#my mother’s brisket

[crusheswhimsandfancies]

Listening to this today and omg I love the lyrics! I’m Old Enough To Be Your Zaide😳🥴 and Kiss My Mezuzah are my faves, obviously🫦 very saucy!

But then!!! Oh no!

“Go on just step inside

Or if not, I’ll just kiss my own mezuzah

I’m resilient, I can always retrench

Blessed am I, for always standing by

The needs of this fine, available, attractive,

Secure, well-rounded, intelligent lonely mensch”

That just breaks my heart😭😭😭 even if it isn’t about him, I feel like it’s close to the bone💔

[pedrospatch]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She’s donning a festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress, and her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

[i-heart-yellowstone]

Kayce dutton x reader

Reader tells gator to have a day surprising everyone with lunch " I just want you to know I appreciate you and want to be a part of the family " reader said " you are part of the family " john said kayce gets down on one knee in front of everyone

Always One Of US

The Dutton family always thanked Gator for serving everyone on the family ranch. He was a great cook and did an amazing job. But I decided that I needed to show my appreciation towards the family that I have been helping run their ranch for a few years. When Beth called me saying they needed a new ranch hand I instantly took up the offer. Making them all dinner and giving Gator the day off is the best way to show my appreciation and loyalty to the ranching family.

The front door opened while I was sitting the brisket in the center of the table along with some potatoes and some cookies that Tate had made earlier in the day for dessert. “Darling, what are you doing here. Did you help Gator do all this?” I heard Kayce’s voice enter the room where he removed his hat hanging it on the wall.

“Actually I made all of this. I gave Gator the night off.” I responded by turning around to face him, finally getting everything set out.

Kayce came over to me wrapping his arms around my waist bringing me closer. He leans down kissing me slowly and I lean up kissing him back since we hadn’t seen each other much today. “You didn’t have to do this for us.”

“I wanted to, Kayce. It’s not a big deal.” I ran a hand through his tousled curly hair smiling brightly.

The front door opened another time with John entering the dining room seeing us break apart from one another going to sit down at the table to eat our dinner. “This all looks fairly good.” John sat down at the head of the table with me and Kayce sitting across from each other in the chairs closest to him.

“Thank you for saying that, John. I made the meal tonight.” I explained swallowing the bite of meat I had in my mouth.

John had always looked up to me considering I had made Kayce realize that he could be better and run the ranch even if he wasn’t keen to the idea in the beginning. Kayce and I had gotten together a few weeks after he had finalized his divorce with Tate’s mother.

Our meal for the most part went fairly well. Kayce and I had cleaned up the dining table with John leaning in the doorway watching us for a few minutes before saying a word. “Y/n, I’m just curious as to why you thought you needed to make us dinner. I’m not saying anything in it was bad, it was amazing. But I just want to know why.”

“How about we go sit down and finish this conversation.” Kayce suggested and we all agreed moving back into the dining room sitting back in our sports we were in a few moments ago.

I sighed brushing my hair out of my face, eyeing the man who I admired from the first moment I had met him. This family means everything to me and I wouldn’t trade any of my memories here for something else. I just prayed they valued me as much as I did them. “I just want you to know I appreciate y’all and want to be a part of the family.”

John stands up from his head seat at the table. “You are a part of the family.”

“I am. I don’t understand.” I sent him a confused face.

Kayce lowered himself down on one knee right in front of me. Reaching inside his pants pocket he slowly opened a small black box showing me a simple gold ring. “Will you marry me, Y/n?”

“You bet your boots I will.” I removed my hands from my mouth wiping away the heavy happy tears that had began falling down my face.

Kayce slipped the ring on my finger barely giving me time to admire it when he scooped me up into his arms. I squealed as he twirled me around in a few circles of laughter coming from the both of us finally sitting me down on the wooden floor.

I tucked hair behind my ear, eyeing the ring on my left finger. “Kayce, you didn’t have to buy me a ring.”

“Funny enough I didn’t buy that ring.” He shrugged his shoulders with a light chuckle.

I felt like my voice went to a higher tone. “Huh?”

“I can clear up your confusion, dear.” John came to stand beside his youngest son placing a hand on his shoulder sending me a proud grin with tearful eyes. “That ring was bought years ago by me when I proposed to my wife Evelyn. It’s her ring that I passed down to him.”

I felt more tears slipping down my face, stepping around my fiancé so I could hug my father in law. “Thank you so much, John. I’m honored to call you my father in law.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to become my daughter in law for a long time.” He hugged me back and I mirrored his smile. Kayce opened his arms for me and I raced forward where he picked me up off the ground when I wrapped my legs around his waist.

Kayce led me outside for me to see two horses standing at the end of the wooden stairs. He took me to my horse and climbed on our separate horses with me following Kayce on horseback wherever he was leading me. I knew most of the ranch yet where we stopped I had never been before. “Kayce, where are we exactly?”

“It’s a place I don’t go too often. This - this is where my mother got killed on her horse.” He explained to me slowly walking up to the fence holding my hand in his until we reached the fence.

I squeezed his hand, sending him a weak expression. “Kayce, I’m sorry.”

“It's okay. I told myself that when I found the right girl for me. I'd take her to meet my mom.” He explained simply looking down into my eyes.

A question fell from my lips. “You never took Monica here?”

“Given my fathers reaction got me branded. I figured my mother wouldn't have liked to hear I knocked up a girl in high school.” He rubbed the back of his neck, throwing his head back pushing that memory away about the brand. “Besides she clearly wasn't the one for me. You are, Y/n L/n.”

“To be honest I’ve been waiting for you to say those words for a while, Kayce Dutton.” I turned to face the cowboy draping my arms around his neck nuzzling my nose against his own.

He grinned down at me, wrapping his arms around my waist tugging my body against his chest connecting his lips with my own. “Well I’ve been waiting far too long to call you wife, my darling, my Mrs. Dutton.” Leaning my body into the kiss we stumbled slightly into the wooden fence just getting lost in kissing the other.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Dark Vampire Lucifer au (Lilith is a Vampire too but she would be trying to gain Lucifer's affections and he would be constantly saying no to her):

An au where Adam is in a band, the Exorcists, with Emily, Lute, Vaggie, and Sera is their director/mother of the group. She books a gig in some backwater town but they would be getting paid a lot for it so Adam tries to gloss over how the town makes him feel off.

They came, they were greeted warmly, and the Mayor of that town even through a feast in their honor. Everyone is happy about the place except for Adam. Something...something is still off but he doesn't know what.

When they all settle in for the night, Adam falls into a fit full sleep. He's yanked from bed in the middle of the night along with everyone else and brought onto some stage. Everyone is bound in rope and gagged. Torches were lit, casting an eery glow. He's forced onto his knees when the Mayor yells, "As tradition, we bring forth sacrifices to the Beast. These sacrifices will bring us good fortune, bountiful crops, and firtle wombs."

The Mayor grabs Adam by his hair, who's the nearest to him, and nicks his face to draw his blood. "We summon the Beast!"

Adam whimpers as the whole town begins to chant. The sky becomes even darker due to the storm forming and Adam swore he could hear a deep chuckle. Suddenly, all the torches are blown at once, and a voice calls out, "Hmm....look at all these lovely sacrifices....all for me?"

Oh man! This is so good. @fanofstuff01 @beef-brisket

-

Adam could only see a pair of red eyes out in the darkness come closer, his heart was pounding he was so fucking scared. What the fuck was going on?! They were brought here to be fucking murdered and apparently eaten by some monster!

The eyes got even closer and Adam could hear the foot steps walk onto the wooden steps and creak the stage floor as he came to stand in front of all of them.

Lucifer grinned: My, you people have out done yourselves. Five at once? You're too kind.~

Adam watched as this..... Guy? He looked like a man but his eyes were blood red and glowing and his teeth..... Were those fangs?

When he saw him go to touch his sister Emily Adam couldn't let him.

Adam: MMHMPH!!

Adam internally: Don't touch my fucking sister you asshole!! I knew we shouldn't have fucking come here!

Lucifer snapped his gaze over to Adam which made the him shrink down a bit. Lucifer walked over and grinned down at him.

Oh, this one has a fire in him he can tell. He was cute too.

Hmm..... He wondered.....

Lucifer bent down and tapped Adam on the nose: You will be mine. The rest of you will feed my coven.

Lucifer turned and signaled the others to come and take the humans back to their nest. In one fell swoop he picked Adam up and slung him over his shoulder and walked away.

Adams eyes pricked with fresh tears, he didn't want to die.....

[shellbilee]

Hey There Darlin' - Chapter 10

A Glen Powell RPF Series

Warning: Smutttt, cursing

AN: Sorry it's been a while guys, I appreciate you all following along! I've just had some big work changes happen lately and they've taken all my energy and time. I'm hopeful to be back to regular posting soon! xx

Billie

“Thank you” Billie says to the server, taking the mimosa from her gratefully and gripping the glass in an effort to distract herself from the ticklish sensation of her pedicure.

She flashes an apologetic look to the spa therapist holding her foot when she still reflexively jumps a moment later, the woman looking up at her with an amused smile.

“This is literally the most fancy place I’ve ever been to” Billie says, taking a sip of her mimosa and turning to Sloane in the cushioned chair beside her.

“I know. It’s crazy isn’t it? I didn’t even know this place existed” Sloane remarks, sipping her own drink and relaxing back into the pillows.

Billie looks around the very exclusive spa, luxury and opulence dripping from every corner. It’s all polished stone and scandi-style wood, giant windows lining the walls that look out onto perfectly manicured, palm tree-lined gardens. Chelsea had invited twenty or so of her closest girlfriends, and of course had booked out the entire luxury space for a morning of indulgent pampering. The spa session was to include manicures and pedicures, scalp rubs and hydrating facials, finishing with an hour long, full body massage. 

From there, they were all headed to Beverly Hills where they’d participate in a pole dancing class, before getting their hair and makeup done and moving onto cocktails and dinner at an exclusive rooftop bar. Following that, the night was to finish off with more drinks and dancing at some exclusive LA club that Patrick apparently had connections to. It was like a bachelorette party straight out of a movie. 

Billie looks around the room again and watches some of the younger girls reaching for their next round of mimosas, two girls - who she thinks are Ellie and Isabelle, the best friends of Chelsea, each shooting a shot of tequila.

Billie can’t help the way she grimaces then, unable to think of anything worse than tequila shots, let alone tequila shots at twelve-thirty in the afternoon. With the day of events they had ahead of them, she was already betting that they wouldn’t be making it to dinner. 

“Hey girl” Sloane says, Billie turning back to find Bec walking over and sitting in the empty chair next to them. 

She’d been talking to Terri - her and Chelsea’s mother, and the rest of the ‘adults’ that had been invited along.

“You ok?” Billie asks, noting the tinge of concern colouring her best friend’s face.

