#numbers like this tickle me

[epickiya722]

*insert sensible chuckle*

Nice...

[sherokutakari]

Okay okay okay but like

Everyone out here talking about Crowley's hinted at memory problems. How he remembers Heaven and making the stars, but not working with Saraqael. How he remembers going into battle, but not with Furfur. How he doesn't seem to remember Aziraphale in Eden, even though it turns out they met at the Pillars of Creation. How he knows what it's like, looking where the furniture isn't. Memory fussing. Clearly something Heaven Does.

But no one is talking about that Heaven's memory wiping was only mentioned once directly. And only in reference to Gabriel, who was explicitly not being cast down to Hell, but demoted.

Like some Cherub-turned-Principality, which could be either a promotion or demotion, depending on what Angelic Hierarchy you subscribe to?¹

What if the reason Crowley and Aziraphale's meeting in Eden seemed so first-meeting-ish not just because only Crowley's memory was messed with?

What if Aziraphale's memories had been also?

Neil said that these two had known each other for a LONG time between the s2 meet cute and the beginning of actual time/their meeting in Eden.² Surely Crowley would have given his name at SOME point if that were the case. And we know Aziraphale had a hard time switching from Crawly to Crowley, so even if he assumed his newly Fallen friend had intended to choose a new name, there's almost no way he *wouldn't* have just called him by whatever name he already knew him as. Why does he wait for Crawly to introduce himself, instead of just referring to him as Raphael, or Baraqiel, or Kokabiel, or Jophiel or whatever your favorite Proto-Crowley Angel Name is? And why does it seem like they don't even know each other, even a little bit?

What if they knew each other super well in Heaven, and after the Battle, both had their memories mucked about in, and both got Demoted??

What if in Eden they were meeting for the first time again, and they still ended up choosing each other over Heaven and Hell????

What if nothing the powers of Heaven and Hell can do can keep these two Inefffable Idiots apart????

Please help I'm .__o.>-<

[inneedofsupervision]

Poker & Punishments

Summary: After "The Incident" at the New Year's Tournament, Jyugo has fallen into a state his cellmates jokingly call "a brooding and moping teen." His friends do their best to get their favorite Jailbreaker's mood lifted, even if their methods are a little unorthodox. But what else can you expect? They don't call inmates of Building Thirteen a crazy bunch for nothing.

Lee! Jyugo / Ler! Rock, Ler! Nico, Ler! Uno

(Read on Ao3)

"Do you think the girls will like you better when you pull the emo-card? Because they will like me more anyway, but maybe try out a kind smile. Girls like smiles. And money. They love it when you have money."

"Go away, Uno."

"Ahh, come on. You know, it ruins my mood seeing our favorite jail-breaker moping around in a lonely corner. We know you can't do anything besides jailbreaking, but that's still not a good reason to be gloomy."

Jyugo rolled his eyes before putting his head back on his knees.

He was sitting in a corner of their cell, the one furthest away from the little table where Uno had set up and which his friends were currently using to play cards. He could feel the worried glances that Rock and Nico were throwing in his direction. But the young man only hugged his knees tighter against his chest before leaning his head against the wall. He did his best, pretending as if he couldn't feel their eyes boring into him. The teen deliberately faced away from the Brit, who had just crawled over and was now sitting on his knees beside him.

"Jyugo, you're going to make us all depressed seeing you like this. Hajime even sent Seitarou and Yamato here to ask if everything was okay. Do you know how hard it was telling them off from coming in here? You owe me, by the way."

Jyugo pulled his knees closer, leaning away from the Brit. Uno rolled his eyes at the pitiful attempt to create distance.

"At least try to have some fun and join us. We all want to see that dorky smile of yours," said Uno as he knelt before him and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze. He didn't like to see his friend depressed. The kid needed to stop sitting alone in the corner like an outcast.

Jyugo shook the hand off and looked away. He was ashamed that he made his friends worry so much about him, but he couldn't stop thinking about what had happened at the new year's tournament. He was scared to hurt anyone, especially his friends, so it was probably better for everyone's sake when he would stay alone.

His older friend didn't share his sentiment.

"Okay, that's it, you're going to have fun now, if you want or not, I don't care," said Uno, grabbing him by the wrist.

"Uno, let me go," protested the teen. He halfheartedly tried to shake the stubborn adult off, but Uno has more power than his appearance lets you believe. He hauled the moping kid on his feet and dragged him over to their waiting friends. Before Jyugo can free himself, he gets pushed onto a cushion between an excited-looking Nico and Rock. The latter was grinning at him and putting a powerful arm over his shoulder. Jyugo looked up at the orange-red-haired man who smiled brightly at him.

"So, now that everyone's here," began Uno with a teasing grin in Jyugos direction, who only huffed at the side comment, "let's continue. We'll play poker, and the person who wins decides what the loser has to do as a punishment."

"What?"

Rock, Nico, and Jyugo stared with similar shocked expressions at a smug Uno, who was calmly mixing the cards with a smirk. The man pursed his lips with a glint, eyeing the three like a cat would mice backed in a corner.

"What? You're all afraid of losing? Or are these rules too much for you?" teased the cheeky Brit with a cackle but inwardly gave himself a pat on the shoulder for getting at least some kind of reaction out of Jyugo as he glanced over to the teen, who was now warily looking at him.

"As if," laughed Rock, accepting the challenge.

"Bring it on!"

Nico beams as he gets handed his cards, bouncing in his seat.

Uno grinned, handing the cards to his friends with almost too much enthusiasm. He glances at the Japanese, Jyugo the only one who doesn't share the excitement. The teen accepts the cards warily, not liking the mischievous gleam in his friend's eyes. The blue-eyed man had something planned again, and Jyugo knew from experience something ominous was about to happen.

They started playing, and as predicted, Jyugo saw that his chances of victory were sliming rapidly with every new move. Playing games wasn't his strong forte, and the others knew that. With a sigh, the teen glanced at the cards, frowning at the useless combination. It didn't help seeing that Rock and Nico were nothing better. While Rock could at least hold a decent poker face, his hand seems only marginally better than Jyugo's. Nico, on the other hand, played well if it weren't for the fact that one could read from his face whenever he pulled a good or bad card. Uno seemed to be in top form today, playing like a champ. After twenty minutes, Uno wins. The rest of them frowned at the Full House in Uno's hand, which the man triumphantly placed on the table. Rock groaned at his loss while Nico just smiled like always. Jyugo, however, was sitting there tensed up, anxiously waiting for Uno to declare their punishment.

"Now, after I won fair and square. It's time for the punishment." Uno declared it with a bright grin. He was enjoying all this way too much for Jyugo's taste.

"Hmmm, let me think."

Uno tapped with his finger thoughtfully against his chin, head cocked to the side while pretending to think thoroughly. He took his sweet time to come up with something, making the other three grow nervous before he suddenly snapped his finger.

"Oh, I have something! The perfect punishment to get the mood going."

Jyugo, Rock, and Nico gulped when Uno smiled sickeningly sweet at them, making them shudder. Jyugo just hoped it wasn't too absurd. Getting sent to the guard room to steal Hajimes cat still makes him shudder at the memory. When Hajime found out who had catnapped Kuu, all hell broke loose, and Jyugo winced when he thought back at how much his butt had hurt from that kick.

He got thrown out of his thoughts as Uno started to speak again.

"You're ready to hear what's awaiting you?" he asked with a sadistic smirk as he waggled his eyebrows, clearly enjoying seeing his fellow cellmates tensed up and waiting in fear. Was it luck they ended up sharing a cell with Uno? Sometimes, Jyugo wasn't sure if having the blond with them was a blessing or a curse.

"Your punishment is," began the Brit, deliberately drawing the last word, always playing into his sense for dramatics, "Rock and Nico have to tickle Jyugo for ten minutes!"

Jyugo could only stare at Uno, his mouth opening and closing without a single sound making it past his lips. Did he hear right? Has he begun to hallucinate after the last hit to the head he earned?

"What?" Jyugo asked weakly.

"Rock and Nico have to tickle you for ten minutes," repeated Uno with a bright grin as he watched with amusement how Jyugo's mismatched eyes widened in shock. He hadn't misheard. Uno was serious about this.

"B-but how's that fair? Only I get punished!" he sputtered out as the teen began to process what was dooming him, but Uno just laughed at him, no sign of pity even close.

"I won the game, and we all agreed to the rules. No one said anything against punishing only one person instead of all three," he explained smugly as the younger teen only stared at him, still not believing what he had just heard. Before Jyugo could open his mouth to protest, his friends took the chance, catching him by surprise. He falls with an unmanly yelp, caught off guard as he gets pounced at and blundered gracelessly to the ground. With a frown, he was about to tell his friends they could forget about this stupid game when a pair of golden and one of the carmine-red eyes sparkled with amusement as they looked down on him.

"Sorry, Jyugo," said Nico with an apologetic smile, "but we have to follow the rules," finished Rock Nico's sentence with a grin.

"Ten minutes, huh? That's a lot, but nothing you can't handle, right Jyugo?"

Jyugo's lips twitched unwillingly at the words. The fact that Rock was wriggling his fingers threateningly while speaking to him didn't make it better, the anticipation skyrocketing.

"Any wishes where we should start?" asked Nico, the teen acting innocent only to suddenly appear behind Jyugo, who had been so absorbed by slowly backing away from Rock that he jumped when he bumped against Nico's knees.

"No, no, no, wahait! Wait! Where's the timer? You have to use a timer!"

Jyugo's eyes locked on Rock's hands, which came closer and closer, and he tugged on his arms only to be shocked at the strength of Nico's hold. The first panicked giggles filled the room as he tried to sit up and back away from his friend's hands but couldn't turn anywhere, with Nico hindering him successfully.

"Okay, okay. I know we have a watch lying around here somewhere. I will search for it," said Uno with a fake sigh before turning around with a grin.

"Why don't you start already while I search for it? It won't take too long to find it. Is that okay for you, Jyugo?" he asked and winked at Jyugo, who was already trying to rob away from his other two friends.

