,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts. He closes his eyes, half hoping you’ll disappear, that he’ll find some reason, any reason, to call this off. Though when he opens them, you’re still there, waiting, unshaken. “I wish I knew how to stop this. How to walk away.”

“That’s not what you want.”

“We don’ always get what we want, kid. You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He means it as a warning, but even he hears the way his voice falters, his defenses crumbling in the face of your unflinching state.

You let out a slow sigh, your arms falling to your sides, eyes roaming over his features as if you’re memorizing every line. Your focus dips to his mouth. “Maybe,” you murmur, and he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. “But some things are worth fighting for. And sometimes, those who don’t give up… get the best in the end.”

With a gentleness that stuns him, you lean in, bringing your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. You pull away, and he helplessly notices the way your lips part, how your breath hitches, and for a split second, the guilt becomes palpable, the significance of wanting a woman he knows he shouldn’t. You stand there, chest rising and falling, skin tingling, a faint trail of goosebumps visible where your neckline meets your chest.

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another compromise he won’t keep.

From where you remain frozen, he’s certain you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs every possible outcome. “It’s gonna happen, isn’t it?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and before you can react, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and turning you toward the car door. The cool metal pressing against your back startles a gasp out of you, but the suddenness only heightens everything—the heat of his body, the toughness of his hold.

He doesn’t waste time with words, having always been a man of action. His hand cradles your face, inspecting your features to later crush his mouth against yours. Your tongue finds his without hesitation, seeking him out, hungry and unrestrained. He savors your eagerness, the way your hands roam over him, clutching at his shirt, tugging him closer by the belt until your lower halves are pressed tightly. The taste of beer and mint clings to your lips, and a husky groan rumbles from him as your fingers find their place in the longer strands at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer.

He could lose himself in this, the simple, electric thrill of kissing you, how you fit so perfectly against him. Hours could slip by, and he wouldn’t mind, but then reality pulls him back; it’s too exposed here, right outside his truck where anyone could stumble upon you. “Get in the car,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, fumbling to unlock the door. It takes him three tries, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth of your laughter beside him as you tease him.

Once inside, his mouth finds yours again, this time more urgently, his hand pressing against your back, tracing the line of your spine through the clothes. “Tell me y’want this,” he breathes, his kisses trailing down your throat, latching onto the tender skin there. “C’mon, baby. Tell me y’want it. Tell me y’want me.”

A soft, breathy sound escapes you as his mouth fixates on that sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your hips instinctively, craving contact in search of relief, and he shifts you onto his lap, guiding your thighs to settle over his. Desperately working to undo the buttons of his shirt, yearning to uncover him, you pant against his cheek. “J-Jesus Christ, I need you. Please, touch me. Anything will do. Just—”

He’s silently grateful for your choice of a dress tonight. It makes things easier for him, and he gets right to it, bunching the fabric around your waist, hands roaming over the soft skin of your hips before moving his fingers lower, tracing teasing lines over your clothed center. He can’t fully make out the murmured words you breathe into his ear, but your voice drives him like a lighthouse guides a sinking ship, and he adjusts his movements, pressing with more intention. The only sounds filling the car are his ragged breaths and your gasping moans, and he holds you close to his chest, cooing softly as you start to rock into his hand, asking for more.

His fingers find their rhythm, circling your clit in deliberate flicks. Joel watches as you unravel, trembling in his arms, a hint of drool spreading over his shoulder from your parted lips on his skin. His grip tightens as he tugs your underwear down your legs, grinning when you kick them impatiently to the floor of the car. Now, as he strokes his digits up and down your folds, you turn to putty on his lap. In another world, he’d have you laid out in his bed, enjoying each inch of your body. But here, in the cramped, dim backseat, he keeps the lights off. He knows it’s reckless, yet that barely slows him down. His cock throbs at the very risk of getting caught, at the edge he’s walking just to have you like this.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked, aren’t ya’?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, at least not in any coherent way. He sinks his middle finger into your bare heat, searching your face in the dark, contemplating the fluttering of your lashes. His hand weaves into your hair, a firm tug guiding your gaze to his. Your head tips back, a moan spilling from your lips at the new sensation, rolling your hips into his palm with earnestness. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, huh? If this is how you’re grippin’ my fingers, I can’t imagine what that cunt’s gonna feel like wrapped ‘round me.”

Studies suggest that in those final, fleeting moments of life, memories flood the human mind—a last journey through a person’s years before crossing over. If he were to die after tonight, he knows your face would be there, etched into his last breath. He can almost picture it: struggling for air, teetering on the edge, with that reddish, towering figure of mortality looming over him. But even then, he’d find solace in the thought of you, thrown into oblivion. You’d grant him a last-minute reprieve, easing the ache. You’d be the one who’d hold back the shadows. This constitutes the apex of his life, and he knows he should be worried, yet intellectual dominance doesn’t stand much of a chance when confronting the heart of a man. Not when that heart, so long starved of its pulse, has finally found someone worth remembering.

He makes space for himself, thrusting his long fingers into you until he’s got your slick coating his palm. One hand settles firmly at the small of your back, guiding your movements, while he feels his collected composure faltering. You mouth at the rough stubble along his jawline when you start to get close, breathless whimpers clouding his thoughts. “Joel,” you call out to him, as if that alone would make wonders. “Oh, fuck. Please, I waited a whole year. I need to come.”