Bec nods. “Yeah I’m fine. I just can't believe the level of extra Chels has gone to” she explains, gesturing with her hands to their surroundings, “I mean my bachelorette was fancy but this is just next level”.

Sloane laughs, leaning over in her chair as she sips her mimosa. “What did you do for yours?”

“We did a winery tour and stayed in a beachfront house down in Malibu” Bec explains, nodding her thanks to the server when a mimosa is suddenly brought over, “It was amazing. But nothing like this”.

All three of them turn when a cheer is heard across the room, looking over to find another round of tequila shots being downed.

“Did you have girls doing shots in the middle of the afternoon at yours?” Billie asks with a giggle, feeling her thirty-year old inner self shiver in disdain, “There’s no way those girls are making it to the club if they keep going like that”.

Bec laughs, shaking her head no, the three of them grinning at one another and apparently choosing to ignore the memories of their own antics when they were twenty-four.

Billie’s phone dings and she reaches to pick it up, smiling down at the screen when she sees it’s a text message from Glen. She taps at her phone, opening the message, a picture of Nugget and Brisket relaxing in his backyard filling the screen.

“Glen?”

Billie looks up and only smiles, answering Sloane’s question without words. She turns her phone around to show the girls, explaining that Glen was looking after Nugget today.

After a somewhat lazy morning, Billie had convinced Glen to go on a run with her - an easy two and a half mile around her neighbourhood. There’d been healthy competition between them, each teasing and pushing one another to go faster, eventually making it back home sweaty and laughing.

Cooling down with a post-run water in the kitchen, Billie had mentioned that she was worried about leaving Nugget all day, given Ryan and Lachlan - who would normally look after him, were away for the weekend celebrating their new found engagement. 

That had led to Glen suggesting that he take Nugget himself, offering to take him to his place for the day where Nugget and Brisket would undoubtedly tire each other out. Billie had immediately declined the offer, telling Glen that her eight-five pound golden canine was significantly more work than little Brisket, but Glen had insisted everything would be fine.

She’d eventually warmed to the idea after Glen had eased all of her potential concerns, finally accepting his offer.

“Wow he's already dog sitting after a week? I'm impressed Bil”

Billie laughs and rolls her eyes. “Shut up Sloane”

Sloane grins, teasing her. “What's he doing tonight?”

“Going out for a friend's birthday” Billie shares, looking at the two girls, “Actually, that friend is Chord Overstreet”

Bec raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Do you know where he's going?”

Billie shakes her head. “No, I didn't ask”.

“Why not?” Bec asks.

“You should meet him out somewhere” Sloane suggests at the same time, Bec immediately nodding in agreement.

“Nah, I don't want to be too clingy. I already spent last night with him” Billie says, taking another sip of her mimosa,  “And this morning” she adds after a moment, a sly grin pulling at her lips as she winks at her two friends.

Sloane wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“And how was it?”

Billie chuckles.

“Incredible”

“Just incredible?” Sloane presses, clearly wanting all the juicy details and making Billie grin.

“There are no words” she replies, sighing almost dreamily as thoughts of yesterday’s shower suddenly replays in her head, the scene quickly morphing into a replay of their post-run shower from this morning. 

“Girls, the sex is insane” Billie remarks, looking at Bec and Sloane in turn, “He’s just---, I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s because he’s just so fucking gorgeous and I’m just so attracted to him, or if----”

“If he's just that fucking good?” Sloane asks, finishing Billie’s sentence and making both Bec and Billie laugh.

“Yes or that” Billie replies, leaning back in her chair and shaking her head at her friends.

“It’s probably both” Bec exclaims, winking one big blue eye mischievously, “The man definitely knows what he’s doing. He’s Glen Powell for God’s sake” she adds, her voice dropping to a whisper when she says his name and giving a sideways glance at the women working on Billie and Sloane’s feet.

Billie smiles sheepishly, knowing that is absolutely the answer.

She looks back down at her phone, fingers tapping at the screen as she types out a reply.

😍😍

You've tired them out already?

Typing bubbles appear almost immediately and Billie can’t help the way her heart rate picks up instantly.

They did it themselves, they've barely stopped running since they got here

Billie grins, instantly thankful that she’d agreed to take Glen up on his offer.

Thank you again for this Glen, I really appreciate it!

You're most welcome darlin. Hope you're having fun

“Guys, take a photo with me” Billie says, opening her camera and holding it up in front of them.

Sloane and Bec both lean in, mimosas in hand, Billie snapping a quick selfie of the three of them. She looks down at the picture - Bec smiling happily, Sloane pouting sexily and Billie winking as she grins, sending it to Glen with a quick message.

Definitely not as much fun as my shower this morning but I’d say it’s pretty damn close 😉

---

Glen

Glen relaxes back into the lounge, taking a sip of his beer as he looks around the semi-crowded, exclusive rooftop club. It’s a typical Saturday night crowd - a mix of high profile people and social media influencers, several groups milling about the venue. Some are on the dancefloor in the centre of the club, swinging their hips to the heavy beat of the music, others drinking extravagant cocktails, talking and laughing in the many booths dotted around the edge of the rooftop.  

He looks over at his group seated on the u-shaped lounge, nodding at Chord sitting across from him and holding up his beer in silent cheers to his long time friend. He pulls his phone from his pocket and signals to Nick and Priyanka beside him, the rest of the group following suit and looking up at Glen’s phone. He snaps a group selfie - everyone smiling and laughing, looking over the photo before tagging his friends and uploading it to his Instagram.

He does a quick scroll through his notifications - majority of them fans reacting to his earlier posted story of Nugget and Brisket playing, most of them comments from people going wild thinking he’d adopted another dog. He skims over the words from his fans and smiles at their reactions, noting a comment from his sister Lauren laughing at Brisket’s attempts to wrestle with the much larger dog.

He flicks back to his feed screen and notices Billie’s profile bubble showing a new story, clicking on her picture and immediately sucking in his breath when a video starts to play.

It’s a clip of Billie and who he figures is some of the other girls at the bachelorette party, each of them standing next to a pole and wearing heels so high it hurts his feet just to look at them. He realises it’s them at the pole dancing class - some of them bouncing on the spot to the music, some of them grinning and laughing at one another as if they’re waiting to be counted in. Glen’s eyes are glued to Billie near the front of the class, running over her figure dressed only in a crop and tiny pair of shorts that accentuates her already perfectly, peachy ass. He fights the urge to groan out loud, immediately wishing she was here with him, every single muscle in his body suddenly contracting when the girls all start to move.

Fuck.

They move and dance in practised unison, tossing their hair and swinging their hips, grabbing at their poles and lifting themselves before they’re kicking their legs out and swinging around. Glen can’t look away, mouth falling slack as his eyes follow Billie’s every movement, watching her muscles flex as she slowly lowers to her knees. She grins sexily at the camera, sliding her hands teasingly down her near naked body, rolling onto her back and arching away from the floor in the most erotic way. In an instant Glen’s in his own little world, feeling like Billie’s dancing just for him, watching as she rolls and grinds her hips like a wicked vixen and leaving him practically drooling with want. 

All too soon the video is over and Glen has to reach down to readjust himself, subtly shifting on the lounge so that no one notices the suddenly growing erection in his jeans. 

He breathes out heavily, feeling his heart racing in his chest, reaching out and taking a sip of his beer in an attempt to settle his thoughts. All he wants to do is find Billie and take her home, lick every single inch of her perfect curves and fuck her into the sheets until she’s desperately screaming for him. 

He takes another drink and shifts his hips on the seat, fingers suddenly flying across the screen as he types a reply to her video.

Fuckin hell, darlin’ 🔥🔥🔥

I’m gonna get a pole installed at home so you can show me this in person.

He flicks through the rest of her Instagram story - a group shot of them at the class, of her, Sloane and Bec getting ready for their next event, of Billie and who Glen reasons must be Chelsea, the bride to be, grinning at the camera with cocktails in hand. She’d posted the last photo an hour ago - a full length shot of Billie, Sloane and Bec, dressed for a night out and dolled up gorgeously, the three standing with their arms intertwined and grinning happily at one another. 

Glen smiles down at his phone, looking over Billie, desperately wishing he was with her tonight. He already can’t wait to see her again, to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to kiss her perfect lips. There are so many things that he adores about her, things that make him smile stupidly whenever he thinks about them, things that make him wish she was with him whenever she wasn’t. 

He knows it’s more than just the sex too - and while that part is just as indulgently incredible as he could have wanted, he knows there’s more to the way he thinks and feels about Billie, something deeper, something building. He also knows that he probably shouldn’t be feeling these things about a girl so soon, that voicing any of this a week after seeing someone is a sure fire way to make it all come crashing down. But still, for a thousand reasons that he can't even list, he just can’t seem to get enough of her.

Glen puts down his phone and takes another drink, finishing his beer and turning to listen to his friends chatting beside him - one of them telling the group about her newest role on an upcoming netflix mini series. 

“Another round?”

Glen looks over to see his friend Jay gesturing to the bar across the way, nodding at him in question. Glen tips his head in silent agreement, asking the group for their orders before they both stand and make their way over to the bar. Standing in line, Glen and Jay are in deep conversation about the upcoming football season when Glen feels a tap on his shoulder, turning to find two attractive women standing behind him and smiling up at him flirtatiously.

“Hi, Glen?” the first girl says, her long blonde hair pulled back in a slick ponytail that that cascades down one shoulder and makes her look like Barbie, “I’m Tiffany, and this is Pia” she says gesturing to her equally pretty friend beside her, the other girl tipping her head when Glen smiles at her.

“Hi” Glen replies, nodding politely and looking at each of them in turn, “Nice to meet you both”.

“We were just wondering if we could get a photo?” Tiffany asks, gesturing to her phone and flashing Glen a dazzling smile. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Of course”

Tiffany hands the phone to Jay and Glen steps back beside the girls, the two posing on each side of him and leaning in close. He can smell their spicy perfume, the scent tickling his nose as he keeps his touch high on their backs, smiling at Jay when he holds the camera up and snaps a photo of the three of them. 

“Thank you” Tiffany says, taking her phone from Jay and turning back to Glen with another charming grin and looking around, “Are you here with anyone?”

Glen nods, “Yeah. I’m here with some friends for a birthday” he answers, as always wanting to give as little information as possible.

“Oh yeah? Where are you sitting?”

Glen offers a polite tight lipped smile, gesturing in a vague direction to the other side of the rooftop, “Oh, just over there. There’s a big group of us”.

Glen breathes out through his nose silently, searching his brain for something he can say to wind up the conversation. He’s been in this situation several hundred times, and on any other occasion he probably would have been flattered and engaged both of them further. Still, as attractive as they both are, the thought of talking with another woman that isn’t Billie makes Glen’s stomach flip in the worst way.