"No! Thahat's not fair. N-nico, Rock, goho away!"

Jyugo rolled on his stomach and somehow twisted out of Nico's hold. The teen quickly jumped on his feet and ran to the other end of the cell. Behind him, he could hear Rock and Nico standing up and following him slowly.

"Well, then let's start, shall we?" Rock grinned as he and Nico walked closer in Jyugos direction, who was standing in a corner now with nowhere to escape.

"Can't we talk this out, guys?"

Jyugo held his hand up, his back pressed against the wall. His voice shook with a mixture of something that didn't feel like fear. His stomach did tell him he was nervous as hell until Jyugo recognized the feeling as anticipation. Until he came to that conclusion, his cellmates had put the rest of the distance between them and were standing with matching smirks in front of him. The dark-haired teen could only swallow, fighting the corners of his lips from twitching upwards. Why did the cell have to be so fricking tiny anyway? No wonder he breaks out all the time.

"Nico, Rock. Don't."

Jyugo tried backing up some more, but the wall behind him was as unrelenting as before. He was helpless and could only try arguing with his friends, but they didn't listen as Nico was coming from his right side, Rock from the other, and trapping him in their middle.

"Hehe, you're so funny, Jyugo." giggled Nico and reached out, poking the teen in the side. Jyugo jumped as he backed away with a laugh, only to stumble right against Rock. The muscled man grinned and quickly used the chance to catch the teen by locking his arms under Jyugos and successfully holding the teen in place. Due to their high difference, Jyugos body was stretched out, vulnerable to Nico's wiggling fingers that slowly crept closer.

"Noho. Nico, plehehase dohon't!" Jyugo giggled in panic, trying to pull his arms down, but to no use.

"He's laughing before you even start tickling him." laughed Rock, who felt Jyugos back pressing closer against his chest as the boy tried to avoid Nico's hands that reached out for his stomach, fingers wiggling teasingly, making the flushed teen even more fidgety.

"Unohoh!" yelled Jyugo and squirmed more in Rock hold, giggles already pouring out of him before Nico's fingers could touch him.

"Just a minute," called Uno back. He had a gigantic grin decorating his features while searching deliberately slow and snickering when he sometimes glanced over to his friends, the latter teasing Jyugo but still not touching him. Lifting his futon, he quickly found the device buried under a heap of colorful magazines.

"Look, I have already found it. Now let's see. How about we start in twenty seconds? I hope you're ready for your punishment, Jyugo."

Uno winked at the squirmy teen again, who was still trying to pull his arms down. Rock wasn't the strongest out of their cell without a reason, so he hung there helplessly in the air, waiting with growing nervousness for the attack to start.

"Ten seconds," sang Uno while watching with amusement the seconds passing by.

Jyugo gulped. He wasn't ready for this.

"Nine."

Seriously, this wasn't fair at all.

"Eight."

Why does that always have to be happening to him?

"Seven."

Nico is ticklish, too! Why doesn't anyone pounce on him?

"Six."

Oh, right, Nico can't stand too much tickling.

"Five."

But that wasn't a good excuse for why they had to do this to him!

"Four."

Just because he sucks at like every game they play?

"Three."

God, he hated these guys.

"Two."

Especially Uno. He's the worst of them all.

"One~."

Jyugo didn't even try to block the laughter. The second Nico's skilled fingers collided with his tummy, skittering them over his clothes.

"Noaahaha, Nicohohoo!" yelled the poor teen when the green-haired boy started tickling all over his tummy and sides. His touches were gentle but very effective, causing Jyugo's knees to buck under him as his strength slowly began leaving him. When the red-eyed teen scratched at his ribs, Jyugos legs gave up totally. He hung loosely in the air, only being held up by Rock's strong arms.

Nico giggled at the cute sounds his friend made whenever he tickled a pretty sensitive spot, like when he poked his lowest rib. Jyugo snorted before sweet giggles started filling the cell. Nico began to hum cheerfully and seesaw his head from side to side as he took turns poking Jyugos right side, then the left side. He worked his way up in that pattern, the right side, and again the left side from the raven-head hips up to his underarms. Jyugo twitched with every poke, and his giggling grew in quantity with the higher Nico's finger wandering on his ribs.

"Two minutes are over," informed Uno Nico and Rock while standing beside the taller American. The blond wiggled his eyebrows as he caught Jyugo's gaze. He reached out to give the teen's hipbone a teasing squeeze. Jyugo, who didn't see Uno's hand coming, bucked forward with his body, a surprised squeal escaping him, earning a round of chuckles at the hilarious but cute sound.

"Nico, would you mind taking turns with me?" asked Uno while watching Nico softly scratching at the fabric of Jyugos clothes that covered his abdomen, making the tickled boy produce a new wave of high-pitched giggles. He wanted to kick the whole thing up a notch.

Nico nodded and poked Jyugo in the belly button a last time, laughing at the squeal before taking the timer from Uno and switching places with him.

"How are you doing, Jyugo?" asked Uno with a smirk as he looked into his friend's lightly pink flushed face.

"Hahaha, I hahate yohuhu," was all the blond got as an answer from the still giggling teen, and Uno raised an eyebrow playfully.

"Bold answer from someone in your position," stated the Brit with a smirk before letting his hands shoot forward. Jyugo screamed in surprised laughter before squirming like a worm on a hook in Rock's hold as Uno attacked his exposed underarms. His arms twitched in reflex, and he desperately wanted to pull them down and protect his sensitive armpits from Uno's merciless tickle attack.

"UNO, DOHOHON'T!"

"Don't what?" asked Uno with a grin while watching Jyugo throwing his head back against Rock's chest, his eyes squeezed shut and legs kicking uselessly, not even near hitting him.

"TIHIHCKLE MEHEHE!"

"Tickle you? But that's already the punishment, Jyugo," teased Uno, and Rock and Nico chuckled at their friend's mistake.

Jyugo, who slowly realized what a dumb mistake he had made, could only shake his head from side to side and tug more on his arms when Uno started clawing at his ribs. He jumped when Uno scratched between them. It tickled so much more because of Uno's long fingernails. The latter noticed that, of course, and lightened his touch, spidering his blunt nails all over the teen's uniform that covered his sides and making him shriek in panicked laughter.

"You should eat more, you know. You're skinny."

"Shuhuhut uhup! ACK-NOHOHO, NOAHAHAT THEHEREE!"

"Oh, is this bad, Jyugo?" asked Uno, who grinned when the boy trashed even more than before as he started skittering his fingers over Jyugo's ribs.

"Does this tickle that much? Poor you."

Jyugo cursed his friend inwardly but couldn't do anything but laugh his head off. He kicked out for the Brit only to make the tickling stop for a second, but that was another big mistake.

"Whoa!" yelled Uno, who had just managed to avoid the kick and caught the leg. He glared at the panting teen, who was trying to catch his breath.

"Oh, now you're getting it," shouted Uno with mock anger. He scribbled his fingers up and down Jyugo's foot, holding the wildly kicking limp in a headlock. Jyugo screeched before breaking down into a hysterical giggle fit. He couldn't stand his feet getting tickled. It was just too much for him to handle.

"N-NICOHOHO, TIHIMEE!" was all the crazy laughing teen could bring out while trying to tug with all the power left in his body at his leg to get his foot away from Uno's evil tickling fingers.

"Three minutes left," answered Nico cheerfully.

Jyugos eyes widened at that.

Three whole minutes.

How was he going to survive that?

"Rock, would you lay him down for me?" asked Uno. He kept painfully slow, stroking with the help of his nails up and down Jyugos arch, making goosebumps appear all over the boy's body and causing him to giggle furiously.

Rock nodded and let himself sink till he sat cross-legged on the ground of their cell with Jyugo half in his lap.

"I said that Nico and Rock should have to tickle you, so it's only fair when it's Rock's turn now, but you know, for that kick just, now I think it's only fair when we all tickle you," said Uno, and playfully squeezed Jyugos big toe, making the teen pull his leg free with a squeak.

Before Jyugo could protest, he got pinned down to the ground, completely immobile. Rock held his hands down with one of his while Nico took place on his hips, facing Rock with a bright grin. Uno stayed where he was and took Jyugo's feet into a firm arm lock. They all started simultaneously, and Jyugo thought he would die laughing.

Rock was tickling his neck with his free hand while Nico paid more attention to his tummy and sides, and Uno switched from tickling under his knees and his toes. Jyugo was in tickle hell, and when the tickling finally stopped, he was lying with his eyes closed, panting on the floor of their cell, an arm thrown over his face, trying to hide his bright red face and the tear streaks on his cheeks.

"Remind me never to play anything with you guys again," he said with a hoarse voice, which earned him amused chuckles from his friends.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Got a mini tarot deck at Five Below because it’s adorable and the Ogham oracle deck I’ve been studying for the past few weeks is very very complicated to use without prior experience with cartomancy, which I do not have. So I tried the “past present future” thing with the mini deck. But it didn’t really give me anything coherent and overall didn’t “feel” right; so I just reshuffled, did a 4x4 grid, and flipped the cards over. It makes more sense that way lol.

So far it’s telling me:

Your life is harmonious as it is (Two of Cups), so you don’t need to take on any new things at the moment, despite there being many opportunities presenting themselves to you (Four of Cups). Even though you are powerful, fortune and opportunity are on your side and you will succeed if you take on something new (The Magician), it will be more than you can handle and you will exhaust yourself; focus on healing for now (reversed Four of Swords).

Surprisingly accurate but half of the magic is in how you interpret the cards… so personal bias comes in. If your head isn’t clear and you’re wanting to hear something specific; then your reading will be skewed. Maybe this is subconsciously what I wanted to hear. I’ll try to interpret it another way as well just to see what I get.

