#too much adulting and feelings over here right now

[bringbackmaes14]

My mom has her TV on in her room almost 24/7 and it's always on some news outlet or other. We talk a lot about politics and world/national/local events. And we do have a lot of varying views on a lot of things but we're both adults who are capable of saying "well we've both stated we have differing opinions and it's clear that we're actually arguing at this point and not just talking so let's put away the topic for now." But there are also other times where I'm just too overwhelmed by my own life to think about what's going on in the bigger world around me, so my mom knows to be hesitant to bring up news stuff with me (i.e. she doesn't just start talking about politics/world events with me rather she'll ask if I'm in the mindset to discuss things when she wants my opinion on something). This is all relevant.

We've always been able to talk about nearly everything from the economy to the school system to human rights to human tragedy and we've never tried to censor ourselves around each other (outside of getting too emotional with our language). But about two weeks ago when the United Healthcare CEO was assassinated, my mom, who is in her 50s, came to me and she said "Did you see that the CEO of United Healthcare got unalived?"

And I just sat there and looked at her completely confused and she was like "did you not hear about it? It's all over the news. It happened in clear view on the street." Like the problem was that I hadn't heard of the event not that my Gen-X mother had just in a real life conversation said the word "unalived".

And I told her as much. "Yes I've heard that. Why did you say 'unalived' instead of 'murdered'?

And she told me that she just thought that since I'm touchy about heavier topics sometimes (which is definitely true, that does occasionally happen) she thought it would be better to just not use the "heavy" words. I asked her if she realized, honestly, how stupid that was because regardless of the word she used, she was still talking about a murder, it didn't change the subject matter, she was only making the subject matter seem less significant and severe by changing the word to baseless internet lingo that a bunch of misguided, clout-chasing influencers spread.

She hadn't. She's doesn't use the Internet replacement words a lot, online or otherwise. This was a first. She thought this was a different situation, and a fine one to use it in, and like the above stories people shared, it's still not.

I'm allowed to say there are days where I want to avoid heavier topics because I'm overwhelmed. I'm allowed to not ever really discuss certain topics because they actually trigger me based on my own experiences. But people who are out here living their whole lives like just talking about about difficult or controversial topics, or asking questions about it, or enjoying media where it's portrayed (especially when it's actually portrayed respectfully) are being ridiculous, and they're handicapping themselves. They're never going to learn how to talk about hard things, or how to handle hard things. And honestly I feel bad for them.

Luckily, in my case, once I explained why my mom saying what she said was incredibly weird and honestly devaluing to the conversation, she backtracked and told me that (like I said above) she doesn't talk like that regularly and she has no intention to start; it's just that this was a huge news event and that day had been particularly rough for me emotionally and she wasn't sure how to approach it. So her intentions were good and I'm very lucky that she understands and also agrees that the Internet censorship language is incredibly unnecessary.

we have GOT to kill tiktok/twitter self-censorship i just witnessed a grown adult say the word “smex” out loud to our professor

[trippinsorrows]

midnight sun

authors note: don't ask. don't ask. don't ask.

words: 1.8k

warnings: angst, domestic violence

song inspo: 'faithfully' by journey

And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair Two strangers learn to fall in love again I get the joy of rediscovering you

Pressure.

A constant, almost soothing, irreparable thing. A loyal companion that hasn’t escaped nor forsaken him for as long as he can remember. The perpetual weight of responsibility that was assigned to him the day he entered this world, and something that will remain with him until the day he leaves it.

Whenever the fuck that’ll be.

At this rate and with his luck, not for a very long time.

“Did you know that the average person has four bad days per month?”  An overheard question.  Something Roman has to scoff at. Whatever sample that was used that produced such a statistic had to have been the fucking soccer and yoga moms. The ones who consider Starbucks being out of fucking pumpkin spice the definition of a bad day. “Adults also apparently smile 15 to 20 times per day.”

Another random fact that’s overheard, except it’s something that Roman realizes is much closer than he initially realized. The proximity does not align with something that’s in earshot. More so something that’s right in front of him.

“I don’t know if I—if I really believe all that, but—”

With a heavy sigh, he lifts his head, ready to lay into the poor, unsuspecting soul. “Why are you fucking talking to—”

Two abrupt stops. Two interruptions. Two complete collisions. 

A second round.

Years. Almost twenty, and yet the instant his eyes lock with hers, he knows, and judging by the way she drops the notepad in her hand, she knows, too.

It’s been some time since he’s felt so thoroughly shaken, but that’s exactly what he feels in this moment.

“Solana?”