A whole year. You were his once a year, and he was yours, a bittersweet ritual bound by time. He never would’ve thought this party could bring him such pleasure, though he can’t pretend he’s against it. Last time, he hadn’t taken the chance to pull you under and make you fall apart as many times as he’d wanted. He’s intent on making up for that missed opportunity, determined to make you enjoy every moment.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, and a sharp laugh nearly escapes him at your reaction. You reach instinctively, grabbing for his hand, trying to guide him back to where he belongs between your legs. But he’s already moving, maneuvering you down until you’re lying on your back, fully under his command. He lowers himself, replacing his fingers with the warm insistence of his mouth. The sound that escapes your lips as his mouth presses against your center is nothing short of a scream—a wild cry that fills the space around you. He’s grateful he parked far from the other guests, because that sound would turn more than a few heads.

Joel laps at your arousal as if it's the fountain of youth, the very essence of everything pure and precious in the world. He presses down on your thighs until they rest on either side of him, unclamping your legs from around his head. The suppleness of your skin feels divine under his fingertips, and he brushes his thumbs over your trembling form, coaxing you into calmness, to let him have his way with you at his own pace. It's an absurd paradox—aiming to soothe you while his mouth continues its fervent worship, tracing intricate patterns against your most sensitive flesh. His beard, streaked with gray and freshly trimmed, glistens with your slick, and Joel smolders with all-consuming passion.

When his friends had told him to go out more, maybe find someone to date, he's certain they didn't mean this. The smart choice (scratch that: the correct one) would have been to pursue a woman his own age. But fuck it—he's spent a lifetime doing what's right. Every road he might've taken would've led him here, to this moment, with you. Part of him believes he must still have something left, some spark of appeal. To have a pretty little thing like you, so eager, so willing, offering yourself to him? He has to have something. His knees ache from where he kneels on the unforgiving surface, but the burn is inconsequential, and he’ll endure anything to be what you need.

Joel trails his hand up your body, over the curve of your breast, before gently groping it, his palm covering yours in a shared grip. He runs the tip of his tongue along your folds, his saliva mingling with your wetness, aquiline nose grazing your sensitive bud. “You’re tellin’ me you’re this tight ‘cause you’ve been savin’ yourself for me? You do know what t’say t’make a man happy.” He spreads you open slowly, his gaze lingering on the way your cunt glistens, a sense of satisfaction rippling through him. You remain silent, your breath shallow. “Still with me, sugar?”

“It’s just that—I’m so close.” You bite back a moan, nails digging into the soft leather of the seat. Joel hums in response, his lips closing around your clit. Agitation flickers across your face as you try to grind your hips against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

The pressure is gone as he notices your thighs quivering again, his movements halting immediately.

“No, Joel. Please—”

“You’ll come when I tell ya’.”

He’s having the time of his life. Damn right he is.

He suddenly realizes he's still dressed from head to toes, the heat building in his body becoming too much to ignore. With a frustrated grunt, he undoes his belt, yanking the metal zipper down, longing to rid himself of the constricting denim. A strangled noise escapes him as you suck on his neck, fisting his base, giving him a few purposeful tugs.

“Now, you’re gonna ride me,” he murmurs, making a pause to shrug his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor of the car, “and you’re gonna like it. Don’ want you t’hold back this time, understood?”

His back ends up against one of the fogged-up windows. The air is thick with the apparent scent of sex—a phrase he’d only ever heard in movies, but now, it’s undeniably real. Joel holds his cock, aligning the tip with your entrance as his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. A deep groan escapes him, vibrating over your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. The sensation intensifies when your wet interior welcomes him, velvet walls molding to his size. Your brows scrunch together at the stretch, a choked whimper catching in your throat. As your hips sink fully, your ass flush against his thighs, your body clenches around him, that abrupt tightness drawing a stuttering gasp from him.

“For God’s sake,” he exhales, the words rough as his forehead bumps into yours. His hand splays over your ribcage, fingers curling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re—killin’ me here.”

“I can feel you everywhere,” you huff, your arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding your breath. He takes the moment to capture your nipple between his swollen lips, leaving a shiny trail of spit in his wake. You lift yourself, the motion teasing, before sinking back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. “Can feel you in my stomach.”

When you begin to move, Joel loses track of everything else. Time seems to stretch, bending and reshaping itself each time his tip finds some hidden place inside you. He’s fifty-six years old, yet in this moment, his soul feels infinite. Invincible. He brings his hand to your lips, thumb grazing over them before slipping inside. Your warm tongue envelopes it, and when you start to suck dutifully, muffling your moans, his body jerks in response. His eyes drift to your glistening chest, where a sheen of sweat makes your skin glow in the dim light. You’re the most captivating woman he’s ever seen, and he knows he’ll never look at anyone the same again. He can’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the way your body merges with his, the way you undulate your hips on top of him.

You move back and forth, and he drives into you, filling you to the brim with every calculated thrust. He thrusts upward, stealing the air from your lungs, the sharp motion making you sputter as your body struggles to keep up with his.