Whatever… One thing is for certain though: it does force you to slow down and think… No wonder the Jehovah’s Witnesses hate it so much lol

[victorluvsalice]

-->And Roxana did, going straight for a $3 cone of ice cream! Which, to my surprise and delight, prompted Smiler to gain a special Confident moodlet about selling ice cream on an extremely hot day, “The Coolest Vendor In Town!” XD Plus a separate moodlet for selling excellent-quality food. :) And, as usual, once one Sim had bought something, all the others in the area were eager to check things out! Notable sales included:

I. A guy named Asa trying out the mushroom waffles

II. Someone named Finley also going for a cone of chocolate ice cream

III. Roxana coming back for something more filling and also trying the mushroom waffles

IV. A guy named Mitchell taking a chance on the seafood pizza

V. Someone named Desmond deciding to go for a BOWL of ice cream, because why settle for a cone

VI. Don Lothario showing up and being convinced to buy a slice of Curious Pizza because I thought it was funny

VII. And my very first Sim ever made, Geeker McTest (in this save file a minor celebrity), showing up and also grabbing a bowl of ice cream. :)

Not bad at all, huh? The day’s profits weren’t amazing – $233 for five ice creams, four waffles, one slice of seafood pizza, and one slice of Curious pizza – but the gang doesn’t need the money, they just do this so people have good things to eat that they might not be able to get in their home worlds. :) Plus it’s just fun!

-->Ah, but what were Victor and Alice doing while Smiler was getting their sale on? Well, Victor ended up helping Alice with the ribs (by standing around and chatting with her, because he couldn’t do much else), then they each had a plate (chowing down with Roxana as she enjoyed her waffles) before heading over to the chess tables to play a game! As they both had a want to do so, you see. They spent their time chatting and flirting while Smiler worked the crowd, with Alice ultimately winning the match. All that time spent in Looking-Glass Land must have really made her a chess queen! (Literally – she does indeed get a fancy crown and everything at the end of that book. XD)

-->Once the food sale was over, it was time to start taking care of everyone's needs! Smiler, who was thirsty, went over and chatted with Roxana, learning a bit more about her (“she/her” pronouns, dislikes pop music and fitness) before convincing her to let them have a drink, while Victor and Alice, meanwhile, both used the toilet (with Victor nearly getting walked in on by KATRINA! Caliente – decorum, woman!). Alice then had a brief cloudgaze while Victor went around the side of the building to privately practice Untamed Magic, getting the “Necrocall” spell (which lets you summon ghosts from their gravestones) in the process (and a cute little message from Darkwing saying “New spells are fun!” :) ). I then tried to have Alice and Victor build a sand sculpture together to wrap up the day...

Only for Victor to just stand around supervising while Alice and SMILER ended up building a sand cowplant out the front of the park. O.o Well, I guess that’s one way for them all to participate? It was starting to get a little late, though, and I didn’t want the food in Smiler’s inventory to go bad...

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: January 28

"The Fair Flower of Northumberland" by Alasdair Roberts, Amble Skuse, and David McGuinness

[serotoninspock]

finally started watching strange new worlds. opening with het spock sex was definitely a choice that they made. spock needs to be bitchier and more repressed at all times. I do appreciate the joyous return to sci-fi bullshit silliness and monster of the week format. will have to investigate further

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

ALSO GUESS THE HELL WHAT! the great is coming back next friday!!!! and so i will be reunited with yet ANOTHER deranged fictional relationship i am crazy about and bombarded with new canon content re: them. no! nooooooo!

[niuxita21]

Sorry. I got carried away with the gay stereotypes. I too have a lot to learn. And I went a bit too far sending Elena to kidnap you. I’m sorry. Ana, you and I are a team and complement each other perfectly. And you’ve taught me a lot about the business world, but I know other things as well that I can teach you.

Bonus: Ana’s reaction to Mariana saying she could teach her other things... 

[oopsalltes]

If I had a dollar for ever time I saw your art and said I'd kiss a character I'd have so many monies I'd just give it back to you so you can draw more cute bonbers to kiss

'???!!!'?!?!? GUHHH?!?!?! THIS IS ONE OF THE NICEST COMMENTS IVE EVER GOTTEN ABOUT MY ART... im honestly really surprised everyone likes my bomberman au because i didnt really expect people to be too down with gijinkas as a loose concept, which is what it originally was, but once i started the whole rewrite process a lot of people in the community suddenly had it brought to their attentiion and im just so 💥💥💥💥 about it. its so much fun to work on and its even more fun to know that people like it :)

[simmonsized]

i'm so glad no one but you can see your AO3 inbox can you imagine the shame jesus christ

[obsesssedblerd]

“Oh, Nanaminnnn!” 

At the familiar, cheery voice, Kento looks up to see no one other than Satoru Gojo, leaning against the doorframe of his office with his usual grin. “Saw with my Six Eyes that you came to fill out those reports here instead of doing it from home. Been so long since you showed your face here and—” He cuts himself off with an excited gasp, then walks closer as his smile grows wider. “You brought my little mochi!”

In Kento’s left arm, his daughter—who had woken up from her nap about ten minutes ago—coos excitedly when Satoru enters her vision, reaching her hands towards him. “Well, hello there, sweetheart! I was wondering when I’d see you again!” He slides his hands under her plush arms, then picks her up, skillfully—and safely, Kento notes—holding her in his arms. Tiny hands brush against Satoru’s blindfold, and he lifts it so his niece can see his blue eyes. They immediately soften when the baby girl laughs when he gently tickles her tummy. 

It’s so cute that Kento can’t stop the corner of his mouth from lifting. 

“Wait—Did I hear that right?! Nanamin’s here?!” 

“Itadori, wait for us!” 

“Kugisaki, you dropped your bag—Oh, come on, guys, slow down!” 

Rapid footsteps approach, then the three first years appear at the door, gasping in unison. 

“Oh, my gosh!” Yuuji, the pink-haired teenager shouts as he points at the baby in Satoru’s arms. “Nanamin, when did you have a baby?!” 

Nobara’s question comes a split-second after Yuuji’s is finished. “Is that why [Y/L/N]-sensei quit a while ago?!” 

Megumi walks to stand beside Satoru to analyze the little bundle in his teacher’s arms. “She’s… adorable.” He mumbles, gently smiling when she wraps her hand around his finger. “Very adorable. She has [Y/L/N]-sensei’s laugh.”

“Isn’t she just so precious?” Satoru asks, proudly showing her off to the first years. “So sweet and friendly, just like her Uncle Gojo.” 

“Hopefully she won’t be as reckless as you,” Kento says as he holds his hands out, and Satoru returns his daughter to him. “[Y/N] and I already believe that she’ll be the exact opposite of me.” 

Yuuji sits beside Kento to get a closer look at her. “She’s so cute. How old is she, Nanamin?” 

“Four months as of yesterday.” 

Nobara crosses her arms and pouts. “How come only he knew?” She asks, gesturing to Satoru. 

“Well, when I had to go away on a long mission, she was only a month old,” Kento explains. “He kept an eye on her and [Y/N] for me; made sure that they were both safe. I’m very grateful. We had plans to tell you about our daughter soon.” 

“Where is she now?” Megumi asks. 

“At home. I wanted her to have the morning and most of the afternoon to herself. I’ll be heading back shortly.” 

Satoru and the students share similar looks with each other, and Kento knows what they want to ask. He pulls out his phone and dials your number. “Hi, baby,” you greet when the line connects, “how’s our girl?” 

“Hi, love. She’s amazing, as always,” he says as he looks down, playfully poking the little one’s nose. “I’m with Gojo and our students. They want to know if it’s alright to come and see you.” 

“We’ll cook dinner if you’re too tired!” Nobara chimes in hopefully.

“Actually, better yet, I can just order something for everyone,” Satoru suggests. 

“And we’ll clean up,” Yuuji and Megumi say at the same time. 

You laugh, then answer Kento, “That’s more than alright. Bring them here.” 

“Thought you’d say that. See you in a bit.” 

“Yes!” Yuuji cheers. “Alright, I’m gonna ride with Nanamin so I can sit next to the baby!” 

Nobara glares at him. “Not if I get to the car first!!” 

When they sprint out the door, Megumi groans before rushing after them. “Didn’t I just tell you guys to slow down? We’re going to the same place!” 

Satoru laughs, then waits for Kento to finish up so they can walk out together. 

—

there was an ask in my inbox requesting a cute drabble for dad! nanami ft. gojo (as a trusted friend of his) and the first years, but it disappeared. hope u like it, anon <3 

[cute-little-crow]

Based on a request by 💌 anon on how Sylus might react if he finds out you’re ovulating…

tw: female reader, talk of ovulation, implied breeding kink, Sylus has a strong reaction to the news, mention of birth control, NSFW throughout but part two will be worse 😈

Part Two

Fragrant water sloshed over the edge of the tub, your skin slippery from the concoction of essential oils added earlier in the hope of relieving your aches and pains. Your hand slid against your body, glossing over hardened nipples and dipping past your navel towards the dull, throbbing ache between your legs.

Your eyes remained stubbornly closed, thoughts of the debauched nature swirling in a vortex of crimson and obsidian feathers. God, you wished you could admit everything to him… admit that you were struggling, but it wouldn’t be fair to press your burdens onto Sylus.

That was why you had avoided him as much as you could. Why you had dodged the touches he tried to brush against your skin, worried that one touch alone would be enough to give the game away. That he would know from the blazing heat of your skin that things were not as they seemed.

You knew it bothered him, not that he had said anything on the subject, but it was only a matter of time. Sylus was not one to be denied.

As if summoned by thought alone, a sharp knock punctuated your daydreaming. Sinking lower into the tub until your chin hit the waterline, you listened as the low rumble of Sylus’s voice drifted through the door.

“Can I come in, sweetie?”

A tiny part of you wanted to refuse him, but that would be cruel, and cruelty was not a part of your nature, not even in your current state.

Vermillion eyes locked with yours, curious and if you weren’t mistaken, concerned. Sylus sat on the edge of the bath, his back resting on the ceramic tiles whilst he cocked his head and let out a weary breath.

“For a minute, I didn’t think you would let me in,” he admitted whilst carefully rolling the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows. “You’ve been avoiding me, kitten, why?”