Not that there was any doubt before, but the tiny gasp that leaves her mouth is all the confirmation he needs that this is most definitely her. 

Her eyes. So big, brown, and inquisitive. Once filled with an abundance of hurt and pain, an ideal match with his all that time ago, is no longer the same. Something different. There’s some trace of happiness. Yet, there’s something almost disingenuous about it. Like, it’s a poor attempt at camouflaging what was felt so long ago.

What might still be felt.

“Roman….”

His jaw clenches. It’s been so long since he’s heard his name leave the mouth of someone like her. Soft. Innocent. Kind.

None of those non-physical things about her have changed. He can tell that even in this brief, unexpected interaction. 

Naturally, his eyes move over her, noticing her hair is no longer long and cascading down her back. It’s short, barely brushing past her shoulders. Lighter. It suits her.

Her body is filled out, shapely, womanly, heavy in the desired areas. And the minute her mouth curls into an almost hesitant smile, he finds himself pleased that that has remained unchanged.

She always had such a soothing, beautiful smile.

“I—what—what are you doing here?”

A good fucking question considering he has a million and other things on his to-do list and not one of them includes sitting in this random coffee shop he drove past on his aimless drive. 

“I mean,” she laughs nervously, hand to her face, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, that’s—that’s a silly question. You don’t have to answer—”

“I was driving and saw it. Wanted coffee.” Not necessarily a lie. He does now want coffee but not necessarily when he chose to park his Maserati and enter into the quiet, almost wholesome shop. “You work here.” A statement. Not a question.

Nodding, he’s much more pleased than he should be to see her smile grow. “Well, technically, I—I own it, but—”

“You own this place?” To anyone else, it’s perhaps a silly thing to “ask” given she just said as such, but for him, for them, it's so much more.

Her smile is bright, a light that contrasts the still unhealed bruises on her face as she shares with much more hope and optimism than anyone in their situation should have, “I want to own a coffee shop some day.” Looking over at him, consciously or unconsciously scooting closer, she challenges, “guess what I’m gonna name it?”

A bitter scoff leaves his mouth. He rolls his eyes but still gives it a go. “Sunshine’s place or some shit like that?”

Her giggle is a respite from the heaviness of the past two weeks. The only escape he’s found in this hell hole. And not just the facility. 

“No. I’m gonna name it—”

“Dulce’s…..” Roman pulls himself from a memory buried so deep, he doesn’t know how he was able to retrieve it. “You always said…..” 

“Yeah…..” she answers in a low voice, pushing back some of her hair, a nervous habit he sees still exists. But, it’s not the habit he’s focused on. It’s the diamond on her finger.

An engagement ring. 

“You’re engaged.” Another assessment. One that shouldn’t stir up whatever the fuck is brewing within him.

For a second, she looks like it’s a surprise to her as well. And, he sees it, catches the brief glimpse of an attempted escape. 

That sadness. A feeling that doesn’t quite escape a person, not to the extent she felt.

That they both felt.

Still feels, clearly.

For her, at least.

Maybe.

“Y—yes. Ummm—”

“Solana.”

Another voice introduced to the conversation. Male. Gruff. Infuriating. Roman cuts his eyes to the out of shape man who looks like a recovering alcoholic and someone who doesn’t need to be talking or even around her.

“Cody’s waiting.”

Cody?

But, Roman doesn’t have time to think too much about that ugly ass name. His focus is back on Solana, Solana who has suddenly shifted from slightly timid to downright terrified. She’s grasping at the material of her apron. “But, I—I thought he said I could work all day tod—”

“Plans changed.” A rude, coarse interruption that has Roman’s jaw ticking. Just who the fuck is this man and why does he think he can talk to Solana like that?

“Don’t you see we’re in the middle of a fucking conversation?” A much too late entrance into whatever this is, but an arrival nonetheless. “Leave.” 

For some reason, it seems the man only now decided to pay attention to just who she was speaking to, a recognition that has his eyes widened as he turns back to Solana, poorly whispering, “do you know who the fuck this is?”

“Kevin, please. I’ll—I’ll be out in a minute.” It ticks him the fuck off that she’s practically begging this motherfucker, a man who Roman doesn’t even know but would love to put a bullet in.

Just might after today.

Kevin scoffs and shakes his head. “Your mistake.”

He says nothing else, turning to walk away, Roman standing to possibly commit murder when Solana moves her hand in front of him, as if trying to stop him.

“It’s—it’s fine. My—my fiancé is here.”

Roman looks down at her, still completely unnerved by her complete shift in demeanor. Her fear is practically palpable.