Obviously noting his nonchalance, Tiffany flashes another smile and leans in close to him, her hand finding his arm and squeezing gently.

“Well, we’re sitting just over there” she presses in a sultry voice, pointing to a booth to the side where two glammed-up girls are currently sitting and talking, “So if you get lonely and want some company, you know where to find us”

Glen nods, offering another small, polite smile when she pulls away and winks at him, Pia offering her own dazzling smile as they both step away.

Glen exhales heavily and turns back to Jay, opening his mouth to comment on his encounter only to find Jay deep in conversation with a girl beside him. He chuckles at his friend, taking advantage of the quick moment of peace and pulling his phone from his pocket. To his surprise and delight, there’s a message from Billie, responding to his previous reply to her video.

Just so you know, there's typically a charge for private dances 😉

Glen grins down at the screen, typing a quick comeback to her witty words.

I wouldn't expect it to be free. I’m sure we could work out some sort of trade.

He steps forward as the bar line moves, glancing down at his phone as her next message pops up.

A trade sounds interesting… what did you have in mind?

Glen’s grin grows wider and he clicks his tongue, all manner of ideas instantly flying through his mind. He loves their teasing, flirty banter - just another one of the things he adores about Billie. 

well, my face between your thighs for an extended period of time would be my first offer…

He imagines her face right now - the way she’d be smiling stupidly at her phone, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly in that way he loves, his own lips stretching wider as her answer pops up on the screen.

hmm, that IS awfully tempting. But what would the second offer be?

Glen chuckles, biting his lip as he types again, sweetening the deal.

My face between your thighs for an extended period of time AND breakfast in bed?

Oh you drive a hard bargain, Mr Powell.

He runs his tongue along his teeth, typing again. 

So it’s a deal then?

Her response is immediate and he can't help the laugh that escapes him when he reads her reply.

🤝😍

He laughs and shakes his head, typing another message as he steps forward in the bar queue.

How’s your night going otherwise darlin?

Really good actually! The girls and I are all holding strong, the younger girls not so much haha. We just got to the club so I’m very ready for a dance! 😍

A photo comes through after her message, Glen clicking on it so that it takes up his whole screen. It’s a selfie of Billie, her teeth flashing in a sultry, gorgeous smile, her hazel eyes lined with a dark shimmery charcoal and looking even brighter than usual. Her skin looks smooth and flawless, glowing from makeup tricks that he’s consistently perplexed about even despite regularly having it applied to his own face. He can’t quite see her outfit but he can see the enticing tease of cleavage beneath pink straps, deciding from his own up close experience with her breasts that she can’t be wearing a bra underneath her dress.

He can’t help the expletive that falls from his mouth then , feeling his still semi-hard arousal twitch in his pants.

You’re fuckin stunning, peach

Thanks handsome 😘

Glen exhales and puts his phone away, not wanting to bother her anymore on her night out. She looks utterly stunning, and he knows that if she were here right now he’d be all over her in a heartbeat. 

He looks up when Jay turns back to him, the girl he was talking to having since left, but not before sharing her number with him. Jay wiggles his eyebrows when he shows Glen the newly added contact named ‘Tara’ on his phone, Glen laughing as they both finally reach the bar and order their next round of drinks.

“Oh wow. Here comes the parties”

Glen frowns at his friend before following Jay’s eyeline over his shoulder, turning to see a small sea of girls dressed in varying shades of pink filtering through the entrance. One girl among the masses is dressed in white sequined mini dress, a short veil perched on her long honey coloured curls and quickly identifying her as a bride to be.

“They must know someone at the club” Glen reasons out loud, knowing that the exclusive nature of the lounge meant that parties were very rarely allowed entry.

He looks over the new group of patrons, noting with a smirk that he’s not the only one who’s noticed them - several groups of guys around the club are now looking over the bachelorette party with eager interest like hungry lions to a group of grazing antelope. He chuckles and shakes his head, turning back to the bartender and nodding his thanks when she serves up half a dozen beers, telling them that she’ll bring the rest of the cocktails over to them.

They make their way back to the booth with drinks in hand, Glen passing them around before sitting down next to Chord and tapping his glass with his. He glances over at the now surging dancefloor - made busier by the club’s newest guests and the change in music to pop classics of the late 90’s, admiring the masses of swinging hips, exposed skin and cocktail-fueled, shouted singing before turning back to his group and laughing along with their conversation.

---

Glen steps out of the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him, rounding the corner and offering a polite smile to an oncoming woman as they side step one another in the corridor.

“Glen?”

He does a double take before he stops in his tracks, frowning as he looks down at the woman and searches his brain to place her. If she was a fan she’d have said his whole name, but saying only his first name told him that she somehow knew him personally.

Her face softens into a smile as she looks at his confusion, and in an instant the familiarity of her expression sinks in like a piece in a puzzle.

“Bec?” he says, immediately recognising Billie's friend and shaking his head incredulously, “What are you doing here?”

Her smile stretches into a grin when he says her name, a soft laugh leaving her lips. 

“We’re here for my sister’s bachelorette” she explains, pointing to the white glittery sash slung over her shoulder that says Maid of Honour and making Glen want to kick himself for not realising the very obvious answer.

“This was the last stop of the night, drinks and dancing” she adds with a laugh, gesturing towards the main area before looking back at Glen curiously, “What about you, what are you doing here?”

As the sheer coincidence of it all settles in his thoughts, a realisation dawns and immediately takes over his brain. 

“I’m here for my friend's birthday” Glen replies quickly, aware that his heart has suddenly begun racing in chest, his insides squirming in anticipation.

He’s asking the question before he can really think about it, the words blurting out of his mouth before he can even stop himself.

“Is Billie here?”

Bec’s face somehow splits into an even bigger grin at the mention of her friend, her silky, pale brown hair swishing as she nods. 

“She’s on the dancefloor with Sloane”

Glen manages to suppress the grin that threatens to take over his entire face then. “Do you think she’ll mind if I come and say hello?”

Bec laughs, looking up at Glen with amused eyes. “I think she’ll mind if you don’t”

They both laugh, smiling back at one another for a moment before Bec is pointing over her shoulder at the women's toilet door.

“Give me a second to use the bathroom and I’ll take you over to them?”.

Glen nods and steps back to let her pass, suddenly feeling giddy with excitement.

Billie.

He can’t believe she’s here - that out of all the places in LA, she’d by some miracle managed to end up at the same club he was at. What were the chances of that?

Glen inhales deeply, letting the air expand his lungs before he’s breathing out again, leaning his head back against the corridor wall and closing his eyes to savour the moment.

“So it seems you were lonely after all”

His eyes flash open to find Tiffany, the girl from earlier, standing in front of him and leaning against the wall suggestively, her lashes fluttering as she looks up at him. He does his best to control his disappointed expression, offering a half-hearted ‘hey’ as she steps closer to him and once again puts her hand on his arm.

“C’mon, my friend is just at that table over there” she presses again, long ponytail flicking as she points over to a booth just outside the corridor and squeezes his forearm, “Let us buy you a drink”.

He clears his throat, trying to decide on how to decline in the gentlest possible way, opening his mouth to say as much when he’s beaten by the sound of the bathroom door shutting behind him.

“Alright I’m back” Bec’s voice says suddenly, interrupting the interaction as she appears beside Glen, “You ready?”

Glen watches Bec take in the scene in front of her, her eyes landing on Tiffany’s hand and travelling along her arm until she’s looking at the blonde’s face. They stare at each other for a moment, silent and assessing - Glen's years of growing up with two sisters instantly alerting him to the unspoken communication between the two women. All of a sudden he feels like he's walked into a lion's den, exhaling silently as he looks between both of them. He watches Bec's lips suddenly stretch into an all too sweet smile at Tiffany - a smile that he’s immediately certain is anything but sweet underneath, Tiffany’s hand quickly slipping from his arm as her expression morphs into a scowl that makes him think of angry Barbie.

Glen clears his throat, the sound cutting through the invisible tension like a knife, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair as he looks down at Bec.

“Ready when you are Bec”

She's still looking across at Tiffany - her smile somehow even wider than before, eventually breaking her gaze and turning to Glen, gesturing for him to come with her.

He offers Tiffany a polite, almost apologetic smile, nodding before he moves and follows Bec out of the bathroom corridor. He exhales loudly when they step out into the main area and back into the pulsing bass of the DJ, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks down at Bec beside him.

“So that must get annoying sometimes” Bec comments without looking at him, pausing for a moment to scan the dancefloor, “You know, when you just want to be out and minding your own business?”

Glen shrugs, acutely aware of the protective, older sister tone that's suddenly taken over her voice.

“It does get old sometimes. But unfortunately, it’s part of the territory”

She turns to him but doesn’t say anything, and for a split second Glen swears he sees her eyes narrow slightly - all of a sudden unable to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being silently measured up. 

He watches as she smooths down her baby pink dress and turns back to the dancefloor, scanning the crowd once again before gesturing for Glen to follow her. He smiles when her walking immediately transforms into dancing, her hips swishing to the beat of the Britney Spears song that's playing as they step onto the floor and move through the sea of people. Glen scans the crowd around them, searching for Billie ahead of them, his stomach a pit of nervous excitement and simmering anticipation knowing he’s only seconds away from finding her.

It’s then that he spots them - two girls just up ahead, swinging their hips and throwing their arms up, dancing just separate to the rest of the pink-clad group beside them. His eyes fall to the taller of the two with her back to him, a short slip dress made of glittery, rose pink mesh-like material draped over her luscious curves like a silky waterfall. The dress is completely backless save for two thin straps that criss-cross over her lower back, a slit on one side of her leg that nearly shows her hip bone whenever she moves a certain way. He can see a tattoo in the centre of her upper back, the finely drawn, intricately detailed inked flowers that he’s slowly becoming more than familiar with suddenly coming into view as he steps closer.

Billie.

The second he realises it's her, the more the familiarity of the rest of her settles into his brain. The enticing slope of her waist into her ass, her long, toned legs, her buttery smooth, tanned skin. He exhales as he looks over her, feeling his pants tighten almost reflexively at the sight.

She looks fucking incredible.

He sees Sloane dancing beside Billie, the smile on her face growing when she spots Bec returning to them on the dancefloor. Glen can’t help his laugh when Bec enthusiastically points at him beside her as if to say ‘look who I found’, Sloane’s eyes lighting up when she looks across and recognises Glen.

He grins at her, nodding his hello, watching as she immediately starts to dance into an oblivious Billie and forcing her backwards into him. He chuckles when Sloane winks mischievously, and he makes a mental note to thank both Bec and Sloane for once again for being the ultimate wing women.

He smells Billie’s coconut scented shampoo the second she invades his space, unable to stop the grin that’s taken over his entire face when she backs up into him. He watches as she whips around, her hands held up in gestured apology, her gorgeous, hazel eyes widening when she realises exactly who it is that she’s just bumped into. 