“That’s it.” His voice is a husky growl as he wraps his arms tightly around your back, your chests sticking together with sweat. His pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more insistent. “Takin’ it like a good girl. You feel exquisite, baby. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“So big inside me,” you pant, your own pace faltering as you surrender to Joel’s unforgiving tempo. His hooded eyes flicker to yours, catching the way your pupils have swallowed up your irises, dark and blown wide with desire. A shiver runs through him as your fingers dig into his shoulders, your grip leaving faint crescents in his skin. “Missed your cock so much, Mr. Miller.”

Fuck, not that shit. If it’s possible, he grows impossibly harder. He pounds into you with renewed intensity this time, his singular goal to leave you speechless, boneless, completely undone. He wants you limp and shuddering, with nothing left to give. “Enough of that.” His hands find their place on the soft globes of your ass, molding and squeezing until the pressure has you mewling, the sweet sound shooting straight through him. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “Responsive everywhere, honey. Have any idea how much fun I’m gonna have with ya’?”

Who would’ve believed him back then? It proves this isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime fluke. It happened before, and now it’s happening again. He might as well surrender to it—accept his fate and move through the motions like a man resigned to what’s already written.

There’s a moment when your moans sharpen, turning high-pitched and dazed, and the way you constrict him sends his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a guttural noise tearing from his chest. His movements still, clutching your waist to pin you in place, denying you the chance to move, to bounce on him.

Then you break. A sob wracks your body, tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down your cheeks. They gather, fusing together as they slide along your throat and pool in the hollow of your jaw before disappearing lower. “Asshole,” you hiss, the word fragile as you push your face into the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.

“Sorry? Couldn’t catch that.” He makes sure to keep you securely tucked under his chin, tilting his lower half upward. “If you want me t’stop, just say the world and I will.”

He’s messing with you, plain and simple. He doesn’t actually expect you to take his words at face value. But you do, grinding down harder, impaling yourself further on the length of his cock, and your arousal trickles down, slicking the coarse hair of his thighs. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” Slotting your mouth over his, you attempt to move, chasing any sort of friction against your clit. Sadly, pleasure doesn’t come on its own—it’s Joel who can make you feel good, and he’s not obliging. His hand seizes your hair in a rough grasp, tugging sharply. Eyes fluttering shut, you hunch forward, submitting to the sharp edge of his control.

“What an impatient little thing y’are.” Joel grabs your thighs and turns you over, your back pressed against the leather seat. The brusque shift pulls him out of you, the cool air a cruel tease before he taps his head against your swollen folds, then fills you again in one powerful thrust, kissing your cervix in the process. A deep moan rips from your lungs, deep and guttural, as your legs tremble uncontrollably on either side of him. Your ankles dig into his back, fervent to keep him close. His balls rest heavy against your skin, full and aching for release. “Gonna give ya’ what y’want, okay? You’ve been on your best behavior,” he mumbles with his lips stuck to your forehead. “That’s a good girl. Think she deserves to come after all.”

Only then does he find his rhythm again, ramming into your drooling hole. For the third time tonight, he’s captivated by how you teeter on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. He has you eating out of his hand, taking all that he offers, and you do so willingly. He knows he could ask you for anything, and in exchange for an orgasm coaxed by him, you'd comply without thinking twice. In many ways, he’s not so different. He gathers some of your saliva, using it to moisten his fingers before slipping them between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he continues to hit your bundle of nerves. Where his stamina comes from, he has no clue, though he’s determined to keep pushing.

Your face becomes a living poem, each cry of yours adding to its verse. Your head nearly reaches the door, but he cradles it with his arm, ensuring you don’t hurt yourself. “Close,” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes from falling shut. “Joel, please. Let me—”

“Give it to me, darlin’.” Another thrust, another moan. “Drench me, c’mon. That’s what y’want, isn’t it? To come all over this cock?”

The way he’s worked you up has its rewards, leading to a release that feels like an eruption. You bite down on his shoulder, your cries growing louder, chanting his name without pause. It loses all meaning after being chanted so many times, but the way you say it still has an undeniable weight. He doesn’t mind it one bit, not when he’s finishing right after you plead him to fill you. His jaw hangs open as ropes of his seed spill inside you, and he sags against your frame, giving short thrusts to push his cum deeper into your warmth, your pussy milking him dry.

“Oh, God…” he groans, fumbling with one of your breasts, holding onto something for dear life. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t pull out yet,” you say, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Stay a little longer.”

Too personal. Too intimate—dangerous in his books. Normally, he'd tuck himself back into his briefs, drive the woman he’s slept with home, and that would be the end of it. No happy endings in his story. So he’s surprised when he supports his weight on his forearms, claiming your lips in a voracious encounter of tongues and teeth. He caresses your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, and you sigh contentedly.

The two of you lapse into a heavy silence after that. He clears his throat, and says: “I should’ve asked you for your number that one time.” In the heat of the act, he’s being too honest. Regret will come knocking on his door once his excitement fades. His eyes bore into yours, dubious. “M’sorry for that.”

“Well, you could ask me for it now,” you admit from beneath him, and Joel pulls away for a moment, trying to gauge if you’re serious. He doesn’t think you’re joking. “To make up for lost time.”

This must be the onset of something else. He can't quite put it into words, but he feels it in his chest, in every place where your skin merges with his. He's no fortune teller, and there's no way for him to know where this path will take him, whether it leads to ruin or salvation. Though in this moment, he doesn't care—not now, at least.

