#if you need me to edit anything let me know c:

[sinful-sonnet]

Whiskey & Wildflowers

Chapter 6

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W/C: 12.6k

Content Warnings: *Explicit, minors DNI. smoking, pet names, smut, unprotected piv, daddy kink lowkey, smoking, f & m orgasm, fluff, aftercare, parental estrangement, emotional strain, phone sex (?) non edited

Summary: After seeking refuge at Joel’s house to escape family tensions, you begin rebuilding your life while navigating complex emotions and relationships. A new job brings stability, and connections within the household grow deeper, with moments of closeness becoming increasingly intense. As you work to find your footing, the bonds around you shift in unexpected ways, setting the stage for personal growth and new challenges.

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“Rollercoaster”

You close your bedroom door behind you, hoping in vain that it will block out the sounds drifting from upstairs. It doesn’t. The muffled moans and low thumps make your stomach twist, and you press your palms flat against the door, willing it to stop. Why now? You bite your lip, a flare of anger and embarrassment rushing through you. It’s bad enough your dad brought Linda here so suddenly—now you have to endure this?

Your eyes dart to your phone on the bedside table. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you grab it, scrolling through your contacts until you see Joel’s name. You hover there for a moment, heart pounding in your chest. Is this a bad idea? Maybe. But you need a distraction—any distraction—from what’s happening above you.

With a shaky breath, you tap the call button. The dial tone rings in your ear once, twice, three times. You’re about to hang up when you hear the low rasp of Joel’s voice.

“Hey,” he answers, his tone softer than you expected. “Everything okay?”

You close your eyes, letting the sound of his voice ground you. “Not really,” you admit, keeping your voice low. You sink onto your bed, curling your free hand into the comforter. “My dad… and Linda…” You swallow hard, not sure how much you want to reveal.

There’s a pause on the other end, then Joel exhales. “Yeah?” he prompts gently, sounding concerned.

Your cheeks burn with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “They’re… you know… doing it—above my room. I can hear everything.” You scrunch your eyes shut, wishing you could erase that last sentence from existence. “I just… can’t deal with this right now.”

Joel lets out a sigh that crackles over the line. “That’s gotta be rough,” he says, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sound is the low static of the call and faint noises from upstairs that you’re doing your best to ignore.

Finally, you clear your throat, your heart thumping in your ears. “Joel,” you say, your voice wavering with a mixture of nerves and longing. “I—can we just… talk? Or—”

“Or?” His voice dips, taking on a note of hesitation and something else—interest?

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as you gather your courage. “I just… need a distraction,” you admit, your pulse racing faster. “Anything to keep my mind off of what’s happening.”

Joel is quiet for a beat. When he speaks again, there’s a softness in his tone, laced with concern and maybe a spark of the tension you both felt before. “Okay,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Tell me what you need.”

A tiny tremor of relief courses through you. “I want to focus on us for a bit,” you whisper, turning onto your side so you’re facing away from your closed door. You breathe in, centering yourself on the comforting thought of Joel rather than the humiliating noises overhead.

Joel shifts on his end of the line; you can hear it in the subtle rustle of fabric. “I’m listening,” he says, and there’s a quiet intimacy in those words that sends a flush through your cheeks.

You close your eyes and let your free hand drift to your stomach, resting just beneath your shirt. “You remember the last time we were together?” you begin softly, recalling the heated moment in his house when lines blurred. “When you… pinned me against the door?”

Joel inhales sharply. “Yeah,” he murmurs. His voice dips to a husky undertone. “I remember.”

The images of that night flicker in your mind—his firm grip, the fire in his gaze. The way the world shrank to just the two of you. It’s enough to drown out the sounds above—enough to remind you there’s something else waiting, something that feels like an escape from your current reality.

You keep talking, your voice low and measured, weaving little memories of his touch, how his breath felt against your skin. With each word, you imagine you’re back there, heat building between you instead of the awkward tension in your own house. Joel doesn’t interrupt; he listens intently, his steady breathing in your ear.

Eventually, he hums, a quiet, encouraging noise. “Feels good thinking about it?” he asks gently.

“Yes,” you admit, your cheeks burning. “I just… I wish you were here.”

He lets out a slow exhale. “Me too.”

For a moment, you both fall silent, just the sound of each other’s breaths traveling across the line. In that hush, you can almost feel him next to you—the warmth of his body, the way his presence steadies your thoughts.

Joel clears his throat. “I’m right here on the phone, though,” he says in a voice that’s low and intimate, “if you want to keep talking. If it helps.”

You let your eyes close, sinking further into the moment, letting Joel’s quiet reassurance fill the space in your mind. It might not solve everything—your dad, Linda, the complexities that still hang over you—but for right now, it’s enough to have Joel’s presence, even through a phone line.

Your grip on the phone tightens. “Stay with me,” you whisper, the plea laced with all the vulnerability you’ve been feeling for so long.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he answers softly, and in that promise lies a shred of comfort that finally drowns out the unwelcome sounds from above. You focus solely on his voice, letting the tension ease as you slip deeper into the conversation that’s more than a distraction—it’s a reminder of the connection you share, a place that feels like it’s just yours and his, if only for these moments.

You lie back on your bed, phone pressed to your ear, Joel's low voice still filling your mind. Every syllable seems to heighten the warmth building inside you, and as you shift your hips slightly, you can't ignore the need pulsing through you. With a quiet inhale, you ease your hand downward, letting your fingertips rest lightly over the front of your underwear.

You close your eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of Joel's breath on the other end of the line. The rush of blood in your ears nearly drowns out your dad and Linda upstairs—a small, welcome reprieve.

Joel's tone drops, concern threading through it when he hears your soft exhale. "You alright?" he asks gently, though there's an undercurrent of awareness there, too.

Biting your lip, you tilt your head back against the pillow, letting out another shaky breath. "I'm fine," you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation,

"just... keep talking."

He seems to catch the hint in your tone.

His next words come out low, husky.

You barely process what he's saying— some reassurance, something about being with you-because every syllable feels like a slow thrum under your skin.

Your hand moves a fraction, pressing lightly. A quiver runs through you, and a soft, involuntary sound escapes your throat. Embarrassment flickers for a second, but Joel's voice anchors you, warm and calm even as his breath catches.

"Tell me what you want," he murmurs, almost inaudible.

Heat flushes through you, and you swallow hard. "I don't know," you whisper. "I just... need something. Need you."

Joel lets out a quiet, unsteady exhale.

"I'm here," he says simply.

Those two words send a shiver down your spine, and you let your eyes drift shut, focusing on the sensation of your own touch and the steady cadence of Joel's voice. In the hazy quiet, with the world narrowed to just this moment, you let yourself sink into the warmth of wanting him-letting it crowd out everything else.

Your breath hitches, the sound of it catching in your throat audible even over the phone. You press your hand more firmly against yourself, heart thudding at the thought that Joel can hear every shift of your breathing.

He goes quiet for a beat, as though he’s listening intently for your every reaction. His own breathing sounds uneven, and you imagine he’s trying to keep himself composed on the other end of the line. The thought sends another wave of heat rolling through you.

“You still with me?” he asks, his voice low and tinged with that undercurrent of need you’ve grown so familiar with.

“Mhm,” you manage, your voice faint. You swallow, forcing yourself to speak more clearly. “Yeah. Just… feels good.”

A soft exhale comes through the speaker—like relief mixed with desire. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone gentle but charged. “Then let it, darlin’.”

You bite your lip, your eyes sliding shut as your body reacts to his words. Even though he’s only there by voice, it’s enough to steady the anxious hum in your chest, enough to remind you that you’re not alone in this moment. For a few precious minutes, it drowns out everything else: the noises upstairs, the tension at home, the nagging complications that wait beyond this phone call.

Joel’s voice wraps around you again, low and comforting, guiding you further into the warmth of this connection. His breathing staggers once in a while, a subtle sign that he’s right there with you—wanting you just as badly, missing you just as deeply.

And in the background of your mind, you remind yourself that for now, that’s all you need: his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the promise of something better waiting when you finally see each other again.

Joel's breathing shifts on the other end of the line, becoming more ragged by the second. You can hear it-how he's losing that tight control you know he tries to hold onto. It's almost a mirror of your own state: that heady mix of anticipation and need.

"Joel...?" you venture softly, voice trembling with the knowledge of what might be happening there. He inhales sharply, and you can practically feel the tension crackling through the phone.

"I'm here," he rasps, his breath hitching on the last word. There's a moment of silence, punctuated by nothing but the distant hum of the connection and the sound of him exhaling in quiet, uneven spurts. He doesn't say what he's doing, but you sense it-the rhythmic pace of it, the telltale hitch in his voice.

Your own heart pounds, and you press your hand more firmly against yourself.

Even separated by distance, there's an odd intimacy in sharing this charged moment. The background noise of your house fades to static, and all that matters is the low timbre of Joel's voice, the rasp of breath as he gives in to the same pull you feel.

"You feel good, darlin'?" he manages to ask, his words laced with both concern and raw desire.

"Mhm," you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself sink deeper into the warmth coiling in your belly. "You?"

Joel's response is a rough sound halfway between a sigh and a groan.

"Wish I could see you," he breathes, and you imagine him leaning back, eyes closed, wanting this moment every bit as intensely as you do.

A flush spreads through you. "Me too," you admit. There's a pause as you catch your breath. "Tell me... tell me something," you plead, not entirely sure what you need but desperate to keep him talking, to feel him close.

He exhales shakily. "I'm thinking about that night... when I had you against the door." His voice drops into a husky whisper. "How you felt under my hands, how you tasted..."

Your breath stutters at the memory, the vivid recollection overtaking any coherent thought. Your fingers flex in response, pressing just enough to send a spark of pleasure zipping up your spine. Joel's voice falters too, a quiet hitch that tells you he's right there with you.

Neither of you speaks for a moment-just the shared, labored breathing over the phone line, the muffled hush of two people seeking comfort in each other.

At some point, you hear him mutter your name under his breath, soft but urgent, and it sends a delicious jolt through you.

It's intense-almost too intense, knowing he's on the other end, wanting this as badly as you do. You curl onto your side, phone balanced against your ear as your heart pounds. The world outside your door might be messy and complicated, but here and now, it's just you and Joel and the connection that keeps growing despite every obstacle.

Your lips part, and you whisper his name. His ragged exhale is answer enough. In this moment, you focus on each ragged breath, each brush of fabric, each sound that testifies to a need both of you can't deny. It's not perfect-nothing about your situation is -but for now, it's a lifeline neither of you wants to let go of.

Joel’s breathing hitches again, and you can almost hear him wrestling with the urge to stay in control. There’s a pause, then the faint sound of him grabbing his keys or something metallic in the background.

“Darlin’,” he says low into the phone, voice still rough from the moment you’ve been sharing, “I can’t do this like we are. I need to see you. I need to come get you.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. You shift on the bed, pressing the phone tighter against your ear. The tension coursing through your body has you wanting to say yes immediately, but the memory of your dad and Linda upstairs makes you hesitate.

“Joel,” you whisper, unsure if he can sense your uncertainty. “They’re here… I don’t know if I can just walk out.”

He exhales, frustrated. “I’ll park down the street if I have to. But I’m not waiting around, baby. I want you with me tonight. Let me pick you up.”

Even through the phone, you can feel the warmth of his determination, and it nearly wipes out every other worry. Slowly, you exhale, your mind whirling with the risk of sneaking away now, of the complications that might follow if anyone notices.

But then Joel’s voice drops, all sincerity and urgency: “I just want you. No more phone. No more distance.”

Your breath comes out in a shaky rush. Deep down, you know exactly what you want, too. “Okay,” you whisper, the single word filled with every bit of unspoken longing.

He’s immediately in motion, you can hear the jingle of keys, the creak of a door opening. “I’m on my way,” he promises softly, before a click ends the call.

You drop your phone to your side and lie there in the darkness for a few beats, heart pounding, thoughts tumbling. Regardless of what waits for you tomorrow—family tension, questions you can’t answer—for tonight, you can’t deny how much you need the escape Joel’s offering. And, you remind yourself, he needs it too.

With a nervous flutter, you sit up, fishing for your shoes, grabbing a hoodie. Every sound from upstairs sets you on edge, but your resolve is clear: if Joel is willing to take the chance, so are you.

Within minutes, you’re slipping out of your bedroom, careful to stay quiet as you make your way outside. The air is cool and still, stars scattered above. You walk a short distance, heart thudding in your chest, scanning the street until you catch sight of Joel’s truck rolling slowly up the block.

The passenger door opens with a soft click, and there he is—anxious, intense eyes on you, one hand on the steering wheel. You climb in, nerves and excitement tangling in your stomach.

He doesn’t say a word as he pulls away, the tension in the cab thick with anticipation. His free hand finds yours, giving a brief, reassuring squeeze. Everything else—your dad, Linda, the complicated mess of it all—fades into the background. Right now, it’s just Joel, the hum of the engine, and the promise in his voice when he says, “Let’s go,” low and certain.

You breathe out, finally letting yourself feel that surge of relief and desire. Whatever comes next, at least you won’t be alone in it tonight. And judging by the way Joel glances over at you, his gaze heated and intent, neither of you plans on holding back.

Joel’s hands grip the steering wheel a little too tightly as he spots the light on inside his house. “Sarah’s home,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, glancing over at you with an apologetic look.

He drives past the house without slowing, and you notice his jaw tense. It’s clear he’s not prepared for questions—or for Sarah to see you together like this. After a few minutes, Joel turns onto a side street and pulls into a dimly lit, vacant parking lot. He parks and cuts the engine, the silence inside the truck suddenly feeling heavier.

He turns toward you, eyes full of equal parts desire and frustration. “Didn’t expect her back so soon,” he murmurs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Guess we can’t go inside.” There’s regret in his voice, but the undercurrent of need between you both hasn’t faded at all.

You shift in your seat, the adrenaline from sneaking out still running high. “It’s okay,” you say quietly, forcing a small smile even though your nerves are jangling. “I wasn’t exactly looking forward to running into her, either.” The thought of explaining anything to Sarah tonight makes your stomach twist.

Joel’s lips press into a thin line; he seems torn, like he’s trying to figure out the next move. Finally, he exhales, leaning back against the headrest. “We could…talk here,” he offers, but his voice betrays him—there’s more than just talking on his mind.

The truck’s cab is dark except for the faint glow from a distant streetlamp. You can sense Joel’s focus on you, though, the same tension that crackled between you earlier still palpable. You realize he’s giving you the choice: to stay, to go, to figure out some middle ground.

You meet his gaze, your heartbeat still unsteady. “I don’t mind staying for a bit,” you murmur. It’s an understatement of everything you’re feeling, but you don’t know how else to say you need him just as much.

Joel nods, sliding his hand off the steering wheel and resting it near yours on the seat. The quiet hum of nearby traffic underscores the moment, and you both sit there, weighing your next steps, trying to figure out how to navigate this meeting that neither of you wants to end.

Outside, the night carries on, but in the confines of the truck, it’s like time has slowed. He studies your face, and you can tell he’s battling the same swirl of thoughts you are: the risk of being caught, the complicated feelings, and the undeniable pull that brought you both here.

“Come here,” he finally says, voice soft but insistent. He lifts his arm, making space for you to slide closer if you want. It’s a simple invitation—one that speaks volumes. You hesitate only a second before you move toward him, closing the gap in the quiet, empty lot.

For now, you both ignore the outside world, taking refuge in these fleeting minutes, where it’s just the two of you—no questions, no judgment, and no prying eyes. It won’t solve everything, but it’s enough to feel his warmth, to hear his low voice comforting you in the dark. And for the moment, that’s all either of you needs.

You shift in the passenger seat, feeling your pulse quicken, then make a decisive move: swinging your leg over Joel’s lap and settling yourself there, knees braced against the edges of his seat. He inhales sharply, the soft leather squeaking under your weight.

“D-darlin’?” Joel stammers, his voice a mixture of surprise and rough-edged desire. He automatically brings his hands up, hovering near your waist as though unsure if he should rest them there.

You just look down at him, a playful grin curving your lips. The tension in the truck cab is thick enough to taste, the cool night air streaming faintly through a cracked window doing nothing to quell the heat building between you.

Your eyes lock on Joel’s. For a moment, neither of you moves, your heart pounding in your ears. Then, slowly, he settles his hands at your sides, steadying you.

“You all right?” he asks, swallowing hard, his eyes flicking between yours as though he wants to be absolutely certain.

A soft laugh escapes you. “I’m good,” you whisper, leaning in just enough that he can feel your breath. “Don’t you want me here?”

Joel’s fingers tighten slightly at your waist. “More than I can say,” he murmurs, his voice thick.

A rush of warmth flutters through you at that, and for a moment, the complications and fears fade into the background. Right now, in this vacant parking lot, it’s just you and Joel—no one else.

You slide your hands up, resting them on his shoulders as you lean in closer. His jaw sets for a moment, gaze darting across your face. Then, with a quiet exhale, he lets go of whatever lingering reservations he’s had and pulls you closer still, eyes fixed on yours.

Neither of you knows how long you’ll have before reality intrudes again. But for now, pressed together in the darkness, it feels like enough just to let the moment unfold.

You shift slightly on his lap, and a surge of electricity rushes through you as you feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire. A soft gasp escapes your lips, and Joel's eyes flutter shut for a moment at the contact. The air in the truck seems to tighten around you both, charged with heat and unspoken need.

His hands slide up to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to anchor you in place. When he finally opens his eyes, there's a look there-part longing, part disbelief. As if he can't quite believe this is happening, but can't bring himself to stop it, either.

You let your palms rest on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Everything about this moment feels magnified: the soft hum of the engine cooling, the faint buzz of a streetlamp in the empty lot, the press of Joel's body under yours.

He inhales, and you see his resolve waver. "This okay?" he asks, voice rougher than usual. You can sense he's giving you a chance to slow down, to reconsider.

But you don't. You lean in, brushing your nose against his, letting your own breath mingle with his. "I want this," you whisper-soft, but certain.

Joel answers with the lightest pressure of his hands guiding you closer, until your foreheads touch. The tension that's been mounting since you climbed into the truck now feels almost unbearable.

But it's not a bad kind of tension; it's the ache of longing, the thrill of surrender.

You shift again, a deliberate test of boundaries, and he gives a quiet groan

-somewhere between pleasure and warning. You catch his gaze, your body humming with anticipation.

In the hush of that parking lot, you both hover at the edge of something that feels impossible to ignore. And for a moment, the world narrows to just this, just the warmth of his lap beneath you, and the quiet promise of what might come next.

Joel's patience breaks in an instant. He grabs you firmly, and before you can catch your breath, he's pushing you down onto the seat, the worn upholstery pressing against your back as he pins you beneath him. His breath is ragged; yours matches, coming in quick, shallow bursts.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he murmurs, voice low and edged with a hunger that sends a fresh rush of heat through you. His eyes lock on yours, pupils blown wide, and for a moment, the only sound is the uneven rasp of both your breaths in the close confines of the truck.

You can feel the tension coiling in his body-held back until this very moment.

Your heart thuds, and you can't help but let a soft gasp escape when his hand settles against your hip, fingertips digging in just enough to hold you in place. He looms over you, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips like he's deciding just how far to take this.

When he finally leans down, you catch the faintest hint of cologne mixed with the night air. His stubble grazes your jaw as he whispers again, "You okay?" despite the thin thread of restraint that's barely holding him together.

"I'm good," you manage, voice trembling with anticipation. You slide your hand over his shoulder, anchoring yourself to him, silently giving permission.

That's all it takes. Joel's lips descend on yours, the kiss urgent and consuming.

The pressure of his body, the rough warmth of his hands roaming, erases any lingering thought of caution or fear.

In that moment, there's only him-the heady heat between you, the darkness of the parking lot, and the headlong rush toward whatever comes next.

He nips at your earlobe before trailing kisses down your jawline and along your neck, leaving a series of love bites in his wake.

He moves down your body, pushing your shirt up as he kisses and nips at the exposed skin of your stomach and chest.

He lifts your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor of the truck before returning his attention to your now-bare torso. He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes roaming over your body hungrily.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands sliding up your sides and cupping your breasts in his large palms. “So damn perfect…”

Joel leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth as he begins to tease and toy with the sensitive bud. His tongue circles around it, flicking and teasing, before he gently nips at it with his teeth. His hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and waist as he continues to lavish attention on your chest.

He grins against your skin, enjoying the sound of your gasp as he switches his attention to your other nipple. He gives it the same treatment, his tongue swirling around the hardened bud before he begins to suck on it. His hands move lower, his fingers playing with the waistband of your pants as he continues.

Joel's breaths are shallow as he eases your pants down, inch by inch. His lips haven't left your skin, and each new patch of bare flesh makes his heart pound harder. You arch against the seat, a soft moan escaping when his mouth lingers over your nipple, tongue flicking in slow, deliberate strokes. Every sound you make only seems to spur him on.

His fingers finally manage to free you from the last barrier separating you, and he lifts his head. The warm press of his body shifts, and he pauses to look at you-truly look at you. Half-naked, your pulse racing, you feel the heat of his gaze sweep from your flushed cheeks down to where his hands rest on your hips.

A low groan rumbles in his chest, and the hunger in his eyes makes your stomach flip. The slow rise and fall of his breathing matches the heavy thud of your heart. It's all you can do to stay focused on his face, on the intense need reflected there.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs at last, his voice husky. He slides one hand along your side, anchoring you beneath him, letting you feel the warmth of his palm.

You swallow hard, skin tingling where his fingers roam. "Joel..." you whisper, unsure what you're asking for, only knowing you need more.

He dips down to kiss you again, gentler now-a slow, lingering press of lips that contrasts the urgency coursing through both of you. "I've got you," he murmurs, and despite the heated rush of desire, there's a tenderness threaded through every word.

You shiver at the promise in his voice, bracing a hand on his shoulder as he settles back over you. The truck's interior seems too small to hold this moment, every breath and heartbeat magnified. Though this might be reckless, complicated, and a thousand kinds of dangerous, right now all that matters is how right it feels to have him here, looking at you like you're all he wants in the world.

He pulls away from the kiss, his eyes locked on yours as he gently but firmly pins your wrists above your head. He holds you there, his grip firm but not tight, his gaze burning with intensity.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice low and possessive.

He lowers his head, trailing a path of kisses and bites down your neck and collarbone once more, his free hand tracing a teasing path along your inner thigh.

Joel’s lips trail from your collarbone up to the curve of your neck, each small nip and kiss sending sparks of anticipation through your body. You arch into him, a soft sound escaping your throat, but he just smiles against your skin—a silent acknowledgment of how close you are to begging for more.

His hand drifts upward, fingertips grazing your inner thigh with a featherlight touch. Every slight movement teases you to the brink—close enough to stir a rush of heat, yet never quite landing where you crave it most. The tension coils tighter in your stomach, and you feel yourself pushing against him, wordlessly urging him to go further.

Joel lifts his head for a moment, dark eyes meeting yours. There’s a playful curve to his lips; he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Easy,” he murmurs, voice low, as though he’s savoring every second of your mounting need. He presses another slow kiss below your ear, and you can’t help the breathy whimper that slips free.

“Joel…” His name comes out in a plea, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

He responds with a quiet hum, then resumes his path across your skin, each touch deliberate, measured. It’s as if he wants to map every inch of you before finally giving in. Your heart thunders in your chest, and you feel his own pulse racing under your fingertips.

His mouth makes its way back to yours; the kiss starts gentle, but tension lingers beneath it—electric, insistent. When he finally pulls back, he breathes your name, and there’s something in his eyes, equal parts hunger and tenderness, that makes your whole body tremble.

“Patience,” Joel whispers, though his own voice sounds anything but patient. The hand at your thigh inches closer, making you gasp as he keeps you hovering on the edge. Every kiss, every breath, feels like a promise of what’s to come—slow, unhurried, and far too enticing to resist.

Joel keeps his touch featherlight, each pass of his fingers a deliberate tease that leaves you trembling with anticipation. Your breath hitches, and you arch into him, chasing that frustratingly elusive pressure he’s holding just out of reach.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. The smirk on his lips only deepens when you whimper in response, your body all but pleading for more. “You want me so badly, don’t you?”

A needy sound escapes your throat as your eyes meet his. The smug, playful curve of his mouth tells you he’s enjoying every second of your helplessness. He grazes his knuckles along the edge of your underwear, drawing out another shiver that runs the length of your spine.

“God, you’re so damn needy,” he goes on, almost amused by your reactions. “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already falling apart…”

Your cheeks burn at his words, but you can’t deny they send another pulse of heat right where he’s hovering. He’s right—you can’t remember the last time you felt this on edge, this desperate for someone else's touch. Every nerve in your body feels attuned to his movements, and every time he shifts closer, it's like a spark of electricity arcs between you.

You lift your hips in a silent plea, but Joel only chuckles under his breath, keeping the contact tantalizingly light.

His free hand moves to brace against the seat, caging you beneath him. The dark promise in his gaze makes your heart hammer. You can tell he's savoring this-savoring you-and the knowledge only stokes the ache building in your core.

"Easy," he murmurs, voice low as he leans in to brush a teasing kiss to your lips. "I'm not done having my fun just yet."

His patience might be wearing thin— your pulse thrums wildly, sensing the undercurrent of urgency in him-but he still wants to take his time, to draw out every gasp and moan you have to offer.

And despite the frustration twisting in your stomach, you find yourself clinging to every second of it, letting the tension coil tighter until you're right at the brink.

Above you, Joel's gaze bores into yours, and the corner of his mouth quirks in a knowing smile. Even though he's in control, you can see he's far from unaffected. His breathing is harsh, his eyes half-lidded with want. The need between you crackles in the enclosed cab, drowning out any lingering thoughts of where you are-or what waits outside this moment.

All that matters is his next move, the promise of satisfaction hanging just out of reach. And it's clear Joel intends to make you wait until the last possible second to give you exactly what you're craving.

“Daddy, please”

Joel’s smirk falters for half a second the moment the word “daddy” slips from your lips. Something shifts in his gaze, heat flaring behind his eyes as your plea reverberates in the charged space between you. It’s clear that single word hits him like a spark to dry tinder, testing the very edge of his restraint.

His breath catches, and his hands tighten at your hips in a sudden spasm of want. For a moment, he just stares at you—lips parted, brow furrowed in a turmoil of desire and warring emotions—like he’s deciding whether to give in or keep drawing this out.

Finally, he exhales a slow, ragged breath. “Careful, darlin’,” he rumbles, though his voice shakes with the effort of holding back. “You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

You cling to his shoulders, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears. Every muscle in his body seems coiled, tense with the effort of not losing control right then and there. But you see the flicker in his eyes—that razor-thin edge where playful teasing is about to break into something far more urgent.

He leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “You really want me to lose it?” he asks, voice low and thick. The question sends a tremor through you, and you nod without hesitation, every nerve in your body taut with anticipation.

Joel’s control finally frays. His next kiss is fiercer, hungrier, like he’s answering your dare head-on. The gentleness he showed a moment before is still there, but it’s now threaded with raw intensity. As he presses you further into the seat, you feel the full force of his need—and know that calling him "daddy" was the last nudge he needed to unravel.

Even in this moment of heady passion, there's a current of tenderness in the way he holds you, a silent promise that he won't push you beyond what you want. But from the look in his eyes, you can tell he plans to give you exactly what you're asking for-and then some.

Outside, the world remains quiet, the vacant lot enveloping you both in darkness. In here, the tension you share burns bright as a live wire, impossible to ignore, impossible to resist any longer.

He quickly sheds his clothes, his hands trembling with a mix of anticipation and urgency. He breaks the kiss, his eyes burning with desire as he takes in the sight of you beneath him, flushed and desperate.*

He runs a hand over your thigh, his touch firm and possessive.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he rasps, his voice thick with need.

He takes off your underwear and positions himself at your entrance. He leans down, capturing your lips in another hungry kiss as he slowly, teasingly pushes into you. He groans against your mouth, the feeling of being inside you almost overwhelming him.

“Are you sure about this darlin?” joel asks again

You groan in annoyance.

“God you talk too much…just fuck me already, Miller!!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With a low growl, he snaps his hips forward, driving himself deep inside you in one swift motion. He sets a relentless pace, his body slamming into yours with an almost brutal force. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place as he takes you hard and fast.

He groans, the sound a mix of pleasure and disbelief. He hadn’t expected to get this close so quickly, but the feeling of you clenching around him is almost too much to handle.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, his thrusts growing more erratic as he struggles to hold back his release. “Fuck I think I’m gonna cum ..darlin…”

And all you’re thinking is really?

He knows he needs to slow down, to focus on your pleasure instead of his own. He adjusts his position, angling his hips so that each thrust hits your sweet spot, determined to bring you to your peak before he loses control.

“Come on, sweetheart” he growls, his voice strained with effort. “I want to feel you come around me…”

you finally feel yourself getting closer to the edge, you bring one of your hands down to rub yourself as Joel continues working his hips

He feels himself getting closer and closer, the sight of you rubbing yourself combined with the feeling of you clenching around him driving him to the brink of madness.

“Fuck…I can’t hold on much longer,” he grits out, his thrusts growing erratic as he fights to maintain control. “I’m so close, baby…”

And there you go, coming hard from just his words of restraint and vulnerability. Your body begins to tremble.