The way her eyes light up, the way her lips stretch into the most breathtaking smile, the way her whole face transforms into a picture of utter happiness. In one quick moment, every single thought in Glen’s mind is blank save for thoughts of Billie and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than right here with her. 

“Hey darlin’”

“Glen!” Billie beams, blinking up at him incredulously and immediately reaching for his arms, “What are you doing here?”.

“I’m here with my friends. Coincidentally, this is where Chord’s birthday is” Glen explains, bending down to speak in her ear and unable to stop himself from pressing a fleeting kiss to her jaw just below her ear. 

He watches as Billie shakes her head in almost disbelief, her expression a mix of shock, confusion and absolute delight. Glen reaches for her hand and twirls her around, his eyes taking in the rest of her now that he can actually see all of her.

The front of her is just as sexy as the back, the dress’ loose cowl neckline allowing him a perfect view straight down her chest and confirming his earlier thoughts that she's wearing nothing beneath the glittery material. Her outfit leaves little to the imagination and for a moment all he can think about is undoing the tiny straps and watching the dress slip from her skin and pool at her feet. 

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous, Billie”

Billie practically beams at him, moving her hands to his chest, Glen pulling her closer and sliding his hands down to her hips. He swears he feels her shiver then, his fingers teasing the skin just beneath the short hem of her dress, leaning down so that his lips are at her ear again.

“I don't want to take over your night, I just wanted to come over and say hey” he breathes just loud enough for her to hear, loving the way her fingers flex against his chest as if she's just as affected by him as he is by her, “Come find me later?”

She grins and nods, Glen twirling her around again and looking over her once more, fighting the urge to action his explicitly sinful thoughts and instead flashing her a wolfish smile that he knows she can see right through.

She returns his smile and he immediately thinks all kinds of things that he definitely shouldn’t be thinking in the middle of a crowded club, shooting her a final wink before turning and making his way off the dance floor. He walks across the venue and back towards his friends, instantly wondering how he’s possibly going to be able to concentrate on anything else but her for the rest of the night. 

“Where have you been?” Chord asks when he sits down in the booth, holding up a fresh beer that Glen takes with a grateful nod.

“I found a friend on the dancefloor”

Chord raises one suggestive eyebrow, looking at Glen with amused suspicion, “A friend?”

Glen laughs. “A girl” he says, pausing to take a sip of his beer, “A girl I’ve just started seeing”.

Chord grins teasingly, pressing for more information.

“I met her last week at Rufus” Glen says, nearly shouting over the heavy bass of the new song that’s just come on, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair.

“What's her name?”

“Billie”

Chord takes a drink of his whiskey, tilting his head as he looks at Glen. “Do I know of her?”

Glen shakes his head no, and Chord flashes him a knowing look that only friends can communicate through.

Glen clears his throat, unable to help himself from sharing more.

“She's incredible man. It's been a week and I'm already mad for her”

Chord chuckles. “Wow, the sex that good is it?”

Glen laughs, shaking his head, a grin taking over his entire face. “You have no fucking idea”

They both laugh and Chord holds up his glass, Glen clinking his beer against his before they both drink to their cheers.

Glen lets out a breath and relaxes back into the lounge, tapping his fingers against his beer bottle and glancing over his shoulder at the dancefloor across the way.

---

Several rounds of drinks later, Glen is feeling a little drunk. 

A little drunk is perhaps an understatement. Moderately drunk. Sort of intoxicated.

Numerous beers and several shots have left his inhibitions lowered and his thoughts fuzzy - fuzzy, but filled with thoughts of one thing and one thing only.

Billie.

His group has gotten progressively more lively too - also emboldened by several rounds of birthday shots and cocktails, so when the music suddenly turns into a slow r&b song and they’re dragging him onto the dancefloor, he barely fights the grip on his arm and lets them lead him towards the heavy, sensual bass. 

The instant he steps onto the dancefloor he’s scanning the pulsing crowd for Billie, suddenly unable to think of anything he wants more than to feel her body pressed up against his. He finds her a few seconds later, dancing near the centre of the crowd with Bec and Sloane, her hips grinding to the beat as she tosses her head in time with the music. She looks carefree and sexy and everything his alcohol tinged brain wants right now, and before he can even think about it he’s dancing through the masses towards her.

He sees her turn and swing her hips, tossing her long chocolate curls and smiling over her shoulder, her face suddenly lighting up when she spots him walking towards her. Glen’s acutely aware of two guys dancing just behind Billie and Sloane - their intentions definitely mirroring his own, Glen shooting a charged look of unspoken warning at the one closest to Billie as he closes the distance to her and reaches for her hand. 

In one quick moment, all he can think about is tanned, glowy skin and perfect, luscious curves.

“Hey you” Billie greets when Glen pulls her in close to him, leaning in and bringing her lips to his ear, “Come to dance with me have you?”

Glen grins, his hands reflexively moving to the thickest part of her hips, the tips of his fingers brushing the skin just below the hem of her short dress. 

“Just couldn’t stop thinking about you darlin’”

Billie grins, her lips parting gorgeously and her hazel eyes bright as she looks up at him. “Well that makes two of us”

The song changes to something slower, darker, dirtier, and Billie doesn’t miss a beat - turning in Glen's arms so that her back is pressed against his chest and her ass is flush against him. In one quick moment all the blood in his body rushes straight to his cock and for the second time tonight he’s fighting his growing arousal in the middle of a crowded club.

She’s rocking side to side in time with the heavy music, her ass rolling and grinding and making Glen so painfully hard that he’s certain there’s no way she can’t feel him behind her. Billie’s head falls back against his shoulder and she reaches up to link her hands behind his head, Glen’s hands slipping lower until his fingers are nearly teasing the slit on the hip of her dress. Glen dips his face to her shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent and pressing a lingering kiss to her collarbone, looking down her body and groaning at the view of her tits under the shimmery pink fabric. All of a sudden he wishes he was anywhere but here - somewhere alone with Billie so that he could have his mouth on her nipples and his hands all over her naked skin.

Glen is practically panting, his heart hammering in his chest, his entire body on fire. He knows Billie feels the same as he teases his fingers along her thighs, each one of her satisfied sighs only stirring him on more as he whispers in her ear how fucking good she feels and how damn sexy she is. Glen feels like they’re in their own little world despite them being in the middle of a crowded dance floor, Billie’s body pressed against his so tight there isn’t an inch of space between them.

Fuck.

Eventually the song ends and Billie unwraps herself from Glen, Glen taking advantage of the opportunity and leading her off the dancefloor. He’s desperate to kiss her, to taste her, to have her lips pressed against his own, desperate to have her all to himself so he can show her just how badly he wants her. He spots an empty lounge in the back corner away from the busiest part of the club, feeling Billie’s grip tighten around his hand as she lets him guide her towards it.

His mouth is on hers before either of them can even sit, Glen licking into her mouth as she kisses him back eagerly. He lifts her legs across his lap and cups the side of her throat with his hand, Billie all but whimpering into his mouth when his free hand grips roughly at her naked thigh. There’s a fire behind his ribs - suddenly raging in his insides, every single fibre in his body burning with a decadent desire to consume every single part of Billie.

At some point they pull apart - and Glen’s intoxicated mind can’t even tell how long they’ve been kissing, his lungs burning as he looks back at Billie’s dark, hooded eyes. He’s warm, too warm, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, his mind foggy from a mixture of too many beers and his absolute craving for Billie. His cock is straining against his jeans and pressed against her thigh, every small shift of her on top of him sending his body further into overdrive.

“I’m so fucking hard for you, peach” Glen breathes, loving the responsive little moan she lets out at the sound of his words in his ear, “Please let me take you home, Billie. I need to take you home”

He bends and kisses her neck while he waits for her reply - her skin sweet, intoxicating and deliciously addictive, Billie’s hands gripping his biceps in a way that he knows is an answer without words. His eyes lift to meet hers - hers, gorgeous and glossy with want, and he can’t help the way every single one of his deep muscles squeezes when she nods her head yes.

“Just let me tell the girls I’m leaving” Billie sighs, nearly panting as she fumbles for her bag and phone on the plush material beneath them.

Glen busies himself with pressing kisses along her jaw and down her throat, his fingers gripping the fat of her thigh as Billie types on her phone. A small moan escapes her throat when he reaches the space just beneath her right ear, and he somehow makes a mental note in his inebriated brain to remember that for later on. 

He loves that she’s just as affected by him as he is by her - the decadent desire to have her all over him and everywhere, to be buried inside her, thick, deep and heavy, over and over, and over again. 

He smiles against her skin when he hears her curse his name out loud, her voice soft and breathy in that way that he finds so desperately irresistible. It all but ruins him, and it takes everything he has to remember that they’re in the middle of a crowded LA club and not at home alone in his bedroom.

The sound of a giggle rumbles in her throat and he forces himself away from her skin for just a moment, following her eyeline to her screen and squinting to focus on the words on her phone.

Bec: Get it girl! Be safe 🩷

Sloane: You better ride him good B! 😉🍆

Glen chuckles before he bends to kiss her again - needing to have his mouth on some part of her, holding the back of her head still as he captures her mouth in a hungry, near bruising kiss. It makes him dizzy - the indulgent feeling wrapping around his spine and making his skin prickle in the best way.

He feels Billie’s hands on his face and before long she’s pulling away from him, her lips red and kiss-swollen and so sexy it makes him want to groan. He loves that she’s practically panting - that both of their chests are heaving in their joined embrace, her usually bright hazel eyes now dark and lust blown in a way that he’s certain mirrors his own.

She smiles as she looks at him - soft and sensual and making everything inside him burn hotter, her eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips and back again. 

“Take me home, handsome”

----

Glen has no idea how he and Billie didn't just fuck in the Uber back to his house.

It was all lips and tongues, wandering hands and near silent moans, Glen's fingers teasing beneath Billie's sinfully short dress at some point to find her thighs already hot, wet and deliciously wanting.

And fuck if that hadn't taken every ounce of self control he had not to bend down and bury his head between her legs - Uber driver be damned.

Glen’s raging hard, so hard it almost hurts, that when they finally arrive at his address he's practically bursting out of the car and sucking in lungfuls of the cool night air like a panting dog after a run. 

His mouth is on Billie the moment they’re through his front door - Glen pressing her up against the nearest wall and devouring her throat with his lips, his arousal forced up against her pelvis in an attempt to feel some kind of relieving friction.

In an instant Brisket and Nugget are bouncing happily at their feet at the return of their owners, Glen and Billie somehow mustering enough restraint to break apart for just a moment to greet their excited animals. They manage to settle the boys in lightning speed, Glen immediately wrapping Billie in his arms and latching his mouth back to hers in a heated, feverish kiss.