“Solana….” He sees her eyes shut as her name leaves his mouth. “What’s going o—”

“It—it was good to see you, Roman,” she cuts him off, forcing a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “But, I—I have to go.” And it’s as she turns to walk away, he makes the mistake of grabbing her wrist. Instant regret fills him when she jumps but something else as well.

Suspicion. 

Solana has always been jumpy. He’s known that from the day they met at that god-awful place so many years ago. But something about the fear that courses through her, is stamped on her voice, feels….different.

He drops his hand, stating in a low voice. “Give me your phone.”

Her eyes widen. “Roman—”

“Please.” A word no one on this goddamn earth could torture out of him, but something that so easily rolls off his tongue for her.

Obviously confused, her expression remains torn even as she reaches in the pocket of her apron, pulling out and unlocking her phone. He takes it from her, ignoring that strange feeling when their hands touch.

Moving fast and thinking quick, he programs his number, choosing an unsuspecting name, one he knows she and only she will recognize. 

Handing it back to her, he instructs, “you need anything, you call me.” It’s not preferred. What he’d prefer is to walk outside and snap that Kevin and this Cody person, if he’s outside too, necks. Would prefer to tell her to just stay with him. But, it’s too much. Much too much given how long it’s been.

And yet, they seem so easily falling back into routine. 

She’s still visibly nervous, holding her phone in her hand instead of placing it back in the apron. Another pained smile followed up with, “goodbye, Roman.”

He doesn’t say it back, almost refuses to. Just watches as she moves to the back of the shop, coming out a few minutes later, apron discarded, purse on her shoulder, nearly rushing out without sparing him a glance even if his gaze never leaves her.

Solana is only able to barely slide into the back of the SUV, the door held open by an irritated Kevin when she’s yanked by her hair.

Piercing blue eyes stare down at her, his other hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing tightly but not enough to completely restrict speech.

“Where the fuck were you?!”

His voice is harsh and angry, as is the look in his eyes. She opens her mouth to try to respond when he instead smashes her head into the window. She winces but refuses to cry out in pain even when his fist collides with her jaw. Her eyes clench shut, Solana already tasting the blood forming in her mouth.

“When I tell you to come, you fucking come, you understand me?!” He shouts, once again grabbing a fistful of her hair. 

Nodding helplessly, she forces out an answer, ignoring the blood leaking out the corner of her mouth. “Y—yes, sir.”

He scoffs, a cruel, wicked smile on his face as he takes pride in his work. In her terror. “Pathetic,” he hisses, shoving her away. Solana moves as far into the corner as she can, forever grateful when he pulls out his phone and initiates a phone call like nothing happened.

It’s stupid and risky and something she most definitely shouldn't be doing, but Solana can’t stop herself from also pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts, moving to the R’s only to find nothing there.

There’s an emptiness that accompanies that realization that makes no sense. A sadness that fills her at the thought that he didn’t, but…..the look on his face, so handsome and strong, the fact that he even asked….he had to.

So, she continues to scroll, carefully assessing for each stored contact, stopping when she sees it. Emotion fills her for a completely different reason, reading the single word that carries such weight and meaning.

Journey

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

On occasion, I swear I get undertones from the side of the fandom that liked the season 5 finale that “if you didn’t enjoy it, you must not be smart enough to understand it”…

But… that’s kind of a really stupid argument?

Is this not a TV show intended for 5-12 year olds? If the writing is too complicated for a grown adult to understand, then they have failed at writing a good kids show. Point blank period.

You can write a good kids show that has elements that go right over the kids heads, but those elements should be subtle bonuses that mildly improve the story. They should not be a key part of the overall message. A great little example is this scene from Bluey where the titular character finds an obnoxious "lost" toy hidden under the sink in the laundry room:

Adults and older kids watch this scene and immediately get why the toy was under the sink, but little kids probably miss it. That's not a problem because the sink thing is just a bonus joke that is not vital to the message of this episode. If the sink joke was vital to understanding the message, then the writers would have failed at their job because they wrote something too subtle for the intended audience.

That's why I'm so critical of everything Miraculous is doing. Even if there's ultimately going to be an amazing story here, they've failed to tell it in a way that the intended audience can engage with and that makes the story objectively bad no matter how good it is for older viewers. The lessons should be obvious. The jokes should be obvious, too. There should be no question about what the message is.*

The season five ending is a perfect example of why Miraculous is objectively bad for its intended audience. Lets say that season six is going to address all of the issues with Gabriel and tell us that he was an abusive monster. How powerful is that lesson going to be to the five-year-old who grows out of the show in the year between season five ending and season six airing? What about the kid who obsessively rewatches seasons one to five in the hiatus between seasons and internalizes the happy ending? Or the kid who only watches the show casually and doesn't remember most of the early seasons by the time their issue are addressed?