He pulls out of you at the last second, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his release. He grips the edge of the seat tightly, his knuckles white as he watches you come undone beneath him, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm. He lets out a low, guttural moan as he spills onto your stomach, his hot seed splattering against your skin.

He slumps forward, bracing himself against the seat above you as he tries to catch his breath, his chest heaving with exertion.

He chuckles breathlessly, his voice hoarse from the intensity of their encounter.

“That…was incredible,” he pants, still struggling to catch his breath. “You’re incredible…”

Joel clears his throat, cheeks flushed as he grabs his discarded shirt from the floor of the truck. He leans over, gently wiping your stomach with it, his touch far more tender now than it was a few moments ago. You can tell he’s trying not to meet your eyes, still caught in a mix of embarrassment and lingering desire.

“I’m real sorry about the mess, darlin’…” he mutters, the last word trailing off awkwardly. He swallows, glancing at you briefly before looking away again. “I just… figured it was better than in…”

He can’t quite finish the sentence, so he busies himself with blotting the last traces from your skin. There’s a faint warmth in his cheeks—part sheepish, part relieved—and you can’t help but find it strangely endearing given everything that’s just happened.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, heart still pounding as you watch him. Despite the flushed look on his face, there’s a gentleness in how carefully he’s cleaning you up, like he’s determined to take care of every little detail.

“It’s okay,” you finally say, reaching out to touch his arm. You offer him a small, reassuring smile, hoping to ease the tension. “Really.”

Joel glances at you, something soft and grateful flickering in his eyes. He exhales slowly, nodding as he crumples the shirt in his hands. “Guess I got carried away.” A faint, self-conscious grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t seem to help myself when it comes to you.”

A quiet moment settles between you, the air thick with the aftermath—both of the desire and the vulnerability that follows. Outside, the parking lot is dark and silent, the world momentarily distant. You reach for him, fingertips grazing his hand, and he laces his fingers gently with yours.

“Stay like this for a minute?” you murmur, voice hushed. The rush of the moment may have passed, but you’re not ready to let go of the closeness just yet.

Joel nods, his thumb brushing a light circle over your knuckles. He tugs you toward him, letting you nestle against his chest. Even in the cramped space of the truck, it feels safe. Comfortable. For a brief spell, neither of you speaks—content to breathe each other in, aware that reality will intrude soon enough, but not willing to face it just yet.

-

Joel’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as he takes another slow corner, the streetlamps casting fleeting shadows across his face. Neither of you has spoken much since you pulled yourselves together, but you can feel the tension lingering—an aftershock of what just happened and the weight of what’s waiting back at your house.

He glances over when you whisper, “So this is it?” His expression softens, a mix of concern and something else flickering in his eyes. “Hey,” he murmurs, clearing his throat as he rolls the windows down a crack, letting in a cool night breeze. “I know it’s hard… going back.”

You can’t bring yourself to reply right away. Instead, you stare out the windshield at the empty road stretching ahead, the hum of the tires against asphalt somehow comforting. It feels like you’re both in a holding pattern—neither here nor there.

After a moment, Joel exhales. “We don’t have to head there just yet,” he says, voice quiet, almost tentative. “I could keep drivin’ ’til we figure out what you wanna do.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you wrap your arms around yourself, remembering the warmth of his chest just moments ago. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, swallowing around the ache rising in your chest. “I can’t stay at that house. Not after—after everything.”

Joel nods, his hand flexing on the steering wheel. “I get it,” he says softly. He slows the truck at a stop sign, looking your way. You can see the conflict on his face—part of him wanting to take you somewhere safe, part of him worried about making decisions for both of you.

He takes a breath, forces a small nod, and eases his foot off the brake. The truck lurches forward gently, heading down an unfamiliar street. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, and though his voice wavers, there’s enough determination there to make you believe he’ll try.

The dim glow of the dashboard lights plays across his bare shoulders. Somehow, seeing him like this—shirtless, caught between confidence and uncertainty—makes your heart twist. It’s as though the two of you have crossed a line tonight that you can’t uncross, and neither of you knows exactly where to go from here.

“You can stay at my place,” Joel offers, almost hesitantly. “I mean, I don’t know how Sarah might—” He cuts himself off, lips pressing into a firm line. It’s obvious he’s thinking about all the complications waiting in both of your lives, but especially about Sarah. He doesn’t want to force you back into your dad’s house, though. “Just… an option,” he finishes, voice quieter.

You reach out and place a hand on his arm, feeling the tension still coiled in his muscles. “Thank you,” you say, your tone earnest despite the weight of everything unsaid. “I’m not sure I can face him tonight.”

Joel’s eyes flick to you, and for a split second, you catch a flicker of relief in his gaze. “Then we’ll steer clear,” he murmurs, turning the wheel with one hand and letting the other rest lightly over yours. “At least ’til we… figure out what comes next.”

The truck hums on, street after street rolling by, and neither of you speaks for a while. But his touch on your hand—gentle, reassuring—tells you enough: you don’t have to step foot into that house tonight if you’re not ready, and Joel’s not going to make you face it alone. Not yet, anyway.

Eventually, you lean your head back, letting the tension ease from your body, even if only for the moment. “Thank you,” you repeat, your voice a soft echo in the dark cab of the truck. Joel just nods, giving your hand a comforting squeeze as he keeps on driving, aimlessly, into the quiet of the night.

Joel parks the truck in his driveway, letting the engine idle for a moment before finally switching it off. In the hush that follows, you exhale a shaky breath, heart still pounding from the night’s events. The air around you feels heavy with everything unspoken—your decision not to go home, the uncertain path ahead.

Without a word, Joel slips out of the driver’s seat. In a few swift steps, he’s at your door, opening it gently. A faint chill in the night air rushes into the cab, but the warmth in his gaze makes you feel less exposed than you’d expect.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand braced on the frame of the open door. Even without a shirt on, he somehow manages to look both protective and vulnerable. The porch light casts a soft glow, illuminating the faint worry lines etched across his brow.

You nod, mustering a small smile. “Yeah,” you manage, though your voice quivers slightly.

Joel steps back, giving you space to climb out. As you do, your legs feel shaky, and he notices, sliding his arm around you with quiet concern. You can’t help leaning into him, the familiar warmth of his body a small comfort against the swirl of emotion in your chest.

A soft, relieved exhale leaves his lips when he feels you steady yourself. His free hand finds yours, fingers lacing as he leads you up the driveway. Neither of you speaks as you head toward his front door, the silence surprisingly comforting—like you’re both letting the weight of this new reality settle without rushing it.

Once inside, the house is dim, quiet. Joel takes a beat to hang his keys on a hook near the door. You stand in the entryway, heart thrumming, unsure what to do with yourself. It hits you that you’re in his space now, a place that’s become a refuge but also filled with its own complications. Sarah might be sleeping, but the thought of her still tugs at the back of your mind.

“We can talk,” Joel says gently, turning to face you. His eyes meet yours, and there’s a certain earnestness there, as if he’s aware of all the unasked questions and is just waiting for you to bring them up. “Or… if you just wanna rest, that’s okay too.”

A knot forms in your throat at the kindness in his offer. Stepping closer, you let your fingers brush over his forearm in silent thanks. For now, it’s enough to be here in the quiet, together, without the looming dread of returning to the house you’ve been avoiding.

You nod, a faint sheen of exhaustion creeping over you. “Rest… yeah,” you say quietly. There will be time to figure things out—later. When your head is clearer, when you’re ready to confront the reality beyond these walls.

Joel dips his head in acknowledgment, pressing a fleeting kiss to your forehead. It’s a small moment of gentleness that melts some of the tension from your shoulders. Then, wordlessly, he guides you further inside, leaving the night and all its uncertainties just beyond the door.

Joel leads you to the guest room, guiding you gently by the hand. The soft glow of the bedside lamp casts long shadows on the walls, and you’re suddenly aware of how exhausted you feel. But the second he steps aside to let you enter, the reality of why you’re here—what you’re running from—crashes down on you all over again.

You stop short in the doorway, tears pricking your eyes. Shaking your head, you try to speak, but your voice refuses to cooperate. Instead, the tears spill over, and you can’t hold back a quiet sob. You feel foolish, overwhelmed, and somehow still painfully grateful that Joel is here.

“Hey,” he murmurs, concern lacing every syllable. He comes closer, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay.”

You turn to face him, tears streaking your cheeks. “I—I just…” you start, but you can’t finish. Everything—your dad, Linda, the guilt, the uncertainty—presses in on you like a weight you can’t carry.

Joel’s arms wrap around you, drawing you into a steady, reassuring hug. His palm glides up and down your back in soothing circles. “It’s alright,” he repeats, his voice gentle and low. “Take your time.”

For a moment, you stand there, trembling in his hold, letting the tears come. The events of the night have left you raw and fragile, and it feels like you’re still on the edge of shattering. But Joel’s presence, the warmth of his body, grounds you just enough to keep you from falling apart completely.

Eventually, you manage a shaky breath, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. Joel steps back a fraction, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your shoulders slumping under the weight of everything unsaid. “I don’t know why I’m like this.”

He gently touches your chin, guiding your eyes to meet his. “You’ve been through a lot,” he says quietly. “Don’t apologize for feelin’ it.”

His words loosen the knot in your throat just a bit. You nod, trying to steady your breathing, and Joel stays close, not crowding you but letting you know he’s right there if you need him.

Sniffling, you glance around the room, the bed neatly made, the walls decorated with simple, comforting touches. In that instant, you’re struck by how much you want—no, need—a moment of real rest, away from prying eyes and suffocating situations.

“Thank you,” you manage, voice unsteady. “For letting me stay… for everything.”

Joel studies you, a flicker of sadness crossing his features, but he just nods. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says quietly. “Get some rest, alright? I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

You muster a small, watery smile, nodding as he steps out and gently closes the door behind him. The room falls quiet, your breathing the only sound. And for once, despite all the chaos still waiting beyond these walls, you feel a tiny spark of relief: you’re not alone tonight.

•

You settle into the guest bed, your body finally succumbing to a wave of fatigue you can’t hold back any longer. The pillow feels cool against your cheek, and the lingering warmth from Joel’s embrace calms the tension in your shoulders just enough for you to let go. Your eyes drift shut, and almost before you realize it, the weight of the day’s emotions fades into the background. Sleep overtakes you in an instant, heavy and dreamless, granting you a moment’s escape from everything waiting outside that quiet room.

•

You take a few groggy steps into the hallway, still half-asleep and barely registering where you are—until you see Joel at the stove, spatula in hand, the smell of eggs hitting you before your vision fully sharpens. Your eyes dart around, and that’s when you spot Sarah, sitting at the kitchen table with her phone in hand. She slowly looks up, gaze flicking from your bare legs to your flushed face.

You freeze mid-step, suddenly aware you’re wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and underwear. A jolt of embarrassment snaps you out of your morning daze. Sarah locks eyes with you, then pointedly looks away, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated show of exasperation.

Joel, sensing the tension, turns his head slightly and notices you standing there, looking like a deer in headlights. “Uh—mornin’,” he says, his voice low but careful. He doesn’t stare, instead focusing quickly back on the stove, though the tips of his ears redden.

Sarah sighs dramatically. “Good morning,” she mutters, her tone making it clear she’s not thrilled to see you in such casual attire. She picks up her coffee mug and takes a slow sip, as though she’s forcing herself to stay calm.

Your heart pounds in your chest. Of course she’d be here. This is still her home, after all. You swallow hard, nodding at them both. “Morning,” you manage, trying not to squeak. “I��sorry.”

You’re not sure if you’re apologizing for your appearance, for being there at all, or just for existing in this awkward moment. Sarah rolls her eyes again, tapping a finger on the table. Joel clears his throat, refocusing on the eggs in the pan.

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” he says gently, not meeting your eyes. It’s an out, and you take it with relief, darting away before either of them can say anything else.

As you vanish around the corner, you hear a faint, tense silence settle in the kitchen. Your cheeks burn, and part of you wants to sneak out a window to avoid any more confrontation. But after a moment, you remind yourself: You needed a place to stay. You’re allowed to be here. Even if Sarah’s reaction stings, it’s better than going back to your own house right now.

You close the bathroom door behind you, pressing your back to the cool wood, chest rising and falling as you try to steady your nerves. With one hand, you fumble for the lock. The embarrassment still throbs in your stomach—but for the moment, you have a small corner of privacy where you can breathe before facing them again.

Sarah sets her coffee mug on the table with a little more force than necessary, causing the liquid to slosh near the brim. “Why is she here, Dad?” she asks, her tone sharp and annoyed, eyes cutting over to him.

Joel looks up from the stove, spatula in hand, and exhales slowly. “She needed a place to stay, Sarah. It’s complicated.” His voice is calm, but you can tell he’s choosing his words carefully, trying not to provoke her further.

Sarah folds her arms, leaning back in her chair. “Complicated. Right.” She glances again at the hallway you disappeared into, then back at Joel. “And you thought you’d just bring her here without telling me?”

Joel sets the spatula down, his brow knitting in frustration. “I didn’t know you’d be home so early,” he explains, voice low. “And I didn’t think you’d mind—”

“Obviously, I mind,” Sarah snaps, cutting him off. She rubs her temples, sighing heavily. “I just don’t get why she’s here. With everything that’s happened…is this even a good idea?”

Joel rubs a hand over the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. “I know it’s a lot,” he says, a note of regret in his tone. “But she’s going through hell at her place. I couldn’t turn her away, not last night.”

Sarah opens her mouth as if to retort, but then her expression falters—just for a moment. You can see the conflict in her eyes, the flash of concern she’s trying to hide. “Well,” she mutters finally, crossing her arms again, “maybe give me a heads-up next time?”

Joel nods, relief tempering the lines of tension on his face. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I will.”

The air in the kitchen still feels charged, tension lingering despite the surface calm. Sarah picks up her coffee mug again, tapping her fingers restlessly against the handle. She shoots Joel one last pointed look before turning her attention back to her phone, the conversation seemingly at a standstill.

Joel clears his throat and returns to the stove, refocusing on the eggs. But his shoulders are hunched, and you can sense the weight of Sarah’s disapproval pressing on him—even if she doesn’t say another word.

•

You exit the bathroom, carefully closing the door behind you and still feeling a bit unsettled from the awkward exchange in the hallway. Suddenly, Sarah appears, heading down the corridor in your direction. She doesn’t even slow her pace; instead, she cuts you a sideways glance as she passes.

“Maybe you should just move in here while you’re at it,” she mutters, half under her breath, but still loud enough for you to catch every word. The sarcasm drips from her voice, and she doesn’t stop walking until she’s at her bedroom door.

You stand there for a moment, your cheeks heating from embarrassment and a fresh wave of guilt washing over you. Before you can think of a response—an apology, a retort, anything—Sarah slips into her room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

For a second, you just stand in the hallway, staring at the now-closed door. Part of you wants to hurry back into the guest room and avoid any more tense encounters. Another part of you knows you can’t keep hiding forever, no matter how uncomfortable things may be.

Finally, you exhale and take a tentative step toward the kitchen. Joel might not be able to shield you from Sarah’s ire, but at least you won’t have to face the morning’s awkwardness alone. And deep down, you try to remind yourself that you have as much right to be here as anyone—whether Sarah sees it that way or not.

Joel’s quiet voice breaks through the thoughts swirling in your head. You glance up to find him watching you from the doorway to the kitchen, a soft, reassuring look on his face.

“Don’t worry about her, sweetheart,” he says, his tone gentle, as if sensing the turmoil Sarah’s remark left behind.

You shift on your feet, nerves prickling under your skin. A wave of gratitude washes over you at his attempt to comfort you, but part of you still bristles at the tension lingering in the house.

Joel steps closer, one hand resting lightly on the small of your back. “She’ll come around,” he continues softly. “She’s just… not too thrilled with the situation. Doesn’t mean you need to feel bad.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding more to yourself than to him. “Thanks,” you manage, trying to offer a small smile.

He gives a reassuring squeeze, guiding you gently toward the kitchen. “Come have some breakfast,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low. “Let her cool off, okay?”

Your eyes flick down the hall where Sarah disappeared. You know it won’t be that easy, but Joel’s presence soothes at least some of the anxiety knotted in your chest. With a tentative nod, you follow him, hoping that a quiet morning meal might dull the edges of everyone’s frustration.

•

Joel’s phone buzzes, the number on the screen making his stomach twist with unease. He glances at you, then presses it to his ear. You catch fragments of his side of the conversation—pleasant enough at first, a forced casualness in Joel’s voice.

“Hey, man,” Joel says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Uh, how’ve you been holding up?” He shoots you a quick, uneasy glance, as though trying to gauge how you’re doing.

There’s a pause, long enough that you can imagine your dad’s sharp exhalation on the other end. Then Joel presses his lips together, nodding like he’s hearing some clipped reply.

“I get it,” Joel says, careful. “Sounds like… well, it sounds like things have been rough.”

He’s trying to small-talk, to buy time, but your dad isn’t having it. You hear a sharper tone spill through the receiver—though you can’t make out the exact words—and Joel’s face tightens.

“Joel, I need her. Where is she?” comes your dad’s voice, loud enough for you to catch every syllable. The question crackles through the line, loaded with anger and urgency.

Joel’s gaze flicks to you. You can see him weighing his options in the small, tense silence, torn between what’s right and what’s safe.

After a breath, Joel forces a calm he might not feel. “She’s, uh… she’s taking some time, alright?” he says, keeping his tone as even as he can. “Don’t worry. She’s fine.”

You watch him grip his phone tighter, the tension radiating from him in waves. The truth remains suspended, unsaid: She’s here, she doesn’t want to come home.

“Listen,” he continues, lower now. “She’ll talk to you when she’s ready.”

A bark of frustration from your dad echoes through the earpiece. Joel’s jaw clenches. He glances at you again, brow furrowed, before giving a small shake of his head—as if to warn you not to panic.

“No, she’s not in trouble, she’s just—” Joel says, then stops, letting your dad’s words pound through the speaker. “I understand you’re worried, but look, I’m telling you, she’s okay. That’s all I can say right now.”

His voice almost trembles with effort, fighting to remain composed. Finally, he gives a tight nod to himself and ends the call with a short, “I’ll let her know you called.”

Silence descends in the kitchen, heavy and electric. You can practically feel Joel’s pulse hammering as he sets the phone down on the counter. He exhales a ragged breath and looks at you—eyes full of concern.

“He’s… not too happy,” he says quietly, stating the obvious. “Says he needs you. But I’m guessin’ you’re still not ready to face him?”

You swallow, heart pounding. “No,” you whisper, the word catching in your throat. “Not yet.”

Joel nods, running a hand down his face. “Alright,” he murmurs, voice grim but resolved. “We’ll figure out what to do. Together.”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you glance down to see your dad’s name lighting up the screen. Joel gives you a questioning look, but you shake your head, pressing your lips together before answering. Part of you hopes it might be some sort of apology or an offer to talk things through. But the second you put the phone to your ear, that hope dissolves.

“Hey, kid,” your dad begins, his voice more casual than you expect. “Listen, I need a favor. Linda and I are going out tonight—there’s this fancy spot she’s been dying to try. Could you spot me some money? I’m tapped out right now.”

You’re stunned, eyes going wide. You glance at Joel, who’s hovering nearby, clearly picking up on your reaction. “You… want me to give you money?” you repeat, unable to keep the disbelief out of your voice.

Your dad sighs, sounding almost impatient. “Yeah, I mean, I’ll pay you back. Eventually. It’s just a couple hundred. You know how pricey those places can be…”

A hot wave of anger surges up your spine. Joel notices the way your posture stiffens, and he moves a bit closer, concerned. “You left,” you say, voice trembling. “You completely checked out, came back with Linda like it was no big deal, and now you’re calling me for cash?”

“Kid, calm down,” your dad mumbles, like he’s talking you down from a tantrum. “Don’t make a scene. This is just a favor between family.”

That word—family—tips you over the edge. “Family?” you repeat, bitterness coating every syllable. Your free hand curls into a fist at your side. “You barely acted like family when Mom died. You walked out when I needed you, and now you’re strolling back like nothing happened. And you want money for a date with her?”

There’s silence on the other end, and you can practically sense the annoyance in his exhale. “That’s not fair,” he counters, voice rising. “It’s complicated, and I’m trying here—”

“You’re trying?” you snap, tears of anger burning in your eyes. “Where were you all those nights I was alone, cleaning the house, trying to deal with Mom’s stuff, and then dealing with your absence on top of it? You left me with all that. And now you want my money?”

Your dad lets out a frustrated breath. “Look, we can talk about that another time, okay? I just need—”

“No,” you cut him off, voice shaking with rage. “You don’t get to call and ask for a handout like everything’s fine. Because guess what? It’s not fine. You’re barely a dad anymore. You lost that right the minute you walked out and came back with Linda, acting like our lives are just a pit stop on your way to something better.”

“Kid—”

“Stop calling me that!” you practically shout into the phone, your chest heaving. “Don’t act like we’re in some normal situation. If you want money, go ask Linda. Or pick up more shifts. Or maybe think about someone besides yourself for once.”

He goes silent again, and you can almost feel his anger bristling through the phone. After a long, tense beat, his voice drops, turning cold. “Fine,” he mutters, sounding every bit as spiteful as you feel. “I’ll figure it out on my own.”

“Yeah,” you snap, tears threatening to spill. “You do that.”

You stab the “end call” button, your hand trembling from the surge of adrenaline and emotion. The kitchen is quiet except for your ragged breathing. Joel moves closer, gently prying the phone from your hand and setting it on the counter.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice soft. He can tell you’re on the edge of breaking down. “You alright?”

Your chest aches, and you swipe at an angry tear that slips free. “No,” you admit, voice quavering. “But I’m not giving him a dime.”

Joel nods, his expression a mix of sympathy and frustration on your behalf. Slowly, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in just enough so you feel the reassuring pressure of his presence.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Joel says quietly. “Not after what he’s done.”

You nod, silent tears coursing down your cheeks. For now, you let yourself lean into Joel’s hold, heart hammering, anger still pulsing in your veins. It’s messy and it hurts, but deep down, you can’t help feeling a small jolt of relief: at least you finally said what you’ve been carrying for far too long.

A surge of white-hot anger floods you as you watch your phone skitter across the floor. The clatter echoes in the tense silence, Joel’s startled voice calling after you, but you’re too far gone—too furious to focus on anything but the pounding in your head. You barrel through the front door, letting it slam behind you with a jarring thud.

Outside, the early morning light feels too bright, the air too still. Your hands tremble as you fumble in your pockets, finally pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. You shove one between your lips, flicking the lighter once, twice, until the small flame ignites. Smoke sears your lungs on the first inhale, sharp and acrid, but it’s exactly what you need in this moment—a jarring counterpoint to the storm raging in your head.

Joel’s footsteps sound behind you, hesitant on the porch, but you don’t turn around. You keep your back to him, gaze fixed on the street beyond, trying to steady your shaking hands. The cigarette crackles softly as you take another drag, the tightness in your chest easing just enough to breathe through the anger.

You can sense Joel hovering nearby, his concern palpable. He doesn’t say anything, though, seeming unsure if pushing you to talk might only worsen the outburst. Instead, he lingers, ready to step in if you need him, but careful not to invade the small space you’ve carved out for yourself.

You pull another lungful of smoke, letting it mingle with the tension still coiled in your gut. At least out here, you can pace, breathe, feel—even if it’s just the biting taste of nicotine on your tongue. Anything to hold off the sting of your dad’s voice in your head and the shattered pieces of your phone call echoing over and over.

For a few moments, you let yourself be angry—really, truly, furious. You deserve that much. And as the cigarette burns down, the tightness in your chest recedes a fraction, leaving just a dull ache of disappointment and betrayal behind.

Eventually, the stub glows close to your fingertips. You toss it aside, grinding it under your shoe in one jerky motion. When you finally turn around, Joel is there, his concern etched into his eyes. He doesn’t say a word, but his silent presence is something—maybe all you can handle right now.

You blow out a final smoky breath, swallowing the surge of emotion that still threatens to choke you. Inside, the phone lies abandoned where it landed. Outside, Joel waits. And the rest of the world spins on, indifferent to the fury roiling within you.

“He’s such an ass, how were you guys even friends”

Joel watches you quietly as you flick the last bit of ash from your cigarette, the anger still radiating off you in waves. At your words, he exhales slowly, shoulders sagging under the weight of his own conflicted feelings.

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice low and strained. “Back then, he wasn’t… like this.” He leans against the porch railing, crossing his arms over his chest. “He changed. Or maybe I never really knew him the way I thought I did.”

You take a shaky breath, running a hand over your face. The morning sun feels too bright on your skin, too at odds with the swirl of bitterness in your chest. “I hate him,” you say, quieter this time, eyes fixed on some distant point in the street. “And I hate that I hate him.”

Joel nods, understanding flickering in his gaze. “You’re allowed to feel however you feel,” he murmurs. “It’s his job to make things right. Or it should be.”

You shift, the cigarette between your fingers still smoldering. “I just… can’t believe he’d expect me to give him money. For her. After everything.” Your voice cracks with the remnants of anger and hurt.

Joel steps closer, gently prying the cigarette from your hand before grinding it out on the porch floor. “He’ll have to deal with his own mistakes,” he says, quieter now. “You don’t owe him a damn thing.”

You swallow hard, tears burning at the back of your eyes. I wish it felt that simple, you think, but you don’t say it out loud. Instead, you lean against Joel, letting him slip an arm around your shoulders. He doesn’t offer solutions or empty platitudes—just a steady presence that grounds you in the here and now.

As the two of you stand on the porch, the morning air still cool against your skin, you try to let the rage bleed away into a more distant ache. It’s hard to know what comes next, but for the moment, Joel’s warmth at your side is enough.

Joel tilts your chin up, his fingers warm against your skin. The world seems to slow as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. It’s cautious—almost tentative—like he’s checking to see if this is okay, if this is what you need right now.

Your anger and frustration soften, at least for the moment, beneath the tenderness of his touch. You close your eyes, exhaling slowly against his mouth, letting yourself sink into the solace he’s offering. The porch and the whole world beyond it fade into a distant backdrop.

When he finally pulls back, the faint morning light catches in his eyes, and you see a hint of concern there. He’s looking at you as though trying to gauge just how close you are to falling apart again.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks, voice hushed but earnest.

You take a shaky breath, still tasting the memory of his lips on yours. “I don’t know,” you admit honestly, leaning into him just a little. “But that helped.”

A tiny smile plays on Joel’s features, a softness that makes your chest ache with gratitude—and something else you can’t quite name yet. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you in the quiet morning stillness, as if promising he won’t let you face this alone.

“Come on,” he says gently, voice carrying a note of resolve. “Let’s get inside. We’ll figure out the rest after we’ve had a moment to breathe.”

Nodding, you allow him to guide you back toward the house, your heart still raw with anger and hurt, but beating a little steadier now—buoyed, if only slightly, by the small kindness of his kiss.

“Let’s figure it out now, I’m tired of saying I’ll figure it out later”

Joel pauses at your words, his hand still resting lightly on your shoulder. For a moment, the morning air feels heavier with the realization that you’re done putting things off. He meets your gaze, his own full of concern and a flicker of uncertainty.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice low. “Let’s figure it out now.”

You swallow, steadying yourself as you lean back against the porch railing. The memories of last night, of your dad’s call and the tension with Sarah, all churn in your mind. “I can’t keep living in limbo,” you murmur, wiping your palms nervously on your thighs. “I’m so sick of avoiding him, of wondering where I’m supposed to be.”

Joel nods slowly, shifting his weight. “I get that,” he says. “But what do you want to do?” There’s no judgment in his tone—just an honest question.

Your eyes flick toward the front door, where Sarah is somewhere inside, likely still on edge. You think of your dad, his demands, his absence, and how much it hurt you. “I…can’t go back,” you begin, inhaling a shaky breath. “Not right now. But I can’t stay here forever, either.”

Joel rubs the back of his neck. “I get that,” he repeats softly. “You could stay until you get on your feet, but I know Sarah’s not exactly thrilled.” He blows out a sigh. “I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck hiding.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, feeling the conflicting pressure of wanting to stand your ground and wanting to avoid another fight. “Then I need to make some decisions,” you say, your voice quivering with pent-up frustration. “A job, a place to stay—something that’s mine, not his.” And not something that drives a wedge between you and Joel, you silently add.

Joel steps closer, gaze earnest. “I can help,” he offers, then quickly amends, “But only if you want me to. We can look around for a place—maybe something cheap, a sublet, or an apartment. Find you some part-time work if you need it.”

You close your eyes, relief and worry warring in your chest. “That—yeah,” you manage, feeling a slight rush of gratitude. “I…I’d like that. At least then I’d have a plan.”

He reaches out, brushing a thumb over your cheek in a hesitant, comforting gesture. “We start today,” he says, and his voice carries a quiet determination. “We won’t put it off anymore.”

Your shoulders ease a fraction at his words, some of the anxiety loosening in your chest. It won’t be easy—none of this has been easy. But with a plan, and Joel’s unwavering support, you can stop merely surviving and finally start living on your own terms.