He slides his hands down underneath her dress and grips the ample, peachy flesh of her ass, lifting her into his embrace and nearly growling when she wraps her legs around his waist and presses flush against his raging arousal.

He’s delirious - drunk off alcohol and the addictive smell, taste and feel of Billie, wanting, no, needing to have more of her as he kicks off his shoes and navigates blindly through his house. She’s already working the buttons on his shirt, having undone all of them by the time he sets her down on her feet in his bedroom, Billie pushing his shirt off his shoulders and grabbing at his newly naked chest

Glen slides his hands to her neck and down to her shoulders taking the shoelace thin straps of her dress with him - pulling away from her swollen lips in time to see the glittery pink material slip down her skin like a shimmering waterfall and pooling at her feet. 

It’s then that Glen actually takes a step back to admire the stunning woman in front of him - letting out a heavy, shaking breath and biting down on his fist as his eyes rake over her perfect form before him. Standing there in nothing but a pair of string-thin purple panties with her skin flushed and glowing, her tits soft and perky and her hair long and tumbling down her shoulders, she looks nothing short of a goddess and Glen feels like he’s going to spontaneously combust. 

“Fuuuuck Billie. You’re gorgeous”

She smiles at him - soft and kitten-like, sensual and devious, and it’s all it takes to have Glen kicking off his shoes and undoing his belt, his eyes never leaving hers as he takes her hand and pulls her towards him.

He kisses her then, hard, fast and hungry, his free hand roaming her naked flesh as her sweet scent takes over his senses and sparking something primal deep inside his core. He lays back on the bed and pulls Billie down with him, her legs falling to the sides so that she’s sitting over his torso and looking down at him with dark, glossy eyes.

He’s so fucking turned on, every single part of him hot and throbbing with addictive desire, to have her, to take her, to feel her until she’s begging him to stop.

“Sit on my face peach, I wanna taste you so bad”

Billie lets out a sound that he can only describe as a whimper mixed with a moan - like she’s going to fall apart from just his words, Glen’s grip on her luscious hips firm as he guides her up his body until her legs are on either side of his face.

He smells her arousal instantly, and he doesn’t miss the darker patch of purple on her thong, his tongue reflexively wetting his lips as he looks at her covered sex. He swears he’s never been more turned on than he is at this very moment, his whole body practically vibrating as Billie straddles his face.

He reaches up and gingerly pulls the silky material aside - unable to stop the growl of wanton approval that instinctively rumbles in his chest at what he finds. 

She’s fucking glistening, sopping wet and waiting for him, the sight of her perfect pink folds making him involuntarily buck his hips into the air, his grip on her hips digging so tight he’s sure he’s hurting her.

Fuck.

“Are you sure?” Billie asks, a hint of hesitation colouring her breathy voice - Glen not missing the way her hips are already subtly grinding as she hovers just above him.

Glen swallows thickly. 

He’s never been more sure of anything in his fucking life.

He doesn’t answer - too far gone in his thoughts about what he’s about to do to Billie, instead gripping at her buttery skin and pulling her down onto his waiting tongue. 

---

Previous Chapter

TAGLIST:

@angclvings @auntiegigi @friedchips-blog @memories-in-bw @maeleelee @jessicab1991 @bellaireland1981 @queenslandlover-93 @itsjustkhaos @kneelforloki @djs8891 @lovemesomevesey @entertainmentgirl80 @buckysteveloki-me @stankface @fore45fore @sqrlgrrl2 @mrsevans @stinkerbelle007 @smoothdogsgirl @alwayshave-faith @marvelouslyme96 @meldizzzle @winterassassin1804

[catboybiologist]

The WOKE TRANSGENDER MOB is taking yet another FEMBOY ICON

Fucking bullshit. Fucking BULLSHIT. The woke mob is now saying that beloved femboy icon, CatboyBiologist, is trans and will be medically transitioning. First brisket and now this? Why doesn’t everything conform to the image that I formed in my head for my own benefit? This is forced diversity at its finest.

Look at these absolutely deranged quotes that they’ve CLEARLY forced him to say:

“I didn’t like being masculine from the onset of puberty, and being a ‘femboy’ was a valuable part of figuring out what exactly I wanted to do with that feeling. I’ve been figuring things out for a while, and I currently have appointments lined up to start HRT by the end of this month (August 2023).”

Have they no limits? Have they no shame? CLEARLY this is a fake flag by the sjw communist animal farm 1984 alphabet soup mafia elites to trans the gender of the most cisgender person in existence. It’s abundantly clear that once you represent your gender expression in a particular way, it is completely static and never changes. Exploration is strictly off limits. You’re only a real transgender if your mother gives birth in the endocrinologists office and you get your HRT prescription at 23 seconds old, otherwise you’re a filthy AGP cuck.

As we all know, femboys exist so that I can jack off to men and claim “it’s still straight if it’s femboys bro”, allowing me to ignore my deeply repressed bisexuality. If no femboy is safe from the transing of the genders, then how will I be able to have an outlet for my attraction to men? Finding community and healthily expressing it in a way that doesn’t involve me fetishizing gender nonconformity and unhealthily bottling up my queerness? Fucking disgusting.

We all know that there’s absolutely no precedent for using gender nonconforming cultural trends to explore ones identity before transitioning. That’s why every drag queen has always been a 100% cis man and none have ever pursued transition ever.

Clearly the goal here is to erase feminine men and convert boys into the alphabet mafia. As a someone who regularly jacks off to femboys, I have personally appointed myself as the authority on all things related to gender nonconformity, and I refuse to bow down to the wokeness that is queer people who actually go outside. As this authority, I know from my depths of experience mindlessly scrolling through anime femboys online that femboys are a completely different thing than the lgbtqiaabcdefg rabble, and that they’re based whereas real gay people and gender nonconforming people are cringe. Absolutely no overlap exists between trans people and the gender nonconforming cis people whatsoever. With this authority and knowledge, I have pledged to personally divide and destroy any semblance of queer unity present in the online microcosms I find myself in. And because of this, I have to speak out against this trans agenda.

BULLSHIT I say. They’re transing the genders of the femboys and I won’t stand for it.

[pocketsizedq]

You're going to be a good dad!

Request:Dad Turcs where he isn’t a dad yet but his wife is pregnant. I don’t have anything else specific in mind.

Word Count:853

Alex had just gotten home from practice to find you laying on the couch which was now a more of a daily occurrence to find you as that was the only place you could get comfortable now being in your third trimester with your guys first kid which you both found out at a recent appointment that it was going to be a little girl. He was stoked about it.

He carefully closed the door making sure not to wake you up as he knew you had a hard time finding rest so far into your pregnancy. Alex started to remove his shoes, putting them on the rack by the door while doing so, laying his keys in the dish by the door before making his way over to your sleeping figure. The boy slowly squatted down to become face to face with your sleeping one slowly reaching his left hand up to gently rub his thumb over your cheek bone with a soft smile on his face.

He slowly brought his hand down to rub your exposed swollen stomach. Alex could feel his smile wide even bigger when he felt his little girl kick his hand but he did have a small worry that it would wake you up so he looked back up at you to notice you were still fast asleep so he places a gentle kiss on your forehead still with beaming.

Alex continued to rub your bump gently watching you sleep just admiring his beautiful wife and the mother of his child. He would every now and then place kisses on your nose which slowly woke you up from your slumber. You slowly start to stretch which scares alex little which makes him stand up and remove his hand from your bump.

“Oh Princess, Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to if I did.” He spoke softly to you trying not to scare you while gently running his fingers through your hair watching you rub the sleep out of your eyes trying to get your eyes to adjust to the light.

You slowly shake your head letting out a yawn saying “when did you get home?.” He helps you sit up brushing your hair out of your eyes, squatting down resting his hands on either side of your knees.

“Not too long ago baby. Have you eaten yet?.” still having the soft tone he was speaking with before to which you shake your head yes but then spoke up “you know i can always eat again. This little girl keeps me hungry.” He lets out a soft chuckle at your response kissing your head before pulling out his phone.

“What do my girls want to eat?” He spoke, pulling up doordash on his phone, moving his glazes from his phone to looking at you, putting his other hand that was not holding his phone on your bump gently rubbing your stomach.

“Hm..” you think for a moment before saying “Tacos.” which was honestly funny as that has been your main craving throughout your whole pregnancy to the point that Alex has made you Taco at three in the morning just to make you and the baby happy which he would do anything to keep you both happy.

“I should have known it would be tacos.” He softly chuckles before saying “same place baby?” to which you answer with a nod as you now have a go to taco place since finding out you were pregnant which was a family owned business that made amazing brisket tacos.

Alex puts in the order in on doordash after doing so setting his phone down turning his attention to you saying “it has been ordered. Now baby, what do you want to do?” You carefully stand up to which he quickly takes your hand into his hand helping you stand up putting his other hand on your bump.

“Let’s watch a movie in bed and cuddle?” you questioned him looking up at him to which he spoke “sounds like a plan babygirl.” Alex helped you to the bedroom noticing that your clothes that you had on were actually his.

You had on one of his plain black tee shirts with a pair of his gray sweats to which he found you absolutely adorable in them. He helps you lay down in the bed before handing you the remote making his way to the closet to get into something more comfortable.

After Alex got changed into something more comfortable he made his way back to the bed getting into the bed on his side and noticed you had put on a random romcom which made him chuckle but he doesn't say anything about it.

He made sure you had everything you needed before he got into bed so Alex pulled you into his arms holding you close to him kissing your head gently rubbing your bump with a smile on his face so happy you were the one carrying his baby. He just held you close whispering sweet nothings into your ear while you guys wait for your tacos to arrive.

[frances-baby-houseman]

After 30 minutes of adam's entire family standing at the door doing a jewish goodbye, I did an irish goodbye and just walked through the door and walked home by myself and didn't actually say goodbye to anyone.

no one not one person ate a single bite of my cake and also I have an entire pan of brisket left bc my mother in law made a fucking TURKEY? and I am very tired.

Anyway it was mostly a lovely new year but now I'm grumpy bc these people don't like cake.

[mariacallous]

Several years ago, I invited my new boyfriend to Yom Kippur at my aunt’s house. He didn’t need convincing – I think he adored my family early on – but to entice him further I made sure he knew what was on offer.

Bagels. Cream cheese. Lox.

Let’s just say he showed up on time. I knew my aunt would be thrilled when he devoured the pickled herring. (He earned similar accolades when he asked for seconds of gefilte fish at Passover.)

Jewish food, he says, is just a hop, skip and a jump from the Scandinavian food he grew up with. “It’s like the foods of my people. Foods of your people, foods of our people.”

Apart from being poetic, it was a very Jewish thing for him to say.

Now my husband, Brad is definitively non-Jewish by all religious standards. His father was raised in a big Irish Catholic family and his mother, raised in the Midwest, is of Scandinavian descent. He was the first non-Jewish person I’d met with his own proclivity for pickled fish and smoked salmon.