Obviously those kids won't walk away with a great lesson, which is why shows aimed at kids usually make their morals clear by the end of every episode. Complex morals told over seasons are a bad fit here. Kids in the show's intended age group are only just starting to really learn about the complexities of the world. They generally don't have the life experience to question the show's morals.

That's not to say that shows for kids can't have cliffhangers. The cliffhangers just need to be about the story, not the morals. Season four was a good example of this. While I don't think it was a great final, it did have a clear message. It ends with Ladybug stating what she'd supposedly done wrong - even if season four didn't actually have her do what she said she did - and the question was only what would she do now. There was no moral ambiguity about what happened. Every episode of Miraculous should feel that way, but the show often fails at this. There's way to much ambiguity for a kids show. The fact that many adults can't tell if Gabriel was evil or not is a terrible sign!

*I will note that even perfectly clear messages can be twisted into baffling shapes by viewers of all ages and people will read into things in ways that leave even talented writers scratching their heads. The pigeon thing comes to mind as a good, Miraculous-based example of poor media literacy. So I wouldn't go so far as to say that a kids show is always bad if adults misinterpret things. It depends on how widespread the misinterpretation is and how logical the misreading is. The season five ending is a good example of a true issue because it's played like a happy ending. It's not weird that some people took that at face value while others are waiting for the other shoe to drop. Only time will tell which side is right, which should not be the case when we're dealing with content like the widespread manipulation of an abuse victim in a show aimed at children. That should be presented as unequivocally wrong. Instead, the lies lead to a kiss and happy smiles.

[somanywords]

save me, old jazz cds. old jazz cds save me

[hellonerf]

unusual face post where i don't bring up caname marriage. all of their gangstalia childhood photos have been shown! i've been very captivated by their answers

the question is virtually the same for each of them with different wordings. here lord and owner have a goal for their future. between a distinguished admirable grown up and a welcoming hotel runner. meanwhile hero and parrain's answer are like. so vague. [(i?) can be anything] and [(be?) me] makes me laugh. what are these kids even saying? such blatant different personality dynamics. i actually don't have any coherent words i just point at a difference and go wowwww coool(keys jingling in front of me). but really. how sweet!!! the different similar answers

[rawliverandgoronspice]

.

[cute-little-fly]

Certainly the look of someone that doesn’t feel stomach butterflies for the other because of these gestures. There he is happy he is not mocked for the rats (I think) and the other one because he woke up with a random bunch of horses. His mood waking up surely improved because of that, even if he found it strange. (He doesn’t appreciate them fully yet, but retrospectively he will eventually and rn they work at making him feel better).

Here the scene is all funny but Stolas smiled just after Blitzø tried clothes with him ❤️

Also

A lot of the Stolas behaviour we see later (the bad humor, the crying) here is influenced by the lack of pills. That is communicated visually through this scene:

Followed by:

This is called visual storytelling. Is not a genious thing but it is well done, subtle enough to pass over our heads in a quick first watch (maybe), but that gains relevance in a second watch after the pills having relevance at the end. The pills is something that has been shown a lot of times in all the other episodes too, probably to lead to this and the ending moment.

After this moment is where Stolas completely crashes down, and is more irritable and overly emotional. As someone that dates a person that had depression and now is treated, this characterization even if cartoonish at times is actually very well done. I related too much to it. Also, I can say that a lot of the things Blitzø did actually work. I am sure he took care of an anxious Fizz or his mother had depression. Because he is too good at it.

But, about Stolas, is true he doesn’t trully appreciate all the help he is being given, taking the depression and mood swings aside… as other NORMAL people would do, because he is someone used to have everything granted for him. Literally, served in silver platter.

This is how someone spoiled would act.

For me is admirable how all the IMP crew understands that and doesn’t get mad at Stolas. Blitzø still loves him because is him, he is the most crazy person there and knows how much Stolas loves him. So, honestly doesn’t surprise me as much, he is also familiar with Stolas’s palace and environment and sees that big difference.

They probably understand is a great change for him and where he comes from but it is surely also a great shock for the IMP crew to see those differences. Is also interesting how they set this up in GF. In Ghostfuckers Millie is surprised with the office and says is too much for imps, for Stolas that is for poor people. Ups!

For some of you this makes the show bad, for me it gives depth for each character and where they come from. Is is showing and not telling. A show with this theme of social class and without this kind of conflict and contrasts would be so boring.