-

The next week passes in a blur of tentative steps toward building a new routine. You manage to land a part-time job as a secretary at a small office nearby—three days a week, enough to give you a sense of stability without feeling overwhelmed. Joel often drives you to work, the quiet moments in the truck becoming small pockets of comfort amidst the whirlwind of change.

You’ve been staying in Joel’s guest room, slowly making the space feel more like your own. The tension with Sarah has lessened, and while things aren’t completely back to normal between the two of you, she’s been making an effort. Sometimes she’ll knock on your door and ask if you want to play games, and more often than not, you agree. Those moments are small, but they’re a reminder of the bond you once shared—and maybe still can.

Your dad, however, hasn’t reached out since your heated call. The silence from him leaves a strange ache in your chest, a mix of relief and hurt. You’ve stopped checking your phone obsessively, trying to focus instead on the small victories: waking up in a safe space, earning your own paycheck, rebuilding pieces of yourself one day at a time.

One evening, after a long day at work, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with Joel. Sarah’s upstairs, likely immersed in whatever show or game has caught her attention. Joel pours you a cup of tea, sliding it across the table before settling into the chair across from you.

“You’re doin’ good, darlin’,” he says softly, his voice carrying that familiar warmth. “Proud of you.”

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you feel the sting of tears threatening to rise. “Thanks,” you murmur, wrapping your hands around the warm mug. “I still feel like I’m figuring things out.”

Joel leans back in his chair, his gaze steady. “You’re supposed to,” he says with a small smile. “Nobody’s got it all figured out. But you’re takin’ the steps. That’s what matters.”

You nod, letting his words sink in. The ache of your dad’s absence still lingers, but here, with Joel’s steady presence and the beginnings of a new life taking shape, it feels just a little easier to bear.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the house filling the spaces between you. It’s not perfect, but for now, it’s enough.

[robo-writing]

NSFW Alphabet - Logan Howlett Edition

Pairing: Logan Howlett/Reader Warnings: AFAB pronouns, breeding mention, pet names, bodily fluids, p in v actions, no protection, overall horniness, 18+ MDNI. Author's Note: This man is renting space in my synapses, send help.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is so gentle with you, it almost makes you feel like you’re made out of glass. He prefers to hold you close once you’re thoroughly satisfied, enjoying how your body folds into him to be as close as possible.

If you ask him for water and snacks he’s gone within the second, bringing you whatever you need, and then immediately putting you back on his lap so he can feed you. Don’t argue with him on this, he won’t take no for an answer.

You collapse against the sheets with a sigh, legs still shaky from Logan’s excellent bedside service. You’re practically boneless when he pulls you onto his chest, the dark hair tickling your cheek as he cages you in his embrace.

“Logan, I’m sweaty—“

“Do I look like I give a damn princess?” He grumbles, his hands reaching down to smooth over your hair. “Just let me take care of you, alright?”

Your whining is just for show and he knows this, a small part of you feeling guilty because he always treats you with such respect. He’s not sure what kind of assholes you’ve been dating before but he’s damn certain he’ll be the one to teach you how you should be treated.

You melt in his arms, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of his large hands running down your back. His voice cuts through the silence, far more gentle than you’re used to. 

“Need anything else doll?” He asks, to which you shake your head. 

No, tonight you just need him. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s an all around man, asking him that is like asking a man to choose between air and food to survive.

He loves playing with your tits, loves biting at the swell of your breasts before sucking on them, loves burying his face in the valley of them—

He loves using your thighs as an anchor when he eats your pussy, rolling his eyes when they squeeze around his head—

He loves the sight of your ass bouncing back when he fucks you into the mattress, the sound of your combined hips ringing loudly in his head—

He really just loves you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

It only took one time for him to be utterly addicted to your pussy. He refuses to cum anywhere that isn’t inside you at least once, just the sight of it falling from your abuser cunt has him going back for seconds. The sloppy sound of your juices and his cum as he thrusts into you is like asmr.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Masochist to the extreme. You kind of had a feeling with the way he shrugs off pain but you didn’t know how bad it was until you scratched him just a bit too hard while getting your guts rearranged. 

Your nails dig into the meat of his arms, a deep-seated groan erupting from the back of his throat at the feeling. Immediately you look down to see the angry red marks left behind that heal within seconds, an apology on your lips interrupted by his voice growling in your ear.

“Do that again.”

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

The man is over two hundred years old, he lays down pipe like a master plumber. Knows all your spots better than you do, knows exactly what gets you going because he can practically taste the arousal in the air. Those senses of his are no joke.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary so he can see your face, doggystyle so he can fuck a hole into the mattress and breed you. 

Prefers missionary normally if only for the fact that when he puts even half his full weight on your body you’re forced to lie there and take it, unable to so much as squirm while he fucks you within an inch of your life. Enjoys doggy when the beast inside needs to scratch a particular itch that only seeing you ass up with cum dripping down your thighs can reach.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

A wholesome 50/50 of being love-struck and horny, he has his moments of laughter but they’re almost always immediately followed by pure lust. You’d think he’d be super serious all the time but he’s surprisingly gentle. He prefers to watch you enjoy yourself, he’s much more of a service top in that regard.

Want him to eat you out until you’re pushing his head away? Want him to fuck you nice and slow, keeping you right on the edge? Whatever your flavor is, he’s down for a taste.

That’s not to say he doesn’t have his rough moments as well. It’s very easy for him to lose himself so he tries not to go overboard for your safety, but if you ask him to let loose he’s not going easy on you. Just remember when you wake up unable to walk that you asked for this.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Not groomed at all, just an overall hairy man. He’s got the prettiest happy trail from his navel to his dick that makes his eyes roll when you drag your nails across it. If it made you uncomfortable he’d make an effort to trim.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Very intimate, wants you to know just how much you mean to him. Even when he’s being rough with you he makes sure that your comfort is priority. Talks you through it.

You’re face down, ass up, just the way he likes it. Your thighs tremble with the aftershocks of your orgasm, pussy practically drooling for him as your slick dribbles down the plushness of them.

It’s a sight that Logan could never get tired of. 

His fingers rub soothing circles around your sensitive clit, gathering your wetness between two fingers and listening to your breath hitch when he replaces them with his cock, lightly prodding at your entrance.

“How we feelin’ princess?” He asks, coating his length with your juices. 

You mumble praise into the pillow, and sure he can hear it with his enhanced senses, but that’s not the point—he wants you loud and clear.

Gently he lifts you off the bed, a strong arm around your waist as he rocks himself between your swollen folds, lips trailing at your ear as your head rolls back.

“Come on doll, I need to be able to hear you,” he breathes. “Tell me what you want.”

Your hands grab at his arm, a desperate whine on your lips. “Fuck me, please.”

His chuckle reverberates in your ear. “That’s my girl.”

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

When he was younger and still learning how to fight his animal instincts, absolutely. Nowadays he doesn’t really think about it, but occasionally Logan will struggle with keeping his thoughts off of you, especially when you’re wearing something nice and he doesn’t have the time to drag you back to the bedroom. 

He’d prefer if you were the one touching him, but his hand will do for now, if at the very least to hold him over until you get home.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise - Like mentioned before, adores talking you through it. Favorite nicknames for you are princess, baby, and sweetheart, and his voice in your ear is like heaven.

Pain Kink - BIG masochist. Use him like a scratching post, he loves it. He’ll never admit it but if you bite his lip hard enough to bleed he’ll moan like a whore.

Primal Play - Come on now, the man is an animal at the best of times and downright feral at the worst. This extends beyond the bedroom too, he’s very protective of his mate girlfriend and would move mountains for her.

Breeding - This is an extension of his primal play, he adores filling you up with his cum, whether or not you get pregnant. Something about the sight of it just screams at him like a claim that only he can give you. It’s his cum that paints your pussy, and no one else gets to have that honor.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Ideally the bedroom but he’s one of those people that couldn’t care less, if he wants you he wants you. It’s going to be up to you to be the voice of reason, and if that fails? Better learn to keep your volume down.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Domestic acts, making him feel like a normal man rather than the weapon the world wants him to be. 

Making him breakfast? His hands are playing with your hips the whole time, whispering sweet nothings against the skin of your neck, swaying to the imaginary rhythm he sets. Cleaning the countertops? He drapes his wide frame across your back, pinning you to the cold granite while he tells you how good your ass looks in your pants, heavy hands making it known just how much he appreciates your attire. Bring him breakfast in bed in nothing but an apron? He’s pulling you into the sheets and not letting you go until you’re screaming his name.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

As much as a masochist he is, the last thing he’d ever do is hurt you. The most you could ever convince him to do is manhandling you or spanking, but the moment he senses anything but enjoyment he’s on his knees apologizing.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Y’all remember what Doja Cat said about big noses? 

If he passes out between your legs he’ll die smiling, if he makes you pass out then he’s never going to let you hear the end of it. Very likely to overstimulate you until you’re pushing him off you, only to pin your hips down and keep on going. Enjoys palming your thighs and burying his face as far into your pussy as he can, his philosophy is if you can still speak he’s not doing well enough.

As for him, he becomes so submissive when you suck him off. It’s the only time he’s guaranteed to let you take the reins, he prefers watching you work rather than taking over. Tucks your hair back, strokes your head, whispers how good you make him feel and how your mouth feels like heaven. When he cums he’ll ask you to open your mouth before swallowing and the sight of your cum-stained lips gets him hard like nothing else.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Normally very sensual, can easily change with the drop of a hat. Long, deep strokes that reach all the right places and make you see stars. Massive service top vibes, one of those lovers that always knows what you need at the moment (he totally can’t hear your heart pounding in your chest, no sir.)

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Yes, and proud to admit it too. Always promises that he’ll be quick, but it never is. He can’t help it, y’know? You make him feel too good.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes, but the catch is you have to tell him. You can throw him every hint in the world but he won’t so much as touch you until you use your words. Logan likes hearing how desperate you are, he’s a bit mean like that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Why would you ever bother asking that? His limit is when you decide to tap out, if even that. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Didn’t really understand and thought you were insulting him at first by offering to use toys in the bedroom. It wasn’t until you gave him a show that he realized just how much he was missing before.

If anything, he doesn’t feel the need to use them on you, but loves watching you use them on yourself.

The small toy buzzes in your hand, the sound of it ringing loudly in the four walls you call a bedroom. Soft sighs accentuated by needy whines, baby pink sheets snaking around your soft thighs, the muffled sounds of your moans when you bite your lip—

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Logan says, mesmerized at the view, eyes glued to where the vibrator meets your swollen clit. He palms at the tent in his jeans, cock twitching when your back arches off the bed with a cry of his name.

He can fucking smell it—your arousal, your need—it makes him drunk, intoxicated off your pleasure. It makes his throat go dry, makes him want to crawl over you and keep you locked beneath him, greedily wringing out every last bit of it.

Your voice cuts through the fog of carnality, a gentle distraction from the beast that threatens to break loose with every passing second.

“Enjoying the view?”

He can only bring himself to nod.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s such a fucking tease it’s unreal, but he’s also very impatient. It leads to moments where you’ve been edged for so long that tears are brimming your eyes, and when you look at him with those puppy-dog eyes he can’t bring himself to hold off any longer, all previous plans discarded in favor of folding you in half and exposing your puffy cunt to his hungry gaze.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He gets louder and louder the longer you go on as his animal side overpowers him. He’s no stranger to noise but when he’s deep inside you he can’t help but resort to grunts and growls of your name, makes it known just how good you feel wrapped around his cock.

I personally like the idea that because of his mutation he follows mating rituals like real wolverines do, so if you’re into that he’s extra loud during mating season, to the point that he has to bury his face into your neck or else the whole building will hear him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Likes it when you wear his clothes because they smell like you afterward. Encourages you to do so, and maybe hides your shirts during laundry day as an excuse (but he’ll never admit it.) When you’re not around he’ll even hold the fabric to his nose and take a deep inhale, imagining it was you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

As mentioned before, an overall hairy man. Strong muscles with a healthy layer of fat, likes to laugh at you when you bury your face between his tits because they’re nice and soft.

When it comes to his dick he leaves nothing to be desired—it’s heavy, like real heavy. Nice and girthy with a fat tip that makes your breath catch in your chest every time he glides it in, the slap of his balls against your ass soon following suit. A nice pretty pink with a couple of veins running throughout.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Always when he’s around you, but trained enough to know there’s a time and place. If he had his way you’d never leave his house, but that’s also his protective nature talking.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Likes watch you fall asleep first to make sure you’re safe and sound—a bit paranoid and overprotective in that sense, but he can’t really help it. You’re the best thing that’s happened to him, so it calms him down to know that you’re not going anywhere. Once he’s sure you’re alright he’ll go to sleep, preferably with you on his chest.

[landograndprix]

╰┈➤ ❝ desire • l.n c.l ❞ xiii

part twelve - book 2

➪ Charles hasn't paid much attention to you after your daughter was born but a certain Brit does.

➪ life is going from bad to worse but maybe a bit of alone time is exactly what you need.

➪ mom!reader x dad!Charles x lando

➪ last part before we continue on desire book 2! Very annoyed because the site I used to edit the text messages is gone and now I have to change the whole aesthetic of the fic. Tag list is closed.

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y/nusername posted to their story

landonorris replied to your story

landonorris

pick up your phone

where are you?

babe text me back pls

text me pls

baby I'm sorry

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y/nusername

liked by charles_leclerc, manon_roux and 548,534 others

y/nusername week 14. 🇧🇪

view all 1,114 comments

norrizz absolutely foul that they set you up with Danica all the time 😂

↳ bott_ass is like they want a cat fight on live television 💀

norris4 did you and lando break up?

milliexoxo didn't invite me for some waffles? Rude.

↳ oscarpastry pretty sure you were in the wrong garage 😉

carlandooo millie and Logan confirmed? 👀

oscarpastry she was just in williams garage, doesn't have to mean anything ofcourse but they've been seen together a couple times 👀

bobnorris did you break up with lando???

joris__trouche douce petite fille avec sa nouvelle amie 🦁 (sweet baby girl with her new friend)

↳ leclerc_16 it's been a while since I saw uncle joris in the comments 😭

landoooo why are y'all asking her if her and lando broke up?!

↳ norry4 just a stupid rumor going around again..

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y/nusername

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 746,523

y/nusername rien que nous deux 🌞 (just the two of us)

view all 1,109 comments

norrizz oh..okay :(

hannahh going on a holiday all by myself with a toddler sounds like a nightmare to me, you go mom!

norry4 who remembers millie getting excited about her holiday to Greece with the 'norris bunch' 😔

↳ lan4lan stop she was so excited when y/n told her 😭

yukisan when was this?

norry4 one of mils her vlogs

hamilt44n fastest kid in the pool 🏎 💨

bott_ass put me in your suitcase next time please 😭

landoscar wonder why they broke up..

↳ clsixteen nothing had been confirmed yet, jeez y'all need to calm down

julieeeexo hope you guys enjoy your little girl vacation <3

landonorizzzz guys lando is still liking her posts, it's probably nothing (I'm delulu 😔)

↳ charliecharlie charles is also still in her likes and guess what they are? Not together anymore :(

landonorizzzz girl shut up 😭

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y/nusername posted to their story

manon_roux replied to your story

manon_roux

Hi there, it's been a while and I completely understand if you don't want to speak to me and feel free to ignore this message but I've been seeing all the things they've written about you and everything that's happened and I just need to know if you're doing alright, making sure zoë is doing good

I know we don't see eye to eye anymore but you were my best friend since we were little kids so I'll always think about you, I hope you understand that

I'd apologise a thousand times for what I said and did but I also understand you're done withe me

I'm asking for you to give me your whole story but a thumbs up to let me know you're okay would ease my mind

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Desire taglist; @fangirl-dot-cm @sainzluvrr @writingworlds @chezmardybum @lewisvinga @xjval @fanficweasley @rockyhayzkid @aundercover @thecubanator2 @minchedchilli @crimeshowjunkie @alisoncasey21 @eeviepepi08 @shamelesspotatos @sleepybrokenmelle @leireggsworld @janeholt3 @iamahalicinationn @dessxoxsworld @kapsylia @22yuki

Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @softboystarkey @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05 @minkyungseokie @pretty-little-bunny382728 @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @severewobblerlightdragon @cherry-piee @namgification @mycenterfold @devineendevers @celestialend @jsjcue @d3kstar @themislovesf1 @geehsf @mehrmonga @gentlemonsterworld

Lando taglist: @beatricemiruna @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10 @bored-brunette2 @i83andrew @mcmuppet @justdreamersdream

[remlionheart]

NSFW Alphabet: Chuuya Nakahara Edition ♡

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ MDNI. really needed a fun lil drabble to break up my writer's block and this was perfect. silly but super fun to write. lemme know whatcha think. luv u ♡ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Chuuya definitely gives you aftercare, it's just not always the most well thought out when he’s gotten back from a long night at work. He doesn't remember to have dinner ready or pajamas laid out, but he still holds you as you collapse onto his chest. Laughs with you while the two of you place the 4th doordash order of the week to his apartment since you're both too spent to even think about cooking. He runs light fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead, teasing you for how hard you came while also reminding you of how fuckin' gorgeous you looked bent over for him. The thought of it alone promptly brings his lips back to yours, nearly earning you a round 2 before the food arrives.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

It takes Chuuya a long time to admit it, even if it's fairly obvious, but he's self-conscious about his body. About the way he thinks it should look versus the way it actually does. He’s always praising you. Always so good about making you love parts of yourself that you didn't know you could, though he rarely gives himself the same respect. Your thighs get a lot of his attention. He touches them constantly without meaning to. His hand resting on them while he drives. His fingers mindlessly gliding across them while you watch TV before bed. His face buried between them any chance he gets. He loves 'em. You decide to challenge him one day after a shower, using his own words against him: "Chuuya, tell me one thing you love about yourself -" you shoot him a pointed look, not giving him the chance to deflect with his usual sarcasm, "and be serious. You have to mean it." He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, apprehensively looking over his reflection before he lets out a sharp exhale. "Fine. My eyes." "What about them?" You press. "They're... nice."

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

One of Chuuya's favorite highs in life is being pussy-drunk. Being so completely enamored by your taste and scent that he can't physically think of anything else besides you. He loves the feeling of your cum dripping down his chin. The insanely beautiful fucked-out noises you make for him when you sit on his face and nearly drown him in your release. He gets a sick satisfaction in showing up to work, knowing that there are still remnants of the morning head he gave you clinging to the collar of his shirt. You're his girl and he takes making you cum very seriously.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Chuuya is a dominant people pleaser, which is a dangerous combination to begin with, but especially when it starts blending into his finances. Being a Port Mafia executive, he has more money than he knows what to do with and he fucking loves buying you stuff. Taking you on shopping trips and watching you fill bag after bag with frivolous, designer outfits that you’d never buy for yourself otherwise. Swiping his debit card for purses and necklaces and shoes that total out to nearly $10,000. There's something almost addicting about it, he revels in your reactions. The way you look so awestruck every time he drops a fat stack of cash on you, but also how good it makes him feel being able to spoil you as much as he does. Alexa, what does “findom” mean?

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Chuuya’s experienced, but a lot of his past hookups were one nightstands or meaningless flings. Drunken mishaps that held little to no weight in his mind. You've both learned a lot from each other by being comfortable enough to explore things you wouldn't have with previous partners. Communication is so strong with him. He always wants to know what you like and if there’s anything you want to try but haven’t yet. He wants to know everything about your body - wants it to only respond to him. He'd had sex in the past, but he realized that he'd never really properly fucked someone until he met you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

As much as Chuuya loves bending you over, he’s such a slut for you being on top. Holding your hips to help guide you and thrusting up into you when you’re not expecting it, going as deep as he can while you sink back onto him with a pretty glazed over expression. The way your eyes widen every time he does it. The duality of being in control while also letting you use him. The view of your tits bouncing so perfectly for him while the sound of your ass smacking against his thighs echoes across the room. He loves watching you struggle to take the whole thing. You're usually holding onto him for support, hands clasped around his neck, your stare locked intently with his while your cunt throbs around him. The pouty fucking look that takes over your face when he plunges into you. You become a whimpering mess, trying to tell him how close you are with broken words as if he can’t feel your walls clenching around him. "Chuuya - 'm, I'm gonna -" "I know baby, keep going. Keep fuckin’ going. Doin’ so good f’me.”

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Chuuya's form of flirting is witty banter. Sarcastic comments that the two of you volley back and forth between each other. He's generally more serious in the moment, but he will literally never pass up the chance to whisper a snarky little nothing in your ear to get you flustered, especially in public. He loves making you blush. Loves knowing that he's capable of getting you so worked up without even touching you. Loves seeing you squirm and swat him away with a feeble, "Chuuya! Not here!"

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Chuuya never really understood the question, "does the carpet match the drapes?" and why it was such a hot topic when it came to redheads. It was wildly irritating growing up and getting asked that so often by his asshole friends. Of course they matched. Why wouldn't they? As an adult, Chuuya fully embraces this though. He takes pride in making sure he's well-groomed. If it were up to him, your lips would always be wrapped around his cock, so he makes sure to keep things as trimmed and polished as he can for you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Chuuya is the consent king, always making sure that you're just as into what's going on as he is. He finds subtle ways to check in on you while staying in the moment. "Tell me, baby. Tell me how it feels." He likes to make sure you're present, that you're not thinking about anything else besides the way he feels inside you. He would do anything to make you feel good. Anything. What he can't aways say with his words, he shows through his actions. He lets you know he loves you by stretching and filling you until you can’t see straight. He may act like he’s the one calling the shots, but you'll always cum before he does. He makes damn sure of it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

His work schedule is demanding and doesn't always grant him the amount of time he'd like to have with you, so when he's stuck in his office after hours, Chuuya can't fucking help himself. The urge has been there all. day. and he's certain he'll die if he doesn't take care of it right now. He reaches into his coat pocket, dialing your number while he unzips pants and removes his glove with his teeth. His cellphone is wedged between his shoulder and his cheek when your voice finally spills out of the receiver. Before you can even ask how his night's going, you hear it. That desperate, heady tone that he only gets when he hasn't seen you in a few days. "Baby..." he groans, stroking himself upppp and dowwnn. He closes his eyes, imagining what you must look like lying in his bed. "I need you so fuckin' bad right now." "Yeah?" You tease, quietly slipping two fingers under the hem of your panties. "How bad?" It was only a matter of minutes before he was cleaning off his desk from the mess you'd helped him make.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Chuuya is the softest dom. As much as he likes to be in control, he folds so easily when it comes to you. Even when he’s “punishing” you, he’s doing it with things he knows you like. He loves putting collars on you or wrapping his belt around your neck and pulling at both ends until your pretty little pupils blossom into hearts while you struggle to moan out his name. Hearing you beg does something deranged to him that he can't quite put into words. He stays in control for as long as he can, but you always have the upperhand with how bad he wants to taste you. With how bad he wants to be buried inside of you. He'll tease and nip at you and try to drag it out for as long as he can, but at the end of the day, he's just as addicted to you as you are to him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Chuuya will fuck you anywhere and when he says anywhere, he means it. His favorite guilty pleasure though is definitely bringing you into Port Mafia. Making everyone well-aware of your presence as he walks around with you on his arm like you're the shiniest, most expensive accessory he owns. Shoving all of his paperwork off of his desk and bending you over, pinning your hands behind your back and pressing your face against the handcrafted Mahogany. Hiking up your skirt and ramming himself into you, knowing damn well everyone can hear you crying out his name as you cum. His two favorite pastimes: pissing off Mori and fucking you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Chuuya secretly loves the attention you get when the two of you go out, even if it drives him a bit crazy at times. He can't deny the way his cock twitches when he notices the bartender size you up and then immediately avert his eyes when he feels Chuuya's stare on him. Chuuya knows you're gorgeous, it's an absolute fact for him, but to see the other people reel in how pretty you are too fills him with a feral sense of pride. He would fuck you in front of the entire world if he could just to show them what they'll never have.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There are very few things that Chuuya wouldn't do for you, but the one request he would struggle with if asked would be sharing. Even if it was a casual threesome with no strings attached, he’s a Taurus Sun, Scorpio moon - the man does not share and the thought of having to watch someone else touch you would most definitely send him into a murderous tailspin.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Chuuya loves both giving and receiving, for sure. But there's something about the way you taste that almost makes his brain short-circuit. He thinks about it while he's at work. Thinks about it while he's on missions. Thinks about it while he fucks himself when you're not around. He often finds himself daydreaming about his tongue swirling around your clit and the adorable, pitiful, fucked-out noises you make so easily for him. The way you whine and writhe against him. How he can always tell when you're close by the way your words start to break up. That cute little incoherent babble you let out as he plunges an extra finger into you and your eyes roll into the back of your head. He’s pretty sure that if he had to choose his own death, it would be drowning between your thighs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Pacing all depends on the mood and setting for Chuuya. It's 1 am and you guys just stumbled back home from the bar? You're wearing the shortest black slip dress he's ever seen in his life, and he's had to restrain himself all night from not dragging you into the club bathroom and having his way with you? He's fucking you into oblivion the second you step inside his apartment. Hands tangling into your hair as he pins you against the wall of the entry way, pulling you up so that your legs are wrapped around his waist. It's going to be fast, rough, deep. You'll both wake up with bruises and love bites and well-deserved hangovers. But - it's 1 pm on a rainy Tuesday and you guys just got back home from the bookstore? You're wearing an oversized cardigan with a comfy pair of shorts, and he's been quietly admiring you all day, watching you dig through countless bookshelves until you finally found the one you wanted? He's fucking you so thoroughly. Taking his time as he helps you out of your sweater, smiling at your body with each layer of clothing that get tossed to the floor. He's kissing the crook of your neck, telling you how beautiful you are. He's fucking you with slow, sensual, affection. You'll end up drifting off to the sound of the thunderstorm afterward, the two of you wrapped up under a blanket on the couch while the rain taps against the window next to you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Chuuya's a giver who loves a challenge so quickies are right up his alley, really. You'll stop by the apartment on your lunch break, warning him that you only have 15 minutes, but he’ll only roll his eyes in response before telling you to hop up on the counter. He locks in immediately, his concentration fully on you as he spreads you apart. Two fingers holding you open so that his tongue has complete access to your clit, the warmth of his mouth and the pressure of his strokes making your legs shake around his head already and he's just gotten started. He's precise. Calculated. Unrelenting. Even if he's only competing against the clock, he's still never lost.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As long as you're into it, so is Chuuya. He's very open when it comes to sex, especially when it comes to talking about it with you. You had a wet dream about him fucking you against the window in the sunroom so that the neighbors could see it? Lift that skirt up, angel, let's go give them a show. You read a book where the male lead lightly ran a blade across the main character’s throat while teasing her and you think you want to try it? His knife is already out of his pocket, his hand cradling your jawline. “Tell me how bad you want it, baby.” as he slices through the thin straps of your tank top, smirking at how hard your nipples are while it slips down to your waist. There a very few things he wouldn't be willing to at least try with you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Chuuya can generally go a solid 2 rounds before he's completely spent, but if he's drunk, this number could be multiplied depending on his drink of choice that night. Chuuya's stamina is solid. He lasts awhile, but his entire objective while fucking is to make sure you're getting off. He's very in tune and aware of your body and tries to go with the flow of where you're at. If you can handle an hour or two, he'll gladly give it to you. He has no problem playing the long game, but if you're sleepy and only need twenty minutes to get there, he'll make sure he cums with you in that time. A truly adaptable king ˚₊‧ʚ♡ɞ‎‧₊˚

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

There's an armoire in Chuuya's bedroom that houses all of the obscenely expensive vibrators you'd asked him to buy you, not realizing he actually would at the time. He likes to keep them hidden for the most part - out of sight, out of mind. He'll be in the middle of fucking you. Stretching you out while your nails dig into his back. He'll feel your walls start to spasm around him. He'll watch your eyes flutter back. He'll feel how tight and snug your cunt is squeezing him. He'll know you're right there and that's when he'll pull out your favorite wand. Always when you're least expecting it. When you're already so cock-drunk and lost that you don't think you could possibly take anything more, he'll run it along your clit. Your body practically convulsing at the overstimulation. "Chuuya - ohmygod... I... I - can't. I can’t, I can’t -" "Look at me. You can take it, baby. I know you can. Gimme one more, okay? Just like that. There you go. Fuuuck, baby. Just - like... that."