Among the items he always kept in his pantry — before he met me and still today — are tinned fish and Triscuits, often eaten as a meal. He and I have been on a year-long journey of finding the best “real rye bread” within driving distance in the greater Metrowest area of Boston. (Haven’t found it yet.)

To say that he embraces all things Jewish is obvious. That he loves me is only part of the reason; another is the food. 

My grandmother always had enough food to feed an army, no matter whether it was Shabbat, Passover or Tuesday. I watched as Brad became accustomed to the foods we loved and the leftovers we take pride in sharing: the containers left on the table after Yom Kippur for extra brisket, the paper bags for challah and rugelach.

But he’s taught us about food, too. Our family text chain is called “Smashburgers Unite” because of my family’s newfound favorite meal, brought to us by my husband. A better cook than I (a generous understatement), he loves cooking projects. 

At that point, my biggest cooking project I’d taken on was making latkes for Hanukkah.

It had been my job for years. I’d shove the potatoes in the Cuisinart, wring them out as best I could, and do my best guesswork with how much egg, matzah meal, onion and salt should go in. Then I’d stand at the stove and fry them, the kitchen filling with that wonderful greasy-spoon smell, as the rest of my family arrived. I laid them out as they were done, always in an inadvertent ombre from light to dark as the oil, and my patience, decreased. 

So for Brad’s first Hanukkah with us, I told him — who once made a BBQ for 40 people with no help from anyone — that I (and, by proxy, he) was in charge of latkes.

“Cool,” he said. His indifference both alarmed and relieved me. 

“It’s more work than you think,” I said.

I should have known he’d have better tricks  for peeling massive amounts of Russet potatoes and draining their water (cheesecloth! The man I’m dating owns cheesecloth?!), adding cornstarch to help the eggs adhere better to the mix, and adding enough salt so they actually tasted good. He added seasonings like zaatar, onion powder and garlic powder. He showed me how to wait until all the oil – way more than I was used to adding for frying – was shimmering, and to be patient while each side cooked.

I think he wanted to add a shallot.

“It’s not traditional,” I said.

“So?” he said.

He had a point.

The latkes that year were a hit. My family made sure he knew that it was now his task for life. They were joking, but they were also serious.

I knew he was about to take this latke-making to the next level. On the way home, he thought up different flavor combinations, like adding dill and black pepper, and what if we fried them in schmaltz – we’d have to roast a chicken first; store-bought schmaltz wouldn’t cut it – and what if we added cayenne, and what if we used different root vegetables, like turnips and rutabagas, and what if made a sweet potato version?

I was exhausted just thinking about it. The latkes take a great deal of effort, and I don’t have the same love of cooking that Brad does. Where he sees opportunity, I see how long it will take to clean up. 

Maybe we buy shredded potatoes, to make it easier? I suggested. 

But no: Everything from scratch, no shortcuts. Our first year in our new home together, we made them in our kitchen. He shredded the potatoes, I wrung them out. He set up three bowls with different seasonings and spices. I spooned them into balls, and we’d take turns at the stove, frying, flipping, frying again. We ate several between us right away – impossible not to. Yes, it was an hours-long process. But the pride I felt at bringing them home, measured by the silence while people ate and ate, was unmatched.  

I learned that the effort, the planning, the execution: it’s  a way of showing love. The energy we put into the latkes as a team made me feel closer, somehow, to the holiday and to my Jewish roots.

That first meal of jointly-made latkes also included my mom’s brisket. Over dinner, the conversation turned to other traditional Jewish foods like corned beef and pastrami. Brad pointed out that they were both brisket, just made different – something we hadn’t really ever thought about. 

He mentioned he could make a pastrami. 

Our eyes widened. 

“It’s just a matter of brining it…then smoking it…” 

So we’re in charge of both now: latkes and pastrami. 

[etherian-affairs]

AU where Shadow Weaver was actually good mom because she was drunk as fuck at all times.

I wont call her a good mom here but she isn't an abusive one at least.

Catra returns to the Fright Zone equal parts angry and terrified. Adora just… abandoned her? For some Princesses? They were going to rule the Horde Together and she just left? Now what? Catra has to explain to everyone that Adora is a deserter? Her best friend? That Adora met some new people and jumped ship?

Catra flops back against the lockers, sliding to the floor and groaning.

"Catra." The voice permeates the room causing the feline to tense. Her eyes travel upwards and she focuses on the source. Shadow Weaver emerges from the darkness. A glass of wine in hand.

"Shadow Weaver" Catra mutters as she stands.

"Where is Adora?" The old witch asks. Narrowed eyes glancing around suspicously. As if she imagines Adora is laying in wait to jump out at her.

"She…" She could lie, put this off. Maybe she could still get her back? Shadow Weaver will inevitably find out though and telling her is probably going to be better. "she's gone…"

There is a tense silence. Then Shadow Weaver lets out an annoyed "Ugh. Really now? She just abandoned us? For what? Did she make some new pretty friends or something?"

"Yes!" Catra shouts. "Exactly! She just met some new Princess types and suddenly we're evil and she's too good for us."

"Typical. Just typical. I should have known she would pull something like this." The wine drunk woman shakes her head. Then sighs. "I am sorry you had to deal with that alone Catra." she approaches the cat, lifting her mask up a little to sip her glass. Then she wraps an arm around Catra and pulls her into a hug "I am sure Adora will get over her bullshit. In the meantime I guess you get her promotion"

Catra lets herself be hugged by her pseudo mother, then blinks. "Wait really?"

"Mhhmm. Clearly despite all my efforts to groom Adora into greatness you've turned out more reliable." she sounds annoyed. "I can imagine her now, learning all about the rebels pathetic plight and deciding she has to save them."

"Yeah." Catra huffs. "Fuck…"

Shadow Weaver's hand pats Catra's head. "I still expect you to report for dinner tonight. I am making a brisket. A magical brisket."

"…. yeah. Sure."

[little-forest-goblin]

Hey guys so a did a recent post about the diner deli scene and the different variations of five there and i had listed all of the ones i can put a name on (its all a personal opinion my word is not law) and we all know that they have some odd subtle differences between each other though they still may be five they are still from other universes and timelines and not one five is gonna be the same completely. So i decided to list and give them the personalties and such that i can (Again my word is now law please by all means make whatever you want this is just personal opinion and thought)

So here is the list of the fives that i had personally named.

1. Booth five

2. waiter five

3. brisket five

4. Newspaper/good with numbers five

5. Mathematician/journaling/theorist five (There is three cause if i remember correctly there is two fives and i just know one of them is obsessing over numbers and i was wondering what the other one is doing and thats what i got)

6. Anxious antsy/waiting five

7. Drunk five

8. Loose neck tie five

9. chef five

Those are the ones i could put a name too. Some of them i have no clue what to call them but if you have a suggestion or an idea please let me know.

1. Booth five

Booth five is probably a funny laid back guy who is just wanting to chill after having tried and failed so many times to save the world and his family only to have it blow up in his face time and time again. He is mostly unintentionally funny it seems. He wont get why what he said is funny at first but once he does he will probably laugh it off with you or give a playful eyeroll.

2. waiter five

Waiter five looks like he would be that person in the friend group who is always mothering the group. Attentive and caring can be serious when need be but for the most part also pretty laid back and not really a stick in the mud.

3. Brisket five

You cant tell me he wouldn’t be a sweetheart. He looks like he would be making small talk and smiling and cracking a couple jokes here and there and just overall you would be comfortable around him. He is probably one of the fives that the others go to vent or just need something to take their mind off of whatever they got going on. There’s that and let’s not forget he apparently wrecks shit sometimes as confirmed by booth five.

4. Newspaper/good with numbers five

Newspaper five has always newspaper always in hand whether it be old news or new news he has one nearby or in hand. This is also helping him with his good with numbers part. He is just uncannily good with numbers obviously having been shown in the scene where he tells the amount of times they tried to save the world. He is basically that scene from criminal minds where Spencer Reid gets the guess right for how many boats are on lake mead. He knows random info and facts and when engaged in conversation he is a fact and info dumper.

5. mathematician/journalist/theorist five

-mathematician five is somewhere writing in his notebook with equations and numbers all probably trying to find a possibility for any possible safe timeline that isn’t gonna go to shit. He could also just really like numbers.

-Journalist/diary five is always writing in his notebook about his days there at the deli/diner. he can recap anything that has happened from the start of when he arrived there and more then likely has a log of all the fives that have arrived and whether they have stayed or went off to try and save the world and the family again.

- theorist five i believe is a variation of five that had driven himself crazy with possibilities and theories whether it be about the apocalypse and saving his family or it might be over something small and insignificant. sometimes this can spiral and cause outbursts of panic and rage or straight up mental breakdowns. His notebook is filled with possibility after possibility. Theory after theory. Some of the pages are random scribbles and writings and if you sit close to him you can hear him muttering to himself about the writings. His hair is also probably a little greasier than others considering his obsessive behavior with writing theories but he isn’t unclean.

6. anxious ansty/waiting five

Anxious ansty five seems to be on edge a lot. All the trauma he has gone through has finally bled through and has made him anxious or antsy. He can be seen with his hands always fidgeting or chewing on a random object like a pen or the tip of his straw to try and silence the anxious thoughts even for just a minute. He may be seen waiting for his order at the counter but he isn’t always waiting for that he can be seen waiting anxiously for some kinda ball to drop and everything to go to shit. He is probably more than likely a paranoid person.

7. Drunk five

Drunk five is quite self explanatory. It’s a variation of five that is drunk but when you think about it. Why was he called drunk five in the first place? why wasnt he called something else kinda like how newspaper/good with numbers five is or theorist five is? its cause he is more then likely always drunk meaning this variation of five is probably the one filled and consumed by regret and grief and sadness and has given up completely. Not all variations of five are happy or composed and this is one of them. He has done so much, seen so much and has dealt with so much to where he drinks to forget and drinks to have a good time. When you approach him you can get a few different emotions whether it be a sad drunk one day or a cracking jokes and making drunk conversation. He is more then likely the one getting into some form of trouble (as seen with S3 where five makes boozy cereal or does random stupid things) he may not always be sad but deep down we know why he drinks.

8. Loose neck tie five

People may argue and say that this is drunk five but if memory serves me right drunk five was off doing something stupid and this one is just hanging out by the door. Now i don’t quite know what personality to give this one since its just a loose neck tie and doesn’t really correspond with personality other then maybe being tired or exhausted or being disheveled in the first place. He may be a five that is a little less organized and put together. I will leave this one up to y’all.

9. Chef five

Not be confused with brisket five cause yes brisket five i guess technically would be a chef considering he is making food but brisket five is called brisket five for a reason. Chef five is the other five behind the counter. If you look at the picture you can see a five eating a soup meaning there probably isn’t just sandwiches here in the diner/deli. Chef five can always be seen hard at work cooking and probably trying out new recipes or making new ones too.