For me it would be worse storytelling if someone like him immediately understands everything, and again… Boooring. I think he doesn’t even realize yet that the couch was Blitzø’s bed probably because he always wakes up before. UPS again, more angst for later, because this is a series finale and there is no time for that and only a month has passed. Surely this will create conflict.

But, it will be worth it when Stolas bonds over them over time and see them beyond low-class. Maybe, just maybe he will even be happier once he adjusts… Aaand perhaps, he will need to have treatment too.

The phrase: “you saved me in return” is bitersweet, because Stolas is seeing again the relationship as an exchange. But, is good that he is reflecting that he is the one that 100% caused all of this. A step in the right direction for him.

Some general comments:

1) Helluva boss is far faaar away from perfect, but perfection is not the solely objective of art form, and is not showing how things should be irl, less in an adult cartoon. However, for a comedic cartoon HB is surprisingly deep. Maybe it fails to build up for some people but you just have to adjust that in this show they don’t show some intermediate moments to be able to progress the story more, and have all the characters they have. Is just how it is and for me this is an actual valid criticism of the show because this prevents the engagement of some people. Hopefully with 15 episodes this might improve. Just for you to see that I don’t defend it from everything.

2) Comparing HB to Bojack for me is a mistake even if vivzie is inspired in that show. For me Helluva Boss is about redemption (yes, like Hazbin), and Bojack is nihilistic. HB is about people that can heal even if they think they are not worth it or can’t do it due to their past mistakes. Bojack is about how some people just won’t change and you need to accept that and move on. For me, these two things are true irl. Some people change for the better, some don’t. Bojack changed at the very end, but the people he lost is lost forever and I think he did just because he was in jail without access to drugs. Also, he was given tons of opportunities to mend and he was never able to mend things. Here, is different. A show will always have some overarching themes. Even if the shows are of similar nature their overarching themes are almost opposite.

3) In my humblest opinion, you give the show less credit and choose to ignore a lot of the interesting elements that come from this and only focus and nitpick on the things it lacks… and turns out it will always lack something. Everything always lacks something. I like to be critical on media, but this critical crew make me don’t want to criticize this show as much because you do it more than it needs to be criticized. Of course, I am not saying to you stop doing it. You have all the right to put your post as I have to put mine.

4) Also, I didn’t respond to the post main criticism on big gestures, and the post is long enough, sorry. Sure a lot of people don’t like his rom-com troupe but I actually liked how it was handled in this series, because it helped to Stolas to see that Blitzø trully cares, but at the same time it didn’t solved anything! They still haven’t unpacked anything and the other problems are preventing them to be fully together. Usually in romantic movies these gestures solve everything, here that didn’t happen. Also; the big gesture is something that happened to communicate the other that they love him, just in Stolitz because they were terrible at communicating, and how they failed being a normal couple in everything caused the big gestures to be necessary in the first place.

5) The rest of the couples stand up for the other sometimes, but the gesture is not as important itself to let the other know that they are loved and keep the couple afloat. They actually communicate 😅, and that communication is what keeps the relationship going. The Ozzie and Fizz crooked song and Ozzie’s talk is what gives Fizz the courage to leave his abusive job, not the big gesture. The only gesture that was similar to this one a little bit maybe is when Moxxie presents Millie in unhappy campers, but he does that because he listens to her feelings and Millie constantly shows Moxxie affection, and care and he appreciates. We also see have seen them communicate effectively in other instances, so what is keeping their love strong? Small gestures, communication and care, not them saving each other at difficult situations at work. So ultimately, I feel this big gesture thing only apply to Stolitz… and is mainly because Stolas doesn’t understand love yet and how Blitzø self hatred prevented him to understand Stolas was being truthful. They are a mess and we are not supposed to see how they are as normal, just as them being a complicated and utterly mess because they are like that rn. We like the ship because of that and not ignoring that, and they will be continue to be like that for a while... But eventually Stolas will learn what true love is. The song ending with “Truer love is hard to find” is not true love, but truer. This is foreshadowing that. Blitzø is the truer love, because of all the small every day gestures he gives 🩷, all of this said while Blitzø gently hugs him. Perfect. Chef kiss.

This Show Focuses Too Much On Grand Gestures Rather Than The Little Things When It Comes To Relationships

It's a thing I see in the Sinmas episode where the focus is on Blitzo stepping in to sacrifice him for Stolas that he really becomes grateful and appreciative. It's to show supposedly how he's grown, but in my opinion the little things he did throughout the episode really are the things he should have been focused on rather than the big gesture. The writers still want to focus on Stolitz being this romanticized, ideal couple that they forgot little things like chemistry and small develops between them. However, we never see the same from Stolas to do small good gestures and instead focus on the big gestures, so that we can hammer how nice and self-sacrificing he is despite how much he still comes off as a narcissistic privileged asshole who takes Blitzo for granted.

