#there's something deep down you need to understand to be truly free

[perkeleen-lavellan]

I think we do also need to acknowledge that it is not easy to research what is reputable and what is not. There are a dozen different organizations doing that for us for that reason, and not only is there often questions about how effective they themselves truly are at their jobs, there are also literally just fakes in the mix to make it extra confusing for the regular consumer.

As an easy example let's take the cruelty free bunny logo in cosmetics. Here's an image of the various organisations that actually do something, and a bunch of fakes that mean nothing ( picture from ethical elephant)

You will notice that not only is there a bunch of fakes, the variety of official organisations all using a variation of the bunny is... frustrating to say the least.

I first learned of the seeming futility of ethical consumption when I bought a book that looked like it was a silly little pink book about styling outfits, but actually ended up being a deep dive into the twisted world of the fibre to textile to sweatshop fast fashion and high fashion supply chain. And what I learned was that even when companies want to be ethical, it is incredibly difficult to actually certify that nowhere down the supply line there was no child labour, no slave labour, no human trafficking and no unfair wages at play. Unless the companies buy their own farmland where their own people will manage the show, buy their own factories where their own people manufacture the materials, buy their other manufacturing factories where their own people make the product, they cannot be certain. They cannot track it all.

Because in reality companies and subcontractors lie. They know how organisations like Fair Trade work. The organisations themselves are often underfunded and can only do so much. It is sad but it's the reality.

I'm not telling anyone to give into the apathy, quite the opposite. You should be aware and outraged, you should be making your dissatisfaction known any way that you can. And you should buy products vetted by organisations like Fair Trade and Leaping Bunny when you can, but do not feel bad for not understanding the full picture. Do not feel bad for being unable to afford it. Even these megacorporations themselves don't know what the fuck they're doing half the time. Granted, often they don't care to know. But it is not your moral failing. And I believe that more than anything it is your duty to survive to be a thorn in the side of everyone trying to profit from exploiting from others, even if it is only in the form of spitefully not buying a certain brand of makeup, or gleefully picking up eggs from your neighbour's backyard chickens instead of Walmart, or indeed switching to a Fair Trade vetted coffee brand. Whatever small rebellion you can do is enough.

ppl keep leaving comments on that post abt slave labor in the coffee industry basically being like well no ethical consumption under capitalism, everything is equally bad so there's no point in trying at all, checkmate op.

like the realization that there is no ethical consumption under capitalism is, i always thought, meant to be a call to action, reminding you this way of life is inherently exploitative and that's exactly why we cannot accept it as just the way of the world. but i feel like more and more it's used to justify unethical actions and over consumption.

and i'm sorry but i think sometimes you can and should make more ethical choices as a consumer! by and large that's by focusing on reducing your consumption, not buying every single trend you see on tiktok shop on a whim and then discarding it a month later type consumption habits, but i think also doing bare minimum research to try and buy coffee or other luxury goods from reputable farms where the workers are paid living wages is incredibly reasonable. am i crazy like.

[not-delusional-at-all]

Friends with benefits gone wrong

(Simon Riley x fem reader)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+

(Mentions of sex, casual sexual relationships)

Simon Riley didn't do relationships. He couldn't do the commitment- plus he was too busy with work to give a relationship a second thought. However, he had no qualms about hooking up with people when he was home and having a no strings attached situation. He saw it as pretty much guaranteed pussy for when he's home, free stress relief he thought of it as.

But you clouded everything he thought he knew about himself. Each time you two ended up in bed together, the boundaries he had set for himself started to blur more and more. He thought he could have a friend with benefits and he would be immune from catching feelings. He's never caught feelings in the past. He's had no problem casting his past endeavors aside the second they started bringing up having a real relationship.

He had to do something to protect himself. He knew that if he ended up in bed with you again, with your sweet walls wrapped around his cock, he was for sure gonna be a goner and he would be in big trouble. He had to end this once and for all.

Why he waited until you were at his flat to try to end things? The world may never know.

You started kissing his neck and trailing your fingers up and down his torso but he quickly pushed you off.

You looked at him confused as you waited for him to say something. He had the usual cold look on his face but you could see that there was something more to it that he was trying to cover up. The silence was filled with a thick tension that you could practically cut with a knife.

"Love, we can't do this no more..." He managed to get out after what felt like an eternity.

"What? Why not?" You asked. You were genuinely confused. You thought this arrangement was going fine. Right? Otherwise he wouldn't have invited you over today.

He took a deep breath before speaking.

"I just can't" he mumbled. You continued to stare at him, not understanding what he meant.

"You're a lovely girl, you truly are and I've enjoyed our time together but... Fuck... I don't even know how to explain this..." He tried to explain but he was at a loss of words. He wasn't used to laying himself bare to people. He felt vulnerable and he hated it.

"But what Si?" You asked. You were truly confused and didn't know what he was trying to get at.

"I'm falling for you and I'm not supposed to" he finally spoke after an agonizing moment of silence.

"This is supposed to be no strings attached and my bloody mind decided to attach strings" he explained, running his fingers through his hair. He was dead terrified of how you were going to react even if he wasn't showing it.

"Simon, it's okay" you told him in an attempt to comfort him but he wasn't having it.

"No, it's not. I wasn't supposed to catch feelings for you. I just- can you please go? I need to think" he pleaded.

You were hurt and confused but you complied with his request and left his flat. You wanted to tell him you felt the same but he was clearly struggling to accept his feelings for you.

You desperately hoped that one day he could accept his feelings for you and you guys could navigate what you wanted to do with your friendship/relationship.

But for now, you'll give him his space and keep your fingers crossed that he'll reach back out to you.

[thelaurenshippen]

as a fellow artist, I often fear putting anything out there that contains too much of me. I create with a sort of blanket, or safety net - never publish anything that's too close, or too accurate. And yet I am well aware that that is exactly what I look for in the art I enjoy: the uncensored reality of being human. I look to feel less alone. To feel more human. I first learned this with the bright sessions. Getting to see characters stripped bare and turned inside out with such detail - it made me realise what I'd been missing in my art for many years. I have been working on it for over a year, but every day I keep being paralysed by the fear that what I make will unrevocably reveal me. I'll know everything that's in there, even though others may not. I'll have to let it go. You've talked about how Sam's anxiety is close to your own experience. And I wonder, how do you bear it? How do you bear putting such a huge part of yourself out there, outside of your control? And not just that, but all the effort you've put in to make it work? All the hours spent and the frustration and the euphoria - was it worth it?

oh wow, this is SUCH a great question. this truly is such a huge part of so much art and certainly a massive part of mine.

it means a lot that finding The Bright Sessions helped you realize that that kind of vulnerability is what you want in your art!! it's something that is so core to that particular work, and whenever it makes anyone feel less alone, or connected to other people in some way, it does make it all worth it (and more on that in a sec).

I completely understand the fear and the struggle of putting yourself in your art but to me it is so freeing. I had never told anyone about my panic attacks before writing them into Sam. giving her my same disorder and expressing my feelings through her was SO much easier than being vulnerable with anyone in my real life at that time. and that's still true for a lot of things - sometimes I need to work something out in my fiction before I can express it to the people I'm closest too.

but that said, there's also a lot in my fiction that is pure imagination. and there's a lot in my fiction that IS from the deepest parts of me, but I don't even realize that until later. but as you said, that doesn't mean people are going to know which is which. what you choose to tell people about which parts are inspired by real life is up to you. which, to me, is a wonderful kind of shield. you'll know everything, but you get to release it into the world - maybe excise it from you in the process if it's something negative that's been weighing you down - without the terrifying process of actually talking about yourself directly.

the flip side of this is, of course, that people may attribute certain things to you that are not from your experience, for good or for ill. through the years I have had people assume all kinds of things about me - from the opinions I hold to the neurotypicality/atypicality of my brain - that couldn't be further from the truth.

you cannot control how people engage with your art. sometimes that'll manifest in someone telling you that your art deeply touched them in a way that you could never have anticipated and sometimes it'll be the opposite and someone will assume the worst about you. and I'll be honest, that rejection cuts deep. at various points in my public creative career, I've had to change the way that I engage with online spaces or limit my time in order to protect my squishy little heart.

but I truly believe the best art is emotionally honest art. and even if you make something that isn't revealing in a scary way, people might still reject it and that will still sting. if you internalize every single opinion about your art, you will drive yourself completely mad. you have to make your art for you and trust other people out there will embrace it, which they will. but once you share art, it does leave your control, and accepting that is one of the hardest but absolutely most crucial parts of being a public artist.

so, I guess, to answer your question (I am incapable of being brief I'm so sorry), I bear it because the alternative is that I don't share the art at all. and I do make art that I don't share, but the experience of even one person connecting with my art is so wonderful, it's worth all the potential downsides. as for all the hours put into it, the strife and euphoria, all that is worthwhile because, for me, the process of making is a huge chunk of what makes being an artist fulfilling. if we're talking more practically about making a living as an artist and the feeling of "was it worth it" when it comes to hours of hard work yielding little in the way of career growth, that's a different beast, but in terms of "was it worth it even though no one connected with it/people rejected it", my answer is yes. because I connected with it.

always make art for yourself first. I truly believe there's an audience for everything but never forget that you are your target audience!

[feiandart]

This is something people asked me more than a couple times until now in the comments, both in the Italian version of Sugar and in the English one. I often answer this with a couple paragraphs of light explanations, but you know what? Have a seat, I'll actually talk about this in a proper way and this may be a very long ride.

I warn you: I'm writing this from my mobile in my free time. This means early in the morning or late at night after a whole day doing things. My brain is shit in those moments so you could find a lot of errors. I'm sorry if my English will be poor, I'm not really able to correct anything. (Also, I prefer to give you my honest flow without corrections. That may actually help getting the right vibe from all of this? I hope so).

But let's go to the proper answer.

I've been asked: "how much of your life do you process through words?"

There is no easy way to say this, no way to avoid being honest here. The reality is that I put all of my life into this story. There might be a lot of differences in the events, but the feelings, all the traumas I talk about, things the characters say, think or do, all of that is mine. I could literally take pieces from all the chapters and give all of them deep explanations on how those are not just mine, but me. I am between the lines, hidden inside all the metaphors, stuck under the weight of the baddest chapters, trying to breathe after writing the most emotional ones.

I know it's a fanfiction. I know the story is not perfect, that there may be holes in the plot and the characters may seem badly shaped, rough, not real. I know, I am not a professional writer, I might make mistakes. This is no excuse, mind me, but not everything in life is coherent or logical as we often see in the media. We can spend hours or a lifetime creating the perfect story with everything perfectly crafted but that doesn't make it real, because incoherence is a huge part of the human experience. And that is what I want Sugar to be: human, not perfect. Realistic when it comes to emotions and relationships, not necessarily in its plot or events. I want it to be a trip into the deep abyss of an injured mind, trying to hold on with a broken heart, not three unicorns running to Candy Mountain. I want to break you into pieces and slowly help to put everything back together.

Look guys, I get it as much as I get that is not actually a story for everyone. You open it expecting another plot and I give you a bad time instead. You think it's something about a sugar babe and his daddy and I give you traumas and none of that. You come for the smut and I put old wounds and control needs over that too, also denying it for a whole half of the story. Truth is, I am a scammer. You come for a Good Omens fanfiction and I break the characters apart, twisting them to the point they might be the same to the very core, but nothing like it on the outside. You have to dive deep to find them.

My God, what am I even doing?

They asked me, "do you choose your words with care, don't you?"

Oh, dear Lord, I am so sorry because maybe people really think I plot all the metaphors, I think properly of all the dialogues, but what if I don't? Most of the time I don't, really. I just put my hands on the keyboard and let them free to go wherever they want. I type whole pages and emerge right after without having the faintest clue of what I wrote. I need to come back multiple times to check if I got what I wanted in the correct way. Hopefully, it does almost all the time. I know where I start and I know where I want to be in the end, the middle of it is pure instinct and emotions. I know how my characters would behave and play them like a TV show in my mind, while describing scenes on the screen.

( There might be some kind of light spoilers from now on. Mind how you go! )

I know I am using Crowley as the raw essence of a damaged mind and heart. He uses crude metaphors, always talks with anger and uses blood and storms in his speech, because he is instinct, he's a tide, he's greed personified and wants everything he could get cause he truly got nothing in his life. He is the passion who can't be contained, he uses art to process his emotions, he uses music to lose himself in something familiar, hoping someone else could help him find his way back home. He uses gardening to grow things because in his life nothing seems to last long. He can't look at tomorrow without fear, but grows things he hopes will last more than him. Life was not good with him, but he wasn't good with his life either. He did nothing, letting time pass without actually building anything, living the days as they come, drowning his pain in wine or between someone else's legs. He knows most of what he is, most of what he's done, is not healthy. But he never really cared before.

And then there is Aziraphale, which apparently is a walking red flag, traumas personified on two working legs, scared of everything hiding outside his door. He got everything. He has money, a big house, books, some people working with him, and is content. So content his heart yells and cries because he's lonely. So content he can't really control his whole life because he is his own antagonist. So content he's not really scared of what hides outside the door, because what's inside is worst. He uses the softest metaphors, he uses his books to tell stories and talk about himself, he can't really speak is mind and talks, talks, talks so much! He wins arguments because he drags his opponents into exhaustion. He talks them to death, using whole paragraphs of elegant, perfectly crafted phrases and quotes he can shield himself with. He's not like Crowley, just getting started on this new channel of communication, no, Aziraphale is well trained. He has thousands of books he can use to get where he wants and still use his experience poorly because he thinks people are just like the books and guess what? That's not true. People are something else.

It's actually funny how I just condensate two parts of me into two different characters.

Crowley holds my outside, and this is why you have his POV for the entire story. You see the world with his distorted, unreliable vision, you see raw desire to be accepted, the need to be truly seen by someone, big pieces of his mind, his dissociations, his fear, his low self esteem, the thousands of radios turned on in his mind, his incapability to let things truly go, is head full of canvases he never finish. And then you see his rage and you're not sure how much that will last. Yeah, that is me. Welcome to myself.

Aziraphale holds my inside. This is why we never get his POV. Too easy, too deep, too much. He is scared. He needs control. He wants and can't get. He hopes and does nothing. He's stuck in his home, with his books, and finds himself at ease there. He thinks he's safe but he's not. He's a living contradiction and at the same time he's not.

God, what was the question again?

Maybe I wrote too much. Maybe this is not enough. All I can say is that there's something really important in this story, and that is Crowley asking Aziraphale to "look at him", 'cause all he wants is to bee seen.

But in the end, what is happening here is you looking at me. And it's strange to get so naked in front of so many strangers. But it's also good and positive to me to be seen, for once.

So, thank you. Really, thank you. 'cause with every chapter you allow me to express myself in a way I never did in 30 years. Thank you so much.

[soangelbaby]

˗ˏˋ now introducing . . . incel!rafe ˎˊ˗

daddy’s money superiority complex a full time red-flag

he’s not just heartbroken he’s hateful he’s misogynistic .ᐟ

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . watches porn religiously. claiming he hates it, claiming all the girls in them are ‘fake whores’ and ‘that’s what they deserve’ — and it never fully satisfies him. but still he does it again. and again. and again. it’s his twisted therapy. and he never finishes to the regular stuff — only to scenarios where the girl is being degraded, begging, crying. he searches for girls who look like you, a little too pretty and too soft, getting the worse shit done to them. sick nasty videos that would get him put on a list, like ‘girl crying during sex’ ‘forced orgasm compilations’ or ‘blackmail porn’ he knows it’s wrong, but it’s never enough to stop.