You glanced off to the side, heat warmed your cheeks at the accusation. How did you tell him that it was for his own good? He didn’t need you distracting him unnecessarily with wants that made you blush and squirm with embarrassment.

Splash…

His strong hand plunged into the steaming water and wrapped around your ankle. He thumbed across your ankle bone delicately, long fingers splayed around your heel and towards your arch.

“Talk to me.”

The words were followed up with a squeeze of his hand, eliciting a moan that you couldn’t suppress. The corner of Sylus’s mouth twitched upward into a subtle smile, his grasp loosening to run the length of your calf.

“Sylus… I—it doesn’t matter. I’ll be okay, in a few days I’ll be back to my old self.”

“A few days? Nuh-uh, sweetie… I am not prepared to wait so long and I am certainly not willingly to have you continue to avoid me. What’s wrong? Are you sick?” He asked, brow furrowed and the first tendrils of his power leaked out to wash over you.

The power called to your own, entwined around each other in a lovers embrace, twisting and writhing. You weren’t sure if he felt it too, though if you were more present of mind you might have noticed how his breathing had turned shallow and his fingers had stopped massaging calf.

You licked over your parched lips. Gaze low-lidded as desire overrode your previous reservations.

“I’m… can you not look at me like that whilst I tell you this? It’s not helping.”

“Looking at you like what?”

“Like you’re going to devour me whole.”

Sylus huffed a laugh. “I just might, but fine. I’ll close my eyes, how about that?”

He was so handsome and that was certainly a large part of the problem. You’d lost count to the number of times you had fantasised about him soothing the ache in your belly. A large palm pressed against your soft belly whilst he thrust into your hot, wet cunt. His silver hair tickling your shoulder as he marked the skin of your neck, blowing cool air across the blooming bruises. Filling you up over and over until sleep took you hostage and you could happily drown in the fatigue of overused muscles.

“I���m ovulating,” you finally conceded, rushing on to explain. “It makes me feel needy. My body is hypersensitive. I’m prone to my emotions getting the better of me. Picking fights over nothing. Letting jealousy win. It’s a lot and I’m trying not to let it affect you…”

There was a weighty silence, filled only with the gentle sway of the water, and then it was broken.

“Ovulating. You’re… shit—well, that explains a thing or two.”

His eyes were positively glowing. His jaw set into an expression of pure agony. If looks could inflict damage you knew you’d be bloody beneath his dangerous maw.

Sylus was pure predator and you were the only prey he ever wanted to both consume and protect.

“Soft or rough?”

The question didn’t make sense and you frowned in confusion, nose wrinkled.

He answered by submerging his arm into the tub, right between your legs. Not even your attempt at closing your knees together would hinder his progress, not until he cupped your sex.

“I am giving you a choice,” he grit out, jaw flexing, “on how the next few hours are going to go. Either way, you will be asleep in my arms and content by the time I’m finished.”

“Oh, Sylus~”

Sylus groaned. His middle finger rubbed along your slit swollen with heat and desire, dipping through the hot flesh like a knife through butter.

“Don’t. Don’t say my name like that or I’ll make the decision for you,” he warned.

Saliva filled your mouth, runny and hot. “Rough,” you purred, letting your pussy answer for you. “But Sylus… I’m not on birth control right now.”

Sylus, who had started to rise to his feet with his arm dripping and his shirt sleeve dark with water, paused. He turned his gaze on you once more and your spine arched off the porcelain tub, nipples peaked and swollen emerged from the fragrant water.

“Stop talking, princess. I’m already a hair away from plucking you from the water and taking you on the bathroom floor like a dog.”

He strode for the door, ripping it open with such force that you shuddered.

“Five minutes. You have five minutes to get out and get onto all fours on our bed. I want to see my pretty pussy glistening and ready for me… maybe I’ll fuck a baby into you, if you’re lucky.”

You asked for rough… you were going to get it.

an: part two coming soon… dividers by @/roseschoices

[crushmeeren]

just imagine taunting touya or katsuki while having sex… asking if he can handle you… telling him he can’t make you cum

i am losing my mind 😭 i love ur works!

friend, this is…. diabolical. I LOVE IT. [and thank you.] /ᐠ. .ᐟ\ฅ

༝ ᭝ ༝ brief warning for some degradation used by touya. ༝ ᭝ ༝

master list link. ༝ ᭝ ༝ @pixelcafe-network

༝ ᭝ ༝ katsuki ༝ ᭝ ༝

This is something I can see very clearly happening when you first start having sex with Katsuki.

It’s the third or fourth time. The burn in your thighs worsens the longer you bounce on Katsuki’s cock, and sweat beads in the valley between your tits, trailing down your sternum.

Surprisingly enough, it didn’t become like pulling teeth to convince him to hand over the reigns.

Now, you brace your hands on his firm, flushed chest, supporting your weight, and roll your hips back and forth in his lap. The tip of his cock presses firmly against your g-spot, and you’re rewarded with hot sparks of pleasure bursting in your pelvis with each slow circle of your hips.

Katsuki’s fingers dig desperately into your waist, nails pinching your skin, and his breath catches when your pussy squeezes him. His lids flutter briefly and a low moan spills from his lips.

You grind slowly, studying the open and fucked out expression on his face. Then you grin.

“You sure you can handle me Katsuki?” You tease, a sweet heat curling up your spine when you deliberately push your hips back even harder.

Katsuki scowls, the pink blush on his cheeks turning scarlet. “Fuck you. I can handle you just fine.” He jerks his hips upwards to emphasize his point, cock sinking in even further.

Your small, delighted gasp dances in the air, pussy clenching on its own accord. “Pretty sure I’m fucking you. You already look like you’re about to cum. What, a big bad hero like you not gonna be able to make me cum this time?” With a smug smile you lean in close, nails biting into his pecs as you whisper. “I thought you were supposed to be number one at everything, Dynamight.”

Katsuki’s eyebrow twitches, jaw clenching tight as he grinds his teeth to dust.

“You think I can’t make that fuckin’ pussy cum, princess?” He asks hotly, grabbing a handful of your ass. The sharp sting of pain makes your pulse thunder in anticipation, the heat in your belly rising a few notches. “You’re gonna scream my name. Better yet, I’ll make you cry out for “Dynamight”, but he won’t save you.” A wolfish grin curls the corners of his mouth.

Your lips part in surprise as he shoves you off his lap, soft blankets cushioning your fall. He manhandles you like a rag doll onto your belly, yanking your hips into the air, looming over your back to shove your face into the sheets with hand to the base of your skull.

“Katsuki!” Your cry gets muffled by the sheets, a calloused palm raining down on your ass so harshly you’re certain his handprint will remain as evidence. He laughs meanly, readjusting his hips and pushes the slick tip of his cock to your pussy.

He clicks his tongue behind teeth in disapproval. “That’s not the right name, princess.” His voice is strained as he slides back inside you, bottoming out with a harsh smack of his hips against your ass. He plants one hand by your head and tangles his fingers through your hair with the other, yanking your head off the mattress. “Go on, cry out for Dynamight,” he murmurs in your ear, warm breath tickling your skin.

Katsuki draws his hips back, cock slipping out halfway, before brutally snapping them forward and filling you entirely.

“Dynamight!” You wail, the next breath becoming a choked off gasp.

His chest rumbles with a moan. “That’s what I was lookin’ for, such a good girl.”

By the end of it, you’re a jelly limbed pile of mush in his bed, voice scratchy from overuse. You’re never going to let him live down the fact that’s it’s so damn easy to get under his skin.

༝ ᭝ ༝ touya ༝ ᭝ ༝

Pushing your boyfriend to his limit usually results in being burned.

It’s not a secret that Touya is terrible at keeping his cool, hotheaded temper rising to the surface whenever you take it a step too far. But, to you, the ends justify the means. Especially when it comes to sex.

“Hell yes, fuck yourself back on my cock just like that baby. So goddamn hot,” Touya says through his teeth, one scarred hand resting on your tailbone to guide your movement. Your fingers fist the pillow supporting your head, cheeks blistering with heat as you work his cock in and out of your pussy. The hot, slick friction is amazing, but not enough.

You pant softly, frustration welling in your belly. “Yeah? It’d be even hotter if you put in any effort to make me cum,” you say with bite. Touya stiffens behind you, fingers suddenly grasping your hips with intent to bruise. He yanks you backwards, forcing a yelp out of you when the tip of his cock is shoved up against your cervix. You squirm with discomfort, but you can’t move an inch.

“The fuck did you just say?” His voice is coated in ice.

Yet, you keep digging your own grave. “You heard me.” You glare at him over your shoulder before turning back. “Seems like you can’t handle me,” you say arrogantly, resting your flushed cheek on the cool fabric of your pillow.

For a second, you think you may have stunned him. Then, the skin on your hips seems to start sizzling under his palms. It’s bright and searing, stealing your breath for a moment, and then you’re flipped onto your back within the next second.

Touya bullies his cock back inside you without another word, hand molding to the bottom of your jaw to keep your mouth shut. The look in his eyes is wild, a cruel grin on his lips when he leans in close until he’s a centimeter away from you. Your pulse thunders, kickstarting a rush of adrenaline.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are talking to me like that, sweetheart. But you’re lucky as hell I want to be inside your tight little pussy so badly.” He starts to shallowly rock his hips. “Otherwise I’d leave you alone and go jerk myself off.”

Your eyes dart across Touya’s face, his blue eyes bright with something like mania. Sick satisfaction curls in your chest, and you manage to keep yourself from smiling. He’s playing right into your hands, just like every other time.

Touya releases your jaw, hooking his hands under the backs of your knees and pushes until they sink into the mattress, folding you like a blanket. The angle makes it feel like his cock’s inside your stomach and you gasp, clutching at scarred wrists.

“Right there Touya, please!” You plead, back arching when he rewards you with a heavy thrust. Touya rolls his eyes, but he bends to your whim and picks up his pace. He smirks like he’s the one in control, lids lowering as his gaze stays glued to where he disappears inside you.