At last, Joel blindly reaches for the pocket of his jeans with one arm. “How long are you stayin’ in Austin?”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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ridingtorohan · 25 days ago

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𓇻 ft. tulpar crew x gn reader

𓇻 request. the crew's reactions to walking in on reader touching themselves.

𓇻 content. 18+ content, minors dni. potential second hand embarrassment, reader is gender neutral (no genitalia specified), getting caught, masturbation, semi-public masturbation.

𓇻 enjoy! feel free to like, reblog, or send in asks!

‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ Masterlist

By all accounts, Curly is a respectable captain. He respects boundaries and doesn't cross the line. He's the captain, after all. Not having locks on the door is a safety issue, he knows. Just as he knows to knock. It just wasn't on his mind; he needed your help with something and you're technically available.

So he breezes right in, words on his lips and - there you are.

Holy shit, there you are. In all your lewd glory. "Oh." Then, oh. "Sorry, I'm just-" and he doesn't even finish the sentence because he backtracks and shuts the door behind him.

The thing is, that image haunts him, later. Wriggling like an infestation inside his skull. When he sees you, he acts every bit the proper superior, doesn't bat an eye. Internally, he sees flashes of skin, the way you moaned and sighed.

It leaves a lasting impression in his mind and he's so painfully aware of it. Aware of it in more ways than one because he knows nothing can come of this. It's awkward enough walking in on someone, awkward even more when everytime he knocks on your door afterwards, he's praying that you'll be nude and waiting for him.

Late at night, he remembers it, stroking himself and pressing his face into a pillow as his hips jerk, spilling himself over his fingers, wishing that it was your hands on him.

Sometimes, he wishes you'd walk in on him too.

Even Jimmy knows better than to poke through doors, especially when everybody is awake. He's never felt the need to, not with the open door policy and frankly, until this, he's only noticed you in passing.

Nimble as ever, he opens your door, irritated over something that one of the crew members had done the other day. Sometimes, he just liked to vent and rage about the injustice. You're easy to talk to, but he's never really sought you out for anything else before.

The door shuts behind him and he just stands there, previous irritation set to the backburner. Because there you are, uniform discarded and showing off your form, hand between your thighs as you nursed your arousal.

Above all else, Jimmy is a certified voyeur. He likes to watch and admire, drilling inside his head about the way your hand moves, the curve of your spine. Each individual sound. But even Jimmy has his limits.

When you're close or have already come, he slides up behind you, hot breath at your neck, thick hands skimming over your waist, to your thighs, only to settle on top of yours. "As much as I enjoy the view, pet, I'm going to take it from here." And he makes damn good no his promise.

He makes a mental note that to visit your room far more often.

Anya really just needed an answer to a quick question, relating to your latest check in to the medbay (or your duties). She knocks on the door, too softly to be heard over the sound of your activities.

It takes her an embarrassingly long time to even realize what was going on. All she sees is your huddled form. First comes the concern, her hand reaching out for your shoulder, "Are you oka-"

And you let out such a noisy sigh that she freezes. She's gotten laid before and suddenly it hits her like a truck just what she walked into because she knows what those sounds mean. Furiously backpedalling, her hand raises to her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

Quietly, she excuses herself from your quarters, ears a little red and hands shaking.

For a long, awkward time afterward, she can't even meet your eyes, even going as far as delegating the psych eval to Curly.

If you ever get injured, she performs it as meticulously as she can, her eyes tracing over every ounce of your body, trying to forget the way you moved.

Frankly, at one point, one of you would have to address what happened. But she's more than eager to ride this bumpy path until then, even if it strains your relationship with her.

Everytime she sees you that familiar, yawning ache simmers in her gut.

As much as she tried to deny it, what she walked in on affected her.

When the tension becomes too much, she finds herself sitting on her leg, grinding herself against her calf, biting the inside of her cheek as she imagines you there.

As stupid as it is, she might have maybe done it in your presence, hands trembling as she tries to keep a conversation going, desk separating you two. Other times, when it becomes unbearable, she rubs her thighs together or slides her calves against the leg of her chair, praying to god that you don't see her. (But half of her hoping that you will.)

He's been looking for you for the better part of half an hour; usually, he finds you in obscure places or with his intern, so the last place he thought to look was in your bedroom. Really, that should have been his first guess. You two were supposed to talk about something and it's been on his mind like a nagging hornet.

Sure, walking into another's room is technically frowned upon, but with all the mishaps of Daisuke barging into people's rooms (much to the disgruntlement of, well, everyone) that for a split second he didn't even consider it.

He just opens the door and - okay, so you're doing that. No wonder you were absent, so engrossed in self pleasure that you didn't even hear him stepping in.

Swansea feels too old for this, seeing your twisted figure, your cries of pleasure. So he just turns around and shuts the door, leaving you to it.

He tucks himself back into a latest project and perusing Daisuke's homework, busying himself until you're finished and in public. Not that he planned to publicly confront you about it, but because he knew everybody needed a little time alone. As small as the Tulpar was, he knew any time and space should be well spent. Even if he silently questioned your methods.

But he does bring it up. He doesn't let it slide (not like how your hands slid between your thighs and-).

Despite whatever personality conflicts you two had, he had eyes and all working parts, thank you very much. He also had needs.