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The amount of sheer pleasure Chuuya derives from making you beg for him should be illegal. He’s constantly teasing you. Constantly trying to coax out desperate little cries from you. You're splayed out beneath him, legs spread beautifully, your cunt nearly dripping onto his sheets and he's still ghosting your lips with his. Wearing the most infuriating grin as he continues to rattle off depraved things like, "Baby, I wish I could, y'know? I really wanna give it to you, but I just don't believe that you want it." all while he's stroking himself just inches above you, making you watch the whole thing in agony but still not letting you touch him yet. "C'mon princess, show me how bad you want it. Let me see how you play with that pussy when I'm not here. Make me fuckin’ believe it.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Chuuya will groan and talk during sex, but he's not necessarily loud. He's way more concerned with the noises you're making anyway. As mentioned, his bedroom love language is taunting. "No? You can't take it anymore? Ohh, your pussy's just so sensitive, huh? That's so sad. My poor sweet girl." before slapping your clit and smirking at you as you whine beneath him. "Oh, look at that. Seems like you can take it after all.” He'll groan against you whenever he goes down on you, reveling in how fucking wet you are for him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Chuuya is secretly sentimental. He might not always admit it, but he doesn't just remember your anniversary - he remembers the outfit you were wearing the first time he met you and what the weather was like that day. He saves ticket stubs from your dates. Takes pictures of you when you're not looking just so he can keep the moment forever. He plans gifts for your birthday weeks in advance. Any time you list off a restaurant that you want to try or a vacation spot you want to visit one day, he secretly jots it down in his notes app. He listens to you, really listens to you when you talk and keeps every gift you give him, no matter how small or insignificant.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Chuuya is 5'3, (though he'll most definitely try to convince you that the measurements are off no matter how many times your scale reaches the the same conclusion). Slender. Nice arms and a slutty fucking waist. Hands, hands, hands. Usually covered by gloves but so fucking pretty and veiny when they're not. Speaking of veiny? Chuuya Nakahara is packing. Giiiiirth, babydoll, and a lot of it. Short men are ALWAYS stacked, you can't argue with science.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Chuuya's anger and sex drive mirror each other in the sense that they're both always on no matter what. Even when they're calmed down, even when they're not as noticeable - all it takes is one wrong (or right) move and he's right there, fully up and ready to go. You touch his leg under the table during dinner one night and he immediately finds an excuse to dismiss the two of you for a few minutes, dragging you to a secluded corner of the bar where he pins you against the wall. His leg wedged between yours, leaving urgent kisses along your collarbone as he creates friction against your clit. “This what you want? For me to fuck you right here?” You try to keep your resolve but it’s hard for him to take you seriously when your objections are all coming out in the form of moans. “My needy fuckin’ girl.”

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He'll lay with you and talk about your day, but Chuuya is struggling to keep his eyes open after he cums. The minute you nestle into his shoulder, and he feels the warmth of your skin against his, he's fighting for his life to stay awake. Poor baby is just so tired, especially after dealing with Port Mafia all week. He feels safe in your arms. The thought of coming home to you is what gets him through most days anyway so once he's finally actually tangled up in you, he can't help but drift off into the comfort of your scent and the sound of your heartbeat.

⠀𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

‎♡‧₊˚ here’s dazai’s version ‎♡‧₊˚

[soulprompts]

BLIZZARD PROMPTS.

it's november which means it's winter, so here u go! i wanted these to be kinda dramatic and intense, but i'll be making some cozier fluffier ones as time passes! DO NOT ADD OR EDIT THIS LIST! but always feel free to add [ REVERSE ] to one of the actions to reverse the roles!

[ RACE ]: sender sprints out into a blizzard to rescue a freezing and disorientated receiver.

[ BUNDLE ]: sender removes their coat to wrap it around a visibly shivering receiver.

[ WARM ]: sender vigorously rubs the receiver's arms in a bid to warm them up after being exposed to a winter storm outside.

[ SHELTER ]: sender hastily guides the receiver to a nearby shelter for them to wait out the storm together safely.

[ PREPARE ]: sender ties a length of rope around their waist and the receiver's waist in order to safely stay together as they prepare to go out into the storm.

[ BREATHE ]: sender takes the receiver's cold hands and begins to gently blow warm air over them in an effort to keep the receiver warm.

[ HOLD ]: sender takes the receiver's hands and holds them together in order to keep them warm during a cold spell.

[ EMBRACE ]: sender wraps their arms around the receiver and holds them close in an effort to conserve body heat during a snow storm.

[ AID ]: sender begins to either guide, drag, or physically carry a weakened receiver through a blizzard to safety.

[ CALL ]: having been separated from the receiver during a blizzard, the sender begins to call out their name in order to guide them back to each other and reunite safely.

[ PUSH ]: having just rescued the receiver from a blizzard, the sender insists on pushing the receiver closer to a fire to warm them up first.

[ POUR ]: sender pours the receiver a hot drink after finding shelter from a freezing snow-storm.

[ EXTRA ]: sender wraps an extra blanket around the shivering receiver after having been exposed to a blizzard outside.

[ SPARK ]: the sender builds a make-shift fire in a hurry in order to warm up a freezing receiver during a snow storm.

[ SHARE ]: the sender opens out their blanket to share it with the receiver during a snow storm, pulling them closer against them to share their body heat.

DIALOGUE PROMPTS.

" come on! we need to get you out of this cold! "

" follow my voice! keep calling my name, i can't see you in the storm! "

" oh, god, you're freezing... come on, put your arms around my neck. that's it, good job... let's get you inside. "

" i g-got lost... separated from my group... p-please, it's so cold, i'm so c-cold... "

" here, take my coat... you'll freeze to death in no time if you don't. "

" drink some tea, okay? warm yourself up from the inside. it's not my worst effort, but granted, it's not my best either. "

" hey, hey, stay with me! i know you're thinking you're tired, but you're not; you're freezing, and sleeping will not help keep you warm, okay? keep moving. come on, we're almost there... "

" you know how to light a fire without matches? all we have is a broken lighter and some sticks and stones. "

" don't be stubborn, okay? we need to share the bed, conserve our body heat. come on. if i wanted to seduce you, i've got better moves than hypothermia. "

" you didn't bring a jacket or anything?! i told you to wrap up warm, you dumbass! "

" don't be getting all mad at me, okay? i saw you in the middle of a blizzard, i ran out to rescue your idiotic butt. no time to figure out zips and buckles when i've got to be the local hero, right? "

" what the hell are you doing out here?! are you crazy?! it's negative fifty billion degrees and getting colder by the minute! come on, come with me! "

" i can't see a damn thing in this storm; keep holding on to me, okay? last thing we want is to get separated! "

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Idia Shroud: The Daily Grind

Oooh, his limited-edition shirt (from a live performance, implying he actually may have attended a concert in-person??) has the Fates on it! Idia also talks about getting birthday messages from his mobile games… True Gamer rep... though I cannot forgive him using an all-in-one cream for his face don’t let Vil hear—

THAT GROOVY IS TAINTED 😭 The less I say about it, the better…

Rise and Shine!

Idia Shroud lived by numbers. Measurements, code, games. They were dependable things, easily controlled and predictable, unlike the fleshy meat sacks called humans. The most improbable creatures of all.

The luck of the draw had been unkind to him this year. A test ("In person attendance is required, Shroud," Trein had told him sternly), on his birthday! If a higher being existed out there, Idia was certain he was their least favorite child.

Touching grass? Tch, so annoying.

Idia drew out a ragged groan and rolled his neck, which still ached from having slept upright in his gaming chair. Clasped in his hands was a rectangle, its screen glowing as one of his many mobile games booted up. He had a list to run through, missions to complete--all a part of his routine.

Another day. Better do my dailies before heading out.

He sighed.

A familiar home screen unfolded before his eyes. It was a lounge, newly refurbished and dipped in a neon glow. Balloons clouded the ceiling, banners and streamers were strung up, confetti dusting the floors. Jewel-colored flowers in crystal vases and sumptuous dishes crowded the avaliable space on tables. On special occasions, the background was automatically decorated in honor of the holidays.

A grinning anime girl faded in. She was dressed in a fluffy cloak and hat, keeping her cozy for the winter season. This particular version of her was a SSR he had dumped money into to max out (no expense spared for the best girl).

"Happy birthday, Gloomurai!" she chirped, parroting the same phrase that she did to all players once a year. "Geez, did you sleep in again? Wakey, wakey! How are you going to enjoy your birthday if you're only half-awake for all of it? ... Wh-What? You're wondering if I prepared anything for you? Don't be stupid. I-It's not like... I... like you or anything..."

"Hihihihi... Aaaah, the way she runs hot and cold is so cute, just the best! This is peak content!" Idia chuckled to himself. Here, in the comfort of his private quarters.

Beep, beep, beep!

Idia yelped and leapt up in his seat, nearly dropped his phone. He squinted at the blinking envelope icon that had overtaken the screen.

"... What? A new message?"

Who's it from? I-I don't talk to any of my classmates enough for them to contact me out of the blue like this... C-Could it be Riddle-shi shouting at me to attend the next dorm leader meeting?

Idia cautiously opened the message. He winced as he braced himself for the redhead's shouting (all caps) from the other end.

A cheerful jingled played, followed by pixelated fireworks popping off. Ortho exploded forth from the envelope with a giggle, the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY blinking on either side of him. The video message began to roll.

"Gooood morning, nii-san!" his little brother cried. "Did you get a good night's sleep? I hope so, because you'll need all that energy for your exam--and your birthday party afterwards!"

"B-Birthday party? When did I agree to attend that...?" Idia mumbled, running a hand through his fiery hair.

The prerecorded Ortho continued. "But I know you. You're probably thinking, 'Birthday party? When did I agree to attend that...?' ... Right?"

H-He got me nailed word for word!!

"We can't have you shut away in your bedroom as soon as you're done with that test! So to make sure you don't try and squirm out of socializing, I've recruited a guest character for an escort mission to your class and then to the birthday party afterwards. They'll be by to pick you up at 7:30 am. See you then, nii-san!"

Ortho waved farewell before he blipped out of existence. Idia sprung out of his gaming chair, slick with sweat from a freshly sprung, anxiety-induced leak. He stared at his phone in disbelief, his eyes wide and bugged out.

"D-Did I... Did I hear that message right?! S-Someone's coming to escort me to class?! But the time right now is…!!”

Knock, knock, knock!

“E-Eeeep!!”

This time, he did drop his phone. Its fall was cushioned by the mountain of cardboard boxes, opened chip bags, and volumes of manga loitering on the floor. The impact restarted the video message: “Gooood morning, nii-san! Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

“Idia-senpai?” a voice called out, joining Ortho’s. Your voice. “Are you there? I’m here to grab you for class.”

Th-Them?! He turned paler than Death, even as his cheeks and the tips of his hair burned bright pink. Why… wh-why did Ortho have to choose THEM for this?!

“H-Hold on a minute!” Idia called out.

He crumpled to his knees and gathered as much of his junk as he could, shoveling it into convenient hiding places to create the illusion of tidiness. His closet, under his bed, empty boxes and bookshelf space.

“How much longer?” you asked worriedly from the other side of the door. “You might be late at this rate—and you know how Professor Trein can be about tardiness.”

“A-Almost…!!”

Idia grabbed his phone and got back up, glancing at himself in the reflection of his monitor. His bangs had gone awry, covering one eye in cobalt bangs. He hurriedly brushed them away, trying to get his hair to behave as best he could, then attempted to straighten out the creases in his pajamas.

Screw the school uniform. There was no time left to make himself any more presentable than this. He’d have to deal with the disapproving shake of his teacher’s head when he slumped in. If was preferable to keeping you waiting.

His temperature spiked again. Pink became red. He waved frantic hands at his hair, urging them to cool off back to blue.

Calm down. C-Calm down, you’ve got this!! You’ve played so many dating sims, summon that main character charm!

But in real life, there were no clearly defined routes to head on. No dialogue options to choose or love flags to trip. No resets, should he fail miserably. He was left on his own to fumble through social interactions—and their consequences.

He shambled over to his door and, swallowing hard, cracked it open. A sliver of light poured in from the outside, along with your smiling face. He was a monster crammed into a gap, and you were his savior.

“There you are!”

Idia tried to picture a brazen male lead. The sort of guy that leaned against doorframes with a cocky smirk and casually went, “Hey, you.”

Nope, nope, nope!!! WAY too cringe! I-I can’t say that like I'm a confident alpha dudebro…! I can’t…!!

Idia froze, his mind defaulting to a 404 error. Even his heart seemed to stop, seized by clawing panic.

“H-Hey,” he said meekly.

"Happy birthday, Idia-senpai.” You blinked, slowly taking him in. "Did you sleep in again?"

E-Eh…? What is this weird sense of deja vu? They sound almost exactly like the birthday login lines from earlier... e-except it's a real person this time, not a fictional character...

The pace of his heartbeat quickened.

S-Something’s wrong with me. Th-This reaction’s definitely not normal!!

He flushed again, fervid as a flame. Short circuiting, overheating.

“Er… Idia-senpai? Are you feeling okay? Your hair, it’s going haywire, shifting colors like a lava lamp,” you vaguely gestured. “And you’re still in your pajamas. You hardly look ready to leave your room."

“I-I’m fine!” he squeaked. “I wasn’t expecting a guest, s-so… I didn’t prepare to receive… any... one…” Idia trailed off.

"Hehe. How are you going to enjoy your birthday if you're only half-awake for all of it?" You extended a hand to him. "Come on, it’s time to wake up.”

Just like the greeting from the mobile game.

Idia shyly ducked behind his door, hiding his burning face.

Is this a dream? If it is, I don't know if I want to wake up from it.

[m00nl1ghts1vt]

Sketchbook - Chris Sturniolo

Requested by @pineapplealpaca Pairings - bsf!Chris x bsf!Reader Warnings - Just some fluff 🥰 and strong language! W/c - 2043 Summary - You and Chris meet freshman year of high school. With the talent of drawing, he quickly becomes your muse. After winning an award senior year, he finally finds out what you've been hiding from him this whole time. A/n - Thanks for requesting! 💚 This is my first Chris piece, hope you guys like it!! Should be edited so let me know if you see any typos! All interactions are appreciated ❤️ Dividers and photos are not mine; all credit due to original owners. My requests are always open! Check out my masterlist for my recent pieces! Tags - @lvrsturniolo (sorry I forgot 😭 thank you for already liking!! If anyone else wants to be on my tag list, just let me know ❤️) Current Matt series - City of Love. Part two.

Freshman Year

You sit on the bleachers, letting your pencil scribble across your sketchpad. Spending most of your time here, waiting on your older brother to get done with football practice. You were always an artistic soul, so drawing and painting was something you held close to your heart, along with the boy you had been crushing on since seventh grade - Chris Sturniolo. 

Life was so much easier with him in it. He came around often, being one of your brother's best friends, but you also formed a bond with him since the two of you were the same age. Over time the friendly banter turned into flirty banter, and you found yourself swooning over him at every given chance. Sketching portraits of him in your sketchbook, which might as well be your secret diary. 

You watched as he danced around the football field, doing what he loved most. After practice is finished, he makes his way over to you. Chugging the contents of his water bottle before trying to sneak a peek at your sketchbook, “whatcha’ drawing there, Y/l/n?”

A blush immediately creeps to your face, and your clutch your sketchbook to your chest, “uh- nothing! Just random stuff, why?”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion, “just wondering, that’s all.”

Chris decided to leave it alone, but he knew he was lying when he said it didn’t spark his curiosity.

Sophomore Year

“C’mon let me see it,” your best friend, Chris, calls from the other side of your bedroom door. When you realized he had been snooping through your room, finding your hidden sketchbook in the process, you flipped shit on him. Snatching your sketchbook, your lifeline, and kicking him out. You run over to your closet, hiding it under a pile of junk you desperately needed to clean up. 

After successfully hiding your secret diary of a sketchbook, you rush over to the door that Chris was still knocking on, slinging it open. He stares at you, pushing you aside, and barging in your room. “It’s never that serious. Let me see that damn book,” he’s a bit agitated you’d keep it from him. There was no secret in your friendship with Chis, so hiding something this big was gut wrenching to him. He felt betrayed. He knew you didn’t want him to see it and that’s what made him want to even more. He had it a mission from that point on.

He needed to see what was in that damn book.

Junior Year

You let out an exaggerated sighed, clenching your sketchbook to your chest. Chris had you pinned on the couch in a battle over your precious sketchbook. Every time he saw it, he dove for it, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything other than Chris - the sketchbook bandit. 

“Chris, please,” practically begging as he stared you down. A smug smirk spread across his lips which were inches from yours. You didn't know what possessed him to go after your sketchbook every time he saw it, but he did. He would catch glimpses over your shoulder, making him more curious than ever. He knew you were drawing a portrait of somebody, but he didn’t know exactly who it was. Especially since you’d slam your book shut and hide it any time your senses told you he was near, his cologne being a dead give away.

“What’s the big deal, Y/n/n?” his tone was laced with playfulness. Knowing Chris too well, you knew he was just waiting for the right moment to rip the sketchbook from your grip. Being around him so much meant you were accustomed to his bullshit. Chris was a big goofball and the two of you got along great, aside from his never ending need to look in your book. He was determined to figure it out, and every time he failed, it ended in an argument. He could get anything he wanted from you, but you would never budge when it came to the sketchbook. 

At first, Chris thought you were afraid to show him your drawings, but when he begged to see one, making you rip a random drawing out and shove it towards him, he quickly realized that wasn’t the case. He just knew there was something, someone, in that book you didn’t want him to see.

Senior Year

The day was finally here - the art show. Your art teacher entered one of your paintings, and if you were honest, you weren’t completely okay with it. Only reason being, the portrait she entered was of your best friend, Chris. He had become your muse over the years. You were around him the most, so his face became easy to draw for you. The way his jawline curved when he turned his head to the side. The shape of his eyes and nose being more symmetrical than anyone you had ever drawn before. You couldn’t help it - when you looked at him, your pencil flew across the paper like magic. 

Chris was one of the most important people in your life. Even though you and Chris were just friends, you couldn’t help but get butterflies every time he looked at you, and that had been a feeling he gave you since the first day you met. You never knew if Chris felt the same way, and you weren’t the type to be straightforward, so you never brought it up. Chris was the complete opposite, being a little too blunt at times. It worried you if he didn’t feel the same way, he wouldn’t know how to let you down easily. This became one of your biggest fears over the years of knowing him, and one of the main reasons you kept it a secret. You were just grateful he was in your life on a day to day basis, crush or not. 

Luckily, Chris had a football game and couldn’t come to the event you were being awarded for. They had already announced the winners online last week, three of them - two other entries from different schools, and yourself. The only thing you had to do was get through your award winning speech and collect your certificate. Chris being disappointed he couldn’t call off the football game, you being upset you couldn’t attend his game. It was a coincidence in the worst way, but the two of you made plan to make up for it later in the week. In a way you were glad you didn’t have to confess to Chris the secret you had been hiding since freshman year. Knowing Chris, never thinking things through thoroughly before letting his words slip, you figured he’d think your portraits of him were weird. In a way, they were, you had been creepily letting your hand scribble across paper, drawing your best friend. 

Even worse, hiding it from him. For years. Maybe him not being here tonight wasn’t such a bad thing.

You bite your lip, and your gut churns as the host calls your name, “and for the second winner of tonight, Y/n Y/l/n, from Somerville High School!” 

You walk on stage, approaching the podium, and give the audience a big smile. This was one of the biggest achievements of your life, the feeling was euphoric for you. Letting your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your parents and brother. You notice Chris sitting next to your brother, your eyes widen, meeting his gaze, and you spin around to look at your winning portrait - a portrait of him. 

Chris stares at you with an unreadable expression plastered across his face. You couldn’t help wondering how he felt about discovering the secret you had been keeping from him the last four years. Was he mad? Did he even realize it was him? 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you take a step forwards and clear your throat, “I’d like to thank everyone who came out tonight, everyone who donated, and everyone who voted for my art piece. It means the world to me, standing in front of all of you today. I want to thank my family for supporting my dreams, and being here tonight,” you ramble on. Your stage fright disappears for a moment when your eyes land on Chris. A smile stretches across his face and he raises his eyebrows, like he’s telling you to continue. “And of course, I’d like to thank my best friend for being my muse,” your tone was laced with nervousness and passion all at the same time. Chris had inspired you without even knowing it. 

After you wrap up your speech, you enter the common room, chatting amongst the other winners. Various strangers of the art community approached you, congratulating you on your big win, and praising your masterpiece. You knew at the end of the night, you’d have to talk to Chris, and the anticipation boiled in your gut because of it. You didn’t know what you were going to say or how you were going to approach the situation, but you knew it had to be done. You just hoped it didn’t ruin your friendship in the process. 

“Pretty big secret, huh?” a voice from behind you snapps you out of your trance. Immediately recognizing that it’s Chris, you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the impact of his words. “I can see why you didn’t want me to know,” he continues, this time his voice is closer than before. You don’t say anything because, honestly, what the fuck do you say? 

An awkward smile pulls at your lips as you avoid eye contact with him, “I can’t believe you’ve been drawing me like one of your little french girls this whole time,” he playfully scoffs. His joke breaks the awkward tension being held between you two, making you let out a giggle. 

“Shut up,” you groan while running a hand through your hair. 

“Why?” Chris had always been one to tease you. Especially when it comes to your sketchbook so now that he knows what you had been drawing this whole time, he’s loving the hell out of it. 

“It’s not funny, Chris,” you groan, looking away as your face heats up a dark shade of red. He always had that effect on you, but it was even worse now.

“No, I mean why me?” he asks, his eyes searching your face like he’s trying to find the real answer. He already knows you won’t be completely honest with him, not when it comes to your drawings. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble under your breath, eyes fixated on your shoes. 

Chris reaches out to take your hand in his. The sudden contact makes you look at him, “you can tell me, Y/n.” 

Shaking your head, “I just think you have good bone structure,” you come up with the first lie you can think of, pulling your hand away, and walking to your portrait of him. You point to it, “your face is very symmetrical. It’s easy to draw!”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. His face was easy to draw, but that was probably because you had drawn him so many times. It was familiar to you. It inspired you.

You felt bad about telling him a halfass truth, but your intuition told you his reaction wouldn’t be good, so you hid it the best you could. You watch as Chris’s eyes brows knit together, his lips forming a straight line. He stares at you for a second, keeping the hard expression etched on his face.

As soon as you think you’re out of the water, he does the unthinkable - reaching a hand out to your wrist, pulling you to him, and smashing his lips into yours. The unexpected kiss makes you freeze for a split second while his lips move against yours. Chris brings a hand up to your face, almost like he’s telling you to accept it. You do exactly what he wants, moving your lips against his, letting him take the lead because you were, obviously, a nervous wreck. 

The shock is still taking a toll on your mind, and body, as Chris pulls away. He looks at you with that same unreadable look, “you’re a bad fucking liar, Y/n.” 

[javiscigarette]

Sweet Spot

Summary: You get a promotion at work, so Joel dresses you up and takes you out for dinner but you're hungry for somethin else

Warnings: no use of y/n, smut with the tiniest sliver of plot, established relationship, fingering, fingering in public, rough sex, oral (m receiving), spitting, a bit of choking, daddy kink ofc, degradation,

w/c: 9k (omfg) of pwp :)

a/n: I don't loveee this one but I've been sitting on it for three months and I can't get the image of freshly showered Joel out of my mind so. Here we are. Also the daddy kink as taken over, I cant stop and I'm NOT sorry!! Pls let me know what you guys think, your comments and love are the only things keeping me going. (also also, if you're someone who likes making edits for pics PLS message me I am desperate and really bad at making them)

my masterlist

Joel is in the driveway leaning over the hood of his truck when you pull up to the house, fiddling with whatever new project he decided to start this afternoon. You’re able to catch a quick glimpse of his shirt riding up a bit, exposing an inch or two of the skin of his back before he hears your car and turns around. 

You pull into the driveway next to his truck and hop out as soon as you’re in park. The warm sound of Joel’s laughter fills the air as you squeal excitedly, running around the front of your car and into his outstretched arms. He pulls you close into him, his black t-shirt hot from the sun has he squeezes you tightly. He smells like motor oil and sweat and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t get you going just a little bit. 

“M’guessing it went well?” Joel asks when he pulls back, chuckling as he watches you bounce up and down on your toes. 

You’d been working on this presentation for your job for two weeks now, spending hours smoothing out every minor detail, giving mock presentations to Joel and staying up late worrying about how it’ll go. 

“Everyone loved it, Joel!” you nearly shout. 

“And guess what?” you ask, not giving him any time to respond. “I got promoted!” you squeal. 

Joel’s chest is about to burst with pride. 

“M’so proud of you, angel. You worked so hard for it.” Joel tells you, his voice soft and sincere as he holds you against him. 

“We need to get in the shower,” Joel says, turning away from you to lower the hood of his truck. “I’m taking you out.” 

—-----------

You sit on the edge of the bed with your towel wrapped around your waist, waiting patiently for Joel to return from the closet. It's no surprise when he returns with a bundle of black fabric – in his hands is his favorite thing you own: the lacey black 3 piece set and the thigh high stockings to match. 

He has a wide smile, his eyes sparkling with affection as he looks at you. With a soft smile in return, you drop your towel allowing it to pool on the bed around you as you expose yourself completely for him. 

“You’re so pretty, baby” 

Your ears perk up at the slight strain in his voice. You look down and grin, the outline of his half-hard cock clear as day under his black boxer briefs. 

“We’re never gonna make it to the restaurant” you laugh and move to stand up for him, despite wishing he would just give in right now and fuck you until you couldn’t see straight. 

But he just shakes his head with a chuckle as he takes your place, sitting on the edge of the bed with you standing between his knees.

“Yes we will, angel. And we’ll play when we get back, give you whatever you want…if you’re good” Joel promises, easily reading your mind. 

You huff dramatically as he picks out the garter belt from the pile and holds it up to you. He doesn’t say anything, just braces himself when you reach out and grip his shoulder for balance as you lift up one leg.   

He bends over, holding the belt open so that you can step with one foot and then the other. He then straightens back up, pulling the fabric up your legs as he does so. Heat pools in your tummy when you look down at him and see his brows knitted together in serious concentration as he dresses you. 

He does this all the time. The routine is committed to muscle memory at this point. 

It’s not that he cares about what you wear, he couldn’t give two shits as long as you’re comfortable. But the power in deciding what you’re going to wear underneath, or if you’re going to wear anything at all, gives him a rush. And he’s positively obsessed with being the one to dress you up in it, says it’s like “wrapping his own present that he gets to rip open later”. 

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin under his warm fingers. You feel so beautiful in these moments, with Joel so focused on your body inches away from his face, his eyes wide and his cock hard just at the mere sight of your exposed skin and the excitement of seeing you in whatever he picks out for you. 

He settles the belt around your waist, making sure all the edges are untucked and lying flat before reaching for the thong and repeating the process. 

“So fucking, pretty” Joel mumbles as he smooths the lace over your hips, adjusting the elastic so it stretches perfectly over your skin. Then he’s spinning you around so until you’re facing the other away, your ass on full display for him. He can’t help but press a kiss to your cheek before straightening out the back of your thong, his mouth watering at the sight of the thin strip of fabric disappearing in between your cheeks. 

Mindlessly, he reaches around to your front and slips his hand between your thighs. The tips of his fingers just barely brush over the lace of your thong but he can feel the heat of your swollen pussy underneath. 

 He sighs and wraps his other arm around your waist and pulls you back into him until his cheek is squished against your lower back, his scruff scratching lightly against your sensitive skin. His fingers keep dancing over you with minimal pressure behind his touch. 

“Joel,” you whimper quietly, already getting all worked up from his minimal teasing. He just shushes you and presses another warm kiss to the back of your hip. After a couple more seconds of light brushes he slips his middle finger into the side of your thong to find your entrance and immediately sinks it inside of you. 

You yelp in surprise, and reflexively try to take a step away from him, but he’s got you tight in his grip. 

“Just wanna feel you, baby” Joel mumbles against your skin, his beard tickling you and making the muscles in your lower back twitch. He closes his eyes, fully focused on feeling your wet walls flutter gently around his finger. His brow furrows and his mouth drops open slightly when he hears your quiet whimper, the sweet sound going straight to his already painfully hard cock. 

He doesn’t even mean to tease you most of the time. Sure, he loves seeing you get all worked up just from a few gentle touches and he adores watching you fall apart underneath him, collapsing into a begging mess for him before he’s even really done anything. But most of the time it’s a genuine need to touch you. It’s like he needs to have physical contact with your body at all times, serving as a reminder that you’re real, you’re here and you’re all his. 

He slides his finger out a few seconds later, much to your disappointment. But before you can complain, he spins you back around and stares you in the eyes as brings his finger up in front of you and gently pushes it between your parted lips. You allow him without any hesitation, and he watches you in awe as you lick and suck his finger clean of your arousal, his jaw slack and eyes dark and wide.

“Ain’t it sweet, angel?” Joel asks, breathless with amusement and lust. 

You nod and he grins before slowly sliding his finger out of your mouth. 

“S’a good girl, baby” Joel comments as he reaches for one of the thigh high stockings. His praise wraps around your heart and melts into your veins, just his simple words making you feel warm and floaty. 

You watch him as he bunches up the stocking at the foot, holding it open for you to step in before pulling it up your leg. He smooths out the lace edge and makes sure that it’s even all around your thigh before he fastens the clips of the garter belt to the top of the stocking. He does the same thing with your other leg before turning you around again and fastening the clips in the back. 

Joel turns you around so you’re facing him again and then presses a kiss to the top of each thigh. 

“Fuckin’ perfect” he sighs as he leans back and admires his work. 

You blush under his gaze, his eyes burning holes in your skin as he stares hungrily. He stands up after a few moments and reaches for the matching bralette, helping you slip it over your shoulders before fastening the clasps in the back. 

He looks down at you and tries to resist the urge to touch you again but he can’t keep himself away. And the small moan you let out when he brings both his thumbs up to brush over your nipples through the lace has him nearly giving in right then and there. 

You look up at him with pleading eyes, silently telling him that you’re not going to be good for much longer if he keeps this up. He stares back at you and thinks about pushing you, letting you act like a bad girl before fucking some sense into you. But he decides he wants to show you off first. 