There we have it folks my personal opinions on the five variations in this weird five verse. I hope yall have fun and if you have ideas and different names for some of them put it in comments and i made add them to a list or something who knows what i might do.

[butterphii]

I've Got You.

Together Again (Part 1)

---------------------------------------------------

TW: Cussing, age gap (26-29, 58), a family friend

This is my first time ever writing a series! Please be kind!

--------------------Joel Miller--------------------

A busted, old, and rusty red convertible made it's way down the street you live on. "Must be the neighbor." You said to yourself, walking out of your house and to your semi-new Chevi Equinox.

You were meeting up with an old friend you haven't seen since you moved away. But now that you moved back to Texas last year, you had been reuniting with your old friends and people you used to consider family. But, most importantly, you got to see your actual family more now.

You drove to the bar you used to love going to with your friends, going out and partying until dawn, having to go to classes the next day until 2:30, but being so hungover it pained you to even get out of bed. Ah, the good ol' days.

You reminisced on the old buildings you remember. Like your favorite skating rink, your favorite gas station where gas was basically a dollar a gallon. You passed by your ex's house, waving at his mother dressed in a tennis outfit for her weekly pickleball tournament with her ex husband. You then waved at your, now bald, ex.

You pulled into the bar around 7 P.M. Walking in to scan for your friend in the crowded place. You saw her bright blonde hair and her soft hands waving at you. She'd obviously gained weight since you'd last seen her, but that's just because she had like..3 kids.

You smiled and steppes your way through a crowd of drunk old men playing pool and poker. You sat down on the rusty bar stool next to your old best friend. "Jesus! You look amazing, Grace!" "Hell the fuck no I don't. Fuckin' Gavin gave me this baby weight I can't get rid of!" Her accent still thick as leather. "God I missed your laugh. Still sounds just as fucking goofy." You giggled after her loud cackle. She smacked your thigh, the jeans taut against your legs.

It had been almost 9:00 when Grace stood up, whining about how mad she was she had kids and had to leave. "Take care, hun! Talk to me tomorrow!" You yelled after her, laughing at the joke she said earlier. You finished your glass of whiskey as another one was placed next to you on the bar. "Oh, no, I'm done." You smiled, pushing it back. "It's from him." The bartender pointed to a tall and gruff man, his hair like salt and pepper and body as fantastic as it used to be.

"Hey, bug!" He smiled, sitting down in the vacant seat from your friend. It was Joel Miller. Your dad's best friend since middle school. Your crush for most of your life. He was just so gorgeous. "Hi, Joel!" You exclaimed, reaching in for a hug. "C'mon buggie, what about our old nicknames?" He chuckled gravely. "Hi, Leaf." You called him. That was your name for each other, since you guys were so inseparable, you always stole him from your dad to the point he had basically no time to hang out with your dad alone. You guys went together like a leaf bug, your favorite insect as a kid.

"Oh, it's great to hear that again." He rubbed your shoulder and you grinned just how you used to. "I been missin' you! Where you been goin'?" He asked in his accent that was somehow thicker than Grace's.

"I moved to New York! Did Dad not tell you?" You replied, sipping the new glass of whiskey that he bought. "I'm sure he did, but I'm getting a lil' slow up there." He chuckled heartily, making your heart flutter. You watched him eye your body, clearly liking it, before he snapped back into it. "Bug, you look great! Aged a lot since I've seen you last, that's fo' sure." "You've aged too, leafy! You got gray hair now! What even is that!?" You ruffled your fingers through his hair while you giggled together.

"I'm comin' to your dad's tomorra' for a barbecue, maybe you're comin'?" "Hell yeah I am! And miss out on my dad famous brisket? No fuckin' way." "You curse a lot more than I remember, hunny." He laughed too hard at his own joke, making you blush a little.

You yawned, looking at the time, your eyes widening more than ever before when you realized it was now almost midnight. You've been talking and catching up with your childhood crush for 3 hours.

You both said your goodbyes, his reaching in for one last hug, and you wanted it to last forever. It was tight and sweet, and he smelled so good. He smelled rustic and of white cedar. You smiled sheepishly when he pecked a soft kiss on your cheek before getting in to his busted, old, and rusty red convertible.

[aikoiya]

I just do not understand the insistence that animals must be sentient.

Because if they were, then why are the animals that kill other animals not labeled as murderers?

Hell, why aren't cats seen as malicious, mini, jigsaw killers considering how they play with their food. Why aren't ewes looked upon with disgust for often trampling orphaned lambs that a farmer tries to get them to adopt? Why aren't wolves seen as bullies for hunting in packs to kill prey? Why aren't dolphins more acknowledged for being effing rapists?

If you believe that animals are capable of reasoning, then that automatically makes all animals that eat meat into exactly what humans that eat meat are, thus they should be looked upon with every bit as much scorn as certain vegans look upon regular ass people. And it'd also mean that any animal that hunts is a murderer.

Hell, many animals are cannibals! In fact, plenty even eat the young of other animals or even their own young if they're so much as lacking in B12!

Literally! Mother hamsters are known to eat her own babies if she's put on an all-corn diet! They don't even have to be dying because of it!

You can't claim that animals are all sentient & then not hold them responsible for their actions! That's hypocritical! Because if these animals are sentient, then they are making the active decision to commit these actions & should be held acountable for them! Period!

Seriously, unless an animal is specifically an obligate herbivore, they will likely still eat meat given the chance!

And, whether you like it or not, animals are only as vegan as their options. As soon as times get tough for a deer, it's gonna be eyeing up any little Tweeties or Thumpers they come across. Same with horses, sheep, ect.

In fact, if animals are as deserving of life & respect as us, then doesn't that make having pets the same as slavery? And how do cat owners even justify feeding their pets? At least those that force their cats into a vegan lifestyle are being consistent even though they're abusing the poor things. Those cats aren't gonna live to be 10 years old on a diet like that & they'll be miserable the whole time.

Like, how do people twist their brains into so many directions just to justify their lifestyles??

Seriously, humans are so freaking unique within the animal kingdom. We are probably the only creatures who would do all this nonsense for the sake of critters that honestly don't give an eff.

Like, dude, whatever. You don't wanna eat meat, then don't. No skin off my brow. More brisket for me! But don't moralize your choice & don't demonize those who love a delicious steak.

Here's what some don't seem to understand; those animals are gonna die anyway, whether it's by the hand of man, a predator animal, sickness, or old age. Their days are numbered no matter what. And, quite frequently, they'll still get eaten. So, in the end, what's the difference if a sheep is eaten by a human or a buzzard or a coyote?

You didn't save that sheep's life. You only postponed the inevitable. Because if you're not the one who eats it, then someone or something else will. You cannot stop it.

And it's likely going to hurt regardless, so saying shit like "anything to reduce at least a little bit of the pain in the world" is just pure naiveté. You haven't reduced the pain in the world even a little. And in fact, considering how a lot of animals don't even care if their food is all-the-way dead as they're eating them, you could even say that that animal might end up experiencing even more pain than if they'd been killed by a human.

And that isn't even taking into account sickness or accidents! How do you know that that animal's last moments won't be spent in complete misery or abject fear??

Because one of the things about humans is that, for the most part, we prefer our food dead-dead before we eat it. And we intentionally go out of our ways to make death as painless a transition as possible, even for the animals we're gonna eat.

If we're gonna keep it 100, ya'll. Humans can be some of the gentlest, most merciful killers on earth.

Hell, we have laws against animal cruelty!

And, the thing is, animals... don't. Period. In fact, most don't make it to old age.

So, in the end, your efforts were meaningless.

[talesfrommedinastation]

My redneck neighbor Doug watches 'The Bad Batch': Pabu

So, maybe it's because the Razorbacks are currently up over the Tigers, which makes Doug's LSU loving self extra fired up this evening, but I have made the mistake of asking him again about his opinion on the episode after 'The Outpost', which was 'Pabu'.

He called this both 'HR Goes to Daytona' and 'Did I miss an episode?'.

Doug: Make sure you put one of my Baton Rouge boys on the internet too right now. GEAUX TIGERS.

CW: Doug insults everyone, everything, and is generally a cantankerous old jerk in this one. His wife should have unplugged his internet. Lots of adult everything, ranging from language to...well, if you're under 18, please be warned.

Prepare thyself, especially if you're a TechxPhee fan. The amount of angry emojis I got in the text messages were pretty wild.

----

'Pabu' aka 'HR Goes to Daytona'

Oh it’s Church Lady and it’s Sunday service. Why is little orphan blondie in the bar with her? Daddy Rambo has his knife but you know the man was plowing vodka out of sight here. He’s tired.

I thought he hated Church Lady? Did I miss an episode?

Ah, now Ryan-from-Accounting is playing solitaire. Atta boy, get your mind off the bitch wife Laura. If he makes out with that garbage robot I’ll throw up. 

Time to skee-daddle. Woah! Church Lady just grabbed Ryan-from-Accounting. That man looks terrified, probably because he found a Youtube video of her taking down muggers behind Manning's after a Pelicans game. Bitch wife Laura gonna blow a gasket.

But such is the way of the Church Lady, I have known many in my day. “I groped the hot new usher in Jesus’s house, but it’s okay, The Lord forgives”.

(praise the Lord and pass the Tabasco)

No, seriously, did I miss an episode? I feel like I did.  

Houma-BBQ bitch is bitching, as is her wont. I wonder what sauce her tail would taste best with. Carolina Gold? I’d cook her brisket style. Oh, wait, back to the show. 

And now they’re on paradise! Daytona Beach! Who is this guy, he looks like he used to play hoops now he plays how much dessert he can eat at Golden Corral. Props to him, that lava cake is gold. Hope Rex and Toaster Strudel are there.

Where are Rex and Toaster Strudel.

No, really, where are Rex and Toaster Strudel.

I’m getting real mad here, where are Rex and Toaster Strudel. 

CHURCH LADY, GET BACK IN YOUR SPACE UBER AND GO FIND REX AND TOASTER STRUDEL. I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR MUSEUM OF SHIT YOU FOUND IN PEOPLE’S BACKYARDS AND THE DUMPSTER BEHIND THE KEY LARGO PUBLIX, GO GET REX AND TOASTER STRUDEL.

SHOVE RYAN-FROM-ACCOUNTING BACK INTO THE DRIVER’S SEAT, PAY FOR HIS GAS, AND GO GET REX AND TOASTER STRUDEL. 

“You have some competition”. From what, there’s gonna be a hot dog eating contest or something? Why does Ryan-from-Accounting look so upset? 

(“I think they’re trying to set him and Phee up, Doug.” “What, when did that happen? Did I miss an episode?”)