Once the original topic was out of the way, he crossed his arms, expression serious when he says, "Now, it's all my doin' for bargin' in like that, but I saw something of you that I shouldn't have." He'd elaborate if he had to, "If alone time is what you're after, we've got socks for that. Toss it on your door handle and be done with it; I ain't gonna let nobody disturb ya during it."

As awkward as that conversation was, he's handled it before. He has grown kids, after all. But you're not his kid, and you're certainly grown - he's seen that. Noticed it off-hand a few times before too.

He sighs, leaning back, letting you decide when he adds, "But if release is what you're after, I know a thing or two, and I can help you with that."

All but acting like a lost puppy, Daisuke often turned to you for help in locating his missing items. Batteries, dust pan, his gameboy cartridge. (Swansea was so mad the last time he lost the screwdriver and thanked you profusely with your help locating it.) So popping in for a quick minute into your bedroom to ask for your help in locating his soap was a mindless task.

He pops in, door banging, energetic words on his lips. His brain all but sputters when your eyes connect, nude form on the bed, sprawled out, light sheen of sweat on your body, looking like a tribute straight from the gods.

Despite your hasty attempt to cover and a spew of apologies from Daisuke's lips, he can't take his eyes off you. It's like he can't even blink, so absorbed in your image that half of what he's saying doesn't make sense.

You'd have to forcibly remove him because he is rooted to his spot, unable to vacate of his own free will. He'll be banging on your door, pleading to be let back in, to talk it over. He's not sure what he wants to say - more apologies? Explain why he's there? He wants to offer help so badly.

If he's not pushed out at all, his brain ceases to function. Despite being a handsome lad, and being twenty, he's hardly been with anyone. Sure, he knows exactly what you're up to - he's done it himself plenty of times-- but all those words die in his mouth.

"Soap, I swear I'm just looking for soap," he explains, trying to rush into an explanation, the only coherent thing he can say.

He'll eventually manage to sputter, "I was going to go shower, but nowIwannaknowifyouwanttojoinme" is strewn in with "ohmygodpleaseletmehelpyou".

He's all jittery, achingly hard in his pants, wanting to touch and hear you make those sounds again. Daisuke feels like he'll go insane if he doesn't. Hands fidgeting, his fingers curl in, unconsciously taking a few steps in. He'll finally manage a coherent, "Please let me stay."

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lymtw · 9 months ago

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Thinking of Toji being pulled out of sleep because he hears you whimpering beside him in your sleep. Once he wakes up, he can't get back to resting until he figures out what's going on with you. Maybe you're having a bad dream. After all, you are clutching your pillow pretty tight...

He puts a hand on your shoulder, ready to shake you. That is until you let out a moan. There's a visible 'huh' on his face as he keeps watching you to make sure he didn't mishear. His heart drops to his stomach when you sigh, your hips languidly rolling against the blanket that is bundled between your legs. Now he knows for sure that he didn't mishear you.

He chuckles quietly, his hand going up to caress your face. "Doll," he whispers, gently brushing wisps of hair away from your face. You don't respond. You stopped moving, and presumably went back to sleep. The problem is, Toji's awake now. Yes, he loves you and would guard you for years while you slumber, but right now you got him all bricked up. He can't sleep like this, but also, what's more embarrassing than getting himself off when the prettiest princess is right next to him.

"Baby," he coos, scooting closer to you. He pushes the blanket out of the way so that he can put one of your legs over his hip.

"You okay, Toji?" You mumble, slowly opening your eyes.

"Course, doll, but you're dreaming pretty loudly." He grins, throwing an arm over your waist. "Wanna talk about it?"

"What are you talking about?" You groan, still sleepy.

"Did you cum?"

Your heart stops at the question, and though your body is still in its sleepy daze, Toji could feel the tension surface.

"Could hear you moaning and whimpering like someone was giving it to you good. Was it me?"

"Toji...," you whine. "Who else would it be? Can we go back to sleep, now?"

"Hold on. Just wanna know if you finished. You know I wouldn't leave you hanging." His hands snake under your shirt.

"I did...n't. But i'm more tired than horny, Toji. Don't worry about it."

"You won't have to do a thing. All you have to do... is lay there... and look pretty for me." His lips ghost yours as his fingers snap the strap of your bra against your skin. "How's that sound, hm? Want me to ease you back into sleep?"

You can see the trace of a grin on his face. His eyes look so dark, and this rattles something deep in your core.

"Fine. Just... not too rough, please."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, trying to hold back the full wolfy grin on his face. He makes haste of taking his clothes off and when he sees you trying to do the same, he takes over and pulls your shorts and underwear off. He's above you in an instant, wedging his hips between your legs, allowing his tip to nudge through your slick folds. "Dream me really did a number on you, huh? You're so wet."

"He was a freak." You giggle, watching Toji adjust himself.

"Not freakier than me, right?" He asks, kissing up your stomach until he reaches your chest.

"He's definitely competition for you, but you're number one, baby."

Toji gives you a deadpan expression, luring a laugh from you. "So damn lucky you asked me to go easy on you." He looks at that tired smile on your face, instantly remembering his mission. "Gonna put it in, 'kay ma?"

"Okay," you murmur, reaching your hands up to caress his face.

You both go quiet for a second as he brings his cock towards your entrance. Even the gentlest of Toji's movements are hard to take sometimes, but you've always been praised by him for handling those movements so well every time. You try to mute the gasp that comes with Toji stretching you, but your discomfort is not something you can easily hide from him.