“Go get dressed, baby” Joel instructs gently with a smile. “Pick something nice for me.” 

— 

You decide on a black dress, one that clings to all the right places while just barely concealing the tops of your stockings and the clips holding them in place. You finish getting ready in the bathroom, and when you walk back out to the bedroom, you nearly collapse at the sight in front of you.

Joel is standing in front of the floor-length mirror with his back turned to you. He’s wearing a simple outfit: black trousers with a black button down to match. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and your mouth waters at the exposed skin of his thick neck and broad chest. 

It’s almost unfair how good he looks with his hair pushed back just slightly, the damp locks just starting to curl into their usual pattern as they air dry. Your heart races at the thought of tangling your fingers into the ones laying at the nape of his neck. His eyes meet yours in the mirror and he smirks as he finishes rolling up his sleeves until they rest perfectly at his elbows.

He then reaches for his rings – the ones you got for him as part of his birthday present earlier this year, the small gold bands that you insisted would look good on him – and picks them up from where they’re sitting on the dresser. And clearly you were right because when he turns to face you, you almost moan out loud watching him slide a ring down one pinky and then the other. He crosses the room towards you, your knees trembling as he shamelessly rakes his eyes up and down your figure. 

“Stunning” Joel whispers, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. His hands easily find your hips and he gently turns you around so you’re facing the mirror, your back pressed into his warm, broad chest. 

“I love you, angel. And I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, you know that right?” Joel asks as he wraps both arms around your waist and hooks his chin over your shoulder. 

“Yes, Joel, I know. I love you too” you giggle, easily flustered at his praise. 

“M’serious, baby. So proud of how hard you work, how dedicated you are” Joel starts, moving to nuzzle his face against your neck. “How smart you are” Joel continues, his lips brushing delicately over your sensitive skin. You melt so easily underneath him, relaxing into the soft glide of his warm palms up and down your sides as he whispers sweet words of praise into your neck. 

“And I bet you looked fuckin’ sexy doing it too” Joel growls,  his hands tightening on your hip. You let out a mixture between a sniffle and laugh and then feel Joel’s lips curve into a smile against your neck. He presses a kiss behind your ear and straightens back up and turns you around to face him. 

Joel’s heart turns to liquid when you look up at him through watery lashes with a wide smile. He smiles down at you and brings a hand up to wipe away your tears with the pad of his thumb before placing a sweet kiss on your forehead. 

“Now let’s get goin’. I think my good girl deserves to be spoiled.” 

— 

Joel was back to teasing you as soon got in his truck and continued to do so the whole ride to the restaurant. He kept one hand on the wheel, using the other to slide up and down your thigh, occasionally fiddling with your garter straps or just brushing the lace edge of your thong with his fingertips.

And now you’re seated at a table in a dark corner of the dimly lit restaurant, and you can barely think straight. Joel had spoiled you with the most expensive champagne, far more appetizers than two people could possibly eat and a main course of delectable pasta on a plate bigger than your head. And of course, he looked devilishly handsome the whole night, and he knows it too, smirking and looking at you like he’s about to pounce across the table and devour you. Now you sat there with a full belly, but you were still hungry for revenge. 

“What’d your coworkers say? When they saw you got promoted” Joel asks as he pours you both another glass of champagne. You furrow your brows at his question, so far away from even thinking of that whole situation at work and so turned on that you almost completely forgot about the reason why you’re even here right now. 

You look up at his face, forcing yourself to peel your eyes away from the muscles bulging underneath his shirt as he sets the bottle back down. He has that knowing look in his eyes when you find them, his signature smirk thinly veiled with a sweet smile. 

Without even trying to answer his question, you slide down slightly in your chair. He watches curiously as you shift in your seat for a few seconds. Just as he opens his mouth to ask you what you’re doing, your warm foot presses against the crotch of his pants. 

He freezes in place. His hand visibly tightens around the stem of his champagne glass, and you can see the muscles in his jaw twitching. You fully expect him to push your foot back to the ground, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just leans back in his chair and spreads his knees giving you more room to work. He tilts his head and stares at you, a smirk creeping up on his lips when he sees the devious twinkle in your eye. 

You look back with a smirk to match and experimentally wiggle your toes against him. Your heart pounds in your chest when he narrows his eyes at you and slowly moves his hand beneath the tablecloth. You stop wiggling your toes when he wraps his hand around your ankle, the heat radiating from his palm to your skin like a hot iron through the thin material of your stocking. 

“Think about it, angel” he warns quietly. There’s a brief pause, where you pretend to weigh the risks and rewards, trying to decide whether to be good or bad. But your mind was made up before you even left the house. 

After a few seconds, you smirk back at him and press the ball of your stockinged foot against him. Joel chuckles and leans back in his chair again, watching you amusedly. He doesn't move, barely even flinches when you press a little harder against him and it’s infuriating. It's completely unfair how he’s able to literally bring you to your knees with a single touch but remains completely composed when you touch him. 

But what you don’t see is his heart hammering in his chest or the sweat starting to prickle the back of his neck. Truthfully, he had been just as turned on as you this whole time. Actually, he could feel the heat stirring the second that you told him about your promotion. 

He was barely able to hold back when he was picking out your lingerie for the night. He had to take a break in the closet, leaning against the dresser as he took a couple of deep breaths to try and calm himself down.

And when he started dressing you, he could’ve come right there in his boxers at the sight of the garter belt sliding up your waist.  Then the ride over here, the smell of your perfume mixing perfectly with his cologne in the cab of his truck, his head going fuzzy at the scent that seeped into the fabric of his seats, a reminder of you that’ll stick around for a few days. 

And now with your foot covered in the delicate mesh of the stockings that he dressed you in pressing deliciously against his aching cock, he’s rapidly losing his self-control. 

But Joel is just as stubborn as you, not willing to give in so easily. 

So, he bites his tongue and suppresses any noise and tenses his muscles trying not to flinch. Because seeing you get frustrated like this was just turning him on even more. He’s about to say something but you see the waiter coming up behind him and immediately move your foot back to the floor and sit up straight. 

Joel exhales heavily, releasing all the tension he was holding. He doesn’t even hear what the waiter says, too busy admiring the flustered look on your face and the slight shake in your voice as you talk to the waiter. 

The waiter leaves after a few moments and you face Joel again with a mix between a pout and a glare. 

“What was the plan there?”  Joel asks, cocking his head to the side in mock curiosity while he secretly prays that his voice doesn’t crack. 

You don’t respond, just keep glaring at him as you shove your foot back into the shoe. 

“You were being so good, what happened?” Joel presses, each word drenched with sarcastic concern. He watches delightedly as you huff and cross your arms over your chest. 

“S’okay, baby” Joel says, his voice dropping half an octave. Your stomach flutters with excitement.

 This is exactly how Joel starts off every proposition and you can’t wait to see what he wants you to do next. 

Joel pauses and looks at you with an evil glint in his eye. You should’ve seen this coming from miles away. But it still slaps you in the face when he says it. 

“I want you to slip a hand under that pretty dress and touch yourself. Right here, right now.” Joel says so quietly that you barely hear him. 

Your breath gets caught around the lump in your throat and Joel just smiles at you. 

“Go on, baby. Since you’re so needy and set on bein’ bad” Joel encourages after a few seconds of you not moving. “Or we can get the paddle out when we get home?”

The threat of paddle was more than enough.

You glance around to see if anyone can see you like this. No one was sitting near you though, the booth you’re in provides a decent amount of privacy and all direct lines of sight to you are clear. With a gulp and shift down in your seat again and your pussy throbs, pathetically turned on as you slide your hand under the tablecloth and up your dress. You move slowly to slide two fingers into the side of your thong, just like Joel did an hour earlier. 

It’s no shock how wet you are, the lace of your thong absolutely soaked, your whole cunt swollen and slick with it. Your eyes flit up to Joel’s and he gives you a small, encouraging nod.  

“You’re soaked for me, aren’t you angel?” Joel asks. His voice is so calm and steady that you almost stop and get up to walk over to his side of the table and strangle him. You’re so turned on you can barely breathe, and you’re pissed at him for it. It’s maddening how he has you so needy and desperate for him that you’re willing to touch yourself in publicwhile he just watches.

You give into your temptations easily, working quickly to soothe the aching need that spreads across every single inch of your skin. You glance around again, making sure no one is looking before you ease your middle finger into your dripping entrance, your eyelashes fluttering a bit as you curl your fingers and press up against your g-spot. 

Joel’s head is swimming as he watches you finger yourself right there in front of him in this restaurant. Any moment someone will pinch him and tell him to wake the fuck up because there’s no way in hell that this actually happening.

His head is foggy, turned on just as much as you are. His cock strains in his pants, tingles rushing down his spine as he stares at you, biting your lip, your eyes barely open and your eyebrows drawing together as you try to hold back soft moans. 

He wants more.

“Faster.” 

You snap your eyes open and look at him as if to ask if you heard him correctly. The look he gives you tells you that you absolutely did. 

Well, you’re not gonna say no to that. 

Your teeth sink deeper into your lip as you heed his orders and start pumping your finger faster. You’re painfully aware of any sounds you make, whether it’s a moan clawing its way up your throat or the slick sounds of your finger gliding through your folds, you try your best to keep it down. 

Joel of course isn’t any help. 

“Don’t be too loud, baby.” Joel whispers before taking a large swig of champagne. “Wouldn’t want ya to embarrass yourself” 

You shoot daggers at him over the dinner table, but you don’t slow down. And now he’s stumped because does he punish you for being bad, playing footsies under the table with him and fingering yourself in public or should he praise you for being a good girl and listening to him. 

“Baby,” Joel starts, his voice tight in his throat. “Show me, I want to see.” 

To his surprise, you obey easily enough and slide your finger out from under your dress. You bring your hand out from under the tablecloth to present to Joel. His adam’s apple bob in his throat, swallowing thickly at the sight of your middle finger absolutely coated in your wetness, some of it glistening on your palm as well.  He nearly loses it when you spread your fingers apart, thin strings of your arousal stretching between your digits. 

“Fuck” Joel hisses. There’s a tingle of delight in your stomach as you watch him shift in his chair, finally starting to visibly crack. 

He doesn’t say anything else, just reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket to grab his wallet. He hastily pulls out more than enough cash and nearly slams it on the table before standing up. 

“C’mon” Joel commands firmly, extending his hand out to you. You blink at him, not moving a muscle otherwise. You don’t know why, something innate inside you when you’re around him, but even when you're inches away from an orgasm you still find room to be bratty. 

“And what if I wanted dessert?” 

Joel’s jaw clenches as he grinds his teeth together, the tendons in his neck pressing against his skin and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop the smirk forming on your face

“Angel,” Joel huffs. “Get up right now and I’ll give you anything you want.” 

That’s all it takes. Joel shakes his head when you immediately grab his hand and pull yourself to stand up. 

“Such a fuckin’ brat” Joel mumbles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side. He practically drags you out of the restaurant, his grip tight on your waist and your heels clicking on the asphalt as you trot next to him to keep up with his long strides as he speeds back to the truck. 

Ever the gentleman, he opens the passenger door for you, keeping his eyes glued to your body as you climb inside. With you safely inside, he slams the door shut, the sound of your heavy breathing fills the otherwise silent cab of the truck as you watch him walk over to the driver’s side. 

You wait a few moments to see if he’ll say anything, but he just stares straight ahead, the muscles in his jaw flexing subtly like he’s chewing over what he’s going to say next as he shoves the key into the ignition. 

He backs out of the parking spot and leaves the parking lot without saying a single word. Meanwhile, you’re a mess sitting next to him, 

You manage to keep your mouth shut for one whole minute. 

“I was just following your instructions” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest with an exaggerated pout. His jaw shifts to the side but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even look at you. 

You sigh dramatically and glance sideways at him to see if he’s looking. But he keeps staring straight ahead. There’s a small part of you that realizes that this is probably all part of his grand plan to drive you up the wall, work you up until you can’t take it anymore. But there’s a much larger part of you that desperately wants his attention. 

“And isn’t this my treat anyway? Shouldn’t I be getting what I want?” you press, dipping into dangerous territory just to try and get a reaction out of him. 

Still nothing. 

The thought of slipping your hand under your dress again crosses your mind, but his earlier threat of the paddle quickly extinguishes it. 

All you can do is sit there with a pout etched into your face and ride the rest of the home in silence. 

You’re about to explode when he pulls into the driveway. He slides out of his seat and strides over to your side and opens the door. The fire in his eyes burns fiercely as you take your sweet time climbing out. He slams the door shut behind you as soon as you’re out and turns on his heel and quickly makes his way to the door. You groan and actually stamp your foot in frustration. It’s just not fair. 

You stomp towards the door, arms still crossed over your chest. 

“You said you’d give me anything I want” you call after him, recalling his words from earlier as you make your way inside. 

You barely make it through the door before he’s pushing you against it, using his whole body to keep you pinned in place. Your breath catches in your throat and your knees weaken instantly, all of your resolve immediately crumbling around your feet. 

He has one hand on your waist while he braces himself with the other one on the wall next to your head. His face is inches from yours and you can smell the sweet champagne on his breath and the cologne on his skin. His eyes flit from yours to your lips, his pupils blown so wide that there’s just a sliver of brown around them 

“I said if you were good” he hisses, his voice dangerously low. “What you pulled back there? That was bad, baby. Real bad.”

“You’re the one who told me to finger my-” 

Joel’s hand flies from your waist to your throat, his broad palm pressing against your windpipe while he squeezes either side of your neck with his thumb and fingers. Heat surges down your spine and settles in your lower abdomen, your aching sex throbbing pathetically in response. 

“Don’t you try to fuckin’ spin this on me, sweetheart” Joel snarls. 

Maybe he meant to strike fear in you, maybe try to teach you a lesson. But it’s exactly what you want. Joel knows it too – you can tell by the slight smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips in response to your small, breathless gasp. 

“Was just trying to be nice to you” he starts, his voice so low at the point you doubt you’d be able to hear him from any further away. “Try to take you out to a nice restaurant to celebrate and that’s how you repay me? Playin’ with me like that under the table and then actin’ like a spoiled brat all the way home?” 

You both know he’s playing up his part. These were all minor infractions at best. Both of you knew that. You had been in this position for much, much worse behavior. But Joel isn’t dumb, and he’s well aware of what you want - to be tossed around a little, roughened up and broken down until you’re a squirming mess.  And who is he to deny you of that?

You chew on your lip before muttering a small “M’sorry daddy” 

Joel’s eyes narrow even more, the hand on your throat tightening slightly as your carefully chosen words have the exact intended effects on him.

“No, you ain’t” Joel growls. “But you will be. Get on your fuckin’ knees.”

He drops the hand from your throat and takes a step back. You exhale the breath you were holding, and you stare at him as his hands fall to his belt. Just the thought of having him in your mouth has you nearly drooling. 

But you’re not done yet.

“No” you say plainly, crossing your arms over your chest once again. 

Joel’s hands freeze on his belt, his eyes burning holes into you as you stare right back, not moving an inch from where you’re standing. 

He raises one eyebrow slightly as if to say I hope I didn’t hear what I just heard but you remain silent and motionless. After a few long moments of complete silence, Joel chuckles softly, his hands falling to his sides in defeat. He gives you one more look and then shakes his head before turning around and heading towards the bedroom.

You’re about to call after him, ask him where he’s going, but his earlier threat of the paddle floats through your mind once again. That has you panicking nearly instantly. 

You watch in disbelief as he disappears up the stairs. Your legs feel as though they’re stuck in wet concrete, and it takes a few seconds to coordinate your mind and body to get you to move. You scamper after him, a cold sweat tingling on the back of your neck as you head towards the bedroom. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed when you walk in, in the middle of untying his shoes. You stand in front of him, arms behind your back and patiently wait for him to toe his shoes off. 

He kicks them to the side then looks up at you with a heavy sigh, like your behavior is causing him physical pain. You offer him a meek smile as he rests his palms behind him on the mattress and leans back, his eyes raking over your body as he does so. 

He doesn’t say anything, which you take as an invitation. 

You move to climb into his lap. He doesn’t reprimand you, but he doesn’t move to hold you either. 

You sit on your knees, your legs straddling his. You can feel him through his pants and your soaked panties, still hard as diamonds. That’s a good sign at least. 

“M’sorry, daddy” you say again, much more sincerely this time. You bring your hands up to fiddle with the collar of his shirt, avoiding his eyes as you wait for a response that never comes. 

“Just wanted to play” you confess quietly. Joel still doesn't say anything, but his eyes follow your hands as you start toying with the buttons of his shirt. 

“And you just looked so handsome tonight” you continue, undoing the first button. You wait again. Still no response. 

“Thank you for taking me out” you say as you undo the next button. 

“And for dressing me up” 

Another button. 

“Making me feel so beautiful” 

And another. 

You undo the last button then push away both sides so that his whole torso is on display for you. You stare for a second, fixated on the steady rise and fall of his broad chest, the soft curve of his tummy, and the trail of hair disappearing under the waistband of his pants.

He remains silent still as you place your hands on his abdomen and slowly slide them up to his shoulders before crossing your arms behind his neck. Finally, you drag your eyes up and look at him through your lashes. His gaze is soft and much warmer than you were expecting. 

“Promise I’ll be good.” you say, barely above a whisper. 

He gives you a half smile and brings a hand up to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing across your bottom lip. 

“You want daddy to make you feel good? Want me to fuck you til you fuckin’ stupid” Joel asks, tilting his head to the side acting like he doesn’t know the answer. 

You nod vigorously and poke your tongue out to lick at the tip of his thumb, just for good measure. 

“Thought so” Joel says as he pushes his thumb past your lips. You suck on it eagerly and let him press down on your tongue, your clit twitching with desperate need. 

“Then why don’t you show daddy how sorry you are, and I might reconsider gettin’ the paddle out.” 

You immediately pull off his thumb and sink to your knees without any further instruction. You reach for his belt, deft fingers unbuckling the belt that you’ve undone so many times before, his button and zipper following soon after. 

He stops you there and moves to stand up. You sit back on your knees with your hands on your thighs and watch as he quickly shucks off his shirt, tossing it somewhere behind him. You chew on your lip as he pulls down the waistband of his pants and boxers, his cock bobbing heavily as he steps out of them. 

Your completely transfixed by it, the veins running along the length, the redden head and the drops of precum leaking from the slit. You don’t even realize you’re staring until he slides a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. 

“Turn around” he instructs simply. 

You have no reason to disobey at this point, so you do as you’re told, turning in the small space between Joel’s leg and the edge of the bed. He takes another step forward, backing you up into the side of the mattress. 

“S’this what you wanted, baby?” he coos as he wraps a hand around himself. 

“Yes, daddy. Always want it” you respond. You look up at him through your lashes, batting them for added effect. 

“Yeah, I know you do” he rasps, taking another small step forward. He rests the head of his cock on your bottom lip, smearing precum. You dart your tongue out to lick it up. 

He drags the tip of his cock from your lips to your cheek, smearing more precum on your skin and giving you a few light smacks for good measure. 

It’s degrading, and should be humiliating, but it just makes your head spin, the fire in your stomach rapidly growing as you open your mouth for him, giving him silent permission to use you however he pleases. 

He groans softly as he pushes past your lips, sinking into the wet heat of your mouth. He’s only halfway in when you gag around him, tears already pricking at your waterline. 

“Oh, you know you can take it deeper than that, angel” 

He places both hands on the back of your head, gently forcing you down the rest of his length. You let him, focusing on breathing through your nose as rolls his hips forward until he’s buried in your throat. You gag again once he’s all the way in, but he keeps your head in place, holding you there for a few more seconds, groaning as your throat convulses around him 

“Yeah, that’s it, baby. Got that throat fuckin’ trained” 

He pulls out, allows you to take a gulp of air before he’s shoving back in again. His hips quickly settle into a steady rhythm, his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. You brace yourself with one hand on his thigh and you can feel the muscles working under your palm. 

“Spoiled little brat just needed daddy to fuck her throat, huh?” 

You hum around him in response, reveling in the feeling of his cock twitching against your tongue. He continues to fuck your face, completely unconcerned with the tears rolling down your cheeks and the spit leaking out of the corners of your mouth. He moves one hand from your head to your throat, his palm splaying across your windpipe. He tightens his grip just slightly, pushing against the bulge of his head buried deep in your throat. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, thrusting in all the way and staying there. “Love feelin’ myself in that tight little throat” 

The fire in your tummy burns with blinding heat at his praise. A dull ache starts to settle in your jaw as salvia slides down your chin and neck, more hot tears spilling over your lash line as you squeeze your eyes shut and try your best not to gag. 

“Take it so well” Joel pants as he starts to rock his hips again. “Fuckin’ made to take my cock.” 

The lack of air already has you feeling dizzy, and his words are only adding to the feeling. He’s not wrong –with him fucking your face like this, a strong hand on your head and the other wrapped firmly around your throat, it feels like your sole purpose in life is to please him, to be a toy he can use to make himself feel good. And you fucking love it. 

After one more strong thrust, he pulls out of your mouth completely. His cock is dripping with your saliva, a string of it connecting his head to your swollen lips. 

“Look at you” Joel coos. You look up at him through wet lashes. 

“Bein’ so good for me.” 

He moves his hand on your throat to your cheek, cupping your jaw as he wipes some of the tears away with his thumb. He then rubs it over your wet, glossy lips, and you already know what he wants next.

“Open” he commands gently, his thumb tugging down on your bottom lip. 

You obey immediately, your jaw hanging open and a smile pulls at the corner of your lips. You watch hungrily as he gathers the salvia in his mouth before he bends down slightly. He lets it drip into your awaiting mouth and you hum happily as the liquid hits your tongue. 

“Good fuckin’ girl” he rasps before spitting again, this time with more force. A small moan finds its way out of you as you keep your mouth open and let the warm liquid pool on your tongue until he gives you further directions. 

“Swallow it.” 

You do so happily, and he hums in approval before standing up straight again. He grabs his cock and guides it to your lips again. He allows you to take one deep breath before he’s pushing in again, his fingers now digging into your jaw, his other hand back on your head as he guides your movements. 

“Such a slut for it, aren’t ya?”

You nod the best you can with his cock filling your mouth. He holds you steady, giving a few well-measured thrusts down your throat before pulling out again, leaving you coughing mess below him. He looks at you lovingly as you gasp and try to catch your breath, your lips cherry red, matching the color of the rims of your eyes.

“Doin’ okay?” he asks, voice soft and gentle. 

You nod again and give him a dazed smile before wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Good girl. Now stand up.” 

Joel reaches out to hold your arm as you pull yourself to stand on weak legs, your knees tight and sore from kneeling on the floor. But you couldn’t care less.

He uses both hands to hike up the hem of your dress, making quick work of lifting it up and over your head. He quickly discards it to a forgotten corner of the room before planting a wide, calloused palm square on your chest and pushing you down onto the mattress.

You land on flat on your back against plush mattress, your legs dangling off the edge. Joel reaches for a pillow, and you lift your head so he can slide it underneath. Your skin buzzes as you watch him take his place, standing at the edge of the bed between your legs. 

“So fucking pretty” Joel mutters as he smooths a hand down your front from the hollow of your throat to the tops of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He plucks at one of the black satin garter straps, letting it snap against your skin. It barely stings and you giggle and wiggle your hips in pure excitement. 

Your hungry eyes rake down his body before settling on his cock again, shiny from your spit as it bobs heavily between his legs. 

He starts working on undoing the clasps of the straps without preamble, letting you know that he’s not in the mood to take things slow, which you appreciate greatly. 

He has all four straps undone in a matter of seconds and tugs at the belt. You lift your hips, helping him to slide it down your hips and legs. The speed and carelessness he exerts as he pulls the fabric off your body is a stark contrast from how concentrated he was while dressing you in it just a few hours ago. 

With the belt out the way, he cups your pussy in his hand. The heel of his hand presses against your swollen clit through the delicate fabric of your thong, his fingers pressing firmly against the damp spot that’s been there since before you left the house. 

You whine, a high-pitched sound from the back of your throat. Joels eyes flick up from between your legs to your face, a wicked smirk curling on his lips. 

“Such a needy little pussy” he says darkly, pressing his hand further against your core. You roll your hips up and grind against his hand, chasing after the friction you’ve been craving all evening. 

But he immediately removes his hand and gives you firm smack instead. You yelp at the sensation, your clit tingling and pulsing. 

“Wanna hear you beg for it.” 

He drags his fingertips along on the edges of your panties, his touch featherlight and torturously slow. There’s a small part of you that wants to say no, that wants to argue with him, push him further, just to see what would happen. 

But you’re 10 levels above desperate for his touch. 

“Please daddy, w-want it so bad” 

Joel clicks his tongue and lands another light slap to your clothed pussy. You bite back another yelp and will your hips to stay still. 

“You know you can do better than that. Try again, tell daddy exactly what you want” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, well beyond frustrated at this point. You suck in a deep, steadying breath and exhale is slowly before opening your eyes again to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, and his jaw is tight as he looks back at you. 

“Want you to fuck me, want you so deep inside me that I can barely breathe, want you to be rough with me, make sure I can feel it for days, please daddy please. I promise I’ll be good, just – please I ne-” 

You cut yourself off when Joel digs his fingers into the lace of your thong, the sound of tearing fabric hitting your ears as he rips it off of you. 

“Joel!” you shout, sitting up on your elbows to look at him. 

He doesn't say anything, just grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. But you’re still stuck on the fact that he just casually ripped off your panties like that. 

“Thought those were your favorite pair” you mumble, looking at the discarded fabric sitting on the bed. 

“Shut up” Joel grunts as he wraps a hand around the base of his cock, steadying himself and lining up at your dripping entrance. “I’ll buy you more.” 

You’re about to say something back, but he slides in before as soon as you open your mouth, effectively taking your breath away. 

The stretch of his thick cock inside you as he sinks in all the way in one smooth motion is enough to wipe your brain clean. 

He stays still once he’s inside, his tip kissing your cervix. He curses under his breath as your walls spasm around him, already milking him for all that he’s worth.

“Always so fuckin’ tight for me. Perfect little pussy.”  

You let him maneuver you into position, one of his hands cupping the back of your knee, lifting your leg up to rest on his shoulder, both of you sighing as the angle pushes him just a bit deeper. He brings your other leg up but keeps it pinned to the bed with a strong hand on your thigh, leaving you spread open just for him. 

Without warning, he draws his hips back, sliding nearly all the way out before slamming back in. 

You cry out, your hands scrambling for purchase on the duvet. You’ve taken him countless times before. But he’s big. And no matter how wet or turned on you are, without opening you up first on his fingers, your walls are aching and tingling as he forces your body to mold to his. 

And it’s exactly what you asked for. 

He grinds his pelvis against your clit, his cock bumping into a spot that’s impossibly deep inside of you. You jolt at the sensation and reflexively try to scoot up the bed, your already overwhelmed body trying to get away from the intense feeling. 

“Oh, don’t run from it now” Joel growls, grabbing one of your hips and forcing you back down on his cock. “Begged for it all night, so I’m gonna fuckin’ give it to ya” 

“S-so much daddy, you’re so– oh fuck. You’re so fucking big” You whimper pathetically, your hands gripping the duvet so tight that your nails are digging into your palms even through the barrier of the fabric. 

“I know it’s a lot, angel. But you can take it,” Joel pants. “Can’t you?” 

You nod lazily against the pillow as he pulls out again.

“What’s your safeword” he asks, the head of his cock resting just a few inches inside of you, providing you with enough relief to answer. 

“Red” you whine. 

“Good girl. Do you wanna use it?” 

You immediately shake your head

“No.” 

“That’s my girl” Joel growls before slamming back in again, knocking the air straight out of your lungs. Your back arches with the feeling as he quickly builds up his pace. 

He fucks into you like it’s his last day on earth, fast and rough, just like you begged for. Just like he knows you need. Your whole body feels electrified while moans tumble freely past your lips, your eyes rolling back into your head. 

With your eyes closed, you don’t see it, but you do feel Joel’s lips pressing against your ankle that’s resting on his shoulder, lips warm and wet through the sheer fabric of the stocking that he never took off. 

“Little pussy is takin’ me so well, angel” Joel mumbles against your ankle “Feel so good wrapped around me, squeezing me like that” 

He starts a trail of kisses from your ankle to your knee, his hips not faltering in pace, not even once. The last of the stinging ache melts away as your walls stretch to fully accommodate him. He has an iron grip on your ankle, and his fingers on his other hand dig into the meat of your thigh, creating small purple marks under the smooth skin. The hot coil in your stomach is starting to tighten as you moan incessantly. And of course, Joel notices. 

“Get those tits out, angel.” 

You whimper underneath him and try your best to follow his instructions. Your arms feel like cinder blocks as you unclench your fists from the duvet and move your hands to your chest. You grab the cups of your bralette and tug them down, letting your breast spill out over the tops. 

Joel gives you a few words of praise that you can’t fully process. You already feel delirious, his cock quickly turning you into a useless, needy puddle underneath him. 

“Play with ‘em for me.” 

You do as your told and cup your breasts, one in each hand before gently tweaking your nipples with your thumb and forefinger. Joel gives you more indistinguishable praise as you let your eyes slip closed again, completely surrendering to the pleasure coursing through your veins. 