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . has an obsession with purity. it’s dark and dangerous, he sees women who experience any type of sexual freedom as ‘threats’ if they dont fit into his narrow view of what a woman should be. he’s disgusted by them for not catering to his desires or for having autonomy over their own bodies. he wants women who are innocent, untouched, and under his control — his way of proving he’s the one in charge. but the hypocrisy is glaring. while he condemns women for their sexuality, he’s consumed by fantasies of dominating, ruining, breaking them down, and making them submit to his twisted will.

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . has no sympathy for women. when he “loves” a woman, he might tell her that no one else will ever love her like he does—playing the long-suffering martyr, claiming that he’s the only one who truly understands her. but the love he offers is never pure. he’ll constantly tear her down, calling her worthless, stupid, or fat, all while claiming it’s for her own good. if she gets upset, he’ll accuse her of being “too sensitive” or “overreacting,” further alienating her. if a woman cries, gets upset, or expresses hurt, he finds it pathetic. he might mock her, call her weak, and tell her she’s just “looking for attention” when she’s truly in distress. his inability to comprehend or care about a woman’s emotional well-being only deepens his hatred for them.

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . uses sex as power. he doesn’t believe in mutual consent, he believes in ownership and if he wants something he takes it. he might try to guilt or manipulate a woman into sex, telling her that if she “really loved him,” she’d give in. if she says no, he twists it into a game of control, making her feel like she’s the one in the wrong for denying him. his need to dominate extends to every interaction, including sex, where he treats it like a conquest, not an intimate exchange.

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . has a fragile ego. when a woman shows she doesn’t need him, it triggers something deep inside him. he can’t stand it. he feels entitled to every woman’s attention, and when that attention isn’t directed at him, it makes him feel worthless. he’ll hide it behind a mask of false confidence, but internally, he’s seething. it’s like a personal affront to his existence, and he can’t stand it. instead, he’ll find ways to undermine her; through force, threats, or sabotage, even make her doubt herself, or try to control her until she becomes dependent on him.

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . craves humiliation. there’s a deeply destructive side to him, when he’s alone — he watches porn that makes him feel sick and helpless. it’s the only time he can let go of his need for control and let the chaos wash over him. but it’s also a form of self-punishment. he knows he’s toxic, and part of him wants to be punished for it. he’s caught between wanting to control and wanting to be controlled, and he’s too deep in the spiral to break free.

⌨︎ incel!rafe who . . . knows he’s a monster. part of him, the deepest part, has moments of clarity. when the high from his toxic behavior fades, he’s left with the aftermath—his reflection staring back at him, judging him. there are flashes of guilt, self-awareness, where he recognizes that what he’s doing is wrong. but instead of taking responsibility, he doubles down, justifying his actions, telling himself he can’t help it. he’s too far gone to fix himself, and that thought terrifies him.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can you please do a part two of the Sebastian fluff where he lets his thoughts get the best of him and gets anxious that reader now sees him as a monster because of what they read on his document so he prepares extra good items and plans to give them heavy discounts and even some free but reader barges in like

"MANTIS SHRIMP??? PUNCH SOMETHING RIGHT NOW"

And after a bit of reassuring(possibly some punching too bc reader is too starry-eyed for him to say no to em) Seb realizes he trully never had anything to worry about and just, generally grows fonder of reader?

Ps. Adore your writing, keep up the awesome work!!

"God, why did I let them take it? Stupid, stupid, stupid.."

Sebastian couldn't stop beating himself up, even though he knew he shouldn't care about the opinion of any human sent by Urbanshade--especially one of the "expendable" class.

Yet because it was you, specifically--who was currently in possession of his document--he began to wonder what you'd think of him once you found out the truth:

That he was nothing but a horrible monster. Plain and simple.

If not the knowledge that he was a hideous chimera of several sea creatures' DNA...then surely the revelation that he caused the lockdown of the Blacksite would ultimately make you resent him.

He released all those creatures, who stopped at nothing to prevent you from reaching the crystal and had you running, fighting, or hiding for your life.

He was responsible for all the injuries you've sustained while crawling into his shop, desperately needing a medkit and a place to rest.

He would understand if you'd never want to visit him again after what they documented about him..but the image of your furious expression and overthinking the words you'd possibly say to him left him feeling incredibly anxious.

Suddenly, Sebastian found himself gathering more supplies. Medkits, code breakers, and every light source he had currently in the shop, trying to market down whatever he could. He was even willing to let you take batteries for free...which was something he'd never normally do.

Would it be enough to make up for everything horrific you discovered about him and the terrors he indirectly put you through? Absolutely not.

Was he willing to try it anyways just for the small chance that you'd keep visiting him? Maybe.

No other human has shown him a single ounce of kindness or gratitude for his services. Nobody except you, of course, and he refused to lose that.

-thump, thump-

"Shit.." He froze, hearing movement in the vent duct, hands trembling for his light to shine brighter. Part of him wishes he could stay in the dark, as he didn't wanna see your face and whatever hurt expression it could possibly hold.

But he knew it'd be rude if you actually needed to buy something, so he forced himself to look as your familiar figure crawled out of the small opening. You seemed out of breath, like you were just running from something, and stood up to dust the dirt off your pants.

"Sebastian..I need to know something, and you need to be 100% honest with me."

The moment you pulled out his document, the shopkeeper could feel his heart sink.

"Wh..What did you want to know?" He asked, already bracing himself for the worst.

You sounded dead serious, and he was convinced you were finally going to let him have it.

You were going to force him to explain himself and his actions, and tell him what a monster he truly was. Literally and metaphoric-

"Its it true that you have mantis shrimp DNA????"

Silence.

Of all the possible outbursts he expected from you, that certainly didn't cross his mind.

Sebastian just stared down at you, utterly dumbfounded. He blinked several times, unsure if he was truly seeing the wide smile and starry-eyed look on your face.

He had been waiting for a deep scowl, eyes full of anger and betrayal and sadness that he wasn't the "friend" he claimed himself to be when you first visited his shop.

Yet now? He saw nothing but pure delight in your expression.

"Um..yes. But of alllll the things you read about me, that shocked you the most?" He was still treading carefully.

"Well, it sucks that you were an innocent guy who got thrown into a shitty situation." You gestured to him, frowning a little. "And I'm sorry you never saw justice, but...it's just SO cool that you're part mantis shrimp!" A grin returned to your face. "They've fascinated me for years! I used to watch videos of them all the time. Did you know the velocity of just one of their punches is equal to a .22 caliber bullet-?"

"Stop." He put a hand up, huffing. "At least some part of you must resent me. I mean...helloooooo, did you skip over the bit where I'M the reason those monsters are after you?! There's no way you could've ignored that..unless your brain turned off the moment you read "mantis shrimp"."

"I read everything, Sebastian." You huffed back. "Look, if I ever had to go through what you did..I think I'd wanna rebel, too. And as much as those monsters scare me, they've probably endured the same experiments as you. They probably felt just as trapped and afraid. You must see at least a few of them as your friends, right?"

"Eyefestation and the PAInter are the only ones I consider "acquaintances"." He answered after a long pause, shoulders slumped. "The anglers are primitive, but they recognize me as the one who freed them, so they don't bother me or my shop. The only creature that tends to be an issue is-"

-thump-

-thump-

Tensing, you looked over your shoulder to see a Wall Dweller emerge from the vent behind you, its mouth split open and drooling with hunger, standing on two legs.

"-that." Sebastian glared at the creature; and before it could run away, he blocked the entrance with his tail fin. "Oh no you don't." He swooped over to grab ahold of its head with his third hand, causing it to shriek and kick its legs as he held it up high. "You seriously need to stop eating my customers when they're trying to BUY SOMETHING!!"

The Dweller just growled at him, to which he ignored it and glanced down at you. "What should I do with this thing?"

"Punch it!" You grinned, your fists balled up in front of you as you hopped up and down. "I wanna see how fast you could throw one!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Pleeeeaaase?"

"..ugh, if it gets that stupid puppy-eyed look off your face, fine." He looked back at the Dweller, grinning widely as he cracked his knuckles. "You wanna eat something so bad? Try this."

"....grahh-?"

In a blinding flash, his fist went through the creature's skull, effectively turning its head into dust. Then he dropped the whole body onto the ground with a grimance. "Eugh..never done that before.."

Then he looked down at you again, seeing your smile brighten. "Hope that made you happy."

"It did, that was amazing!" You laughed, kneeling down to rip off a chunk of the Dweller's flesh. He eyed you strangely, his expression changing to a look of horror as you shoved a piece in your mouth.

"What the f...why would you eat that?!"

"It's okay! I've had this stuff before." You swallowed, feeling rejuvenated already.

"B....Before?! What you're eating is clay and acid-"

"Actually, it's fresh meat. Reminds me of poultry, almost. I found a document somewhere saying that it has regenerative properties." You explained to Sebastian, whose eyes only widened the more you talked. "I didn't believe it at first until I saw the Angler kill one. I was hungry and...eating it healed my electrical burn somehow."

".......why was that not in its actual document?" He muttered.

You shrugged, ripping out another piece and offering it to him. "Care for a bite?"

"I'll..pass. But thanks." Lowering his body closer to you, he frowned. "Are you absolutely sure that-?"

"I'm sure."

"..you didn't even know what I was going to-"

"You were worried about my reaction to your file. I could tell from the discount signs and how you were scared to even look at me."

"............."

"But I promise it doesn't change anything, okay? We're still friends, Sebastian, and I'll still swing by to do business with you." You reassured him, smiling as you patted the back of his hand, before noticing the bandage on his third arm seemed bloody. "Um..when's the last time you changed that?"

"...oh this? Erm..it's fine." He attempted to hide it behind his back. "Nothing you should be concerned abou-"

"Too late. It's my concern now. Let me repay you for saving my tail."

He had no time to protest, as you were already on your feet and running for the medkit that was on the table. You weren't worried about getting to the next zone right now.

Not that Sebastian planned on kicking you out anytime soon.

No.

Now that he was able to confide in you, he was genuinely beginning to enjoy your company--especially as you asked him to rest his arm across your lap. From there, your gentle hands went to work changing the bandage out for a fresh one, using an alcohol spray to keep the wounds from getting infected.

He hissed and cursed a few times at the stinging pain, but not once did he try to get you to stop.

Suddenly, it all began to hit him in this exact moment.

You were willingly playing nurse to a giant sea monster that has killed a man and was responsible for the terrifying things you had to witness down here.

He couldn't understand..but at the same time he felt relieved that all along he had nothing to worry about.

"Th-That's fine..thank you.."

Hearing a sniffle, you glanced up as Sebastian hastily took his arm away, "standing" back up and turning away from you. You just smiled and patted his tail comfortingly, not saying a word as you waited for him to collect himself.

For once, that snarky and sarcastic fish you've come to know was gone, and he was letting his walls down, finally realizing he could trust you.

Eventually he fell silent, and you wondered what to do now. You bought everything you wanted to earlier, so you didn't wanna overstay your welcome-

"Do you mind staying for a little bit longer?"

The question surprised you, but you smiled and nodded. "Sure. As long as you don't mind, shrimpy."

There was a pause, and he slowly looked back at you, pouting. "Big talk coming from someone as tiny as you, friend." He playfully sneered.

You just laughed and shook your head, glad to see him in better spirits.

Thanks to that scrambler on his back, you didn't have to worry about HQ getting on your ass about continuing the mission or threatening detonation.

You could definitely stay awhile and ramble about more mantis shrimp facts to Sebastian...if he was willing to hear them, of course.

[maskedbyghost]

Heyyy, it's me again, but this time we're talking situationship!Simon—aka the biggest fuckboy you'll ever meet. Honestly, girl, I have no idea why you're still putting up with him!

you can’t even define what you two have, but one thing’s for sure—he knows how to use his dick, and you're both free to mess around with whoever you want. but of course, you had to fall for him, for that stupid smile he swore only you were special enough to see, for the gentle touch that lingered on your skin during those rare nights when he stayed longer than usual. you fell for the way he made you feel like you were the exception, even though deep down, you knew better.

you fell for how he made you feel like you were everything, even though he’d always leave just as quickly. he knew exactly how to keep you hooked—giving just enough to make you believe in him, but never enough to make it real. you wanted more, but every time he left, you remembered that his promises were as short-lived as his visits. still, you couldn’t stop going back, hoping that maybe this time, he’d actually mean it.

but he never did. you’d have fun for a few hours, but then he’d leave, acting like you didn’t exist around everyone else. he’d flirt with other girls right in front of you, not even bothering to hide it when he left with them, almost like he wanted you to see.

and every time, it hurt a little more, but you couldn’t bring yourself to end it. you told yourself you didn’t care, that it was just fun, but deep down, you wanted to be the one he stayed with. yet, no matter how much it hurt to watch him with someone else, the moment he came back, all that anger faded, and you let him in again, caught in the hope that maybe someday he’d truly see you as more than just a temporary fix.

one night, you tried to have a serious conversation with him, hoping that if you laid out your feelings, he might finally understand. but he dismissed your emotions with a shrug, listing reasons why he didn’t want a relationship: he was too focused on his career, he wasn’t ready for commitment, and he just didn’t want to deal with the complications. simon insisted that keeping things as they were was the best option for both of you.

afterward, as you lay together, a clear realization hit you. even though you were physically close, you couldn’t ignore the emptiness you felt. that night you made a silent promise to yourself: this would be the last time you let him in, and the last time you let yourself be trapped in this cycle.

and, being the dumb man he was, simon only came to realize what he had lost after you were gone. a few weeks after your last conversation, he saw you a few times out with other guys, laughing and flirting as if you were moving on. it hit him hard—a painful mix of jealousy and regret. he realized that he missed you, but at the same time, he knew he had no right to these feelings. not after treating you the way he did.  

he managed to keep his calm for a few more days, but the weight of his regret grew unbearable. finally, he snapped and called you into his office late one night, claiming he needed to discuss the upcoming mission with you.

as soon as you walked in, simon felt his heart tighten in his chest. seeing your face calm, confident, like you had already moved on, stirred something deeper than he expected. there was no trace of the vulnerability you used to show around him, no lingering affection. he realized, in that moment, just how much he had pushed you away. regret surged through him, sharper than he imagined, and he knew this conversation wouldn’t be easy.

after talking about unimportant stuff for a few minutes, simon took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “i know i messed up, and i’m sorry for how i treated you. i’ve been thinking a lot about what happened, and i realize now how much i regret it. i was wrong to push you away.”

you looked at him, your expression guarded. “it’s a little too late for apologies, simon, don't you think? you had plenty of chances to get it right, and now you’re just trying to fix things because you see me with someone else.”

he tried to reach out, his voice softening. “i know it’s not enough, but i want to make things right. i can’t stop thinking about what we had.”

you shook your head, stepping back. “you had your chance, and you threw it away. i’m not going to be your second choice or your backup plan.”