"S'all good, princess," he mumbles into your neck. He can feel you trembling as he pushes in further. "Always so good for me. You can take it, huh?"

You squeak out a little 'fuck' and are instantly soothed by Toji. "I know, I know, my pretty girl. Don't cry." He looks into your twinkling eyes and kisses away the crystals gliding down your face. You're somewhat distracted by the affectionate butterfly kisses Toji scatters on your face. He uses this as a chance to sheathe the rest of himself inside you. Another inch stuffed into you, another kiss to your lips. He can see the light way your nose scrunches, instantly catching you with a coo of "that's it, mama. That's all of it."

You shudder, sighing as you push your head back into the pillow. "Fuck. Your dick is cursed, baby."

"You love it, anyway, little masochist." He smirks.

"What's a good fuck without some pain?" You can see the way his face lights up, almost like he considered that a green light to fuck you like an animal. "Ah, no," you intervene so quickly. "You're easing me back to sleep."

"Right." He stifles a laugh. "Let's get on that then."

It doesn't usually go this way with Toji. He likes to show off his strength against you, be it breaking your back when you arch over the crushing orgasms he gives you or holding you down when you try to squirm away from his overstimulating touch.

Somehow you got him to slow down for you this time, and the prize is you getting to mumble sweet nothings to him. His reward is that he gets to stay in gentle control. You tell him you love him and he responds with a little "mhm". You tell him you wouldn't go anywhere without telling him first but he doesn't read into the code in your message, so he smiles and says "you'd get lost, and I'd have to find you." You tell him you're glad you get to sleep next to him and he chuckles in your ear, responding with a non-threating "dick's got you all emotional, baby?"

You laugh it off, not taking it to heart. "Just love being close like this with you is all."

It goes quiet for a minute, only your little breaths and Toji's pants filling the silence. Toji can hear your heartbeat as he rocks both of you. Your heels dig into his lower back, your nails dragging across his shoulder blades. "Fuck, princess. I'll bust if you keep scratchin' me up like that." His lips ghost the column of your neck before latching on and working a mark into your skin. Your thighs squeeze against his waist as he grazes your sweet spot repeatedly.

Toji knows you well enough to know that that's a tell-tale sign that you're about to cum, so he makes his touch overwhelming. His hands run up your body until he reaches your chest, where he teases your nipples until your stomach starts quivering and you start breathing shakily. He massages your hips with his thumbs, while pressing kisses to your jaw with little murmurs of, "show me how good you feel" and "come on, baby."

"Fuck, princess..." he groans, almost reaching his own peak. "I wanna hear you. None of that covering your mouth or biting your tongue shit."

You folded so quickly after that, gasping like the air was sucked out of your lungs. "G-Go- Oh god! Fuck, Toji... I-"

"Mhm... fuck yeah, baby. T-That's good, so fuckin' good," he groans, rutting into you as he spews out his load. You put your hands up to his chest, pushing weakly as the overstimulation starts kicking in. He pants, trying to catch his breath as he slows to a halt. "So good for me, mama," he mumbles into your neck, his cock still buried in your soaked cunt. "No one deserves you." He presses a few more kisses onto your shoulder before getting off of you. Your eyes shut for seconds at a time every time you blink, meaning you could knock out any moment now. Any other day, the sight of cum drooling out of your pussy would incite another round, but Toji said he would fuck you to sleep, and he kept his word. The session concluded and now he gets to clean you up while you rest.

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teddybeartoji · 7 months ago

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18+ mdni; gn!reader

thinking about toji the ultimate brat tamer vs two big brats – you and satoru.

you both talked big at first; about how he couldn't handle the two of you at the same time, about how he'd be the one to fold first, about how you'd make him whimper and moan, and yet...

here you are - laying on top of satoru, half limp, while getting pounded like there's no tomorrow. eyes hazy and threatening to roll back inside your head, tears run over the apples of your cheeks and drool trickles from the side of your mouth. he's filling you up so fucking good that you can't even properly moan – the only sounds leaving your pretty lips being shaky breaths and mewls. toji's heavy balls slap against you with every rough thrust and your ass stings from all the times he's slapped your soft, sensitive skin.

toji watches your tight little hole with hungry eyes, he watches you swallow him, he watches himself disappear deep inside you. you're so fucking warm and you feel delicious around him – he's addicted already. he's the only reason you're still half-up on your knees, his big calloused hands hold onto your waist like his life depends on it. he's not letting you go anywhere, no matter how much you want to run from him, from the pleasure.

"'s too much. i– i can't." his dick twitches inside you at your broken whine, clearly enjoying the state that you're in.

"nah." he rasps back. "don't think 's enough, actually."

toji's fingers bruise your skin as he pushes down on your back, making you arch even more for him. he takes his knee from the bed and places it down beside your trembling thigh. he's reaching new depths with this new position and he chuckles darkly when he sees your jaw fall slack.

above you, satoru lets out a muffled groan.

gagged and tied up – the only thing he can do is watch toji fuck your brains out. he can't even hold you, he can't even taste you...

he's never been this hard in his entire life.

your cheek is smushed against his lower stomach and you can feel his cock rubbing against your chest with every thrust toji makes. you're drooling all over satoru and fuck – he really just wishes he could kiss you.

his glassy blue eyes travel from your sweaty body to the man behind you, and he's met with the meanest grin.