This quote from Bojack rings true so hard because for a relationship to work you can't rely on grand gestures to hold everything little everyday stuff is the thing that holds it up. And if you think you can hold stuff with grand gestures then your relationship will fall apart. Also those who do grand gestures often do more shitty than regular good things in life, which as he said isn't enough to make up for everything. The problem is Stolas is too much of an ideologue he can't see it and will only value the big things to be truly appreciative. And I fear that will be his downfall in his relationship with Blitzo if rumors are true he will tickle a relationship with Vassago because he craves grand attention instead of one based on small everyday support.

[mechawolfie]

i get a therapist (HELL YEAH AWESOME, THIS IS GOOD !)

she tells me to apologize to my mom (HORRIBLE, I AM CONSIDERING MURDER)

[mistyorchid]

Meet-Cute

Old Man!Logan x fem! reader

summary: Failed talking stages inspire you to meet someone irl. Riding an older man in the backseat of his limo makes you forget about the immature boys who ghosted you on Hinge. Ch. 2 Ch. 3 warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, smut, age gap, reader is 21+, fingering, riding, size difference, praise kink, pet names (doll, baby, sweet/good girl, sweetheart), unprotected p in v, light slapping, oral (male!receiving), creampie, car sex (nobody's around tho), logan's slutty glasses. wc: 3k

Hinge. The app designed to be deleted. You smiled as you pushed the cart, daydreaming about chucking your phone into the nearest lake. The few matches that you received often ghosted you after a week, afraid of committing to a real date.

So here you were, aimlessly strolling through a grocery store. Desperately begging the universe for a real man.

You spent an embarrassingly long time curating the perfect outfit to attract a guy worth your time. Casual enough for a quick errand, but still chic. I want to be with someone who admires my confidence. They shouldn't reprimand me for expressing myself.

That's how the feminist part of your brain explained your attire. The other touch-starved half, however, wanted to wear the shortest skirt you owned just to feel men stare holes through it.

You turned into the bakery aisle and pretended to evaluate the nutritional contents of a massive chocolate cake. Maybe this could be plan B, if tonight's endeavor was hopeless.

The comforting hum of fluorescent lights softened the sterile environment around you. Memories of simpler times floated in your mind. Handmade school lunches. Gentle kisses placed on your knee after a bad fall. You closed your eyes, lulled by the promises of love you were granted as a child. Now an adult, you yearned for a partner that could nurture you in a romantic way.

Logan overheard a bag of produce spill onto the floor as he picked up a shopping basket. The cashier dropped it when he saw Logan's blood-stained dress shirt.

Mumbling a string of profanity, he decided to release some steam. "Show's over!" he snapped, flippantly tossing his right arm behind him.

Ignoring the shocked gasps of the other shoppers, Logan sulked further into the store in search of something to soothe his palate.

His doctor tentatively ordered him to "lay off the booze," a suggestion that left three deep puncture wounds in the drywall of his office. Alcohol numbed the emotional and physical pain that plagued him, but it also further delayed his healing powers.

Logan's skeleton was withering away, and all he wanted was a fucking sweet treat.

Your body braced for impact as your chest made contact with a shopper haphazardly turning into the aisle. After dropping the cake onto the pristine white tile, you closed your eyes again, salvaging the moment of peace that was stolen from you.

"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole." You reluctantly opened your eyes and were met with the solid torso of a man.

Slowly raking your gaze up his body, you raised your eyebrows at the sight of his bloody shirt before meeting his narrowed eyes.

Crows feet radiating from the corners. Prescription glasses. He appeared much older than you expected from your brief contact with his chest.

You silently cursed your luck. This meet-cute plan was steadily evolving into a meet-angry situation.

"Not smart to close your eyes in public," he huffed, staring pointedly at the fallen cake. It was hard not to notice your mini skirt. He hasn't seen a skirt that short since the 60s.

Although you had pulled away from him, the man's eyes lingered on your chest. The playful baby-doll top hugged your cleavage in all the right places. Your glossy lips donned a similar shade of pink. He quickly resumed eye contact, feeling like a dirty old man for imagining them wrapped around his cock.

She's too young, you sick fuck. Logan's internal monologue worked overtime to maintain a shred of decency.

Your face turned away from him at the impending embarrassment you were about to put yourself through. Smirking, you shyly retorted, "Not smart to stare at a girl's tits in public." You gently pushed up his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose.