"y/n-"

"no, simon!" you sighed, closing your eyes briefly to gather your thoughts. when you spoke again, your voice was steady, "you know, some people never fade from memory. they leave a mark that lingers just beneath the surface, no matter how hard you try to move on. but to be honest, i’m not in the mood for any more humiliation or heartbreak. so, this is my final goodbye to you."

you could sense that he wanted to say something, but you couldn’t let him speak before you had your say. “go ahead and fill your life with new faces, as if i were nothing but a distant memory. enjoy your freedom and let others wear you out as they please. i’m done being part of that. keep moving forward, and if you ever try to reach out, know that i’ll let your calls go unanswered. for now, i’m celebrating the end of our chapter.”

even as he heard you declare the end, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he still wanted you in his life. he was stuck between guilt and the lingering hope that maybe he could still fix things. despite your rejection, part of him struggled to accept that he had truly lost you, and he felt powerless to change the situation or let you go.

simon’s face twisted with a mix of desperation and anger. “you think you can just walk away and erase everything we had? you think you can move on and leave me behind like I’m nothing?” he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but his voice was filled with raw intensity. “don’t fool yourself, i still want you, and i won’t just let you go. you’re mine, whether you like it or not. i know i’ve made mistakes, but i’m not done fighting for what we had. if you think you can find someone better, go ahead. but know this: i’ll keep groveling and doing whatever it takes until you take me back. i’m not going anywhere, and i’ll make sure you remember what we had.” he took a step back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

you just smirked, turning on your heel to leave. as you reached the door, you glanced back over your shoulder with a cold, confident look. “i can’t wait to see you on your knees,” you said, your voice sharp. then, you walked out, leaving him alone with his mess.

game on.

(I WANT HIM TO GROVEL FOR MONTHSSSS)

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

@daydreamerwoah

[belit0]

I hope your request are open if they aren’t feel free to delete this!

How would the Uchiha men ( Indra, Madara, Obito, Itachi, Shisui and Sasuke ) react to receiving the silent treatment from their usually loving wife? Maybe they had promised to come home on time this time but failed to do so again. Now, she was disappointed and truly upset. She had always been super understanding, but this time, it felt like she was no longer a priority to them.

We all have a limit, don't we? Also: my requests are always open! I'm a creative vampire, love to have a constant flow of scenarios to play with jeje

Indra – The One Who Watches

Indra was not unfamiliar with silence. He wielded it as a weapon, as armor. But this silence—the absence of her warmth, her voice—was different. It was not a tool; it was a wall. And he despised it.

(Y/N) did not acknowledge him when he stepped into the room, his dark gaze assessing her as one might observe an unfamiliar storm on the horizon. He exhaled slowly.

-You are upset.- A statement, not a question.

(Y/N) did not reply.

Indra’s jaw clenched. He moved closer, fingers ghosting over her wrist, but she turned away. He could command armies, bend the wills of men, yet here—before her—he was reduced to something small. Mortal.

-Speak,- he murmured, low and deep. -I do not enjoy this game.-

Silence.

His Sharingan flared to life, frustration leaking through the cracks. He was not one to beg, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes when he murmured, -I will not ask for forgiveness, but I will make amends. Look at me, (Y/N).-

She wanted to. Gods, she wanted to. But he needed to learn.

For the first time in his life, Indra found himself standing before something he could not control.

Madara – The One Who Fights

Madara Uchiha did not apologize. He fought, he commanded, he conquered. But this silence…

(Y/N) passed by him without a glance. He stood there, watching her go, a scowl twisting his lips.

-You're still angry?- His voice carried the edge of a man who did not like being ignored.

Nothing.

Madara crossed the room in three long strides, placing himself directly in her path. Arms crossed, expression thunderous. -This is childish.-

(Y/N) met his gaze at last, eyes cold. Childish?

Her silence turned sharp, a blade pressing against his pride. She saw the moment frustration flickered into something else—concern.

-Fine,- he exhaled, voice rough. -Tell me what you want.-

(Y/N) shook her head and walked past him.

A growl, a flash of crimson eyes. Damn it.

The great Madara Uchiha… bested by silence.

Obito – The One Who Falters

Obito was all heart. Loud, expressive, relentless in his affection. So when (Y/N) did not greet him, did not look at him, did not smile at him, the world tilted on its axis.

He tried at first to brush it off, draping himself over the couch dramatically. -Alright, alright, I know I’m late, but I brought dango! I know you can’t stay mad at me when there’s dango.-

Silence.

The smile faltered.

Obito sat up, brows furrowing. -Hey… you’re really mad...?-

Still nothing.

The panic settled in. His fingers fidgeted, reaching for her, but hesitating. -(Y/N)…?-

When she turned away, something in him cracked. His voice softened, hesitant. -I didn’t mean to— I just— Can you please talk to me? I don’t like this. You— You talk, you always talk.-

The desperate edge to his voice almost made her cave.

Almost.

Shisui – The One Who Pleads

Shisui was playful, light-hearted. But right now, there was nothing light in the way he hovered around her, hands twitching at his sides, wanting—needing—to touch her.

-(Y/N)~,- he crooned, voice coaxing. -You wouldn't really ignore your husband, would you?-

Silence.

His smile wavered.

-Okay, wait, let’s talk about this—

Nothing.

Shisui let out a very dramatic sigh and literally dropped to his knees before her. -You’re killing me here.-

(Y/N) looked down at him, expression unreadable.

-Just say something,- he begged, reaching for her hands. -You can yell, hit me, anything—just don’t shut me out.-

When she still refused, he groaned, falling backward onto the floor. -Oh god, this is how I die.-

A tiny twitch at the corner of her lips. Almost imperceptible.

Shisui caught it. His eyes glinted.

-Ah...- He shot up, grinning. -There it is! I'm winning you back already.-

She sighed. This idiot.

Itachi – The One Who Endures

Itachi noticed the shift immediately. He was perceptive, too much so. The subtle stiffening of her posture, the way her gaze lingered just past him rather than meeting his eyes.

A lesser man might have let it fester, waiting for the storm to pass. But Itachi…

He did not speak at first. Instead, he moved through their shared space with careful deliberation, bringing her tea, leaving small gestures of warmth in his wake.

And still, (Y/N) gave him nothing.

Finally, he placed a teacup beside her and murmured, -I have hurt you.-

A pause.

Itachi exhaled through his nose -I cannot undo the past, but I will ensure it does not happen again.-

His voice was soft, edged with exhaustion. He would not beg. But he would wait.

And she knew, in the end, Itachi never broke a promise.

Sasuke – The One Who Burns

Sasuke was used to coldness. He had lived his whole life in the shadow of it. But from her?

No.

His steps were measured as he approached, expression carefully blank. -(Y/N).-

Nothing.

His teeth clenched. -You're overreacting.-

The silence sharpened.

Sasuke inhaled slowly, struggling to rein in his frustration. -I said I'd be home. I didn't say when.-

That was the wrong thing to say. He knew it the moment her shoulders tensed, fingers curling into fists.

Sasuke was many things, but a fool was not one of them. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to swallow his pride.

-(Y/N)... I didn’t mean to make you feel unimportant.

A flicker of something in her eyes. Sasuke pressed on.

-I’ll be better.

A pause. And then—finally—her gaze lifted to meet his.

Silent, but no longer cold.

And that was enough.

[fleurriee]

from the dirty lil compliments list i bring to u ❛  you have the most perfect tits.  ❜

we’re so back!!! first neteyam drabble in a while…. i want nete to do this to me. pls, i beg 😩 tysm for requesting anon!!

pairing ; neteyam x fem!reader

summary ; neteyam could never stay too long away from you, especially when it comes to your tits.

themes ; explicit content: titty squeezing, illusions/mentions of p in v sex…

During the middle of the night, you almost always find the best comfort in the midnight breeze, the way the winds caress gently upon your skin and there’s nothing other than the forest-life around you to catch in your ears.

It’s why, more often than not, you find yourself sat in the middle of your tent, weaving random little things as you kept your mind occupied. Sometimes you struggled to succumb to sleep when your thoughts were so raging, and sometimes you sought out the idea of staying up later just so you could experience this.

There was something about being completely free with it all, too, of being vulnerable. You shared your tent with your mate, Neteyam, and after being mated now for years, there was nothing that couldn’t be shared between the two of you, nothing that could stop the love for one another.

So, going to sleep naked, and waking up and completing small chores before your day truly began, was normal for the two of you. It brought about a vulnerability that could only be shared between two mates than irrevocably loved one another. There were no fears, no insecurities - just pure, gentle love.

And, now, as time seemed to slow down just a little, soft caresses against your skin whilst you smoothly hummed your songcord to yourself, you didn’t take notice of the other noises shifting behind you.

Except, when a small grunt sounded out, extremely close to you, and then an entire figure sitting directly behind you, pulling you flush against his front did you realise what was happening. Neteyam had woken up and spotted your disappearance. He wasn’t clingy, per say, but one of his favourite things would always be to fall asleep with you tangled in his embrace, so unbelievably close, you simply couldn’t be two separate people.

That’s why you’re not entirely shocked when he presses you up against him, forcing his face between the dip of your neck, inhaling deeply. A soft chuckle escapes your lips at your mate’s antics, loving the feel of him being so clingy. You bring your hand up to caress the side of his face, inadvertently bringing him closer, whilst his own arms wrap themselves tight around your waist.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” You question, knowing that such a situation has occurred before. You hope it was the reason this time, as Neteyam needs to be up fairly early in the morning to meet his father.

A sigh breathes against the skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “No,” he pauses, no doubt too sleepy to really understand his surroundings, “I missed you…”

His words resonated within you and cut deep within your core, wanting to tattoo them on your skin and never forget them. Still, even when they were so incredibly loving, you couldn’t help but laugh at him. “I haven’t been out of bed for long.”

“Still,” he’s adamant, squeezing you tighter within his embrace. Then, his fingers start dancing against your skin, sending gentle patterns along your stomach. They travel higher and higher at an agonisingly slow pace, until they’re so close to your chest, you can practically feel his phantom touches.

For a moment, you think he’s just teasing you like he loves to do to you, but it’s obvious how truly sleepy he is when he takes both of your boobs within his grasps, and squeezes them. Before you can help it, a soft moan falls from your lips, closing your eyes in bliss at his sudden actions. “You have the most perfect tits.”

His voice is nothing but husky and guttural now, full of both love and lust all for you. Your insides are churning, a knot that feels so unbelievably amazing forming at the bottom of your stomach. So badly do you want to give into him, but you know there’s a possibility he’ll regret it in the morning if he doesn’t get enough sleep.

“‘Teyam…” you start, wanting to sound confident and strong, but it comes out like you’re moaning his name. It’s obvious he’s enjoying himself, too, by the way he squeezes you tighter and a low growl sounds from the back of his throat. You swallow deeply, “‘Teyam, you need to be up in the morning…”

“That’s okay,” he whispers, now starting to pepper sultry kisses against the skin of your neck. “I don’t mind being a little late if it means I get to devour you whole, yawne (beloved)…”

Another moan sounds from your lips, and that’s when he knows you’re putty in his hands.

[marsprincess889]

Astrology observations

Vedic

Part 9

I like this one

Uttara Bhadrapada men (irl) have only ever been major green flags to me. They're really unproblematic as a whole, honest and respectful. They might seem obnoxious to sometimes to people who don't know them but they have much more substance in them than they show. In reality, they don't like to brag or one-up others. U.Bhadras in general (all genders) consider that behavior cheap and lowly.

Punarvasu women can be so chatty and to me, they're the perfect example of "social butterflies". Considering that a larger part of this lunar mansion is in Gemini and Jupiter (their planetary ruler) is known for generosity, their inclusive, enthusiastic and witty nature is not a surprise. They almost always have a hidden sense of humor that might be unexpected for others, in a good way.

I've seen Rohini people have a thinly veiled sense of superiority 😐. Of course not all of them are like this. I think that it comes from the ease and the effortlessly received love and affection. It's also less in a condescending sense of the word and more the pride of a person who has not been thoroughly checked and sort of had been given a "pass", an easy way to something.

Anuradha nakshatra is a placement that makes a person exclusive. Anuradha is traditionally connected to friendships, bonds and all types of intimacy. With that you'd think they'd be inclusive but they're only inclusive selectively. Anuardha is fully in Scorpio, natural sign of the 8th house and secrecy is embedded in it. Secret societies and clubs are pretty much under Anuradha's domain.

Bharanis do love medieval stuff lol, I'm repeating this from one of my previous observations but that time I needed confirmation. Bharanis love history in general and they understand that true beauty is timeless. Middle Ages was a time when a lot of the world was stripped down to basics and reverted to a more natural way of living, which can be placed under Ketu and Venus energies. A lot of the symbolism and ideologies popular in medieval Europe resonate to Bharani natives and to the themes of the nakshatra on its own. I might make a separate post on this

I've noticed that people are often drawn to the themes of nakshatras that are yoni consorts of their own nakshatras, especially if they don't have them. Besides being drawn to Revati(yoni consort of my moon) natives, I am fascinated by its themes (completion, abundance, freedom, guidance, flow, deep creativity and spirituality, free will and initiation). Same with Uttara Bhadrapada (yoni consort of my ascendant), but admittedly, to a lesser degree than Revati. I'd appreciate if anyone confirmed this in comments or reblogs 🙃🤍

Uttara Phalguni relates to families and family business. Bringing people together is a result of Dhanishta nakshatra but it's on a more collective and mass level in Dhanishta's case. In case of Uttara Phalguni, they love doting on their family and strengthening it as a unit. Family is a big theme for Uttara Phalguni and it can mean blood or soul family. I go into this subject deeper in a future post that is almost ready.

My respect to Chitra natives who truly go deep into the subject of "the vessel" reflecting the essence. I think only Chitras have what it takes to really dive into and sort out the specifics of what goes with what and what should this or that look like, based on the spiritual truth. The challenge with Chitra is to align the outside to the inside, to not manipulate the surface to the point where it becomes a distortion or something "ugly". Chitra natives (big three and even Ketu) can always appreciate something avant-garde or innovative when it comes to design, appearance or culture but they also, to my initial surprise, have strong opinions about what should not be manipulated. One thing is true tho: they have very postive things to day about plastic surgery and actively encourage it, at least Chitras in my life do. If any of you have this nakshatra and are against it I would not be surprised btw, but text me, or write it below. I think Chitras are mathematical in a way and love accuracy a lot, so they also might be good researchers if they have worked on their neurotic-leaning/compulsive/Virgo-Rahu nature that often distorts the truth. I'd honestly trust Chitras more with research than Jupiter nakshatras or Ketu nakshatras, but ironically, Chitras get less respect with serious matters because they look "too superficial" to people. Jupiter and Ketu people (especially people with both of those naks in big three), on the other hand, get treated as an authority and they barely have to lift a finger, when it truth they tend to gloss over a lot of things and sometimes even twist details to fit a bigger picture that may or may not be true. Jupiter and Ketu nakshatras have positive attributes too but in this instance, when comparing to Chitra, this is the scenario that I recognize

Good thing about Tiger yonis(Vishakha and Chitra) is that with all the confrontational and active nature (that has its downsides and can lead to pettiness) is that you can never blame them for not caring. They are really focused on building and improvement, regarding anything. Vishakhas, I think, tend to be the most honest ones out of Jupiter nakshatras. I think if they lie or do something that they consider wrong they'll eventually do the the opposite, they're going to swing back and forth, because that's their nature, but they can never be just one thing. It's a nakshatra of opposites and contradictions. I've also talked about Chitra a few times already on my blog. So, they're not the kind of people who are fine with faults or mistakes, they usually go for improvement and building, that's what they intend, even if their actions lead to something else (that's the lesson/theme with them, I think).