Ryan-from-Accounting looks either sad or excited and I’m so confused. Maybe it’s because I’ve been married since before the dinosaurs but why is he either frowning and freaked out by Church Lady or smiling at Church Lady? Is he having a breakdown like my nephew did after he lost his job? Does Bitch Wife Laura know about this? Does he like Church Lady or is he planning on pepper spraying her? Did I miss an episode? Is this how the children flirt on the Ticky-Tack? No wonder y’all aren’t getting married any more. 

(“Doug, you did not miss an episode. And it is called Tik-Tok.” “I MISSED AN EPISODE. I KNOW I DID, AND IT IS CALLED THE TICKY-TACK!!!”) 

Ya know who would solve these questions? REX AND MOTHER LOVING TOASTER STRUDEL, WHO AIN’T HERE. THEY NEED TO BE HERE. WHERE ARE YOU HIDING THEM CHURCH LADY. 

Oh lovely, Hoops forgot to make a reservation at BoneFish, so they’re having his gas station sushi. Not one shrimp or crab on that table? Y’all Hoops is failing so hard right now, as a boy from Louisiana I’m just offended. His momma raised that man WRONG. 

You know who would love sushi on the beach while watching the sun set? REX AND TOASTER STRUDEL, and Daddy Warcrimes and Sassy Park Ranger too. 

I MISS SASSY PARK RANGER ALREADY!!!!!!

But no, Rex and Toaster Strudel are busy at work saving the galaxy while Julio and the gang throw back cocktails and stare at the sun like they dropped cheap acid they bought in a sketchier part of Biloxi. Which is all of Biloxi, I guess. 

Oh, and Ryan-from-Accounting is awkward around Church Lady and stares at his phone lest that Bitch Wife Laura of his get a snap of them sitting together and Little Orphan Blondie pets a monkey. I hope they all get food poisoning. I’m so mad.

They need Toaster Strudel the way I need FSU to lose this weekend, I have money on that game too. WHY IS ARKANSAS STILL UP IN THE SECOND QUARTER.

Ah, Little Orphan Blondie’s on a boat with her new buddy, that’s nice. If she doesn’t find Rex and Toaster Strudel out in the ocean with James Cameron I hope–oh, shoot, I was in the navy. I know what that water means. Oh boy.

Well bless Ryan-from-Accounting, he watches Big Tuna and knows how to do a rescue. Church Lady looks happy. He finally touched her, it only took a natural disaster and a whole lot of nagging on her part. Oh, poor Church Lady, you need a guy who actually likes you back. 

Seriously, why does that man look like the subject of them shitty videos HR makes us watch once a year so we don’t get sued? I don’t know, but I’m starting to understand why his Bitch Wife Laura is the way she is. I can’t believe the episode they filmed in Daytona makes me feel for her, but it do. 

(“Doug, you’re making up Bitch Wife Laura in your head. She’s not in the show.” “Well, it’s clear that I missed some episodes, so maybe I missed the Bitch Wife Laura ones.” “No, you didn’t miss any, I promise.” “Are you SURE?!”)

Man, the tsunami got people running like it’s Black Friday Wal-Mart in Tampa. But they rescued an old guy and Daddy Rambo got the stolen work truck working to rescue the kids. Hooray, I guess. 

You know who would have done a better job? Of all of this?

REX AND MOTHER-LOVING TOASTER STRUDEL. But they ain’t here!

(Doug's love for them runs hard and it runs deep, for which I can empathize)

You know who should have been on a beach horking down Mai Tais and getting into Church Lady and her handsy hands?

POOR POOR SASSY PARK RANGER. BUT HE DIED BACK IN WYOMING.  I bet he’d love a back massage from Church Lady too! He’d sass her, she’d sass him back, and they’d make out on the beach while Daddy Warcrimes played the saxophone behind them or something. I support that. I’d like that. He’s got brown eyes.*

Make it work, Star Wars, damn it. 

(Doug has unlocked a new rarepair, I guess: Mayday and Phee? WTF?)

Well they’re hanging out here in Daytona for the time being, I guess. Julio passed out under a tree like a drunk uncle at a cookout. Everyone's smiling.

I’d be smiling too, knowing that REX AND TOASTER STRUDEL ARE ACTUALLY SAVING PEOPLE WHILE YOU CLOWNS STOMP AROUND FLORIDA. 

Stop smiling at Church Lady, Ryan-from-Accounting! Is it because you finally filed HR complaint paperwork or because you filed for divorce papers from Bitch Wife Laura? Why are you smiling?! Church Lady belongs to Sassy Park Ranger! 

(“Doug…Sassy Park Ranger’s dead. He and Church Lady never met. You need to stop.” “IF THEY CAN BRING PALPATINE BACK, THEY CAN BRING SASSY PARK RANGER BACK TOO!”) 

*=I NEED FAN ART OF THIS NOW, please @amalthiaph! Help me out!

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Alternative Prison Au

@fanofstuff01 @beef-brisket

Adam walked through the doors of the prison in his new guard uniform. He was of course nervous to be working with very violent people, but his mother helped get him the job here.

A woman with short hair greeted him.

Lute: Hello, you must be Adam.

Adam: I am.

Lute: The names Lute Danger. I'll be your commanding officer for the time being. Let me show you around where you'll be working.

She showed him where everything was and where the prisoners are.

Lute: You need to be tough or they will walk all over you. Some will listen, most won't. Don't be afraid to get a little forceful. It's your life or theirs.

As she explained the rules to Adam, one inmate in particular was watching their exchange.

Lucifer internally: Maybe..... Just maybe he could be my ticket out of here.

[mrxadreamin]

"Wait, I need to delete my browser history first!" – Jeon Chiaki, Son of Solomon, Circa. 2024

After a millenia(not really), I finally made an oc for WHB and I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders!

With that, I offer you my son, Chi-chi Jeon Chiaki <3 now if you will excuse me I am going to rest my achey hands adjfgfdhd

Voice Actors:

(KR)Lee Sang-ho (Lilac Cookie from Cookie Run Kingdom, Wise from Zenless Zone Zero)

(EN)Howard Wang (Xie Lian from TCGF, Louis from Morariarty the Patriot)

(JP)Daiki Yamashta (Ritsu Sakuma from ensemble stars)

Personality: Most of the time Chiaki is level-headed and calm, not one to jump the gun onsite. Also quite sarcastic and sassy, it’s a form of coping as well as a defense mechanism for himself. Despite his calm demeanor, he’s not the type to sit back and take things. As someone who’s quite observant, he’s the type to analyze first and act after. However, all trains of thought are gone when his loved ones are on the line and his fury will set ablaze that even makes Satan blush(literally…). Chiaki, despite having gone through enough, has carried an outlook on life that extends far beyond optimism, always the type to believe that things will turn out okay while sticking to reality. In his own way, Chiaki can be rather playful and cheeky with most and due to his charm alone, he can coax others into doing what he wants to meet his own goals– for the greater good of course! Considering his past experiences, he acts as a maternal figure for many, especially those who lacked such internal warmth, but has a spot big enough for Chiaki to hold them. Chiaki is a chivalrous pervert, but with some virtue. He tends to get distracted by his own lewd thoughts and has always been open about his sexuality. Sex positive, Chiaki indulges others in their sexual interests and endeavors! Interestingly enough, he’s also one of the densest people on Earth, so it will take a lot for his man to even get a single hint!

Confidence point: Shoulders and thighs

Favorite food(s): grilled brisket

Hobby: writing songs and reading erotica novels

Ideal Type: someone more dependable and carefree

Backstory: Chiaki had a loving childhood, his mother was a piano teacher and his father was a lawyer. Coming from a humble past, he wanted to get involved with music like his mother. Thus, he aspired to be a songwriter and musician when he grew older, but that dream was crushed when he lost his family at an early age and was later taken in by Minhyeok and his family. Chiaki had nothing left from them except for a key necklace that his father gave to him. “No matter what, hold onto this, there will be a time when you will need it most,” his father urged, only a few days before he was brutally murdered alongside his wife. Chiaki didn’t get what his father meant–not until he witnessed his best friend getting hurt right before his eyes and having made a contract with the King of Fury to save him. Only then did he truly understand.

Trivia:

Is bisexual, and is a verse-switch(do not let his looks fool you!). Learned that he was bi when he was around 14 years old and his first crush was Minhyeok.

Before he went to hell, he worked at a bookstore and also read to children on occasion. Also worked part time at a music store and would teach music lessons on occasion.

Attended the same college as Minhyeok as a Music theory major, with a minor in  Literature

Talented singer and dancer. When he was still attending university, he would be seen dancing in the studio or recording songs in one of booths of the music buildings.

Knows how to play guitar and piano. Knows music theory.

Having lost his family, he learned to cook for himself and with the help of Minhyeok.

His father is Korean and his mother is Japanese. 

Speaks both Korean, Satoori, and Japanese. Satoori comes out when he’s angry.

Does in fact have a skin care routine even after descending to hell.

His favorite sanrio characters are Kuromi and Pochacco 

Before his ascension to Hell, some of his friends called him Qiqi because he used to play genshin impact(or whatever equivalent), and whenever he pulled for a character, he got Qiqi instead, losing the 50/50. They also call him Chichi due to his "impressive" chest size, which he refuses to acknowledge.

Has written and composed his own songs, some of which are saucy, raunchy in their own way. He keeps them in a journal, but regrets not taking said journal with him before leaving to Hell.

Going in depth with his hobbies aside from songwriting, he collects erotica novels and manga, but doesn’t have a porn collection like the original mc, but that doesn’t mean he owns a few toys himself.

owns a light purple galaxy z flip5, but uses it for selfies and nudes. He uses the phone Satan gave him for contacts.

In terms of combat, he was able to wield various weapons during his time in hell, more specifically weapons made of Sitri's blood. He wields both a glade and a hammer.

Can make barriers out of silver/gold

Can summon large extraterritorial monsters from his coffin(given by Leviathan) and hang people on command if need be.

Design Notes:

Character inspo: Cealus and Dr. Ratio(Hontai Star rail), Epel Felmier(twst), Eiden(Nu:Carnival), Shoto(Vtuber/indie), Uki Violeta(Noctyx, Nijisanji EN), Solomon(Obey me & WHB), Joenghan(Seventeen)

concept outfit: white v-line shirt, dark purple cuffed pants, white converse(platforms), and has a purple cardigan/jacket. 

Chiaki is a man of comfortability hence he would be seen wearing cardigans, sweaters, etc.

His main outfit as derived from Eiden(Nu:carnival) but instead of a jacket, I decided that a cardigan would fit him best due to lax personality and nature. Not to mention his previous occupation as a bookseller/keeper and a music tutor and musician.

Since his favorite color is purple, he can be seen wearing lots of cool, warm purples and sometimes blues and pinks.

Relationships