Closing the gap between your chests, you tip-toed to reach his ear before whispering, "It's okay . . . I want you to."

The answer to Logan's suffering was sweeter than any slice of cake he could have indulged in. A pretty little thing was actually flirting with him, a cynical ex-soldier worn by the unforgiving rings of time.

Logan's hands found the back of your elbows and slowly pulled you closer to him. You gasped as you felt his belt buckle catch on the flimsy fabric of your top.

"Careful, doll," he grunted, leaning down to meet the side of your face. "I'm old enough to be your father."

You defiantly peered up at him through your lashes. "Yeah, and . . .?"

The man slowly distanced himself from you, gently tugging the hem of your top down to its original state.

Okay, definitely not the best response to seduce an older man. You chewed the inside of your cheek, stunned by your juvenile comeback.

"I'm sorry, kid. Forget I said anything," he muttered before turning into another aisle. He mentally kicked himself for letting the interaction go that far. Although his aching body and mind yearned for some relief, he wouldn't take advantage of some young girl.

He hurriedly stomped past the cashiers, swiping a few cigars from a distracted employee's station.

After the initial shock wore off, you quickly followed the older man to the parking lot. Totally not stalker-ish at all, right?

You wanted to take care of him. His reluctance to return your lust-sick gaze should have deterred you, but it only made you more desperate.

You watched as his hands dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. The chipper click of the limo doors unlocking motivated you to get his attention.

"Hey! Can we talk?" You yelled, raising an outstretched palm to stop him from getting inside the car.

Logan froze at the sound of your voice. He contemplated being responsible, slamming his door and driving off without a second glance.

The gentle pressure of your hand wrapping around his wrist made him think extremely irresponsible thoughts.

Turning around to meet your gaze, the older man swiftly opened the passenger door. "Get in. Now," he growled.

Words betrayed you. All you responded with was a surprised squeak as he used your grip on his wrist to push you further into the vehicle.

His eyes widened as you briefly parted your thighs to get settled in the lush leather seat. The sinfully short hem of your skirt bunched up, revealing your underwear.

Logan whipped his head to the front of the limo, avoiding the sight of your body. Unfortunately, he couldn't avoid how you felt against his. You sat at an angle towards him, knees pressing against his thigh. His body tensed as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Why were you following me, huh?" he asked, finally meeting your eyes. "I've had a long fuckin' day and I need answers." He couldn't believe that a young woman like you would be interested in him.

"Yeah, you're old enough to be my father, maybe older-" you paused to move your left hand onto his thigh. "-but I'm done playing with boys." You shyly turned your head before continuing, "Need a real man."

Logan was done holding back. Now, it all made sense. Your lack of direction in the store, the low cut of your outfit that was way too sexy for a late night grocery run. We're both adults, he reasoned. She wants this.

He gingerly cradled your jaw with his large hand, turning your head towards his. "You sure about this, sweetheart?

You covered his hand with your own, bringing your lips to his in a spontaneous kiss. "I-I need to hear you," he stuttered.

"Shut up and fuck me, . . . " you sighed, pausing to ask for his name.

"Logan . . . call me Logan, doll." His left hand snaked around your waist, bunching the delicate material and exposing your breasts.

As you leaned into his palm, he fished the limo keys out of his pocket and clicked twice, locking the doors. He fondled the underside of your tits before rolling the sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You were grateful for the tinted windows that shielded your embarrassing moans from the public.

"Already whining for me, hm? So fuckin' needy," he hummed, pushing up your top even further. You crossed your arms to undress, but Logan swatted them away, explaining, "It's cute. Wanna see your tits bounce for me, baby."

He gripped your ass with both hands and effortlessly swung you onto the broad expanse of his lap.

Your back arched as his rough palm cupped your pussy, thumb languidly tracing your sensitive bud through the cotton.

"But this . . . has to go," he drawled, tugging the elastic of your panties before letting it go with a faint snap.

It was too much. You were splayed over the lap of a stranger, hips wantonly rocking yourself over his prominent bulge and mewling as your sensitive clit caught on the rough fabric of his slacks.

He stilled your movements with his hands, lovingly kneading the flesh of your hips. "You okay with this?" he asked, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt. "Yeah, Logan . . . more than okay. Need you."

You loved that he was confident enough to take what he wanted but also gracious enough to check in, unlike the boys you were used to fucking around with.

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your skirt and panties, skillfully pushing your legs against your chest as he pulled them off. He decided against slicing them off with his claws, not wanting to hurt you. "Fuck. You're so pretty. My sweet, sweet girl . . ." he cooed. You whined as your aching cunt was finally exposed to Logan's hungry gaze and the chill night air. He groaned as you resumed desecrating his lap with your juices.