“My little whore,” he coos. “You’re not gettin’ any relief until you fuckin’ squirt for me, do you understand?” There’s no room for argument in his voice, and you nod, goosebumps littering your arms.

You’ll taunt him again and again and fucking again, if only to drive him up the wall and coax him into rearranging your guts.

[yeyinde]

kinda enamoured with the thought of our poor mc going to a dud of party but meeting Kyle and Johnny there (both looking as out of place as you feel) but instead of taking you home, they bring you back to Price and Ghost. a sweet little treat for them all to share.

and they're charming, of course. too charming. but alcohol numbs most of your inhibitions about how touchy they are. how physical. folding themselves into your space, leaning down to whisper in your ear when you can hear them just fine. hands on the small on your back. around your wrist. your waist. knuckles against your cheek—

god, you're such a pretty little thing, aren't you?

warm skin. breath that smells of thick, sweet cream and oaky black tea. hands curling under the hem of your shirt—shush, shush, doe, ahm jus' helpin' ye; yer hot, ain't ye? lemme help ye out o'yer jumper—thick, sunkissed fingers dancing over your skin.

you feel funny, you slur into his—Kyle, he huffs, grinning wide; wolfish: call me Kyle, sweet thing—neck, chasing the scent of spiced vanilla and wild, ripened plums. everything is spinning. spinning—

"god, he's gonna just love you—"

but they'll take you somewhere. home. you nod, nose tucked tight against his warm, steady pulse. "wanna go home—" you mumble into salt-tinged skin, and they laugh.

"oh, don't worry, beautiful. we'll get you right where you need to be."

you trust them, of course. let them usher you into their car, curled up against a broad, warm chest. lulled under a blanket of security wrapped tight in strong, firm arms. and if his hand wanders, fingers tickling the insides of your thighs. well—

you can't deny they're attractive. maybe you can get their number after and call them in the morning.

but that doesn't happen.

you wake to the sound of voices. hands sliding under your knees, around your shoulder. carried into a house that isn't your own—some strange cabin deep in the forest. the glow of the wood stove in the only light on inside, and you struggle to adjust to the thick orange haze.

"what's going on?" you ask, blinking at the sight that greets your liquid eyes.

Kyle places you down on a rug, holding your hips tight when you fumble. laughing, just a little, under his breath when you gasp.

sitting in an old, wooden chair is a man you've never seen before. big, broad. intimidating. his thick legs spread lazily—one kicked out against the rug, the other bent at the knee. and elbow rests on it. in his hand, a lit cigar. the other dangles, loose and lax, off the armrest. fingers curling, unfurling, into spasmic fists.

his eyes burn caeruleum in the flickering gold.

you fight back a shiver, but feel it slide like hot oil down your spine.

"what—?"

"my boys didn't explain it to you?" he asks, voice a rough, abrasive scratch in your head. gritty. porous. you feel it against your skin. fingers digging into your nape. bad girl. there's something about him that commands attention, and you give it easily as he tuts, pale lips pulling into a condescending sneer beneath the thick of his beard. "or maybe you just weren't payin' attention, sweetheart."

"attention to what—" sir almost trembles out. his lips twitch like he heard all the same. "i just want to go home—"

the hand dangling over the ledge flares to life. he flicks it careless around the room with a hum. "you are home."

"my real home—"

and then you see it.

he moves like liquid through the shadows. folds himself into the dark like its where he belongs. and you thought—and still very much do—the man sitting on his throne was large, intimidating, but it pales at the absurd height of this thing that slinks out of the corner with a heavy, laden gaze. powdered charcoal. endlessly black. flat, though. amused.

when he speaks, it's all brass. "what's this? Johnny brought 'ome a stray?"

"nah," you hear Kyle's grin. feel the phantom shift of sharp teeth against your neck. breathless laugher. warm hands. baby, you feel so good. "we found 'er in a club. lost little lamb."

"and you dragged her back to the wolf's den, mm?"

"you complainin', cap?"

it takes all of your willpower to tear your eyes off the man, but you manage. ripping them away until you find him—Price—again. he stares back with a lidded, heavy gaze. unflinching. hungry.

"not in the slightest."

Kyle purrs. "Johnny couldn't keep his hands off her, sir. might have some competition for who goes first."

cold air on your nape. dread bubbles up in your belly. "no—"

they continue like you hadn't spoken. like you don't exist. the man in the corner folds his thick arms over his broad chest, shaking his head a chainsaw-like grunt. laughter, you think.

but Price doesn't seem to find it nearly as funny. his teeth sink into the butt of the cigar with a growl. "gonna fight me for first, Sargeant?"

Johnny snorts, and rubs his finger under his nose.

"she's sweet," he murmurs, all wide-eyed and feverish. cheeks pinked under the warm spill of orange. "cannae blame a man fer wantin' such a pretty little thing—"

"back of the line," Kyle prods. and you wish his touch made your stomach churn, but that thread of intrigue, alcohol spooled want, still thrums in your veins.

"i just—" you stammer, eyes widening as real, tangible fear sets in. skewers into your belly. heart in your throat. the erratic echoes pounding in your ears. "i just want to go home."

"you are home, birdie—" he speaks and it feels like the walls shake. "didn't get a bright, did you, Johnny?"

"tha's mean, Lt—" his hands snake around your waist, pulling you into his hard chest. "didnae anyone teach ye 'ow tae chirp at birds?" the shorn sides of his Mohawk scratch against your cheek when he nuzzles, kittenish, against your face. "don't listen tae 'im, doe. yer th' sweetest, brightest lit'le thing—"

"mm, and such a bright little girl would know how to behave, wouldn't she?"

even with the alcohol dulling your senses—thoughts scattered and thin as two pairs of hands start pulling at your clothes, stripping you down to nothing—you can still see his words for what it is:

a threat.

as if to reinforce this idea, the man—Ghost, Johnny whines into your burning, stinging cheek, skin chafing from the graze of his buzzed sides: gotta 'ave a taste, Lt—moves, his body spilling out in a dizzying tumble of thick limbs. he stands by the door—the only one—and folds his arms over his chest once more, head cocking to the side as he stares down at you.

"don't worry, Johnny," he rumbles, lids slipping to half cresences over the ink black of his eyes. "i intend to."

the air stills when Price hums. your attention is pulled back to him instantly, but a part of you—all animal—halves it down the middle, keeping Ghost in your sights at all times. turning your back on him feels—

stupid.

you shiver.

Price shifts in the chair, reaching up for the cigar still pinched between his teeth. the look in his eyes is a startling, heavy thing. doom tastes like ash between your teeth.

"an' you're a bright girl, aren't you?"

it's not really a question. you nod anyway, feeling the fight in your body dissolve like wisps of smoke in the dense, thickened air. excitement, desire, hums—an electrical current—in the air, bubbling up between them. they move around you in a way that's dizzingly coordinated—a living, thrumming dance. stigmergy. as your clothes fall, as their hands grab your flesh, pinching and caressing, moaning in your ear about how soft you are, how sweet, one, horrifying thought thickens in the back of your head:

you know, then, that you're not going home.

"oh, sweetheart," Price drawls like he knows what you're thinking. a mocking little coo as he tucks his knuckles under your chin, lifting your head up to meet his burning gaze. there's something in there, you think. something awful. something hungry.

"you already are."

[joelscurls]

best kept secret

pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 6.7k

summary: In an attempt to keep your relationship secret, Joel agrees to a blind date set up by his best friend / your father. You don't take it well.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, pre-outbreak, age gap (reader is in her early 20s, Joel is 36), secret relationship, angst, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, semi-public sex, car sex, creampie, some fluff; lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared. but we're back, baby! anyway, dbf!joel owns my ass, so here's my rendition of him. as always, ty to my baby @javisashtray for reading this over for me and helping me through the creative process <3

Joel’s bedroom window offers a perfect view of the sunrise; of shy, pink light creeping over treetops and the roof of your dad’s house across the street.

It’s gorgeous — breathtaking, even — maybe because you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually seen the crest of morning. You’re far more privy to late nights and sleeping in as long as you can push it,  never been one to be up with the lark, so to speak.

You don’t mind the early wakeup call, though, not when it’s this: Joel’s head tucked between your thighs, his tongue rolling lazily over your clit, your eyes still adjusting to the light as he spreads you open for him.

He’s humming against you, his coarse beard tickling soft skin, thumbs dug into muscle to hold you in place as your back bows reflexively off the mattress. He looks so sweet like this, so eager to please, staring up at you with blown pupils.

“C’mon baby,” he purrs. “Just gimme one before you go.”

They’re the first words he’s said all morning, the first thought that’s necessitated utterance. His voice is hoarse and deep and drips honey-sweet at your core. 

Even so, despite how badly you want to — because you always want Joel’s mouth on you — you’re not sure you can. 

Because you need to get home before Denise next door leaves for her early shift. Before Susan a few houses down takes her dog out for a walk.

Before the neighborhood wakes and somebody sees you leaving Joel Miller’s house. Or worse, before your dad catches you slipping into the house in yesterday’s clothes, your car in the driveway still cold.

But with another experimental flick of Joel’s tongue, you forget all that, a content little sigh slipping past your parted lips, betraying you.

Just one, you tell yourself, and then you’ll head out.

“Fuck, okay — yeah,” you breathe, twisting your fingers into the roots of his curls.

With your permission, he buries his nose in your mound. Licks at you again — with more purpose, this time. One long, drawn out lap followed by another.  

He’s so gentle with you, so careful, caressing your folds with his tongue like they’re made of paper. It’s a dizzying juxtaposition to the way he laid you down last night and fucked you, teeth scraping your neck and cock bruising your cervix.

You’re still sore, your walls tender where he stretched them, but your pussy is drooling nonetheless, surely making a mess of the bedsheets underneath you.

Because you’re insatiable when it comes to Joel. 