Bharani and Ashlesha girls should have a free treat each week from the goverment to compensate for past or ongoing trauma caused by mother issues. Unserious but true

...

Upcoming things: Uttara Phalguni women post, more nakshatra playlists and maybe a new small game.

If you have any nakshatras or placements you really want me to make a post on just comment or tell me otherwise and it's going to be noted.

Have a great month ahead 🤍

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Now, I never played Persona 3 but the protagonist looks breedable. So The Persona 3 protagonist (the male one) investigating an haunted/creepy site only to meet an horny male werewolf reader who fucks them 🎃

Author's Note: Makoto truly is one of the hottest persona protags (possibly even one of the hottest characters in general). Not to mention both of his English VAs did a fantastic job! I could gush over Makoto all day…so I'm just going to let the smut to the talking now 😶‍🌫️

Pairings: Makoto Yuki x male reader

Warnings: Male werewolf!reader, dom/top!reader, paranormal investigator!Makoto, adult Makoto, sub/bottom!Makoto, dubcon, finger sucking, dry orgasms, premature ejaculation(?)

This was supposed to be an easy job for once. Another "haunted" old cabin, multiple eye witnesses and videos and pictures worth of "proof", only to end up being a hoax unintentionally created by some local kids. He's been there and done that, time and time again. So, this place should not be any different, right?

Well… as luck would have it, Makoto would finally encounter something paranormal — a real experience, unlike the majority of his previous calls.

That's how Makoto ended up here; bent over a desk with the air knocked from his lungs while something wet drips all over the back of his body.

Drool drips from your snarling mouth, pooling on the back of the human's shirt, while your cock drips all over the ass of his pants and slides down the sides. You keep one clawed hand on the back of the human's head, and the other on his waist to prevent him from escaping.

The scent of iron and dirt burns Makoto's nostrils, invading every deep inhale as he's just short of hyperventilating. You're obviously not any sort of spectre, nor spirit nor ghostly being—you're really more of a beast, though your features are still quite human in nature. The man's best guess is a werewolf. Whatever you are, he's seen enough to know that he doesn't want to stick around any longer.

Attempts at wiggling free don't go so well, only building up Makoto's frustration and yours. Silly as it may sound to think a beast can understand the human language, he decides to try it anyway. “What do you- hnngh… what do you want?!” he hisses, “Are you the one…causing trouble, scaring the locals?”

You almost want to laugh at that absurd question. Causing trouble, he says. “Me? Please, ask yourself who's the real troublemaker here; the dozens of humans trashing my house and surrounding woods, or me, the guy who's lived here for decades — long before that filth migrated in.” you growl. Ignorant, ignorant humans as always.

“If anyone here is a troublemaker, it's you–” your razor-like nails dig into Makoto's side, and he winces, glaring at you with the eye not covered by his hair. “walking in here with that sexy body of yours, having the audacity to bend over and pick things up and present that fine ass for me.”

The human's heart leaps within his chest, pounding away loudly while he grips the edge of the table harder. “Your job is to help people, yeah? You wanna help these people? Then…” you lean down, covering the human's body with your heat, and whisper in his ear; “…give me the relief I need to not be so fuckin' grumpy, maybe I'll let some of their idiotic actions slide, hm?”

Truly, Makoto should protest, or try to run, literally do anything to fight this situation, but he doesn't. For some reason, he feels like…like he wants to see where this goes.

When you yank his pants down and flip up his jacket, he doesn't stop you. When you rest your heavy, leaking cock in between his cheeks and groan like a perv, he's not disgusted by it. When you let go of his head and stuff your fingers in his mouth, his tongue dances in between the spaces of your digits.

It's a surprise to you too, when the smaller human man lifts his ass up, almost inviting you—giving you permission—to fuck him. And you're not about to pass up a cute slut like this.

Makoto's knees shake when you spit on his hole, giving him at least a tiny courtesy before you break his body with your cock. Your tip pushes incessantly at his entrance, adding slippery precum to it as you swipe your cock up and down, then finally slip the head in. The human flinches, nearly causing himself to choke on your fingers, but he recovers just fine and makes no signs of protest.

Soon enough, you're moving a few inches of your length in and out, enjoying the tightness around only a third of your dick. “Sho mush…sho big…” he slurs, unable to properly enunciate with your fingers keeping his mouth occupied. Little does he realize how big your full length is. You push a little more, and the human moans again, drool spilling out from the corners of his mouth while his ass stretches to accommodate the larger girth filling it up.

“Big, yeah? You think this is big, little guy? This ain't even halfway in yet~” you taunt, keeping a tight hold on his waist. At this point, you're confident that he can take plenty more without breaking yet, so you go a little harder until half of your dick is pumping in and out. “Mmm feel that? Now that is halfway in. Feels even better, right?”

“aAahAAAHhhNn–!! gHNH-!” Makoto spasms on the table, whining something unintelligible while his body twitches. Slightly concerned, you ask him what the hell that was all about, but he doesn't answer you. Frustrated, you remove your fingers from his mouth and yank his body up by his hair, forcing him to stand while you inspect the situation.

It only takes a second for you to notice the puddle of translucent white fluid dripping from the edge of the wooden table and onto the ground, with a matching fluid dribbling from Makoto's flushed dick.

“Goddamn– cummin' before me…I haven't even fucked you yet, little guy. Is it that good for you?” you laugh, pulling the human's head back so far that he's forced to look up at you, meeting your gaze with pink cheeks and cloudy eyes.

With a newfound confidence, and a newfound horniness, you decide that your little slut is more than ready to take it all in. Makoto makes a little noise at first, but when you bottom out and, finally, begin thrusting with intent, those noises turn into happy little moans and whimpers. The fucked out look on his face is proof enough that your fat cock is hitting the right places—filling his tummy with butterflies with every long drag against his walls.

Makoto holds onto your arms for dear life, taking your length like the good boy he is, while you rail him with enough force to knock him over, if you weren't holding his smaller body. “Ah-ah-ah-yes-yes-yes-!!” he stutters, smiling like he's on cloud nine. “Ah! Hard-er! Harderharderharder~!!”

When you blow your first load in him, the tightness of Makoto's ass and the strong scent of his hormones are enough to make your eyes roll back. Your hips slam into him a few times to empty all of your cum in there, and each time only brings the human that much closer to a complete mindbreak.

“Ooohhfuck… haah~ That was fuckin' good er- damn, I never got your name, did I?” The human shakes his head 'no', panting as his dick stays stiff as a board, red from cumming a second time.

He mutters something under his breath, but you can't quite make it out. You ask him to repeat it and he replies, “it'sss…Makoto…” in a sleepy, worn out tone.

“Well, Makoto, you think you're up for more?” you're asking, but not really asking…because you're going to fuck him again regardless. After all, all of these dumbass locals keep you stressed out every damn day — at this point, a full 24 hours of sex probably wouldn't be enough, much less one tiny orgasm.

Makoto lazily nods along, grinning up at you while you scratch his scalp affectionately. He has zero time to react as you begin thrusting again, ready to pound his hole until it's permanently molded to your shape.

His ass tightens around you again, and a third round of cum shoots out of his dick as it slaps against his warm body. His dick seems to stay hard even after that, turning redder by the minute, all while you ensure that his ass will be left gaping and oozing with your seed long after you're satisfied.

By the time you fill him up again, Makoto has orgasmed five times before, and his sixth nearly causes his voice to crack as his whole body convulses in your arms — his twitching cock shoots nothing this time, and the human is left with only dry orgasms for the rest of the day. Meanwhile, you have no intentions of stopping yet, even if it means your new human will fall unconscious—he'll still be your fuck doll while he rests.

[evendimmer]

"I hear you, angel, I hear you."

Pairings: Soft!Agatha x Reader Summary: Agatha helps reader feel seen. Or heard, in this case. Word count: 592 Warnings: 18+ MiDNI Mommy kink (A referred as "mama"), fingering (R receiving), slight mentions of bullying, prawn with lots of feelings A/N: A short one, but no less smutty and with a lot of feels.

Agatha always tells you how much she loves your voice, although you never truly understand why.

Growing up, you’re used to being told by grownups and peers alike that you’re too chatty, too loud, too squeaky and even too annoying. Pipe it down, they’d tell you, nobody wants to hear it.

It might not even be true but when you hear something for so many times, a little voice within you started asking questions. Soon enough the questions became a fact, and the fact turned into your truth.

Nobody needs to hear you.

You stopped talking. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary anyway. No small talk, no chitchat, the little chatterbox died together with your childhood, buried away deep in the depths.

But Agatha is different. 

“Mama loves hearing you say my name. Please, angel, let me hear you.”

Agatha looks at you like you’re the sole reason of her existence, cupping your face in her hand and kiss you deeply and hurriedly, all the while pumping into you with her other hand and you feel your chest almost bursting.

She pulls back to look at you so intently that you have to look away, tears welling in your eyes— you’re not sure if it’s because of how good Agatha is fucking you or because of whatever the fuck that is exploding in your chest— 

Agatha notices the state of you and immediately panics.

“Angel— angel, shh it’s ok,” she scrambles to cup your face and coos. “Please, keep your eyes on mama, please.”

So you oblige, locking your eyes with her while your tears stream down your face and Agatha smiles, so soft and warm like the autumn sun and somehow it makes your core even more sensitive, your moans getting higher with her each thrust. She can tell you’re close. 

Agatha leans closer to kiss your temple, murmuring right in your ear, “please angel, please,” while carefully caressing your very sensitive clit.

You whimper at the contact. Your hands flying up to reach for her shoulders, only to find her pulling back to look at you through furrowed brows, almost begging as she mouths out another silent “please”.

You know what she wants.

It’s already near impossible not to give in to her, not with Agatha begging you like this, nor with the tide of emotions welling deep inside you, urging, pushing, tugging at your heart. So in a shaky voice, almost too quiet to be heard, you say her name.

But Agatha hears you. Her eyes widens as if taken by surprise, then there’s a flash of joy, quickly replaced by an almost feral want.

“Again, angel, please, again.” She grunts as she thrust into you harder and faster than ever, fucking you like her life depends on it.

And you hear yourself saying her name again, louder this time, over and over as your climax draws near. Agatha must have known it too, either from the way your nails dig into her back, or the way your pussy clamps down hard onto her fingers, or maybe how you’re crying out her name. 

She presses her thumb on your clit before swiping firmly, “Come for me, angel, please, come for mama.”

That’s what did it for you. You feel your climax rushing all over you and you keep chanting her name like a prayer. Agatha holds you tight with her free arm as you’re riding out your orgasm, all the while whispering I love you, I love you, I love you my angel with her lips pressed on your ear.

[adelliet]

Joel Miller x f!reader

NO BOUNDARIES

Summary: Your dad’s friend, Joel Miller, stayed over at your house every friday. Over time, your affection for him grew into something deeper, something dangerous. One fateful night, and you both break the boundaries.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap, strong language, flirting, mention of masturbation, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), contraceptive use, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (p i v), after care (ofc)

A/N: Hey there! So, this is once again ridiculously long, sorry, I always get carried away. But I just want to thank you so much for all the activity and support! I really appreciate it! If you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story, I personally absolutely LOVE it! Enjoy! <3

Masterlist

It’s another Friday night, which means another one of Joel’s sleepovers at your house. You can’t even remember when his visits became a tradition. It was so long ago that even your dad doesn’t really know how the two of them met. He always tells the story differently, but one thing remains the same, they’re inseparable.

Honestly, you’d even call them soulmates. They can talk for hours, without ever getting tired of each other. Sometimes, they even remind you of teenage girls. But it’s nice. Nice to see your dad this happy. And nice to see Joel so often, right here, in your home.

Just like you can’t remember when Joel first became a part of your life, you can’t pinpoint the moment he carved himself into your mind. Every time you saw him, he settled deeper and deeper into your head, until he was right where he is now, completely inescapable.

You’re a mess for him. The mere sight of him makes your legs weak, your nipples hard, and your mouth flood with anticipation. Your heart races, your pulse quickens, and it feels as if everything around you slows down. The only thing your focus clings to is him.

It’s like some sort of spell, as if every time you sense his presence, your core begins to throb with need. And you, pathetically, have to escape him, running away to calm your body, though it feels pitifully hopeless.

Even though you hide upstairs in your room, in your comfort, the heat in your veins, the tingling between your legs, and your quickened breath remain relentless. You always have to take care of it, of yourself.

It’s truly remarkable, how ever since your thoughts began to wander to Joel, whenever your hands found their way between your thighs, you’ve climaxed within seconds. Never before have you come so fast, but then you think about those massive hands of his, wrapped around a coffee mug, his fingers nearly swallowing it whole. The rough hair and bulging veins on his arms, so effortlessly attractive. And it’s not just his hands.

His salt and pepper beard, looking so coarse and scratchy, tempting you to imagine how it might feel against your skin. His soft, silky hair, always swaying so easily in the breeze, as if the wind itself adored him. And those eyes. God, those goddamn eyes. Enchanting, mesmerizing, capable of pulling you in like a deep, endless well.

His neck, thick, strong, the way he rubs it absentmindedly when he scratches the back of his head. The unintentional glimpse of his chest when his shirt shifts, revealing just a hint of those dark curls beneath.

Joel makes you feel things you’ve never felt before. It’s nearly impossible to define, to understand what the hell is even happening to you. Are you in love? Or is it just obsession? A stupid crush? Or is it simply, pure, unfiltered desire?

You don’t know exactly what it is. The only thing you’re absolutely certain of is that your panties dampen every single time your eyes land on him. It’s as if he’s some sort of god of arousal. A living, breathing definition of attraction. And for you, he absolutely is.

Still, here you are in your room, breathless from the “activity” that barely managed to soothe the throbbing ache between your legs. Because today, Joel looks even more devastatingly good than he did last week.

You were utterly exhausted, sweat still clinging to your forehead and soaking into the pillow beneath you. Your fingers trembled, your legs shook, and your chest heaved unevenly. You had to close your eyes because the room felt like it was spinning. It didn’t take long before you fell asleep like a baby.

Eventually, though, an unrelenting hunger stirred you awake. You had no desire to get up, honestly, you’d rather stay buried beneath your blanket, dreaming up filthy, romantic fantasies about Joel. But the hunger grew stronger each second, and your body made it very clear with the impatient grumbling of your stomach.

Annoyed, you let out a groan, rubbing your eyes with your thumb and forefinger before slowly, sluggishly, pushing yourself up. Your body felt heavy, and you stumbled to the door, barely able to find the handle in your drowsy haze. As you made your way down the stairs, you yawned widely, your eyes still adjusting to the dim light, and you nearly tripped a few times.

When you reached the bottom, a faint glow from the kitchen caught your eye. It surprised you, but your half-asleep brain didn’t have the energy to question it deeply. You simply trudged forward, too hungry and too tired to care who or what might be waiting for you in the kitchen.

You rounded the corner and suddenly froze in place. There was Joel, leaning against the table with a glass of water in his hand, facing you. For a moment, you thought it was a dream. It really felt like a dream until he greeted you softly.

In an instant, a rush of adrenaline surged through your veins, and the word exhaustion was wiped from your mind. You swallowed an imaginary lump in your throat, a bit too loudly, and offered Joel a shy, quiet, “Hey.” You didn’t want to keep staring at him like some kind of creep, but damn, he looked so fucking good.