"strongest one, hm?"

toji has never felt more powerful than he does in this moment. the legendary satoru gojo – finally at his mercy. tears cascade down his flushed cheeks and his adam's apple bobs, his skin is covered in red marks and sweat, and even though your own body hides satoru's - toji knows he's rock hard. the poor guy can't stop squirming and twitching underneath you, muffled mewls fill the air around you as his head lolls back against the headboard every two seconds.

the tip of his cock grazes against your soft skin but it's far from enough – a layer of his pre-cum coats your chest and your tummy and it's all just so fucking dirty.

toji fucking loves it.

he's going to pound you into the mattress while he watches satoru cry the prettiest tears. he's going to pump you full of his cum and then he's going to eat it out of you until you're passing out from overstimulation while satoru humps the air out of desperation. this is what you both get for talking back to him, for pushing his buttons.

he will make you both beg for his forgiveness and then he'll get to laugh and he'll get to mock – he's not stopping until you're both so fucking cockdrunk that the only thing you remember is his name.

you're both his little playthings now.

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rafeandonlyrafe · 2 months ago

Text

handlebars

words: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, male and female receiving oral, face fucking, golf, rafe calling reader slut and whore but lovingly lol, established relationship, female masturbation kinda, bit of a dom/sub relationship but really its just rafes personality, semi public sex

“princess.” rafe presses a kiss to the top of your head as you're sat at your vanity, dabbing some blush onto your cheeks.

“mhm?” you tilt your head up, allowing rafe to press a kiss to your lips, not used to feeling your kiss without lipgloss, the next step in your makeup routine.

“if you're good for me and don't complain about being bored today, ill let you suck me off on the green.”

“really?” you squeal, turning to get a better look at rafe.

“yeah.” rafe nods. “but no complaining while we are golfing. topper will be joining me so you gotta wait until after we are done.”

“im gonna be so good rafey, promise.”

“i know you will, good girl.” rafe bends to give you another kiss. “finish getting ready, im gonna go load my clubs into the car.”

“mkay.” you nod. “love you, handsome.”

“i know you do, baby.” rafe smirks before leaving the room.

you turn back to your mirror, quickly finishing your makeup before getting an idea.

you part your hair down the middle before tying them into pigtails on either side, adding a pink ribbon around either hair tie, pulling a couple strands out to frame your face.

you skip down the stairs, dressed in your favorite golfing outfit. despite never playing and just watching rafe, you love to dress the part, wearing a tight white athletic tank top and a flouncy pink skirt, so short it shows off your matching pink underwear way too easily with just the slightest bend of your hips.

“shit.” rafe smiles up at you. “can't wait to strip those clothes off you later.”

“why thank you baby.” you give a twirl, showing off your outfit to rafe, knowing the ultimate compliment on your clothing is to tell you how much he wants to rip them off of you.

“im gonna have to kill top if he even looks at you with your tits out like this.” rafes arms wrap around your waist to pull you tightly against his front, lifting your feet up off the ground.

you wrap your legs around his hips, pressing sticky kisses and leaving pink gloss behind as rafe carries you outside, placing you in his passenger seat that has become yours, your name even added in rhinestones to the sun visor next to the mirror.

you hum along to rafes music and cycle between looking out the window and looking over at rafe as he drives, the muscles on his arms defining his every turn on the way to the country club.

“oh, there's toppers truck.” you point as rafe pulls into the parking lot, grumbling something about you knowing what his truck looks like before pulling into a spot.

you wait for rafe to walk around to open your door, helping you step down and keeping your hands held tight together as he grabs his clubs and slings them over one shoulder.

“hi topper.” you smile as you see him sat in a cart, quickly moving to the back as you approach.

“hey rafe.” topper says, completely ignoring your hello, but you know it's not due to being rude.

“no complaining, remember.” rafe says as you slide along the bench seat, making sure not to move too far so your thigh touches rafes as he gets in to drive.

“i remember.” you nod. “i will definitely not complain when i get really really super bored.”

rafe shakes his head, an unwilling smile growing on his face as he drops one hand down to your thigh, squeezing it so tightly you almost cry out before he releases and puts the cart into drive, speeding towards the first hole.

“i was so good, wasn’t i?” you turn your head to the side to look at rafe as he drops topper back at the parking lot.

“i mean, you started complaining when we played 18 holes instead of 9.” rafe tsks.

“okay, but only for like a second before i remembered! come on rafe,” you lean over him, placing your hand on his chest, fingers ghosting up and down to entice him. “don’t you want me to suck you off?”

“of course i do.” rafe captures your lips in a kiss, tugging you closer to his side as he takes off again, navigating the course to an isolated spot.

“finally.” you move to your knees on the cart, watching as rafe stands and walks to the passenger side of the cart, keeping his back towards the main part of the club just in case anyone comes by.

you reach forward, tugging on rafe shorts, undoing the zipper and button and pulling the sides of his pants apart. you reach into his pants and pull his cock out from his underwear, already starting to harden.

“i love it when i get my mouth on you and you’re still soft.” you press kisses along his length, feeling it grow under your lips before placing the head of his cock into his mouth, swiping your tongue over the slit.