For the past few weeks, since the first time you’d found yourself in his bed, you’ve craved him. Regardless of how sated he’s left you each and every time, you’ve needed more. 

It’s dangerous and stupid and undeniably wrong, having a fling with your dad’s best-friend. But you’re finding it difficult to consider the morality of it all when just his tongue makes you come harder than any other man’s cock ever has. 

That tongue, now dipping into your apex, drawing more slick out of you as his thumb finds your swollen clit — It’s overwhelming how good it feels, how good he is at this.

He’s bringing you to the edge languidly, savoring the taste of you, the feel of your silky flesh. It’s like he doesn’t want this to be over, needs to stretch the moment as far as it’ll go, milk every last second before you slip from his grasp.

But it’s going to end soon; it’s inevitable with the way he’s laving your pussy, the crushed velvet of his tongue gliding through your folds so wet and warm. Your orgasm is building, and you’re powerless to stave it off any longer.

“Joel,” you warn, his name a high-pitched whine. 

“Shh, I know babygirl; it’s okay.” 

Two of his fingers hook at your entrance and push in, pacifying you as his thumb continues working your clit. “I got you. Let go for me, sweetheart.”

The soothe of his voice floods your senses like nitrous; renders your body loose and your head foggy. You come apart with a string of shattered breaths, eyes rolled back and fingers twisted into the duvet.

Joel talks you through it: that’s it, pretty girl; so good for me; always so good for me, and though he sounds so far away, his words are the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

The world comes back into view slowly. Air settles in your lungs. And you can’t help but laugh at how fucked-out you feel when you peer down at Joel, his gaze already locked on you, expectantly.

“Okay?” he asks, rubbing at your inner thigh.

“Yeah,” you exhale, corners of your lips pulling taut. “More than okay.”

He smiles back at you. Props himself up with hands planted either side of you on the mattress and hovers over your feeble form.

“Good,” he whispers, dipping his head down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your mouth. He licks into you, letting you taste yourself on him — a little sweet, a little bitter — and his lips are so soft that you nearly melt. “Did so good, angel.” 

You want nothing more than to spend all day in this bed with him. Return the favor a few times over. Learn what he looks like in the afternoon sun against the backdrop of navy blue sheets. What he tastes like after his coffee rather than before.

“I don’t want to leave,” you admit against his mouth and he frowns, taking one of your hands in his. He presses a kiss to each of your knuckles, one by one, his eyes never straying from yours.

“I don’t want you to either, darlin’. But you can come back tonight, yeah?”

Tonight. Hours away. A whole day between now and then. But it’ll have to do. 

“Tonight,” you repeat. Solidify it. 

You slink home just as the street lights dim.

The house is quiet when you enter, apart from the incessant ticking of the grandmother clock in the living room. It sets off a throbbing in your head, a dull pang right at the front of your skull that you massage with two fingers as you ascend the stairs.

You move cautiously up each step, wincing at every creak of old wood. It must take minutes to reach the second-floor landing, and then you’re tiptoeing past your father’s room, listening for signs of sleep behind the seal of his door. Sure enough, you catch it, a single, drawn-out snore, loud enough that you let your feet fall, shuffling the rest of the way to the bathroom across the hall.

You immediately crank the shower on, climbing in as soon as you see steam. Lathering your skin with citrus-scented body wash, the smell of sex washes off your body and down the drain.

The warm water soothes your sore muscles; bittersweet relief. You stand there until the stream grows icy, stepping out and toweling yourself off just as you hear the familiar blare of your dad’s alarm on the other side of the wall.

By the time you’ve dressed and made your way downstairs, he’s already in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee with his back to you. 

Sink empty, counters borderline sparkling, a coaster tucked under his warm mug — your father is a neat man. He does not take kindly to mess.

God forbid, anybody disrupt the sacred balance of his home; move something and forget to put it back, break something of his that should be kept intact.

“Hey.”

“Hey, kiddo,” he yawns. Turns to face you. “You were up early. Heard the shower going.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you lie.

“Something on your mind?”

Heat blooms across your chest and up your neck. There’s no way he knows — you’ve been far too careful. Still, you’re on edge, and the question lodges itself between your ribs uncomfortably as you frantically search for an answer.

“Uh, n-no,” you stutter. “Just work stuff, I guess.”

He seems to buy it, reaching for the percolator and re-filling his mug with a sigh, “Just gotta give it time. You only just started. Plus, it’s your first job out of school. They don’t expect you to know it all right away.”

It’s good advice, if not misguided. You nod as if you’re absorbing it, taking it straight to heart. As if your mind isn’t preoccupied.

You grab a mug from the cabinet. Fill it with coffee and creamer. Perch yourself at the breakfast table and take a slow, steadying sip.

The caffeine has just about seeped into your bloodstream when-

-there’s a knock at the door.

Your dad shoots you a puzzled look, one which you immediately return. Who could that be, so early on a Wednesday morning?

And when he pushes open the door to reveal none other than Joel, you just about fall out of your chair. Your nails absentmindedly dig into the wood of the table in an attempt to brace yourself.

“Oh, buddy — hey! Come on in,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he steps over the threshold. “Wasn’t expecting you.”

You grasp the handle of your mug like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, you worry the ceramic will shatter in your hands.

Joel is dressed — blue cotton t-shirt covering his broad back and the deep, red scratches you left there when you dug your nails into skin, your legs hiked over his hips and your face tucked into his chest.

The pair of boxers peeking over the waistband of his jeans are different from the ones you pulled off of him last night, the ones he shimmied back into before you slept cradled in his arms.

He’s a different Joel here, now — your father’s friend, your neighbor — not the man who breaks you down with his tongue or the one who calls you his good girl while you take his entire, throbbing length. 

No, this Joel, standing in your kitchen in the presence of your father, has never betrayed him. Hasn’t tasted his friend’s daughter or felt the tight embrace of her wet, warm cunt around his cock. This Joel is reliable, honest, not one to do harm.

You do not desire this Joel, cannot. You must look at him with apathetic eyes. Must keep the boat of your longing at bay. 

Easier said than done. It’s as if your desire for him is a feral beast, fed by his touch and left starving in its wake. You feel like you’ve just run a marathon, sweat beading at your collar as you not-so-subtly follow the subconscious flex of his hands, the bunching of fabric over his biceps.

His voice bounces off the backsplash, and your fingers tighten around the handle of your mug.

“Yeah, I uh — I went to make myself coffee and realized I was out. Was hopin’ you might have some to spare?”

He can’t be serious. He came over for coffee? He couldn’t get some on the road?

“I’m afraid she took the last of it,” your dad’s eyes point to you, and you ignore the burn of Joel’s gaze when his follow.

“Ahh,” he says. “‘ts okay. I’ll grab some on my way in.” 

His fingers taptaptap on the edge of the countertop, bottom lip tucked between his teeth like there’s something else. Another reason he came here.

And then you spot it — your wallet, dark red leather, poking out the top of Joel’s back pocket. 

You must’ve left it in his room before you hurried home. Somewhere amongst the mess of trinkets and trash on his dresser. You half-remember dropping it there last night as he’d kneeled in front of you and peppered kisses up the length of your leg.

Thankfully, your dad is oblivious as ever, giving Joel the perfect opportunity to inconspicuously slip you your wallet when he turns around and crosses the kitchen, placing his empty mug in the sink. 

Joel sidesteps once, twice, extending his arm and snapping it back as soon as you have the wallet in your grasp.

Your father clears his throat. Spins to find Joel exactly where he was. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, wrestling a slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it into the toaster, “I gotta set you up with this co-worker of mine, Deb.”

Joel freezes. You watch as the color drains from his face and his large hand anxiously cards through dark curls. You’re pretty sure you freeze too, breath caught somewhere in your throat until your dad turns to you and you remember to exhale. 

“You know Deb, right, honey?” he asks. You mentally flick through the rolodex of your dad’s coworkers. 

There’s Leanne, tall redhead, hosted a potluck a few months back at which you tasted the worst mac & cheese you’ve ever had. And Barbara from accounting, who he got into a heated argument with over who makes the best BBQ in the city. You only remember her name because he hadn’t shut up about how wrong her opinion was for a full week. 

This woman actually thinks the Smoke Shop has got better ribs than Lou’s. I said to her, Barbara, your taste buds must be absolutely torched.

But Deb? You don’t recall a Deb. Still, you’re pretty sure you hate her, just in hearing her name in this context. 

You shake your head, no. 

“Well, I guess you haven’t seen her in a while. She was there that day I brought you into the office.”

“When I was ten?” you retort. 

“Yeah, I guess it was that long ago, huh?”

You shrug. He returns his attention to Joel. “Anyway, Deb – she’s around your age, just got divorced about a year back, and she’s a real nice woman. I think you two would really hit it off.”

“Is that so?” Joel replies. You swear his voice wavers. If your dad notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’ll like her Joel, I promise. I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a nice lady? Not since – what was her name — Jean? And if things were going well with her, I’d hope you’d tell your old friend.” The toaster pops, and he retrieves his slice of toast. Grabs a butter knife from the utensil drawer.  

“No, I ain’t seeing Jean,” Joel sighs. Flashes you an apologetic glance as your dad slathers his toast in artificial purple jam, blissfully unaware.

“Well, you gotta get back out there!” 

Joel’s gaze rolls to the ceiling. “I don’t know – I’m just not real interested in datin’ right now.”

You exhale, then — a quiet declaration of relief that seems to go unnoticed — unperturbed even when your dad continues his pitch. 

I’ve known this woman for years Joel, I’m telling you, the two of you’d be the perfect match; she’s a looker too, real pretty.

Ew. Tuning him out, you check the clock, find that you only have a few minutes before you need to get going. You stand from the table and make your way toward the sink with your now-empty coffee mug in hand.

Would I ever lead you astray? your dad is asking just as you brush past Joel. His hand, idle by his side, catches the fabric of your blouse and you have to fight to ignore the pinprick of electricity it ignites under your skin.

“No, I know,” Joel grumbles. “I trust your judgment ‘n all, ‘ts just-”

“Will you just give her a chance?”