His hair was tousled, a little messy, giving him that irresistible, just-woke-up look. He wore a loose t-shirt that gently hugged his godlike body, and those gray sweatpants that had you fighting desperately not to stare. His salt-and-pepper beard looked both sharp and somehow soft to the touch. The warm kitchen light glowed softly against his stormy gray eyes, like clouds right before a heavy rain.

Oh god, your knees felt weak, and that familiar throbbing between your legs grew more intense. Your thighs clenched instinctively, desperate to ease the pulsing ache. It was humiliating how easily he did this to you, how little it took for your body to react like this. Just one look, one sleepy, half-lidded gaze from him, and you felt like you could melt into the floor.

Your whole body burned from the inside out, a heat so fierce it almost ached. It was like every nerve ending had woken up, set on fire just from seeing him like this, so effortlessly rugged, so devastatingly handsome, standing in your kitchen in the middle of the night. Your chest tightened with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low and rough, rasping with a hint of sleep still clinging to it. His lips curved into a small, lazy smirk.

“Hmm…” you hummed softly, your voice barely audible. Forming a coherent sentence felt impossible when every fiber of your being was focused on not falling apart under his gaze. You fought against yourself, desperate not to make a fool of yourself, not to seem like some desperate, pathetic whore, aching for his attention.

“I’m hungry,” you finally managed, your voice a little steadier as you offered him a shy, almost innocent look. Joel chuckled, shaking his head with a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“Eating this late ain’t healthy,” he teased, lifting his glass to his lips. His eyes stayed on yours, unwavering, intense, like he could see right through you.

“Maybe not,” you shot back, finding a fragment of confidence amidst the storm raging inside you.

“But this rumbling stomach isn’t gonna quiet down on its own.” You tried to keep it playful, lighthearted, but your body betrayed you.

The throbbing ache between your thighs was relentless, an unyielding pulse that made your breath hitch, your core clench helplessly. You could feel the slickness growing, soaking through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts. A humiliatingly obvious sign of just how badly you wanted him. It took everything in you to keep your face composed, to not let him see how shamelessly desperate you were for him.

“You’re right,” he nodded, his calming smile still gracing his wrinkled face. As your confidence steadily returned, the heat within you grew stronger with each word that left Joel’s mouth, control over your own actions was slipping away, bit by bit. Maybe that’s why this idea even crossed your mind.

Across from Joel, there was a kitchen island. A centerpiece your dad mainly kept for decoration, though it was occasionally used for snacking. A mischievous smirk spread across your face as you gracefully walked past Joel, positioning yourself right in front of him. Then, you bent over, leaning onto the counter as you reached for the bowl of fruit.

You knew exactly what you were doing. The thin, loose fabric of your pajama shorts shifted as you bent over, and with no underwear underneath, there was nothing to shield the view. The cool air brushed against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the burning heat radiating from your core. You knew exactly what you were exposing, and Joel noticed too, almost immediately.

Almost the second you bent down, you heard a sudden spluttering noise, followed by Joel’s deep, raspy voice choking and coughing. You turned around to see him setting his glass down on the counter, his fist pressed against his mouth, eyes squeezed shut, and his face flushed a deep red.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice so innocently sweet it only added to his torment. Joel nodded, but he was still coughing, clearly struggling to regain his composure.

After finally catching his breath, Joel inhaled deeply, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. The redness on his face lingered, a shade too obvious to ignore, and his fingers nervously tapped against the counter, a silent attempt to steady himself.

With a raised eyebrow and a teasing smirk, you watched him. “You sure you’re okay?” you asked softly, a hint of mischief in your voice. Joel nodded, his eyes slowly lifting to meet yours.

You knew exactly what hid behind those eyes of his. He had seen you, bare and exposed, exactly as you’d planned. The way his composure shattered so easily because of you made your core clench desperately around nothing, the ache between your legs intensifying.

For a moment, an awkward silence settled between you, both of you standing there, tangled in the aftermath of what just happened. Joel cleared his throat one last time, his fingers nervously brushing over his beard.

“Just… swallowed wrong,” he muttered, a lame attempt to explain away his reaction. But you both knew the truth. There was no way to hide the way his gaze had lingered, no way to ignore the way his breath had hitched. You gave a slow, hesitant nod, your eyes briefly sweeping over his figure before settling back on his flushed face.

“And you couldn't sleep ’cause you were thirsty?” you teased, nodding to the glass of water on the counter, changing the subject Joel glanced back at the glass and let out a breathy laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Something like that…” he mumbled, shifting his weight. You nodded again, the tension still hanging heavy between you, pulsing in your chest and lower, so much lower.

“Had a nightmare,” he added quietly, the way his shoulders sagged, the frustration lining his face, it struck something inside you. You knew about his nightmares. You’d heard whispers of him and your dad talking about them over beers on the porch and during late-night movies, about the things that haunted him.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered gently, and Joel shook his head, offering a faint, tired smile.

“It’s alright. I’m used to it,” he replied softly, pointing towards the empty glass. “Water helped a little.”

As you stood there with Joel, your heart pounding and your pulse thrumming in your ears, a reckless thought crept into your mind. What if you could help him sleep in a completely different way?

The idea of his strong, calloused hands gripping your hips, his body pressing against yours, tangled sheets and muffled gasps. It all hit you so suddenly and so vividly that a shiver ran down your spine. You couldn’t believe where your mind had wandered, but the thought alone made your knees weak, your body burning with a desire you could barely contain.

You could feel the heat still burning under your skin, every part of you hyper-aware of the man standing just feet away. The way he tried to steady himself, the lingering flush on his face. It thrilled you.

“Don’t you want some sleeping pills?” you asked, finally piecing yourself together enough to speak, your brows furrowing in a guilty, concerned expression. Joel scoffed softly, shaking his head just a bit.

“Nah, but thanks,” he muttered, lifting a hand. His voice was rough and gravelly, that deep, rasping tone that always sounded like it was dragging over rocks. It seeped under your skin, settled low in your belly, igniting that familiar heat that made your thighs press together involuntarily.

“Okay,” you whispered, so quietly that Joel barely heard you. You shifted away from the kitchen island, your heart still thundering as you moved toward the fridge. You could feel his eyes on you, following every step, every sway of your hips, like he needed to keep you in check, or maybe like he couldn’t help himself.

When you opened the fridge, the cool air brushed over your flushed face, but it barely helped to cool the warmth spreading through your body. Your eyes lit up as you spotted the leftover pie you’d baked with your dad yesterday. The light from the fridge illuminated your face, highlighting the curve of your cheekbones, the arch of your brows, the slope of your nose. It was almost unfair how exposed you felt under his gaze.

Joel caught himself staring, eyes dragging slowly from your face to the curve of your neck before snapping away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Wanna try some?” you asked, pulling the pie from the fridge and turning to face him. Your voice was casual, but your pulse was anything but. There was a tightness in your chest, a dizzying need that made your mind wander to dangerous places. Places where that gruff, rumbling voice of his was in your ear, muttering things that had no place in the dim kitchen.

Joel let out a low, disapproving grumble and shook his head.

“Oh, come on,” you set the pie on the counter, your eyes glimmering with mischief. “Just a small bite.” You tried to coax him, but Joel remained firm. Still, you weren’t about to give up that easily.

You slipped a finger into the pie, scooping up a bit of the filling. Keeping your eyes locked on his, you slowly brought your finger to your mouth, your tongue sliding over it as you tasted the sweetness. A pleased hum left your lips, your eyes fluttering closed for a second as you savored the flavor.

“It’s delicious! C’mon,” you teased, voice laced with playfulness.

For a moment, Joel just stared, a muscle in his jaw flexing as his eyes followed the trail of your tongue. You saw the hesitation, the way his eyes flicked from your mouth to the pie and back, the internal battle playing out behind those stormy eyes.

Finally, the resistance broke. He let out a resigned breath, a hint of a smirk on his lips, and stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate.

Pushing off the edge of the counter, leaning in closer. Your pulse quickened, the air between you charged and heavy. You wondered if he could hear your heart beating or if his rough breaths were enough to drown it out.

You arched a brow, the silent challenge daring Joel not to hesitate. With a small, reluctant grunt, he finally reached out and dipped his finger into the pie, his expression skeptical.

“Don’t you want a spoon?” he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“My finger works just fine,” you replied, voice dripping with mischief. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly licked the remnants of pie from your finger, your tongue curling around it until there was nothing left. As you pulled your finger from your mouth, a playful, almost obscene pop echoed in the quiet kitchen.

Joel’s chest rose as he took a deep breath, his jaw tight, his gaze sharp and unreadable. You could practically see the internal conflict flickering in his eyes, questioning what he was doing, why he was still here, if he should just leave.

God, you hoped he wouldn’t leave.

Eventually, Joel gave in and tasted the cake from his finger, just like you had. It was genuinely delicious, and he let out a pleased murmur that sent a wave of heat crashing through your body. Your stomach twisted, your skin flushed hot, and the throbbing between your legs became almost unbearable, making it hard to stay still.

“It’s really good,” he muttered through a mouthful, his voice gruff and warm. “Did you make this?” he raised an eyebrow, dipping his finger for another taste. You nodded silently, watching his lips wrap around his finger again.

“It’s really good. You’re talented,” he praised, and those words etched themselves into your mind like a mark on stone.

You’re talented. Paired with his voice, his face, his eyes, everything about him was overwhelming. You fought every urge to not throw yourself at him right there, praying your wetness wouldn’t betray you, wouldn’t drip down your thighs.

Your cake was truly delicious. Neither of you could get enough of it, your fingers diving into the treat one after another, savoring each sweet bite. The atmosphere had settled, and the two of you were sharing stories, funny little moments and memories. It was nice, comfortable. Until the conversation faded and the only sounds left were your pleased hums and the soft, sticky licks of fingers.

Then, an idea, a ridiculous, childish idea, popped into your head. Before you could reconsider, you swiped your finger through the pie and, with a swift motion, smeared it right onto the tip of Joel’s nose. You hit dead center.

Joel froze, his eyes widening in surprise as your laughter filled the room. You quickly licked the rest of the cake off your finger, smirking playfully.

He took a breath, disbelief etched into his expression, and without a second thought, dipped his own finger into the pie and swiped it across your small, cute nose.

You gasped dramatically, your eyes wide, while Joel grinned like a mischievous kid.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?” you teased, dragging your finger through the pie again, before smearing a sweet line across his scruffy beard.

A war had begun.

You both kept digging your fingers into the mess of what used to be a pie, smearing each other playfully without caring about the sticky disaster in front of you. Laughter mixed with lingering glances filled the kitchen, and your game became a careful balance of teasing touches and unspoken tension.

Despite your playful antics, you both managed to keep the mess mostly contained to your fingers, avoiding a complete disaster in the kitchen. Every swipe of his finger against your skin and every dab of frosting you left on him carried a weight that neither of you fully acknowledged, yet it was undeniably there.

When Joel reached out, swiping his finger through the ruined cake and aiming to smear more of it on you, his touch accidentally brushed against your lips. His finger paused there, resting softly on your mouth, and everything around you seemed to halt.

The air hung thick, the room drenched in a heavy, charged silence. Joel’s gaze locked onto yours. A mix of surprise, uncertainty, and something deeper that you couldn’t ignore.

His expression was torn, a fragile balance between the stone-cold restraint he always carried and the sudden, forbidden realization of what he’d just done. It was as if, in that brief moment, he saw the boundary he was crossing.

The fact that you were his best friend’s daughter, someone he had no right to look at that way. For a moment, you just stared at each other, both holding your breath, eyes full of anticipation.

Your eyes flicked from his gaze to his hand and back, a silent reminder that his finger was still on your lips, though the last thing you wanted was for him to pull away. You wanted him to grab you, to feel his lips on yours, to shatter the thin line of restraint between you.

Joel’s hand began to retreat slowly, hesitantly, as if he was battling himself over what was right and what he truly wanted. But he didn’t manage to pull away in time. Without a second thought, you wrapped your lips around his finger, warm and intentional.

Your eyes locked, your lips wrapping tightly around his finger, the motion slow, teasing, like you were savoring every inch of him.

The warm, wet feeling of your mouth sent a shiver through him, but your gaze remained innocent, wide and soft, a stark contrast to the fire building inside you. Despite the calm exterior, your mind was a whirlwind of forbidden thoughts, each one darker and more daring than the last, and you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you let yourself act on them

Your tongue swirling around his long thick finger, devouring the last bits of the pie. Joel was like a rock, motionless, his eyes fixed on you. He breathed through his nose, loudly, like a bear. His nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling more rapidly and all of his blood rushed to his cock.

You loved the way Joel looked right now. The thought that it was you, the reason he was struggling so hard, fighting every instinct to resist those seductive, pleading eyes of yours.

Joel’s breath caught sharply as you finally released his finger from your mouth, the slow, deliberate motion sending a jolt of electricity through the air. You lingered for a moment longer, your lips curling into a provocative smile as you slowly licked them, your eyes never leaving his.

Something primal stirred in him, like he was trying to steady himself. He exhaled deeply, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s late… I’m going to bed,” he muttered, his voice rough and laced with barely-contained desire, his gaze dropping to the floor as if it was the only thing keeping him from losing control. Without another word, he turned and walked away, each step heavy with unspoken tension.

“Wait!” you called out, your voice unsteady.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, not from excitement, but from a desperate fear that he might actually leave you like this. Here and now, with your knees weak and trembling, an unrelenting pulse throbbing between your legs, your breath uneven, your nipples hard and your mouth full of saliva. He couldn’t just walk away, not when you were this vulnerable, this exposed.

He stopped, his back still turned to you, shoulders taut and unmoving. It felt like he was waiting.

Waiting for the excuse you’d give him to stay, a reason not to walk away. His head tilted slightly to the side, just enough for you to glimpse the sharp line of his jaw, covered in a rugged, silver-brown beard that caught the light perfectly.

“Please don’t go…” Your voice was shaky, quiet, almost pleading. It might have sounded desperate, but you didn’t care.

Joel inhaled deeply, his eyes closing as he tipped his head back, facing the ceiling as if searching for strength. His jaw clenched tightly as you stood completely still, heart pounding, every nerve in your body screaming with anticipation.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he turned to face you. His brows were furrowed, his eyes dark and wild, like a predator barely holding back. They burned with a hunger that made the air feel thick and heavy, stiflingly hot. When his gaze locked with yours, it felt like a challenge, a dare that made your breath catch

“You should go to bed too,” he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly growl that seemed to scrape up from the depths of his chest. It was rough yet steady, carrying a weight that could silence a room.

There was a primal quality to it, like the warning growl of a wolf, restrained but undeniably powerful, a sound that demanded attention. It was the kind of voice that sent a shiver down your spine, commanding and untamed, yet tempered by a layer of reluctant restraint.

“I don’t want to…” you whispered carefully, testing the waters as you stepped closer, slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving Joel’s face.

His fingers curled into a fist, knuckles whitening from the tension coiled beneath his skin. He lifted his chin slightly, his gaze sharp, assessing, dominant and firm, analyzing each measured step you took toward him.

When you were close, impossibly close, you paused, biting your lip as you looked up at him, a silent confession in your eyes. You didn’t need to say what you wanted; it was already written all over your face.