The hand that Joel has wrapped around your ankle slides down to the back of your thigh, pushing on your leg and forcing your knee into your chest and sending his cock even deeper. 

“Ohhh, daddy shit fuckfuckfuckk” you whine as the head of his cock nudges against the spot that only he has ever found over and over again, the same spot he finds every single time. 

“There ya go” he whispers as you start to squirm underneath him, your jaw slack and your walls fluttering around him.  “You gonna cum, pretty girl? Gonna make a mess on daddy’s cock?” 

You nod vigorously but you already know he wants more than that. 

“Want–” you try to start, but Joel’s hand landing on your clit steals your breath, a loud moan coming out instead. 

“C’mon, baby. Keep goin” Joel urges breathlessly, two of his fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Sound so pretty when you beg. Look at me while you do it.” 

You groan and open your eyes again to meet his gaze. His chest is heaving with every breath, muscles flexing deliciously as he fucks you with everything that he has, pounding you further and further into the mattress. 

“Please let me cum daddy, M’so close –ah oh my god please let me cum please please please let me.” 

“You can cum, angel. Keep those eyes on me and show me how pretty you look when you cum on this cock” 

It’s only a few more seconds of him pummeling into you and his fingers drawing expert circles on your clit to send you over the edge.

You lock eyes with him and let out a long, loud moan as your orgasm starts to rip through you, your whole body trembling with pure, white hot bliss. He fucks you through it, on the heels of his own release as you shake underneath him, your warm, wet walls rhythmically clenching and fluttering so perfectly around him. 

“Gonna make me cum, honey” Joel grits out, his pace getting more and more uneven. 

“Inside” you manage to whine, still riding out the last of your orgasm. 

“Yeah, baby, I know. Gonna fill you up so good” 

One, two, three more thrusts until you feel his cock pulsing as he starts to spill his load deep inside of you with a loud groan from somewhere deep in his chest. He keeps fucking you, pushing his spend deeper and deeper inside of you until he he’s too sensitive to continue. He buries himself in you as deep as he can and stills. 

After a few moments, Joel straightens your legs out on the mattress then pulls out of you, moving off of you and flopping down flat on his back next to you with a heavy sigh.

Labored breaths are the only sound in the room as you both come down. You whole body feels like jell-o, all thoughts moving slowly through your syrupy head. You can’t help but giggle next to him, feeling positively euphoric after getting your brains fucked out of your skull. 

Joel turns his head to look at you. 

“What’re you laughin’ at?” he asks, a smile quickly spreading on his face. He rolls onto his side and props his head up on his hand. He wraps his other arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him, despite you being dead weight right now. 

You look up at him, eyes hooded with a lazy smile. You try to think of something to say but all you can manage is another giggle, which makes Joel chuckle too. 

“You’re such a goose” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. 

“Thought I was a spoiled little brat?” 

Joel rolls his eyes and rests his cheek on his hand again, his smile still glued to his face. 

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

“So, I’m a spoiled little bratty goose?” 

“Mhmm.” 

You grin and scoot closer into him. 

“That sounds like a lot to handle” 

You squeal when he pinches your hip. 

“Tell me about it,” Joel sighs, lying his head down on the mattress and wrapping his body around yours. You smile like an idiot with your face squished against his chest, fully satisfied once again. 

Thank god you got that promotion. 

Thank you for reading I love all sm!!!

[cramathonn]

ello! are your requests open? if so id like to request lighter x reader headcannons, can be nsfw

tbh an nsfw alphabet would be awesome but it’s up to you if you wanna do that much

anyways take your time, dont forget to drink water, byee! 👋

Oho? An NSFW alphabet request? For the very first time in all of my years of request writing? Hell yeah sibling! Let's get this show on the road!

After finishing thoughts: I started this before he came out... I was right about so many things about him and ON ACCIDENT... Welp, had to edit very little, but enjoy! Sorry for the long wait thought, that's my bad 😞

Reader: meant for anyone to read! No body parts will be specified and no pronouns except "you/yours" will be used

TW: none (as far as I am aware)

Content type: headcanon

MDNI! THERE WILL BE NSFW AFTER THE CUT!

Lighter NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Butterfly kisses all over you and cleaning you up. Doesn't mind a quick after sex showers but they're not a must to him, so he'll only hop in if you insist he joins you. If you don't mind being a bit sweaty untill next morning, he'll gladly cuddle you and take a shower with you in the morning before going out to fulfill his duties as the Sons of Callydon's champion.

B = Body part (their favorite body part in themselves and their partner)

Listen, lighter's favorite body parts of his are his hands and face. He knows he's handsome, he knows he's a damned catch, yet your reactions are the ones that make his heart skip a beat. When you cup his face while making out? Oh, that man is putty now, congrats. Absolutely LOVES letting his hands explore your body, clothed or not, specially if your hands are smaller than his. I can imagine him getting even more turned on just by the fact that he's able to hold both of your hands above your head oh so easily, it's as if you were made for him and his hands to hold.

As for you, I'd say he also has a liking to your face, more specifically, your eyes. Lighter loves seing your different expressions, admiring how your eyes shine with the low blaze of the fireplace or how incredibly hot you look with them half-lifded, irises filled with desire as he touches you. Other favorite parts of his are your thighs and neck. Regardless if your thighs are built like sticks or squishy 'mallows, he will bite them, suck on them and mark them, because seeing them quiver at how good he's making you feel swells his heart with pride. And do I need to explain why the neck? Your scent is there, it's easy to see any marks he makes, if you don't wear high collared clothing, and it elicits such lovely reactions when he as much as touches it, so of course he loves your neck, let him bite it please.

C = Cum (anything cum related)

Lighter strikes me as the thick load type of guy. Doesn't release for long but it is thick. Prefers cumming inside of you, but won't argue if you'd prefer him to cum on your stomach. Oh but seeing your face coated in his relase? Immediate boner. He might have just came, but the moment he sees your face with ropes of his cum in it, it's joever, he's hard again and ready to go. Having you swallow his cum is also a big turn on for him, watching you loudly gulp it down just makes him all flustered inside.

However, if he's bottoming? Do whatever as long as it's not on his face, specifically his eyes. Like, he had to undergo surgery there for fuck's sake, so he's probably really finicky about things getting near them. Otherwise, go ham! Make him swallow you cum, coat his insides with it, cum on top of his pecks and/or stomach. Just keep it clean from his eyes and hair and you're Gucci.

D = Dirty Secrets (self explanatory)

He'd absolutely love to fuck you on his bike, I am not joking. The idea of you all beautiful, sweaty, naked on top of the seat of his bike while he fucks you, eats you or sucks you makes him so hard he has to excuse himself if he's around people.

Has an indescribable desire to masturbate together. Like, no sex, just the two of you masturbating in each other's presence or over a phone call. He wants to do it so bad but is INCREDIBLY anxious about asking it, so he'll leave it only for his imagination.

That and his wishes to be controled and degraded by you in bed. When Lucy degrades him? Nothing, nada, just another normal day. However, when you get angry and insult someone else? Gosh, he wishes that were him. You look so hot like that and he had no idea he liked that type of stuff... Also, pegging is involved in the "being controled by you" category. Please peg him. He'll never tell you he wants it, but god he's begging for it to happen mentally.

E = Experience (do they have experience and know what they're doing?)

My brain is split perfectly in the middle with this one. He either has a considerable amount of experience from his time in the underground ring or he has absolutely zero experience besides the few old movies he managed to fetch from the dumps. For the sake of making it more interesting for me, I'm going with the option that this motherfucker is a damned virgin before he meets you.

If you have more experience? Take the lead, show him what you like, how to pleasure you, help him explore himself and what makes his brain tick, what makes his throat tighten and his eyes glaze over. If neither of you have experience? Go slow together, explore each other and learn what each of you likes. He is absolutely embarrassed that he doesn't know what to do, so please be understanding and take it easy on your teasing for the first time.

Listen, I know he gives fuckboy vibes, the man with the rizz, people puller, the master of the dirty tango (kms for this one/j) but like, he only knows how to partially pleasure himself. Otherwise? Lighter has no idea where to touch or what to do. He would absolutely take the naughty tapes he found in the dumps and the few videos his poor internet allows him to acess as a guide, you'd have to slowly guide him through it.

F = Favorite position (self explanatory²)

In my eyes, Lighter doesn't really have a favorite position. He has preferred ones, yes, but he isn't against trying new ones. The ones he prefers more are Missionary and Cowgirl.

Why those two? Well, he can see your face and stare deep into your eyes in both and he also can grab your thighs during cowgirl to bring you down on him. Bonus, missionary can be varied in of itself! Arms around his neck, above your head, tied to the bed, heck it can even turn into a mating press if both of you are up for it. Its versatility and the fact he gets to see you sprawled beneath him or domineering above him makes it his most preferred position by far.

G = Goofy (Are they serious, goody, etc...)

He falls more on the serious side of the coin. Now, Lighter won't be against cracking a joke here and there, but he's not going to do it all the time. Considering we're going with the "Lighter has no sex experience" belief, he'd originally think he'd have to be hella serious during it, thanks to the videos he watched, but as things progress, he'd realize he could be a bit more goofy. It's not goofy all the time for obvious reasons, but he will tease you and strike a joke every now and then. After all, sex is also supposed to be an enjoyable and fun activity, and jokes are funny, right?

H = Hair (how well groomed? Do the color match?)

Listen, dude might live in the Outer ring, but I like to imagine he is partially groomed. He sees it getting too long and trims it, that's all he does, he doesn't want to yank it or fully shave it. As for color, yes, the carpet does match the drapes, albeit they're slightly more wavy down there at the very tip

I = Intimacy (are they romantic during it?)

Lighter is, to no one's surprise, very romantic during it (or tries to be). We already know that he is weak to romance, and I quote, would be willing to die for love. So, as someone who values you a LOT, he'd be romantic, trust. Kissing you while he fucks you, telling you how much he loves you, this man is pulling all the cards.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanons)

So, I mentioned it earlier, that sometimes he gets so hard he needs to jack off in order to get back to duty. Does it happen often? No, no it doesn't. Lighter is very well composed majority of the times and very respectful of you and your wishes. If you're not up for it, he'll understand and just go take care of his needs by himself. He doesn't see it as being neglected because, hey, not everything's about sex and his partner's wishes are just as important as his.

Now, if Lighter gets a hard on just as he's about to depart for a job with the Sons of Callydon, bro will be so frustrated (and embarrassed), get off his bike, excuse himself for five minutes (it's two), go at it as fast as he humanly can without hurting himself, clean as best as possible, go back like nothing happened and go to the mission. He has a reputation to keep, he can't be looking disheveled after a quick one or let anyone KNOW he beat a quick one, by that matter.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

This is the part where my brain wrecks itself because "do I throw my own shit here or do I go crazy?", so I decided to do BOTH!

Lighter striked me as the type to be super into degradation and praise during it. Getting degraded by you, called a slut, a dirty whore and the likes? Oh gosh, he's whimpering, he's a mess, he needs more. After the one time Lighter heard you degrade someone, that kink woke up. And boy oh boy, he might look all cool and stuff, taking compliments from others relatively well, but the moment YOU compliment him? It's over, he's a flustered shy mess and he will deny it to his GRAVE. However, complimenting him during it, saying how good he's doing, will make him almost immediately cum. He is a SERVICE first and foremost, keep that in mind.

Another one he looks like he'd have would be heat play specifically. Drip body safe wax on his body and watch him shiver at the sensation, he loves it. Also choking, please let him do it to you or do it to him. Like I said earlier, he loves your neck and loves seeing his hands on your body, so his hands enveloping your neck? Oh boy, that's so hot to him.

Another one: shibari. Tie him up or let him tie you up. That kink goes along his powerplay, not in a master way, because I think he'd cringe at that, but in a "I am in control here" situation. Being completely under your control is exhilarating to him and he'd absolutely love it. And another obvious one to me, biting. He loves seeing his bitemarks on you and loves the thought of being bitten back (if you do it, he will let out a low moan, so be aware of the power you hold)

L = Location (favorite locations to go at it)

Lighter prefers to be intimate in the comfort of his or your room. Or a secluded place where you two won't be seen, heard or be at risk of danger. He likes the persona he has in front of others and doesn't wanna ruin that but he also really appreciates his privacy, specially for things and situations such as these. While he's not opposed to doing it in public, he'd much rather do it at home, in your shared bed or at any location inside your house.

M = Motivation (what gets them going?)

Seeing you in little to no clothing. Yes, he's seen you naked, yes he's seen you in your underwear, yet it still gets him needy for you, same goes for sexy and/or tight clothes! You whispering dirty things into his ear, your consent and eagerness to go at it just as much as him ough, it makes him go crazy. Have you ever heard the saying "consent is sexy"? Yeah, that's Lighter's motto. He sees you consenting to him fucking your brains out? He's 10x more bricked now, good luck.

N = No (things he wouldn't do, turn offs)

Anything that involves blood. It's common knowledge he cannot stand the sight of it properly, so anything that involves blood is a no go. Also, consensual noncon is also a no go to him. Yes, you might have given your consent, but it feels wrong to him and makes him uncomfortable, so no.

O = Oral (giving, receiving, skill, etc...)

He is pretty indifferent on wether he receives or gives. But again, we're in the "Lighter is a virgin" timeline, therefore, he's not very... Skilled? I mean, he is naturally talented, but besides what he knows from masturbation, he's pretty much in the dark.

Once he gets the ropes though, he's a fucking expert at it, eats you out like you're his favorite dish and sucks you so well like GOD no one has given you head that good before...

Will melt and become a mess if you eat him out or give him head though. Eat him out for the first time and he'll be conflicted, but also on cloud 9. So, give him a break after so he can catch himself and process how he feels about this (he likes it, please eat him out more).

P = Pace (self explanatory³)

Lighter is, at first, slow and insecure. He has no experience, after all. But once he knows what he likes and what you like, it's on sight. You want fast and rough? Alright, he gotchu, you want him to go deep and strong but slow? Already on it! He can vary his pace pretty easily but, when on the receiving end, go rough. When he's feeling sore, be gentle with him but otherwise, go as rough as you can. He wants to feel every part of himself screaming the next day due to how good you made him feel.

Q = Quickie (opinion on them)

Doesn't mind them but prefers longer sessions. If the both of you are horny and in a rush, sure, he doesn't mind it, but wouldn't trade it for long nights with you.

R = Risk (do they take them)

Lighter prefers to play things safe. He is willing to experiment, yes, but if it involves risky things, you'll both need to have a looong talk about it and ensure you're prepared in case anything happens. If you TRULLY want it, he can try, but he'd prefer not to take unnecessary risks, specially not with you

S = Stamina (self explanatory⁴)

Bro is a BOXER for fuck's sake, he has a really good stamina. Can go until you're tired but usually lasts up to 5-6 rounds. Can last more with the... Right incentive (cough cough, aphrodisiac, cough cough), but comfortably lasts 5 and 6 with strain. He starts to cum faster after round 3 so... Be aware of that

T = Toys (do they own any? Do they use them? Self or partner?)

Again, virgin Lighter timeline. He has them, but most likely hasn't used them due to his anxiety. But if you offer to use it on him, he's not so opposed to it- oh, oh he's a moaning mess now... Welp, there's your answer, ig. Vibrators get to him faster, so if you make him use one in public, it'll take all of his might to maintain his composure and not just fucking FALL. He prefers when you use toys on him, but is willing to use them on you too if you really want it.

U = Unfair (do they tease? How much?)

Yes, he teased. When he's on top and dominating, he's going to tease you a lot, specially if you're acting a bit... Bratty. But when he's bottoming? Oh he's a brat, alright. He teases the ever living shit out of you because he finds your reactions endearing (and because it gets you to fuck him harder more often than not)

V = Volume

Top → grunts and huffs, bottom → moans and whimpers. Listen, his noise and his volume depend on his position and it is final. If he's bottoming, he'll be loud, moaning like a bitch in heat, cursing everything because of how good you're making him feel. But if je tops, he lets out more grunts, groans and growls. He'll still curse, but in more of a gruff voice when compared to bottom Lighter moments.

W = Wild Card (a random headcanon for the character)

Listen here, he's either trans and has the juiciest pussy known to man, or he has the biggest dick ever. In both headcanons he has mantits and ass, ok, those are interchangeable. He also likes when you slap his ass and collar him.

Do it, I dare you, he'll moan.

If you slap his ass in public he'll flinch and let out a TOTALLY not manly yelp and will proceed to glare at you with flushed cheeks.

Oh yeah, he also hides his flushed face behind his scarf (when he has it in hands, otherwise he uses his arms)

X = X–Ray

9 inches, slight curved up and thick. Rosy tip, methinks, with some veins popping out very slightly (good luck sucking that)

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

A considerably normal sex drive, when compared to his stamina. His mind is dirty, sure, but he doesn't want it all the time. When he wants it, though, it hits him kinda hard. Please help him, he's not rlly good at hiding it.

Z = Zzz (how fast do they fall asleep?)

Kinda fast, actually. He strikes me as the type to fall asleep considerably fast when he's not stuck overthinking... Or when he's been sucked dry beyon belief, turned into a raising, even. So yeah, he falls asleep easily as long as he isn't overthinking or is deadass tired

Written by Cramathonn on 30/12/2024 [dd/mm/yy]

Finished at 11:02pm

[yuikomorii]

Ayayui date♡

// I'm not sure why, but I suddenly got a burst of creativity. There's no special occasion for this post; it was really just an excuse to edit Yui in my favorite Princess Collection outfit. I like how the merch line was released right on Ayato’s birthday, so I really wanted to see an Ayayui date in those outfits! 😌💕

I was in the mood to write a special scenario again. You just have to click on ‘Keep reading’ to find it. This one is set after the LE events, particularly after the After Story, so I hope you enjoy it! ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )

Ayato: Haa… finally!

After all this time, I’ve managed to sort out every single problem in the Demon World.

Geez, I’m gladly taking a break!

( Ever since I became king, I’ve been buried in an endless pile of documents—so many that I’ve grown sick just being in that place. Things seem to be getting better in the Demon World, though I’d lie to say it’s perfectly stable. )

( Well, whatever. I shouldn’t bother too much about that… for now. )

( Right now, all I can think about is her. Ugh, these stupid king duties have kept us apart for way too long. I’m sure she must’ve felt really lonely, huh…? )

( Damn it! That was never my intention, but I know it must be boring as hell to be stuck in the castle all day by yourself. )

( That’s why, I’m definitely going to make it up to her today and take her somewhere nice~! )

Place: Their room

Ayato: Chi-chi-na-shi, guess who’s ba—

( Hah!? She’s not here? )

Oi, Yui!

( She’s still not answering? )

Yui, where are yo—

???: Ayato-kun..!

— hugs his back —

Ayato: What the—!

Yui: Fufu, sorry for taking you off guard. I was just thrilled to see Ayato-kun again!

Ayato: Geez, next time I call you, answer me, understood? You’re still in the Demon World, anything could happen when no one’s around, y’know?

Yui: Ah… I’m sorry for being careless. I hope I didn’t make you worry…

Ayato: No need to sulk now. What matters the most is that you’re alright.

Now… about the thing you’re wearing. Where the heck did you even get it from? It’s the first time I’ve seen you in it.

Yui: Oh, actually I bought it last time we went shopping together. You see… I didn’t show it to you back then because I wanted it to be a surprise, but uuh… does it not suit me?

Ayato: Haa… normally, when a woman wants to surprise her man, she wears lingerie or something sexy, but I’ll forgive you this time. Why? Because you look hella cute in that, can’t deny.

— Yui blushes —

Yui: Ayato-kun… thank you! I’m really happy…!

Ayato: ( Is she seriously almost on the verge of tears for that? )

C-C’mon, don’t get all emotional over every little thing. The date hasn’t even started yet! You really want people to see you with red eyes and puffy cheeks outside?

— Yui shakes head —

Ayato: Good, now let’s go!

— He takes her hand —

Place: Kaminashi City

Ayato: Can’t believe I’m gonna say this but I somehow missed this place.

Yui: Is that so? I thought Ayato-kun didn’t like the Human World.

Ayato: I don’t mind either of them, but right now I’m sick of the Demon World. If I see one more document, I will end up throwing up on the spot.

Yui: Ayato-kun…

( That’s right, he’s been working a lot ever since he became king. I’m sure it must truly be tiring spending days in front of all those documents. )

I’m glad you put a lot of effort in your role, but take it easy, okay? I can’t do much in this situation, yet… If you ever need help, I want to be there to support you!

Ayato: Hmm… anyway. I’m not here to talk about work again. I just want us to enjoy some time together for once.

Yui: ( Ayato-kun really sounds exhausted… He’s matured so much these past few months, which isn’t bad, but I just wish he could relax a little. )

Then, let’s make the best of this day!

— tugs onto his arm and starts walking —

*Timeskip*

Yui: Haa… it’s way better outside.

( Ayato-kun is still waiting to pay for our things, but it was way too hot in that store, so he told me to get some fresh air. )

( Now that I think about it, vampires are always cold, so I doubt the heat bothers him as much as it does me, right? Even so, seeing him care about my comfort makes me really happy. )

— warm breeze hits —

Yui: Mm… so ni—

— something suddenly hits her —

Yui: Kyah! What on earth was that!?

Eh? That’s—

Familiar: Greetings. Pardon my interruption, but could it be that you are Komori Yui-sama?

Yui: ( ‘Sama’? Uuh… I feel like that’s an exaggeration. )

Yes, I am. Did anything happen…?

Familiar: Rest assured, there is no need for alarm. My purpose here is simply to entrust this to your care. Unable to find Ayato-sama, I must rely on you to deliver him this letter.

— Yui takes it —

Yui: But, what’s this letter about?

If it’s possible to tell, of course.

Familiar: In essence, a new set of documents has been prepared for Ayato-sama. Please inform him at your earliest convenience, as his return is eagerly anticipated.

Yui: Wait! Does it mean that he really has to return now—!

( Oh no! The familiar is already gone! )

( To think that Ayato-kun was finally starting to relax again… )

( All this letter will do is ruin his day, that’s for sure. )

( But at the same time, not showing it to him… that would undoubtedly get him in troubles. )

( Uuh… This situation is so complicated. What should I do…? )

Ayato: Chichinashi!!!

Yui: ….!

— suddenly hides the letter —

A-Ah, Ayato-kun, you’re back!

Ayato: Duh, and I kept calling your name but it seems you only answer to Chi-chi-na-shi~.

— He starts pinching her cheeks —

Yui: Whey dwont, staphh!

Ayato: Hehe, that’s what you get for spacing out and ignoring me.

Anyway, you weren’t approached by any creeps, were you?

Yui: N-No, not at all!

Ayato: Hmm… that doesn’t sound too honest. Are you lying?

Yui: No way! I… I’m just hungry and my stomach won’t stop growling, which is really embarrassing…

Ayato: Haa… you never change. Always getting embarrassed over everything, but no worries, I didn’t hear anything. Though, if you’re really that hungry, I guess we could get something to eat.

Yui: Y-Yeah, that sounds great!

* Timeskip *

Yui: ( After the restaurant, we went to the mall, then back to the center. Ayato-kun… we walked a lot today, but instead of getting tired, he just got more and more energetic. )

( I suppose he was really in need of this break, so maybe hiding that letter wasn’t entirely bad, no…? Still, I’ll have to give it to him today, otherwise I’ll surely put him at risk… )

Ayato: Oi Yui, look!

Yui: W-Woah! I’ve never seen such big Takoyaki before!

Ayato: Heh, right? It’s even bigger than the ones from the Demon World!

Also, Ore-sama got you this, so I better see you eat it all.

Yui: Eh-? This is such a big donut! T-There’s no way I could eat all of it!

Ayato: So you’re refusing my donut? You’re way too ungrateful for a Chichinashi. Well, in that case, I guess you don’t need it any—

Yui: No, no, the donut is good!

— starts eating it —

Come to think of it, today you’ve spoiled me quite a lot, Ayato-kun.

Ayato: And why would that be bad? I thought women liked that.

Yui: It’s not bad, but I really didn’t do anything special. You’re the one who’s been working all day and night, for this reason I believe you deserve this treatment more.

Ayato: Haa… getting all self-conscious, just like always.

Look, you know I’m not good at sentimental shit, but after everything we’ve been through, your presence is special enough for me.

I guess I just want to cherish you, that’s all.

Yui: Ayato-kun… I feel the——

A-Ah, oh no!

( The chocolate… it melted on my hand! )

I-I’m sorry, I’ll be right back!

— tries to stand up —

Ayato: Nah, nah. C’mere.

— grabs her and sits her on his lap —

Yui: Wait, don’t!

— he starts licking her hand —

Yui: A-Ayato-kun, stop it! We’re in public…!

Ayato: Mnn… Mm…

— slowly bites —

Yui: Uuh…

( At this rate, people will definitely start watching!)

— starts moving —

Ayato: Tch, you’re making this way too hard for both! Just stay still and stop acting like I’m about to kill you!

Yui: ( I know his intentions aren’t bad, but this is getting too embarrassing…! )

( I’m sorry, Ayato-kun! )

— tries to push him away but falls down —

Yui: Oww…

Ayato: ( Geez, what a klutz. )

Haa… are you hurt?

— grabs her arm and picks her up —

Yui: Ah, I’m alright, no worries.

Ayato: Oi.

What’s that?

— picks something up —

Yui: ….!

Ayato: Is that… a letter for me?

— starts reading it —

You… you had it all this time with you and didn’t say a word?!

Yui: I… I can explain!

You see, I thought—

Ayato: Shut up!

Do you even have the slightest clue about what you just did!? I seriously doubt you understand how important king duties are, do you?

Hah, of course, you don’t! Why would you?

You sit around doing absolutely nothing all day while I’m working my ass off to make sure you and everyone else can live comfortably!

I’m out here putting in the effort, grinding to create a decent life, not just for you, but for everyone, even if I didn’t ask for this shit. And you do this to me!?

I thought you matured too, but at the end of the day, you’re nothing but a selfish bitch!

Yui: Wait! Ayato-ku—

Ayato: Don’t touch me!

Yui: …!

Please, listen to me!

— grabs his clothes —

Ayato: Quiet! I’m not risking to go through that again only because of someone like you. Get lost!

— pushes her away and leaves —

Yui: …!

No… No… this can’t be the end…

How… How could I be this stupid…? Hhn… Ngh…

Kuh… Ayato-kun.. Nhn…

Place: Avenue

Ayato: (Fuck! I can’t return to the Demon World right now. )

( On top of that, why the hell am I the one feeling guilty now!? )

( She… Yes, she deserved that treatment. That’s what she gets for sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Besides, what she did could lead to something dangerous. )

( It’s not the first time she pulls such shit on me anyway, but… )

( Why can’t I stay mad at her no matter what she does to me…? )

Tch, such bullsh— Hah?

Guy 1: Aww, she’s playing hard to get~!

Guy 2: Aren’t you a bit too feisty for a crybaby?

???: S-Stop it! Leave me alone!

Ayato: …!

( That voice… Yui! )

Place: Alley

Yui: I-I told you to stop!

Guy 1: Just come with us, it’ll be fun~.

Yui: No, I don’t want to!

Guy 2: She keeps struggling, isn’t she cu——

— gets punched —

Guy 1: What the—

Guy 2: Such strength!

Yui: Eh?

Ayato: Get out of my sight, you bastards! If you don’t leave this girl alone right now, I’ll make sure your already disgusting faces get even worse!

— they start running away —

Yui: Ayato-kun… thank you!

( He came back for me… )

Ayato: ….

— grabs her hand and starts walking —

*Timeskip*

Yui: ( Ever since Ayato-kun saved me, he hasn’t spoken a word. )

( It’s obvious that he’s mad… )

( But if both of us keep quiet, this conflict will never be solved… )

Ayato & Yui simultaneously: I’m sorry.

Yui: ( Eh? Did he just— )

No… I’m the one who should apologize. I hid that letter, knowing full well the consequences it could have.

However… I only did it because I wanted Ayato-kun to have some free time for himself too.

Ayato: You…

Yui: I’m aware of how much work you have to do, and being king is definitely not easy. That’s why, I really admire your for that.

Nevertheless, it saddens me seeing Ayato-kun so stressed out and exhausted. I want Ayato-kun to be always as energetic and cheerful as he was today, but… I do realize that I’m just being selfish.

Ayato: No… You… You’re not selfish, I am.

I was the one who didn’t listen to your side of the story. It’s just... I’m afraid of failing as king. There, I said it!

I don’t want to put the people I care for in danger, nor can’t I accept being a worse king than that old fart, so all I have to do is carry out my duties. Hell yeah, they’re a pain in the ass but that’s my responsibility now, which is why I can’t back off.

Yui: ( Ayato-kun… I never thought you felt that way… )

N-no, the way you reacted was understandable. Anyone under that much stress might have done the same, and I can’t blame you for it.

Besides, I can’t say your words were wrong. I am indeed incapable of fully understanding the challenges you face, however… no matter what happens, I want you to know that you’ll always be the best king to me…!

Ayato: …!

Heh… you really never change.

— hugs her—

Yui: W-Well, I suppose I can’t change if I do nothing all day.

Ayato: Hmph, are you throwing shade at me for what I told you?