“Jesus; fine.”

The mug slips from your grip, falls into the sink with a clang.

Your dad glares at you, expression softening only when you gesture to the still-intact ceramic lying on its side in the basin.

He’s quickly distracted, then, jotting a series of numbers down onto a scrap of notebook paper, the blue ink pressed in so hard that it’s beginning to bleed through. 

“Atta boy,” he drawls, sliding it across the counter. Joel pinches it between two fingers, folds the paper without looking at it and stuffs it into his front pocket. 

“Promise you’ll give her a call tonight? I may or may not have already talked you up, and I need to know you’re not gonna make me look bad here.”

Joel has to see you staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He must. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under already. But he’s refusing to meet your gaze, eyes glued to the cabinet directly in front of him as he nods. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight,” he says, a small, unconvincing smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

He’s actually agreeing to this?

You need to get out of here before you say something rash.

The anger bubbles in you slowly, then all at once, threatening to boil over as you slip on your shoes and sling your bag over your shoulder. 

Marching toward the door, you offer a half-hearted bye, not bothering to look back before you leave.

The office is already milling with people by the time you stroll in, ten minutes late. 

The conversation between Joel and your dad is still running laps in your head as you sneak past your boss’s door.

It sticks there through the morning and well into the afternoon, your dad’s words an incessant earworm: I think you two would really hit it off.

The thing is — you can’t blame Joel for saying yes to the setup. Not really. Your situation is complicated, messy, bound to end badly.

Maybe he’d be happier with Deb. 

They could take walks together, stroll through the grocery store or down the street  hand-in-hand. Throw dinner parties and shamelessly gush about their relationship to their friends. All without fear of being caught doing something wrong.

Because that’s what this is, you and Joel — it’s wrong. Not like you weren’t already well aware of that. Leave it to some woman you’ve never met to rub it in.

The day passes infuriatingly slow.

The pile of emails in your inbox only grows larger by the time you’re due to clock out, stack of reports on your desk barely touched. You wince when your boss stops by your cubicle on her way out, eager for an update.

“Sorry, Linda; a couple of these were more time-consuming than I’d hoped,” you lie. But you can tell she doesn’t buy it, not one bit, her expression souring as you shuffle through papers.

“I need these done by the end of the week, no matter what.”

“Of course,” you mutter, face heating with embarrassment. “I’ll get them done and on your desk by Friday.”

“Thanks.” Her heels are already clacking on tile when you open your mouth to apologize again, your sorry lost to the ether.

You gather your things and scramble to your feet as soon as she’s out of view, not sticking around to watch your computer power down. By the time you get to your car, Joel’s number is already dialed on your phone.

He picks up after two rings.

“Darlin’ — are you okay?”

It’s admittedly uncharacteristic for you to call him so early. You usually wait until after dark, when you’ve both retreated to your respective bedrooms, away from listening ears.

But this can’t wait. It’s been eating at you all day, digging into your work. If you don’t talk to him about it, you’re going to end up unemployed. You don’t bother to ask if he’s still on the job site, around other people. “You’re going on this date.” It’s not a question. More of an accusation.

“Baby,” he sighs. You try your best to ignore his molasses drawl and the way it seeps into your chest. 

“Why didn’t you say no?” 

“How could I?” he groans. “There’s your dad, askin’ me if I’m seein’ someone, sayin’ he’s already told this lady about me – what am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice comes out a whine. “Make something up. Tell him you’ve taken a vow of celibacy.”

He laughs, low and breathy on the other end. “Yeah, baby. Think he’d believe that one, f’sure.”

“Fuck,” you huff. “I just— I don’t-“

You want to tell him not to go. To cancel. Fake his own death. Do whatever it takes to get out of this. But you have no right, not really. The two of you aren’t dating. You don’t have any control over what he does or who he sees. And you don’t want that, no. You just want him to choose you.

“I don’t wanna go, darlin’. I really don’t. But if I do this, I think it’ll get him off my back for a while. He won’t have a reason to suspect that I’m foolin’ around with his daughter.”

Fooling around. His phrasing is a metaphorical punch in the gut.

It’s not exactly a lie. You haven’t put a label on this thing, whatever it is. It’s been purely physical: lips slotted to lips, tongues pressed together, swapped sweat and saliva. But hearing it reduced to two words, words with such a casual connotation — as if you haven’t been driven by overwhelming desire — makes your stomach churn.

Joel doesn’t seem to clock it when you go quiet, a cocktail of rage and sorrow sloshing around your insides. “It’s for the best,” he adds, a shot of hard, burning liquor. 

“Yeah,” you say defeatedly. Choke back the pathetic tears that creep up your throat. “For the best.”

He ends the call with the excuse of bad cell reception. Promises to talk to you later. You’re not sure that you believe him.

The phrase fooling around curls up in your head, a wet dog, its fur dripping into the crevices of your rattled brain the entire drive home.

You dodge Joel’s calls for the remainder of the week.

There’s no use in talking to him when you have nothing to say, when you know any words you attempt will be overtaken by tears.

Even so, it doesn’t stop him from trying. His number lights up the screen of your phone at least twice a day.

He leaves voicemails that you do not listen to. You can’t. The last thing you need is his syruppy drawl in your ear. You’ll break; you know you will.

So instead, you delete them. Rid yourself of temptation.

But you still ache for him — a devastating truth. You lumber through the days, bones heavy with hurt. Find yourself kept up at night by thoughts of Joel and the infuriatingly soothing timbre of his voice, the intoxicating callous of his fingertips against your soft skin. 

It’s a lonely thing, yearning for Joel Miller.

On Friday, your father beams at the dinner table. He’s grinning like a child as he stuffs a forkful of rice into his mouth.

“Joel and Deb’s date is tomorrow,” he says. “Think they’ll really hit it off, don’t you?”

You’re dumbfounded for a long moment — can’t believe that this is your life now: being asked about your thoughts on Joel and the ever-elusive Deb as a couple. When it takes too long for you to answer, your father’s fork stills pointedly on his plate, and you sputter.

“Oh! I mean, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t remember Deb.” You can’t help your condescending tone. Your dad doesn’t seem to catch it anyway. 

“Well,” he says, “I think they’ll be a match. Hoping so, anyway. The man has been such a hermit lately — maybe if he has a lady, he’ll get out more!”

“You sound real excited,” you grumble. Stab four peas on the prongs of your fork.

“It is exciting. I’ve never set anyone up before. And the best part is, the place they’re going to — the Tavern — it’s got rooms you can rent out for wedding receptions. Just imagine if down the line, they got mar-“

“Dad,” you stop him. You think you’ll be physically sick if you let him finish that sentence. “Sorry, I just — I’m really tired, all of a sudden. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”

It’s not a complete lie. You’re emotionally exhausted as a result of the past couple days. Sleep sounds like a much-needed, blissful escape right now.

Your dad doesn’t question you. He just nods. Swipes your plate from in front of you and brings it to the sink along with his.

Of course, you find it impossible to actually drift off that night. Tossing and turning, you battle the glaring urge to get up, slink into the home-office and look up directions to the Tavern. 

Not that you’re planning to go there anytime soon — you’re just curious. That’s all. 

Around midnight, you give up, pad down the hallway and into the room parallel yours. The computer dials up slowly, and you chew your bottom lip as you wait. 

You snatch a piece of paper from the printer and a pen from the #1 Dad mug that sits next to the monitor. Click on the internet icon and type the words into the search bar.

This is definitely a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve had in a while.

You jot the address down anyway.

Downtown Austin is buzzing with life. 

Patrons spilling out of bars, tourists striding down the street in their brand new Stetsons – it almost distracts you from the task at hand. 

At just past seven, you’d told your dad you were going out, meeting a friend for drinks. He’d been a bit taken aback, seeing as you’re not very social these days, but he’d seemed happy. Relieved. 

That’s not what you’re doing, of course.

No – in reality, you’re turning into the parking lot attached to the Tavern. It’s packed to the brim with cars, but you still manage to find Joel’s truck, its license plate number burned into the back of your mind after countless mornings of absently reading it as you snuck past.

It’s idle and empty when you inch by, and even though you knew he’d be here, on this date, your heart still sinks. Because maybe a tiny part of you had hoped he’d stand Deb up. 

You should leave. It was stupid to come here in the first place. What are you going to do — storm inside and demand that he leave with you?

You consider it for half a second, groaning when you realize how pitiful you are. Defeated, you swing your car into a spot at the back, facing the building, and shift it into park. You hug the steering wheel dejectedly.

From here, you have a straight-shot view of the restaurant’s entrance, a set of double doors at the side of the building. Groups spill out every so often, every pair that emerges causing your back to arch reflexively.

Joel and Deb are probably discussing their interests right now, bonding over a shared connection with your dad. You can vividly picture the smile likely plastered across his face — the same one you’ve elicited with sweet filth whispered in his ear.

And you’re here, sitting in your running car, watching the door. Your pulse thumps obnoxiously loud in your ears.

Minutes pass like molasses, slow and thick. You watch the clock on the car radio obsessively, betting with yourself on what time they’ll leave. After thirty minutes of nothing, you’re convinced that they’re going to close the place out.

But then the door opens again, and you straighten up, immediately met with the sight of Joel and Deb. 

She’s talking animatedly, eyes widening every few words, blonde hair wafting around her narrow face. It’s undeniable that she’s stunning, even from far away; possesses the kind of beauty you see on magazine covers in line at the grocery store. The jealousy that pools in your gut burns like acetone in an open wound.

She takes his arm as they walk toward the parking lot, and he lets her, despite the rest of his body appearing strangely rigid.

You wonder if he’ll take her home. Lead her to his truck, help her up the step to the passenger seat and sneak a look at her ass under her dress before shutting the door. If they’ll leave her car in the lot for the night, come back to retrieve it in the morning once he’s helped her forget about her loser ex-husband; let the scent of her perfume seep into the bed sheets to cover up yours.