He scoffed, a dry, incredulous sound as he looked away, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what was happening. But when your fingers brushed against his shirt, hesitant yet intentional, his entire body seemed to tense.

Your palm pressed fully against his chest, feeling the steady, heavy beat beneath, strong and unyielding. His gaze snapped back to you, intense, zeroing in on your hand as if it burned.

You expected him to pull away, to reject you, or to yell at you to stop, to tell you that this was wrong, to push you away with force and distance himself as far as possible. But none of that came.

Instead, he stood there, frozen for a moment, his eyes locked on your hand resting on his chest. His breath caught in his throat as you felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric.

He bit the inside of his mouth, fighting to keep his composure, to control whatever he was feeling. His muscles tensed slightly under your touch, as if he were trying to decide whether to stop you or give in. But he did neither. Time seemed to freeze as the air around you became charged, the silence stretching longer than it should have.

Your eyes dropped down to where your hand rested. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, pounding rapidly, almost erratically. The rhythm was fast, uneven, and at moments, you couldn’t help but worry that it was too fast, almost as if it might be too much for him to handle.

Heat flooded through your lower belly, your body taking control. Slowly, your hand moved downward, grazing the soft fabric of his shirt, your fingers brushing lightly over the outline of his abs, hidden beneath the material that you desperately wanted to pull away.

Your gaze followed the movement of your hand, and in that moment, your breath caught, noticing the shiver that ran through Joel as goosebumps spread across his skin.

The lower your hand moved, the more you felt the heat rising in your body. Your breathing quickened, each shallow inhale matching the rapid beat of your heart as your hand ventured lower.

Joel didn't do anything.

Then, your hand stopped at the waistband of his sweatpants, but before your could do anything else, Joel's hand briskly grapped your wrist, giving you a warning look. Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes innocent as you suck your lips into a thin miserable line.

“This is inappropriate,” Joel’s voice was suddenly different. So were his eyes. They were hungry and dark, you could barely read what was hidden behind them.

“But is it what you want?” Your soft voice made Joel’s hand twitch, his jaw clenching, already preparing for what was coming.

“Your dad is going to kill me,” his voice wasn’t as harsh, as rejecting anymore. You could tell he was backing down, that he no longer wanted to resist.

“I know,” you immediately spoke those words without thinking, your mind already elsewhere, ready to jump at him.

“We’re going to be in trouble-”

“I know,” you stepped closer to him, even though it had seemed impossible. His grip on your wrist was tight, definitely leaving a bruise, but you barely noticed the pain as the air around you thickened with an almost palpable tension.

The space between you two crackled with unspoken desire, like static in the air, the kind that buzzes just before a storm breaks. Everything felt heavier, the silence thick enough to suffocate, yet somehow it was intoxicating, drawing you closer.

Joel glanced around, his gaze sharp, scanning the area, making sure no one would interrupt, see, or stop what was unfolding. His attention to detail made the moment feel even more intense, as though nothing existed outside of this bubble you were trapped in, where the only thing that mattered was the space you shared, the heat, the tension.

And without another word, he cupped your cheeks and crushed his lips into yours. It was like an explosion. There was no softness, no gentleness. Just raw, hungry need.

His grip tightened on you, pulling you closer as his mouth slammed against yours, urgent and demanding, as if he couldn’t wait another second. The kiss wasn’t slow, wasn’t tender, it was messy. His teeth grazed your lower lip, almost bruising, but you didn’t care. It only made the fire between your legs burn hotter.

You could feel his breathing coming in sharp, ragged pulls, like he was trying to taste every inch of you. His hands roamed over your body, grabbing, pulling, the pressure hard, relentless, like he wanted to own every inch of your skin.

As his hands slid over your body, exploring every inch of your skin, as if he needed to memorize you, to imprint every curve and line of your body into his mind to never forget, he forced you to back up.

The force was overwhelming, and when your back collided with the cold surface of a fridge, it hit with such intensity that both of you gasped, breath stolen by the shock of the sudden impact. His massive frame pressing you against the fridge, forming an unyielding barrier you couldn’t escape.

There was no hesitation anymore, no doubt. Just an intense hunger, a need so fierce it was almost suffocating. You could taste the urgency in the kiss, the way he kissed you like he was trying to consume you, literally pull you inside him.

“You have no fucking idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he groaned into your ear, his teeth sinking into your neck, biting and sucking, leaving you breathless.

Your fingers instinctively tangled in his dark curls, tugging when he hit that sweet, sensitive spot. His hands were all over you, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch, leaving no part of you untouched. He wasn’t modest, he wanted all of you.

His bear-like groan rumbled against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. One of his hands found your ass, squeezing it firmly, making you squeak and rise up on your tiptoes.

“You like that, don’t you?” You could feel his cocky smile brushing against the other side of your neck, making you gasp. Your fingers found the fabric of Joel’s shirt, tugging it, pulling him closer. That answer was more than enough for Joel.

He grabbed your hips, pulling your body flush against his. You moaned as his lips found yours again, feeling the hardness of him pressing against your thigh.

God, you wanted him.

Every inch of your body was on fire, your dream unfolding before you, and you could barely believe it. Here you were, kissing Joel Miller, the man you had been obsessed with for months.

Your moans, growls, and desperate whimpers melded together, swallowed by the intensity of the kiss. Your tongues collided, moving together in a fevered rhythm, as your bodies instinctively pressed closer, synchronizing with every shift and pull. You craved the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and the overwhelming sensation of being consumed by him. You needed him, in every way, feeling the undeniable pull that made it impossible to stop.

Joel felt it just as strongly, but he was always good at keeping it buried beneath the surface. He’d learned to hide his desire, to mask the intensity, never allowing his emotions to show. But now… now things had changed.

With you so close, with every breath shared between you, his control started slipping away. He could feel the heat of your body against his, the growing tension, and it was all becoming too much for him to contain. His movements, his breaths, everything began to reveal just how far gone he really was. How much he needed you.

His hand subtly slid to your thigh, moving higher until, with a slight shift, he managed to slip under your pajama shorts.

Your breath caught in your throat as the warmth of his fingers pressed against your inner thigh. His grin and the soft scoff that escaped his lips made your core pulse even harder.

Finally, his finger brushed against your wet folds, but he paused, pulling away from the kiss to take a long look at you.

“Already that wet, huh?” His finger rubbed agonizingly slow over the surface of your wet folds, his skin absorbing your moisture. Even though it was just the lightest, almost nonexistent touch, you felt it more than you should.

Your body reacted instinctively, throwing your head back, closing your eyes as your hips moved against Joel’s hand, desperately seeking more friction, more contact.

He savored the way your body trembled, the way your face contorted with need, and how your small hands desperately gripped anything they could find, clinging to something, anything, to hold on. You needed this. You needed him. And he knew it.

His finger finally burried into your folds, making your jaw fall open and gasp really loudly. Joel quickly covered your mouth by his free hand, throwing a warning look.

“We don’t want to wake your daddy up now, do we?” His voice was raspy, dark and deep. His finger working on you, curling inside you and stretching you out. You let out a soft sigh into Joel’s palm, your breath shaky as your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open.

“Look at you? Such a good girl,” His words made you melt into his touch. His finger increasing the pace and strength, dugging in as deeply as he could. Your senses beginning to blur. The pleasure, slow at first, built with an intensity that made your chest rise and fall in shallow breaths.

“Yeah, that's it” he found your swallow clit with his thumb, making slow firm circles, showering you with waves of pleasure. The feeling of ecstasy was creeping in, washing over you like a tide, and you could feel your body betraying you, helplessly surrendering to the overwhelming sensations.

Your knees trembled slightly, barely holding your weight as Joel’s finger stretched you, his fingertip brushing against your walls, making you whine against his sweaty palm. He was relentless, maintaining a steady, determined rhythm while his thumb teased your sensitive clitoris in slow, deliberate circles.

Each calculated motion sent jolts of electricity through your veins, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. The contrast between his unyielding pace and the gentle, teasing caress made your mind foggy, your senses overwhelmed. Every brush, every press felt like it was designed to drive you closer to the edge, your vision blurring as if stars were bursting behind your eyelids.

His gaze never left your face, watching, studying every gasp, every twitch, the way your body responded to him. It was intoxicating, the way he seemed to know exactly what you needed without a word exchanged. Your mind struggled to hold onto a single coherent thought, lost between the need for release and the unbearable, delicious torture of his touch

You completely lost yourself when he added another finger. Your legs shaking as if they couldn’t support you any longer. Every breath was an attempt to regain control, but the control was long gone. Your mind was clouded, thoughts scattered, and all you could do was grasp at his messy, soft hair, needing something to ground you.

“That's my good girl,” he whimpers, His voice was strained, broken into ragged breaths as he struggled through gritted teeth not to cum in his pants.

Something about you made him weak, unleashing the absolute monster inside him. The way beads of sweat slid down your face, the tears welling in your eyes, your fingers tangled in his hair as he still covered your mouth, controlling your every sound. You were close. He knew it.

Your core clenching around his wet fingers, covered by your juice. You gasp his name into his strong hand, finding his nape, gripping it roughly with your hands.

You swear under your breath, feeling the orgasm getting closer, only if Joel keeps going. And he does, harder, faster, relentless. His cocky smile never leaves his face, a silent promise that he’s fully aware of what he’s doing to you.

You let out a muffled groan, your voice breaking through the barrier of his palm, and threw your head back aggressively. You hit the fridge, but that was the last thing on your mind. You were tiptoeing on the spot, desperately trying to lift yourself higher, but it was impossible.

A few more tender curls of Joel’s fingers, and you felt it, an intense wave building deep inside you, ready to crash. That tingling between your thighs rippled through your entire body, making your skin prickle and your breath hitch. Your pulse raced dangerously high, pounding in your chest, echoing in your ears until it was the only sound you could hear.

Your muscles clenched tightly around him, a desperate, involuntary response that made your legs tremble. Every nerve was on fire and for a moment, the world seemed to blur and tilt, leaving only you and him, tangled in that intoxicating tension.

Your ears rang, your breath caught in your throat, and your fingers pulled tightly at Joel’s graying curls, finally reaching your orgasm. Even though you had reached your peak, he didn’t stop. His pace remained relentless, determined to draw out every last tremor from your body. The overstimulation was almost unbearable, your mind a hazy mess of pleasure and sensitivity, yet a part of you craved every second of it.

Your breath was ragged, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to regain control, but Joel didn’t grant you that mercy.

“You look so beautiful,” he groaned, his own breath uneven, strained by the effort of holding back his own arousal, forcing himself to focus solely on you. His voice was thick, rough, betraying just how much restraint it took not to lose himself in the heat of the moment.

Then, carefully, slowly, when he saw that it was getting too much for you to handle, he pulled his fingers out. You let out a small whine as the emptiness and cool fresh air hit your bare, swollen core. The absence of his touch left a lingering ache, a pulsing reminder of how intensely he had pushed you to your limit.

Your legs felt weak, keep trembling slightly, and your breath was still unsteady. Joel’s eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail. The flush on your cheeks, the dazed look in your eyes, the way your body still shivered under his gaze.

His hand finally left your mouth, slick with your saliva. Joel took advantage of the moment when his hands were free, and without warning, he grabbed your ass, giving it a firm, rough squeeze before lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. You squeaked in surprise, a giggle escaping your lips as you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him tightly.

The erection in his sweatpants poking you right between your legs, making your wet core pulse even faster. He looked at you with a smile, passion, and desire. He needed you, you had no idea how much he needed you.

Joel turned with you in his arms, pressing your back against the kitchen island. The same place where, just moments ago, you'd been teasing him with poking your ass right into his face. Carefully, he set you down, his hands lingering on your hips for just a second longer than necessary. The cold surface beneath you sent a shiver straight up your spine, a stark contrast to the burning heat in your lower belly.

For a moment, he simply stood there, watching you, taking you in. His chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths, but his eyes were dark, intense, filled with something raw. Then, without any warning, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head in one swift motion.

Your gaze dropped instinctively, taking in the way the dim light cast soft shadows over his broad chest. A dusting of dark, slightly curled hair covered his chest, thickest at the center and tapering as it traveled down the firm ridges of his abdomen.

His muscles weren’t chiseled in a way that came from gym workouts, they were real, earned through years of carrying, lifting, surviving. His shoulders were wide, strong, built to bear weight, and his arms, corded with muscle, held the kind of strength that could be both dangerous and protective.

His stomach wasn’t perfectly sculpted, but it was firm, defined, his obliques leading down to that sharp v-line disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. The faintest sheen of sweat clung to his skin, catching the light, making every ridge and hollow of his body stand out even more.

Joel was all rough edges and raw power, a man who had lived, fought, and enduredand, and right now, every bit of him was focused on you.

When your eyes finally drank him in, trailing up his body, they landed on his smug, charismatic face. The one that sent a jolt of pure, electric desire coursing through you, your core dripping wet yet again, pulsating and clenching around nothing.

“Like what you see?” he murmured, his voice rough as he stepped closer, slow but deliberate, the heat of him pressing in, forcing your back to meet the cool surface of the counter.

Your breath hitched. You could feel the weight of his stare, dragging over your face, your parted lips, the rise and fall of your chest. He wasn’t just looking at you, he was consuming you, unraveling you, making you feel exposed and wanted all at once.

Before you could even process it, his lips were on your bruised, tender neck, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. His grip on the other side of your throat was firm but not forceful, just enough to hold you there, to let you feel his presence completely.

His other hand pressed into your hip, grounding you, keeping you from writhing too much beneath his touch. But it was impossible to stay still. The sensation of his mouth against your sensitive skin. The slow, deliberate way he worked his lips and teeth over you, had your body reacting on its own, your muscles tensing, your breath quickening.

You could feel him smirk against your skin, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you. And of course, he did.

Within moments, his lips left your neck, his breath still lingering on your skin as he pulled away just enough to look up at you from beneath his lashes.

Slowly, almost teasingly, he let his head trail downward, inch by inch, never breaking eye contact until it was impossible to hold it any longer. His hands followed the same path, skimming over your sides, your waist, his fingers barely brushing the fabric of your cute yet dangerously tempting pajamas.

His hands found the waistband of your pajama shorts, fingers slipping beneath the fabric as he tugged them down at an agonizingly slow pace. The soft material glided over your thighs, down your legs, until they finally pooled around your ankles.

“There you are,” he breathed out with joy. You were now bare, exposed, with nothing left to separate you from his burning gaze. His eyes roamed over your sticky, wet folds, drinking in every inch of you like a starving man. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he exhaled sharply, the sight of you testing every last bit of his restraint.

“Where have you been hiding all this time?” he exhaled, as if he’d finally found the meaning of life. You chuckled, cheeks red, but were cut off quickly as you felt Joel’s tongue glide over your labia, making you gasp and arch your back.

“F-fuck” you whine, squeezing your your thighs together, locking Joel’s head between your legs. He laughs against your heated skin, the vibration sending hot waves right into your core, making your breath hitch.

He repeated the teasing licks. Long, slow, and deliberate. Each one dragging against your folds, making your jaw fall open. The tension coiled inside you tighter and tighter, getting dangerously closer to your edge.

Your fingers found his messy hair, tugging at it and entangling your fingers in it while you bit your lower lip, hard, trying to be as quiet as possible. But even with your teeth clenched, a few desperate sounds slipped past the barrier of your swollen, wet lips, betraying your struggle to stay quiet. Every Joel's slight movement caused a new wave of sensation that you couldn’t fully contain.