Yui: Eh? No way, it was just a coincidence! I swear!

Ayato: Pfft, proved my point. You'll forever stay the clumsy, stupid, and oddly adorable woman that you are.

Yui: Hey, that’s backhan— Mm…!

Ayato: Nn…

Yui: ( Ayato-kun… his kiss is so gentle… )

( I really missed Ayato-kun’s kisses. I’m so happy…! )

Ayato: Oi, don’t tell me you’re about to cry again.

Yui: I’m not but…

I just want to know, will the letter get Ayato-kun in troubles…?

Ayato: I might get some weird looks for not showing up on time, and maybe a lecture or two, but it shouldn’t be too bad. I was supposed to start on them today since there’s a lot, but... I think I’d rather spend my time with my girl instead.

Yui: Is that so? Thank you.

But doesn't that mean you'll have to work even harder to make up for today?

Ayato: I guess it can’t be helped. I don’t want to think of tomorrow, all I want is to focus on the present.

Yui: Fufu, I see. By the way…

Will you uhm… stay overnight too?

Ayato: Heh~? Is that supposed to be a sex invitation?

Yui: I… T-That’s—!

Ayato: Heh~, don’t even try to get out of it, it’s written all over your face.

Rest assured though, the invitation is accepted~.

— Smooch —

[dedalvs]

When will humankind learn the lesson of its hubris and begin to heal itself? Also can you recommend any undergraduate or graduate level resources (textbooks etc.) for learning about fiction? I already read Writing Fiction by Burroway. Thanks in advance

January 14, 3182. Make a note of the date and return to this post when it comes.

To your second question, I've never read anything on writing fiction, only writing in general. I've found something valuable in every book on writing, even if there were things in the book I found less valuable. For example, I read Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within by Natalie Goldberg, and while there was much of it I didn't care for, there are some passags that have stuck with me 22 years later. When it comes to writing guides, I think the best thing to do is read what interests you while understand that what you are really doing is building your own writing guide inside you. You're absorbing what you find personally meaningful and using it to create your own personal styleguide that, like it or not, you'll be following for the rest of your life. Rather than rejecting that, and trying to decide which text will be the text that tells you how to write, embrace it, realize that you are going to do what you're going to do, and then try to work within that framework. That is, if that's what's happening, how will you approach a styleguide? What will it mean to you to read a very didactic text (i.e. "All serious writers must do x; no serious writer every does y") vs. a loosey-goosey one (e.g. "Dance naked in the garden of your creativity and allow your flowers to bloom!")? What are you looking for in these texts and what will you do with information or strategies that you find valuable?

Returning to Writing Down the Bones, I have to say I found the book to be mostly woo. It was more a kind of self-help/empowerment book than a book on writing, in my opinion. But there is something in there that I'm sure I'd heard before but which finally resonated with me. Specifically, it was the way she articulated that it really, truly doesn't matter what you put on the page when you're drafting. Drafting is not the time to reject. Even some idea comes to you that you find absurd, illogical, thematically inappropriate—whatever. It's not the time to push it away. Indeed, it's wasted effort. Editing and revising is the time to question. If you're writing, you shouldn't let anything stop you—even your own brain.

Why it took till then for this idea to take root, I don't know. It could be how she worded it. It could be that it came at the right time. Perhaps I was more open to new ideas when I was reading this book. It may also have something to do with a transition that had taken place for me in writing. After all, when I started high school, I was not regularly using a computer (we'd only just gotten a computer that stayed at home). When I started writing, I wrote by hand—on paper. It's a much, much different thing to edit and revise when you're writing on paper than it is on when you're working on a computer! I mean, digital real estate is cheap. When you're writing by hand, it can literally hurt to write seven or eight pages—and then to discard them in editing! Right now I'm working on a novel draft where I've decided an entire section needs to come out. If I'd written that by hand?! I can't even imagine.

I guess the tl;dr of it is I don't have a specific text to recommend. Rather, I encourage you to look around and grab anything that interests you. In doing so, though, I encourage you to approach it differently, focusing on what in it you find valuable, without either wholly rejecting it or feeling you have to follow it to the letter like an Ikea manual. I even found something valuable in C. S. Lewis's The Abolition of Man, which I honestly can't believe I read.

If you'd like some fiction advice that may be generally useful no matter what you're writing, this is what I can offer:

A valuable skill to hone is being able to read your work as if you have no other knowledge of it. In other words, you need to be able to read your work like a reader. One of the most difficult things to do with fiction is to cut. You usually have a lot more characterization, a lot more plot points, a lot more detail, etc. than end up on the page. The important question is if you cut something, will the reader notice? Will it actually feel like something's miss it, or will a reader never notice? Mind, I'm not saying that as a writer you can't tell if something is superfluous, or that anything you cut will be superfluous. I'm saying sometimes even if you cut something important a reader will still get the impression that what they are reading is whole and unedited. That isn't a good thing or a bad thing: it's a neutral thing. The question you'll have to answer is what is this whole that the reader is getting, and is that whole something you're satisfied with?

Get multiple rounds of feedback from many different readers. I say this not because it's vital, because beta readers are important, because you have to have multiple perspectives on your work, etc. None of that. Getting feedback from many different readers is a form of self-care on the part of the writer. I was deathly afraid of feedback as a young writer. I welcomed praise, sure, but anything else felt too painful to bear. This changed when I took a short fiction class at Berkeley. Suddenly a short story of mine wasn't getting one round of feedback: it was getting fourteen. And not just from the professor, but from fellow students. This was a minor revolution for me in terms of accepting feedback. If I were to take, say, one round of feedback, certainly there would be some praise, but there would also be notes like "awkward phrasing", "why did x character do y?", "this is unclear", "too much description", etc. These things would burn me. I would seethe reading them, and it would hurt so deeply. But! Imagine that one of them circles a paragraph and writes "too much description" and then the other thirteen readers say absolutely nothing at all about that paragraph—maybe one even puts a smiley face next to it. THAT puts the criticism in its proper context. Maybe your writing isn't too bad! Maybe there isn't too much description. Maybe that particular reader just wasn't vibing with it, and maybe that's okay. And then let's look at it from the other perspective. Say thirteen out of fourteen papers have a sentence marked and all of them say things like "huh?", "what's this mean?", "confusing", etc. Guess what? The sentence is probably confusing. And for some reason if everyone's saying the same thing it hurts a lot less. It means, yeah, you probably made a little mistake, and that's okay. It's not one person singling you out, and it's not the case that they don't know what they're talking about. I can't emphasize enough how freeing it is to look at reviews of your work if you have a handful or more to draw from rather than just a single good friend.

It's okay to write the fun part first. You may have a plot device you're really excited about, but to get there, you have to introduce your characters, have them get together, have them go to a place, meet someone else, etc. And it may take time and energy to write all that. You may feel pressured to get through that before you get to the part you really want to write. You certainly can, but you do not have to. I don't know if younger writers can appreciate exactly what it means to have a computer. You can write a little bit now and literally copy and paste it into some other document later. Try doing that with a typewriter! You can write something like "Insert paragraphs later of characters traveling to x location". You can even drop a variable in there so it's easy to find with the search function later (e.g. "ZZZZZ insert scene description here"—now you just need to search for "ZZZZZ"). You can put it in a different color on the screen so it's easy to find when scrolling. You can paste a freaking photo into your document! It's extraordinary what you can do with a computer that you couldn't do in years past. You've got a ton of options. But most importanly, when your work is done, no one will know what order you wrote it in.

In fiction, nothing has to happen. Villains don't have to be punished; heroes don't have to win; characters don't have to have a specific arc that comes to some conclusion. Honestly, one of the tropes (if you can even call it a trope) that I find most frustrating in sequels for movie franchises is after the characters are introduced, they take a few character and assign to them the major story conflict, and then for the rest, they give them a mini arc. It's like, "Mondo 2: Exploding the Mondoverse sees our hero Larjo Biggins take on new villain the Krunge as the very core of the Mondoverse is threatened with destruction! Also, Siddles Nuli learns its okay to be left out sometimes and she shouldn't get her feelings hurt, and Old Mucko learns that even though technology is advancing, sometimes good old fashioned common sense is just what the doctor ordered!" If you get to the end of your story, and you feel it's done, you don't have to panic if you suddenly realize we don't know whether Hupsi ever made it to Bumbus 7. It's okay if Story A is resolved but Story B is not.

I don't care if you used Trope A in your new story even though you used Trope A in your past seven stories and neither should you. Seriously, you think anyone was complaining when Agatha Christie put out another mystery novel? "Oh. Mystery again, huh? Gee, we were all hoping you'd write a book about the struggles traditional fishing villages are facing in the wake of industrial modernization." No we fucking weren't!

I hope you find some of this useful. Whether you did or not, though, be sure you enjoy what you're doing. If you are, you're doing the right thing.

[robo-writing]

NSFW Alphabet - Bi-Han Edition

Pairing: Bi-Han/Reader Authors Note: I look at this man and I can’t decide if I want him to choke me with his biceps or put him on his knees and make him call me mommy 🫠

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Bi-Han becomes extremely tender after sex, almost as if he’s a different person. When it’s just you two, bodies intertwined beneath the sheets, your head resting on his chest as you both slowly catch your breath, he can’t find it in himself to deny your beauty.

Your favorite moments are these, when the room is quiet save for the sound of the night and the rumble in his chest, when nothing matters except for you and Bi-Han. You live for these moments, revel in the way he softly strokes your hair and leaves kisses at your temple, the faintest smile gracing his normally stoic features.

The responsibility of Grandmaster is a tiring one, what you would give to be spoiled like this every day, to wake up and know that your boyfriend is waiting for you each morning, but perhaps that’s selfish to think about. For now, you can rest easy knowing that if nothing else, you can indulge in Bi-Han’s embrace now.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Bi-Han would be a liar if he said the sight of your ass in a nice pair of pants didn’t draw his attention. He sometimes thinks you do it on purpose, the way your hips sway when you walk past, enticing not only him but any man who becomes witness to your antics. It’s a point of pride to know that all they can do is watch and imagine while he is the only one in the world allowed to touch you, but it doesn’t still the jealousy within him when he knows the sight of you is enough to bring the attention of others. Perhaps he’ll teach you a lesson once he’s finished with his duties.

As for himself, it’s his hands. Hands that were trained for battle, hands that were trained to kill, he is very proud of his abilities. Recently his pride has been inflated when you mentioned you like his hands, not for their skill but for their size. Large enough to hold your close, or to press you further into the mattress.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Possibly his most favorite feeling in the world is being able to cum inside you, watch the mess that slides from between your folds and onto the bed in a messy puddle. The sight of you fucked out and delirious, his own seed staining the sheets is enough to drive him mad. More often than not it inspires him to fuck you harder.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He secretly loves that you’re feisty, that you give him a hard time and you’re quick to disagree with him. He grew up as the first born son and because of that he’s been surrounded by those who simply take his words at face value. It’s led to a very boring life, but then you steamrolled through it, stubborn thing that you are; You don’t hesitate to talk back, make it a point of interest to call him out when he’s being an asshole, and in his eyes it only makes him love you even more. He hates the idea of a partner who just listens to him like the other Lin Kuei do, so your attitude is very refreshing.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Bi-Han’s had sex before, but solely for the pleasure of it, not because of any romantic inclination. In his mind he needed to fulfill an urge, and once he had his fill the lady of his choice would leave; a purely transactional exchange. 

That being said, he is at the very least grateful for his previous encounters as they allow him to use what he’s learned on you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) 

It depends on his mood that night. If he’s feeling more romantic he’ll take his time with some missionary, letting every last inch of him sink into your needy cunt, his deep groans loud in your ears. Bi-Han has never been one for mindless praise, so when the only thing that leaves his mouth is pure adoration you know in your heart he means every word.

However, if you’ve been acting like a brat? He’s teaching you a lesson, a master of discipline as the Lin Kuei’s Grandmaster. Face down, ass up, back arched, and it’s going to stay that way until he’s certain you’ve learned your lesson or until your legs give out, to which he’ll drape himself over you and fuck you until it hurts to breathe.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

While he might be more relaxed when it’s just the two of you, he is definitely not making jokes during sex, it’s almost scary how serious he is about your pleasure. He doesn’t understand the need for comedy with such an intimate affair and he might even take offense.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) 

He is extremely groomed, from his face to his pubes. He has a regular grooming schedule and it’s a common sight to see him in the bathroom with a razor in hand. 

“Bi-Han?” You call out sleepily, unaware of your husband’s whereabouts.

A hum, and a quiet “In here.” Is enough to give you an idea. Your feet slowly paddled across the floor, and in the bathroom you see him slowly going over his face with a razor.

You enjoy the moment for what it is before speaking. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with facial hair.”

“It is easier to wear a mask without hair in the way,” he says bluntly. You agree with him, but can’t help but tease him a bit more.

“If it matters, I think you’d look good with a beard.”

His hands stop just for a second before moving again, the faintest smile on his lips. “I will keep that in mind.”

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

You wouldn’t expect it, but he is surprisingly romantic during the deed. Sex is a private occasion, unlike what happens outside your bedroom Bi-Han allows himself to be vulnerable, to let his emotions run rampant. It often results in a very intimate affair where he can finally express himself to you without any fear of judgement, where he can kiss you to his hearts content and admire your beauty up close without the weight of Grandmaster on his shoulders.

If you told anyone they’d have a hard time believing it, but Grandmaster Bi-Han is secretly a softy, at least where you’re concerned. Even if he seems standoffish in public, you know better.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Before you two were dating he would find himself dreaming of you in various compromising positions to the point that he felt angry at both himself for indulging in those thoughts, and you for occupying them.

There would always be a pang of guilt that ran through him knowing that he just touched himself to the thought of you, but he truly couldn’t help himself—you were just too much of a distraction.

After you two become a couple he’s become far more accepting of his needs, but even so he’d prefer you were there to assist him, so he can wait for a while.

The entire day has been trying, from morning to night Bi-Han hasn’t had a moments peace, not as long as you were around.

He thinks maybe you are a witch, that you’ve casted some kind of spell on him, a vile magic that makes his heart beat faster and his tongue turn to lead. Racing thoughts of you and only you.

Your words, your touch, your body—it’s enough to distract him, and nothing distracts him.

The entire day is trying, so when he falls to the bed and thinks of you again, his hands immediately falls towards his cock to rectify the issue.

He curses his weakness, his shirt sandwiched between his teeth, a feeble attempt to stifle his moans. He curses you in the same breath, you and your haunting figure. Faster and faster does his hand move against his hard cock, until his racing mind is filled with thoughts of you milking him for all he’s worth.

Before he’s awash with pleasure, trembling with satisfaction, the last thing he curses is himself for being too cowardly to admit his desire for you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding: He wants kids, he wants you to know he wants kids, and he wants you to know how good you would look with a belly full of them. Even if you’re not ready for kids or you’re taking birth control it’s not going to stop him from coming inside you, his idea of aftercare is running two fingers between your dripping cunt, stuffing you full of them and kissing your tears away.

“I know you’re sensitive dear, but it’s necessary, we need to make sure not to waste a single drop.”

Brat taming: If you’re a brat, enjoy yourself. He loves your attitude but when you push him too far he won’t hesitate to force you on your knees and remind you exactly who’s in charge in this relationship.

“It would have been easier for you to admit your need,” he groans, his heavy cock slapping against your open mouth, the taste of salt on your tongue. “But you had to make this difficult. Perhaps I’ve been too lenient with you.”

Marking: he’s more conservative about marks on himself but on you it’s free real estate. His favorite ones are the scratches you leave on his back.

You’ve fallen asleep minutes ago, but Bi-Han is still awake, stretching his back and reveling in the familiar ache that stings his skin. Your nails are sure to leave a mark, a trophy he’ll admire in the mirror when he gets dressed tomorrow.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His bedroom mainly. You’d have to really rile him up to convince him to fuck you in public, and even then it’s a risky affair. He enjoys when you moan for him, but times like this call for stealth, something you lack when you’re being fucked.

His solution for this is gagging you. His fingers get the job done, or he’ll muffle your lips with his own.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You pretending as if you don’t know the effect you have on him, when you brush against him in public, when you bend over just a bit too much to be innocent. The front is amusing, but what’s more amusing is how easily it crumbles apart when you’re put on your knees.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Sharing you with anyone else, you’re his and his only. He also wouldn’t draw blood on you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Preference in receiving rather than giving, but when his thoughts get too loud and he needs a moment of peace and quiet the first place he’ll settle is between your legs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Rough, possessive even—long, deep strokes that punch the air out of your lungs and make you see stars. He wants the world to know who you belong to, which is evident from the amount of hickeys and bruises left on your person after the fact. If you leave some on him he won’t mind, even if he is technically supposed to hide them it’s unsurprising to see the faintest little purple mark peeking out beneath his collar, a not-so-subtle reminder.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t like them, flat out. He knows a quickie is not enough to satisfy his appetite of you, he’d sooner wait until he’s certain neither of you have any prior obligations to devour you as he sees fit.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Surprisingly open to experimentation. It’s almost like training in his mind, a game of figuring out what makes you tick, what makes you see stars and cry out for him. Needless to say he’s very proficient at this game.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) 

God bless that Lin Kuei training; hours, although he is aware of your own limits and will gladly let you take a break should you need one. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I feel like you would have to own them yourself or you would have to introduce them to him. He might take offense to the idea of having anything that isn’t him bring you pleasure but you showed him the joys of using one and now he’s more open to the idea.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh he’s fucking evil, for such a stoic man you would never expect it but he gets off to seeing you wanting him, needing him. There’s always a plan brewing in that head of his.

Remember when I said you introduced him to the idea of toys in the bedroom? He may or may not force you to sit on a vibrator when you’re being bratty as a form of punishment while he leaves you tied to the bed. Only when he’s certain you’ve learned your lesson will he turn it off, but by then you’re a shaky, sweaty pile of your former self. Be careful what you wish for.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Groaner, deep growls in an even deeper tone, you can feel the rumble of him in his chest like an engine. He gets so breathy when he’s close too, it’s a sight to behold.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Secretly wants to be dominated, but will never say it out loud, you’ve got to figure that out yourself. When you finally do don’t expect him to make it easy for you either, he’ll fight you on every command and order until you either tie him down or gag him (He actually enjoys the thrill of the fight, he’s kind of a brat in that way.)

“I never thought the Grandmaster would enjoy being so exposed,” you giggle, admiring how the crimson rope compliments his skin, nearly the same shade as the blush that runs from his face down to his neck.

He tugs at his restraints, once, twice, before groaning at the feeling of your hands around his cock. It’s far too slow for his taste, he needs more and you know it, his head falling back when you squeeze his shaft and watch enamored as pre-cum dribbles down your fingers.

“Damn you,” he says, groaning when you respond with another firm grip. He takes a shuddering breath, cursing your name, and then begging for more in the same breath. All bark and no bite.

“You sure look like you’re enjoying yourself,” you muse, swiping your thumb against his leaking slit. “Look at that, making a mess of yourself.”

There’s a feral edge to the smile on his face, enjoying this little game. “These bonds cannot hold me for long. You know that, don’t you?”

Your eyebrow raises at that. “Course I do. But you’re not going to leave, are you Bi-Han?”

The air is filled with tension, and with his silence you have your answer, your hand moving faster as his hips desperately try to meet your rhythm.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) 

6.3 inches, circumsized, veiny at the base. My man is THICK, it’s heavy when you hold it in your hands and almost makes you wonder how he can walk straight, and his tip turns a pretty shade of rose when he’s aroused, reaching down to his shaft as if his cock is blushing. That thing should be registered as a weapon.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

If he could he’d have you pressed into the bed all day, but responsibilities come first. He can deceive you with how much self control he has but trust and believe he is almost always ready to go.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) 

Not quick at all, he revels in taking his time with you and refuses to sleep until he knows you’re taken care of. It’s a rule of his to watch you and make sure you’re safe before he succumbs himself, he’ll say it’s because of his life as an assassin but in reality he just enjoys seeing your blissful state.

Graphics by @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics

[landoscaring]

my thoughts on monza '24

let me preface this post with a big fucking heave of a sigh

[siiiiiigh]

i gotta admit that i was nervous for this one. the tension has been building up, the pace has gotten stronger, and the media have had a field day commenting on mclaren's strategy. it's been stressful.

on the one hand i gotta say as a mclaren purist that yeah, this blows, but also the fact that this is what we're worrying over? two wdc-potential drivers in our team??? the pace being too good??? like. yeah. give me this over the DNFs and the shit car.

but then.

ugh.

i support lando and oscar equally. always. until the day their contract's up. that being said:

McLaren need to make up their minds

Oscar didn't do anything wrong today

Lando wasn't going to win the race even if he'd kept P1 from the beginning because the tye strat was off anyway

the media NEED TO STOP THE NARRATIVE AROUND OSCAR HELPING LANDO SCORE A WDC BECAUSE THAT'S NOT WHAT LANDO WANTS. do you think he wants to win a wdc because his teammate, who he knows is competitive enough, rolled over and let him through? fuck no, that's not the lando we know

i completely understand the frustration some fans have, but it's misdirected. IF mclaren stepped the fuck up and gave clear orders to both their drivers, this wouldn't be such a shit show

i don't fully agree that team orders are the way to go, but also, i would appreciate if they just made up their minds about it already? time's running out

some fans' takes about this whole thing are just...bad

insert taylor swift quote about "you wouldn't have survived in the asylum they raised me" or whatever because hah, this is nothing, you guys. a few people would've fainted with the way things happened with lewis and nico, mark and seb, prost and senna... and countless more. this sport is RUTHLESS. and CUTTHROAT. it's not tiktok edits with taylor swift songs in the background. oscar did what he knew he could do under the orders given to them both (papaya rules)

in a way i think this needed to happen -and has been building up for a while- for a few reasons, a) for mclaren to wake the fuck up and make up their minds already, b) for fans to realize that oscar is not lando's lapdog and he fully intends to fight for race wins, and c) that just because we like to imagine they're bffs or boyfriends in our fan spaces it doesn't mean they got to be okay with each other all the time. let them be upset. let them be angry. it is what it is.

it was a great race. probably one of the best we've seen all season. as a retired ferrari fan (but really, everyone is a ferrari fan in this sport) i thoroughly enjoyed watching charles win today. he deserved it on grit alone. and their strategy worked, which is something that mclaren needs to learn from.

i will continue to support these two idiots in their highs and lows. neither of them are perfect, and there's so much room for improvement. they're young. allow them some grace when you comment about how this or that should've happened. lando is wdc material, yes, but he wants and needs to earn it.

that's all, folks

[waldau-archived]

softie — choi seungcheol | 890 words | fluff

#melonpan :c also, my need to include marriage in every other fic of mine needs to be studied.

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

"are you sure it wasn't as bad as i thought it was?"

you stop combing through seungcheol's hair with your fingers. "yes."

"really?"

"yes."

"i mean, i broke a plate, stepped on your mom's foot and—"

"i was there."

"—swore in front of your dad."

"i know, baby."

"promise it's okay?"

"seungcheol, if you ask me that question one more time, i'm going to eat up all of your melonpan."

seungcheol tilts his head up to look at you from where he's sitting on the floor between your legs. he tries to put on his best hurt face. "what happened to cheol? or love of my life? or even...pookie?"

you laugh. "you want me to call you pookie?"

"...no. but anything's better than my name."

"no," you say, resuming combing through his hair and detangling a particularly stubborn clump. "your name is lovely, even if you insist it isn't."

"it's just so...serious. it sounds like i'm going to get scolded."

"it's you. and i like it. but tonight didn't go bad at all, baby."

the thing is, seungcheol's never met anyone's parents before. at least, not since he became an idol. you had been telling him your parents should be more worried about hosting an idol at their place for dinner but seungcheol had been stressing about it for a couple of weeks, worrying about what to wear and what to gift and how to sit, till you held him by the shoulders and very sternly told him to be himself, and nothing more.

he's done just that tonight, and he's landed himself in this predicament now.

"you're just saying that to make me feel better."

you sigh and your hands stop working in his hair again. now seungcheol can't have that, so he turns around and clings to your leg.

"cheollie!" you say immediately, ruffling his hair. he lets go. "what, are you really that scared of what my parents think of you?"

"yes? they're your parents. and i met them for the first time yesterday. what if they tell me to stay away from their only child for the rest of my life because they didn't like my shirt yesterday?"

you fish out the television remote from behind the cushion and toss it into his lap. "show me a fancam of yours while i finish working on your hair. choose one you really like."

that doesn't sound good. why would you ignore what he said in favour of something else? unless—

"did they—"

"choi seungcheol."

that shuts him up. he scrolls through some videos on youtube and picks one he thinks looks good. you pull out a rubberband and gently tie his hair into a ponytail. seungcheol swears you have magic hands, because you've never once hurt him whenever you've volunteered to do his hair.

"done," you say, pushing him a bit forward so you can stand up.

seungcheol groans. "don't leave me alone."

"i'm just...going to get us some water?"

"i'm having a crisis here."

you giggle and sit back down, tugging at him till he climbs up and rests against your chest, both of you watching his videos of choice together. your grip on him tightens even though you don't say anything. seungcheol keeps quiet about it for exactly two and a half fancams before he twists to look at you.

you have a goofy smile on your face, and he feels kind of silly for wishing you were looking at the real life him, and not the one on the screen.

"what is it?"

"what?" you ask, looking down at him.

"you're smiling. at him."

you snort. "that's you."

"yeah, but i'm right here."

your eyes crinkle when you smile at him. seungcheol just feels like he's stepped into bright sunshine after a cold day.

"i was watching some edits of yours yesterday."

"oh. were they any good?"

"really good. but i wonder what your fans would think if they got to know you're the biggest softie in the world. none of that supposed alpha stuff here."

seungcheol pouts, but he can't keep it up for long. he's pretty much at his best when he's with you. you're the reason why he can physically feel his shoulders relax most days. you're also the reason he finds himself smiling a lot more.

"supposed?"

"well..."

seungcheol turns to bite your arm gently. you push his head away, not before pressing a kiss to it. "stop worrying so much, okay? you didn't mess up anything with my parents. do you have any idea of how much my mom liked you?"

"she...did?" 

"yeah. and my dad asked me when we're going to visit again."

seungcheol feels his worries dissipate. you don't look like you're saying it to placate him, but...

"are you..."

"...sure? cheol, my mother literally asked me when we're planning to get married. i think that's enough for surety, isn't it?"

seungcheol swears he can feel his heart beating fast enough to escape his chest. of course he'd love nothing more than marrying you one day, even if it's a long way down both of your futures.

"hm," is all he can say, settling back down against you. he doesn't mind you smiling at the version of him on the television. he's the one who's going to get to marry you, after all.

[endlessthxxghts]

Need You

Husband!Frankie Morales x wife!afab!reader || W/C: ≈5k

Summary: Tío Santi comes to the rescue when Frankie confides in him about how the two of you have been way too busy for one another.

Warnings: Crazy events of Triple Frontier don't happen; let's just give these guys some happiness. Instead of coke, Frankie’s drug is you (LMAOOO). No “y/n.” No physical descriptions of reader (besides clothing choices), she looks like you😏 and big strong man Frankie can carry you <333. Reader knows a bit of Spanish. SMUT 18+ MDNI. Oral sex (f receiving). Unprotected P in V sex. Slow and sloppy😵‍💫. Breeding kink. Domestic kink (they get really spurred on calling each other husband and wife/esposo y esposa). Possessive kink. Daddy kink (but in the sense that reader just loves seeing Frankie as a Dad and wants to give more babies to parent!!!). Pussy slapping... Cum play/eating. Vaginal fingering/fucking. Squirting. Slight Dom!Frankie (he just really wants to hear his wife beg for his cum!!). Mentions of shower ✨activities✨. A lot of love basically — physically and emotionally. Extra warning for the parents who can’t leave their child with other people — Tío Santi takes their baby out to eat and get treats; she’s in good hands, I promise!!!

A/N: Husband Frankie is rotting my brain bad. Especially girl dad!Frankie. My ovaries are screaming. So here's this little 5k bad boy I whipped up. This is very much a porn with a bit of (yummy domestic) plot. Hope y’all enjoy. Thank you to my sweet sweet bae @javierpena-inatacvest for proof-reading this and hyping me up since it’s my first Frankie story to be posted! I love you so much 🥹🥹💚 (edit: someone had a comment about why Isa is amorcito instead of amorcita, so in case you had that question as well, read my explanation here!)

MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG

“Querida, I’m home!” Frankie called out. 

“In Isa’s room, baby!” you responded. 

Santi tagged along on his treck home today, offering to take Isa out for lunch and sweets after Frankie told him how both of you have been crazy busy lately. He helps himself to the kitchen while Frankie makes his way to you.

Frankie lightly knocks on the door before entering, gasping out in delight to earn a bubbly reaction from his three year old daughter. “Ay, mi esposa (my wife),” he exclaims, giving you a soft kiss to your lips. He looks to his daughter and grabs her from you, “y mi amorcito (and my little love),” he says, throwing her up in the air, coaxing a few more giggles out of her. 