But he doesn’t lead her to his truck. You watch as they unexpectedly turn down a row of cars, disappearing from your view completely, his arm still locked with hers. 

He could still kiss her. Press her against the car. Promise her that he’ll call — and he will, first thing tomorrow. He’s probably just being a real gentleman. Treating her like a woman he might want to marry someday. 

Maybe he knows, after just one date, that she’s his soulmate. He’ll buy the ring in a couple weeks. They’ll be engaged in a month’s time, and he’ll say he just couldn’t wait any longer. 

She’s the one thing I’ve been missing.

You stew in the agonizing unknown for what feels like hours before Joel materializes once again, backside illuminated by headlights as he strides toward his truck.

And then — he stops. You see the exact moment he notices your car in the parking lot, his eyebrows threading together and his hands splaying over his hips.

He’s staring directly through the windshield. At you.

Fuck.

He takes a few slow steps. Stops in front of the hood. Narrows his eyes and flexes his jaw.

With a deep breath, you unlock the doors. Gesture for him to get in the passenger side. 

He immediately rounds the car, prying the door open and climbing inside just as a SUV pulls out the row he and Deb had walked down. 

The door slams when he yanks it closed. The sound echoes through the cab of the car.

“You wanna fuckin’ explain what you’re doin’ here?” he snaps. You’re afraid to look him in the eye, embarrassment and now, anger, spooling hot behind your ears.

You know you’re in the wrong. You shouldn’t have followed him. But does he have to be so hostile?

When your gaze finally meets his, he looks — distraught — jaw clenched and lips set in a straight line. His fingers absently dig into denim-covered thighs.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, “I just wanted to see how you were with her.” And it’s the truth; not one you want to be admitting right now, to him, but it’s the truth nonetheless.

“Doesn’t give you the right to spy on me.”

“So what was I supposed to do? Sit at home and mope while the guy I was seeing is on a date with someone else? Oh no, I’m sorry,” you throw your hands up, form air quotes with your fingers, “the guy I was fooling around with.”

This seems to strike a nerve. His jaw twitches, and his fingers still on his lap.

“It wasn’t like that,” he grits

“No? Isn’t that all this was to you: fooling around?”

There’s a beat. Joel sighs. 

“No — fuck, no. Of course not.”

His expression softens. A crack in solid stone. “I tried callin’ you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” you admit.

He nods. Another beat.

“Did you kiss her?” you ask.

“No.” He says it with intent, with promise, eyes firmly locked on yours now. 

Your mouth goes dry.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“You don’t want her?” 

“No,” he says flatly, his pupils bulging in the lamplight, black bleeding into the brown of his irises. “I don’t want her.” 

“Why not?” 

He leans forward. His weight presses into the center console and his breath fans your face — warm, tinged with the scent of cheap beer.

“I don’t want her,” he says, voice an octave lower, “because I want you. I thought you knew that?” 

The radio drones between the two of you, some classic rock song you think you recognize flitting through the speaker. Your pulse beats staccato in your throat, off tempo.

“You want me?” you ask, a little breathless, and the next words you say are beyond dumb, beyond reckless, but you say them anyway. “Prove it.”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. He closes the slight distance between you and kisses you, hard, his tongue frantically sliding against yours through parted lips.

It’s sloppy, and desperate, and you feel drunk on the taste of him, on longing laced with carnal need. He’s groaning into your mouth, grabbing your head with both hands, burying his fingers in your hair — as if he can’t get close enough, as if he’ll only be satisfied once he’s swallowed you whole. You’re pretty sure you want him to.

Your hands move frantically to his t-shirt, then, bunch into the fabric and pull. You need to feel the skin underneath, need to rove your hands along his bare chest. He accommodates, tugging the shirt by the back of the collar, lips separating from yours ever-so-briefly to bring it over his head and toss it onto the backseat. 

And then he’s back on you, licking into your mouth again, eliciting a whimper from you when his hand wraps around the side of your throat, just under your jaw. 

Your palms splay across his torso, wander over warm, golden skin. You’ve missed this, god, you’ve missed this — but it’s still not enough. You need to feel more of him. In your mouth, in your hand, in your cunt — you’re not picky. Just need him in whatever way he’ll provide.

“Joel,” you whimper into his mouth, fingers winding around his bicep. 

He pulls back. Peers at you through hooded eyes. “What is it, baby?” he asks through labored breaths. 

“Need you — please.”

He immediately unbuckles your seatbelt. Lowers his seat back and manhandles you onto his lap. You go easily; slot yourself to him with legs folded on either side of his thighs. 

Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you grind down into his lap. His cock strains against denim underneath you. He groans when you swivel your hips and brush the heft of it again with your clothed heat.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” he asks into your mouth, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your breath catches. 

You know what he’s really asking: are you going to  let him fuck you here, in the parking lot of a public establishment, where anybody could see?

But you don’t care. In fact, you’re way past caring, the emptiness of your cunt too painful to ignore any longer. Let them watch him take what’s his.

You nod frantically. “Yes,” you pant. “Please.”

Joel nods too, as if he’s accepting his fate. He’s going to fuck his friend’s daughter in the passenger seat of her car. There’s no way around it — not when you’re begging for it. He’s going to give you what you need.

“Okay,” he soothes, “I got you baby.” 

He helps you out of your pants, then; clumsily maneuvers them down and off your legs along with your panties and tosses them aimlessly into the back.

He doesn’t bother to take his jeans off. Lets you unzip them and pop the button open, your nimble fingers making quick work of it. And then you’re pulling his cock out of his boxers, stiff and leaking in your grasp.

You steady yourself with hands on his shoulders just as he begins to pepper placating kisses along your neck. “Go ahead baby,” he whispers into your ear. “Take it; it’s yours.”

His head falls back against the seat as you stroke him a few times and line his cock up with your dripping entrance, his hands clasped around your waist. 

You sink down slowly, savoring every inch of him as he burrows in deeper. He’s so thick, stretching you like it’s the first time again, your walls fluttering as they relax around his cock.

“Fuck,” Joel slurs, fingers digging into your skin impatiently when you still, fully seated on him.

“Gotta move baby — please move.”

He’s so fucking deep, though, his cockhead bumping your cervix, and your entire body feels gelatinous atop him. A cloying sort of heat hangs around your head. You swivel your hips weakly, your forehead falling to rest on his with a heavy sigh.

Joel is happy to take control, bucking up into you so hard you see stars. You can’t suppress the string of moans that spill from your mouth, and Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He’s just as loud, anyway, his broken sounds bleeding into yours, bouncing off glass and leather.

Neither of you can muster an actual word, though, not with him rutting up into you, sheathing himself in your pussy over and over again. He’s relentlessly hitting that spot — the one that has you practically clinging to him for dear life. 

It’s approaching too quickly; he’s going to make you come.

One of your hands flies to the roof of the car in an attempt to brace yourself, flat palm pressing into it so hard you worry it’ll pop. 

Joel takes the opportunity to drag you down in his lap, spearing you on his cock, and the sudden change in angle makes you cry out.

“Oh f— ahh, oh my—“

“That’s it,” he coos, “you got it, babygirl.”

His words tip you over the edge, your entire body locking up as you gush around him. You’re wetting his lap, slick splattering his thighs, and he loves it, his fervid moan telling you so.

His movements begin to falter then, hips stuttering underneath you as he chases his own high.

“Cmon, baby,” you goad, “please fill me up.”

He grunts when he spills inside, his face nestling in your chest, heaving as he works through it and begins to come down. You don’t move, not that Joel would let you, still holding you on his lap like he’s afraid to let you go.

You nuzzle into his embrace as his cock softens inside you.

You stay like that for a while, probably too long given that anybody could easily look into the car and see you straddling him. You don’t have the energy to care.

Eventually, you lift your head from its spot on Joel’s chest. Look up at him with bleary eyes.

“Joel,” you say.

He meets your gaze, face shiny with sweat and his hair a mess. He looks gorgeous like this, you think. The way only you get to see him.

“Yeah?” He grazes along your arm with featherlight fingers. His touch raises goosebumps on your skin.

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“About wanting me.” In truth, you’re not sure you want the answer. But you need to know, definitively, if Joel is yours. You’re done sharing him.

“Oh, baby,” he drawls. “Of course I do. You’re all I want. Do you want me?”

And it’s a stupid question. He has to know that. You’re nodding before he can even finish it. “Yes,” you breathe. “I want you, Joel”

“Then it’s settled. It’s me and you. No more…interlopers.”

You giggle. Reluctantly separate yourself from his body and re-dress. You settle back into the driver’s seat with achy legs.

You’ve never felt more content than you do in this moment.

Still, you’ll have to hide — won’t be able to share the news of your new relationship with friends or coworkers, your dad — and neither will Joel. 

You don’t care much, not as long as he’s yours, but you need to be sure he feels the same.

“Joel,” you stop him as he opens the passenger-side door to get out. He stills with one leg swung out the door.

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind…being a secret? Don’t mind keeping me a secret?”

He looks at you like you have two heads.

He pulls his leg back into the car. Shuts the door and leans over the console again.

Taking your chin between his fingers, he forces your gaze. Makes sure you’re listening.

“I want you — doesn’t matter who knows or doesn’t know. Long as you’re mine.”

Your chest tightens, and your heart squeezes inside your ribcage.

“I’m yours?”

He smiles. Presses a chaste kiss between your eyes, on the tip of your nose, on your lips. The same way he did the other morning. 

It all feels somehow sweeter, now.

“Yeah, angel. You’re mine. My girl.”

end notes: tysm for reading! please consider commenting and/or reblogging if you enjoyed! I've been toying with the idea of turning this into a series so lmk if that's something you'd be interested in hehe.

Also, I hopped on the bandwagon and made a sideblog for notifs! I'll be doing away with a taglist from here on out, so follow @joelscurlsupdates & turn on notifications if you wanna be notified when I post a new fic :-)

tag list: @janaispunk @amanitacowboy @fhatbhabie @frannyzooey @lola8888673