His tongue entered you, making your legs tense and your heart skip a beat, you could feel the heat rushing to your face as the sensation overwhelmed you. His gaze never wavered. He didn’t stop looking at you, not even once. It was as if he was absorbing every little reaction of yours, and the way he enjoyed it made your pulse race even faster. The intensity of his attention only heightened the pressure in your chest, making you yearn for more.

The image of him, thrusting into you, finally feeling you inside him made Joel go faster, his movements sharp and precise, pressing his nose against your clit intentionaly, his breath warm against your skin.

And you felt it, again. That familiar sensation that had your mind spinning, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. Your body reacted involuntarily, muscles tensing as if they had a life of their own, your whole body vibrating with anticipation. For just a second, you felt as if you were floating.

Your body arched, an instinctive reaction to the pleasure coursing through you, your fingers tugged at his hair with a force you didn’t realize you had. You even pulled some strands from his scalp, but he didn’t flinch.

If anything, it only seemed to fuel him, his grip on your thighs tightening as he continued, oblivious to the way your hands were wrapped tightly in his hair.

His tongue mercilessly stretched you, licking you out and savoring every drop, while his nose teased your clit even more frequently. He could feel how close you were. The way your thighs trembled around his head, your core clenched around his tongue, and finally, you reached your second orgasm of this night, his name tumbling from your lips in a breathless, intense whisper.

He stilled, his movements ceasing, but he remained there, letting you feel every lingering sensation. He gave you a moment to catch your breath, to let the waves of pleasure settle in your body. Your legs felt weak, your senses hazy, and the lingering warmth of his touch sent occasional shivers down your spine.

When you finally started to come down from your high, the overstimulation became almost unbearable. Every little touch felt electric, your body twitching involuntarily, still reacting to the intensity of it all. He finally pulled away, his lips and beard glistening from your juice, as he watched you with a look of pure satisfaction, taking in every detail of your dazed expression.

Your eyes remained shut, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to regain control over your breath. Each time you dared to open them, the world around you spun, a dizzy haze clouding your senses. You had to ground yourself, to force your body back into reality.

Joel’s hands never left your thighs, his grip firm yet reassuring. His thumb traced slow, comforting circles against your skin, anchoring you, silently reminding you that you were safe. His touch was steady, patient, giving you time and letting you come back at your own pace.

„It’s okay, babygirl. Relax, take your time,“ his voice melted into the air, deep and soothing, like warm honey coating every syllable.

His voice was enough to ease the lingering tremors in your body. The pounding in your ears slowed, the dizziness faded, and you found yourself breathing in sync with him.

You finally managed to open your eyes and prop yourself up on your elbows, taking in the sight before you. And God…that sight was unforgettable.

Joel, shirtless, his body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, droplets rolling down his temples. His lips, red and slightly swollen, his beard still damp, from you. And that look in his eyes. Soft, comforting, yet laced with hunger.

“What?” he tilted his head slightly, that signature smirk playing on his lips, clearly amused by your reaction. You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you met his gaze.

“Are you ready to continue?”

Continue?!

Your eyes widened, your pupils dilated, your body instinctively tensing. You weren’t sure if it was from anticipation or the sheer disbelief that he wasn’t done with you yet. That this wasn’t everything.

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You didn’t know if you could handle more. If you could handle him. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry as you tried to find your voice.

“I…” you started, but your own hesitation made you pause. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for your answer, his expression filled with curiosity and just a hint of amusement.

“Suddenly speechless, huh?” His hands remained on your thighs, keeping you in place, not forcefully, but enough to remind you that you weren’t going anywhere unless he allowed it. Your lips parting slightly, but no words came out.

But everything shifted the moment your eyes dropped lower, down to his sweatpants.

The outline of his erection was impossible to ignore, straining against the soft fabric, so prominent it sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body.

He was big.

Bigger than you expected, bigger than you thought you could handle. How were you supposed to take that?

His tip was already leaking through the material, a darkened spot forming where he was pressing against the fabric, and the sight alone made your breath hitch in your throat. Your fingers twitched at your sides, an unspoken mix of anticipation and uncertainty making your chest rise and fall faster.

In that moment, as your eyes remained fixed on the outline straining against his sweatpants, everything suddenly became crystal clear. Any hesitation, any lingering nerves, dissolved into nothing. You knew exactly what you wanted.

You wanted him. You wanted to feel him, deep, filling, stretching you in ways you had only imagined. Your body burned with need, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable, and as you finally dragged your gaze back up to meet his, there was no doubt left in your mind.

You were more than ready.

A sudden surge of energy shot through your body, making you push yourself up onto your elbows without hesitation.

Before Joel could react, your hands found their way to the back of his neck, pulling him down to you with a desperate need.

Your lips crashed against his, tasting yourself on him. He let out a low, surprised groan against your mouth, but quickly melted into you, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pressed closer.

You were hungry, desperate, and Joel felt it instantly.

Not just from the way your lips moved feverishly against his or how your fingers gripped the back of his neck with such need, but from the way your hips instinctively pushed forward, grinding against him without a second thought.

A low, guttural sound rumbled in his throat as he felt the pressure, your warmth pressing into his hardened length, still trapped beneath the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

“Shit,” he muttered against your lips, his hands tightening on your thighs as if trying to ground himself. But you weren’t about to slow down.

His hands traveled up your sides, fingers ghosting over your skin as he subtly slipped them under your pajama shirt, inching it higher.

You broke the kiss just long enough to lift your arms, making it easier for Joel to pull the fabric over your head and toss it carelessly to the floor.

The moment your bare chest was revealed, his eyes darkened, scanning every inch of you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His lips parted slightly, but no words came, just a sharp inhale, like he was trying to steady himself.

His tongue swiped over his lower lip, and you swore you saw his throat bob as he swallowed. Meanwhile, beneath the soft material of his sweatpants, his already strained arousal twitched in response to the sight before him.

Joel didn’t need to say a word, his expression and the way his body responded spoke volumes. His dark eyes, filled with admiration and raw desire, roamed over you, drinking in the sight.

When he finally snapped out of it, his hands quickly found their way back to your body, one cradling your cheek with surprising tenderness, the other gripping your waist with quiet possession. In one swift yet careful motion, he guided you down onto the cool surface of the kitchen island, his touch a contrast of control and craving.

The air between you was thick with warmth, every small gasp and deep murmur filling the silence. His patience, what little remained, was slipping away. His movements became more purposeful, more urgent. And then, finally, with a slow exhale, he pushed down the waistband of his sweatpants, letting them pool at his feet.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his swollen tip dragged teasingly along your folds, smearing warmth with every slow, torturous pass. The sensation sent a shudder through your entire body, your fingers twitching against his skin.

Joel caught your reaction immediately, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he hovered above you, his lips barely brushing against yours. “Bigger than you expected, huh?” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His smirk widened as he watched your breath hitch, his own control hanging by a thread.

He kissed you a few more times, each kiss deep and hungry. His lips moved with an urgency, pressing against yours as if he couldn’t get enough.

Then slowly, almost hesitantly, he began to enter. The feeling was overwhelming at first, his moves careful, as if waiting for you to get used to him. Your back arched involuntarily, a wave of sensation running through you as you felt him deeper.

A loud gasp escaped your lips, your eyes snapped shut, the pressure building as your body responded to him. You could feel the heat coursing through your veins, the intensity of the moment nearly too much to bear.

Your hips moved against him, pushing him deeper into you. Joel groaned loudly with his teeth clenched, you were so increbily tight and wet, thanks to him. You boosted his ego without saying a single word, but your body was enough to prove him he is good. Amazing actually.

When he was fully in, you both exhaled in unison. You focused on trying to adjust, to calm yourself down. Meanwhile, he fought the urge to not cum yet. Though you made it really difficult for him, you had the best pussy he had ever felt.

After a while, he started moving. Slowly, deliberately, he moved without rushing, each moment drawing out the intensity between you. You could feel how badly he wanted to go faster, harder, his restraint palpable, but he was determined to take his time.

His focus was on you, ensuring that each movement was gentle and considerate, not wanting to destroy you…or did he?

He pulled out almost fully, the shift in pressure causing a sharp breath to catch in your throat. Then, with a slow motion, he slammed back in, making you gasp with every deep, steady thrust.

The feeling of him moving inside you was both tender and intense, each shift bringing a mix of pain and pleasure, that seemed to build with every passing second. The world outside seemed to fade as all you could focus on was him, the connection, and the rhythm that only the two of you shared in that moment.

“Yeah, just like that,” he hummed with low, deep, vibrating tone. His warm breath tickled your ear, and you could feel it on your skin as it sent a wave of shivers down your spine. The sensation made you press closer, wanting to feel him more deeply.

With a subtle shift, he increased his pace, moving with a deliberate rhythm. His hands on your hips, his grip firm and reassuring, pulling you in time with his movements. Each movement of his body against yours made the connection between you stronger.

“Have you even been fucked before? You're so fucking thight,” his voice began to falter, each word stumbling over itself as his breaths grew heavier. His tip hitting your cervix, faster and faster. Goosebumps rose on your skin, each tiny shiver spreading across your body as if every nerve was alive, reacting to him. Your body trembling, your skin was more sensitive, every touch amplifying the feeling, each breath becoming a little harder to take.

“Look at ya, taking my cock so well,” his rhythm quickened, as did the force of his movements. The slapping sounds of your bodies grew louder than your sighs.

Your hips moved instinctively, trying to match his pace, but Joel held you firmly, offering support in this moment that consumed you both. Every movement was synchronized, His breath matched the rhythm of his movements, each exhale sharp and heavy, filling the air between you.

It was all too much, but you absolutely loose it, when his thumb found your clit, creating frequent circles. You murmured, your movements becoming unsteady as your nails left marks on Joel’s skin, ones that would linger long after. Your lips were raw from biting them, trying your best to stay as quiet as possible.

“That's it sweetheart, that's it,” his forhead touching yours, his pace now uncontrolled, sloppy, trying to catch up with his orgasm. It was all too much for you. The way his finger moved on your clit, how his dick stretched you out and hitting all the good and deep places you couldn't reach yourself on your own, his hot breath warming your cold nose. This combination was just too much.

You could feel every inch of your body tightening, muscles pulling taut, ready to snap. The pressure inside you built steadily, each rough movement of his sending waves of sensation that coursed through you, igniting every nerve. You gasped, your chest rising and falling with each desperate breath, trying to keep up with the whirlwind of feelings crashing through you.

“Are you close?” Joel’s voice was a low murmur, his words almost lost in the soft sounds of your breathing. He knew damn well that you were about to cum, but he asked you anyway, purely to provoke you, to push you further into that moment.

You could only nod, your own voice failing you as your body responded to him with a hunger that couldn’t be ignored. His hard thrusting was urgent, each one deliberately measured to bring you closer.

Then, it hit. The pressure, the tension, all of it exploded in a sudden, overwhelming rush. Your breath caught in your throat, the release sweeping through you like a tidal wave. Every muscle in your body clenched involuntarily, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped your lips. Your core clenching aroud Joel, locking him inside you, making it more difficult to move.

His name escaped in a whispered gasp as you trembled under the intensity of it. His hand found your cheek, cupping it tightly as he followed soon after, his own release coming with a sharp, breathless exhale. You felt the shudder run through him, a final wave of tension washing over you both.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the silence heavy between your breaths. His forehead rested gently against yours, his breathing labored as he tried to catch his breath.

“That was…” Joel’s voice faltered, but the words didn’t need to be finished. You exhaled slowly, a soft laugh escaping your lips. Your breathing heavy, listening to the rhythm of it - his and yours, blending together in the quiet of the kitchen.

Your bodies still connected, neither of you moving, just absorbing everything that had just happened. The heat between you still lingered,the world outside felt distant.

Then suddenly, Joel tensed. His entire body stiffened against yours, and his breath hitched as if something had just struck him like a bolt of lightning. He pulled back slightly, his forehead no longer resting against yours, and when you looked up at him, his expression made your stomach drop.

His usual unreadable, nonchalant demeanor was completely gone. Instead, his eyes were wide, his face frozen in shock. It was the kind of expression that sent panic crawling up your spine, because Joel didn’t get shaken easily.

Your breath caught. “What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked once, then twice, as if his brain was still catching up to his own thoughts. Then, in a rushed breath, he asked, “Do you have… contraception?”

For a moment, you just stared at him, processing the words. And then, relief washed over you so fast you almost laughed. Your body relaxed as you let out a slow, deep sigh, closing your eyes for a second as you exhaled.

A small, amused smile tugged at your lips as you opened them again. “Yeah,” you murmured, voice still soft from exhaustion. “I do.”

Joel let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. His shoulders dropped, and he shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face before letting out a low, relieved chuckle.

“Jesus… Alright. Good. That’s… yeah. Good.” He blew out another breath, muttering under his breath, “Scared the hell out of me for a second.”

The tension that had momentarily gripped the air dissolved just as quickly as it had come, and all that remained was warmth, quiet laughter, and the steady rhythm of your breathing once more.

Joel’s hand traced lazily onto your stomach, his fingers running up and down, grounding you in the quiet aftermath. His touch was absentminded, gentle, as if he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

But eventually, he exhaled deeply and shifted slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before murmuring, “Alright, sweetheart… I gotta move.”

You hummed softly, barely responsive, still lost in the blissful daze. But then, you felt it. The slow pull as he carefully withdrew from you, making sure to move gently, mindful of your sensitivity. The sudden loss of warmth made you shiver slightly, and Joel noticed instantly, his hands rubbing over your hips before he pulled you closer for just a second longer.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

It took him another breath before he finally pushed himself out, stretching his back slightly with a small, tired groan. He looked down at you, taking in the sight of you still sprawled out, your chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His expression softened.

“You okay?” His voice was quieter now, laced with something that sounded like concern. You managed a small nod, offering him a sleepy, satisfied smile. “Mhm,” you hummed.

Joel didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before he muttered, “Stay here. I got you.”

And with that, he stood, running a hand through his messy hair as he made his way to the bathroom. You barely had time to process the sound of running water before he was back, a warm, damp cloth in his hand.

“Alright, darlin’, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He was gentle as he moved, wiping you down with slow, deliberate care, making sure not to rush. He took his time, his rough hands smoothing over your skin as if to comfort you as much as to clean you. When he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and ran his palms over your thighs, massaging lightly, making sure you weren’t too sore.

Then, without another word, he reached for you, effortlessly lifting you into his arms.

“Joel,” you murmured, surprised by the sudden movement.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said simply. “Just takin’ you to the bathroom. Wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You let your head rest against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. He smelled like sweat and warmth and something unmistakably him. It was comforting in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

Joel carried you into the bathroom with ease, setting you down carefully before grabbing another warm cloth, making sure you were comfortable as he helped you clean up properly. He never rushed you, never made you feel like you had to do anything but just be there, letting him take care of you.

Once you were done, he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around your shoulders before pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

“There we go,” he murmured, rubbing small circles into your back. “Better?”

You looked up at him, meeting those deep brown eyes, and smiled. “Yeah,” you whispered.

Joel smirked slightly, brushing a thumb over your cheek before muttering, “Good. Now, let’s get you to bed.”