He sets her back down to play with her toys, and Frankie turns to you, pulling you in for a proper hello. Your lips slot against each other in a needy embrace, still as reserved as you two can be with your child in the room. He pulls away first, arms not leaving your waist. “Hi, mama,” he says with an adoring smile. “Hi, honey,” you respond, heart still skipping a few beats as if it’s your first time meeting him. He guides you to outside the doorway, closing Isa’s room ajar, so you both are out of her view.

“Santi’s here,” he tells you. “He offered to, uh, take Isa out to get food and some dessert,” he adds nonchalantly, trying to gauge your reaction. It’s been three years since your baby was born, and still you’re always reluctant to leave her with others. It’s not that you don’t trust the people you leave her with, it’s the fact that if anything were to happen — Gods forbid — you wouldn’t be able to be there, to comfort and protect her. 

Your eyebrow raises in response. He squeezes you tighter into him, ducking closer to your ear. “And I was thinking,” he kisses the sweet spot near your pulse point, “we could take some time for ourselves?” He continues kissing and nipping at your neck, uttering a small please baby as he makes his way back to your lips. 

Little did Frankie know, you didn’t need any convincing at all. You were just about ready to drop her off at your parents as soon as he got home from work today. You don’t tell him though. You like hearing him be a little desperate for you. 

His hand skates lower to your ass, the other hand making its way to cup your front. “It’s been weeks, baby, I need to taste her,” he says, damn near a whine. 

You grab both sides of his face and pull him into a searing kiss. “Go pack her bag,” you whisper as you pull away from his grasp, making your way to Santi to give him the rundown. 

In record time, Frankie packs Isa’s go bag in under five minutes: diapers, extra change of clothes, baby wipes, baby Benadryl, and some of her comfort snacks just in case she’s extra picky today. He picks up his baby, assessing if she needs a diaper change — she’s dry — and heads to the kitchen. “Wanna hang with Tío Santi today, mi amor?”

Her face lights up, and she squeals, “yes, daddy, pleeeeaaase!” 

He chuckles, his heart warming at how much she loves his best friend, his brother. 

He and Isa enter the kitchen to you giving Santi the rundown on her allergies. 

“We exposed her to all the major allergens already and no reactions, except for peanuts — she gets a little red, so just watch out for that. There’ll be Benadryl in her pack just in case.”

Santi gives you a salute, “Sir, yes, sir.” 

You playfully roll your eyes at his antics. “One more thing,” you say as you go to kiss your baby goodbye. “Usually I’d ask if you could send pictures throughout the time you’re gone…” you look at Frankie. 

Santi smirks, knowing where this is headed. 

“But you don’t have to. At least for today,” your face remains composed, but the heat spreading across your cheeks exposes you. 

“Got it. No peanuts,” Santi says, reaching for the bag off Frankie’s shoulder and the keys from his pocket, “and no interruptions,” he winks at you both. “Let me know when you guys are ready for us to come back,” he looks to his beautiful niece in her mother’s arms, peppering her with goodbye kisses. 

“Vamanos (let’s go), mija!” Santi says, prying her out of your arms. Frankie reaches to give her one last kiss on her forehead, and they’re out the door. 

As soon as the front door clicks shut, Frankie is on you in an instant, too riled up to wait until you’re in the bedroom. He needs you badly, and he needs you now. He’s caging you in between his body and the kitchen counter, lips on you like he’ll die tonight if he doesn’t touch you. Your lungs are burning for air, yet you don’t pull away. You can’t. He’s too addicting. Too much time has passed without the pleasure you two bring one another, so you’ll sacrifice one survival need for another. 

Before you know it, his hands are at the base of your ass, lifting you to the kitchen counter, and his lips are dragging down your jaw, your neck, and into your cleavage, nipping every little exposed place your cropped tank allows him. His hands are at the waistband of your sweats, pulling them down as he brings himself to his knees. 

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he takes a deep breath in. His eyes are impossibly darker, demeanor turning animalistic as he feels just your sweats alone and no underwear. He gets a view of your already glistening pussy, and he can’t help the growl that leaves his throat. 

He settles his hands under the globe of your ass and scoots you to the edge, your thighs finding solace on his shoulders. You immediately lean back on your elbows, knowing the moment his mouth is on you, your body will go weak at his touch. 

Without any warning, his tongue licks the entirety of your leaking seam, hands automatically gripping you tighter as the taste of you hits his tongue. The sound that leaves you sends shivers down his spine, his cock painfully hard and leaking in his jeans. He licks you a few more times, letting his drool drip down his tongue and spread all over you, making you a soaking mess of your arousal and his spit. 

Once you’re drenched to his liking, he dives right in, face completely flushed against your sex, sloppily sucking and licking into you, hitting all the right buttons to make you see fucking stars. By his hands or his tongue, he still knows how to steer you in the direction of the most beautiful constellations, even if they are behind your eyelids. 

“Frankie, fuck-!” you yell out, your inhibitions automatically down with the fact that the house is left to the two of you. Frankie’s hips involuntarily buck into nothing at your moans, missing the sounds you always made for him. Ever since Isa was born, both of you made a conscious effort to work on your noise levels — especially you. You were the most vocal he’s ever been with, and fuck if it didn’t make him all the more whipped. He almost forgot what your sounds do to him. Almost. But now that you’ve given him a taste again after so long, he needs more. 

He circles your clit a few times and sucks it, hard. He pulls off with a lewd pop, his dominant hand leaving your ass and making its way to your entrance. You’re such a fucking mess that his two fingers slide right in, giving you the extra push Frankie needed to pull more heavenly moans and whimpers out of you. “Let me hear you, mama,” he says, tongue circling your clit as his fingers work you to the edge. “Sing for me, baby,” and with what little strength you have, you force your head forward to watch his ministrations, and the sight is what sends you falling first. Frankie’s mouth is wrapped around the entirety of you, eyes dark and on yours, his hooked nose rubbing against all the right places while his arm muscles ripple as he fucks his fingers in and out of you. 

“Shit- oh, fuck-” you whine out, your head like a bobble head, too heavy to maintain upright. Frankie curls his fingers just right, and-

 “Oh my God, Francisco, oh my God!” Your hips are bucking into his face, his own strength unable to keep your hips down with how hard your orgasm is hitting you. He lets you ride out your wave on his face, drinking every last drop coming out of you. 

His fingers are out of you now, Frankie immediately cleaning them in his mouth, not wanting to Iet any of your sweet syrup go to waste. Your chest is heaving, eyes clamped shut, and your body is entirely limp. Frankie stands to his full height, and he’s pulling you up to sit up straight, his hands guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. He chuckles a little. “Still with me?” 

Your torso loses its strength momentarily, and you almost fall back. His arms immediately wrap around you, supporting you to maintain your upright position. You laugh at yourself, a blissed out smile gracing your face. He feels his heart flutter, just as strong as when he first met you. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here, you monster,” you lightly laugh, resting your head on him. “God, I love you,” your voice slightly muffled from burrowing yourself into his chest. 

His one hand leaves your back and wraps itself around your jaw, bringing your lips up to his. You can taste yourself on him, and you can already feel another fire being lit deep in your core, your arousal dripping onto the kitchen counter as your lips continue with his. 

You pull away, breathless, ready for more. “Take me to bed, baby.” 

“You sure you’re ready now?” He smirks. 

“Keep teasing, and I won’t let you cum inside of me, big boy.” 

His lips find yours again in a bruising manner, a growl leaves him as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth. “Last I checked, you were the one begging for me to fuck my cum so deep inside you that it had no other option but to latch on. If that’s what you want again, baby, all you gotta do is ask.” 

You whimper in response, your spurt of dominance dissipating immediately. 

“That what you want, baby? Come on, tell me. I wanna hear it.” 

Your eyes are glossing over, too pent up with a fertile need to get your brain to come up with any kind of response. His grasp on your jaw tightens, his lips ghosting yours as he talks. “Tell me you want my cum, baby. Tell me you want me to fill you up so fucking full of me.” 

“Yes, baby, fuck, I need you. I need you inside of me, I need you to fill me. Please, you’re such a good daddy, I wanna give you more, please,” you ramble on. His mouth is on you again in a sloppy embrace as he picks you up and guides you two to your bedroom. 

He sets you down at the edge of the bed. He guides your shirt off, then his. He pulls back for a second and shucks his bottoms off, giving you a complete view of his tanned and toned naked body, his little tummy a little soft around the edges. Your pussy is crying at the sight. 

You don’t waste anymore time as you settle yourself to the center of your bed, your legs already falling open with muscle memory. Frankie licks his lips at the sight. Part of him just wants to go down on you again, but the way his cock is screaming at him for release and your pussy is clenching on nothing—yeah, his oral fixation can wait. 

He settles himself in between your legs. His hands are grounded into the pillow beside your head as your legs automatically hook around his waist. He rubs his length across your wetness, you mewl for him as he lets his tip drag across your clit. 

“Baby, please,” you whine. 

“I’ve got you, baby.” 

His tip breaches your entrance. God, you’ve missed him so much, and you tell him exactly that. 

His lips are on yours, never really satiated with the amount of kisses he takes from you, “I fuckin’ missed you so much.” He pushes deeper in. “God, my beautiful wife, I love you so much,” he breathes out as his lips graze your temple. 

His hips are flushed with yours, your hands secure themselves around his neck. “Please, baby, let’s never go this long again, I need you so bad,” he rasps. He’s pulling out again, his head kissing your core. “Need you always,” he says as he pushes back in, maintaining a slow but hard rhythm.

You pull him impossibly closer into you, your hands grasping and feeling him anywhere you can reach. You rock your hips to meet every push and pull of his own, lips ghosting each other with each movement, your eyes threatening to roll back at how entirely full you feel. 

He’s taking his fucking time with you tonight, fucking you slowly into the mattress, harder with each thrust, reveling in sound of your pussy each time he pushes in, and he can’t help the way he smiles into the sloppy kisses and shared breaths. 

You’re a complete mess, tears falling from your eyes at how addicting he feels mixed with the pure love you have for this man. You really don’t even register what you’re babbling about, but that doesn’t matter. Frankie’s in heaven listening to a mixture of your drawn out moans, the occasional Lord’s name in vain, and the repeated I love you, baby, I love you so much.

One of his hands drag down to your clit, rubbing clumsy yet perfect circles, forcing your dam to finally break. He’s completely soaked in you and so are your thighs and the bedsheets. Your fall is slow but all-consuming. Your back arches into him, your nipples rubbing deliciously against his chest, and the feeling is the final push that sends him painting your walls white. 

His hand leaves your swollen clit and wraps itself around your lower back, helping you maintain your arch form as he continues rocking himself into you well into his softened state. He can feel your body start to tense out of overstimulation, so he finally pulls out of you, leaving you a leaking mess of both your and his cum. He sits back on his hunches, his fingers drawing circles on your inner thighs, just admiring the sight until his cock begins to stir again. 

“Jesus, Morales,” you giggle breathily as you clocked the jump of his length.

He leans over you again, giving you a sweet, lengthy kiss as he begins to slide himself off the bed. “What can I say, baby? I’m insatiable with you,” he gives you a mischievous smirk. 

He heads to the kitchen, returning to the bedroom with a chilled glass of water for you. “Drink up,” he says.

Before he makes it to the en suite bathroom, he adds, “I’m not done with you yet, mama.”

Despite the sensitivity down there, your pussy flutters at his words, craving him down there in any way shape or form.

He returns with a warm cloth, cleaning you up as best as he can with your second round of slick and his endless load of cum pouring from you. He sets the cloth down somewhere on the floor and situates himself up against the headboard. He wordlessly guides you to lay between his legs, your chest resting against his. 

“Wanna check on Isa?” Frankie asks, albeit a little shy. You smirk a little, knowing you’re usually the one to cave first. You make grabby hands at your phone on the nightstand, nudging Frankie to grab it since his wingspan is much larger than yours. He hands it to you, and you immediately dial Santi, hitting the speaker button as it rings.

“Hey, Santi.” 

“Hey, Mrs. Fish,” you can hear him laugh at his name for you. Frankie also gives a little laugh. He thought it was the funniest thing he’s ever said during your guys’ wedding reception. He calls you that more than your own name now. 

“How’s it going?” you try to ask in an unconcerned fashion. Santi knows you both all too well to know that isn’t the case. 

“You know you two didn’t have to quit just to check on her, right? Tío Santi knows how to distract! Also, tío Santi knows how to put her down for a nap!” He says proudly.

“I believe you, Santi, don’t worry. Just checking. Frankie just kept bugging-” 

Before you could continue your sentence, Frankie’s hands immediately go to your sides, hitting all your ticklish spots. You scream out, a loud stream of giggles leaving you. 

“Coño, por favor, not while I’m on the phone!” You hear Santi say. “Sorry, Sorry,” you say, still out of breath from Frankie’s merciless attack. 

“Actually, Santi, can I ask another favor?” 

Frankie looks at you confused. You smirk at him. “Is tío Santi prepared for his first sleepover?” His confusion fades and immediately his eyes are consumed with pure lust, his soft brown eyes turning black. 

Santi is silent for a moment. “You two are downright feral, you know that, right?”

You stifle a laugh. “Ay Dios mío (oh my God),” Frankie mutters. 

“As long as I get another niece — or nephew, I really have no preference — in nine months time…” Santi trails off in thought. “Then I’d dedicate every damn weekend to her,” he says. 

You turn your head around and up to meet Frankie’s eyes, both of you in shock at Santi’s silent invitation, silence fills the air for a moment before you finally bring yourself to speak. 

“Oh? Alright, then,” you softly say. “Thank you, Santi, you’re the best. We’ll text you, okay? Bye,” you hang up, not giving Santi any chances to return the call-ending formalities. You and Frankie are still looking at each other, eyes wild at the proposition before you. 

“Every weekend, huh?” Frankie says, breaking the tension first. His head dips down to place a kiss where your neck and shoulder meet. 

You suck in a breath, arousal forming faster than a strike of lightning. “Mhm,” you barely get out. His hands are roaming your body now, your phone thrown haphazardly somewhere in the room, long forgotten. He places his hands on the insides of your thighs, spreading you open and keeping them atop his own legs, so he can hold you open. His one hand is spread largely over your lower belly while his other hand is already teasing your core. 

His finger circles directly on your clit, you yelp in response, your body twitching. “Every weekend, I’m gonna get to fuck my wife, huh?” Frankie says into your ear. “Gonna fill her full of me?” Your hips buck at the huskiness of his voice, of his possessiveness over you. Your response is incoherent, more of a moan than anything. Next thing you know, your room reverberates with the noise of a wet slap. 

He spanked your pussy. The sound that escapes your throat is beyond arousing, Frankie’s cock back to life, dripping on your lower back. “Answer me properly, baby,” he says again, softly. His fingers are circling your clit again, forcing more of your wetness out of you, his cum from earlier still seeking its place on your bedsheets.

“Mmm, fuck-” you breathe, “Yes, yes, every weekend, baby,” you’re nodding your head frantically as you try to keep your eyes trained on his actions down below. “Every weekend you’re gonna make me so full,” you whimper, “Gonna fuck a baby into me, daddy, I need you so bad.”

He slides two of his fingers into you at your words, his hips grind into your back at the feel of your warmth, of his spend keeping you nice and wet. His fingers pump in and out of you at a languid pace, his fingers arching in a come-here motion to beckon more of his cum onto his fingers. He pulls out of you momentarily, analyzing the mess he’s made. “Open, querida,” he whispers, likely in a trance at the sight. 

You open your mouth, tongue out and ready. He sticks his fingers into your mouth, and you lap up his salty spend greedily, as if it were the sweetest of syrups. You taste a distinct tanginess on his fingers, most likely the product of your own arousal. Your eyes fall shut at your taste, eyes feeling heavy and too blissed out to stay open. He pulls out of your mouth with a pop and grabs your chin, turning your face to his. He pulls you in for an open-mouthed kiss, wet and hot. His hand leaves your face and returns to your core. His fingers are back inside you, pushing in and out as his palm grinds perfectly into your clit. Your hips are moving in tandem, providing you with the perfect rhythm to soak him all over again. His lips never break from your own, tongues dancing in a way only you two get to know. 

Your hand seeks purchase at the back of his neck, tugging at the base of his curls, taking away his opportunity to break away from you. He moans into your mouth at the sharp sensation, your lower back a sticky mess from how much he’s leaking onto you. 

Finally, you break away, lips still connected by the thinnest of spit lines. “Baby, I- I’m gonna cum, shit-”

Frankie lets out a growl, desperate to have you fall apart on him. He maintains his same pace, adding a bit more pressure of his palm to your clit, his other hand pushing harder down into your belly, knowing how crazy the stimulation drives you. “Give it to me,” he mumbles in your ear, his heavy breathing fanning across your cheek. “Need it, baby. Need you,” he whines. 

“Fuck-!” you yell out, head pushing harder into his shoulder, eyes clamping shut and forming white, blinding fireworks beneath your eyelids. He fucks his fingers in you as you ride out your high, tears letting loose as your pussy squirts into his hand and all over both your bottom halves. 

The sight transforms him into a cumming mess, the only stimulation being the friction from your backside as he rutted into you. You don’t notice the warm wetness between your bodies until your body falls completely limp against him, breathing still heavy but slowly returning to normal. Frankie bejewels your face with sweet kisses — from your temples to the edge of your shoulder that he can reach — as you slowly come back to Earth. 

You look up at him now, a soft smile spread across your face. His heart stutters at the sight. You shift your back a little. “Did you…?”

“Yes, I did,” Frankie admits way too quickly, embarrassment flooding his face. 

You pull him into one more kiss before you start to get up. “Come on. Shower and then we eat,” you tell him. “You didn’t get to settle yourself down after work,” you add, slightly scolding him for his impatience yet also silently thanking him. 

“I can always eat in the shower,” Frankie adds suggestively, his eyes giving your body a once over as you stand beside the bed, waiting for him to get a move on. 

“Morales!” you gasp out. “Bad,” you say, shaking your head from side to side. 

“You know it’s gonna happen, mi amor (my love),” he says as he stands, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you into him, seeking your warmth. 

And it does happen. He makes you fall apart on his tongue twice, and you pay him back by reducing him down to jelly legs as you fuck his cum down your throat. By the time you two actually start your shower, the water is completely cold, not one drop of hot water available. 

Post-shower, you two cook a fast, simple meal, too eager to be on each other again, but too aware of how important it is to give your body sustenance in order to continue with your feral behavior. You only get a few hours of sleep that night. Falling asleep after each round only to wake back up a horny, dripping mess just to fuck again. You don’t remember the last time you two did something like this, but damn were you two needing it. You made a mental note to thank Santi for his much needed offer.

The next morning you wake up at seven, the first sensation you feel for the day is your sore pussy, red and puffy as she begs you to give her a break. You look at the knocked out man beside you, give him a kiss on the forehead and break away from his hold, bringing yourself to the bathroom. You take your phone with you. 

[07:13] Just woke up. Drop Isabela off whenever you’re ready. 

[07:15] God, no wonder she’s up already. She’s got your early ass schedule. 

You laugh to yourself, picturing Santi a half asleep man child as your daughter crawls all over him, forcing him to get up, too. What Santi didn’t know was that it was actually Isa’s schedule that you were on. 

[07:16] Pobrecito (poor thing). :( 

[07:16] She’ll probably be asking for Frankie soon. She always cuddles him in the morning. 

[07:17] Yep, she just did. I’ll feed her some breakfast now, then we’ll be on our way. That good, Mrs. Fish?

[07:18] If it’s good with little Fish, then it’s good with me. 

He sends you a thumbs up, and you set your phone down. You wash up and get ready for the day. 

After you brush your teeth and wash your face, you head to Frankie’s side of the closet and grab one of his soft, cotton tees to throw on. 

You head to the kitchen, your first course of action being to fire up the espresso machine. Espresso is the only form of coffee you drink, and soon enough, Frankie followed in your footsteps. Just as you suspected, as soon as the smell of the beans filled the air, Frankie appeared in the kitchen. His sleepy eyes and sexed out hair on display nearly cause your knees to buckle, your aching pussy betraying your want for a lazy morning. 

He makes his way to you and kisses you, soft and slow, probably needing a lazy morning just as much as you. “Good morning, mi esposa (my wife),” he says, voice still raspy from sleep. 

“Mmm, good morning, mi esposo (my husband),” you smile up at him. “Sleep well?”

“With the sleep that I did get, I’d say yeah,” he says. “You really tired me out, hermosa (beautiful),” he adds.

You pull him down for another kiss. You’ll never tire of the feeling. “Waffles?”

His eyes light up, a boyish grin on his face. “Yes, please.”

Around 8:30 as you and Frankie finish your waffles, the front door is unlocking. A little girl with crazy hair comes busting in, running straight for the both of you to pull you guys into a tight group hug. 

“Mommy! Daddy!” she screams.

“Mi amorcito,” Frankie responds, matching her energy. “Mi niña loca (my crazy girl),” you squeal. “I missed you so much!” you add. 

You and Frankie kiss each of her cheeks, sandwiching her little face. 

“Did you have fun with tío Santi?” you ask.

“So much fun, mommy! We had ice cream for break-”

Before she could finish, Santi chimes in. “O-o-okayyyyy, Isa!” he claps his hand once. “Why don’t you bring this to your room,” he hands her a tiny gift bag — probably the product of some shopping they did — “while I talk to mommy and daddy?”

“Okay, tío Santi!” She takes the bag and makes her way to her room. 

Your eyebrows are raised in mock scolding as you wait for Santi to explain himself. “Hey! In my defense, those puppy dog eyes are a killer. I couldn’t say no.”

The three of you break out into laughter, Frankie going in for a hug, clapping Santi on the back as he releases him. 

“Waffles?” you offer Santi. He graciously accepts, making his way to the other side of the kitchen counter, helping himself. 

“So-” you and Frankie say at the same time. Santi pauses his actions mid-bite. 

Frankie nudges you to speak first. You clear your throat to ease the awkwardness in the room. 

“So,” you start again. “Were you, uh… were you serious about watching Isa?” you ask?

“Every weekend?” Frankie adds. 

You giggle, nodding an affirmative at your husband. “Yes, every weekend?” 

Santi finishes the bite he paused on, and sets his waffle down. “You dirty dogs!” he says. 

“Pope, come on,” Frankie’s palms go over his cheeks that are currently turning red at Santi’s teasing. 

He lets out a laugh. “Sí, cabrón (yes, asshole),” Santi says, slapping Frankie’s shoulder.  “Of course I’m serious. I’d do anything for both of you, and especially that demon of a little girl.” 

Your heart warms at Santi’s sentiment. You’re beyond grateful Frankie has a best friend like him. 

“On one condition,” Santi adds, his eyebrow quirked up.

“Anything,” you say eagerly. Frankie nods his head in agreement with you.

“I also wasn’t kidding when I said I’d need another sobrino (niece/nephew).”

You and Frankie look at each other, your stares saying everything they needed to. Yeah, Santi didn’t need to worry about that. 

And you were right when the next Saturday morning, a month and four tío Santi sleepovers later, you and Frankie presented Santi with your pregnancy test displaying two pink lines.

End note: Thank you all so much for reading! Likes, comments, reblogs, etc, — all your support means the absolute world to me. I wouldn’t be able to do this without all of you. Thank you so so so much. There are genuinely not enough words to express my gratitude. As always feedback for my stories (at a technical sense) is also super super helpful whether it is constructive or positive! Anything helps me to be the best writer that I can be. All my love! Xo

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[chiiroptereh]

[Please zoom in, there's a lot of detail! And a massive file size...ouch]

Hi guys, long time no post! Been working on Art Fight and life stuff, but I've got something kinda fun for you.

This is a compilation exploring how a mortal Bill may interact with our world if there were still some kinda Euclidean instincts buried in there. Y'know, before the Book of Bill ruins all my headcanons >:P (EDIT: IT HAS BEEN READ. YAHOOOOOO)

Also quite an experimental piece as you can probably tell. Lots of details on both said headcanons and the art stuff under the cut, but I invite you to study the colorful texture yourself beforehand and think about what it might be representative of, just for fun because I got some really cool answers from my friends when asked :]c

TL;DR: the headcanon is that Euclideans have exceptional eyes for geometry. They find things like symmetry, tessellating patterns, graphs and fractals very aesthetically pleasing. If pushed into our 3D world, they feel comforted by the familiarity flat objects/spaces bring, as well as high-contrast patterns. Shadows especially are a familiar dimensional reduction that may bring them much comfort.

Bill would surely not be happy about these inclinations, constant reminders of a past long gone, but I'm not sure he's even aware of them here :P I think his ego gets in the way to the point where he just views these interests as common sense, which, of course, us lame humans just don't understand because we aren't nearly as cool as him. Of course he likes perfectly symmetrical leaves and staring at the kitchen floor, it's called taste, look it up!

And yet, he can't seem to shake the strange sense of melancholy he gets from viewing his own shadow.

~ End of TL;DR, long version below! ~

🔺 Headcanon Development

So, the catalyst of this idea was in relation to my friend and I's AU ( @love-triangles-au ). TL;DR, Bill's brought back mortal, meets another triangle named Y.V. (it's his hand holding the paper in the piece, actually), at some point they fall in yaois together, you know how it is. And, in writing a pair of triangles (or, more broadly, writing from the perspective of a different species), something I've had to consider was that you really can't get much further removed from a human being than sentient geometry.

The anatomical aspect was mostly figured out (see my piece on Bill's eye-mouth), but I wanted to consider what psychological differences might be at play. I wanted them to be weirder, more alien, double-so for Bill. At first I explored these possibilities through the lens of Bill and Y.V.'s relationship, specifically the question "what might a triangle find appealing about another triangle?"

Well, really the only things that came to mind were straight lines and symmetry, anything related to the geometric form of such a creature. That's more-or-less where that ended until the thought struck me that there's no reason this aesthetic appreciation couldn't extend to the rest of the environment, and then further when I realized, "wait, this is a species that is designed to live in a 2D environment. Like, they should seriously be really weird. I need to push this like 200% more."

So...yeah! I did some thinking and brainstorming with others and came up with a pretty long list of things a Euclidean in our world may be inclined to enjoy or find some level of comfort in. It's worth noting again that in this piece specifically this is a mortal/powerless Bill, so he can't really escape this Earthly environment. IF he's aware of these instincts at all (and that's a big "if"; when have you last been cognizant of your own instincts let alone known where they were stemming from?) I think he'd have snuffed them out in immortality and/or purposefully gone against them; he doesn't take kindly to being told what to do.

In order from left-to-right, top-to-bottom, here's an explanation for each!:

Flat objects such as paper are something he may find particularly engaging. It's basically 2D!

Tessellations are especially fascinating, and our world has them everywhere in the form of tile floors. Symmetry and such a predictable pattern...as the infinity of the starry sky might for us, the infinite potential of tessellations might invoke a similar sense of awe in him. Add on the maximum contrast of black on white kitchen tiles and the forms are only even better defined! A sensitivity to contrast would be very helpful for a 2D being navigating their environment.

Fields are flat and open, much like Euclydia itself. Laying flat may make him feel a little more at home.

More tessellation in the honeycomb of hymenopterans (bees, wasps and friends)! It helps that pain is hilarious.

The city is an absolute treasure trove. Rectangular buildings, precise architecture, square sidewalks and straight lines abound...he may as well be looking at a rainbow or an art gallery! I think a Euclidean's brain is very fine-tuned to mathematics, especially in regards to trigonometry. What may appear to be a straight painting might appear obnoxiously crooked to him.

Zebras are high-contrast :]

Another flat surface, another relaxing space <3

I think graphs are about as high as high art gets to most Euclideans.

I've touched on shadows before, and for good reason; truly they must be something borderline magical to the Euclidean and perhaps bitterly nostalgic.

This one kinda speaks for itself. Dweeb.

🎨 The Artsy Stuff

Lately I've been trying to find ways to fit more color into my work, as color is perhaps one of my favorite things in the world. My wardrobe is rather garish; my dad jokes that you could see me from space. My fursona is obnoxiously bright for a reason -- I feel my soul is a very colorful one!

I also realized recently that I don't actually know the exact style that speaks to me. I could talk about the phenomenon of the "style crisis" that many artists have all day, but in my mind the best cure for this feeling is to go against it entirely and begin stealing as much as possible.

So, I've tried to keep an eye out for more sources of inspiration everywhere I go, physical and digital. I've tried to train my mind into making a habit of considering, "can I do anything with this?" everywhere I go, and it recently paid off!

The glittery rainbowy texture you see plastered all over Billiam is this one, a photo-manipulated set of fruit stickers. I must confess I've been obsessed with this image for the past 72 hours, and this seemed like a good excuse to try it out!

I worried throughout the process if it might be so abstract that it loops back around to being horribly deliberate, if that makes sense -- like each sparkle was not a piece of a whole but rather an object in itself -- but it seems like that hasn't been a problem, so I'm grateful for that :Dc

I hope it can dazzle and delight you as it does me, but as long as you find it fascinating at the very least then I consider it a success! I really enjoyed hearing my friends' interpretations while workshopping it, and got tons of amazing answers from opal to kaleidoscope to fossilized bone marrow! I truly believe that the best art has some room for interpretation and it really excites me to be surrounded by that kind of creative energy that follows said pieces. That definitely adds to my pride in this work. It's weird, it's colorful, it's detailed and yet ambiguous. I'm feeling pretty autistic about it

Alright, I think that's about it. Thanks for listening!