“you’re such a whore.” rafe laughs. “dressed up like a slut and now you’re acting like it too.”

you just nod, not willing to take your mouth off his cock just to acknowledge how much of a slut you are for him. you both already know what the truth is.

rafe hardens in your mouth as you begin to move your head up and down, building up a slow pace that allows you to enjoy the taste of his skin, tongue sliding along the underside of his length.

“faster, baby.” rafe taps your cheek.

you pull off and frown up at him. “let me enjoy sucking you off. you said you’d let me.”

“yeah but i wanna see what you can do. impress me.”

the challenge from rafe works immediately as you wrap your lips around his cock, head bobbing up and down a lot quicker now as you build up tolerance in your throat, rafes length and girth too much to take him all the way down immediately.

“that's my girl.” rafe smiles down at you. “doing so good baby.”

you take a deep breath through your nose and move forward, pushing your nose into rafes shirt as you swallow around his length, resisting the urge to smile as you hear rafe moan.

“fuck.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, determined to keep his cock all the way down your throat for as long as you can.

“god, you just keep getting better at this darling.”

you pull off and drop your head to cough before smiling up at rafe. “wanna fuck my mouth now?”

rafe leans down to kiss your forehead. “im gonna put a ring on your finger one day baby, i swear.”

“you better.” you know you're still young, but you can't wait for the day you can call yourself mrs. cameron.

rafe straightens back up, smearing the head of his cock over your mouth, coating your lips in a second layer of gloss.

rafe grabs onto your pigtails as your mouth opens, keeping your throat as slack as you can as his hips push forward.

rafe moves your head in unison with his thrusts, fingers knotting around the pink ribbon to keep his grip.

you have to reach forward and place your hands on his thighs to keep from falling forward, your knees no doubt turning bright red as they scrape back and forth with the power of his movements.

rafe doesn't bother holding back his moans as he tugs on your pigtails, hips undulating and rocking, hoping he's far enough from anyone else to hear his groans and gasps of your name.

“next will be your pussy.” rafe smirks down at you. “as soon as we get home im getting in that delicious little cunt of yours.”

you moan around his cock, thighs squeezing together as you think of all the times rafes been inside of you.

rafe tugs your pigtails, holding them like handlebars on a bike as his cock grows in your mouth. he wishes he could go for longer, to fuck your mouth for hours, but the thought of getting home to your pussy makes him too excited to hold himself back.

“gonna cum right down your throat.” rafe says, grunting as his hips speed up. “unless you want me to paint your pretty face for everyone to see.”

you moan again, the sound vibrating around rafes cock as your hand drops to your pussy, pressing over your underwear to give your clit some relief.

“you like that huh?” rafe questions. “want everyone at the country club to see my cum dripping down your face?”

you push your hand under your panties, rubbing at your wetness, a finger plunging into your heat.

“hey, cut that out.” rafe tugs on your pigtails. “you can rub your clit but don't open up your cunt for me. that's my job.”

you groan but move your fingers back to your clit, leaving your pussy to clench around nothing.

“don't worry, bunny.” rafe pats your cheek. “you'll be bouncing on something soon enough.”

rafe moans as your tongue flicks over the underside of his length, throat constricting as you swallow along his cock.

“fuck, close.” rafe warns, pumping his hips forward with renounced speed.

rafes cock swells in your mouth and there's mere seconds before he releases, cum spurting down your throat.

“fuck!” he moans, giving one last thrust before pulling out.

you take a deep breath, hand still moving on your pussy as rafe breaths deeply, checking over his shoulder before tucking his softening cock back into his pants.

“stop that.” rafe hums, eyes dropping to between your legs.

“im so close.” you whine, keeping your fingers thrumming over your clit.

“yeah, and i wanna be the one to make you cum so stop.”

rafe picks you up and places your bum on the seat, frowning when he sees your knees. he presses kisses to each of the red splotches.

rafe pushes your thighs open next, pulling your hand out of your underwear as he tugs them to the side.

you didn't expect rafe to surge forward, mouth greedily eating your cunt, slurping on your wetness.

“fuck!” you squeal, head falling back as he focuses in on your clit, sucking with the taste of you on his tongue, sticking it out to flick over your clit.

“im- im gonna cum!” you warn, fingers tangling in his hair, pressing his face further into your cunt.

his mouth keeps working as you reach your high, moaning out rafes name as your clit pulses against his tongue.

he moves lower to press against your entrance, briefly dipping in. “gonna fuck you so soon.” he whispers, and you swear it's more to your cunt than it is to you.

“shit.” you fall back against the seat as rafe rearranges you, flinching when his hand brushes against your clit while putting your panties back in place.

“better not be sensitive by the time we get home.” rafe says, flipping your skirt back down to cover you before he shrugs. “or be sensitive, im fucking you either way.”

“you're such a dick.” you giggle as rafe drops his head to kiss you, lips melting together, the shared taste on your tongue mixing.

“love you.” he says. “future wifey. you give the best head.”

“wow, thanks.” you roll your eyes sarcastically, hands moving to your pigtails as rafe rounds the cart to drive back.

“you know, you really messed up my hair.” you frown, attempting to fix your bows without a mirror to look in.

“yeah, you can't wear that style again.” rafe looks over at you. “unless you want me to fuck your face every time.”

“well…” you tap your chin, a smile growing.

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