And with that, he scooped you up again, carrying you effortlessly back to the warmth and safety of his arms. On the way to your room, Joel bent down to grab your clothes from the floor, all while still holding you securely in his arms. He was strong, effortlessly so. Without breaking a sweat, he climbed the stairs, pushed open your bedroom door, and gently laid you down onto the bed.

You peeled off the towel, exhaustion making even the smallest movements feel heavy. With the last bit of strength you had left, you reached for your pajamas, determined to dress yourself. Joel lingered for a second, clearly wanting to help, but you gave him a look that told him this was something you needed to do on your own.

Once you were settled, he pulled the blanket over you, tucking you in with a care that felt almost out of character for him. Then, he leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, stepping back.

He was trying to slip back into his usual nonchalant self, acting like this was nothing, like he wasn’t affected. But the faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

“Joel?” you whispered softly as Joel stood with his hand on the door handle. He turned to face you, staying silent for a moment. “Thank you… for everything.” Joel’s lips curled slightly, and he gave a quiet chuckle, nodding once before finally stepping out of your room.

As soon as he left, his mind was a whirlwind of confusion. He still couldn’t wrap his head around what had just happened. How had things ended up like this? He had sex with daughter of his best friend. How messed up did that sound? It felt wrong, disgusting even. But he couldn't help it. You were just so-

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Joel froze as your dad’s voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. He turned, finding your father walking toward him. The grip on the door handle tightened instinctively, and Joel quickly swallowed, realizing he was still holding it.

He had to think fast. “Uh, I was just checking on her, making sure she’s okay,” Joel said, trying to sound calm. He hoped his voice didn’t betray him.

“Uh huh, and isn’t that my job?” your dad replied with a smirk, raising an eyebrow and pointing to himself. Joel’s heart skipped a beat, and his pulse quickened. He was barely holding it together but had to stay cool.

“Yeah, I was just on my way to the bathroom, and I figured I’d check on her while I was passing by…” Joel added quickly, pretending like the situation was completely normal. He had the perfect excuse, the bathroom was right next door, so it made sense. It was bealivable.

“Hmm… and is she okay?” your dad asked, his tone skeptical, but Joel could tell he was buying it.

Joel exhaled, feeling the tension leave his body as he relaxed. A smile tugged at his lips, and he dropped his gaze to the floor before looking up again. “Yeah, she’s more than okay.”

With that, Joel turned and walked past your dad, offering a casual “Good night.” Your dad watched him, but didn’t say another word, just stared after him.

What had Joel meant by that??

Thank you so much for reading! I’d really appreciate a reblog, comment, or follow! If you want to be tagged in my fanfics, feel free to let me know! Love you, and take care of yourselves!🤍

[bitchy-craft]

PICK A CARD: Their hidden insecurities

Hello and welcome to this new reading! I will tell you the hidden insecurities of your specific person/future spouse. I hope you all enjoy it!

FREE READING: a subscription to my Patreon before February 1st, no matter the tier, will give you a free question of choice.

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Subliminal Channel > PATREON [NEW] > Patreon Masterlist [NEW]

The extended version of this reading can be found on my Patreon, the link of which is here

~pick a card~

Pile 1:

They find it incredibly difficult to believe that there are people that truly care about them. Your SP doesn’t see themselves as someone who is worthy of love sometimes; they don’t really love themselves and therefore find it incredibly difficult to understand that others do see them as a beautiful person. They find it difficult to rely on others because they have no way of grasping the fact people around them are there for them when they need it. Your SP finds it difficult to speak about their issues and internal troubles because of this, that is why they sometimes seem emotionally distant. It doesn’t dawn on them that people are there for them.

Extended reading

Pile 2:

They are insecure about their future and disappointing the people around them. Your SP is someone who is very socially-oriented. They care about the people around them and take their wishes and expectations as something they have to accomplish in life. Not only this, there are people who have certain expectations laid upon them when it comes to what they have to achieve in life, and that lays heavy on their shoulders. Not everything comes easy for them, and some of these expectations they might never be able to achieve because it isn’t something they want to do, or are able to do; something they know deep-down, which makes their worries even worse.

Extended reading

Pile 3:

Your SP is insecure about many things all at once, they don’t have a specific insecurity that is more present than the other. They are insecure about their looks; never really happy with it, convinced they’re too skinny or too fat, that they don’t have enough curves or too many, that their skin isn’t clear enough and has too many imperfections. Due to this they are also afraid they won’t ever find a long-term partner in life even though that is one of their biggest dreams in life. They want a nice, calm, and small family. They might have some hobbies or interests that are not usual and because of that don’t really share it with many people even though it means a lot to them. This makes them feel alone sometimes.

Extended reading

[bloodhivelottie]

your stomach twists as you lead lottie into the woods, your hands intertwined tightly as you walk. it's gonna be okay, it's gonna be okay, you reassure yourself, but you still feel your whole body shake as you get closer to the clearing. the clearing where you intend to kill lottie.

“why are we here?” lottie asks, lagging behind you to run her fingertips over a nearby tree. her eyes close slowly as her fingers splay gently against the bark. trying to listen for the wilderness, you presume. your eyes coast over to the foliage -- the sticks and leaves you meticulously placed earlier to hide the pit. you let out a heavy, shaky breath before swallowing with nerves.

“i need you to listen to me,” you say, whirling around to face her. “this… stuff, with the wilderness, it's… it's not real, lot. it's bullshit. and i think deep down, you know it is too. i know you think you can hear it… or you used to. lottie, i…"

you pause, glancing away quickly. you still feel guilty.

“i think you might be sick. i think… these things you see, and hear… i-i don't know, but i think it's all in your head.”

lottie turns to face you, her expression unreadable.

“but you heard it. you felt it, too.”

you sigh again, your eyes screwing shut with a shake of your head.

“i heard something. because you had me trip on shrooms. it isn't a vision, or a sign, i'm not a fucking prophet, lottie, it was just drugs fucking with my head! don't you understand?”

you stop, panting, your whole body shaking as you lower your gaze. you can't even look at her.

“i can't let you do this anymore. it isn't right.” lottie steps closer, her hands reaching out to grasp your wrists gently. her fingertips move over your hand until she's weaving her fingers between yours.

“i'm sorry,” she says softly, and you feel your heart clench. “i just wanted you to feel it, too.”

you shake your head, your eyes blurring with tears. you wrench your hands away from hers to hastily scrub the tears from your face with your sleeve. why can't she just be angry? you need her to be.

“get away from me,” you murmur, and you wish you didn't glance up when you did because you can see the hurt flash across her face. “you're insane.”

you feel the guilt rise in your chest, but this is how it has to be. you have to push her away. it's the only way to truly be free.

“you wanna stay in the wilderness? go ahead. why don't you just go on and walk off into the trees. it's where you belong, right?” your voice wavers as you speak and you shove your hands in your pockets to hide how much you're shaking. 

lottie stays silent. she looks at you, her expression flashing with vulnerability and hesitance. but just as soon as you see it, it's gone. she holds her head up and turns away, walking slowly and carefully. purposefully.

your heart pounds in your chest and you almost reach out to grab her, to take it all back. to stop her. but you can't. the toe of lottie's shoe presses into the layer of sticks and leaves you wove together and you screw your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the sound of sticks snapping. the sound of lottie succumbing to the very wilderness she worships. 

but it doesn't come. you open your eyes, breath hitching in your throat when you see her standing in the middle of your trap.

how?

your head jerks in a shake of disbelief, your eyes wide and filled with tears. what are you even seeing? is this real? there's no possible way it could hold lottie's weight. maybe you're seeing things. maybe lottie's body really is at the bottom of that pit, speared and bleeding like a doe hunted down. maybe it's just your brain tricking you to protect itself. 

you close your eyes again, holding back a sob as you clutch your head, gripping your hair like it'll somehow bring you back to earth. but when you open your eyes again, lottie's still there. her silhouette tall and dark against the bright sunlight in the clearing. she slowly turns around, the corners of her lips twitching up almost in a smirk. a shudder wracks through your body. she knows? she can't.

lottie says nothing. she walks back the way she came, holding your gaze until she's walking past you. and then she's gone. 

you stand there, shaking harder than you did in the coldest nights of winter, your eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. you tentatively step towards the log you left to the side of the clearing before gripping it and carrying it to the pit. you let it go, making sure to use as little force as possible. 

you gasp as the blanket of foliage gives way, crackling and rustling as it collapses in on itself until it's all lying at the bottom of the pit intertwined with the spikes you'd sharpened. you fall backwards, covering your mouth with a shaky hand. 

what had you done? you.... could've killed lottie. had you intended to kill a prophet? a miracle worker?

you scramble to your feet and you're running before you even realize it, your boots thudding against the soft ground of the forest. you sink to your knees at the base of a tree and press your hand to the bark, feeling the cold, rough texture beneath your fingertips. they run over the grooves of a carefully-carved shape. a circle, a triangle, a hook. you look up, breath shaking, and feel for your sheath on your hip. the blade of your knife scrapes against the leather as you slide it out.

“please,” you whisper, eyes closing as you feel the sharp sting of the cold blade cutting into your palm. "forgive me."

your blood drips out as you close your palm into a fist, holding it up to tree like an offering, and in that moment you know you believe.

[noxturnals-void]

Slashers with an s/o that has scars

Characters include:

Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Michael Myers, Jesse Cromeans, Asa Emory

———————————————————————————

Tw: scars, mentions of abuse, mentions of self-harm, toxic relationships, mentions of death/murder, characters being their questionable selves

(The scars are a mix of self-harm and abuse)

This is just a big mix of comfort imagines.

Feel free to add your own thoughts/ideas.

———————————————————————————

Jason Voorhees:

He’s confused when he first sees the marks on your arms and legs. Were you in an accident of some kind? You’d never mentioned anything of the sort before.

He won’t bring it up until he sees more across your shoulders and back.

It takes a long, very awkward conversation on your part to explain when he expresses worry toward the marks on your body.

He understands what abuse is, but mainly in the form of bullying. Having to explain abuse at the hands of people you trusted was much different in his mind.

He’s absolutely heartbroken. How could anyone have hurt you like this?

He will bury the anger he has toward the people who hurt you, very gently pulling you into a hug and squeezing you to his chest.

That’s all in the past now. He’s here. He would never, ever let anything like that happen to you again.

Thomas Hewitt:

Oh, he knows.

He could tell the moment he laid eyes on you that you were just like him. Hiding your arms away and recoiling from anyone who got too close.

He tries not to make a big deal of it. They look old, so he won’t mention it.

That is, until he catches you changing one day. He sees the collection of deep marks across your back. He’s not stupid, he knows you didn’t do those yourself.

This time, he does bring it up. He’s not judgemental. He understands, probably better than anyone in his family.

When you feel comfortable, you share what happened to you.

He doesn’t push for details. He has enough imagination and his own experiences to supplement any information you decide to give.

He just pats you on the head, grunting low. His way of telling you it’s okay. You’re safe from those people.

You’re part of his family now, after all. He will protect you.

Bo Sinclair:

It doesn’t take long for him to notice.

Unlike him, you don’t hide your scars very well.

Maybe it’s because you don’t mind that he sees. Perhaps it’s because you sometimes forget they are part of you. He doesn’t know.

He asks about the scars the next time you two are alone. It catches you so far off guard you freeze.

You explain, trying not to go into too much detail. Someone you trusted hurt you in an unrepairable way. That was something he could understand.

He gets upset on your behalf, something in your story triggering a part of him he thought he’d buried deep down enough not to deal with anymore.

He doesn’t get sappy about his own scars, but he’ll show them to you in an effort to sympathize.

You’re not alone in your feelings. He reassures you that everything will be alright and that it wasn’t your fault. He’ll watch out for you now.

Vincent Sinclair:

He first saw the scars when you posed for him for a quick sketch.

He was tactful, pointing out the marks in a subtle way. When you don’t quite understand what he’s getting at (thinking you might be posing wrong or something), he walks over and uses his wax-coated hands to investigate your skin.

Was it some type of accident? Had someone done this to you? His blood boiled at even the thought of someone hurting you. 

When you opened up about the backstory to your scars, he withheld his emotions from your eyes. He was angry, of course. He wanted to hurt the people who had hurt you.

He holds you in his lap as he continues with his sketch. He doesn’t truly need you to pose for him. Your shape is already burned into the depths of his memory.

He gently massages his hand over the scars on your arms and legs while his other hand sketches.

It’s the closest he can get to telling you how perfect you are. You’re his muse. His heart.

He will never let you feel unprotected. He’ll keep you safe.

Lester Sinclair:

Poor guy is so awkward about bringing it up.

He noticed the marks littering your body some time ago but never dared to ask.

He was already pretty sure of the answer, but he preferred to hear your side of the story before making any assumptions.

Your story breaks his heart little by little. He cries for you, grieved you had gone through what you had.

He holds you, telling you you’re perfect and didn’t deserve what had happened to you. He’s so sorry you went through it.

He’ll whisper affirmations to you for as long as you let him. He is here for you now. You are not alone anymore. It is all in the past.

He’s got you, and he’s never gonna let you go.

Michael Myers:

He likely won’t point them out.

He knows, of course. You’ve changed clothes in front of him on more than one occasion.

Sometimes, if he’s got the mask off, you might catch him staring. Otherwise, you can feel his eyes trace the pattern of marks over your body.

When you talk about it, he listens. He might not sympathize or react emotionally like others do to your story, but he does listen. He does care.

No one but him is allowed to hurt you. The rage of someone else laying their hands on you has him itching for his knife.

Someone you trusted hurt you? What’s their name?You mention a location they frequented in the past. Got it.

He’ll hunt them down within the week.

You won’t question the blood on him when he comes home late a few days later.

He holds you close that night, not allowing you to move from his side until dawn.

You’ll understand his unusually clingy behavior when you hear about a recent murder on the news.

You’re his. They can’t hurt you anymore.

Jesse Cromeans:

He sees the marks across your arms one evening.

His phone drones a partially insensitive joke about the scars, but he sees the way you react to them being mentioned and leaves it be.

He doesn’t talk about them again until you’re ready.

He has a big ego on him, but that doesn’t mean he will force it out of you.

When you do tell him what happened to you, he’s furious. Someone hurt his favorite little piggy?

He’s going to hunt them down. Spann is already in the process of finding their address.

They won’t get a video, though. This isn’t a film; this is revenge.

When everything is said and done, he’s going on a shopping spree. A big bouquet of your favorite flowers, all your favorite treats, and your favorite series/movie in the disc player ready for a long night in.

You’re blissfully unaware of what has happened to cause this treatment, and he will keep it that way.

From then on, he reminds you that your scars do not change how he feels about you. You’re perfect. He made sure they won’t ever harm you again.

Asa Emory:

He’s scarily observant. It didn’t take him long at all to find out.

He asks directly, lacking a certain amount of tact someone else might deploy for this kind of conversation. He’s not one for beating around the bush verbally.

He’s surprisingly understanding when you tell him about your past abuse. He experienced similar things in his youth. He won’t share, of course.

He doesn’t use your scars against you like he would if it were something else deeply personal.

Usually, he’d discover a pressure point such as this and use it to manipulate you subtly. This is not a pressure point he will use often, if at all.

You’re his now. You belong to him in every sense of the word. Whatever scars you gain now will be from him and only him, and only when they’re done intentionally.

You’re his favorite pet in the collection. The marks across your body don’t detract from your value in his eyes.

He will create masterful works of art out of your past, enmeshing it with your future with him.