Your breath hitched as Logan traced two fingers along your bottom lip. You granted him access, playfully darting your tongue around his digits.

After his fingers were thoroughly soaked, he used your saliva to gently trace your hole, noticing the faint flutter of your walls.

"Need me to fill you up, hm? Poor baby's clenching around nothing. Let me fix that . . ." Logan's palm brushed against your clit as his fingers plunged into you, setting a steady pace.

You were incredibly wet, but he needed to prep you for his thick cock. He drooled, collecting a heavy wad of spit onto his tongue before letting it fall onto your pussy.

"Ah-ah!" You exclaimed, surprised by the contact. You bit your lip, cheeks flushing at the lewd feeling of his spit mixing with your wetness.

He used his other hand to slap repeatedly against your puffy folds, mesmerized by how vulnerable you were being for him.

"Yeah, you like that?" He whispered, curling his fingers as they met your cervix. You covered your mouth, desperately trying to maintain some modesty. Logan withdrew his left hand to pry away your arm and swallow your moans, sloppily slotting his lips into yours.

You gasped into his mouth as you felt your cunt spasm around his fingers, gushing all over his tight slacks.

"Oh, fuck! Logan . . . " you mewled, biting his lower lip while he continued to finger you through your orgasm.

Your head fell into the inviting crook of his neck, nuzzling his graying beard. "Atta girl, come for me," he cooed.

Logan peered down at you, noticing wet droplets dampening his beard. You were silently crying, tears cascading down your puffy cheeks before landing on his face.

At first, he was alarmed. "Hey, hey, shhhh," he purred. "What's the matter, doll?"

His cock twitched when he realized you were smiling against his neck.

"Nothing's wrong, Logan . . . you make me feel so good, that's all."

He planted a sweet kiss on your forehead. "Yeah? Want me to make you feel even better? Fill you up for real this time?"

You nodded dumbly, still basking in the haze of your release.

"Nuh-uh. Words." The simple command made you rut into his lap.

You shuddered while responding. "Wanna feel you inside me. Need your-" Logan bucked up into you. "-cock."

He slid his hands under your thighs, briefly pushing you forward so he could unbuckle his belt. Your small hands slinked toward his waist. "Let me do it," you pleaded, hastily sliding his belt through its loops and tossing it to the floor.

You pulled his cock out of his slacks, leaning down to press sweet little kisses to the head. Your thighs burned with the effort, but it was worth it to feel him momentarily lose control. Logan hissed sharply, "Good girl, fuck-" before guiding his thick cock into your heavenly mouth.

You licked a prominent vein that teased its way above his waistband. The taste of him was utterly intoxicating. You moaned onto his length, choking back tears as he suddenly thrust up into your eager throat.

The delicious weight of his cock on your tongue was short-lived. He cupped your face, forcing your mouth to slide past the tip with an obscene pop.

"Won't last long if you keep doing that, doll. Takes a lot less to get me riled up these days," he explained.

You nodded as you straightened yourself, using your knees to hover above his lap. He teasingly ran the flushed tip of his cock through your folds before sinking into your weeping pussy.

"Oh my god! fuck-" you cried, lowering your hips to embrace his full length. Your hands found stability on Logan's shoulders as you bounced on his cock.

Logan stared in awe at your tits. They were practically spilling out the sides of your cute top, jiggling with each movement of your hips.

As he admired your form, you drunk in the sight of his coarse salt and pepper beard. His wiry glasses barely held onto the slope of his strong nose due to your eager movements. You paid special attention to his crimson-stained shirt, wondering how he was enduring the wounds.

"You're hurt." You stated, pausing to slowly unbutton his dress shirt.

Logan's hands grabbed a handful of your ass and slammed you down onto his lap, forcing you to continue taking his cock.

"Never said you could stop," he huffed. "It'll take time, but I'm healing."

You gasped as your clit hitched on the bunched fabric of his slacks, frantically shrugging off his shirt in the process. A devastating moan ripped from Logan's throat as you peppered kisses on his wounds. The coppery taste of his blood was oddly soothing, reminding you that the man buried in your cunt was real and not just a figment of your lust-fueled imagination.

Logan loved how dazed you looked, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath, your pupils dilated and glossy. His cock twitched every time your soft tits brushed against his face. You whined as the steady rhythm of your hips faltered, hinting at your imminent release.

"Lean forward, baby. Let your old man take care of you," he sighed, wrapping his broad arms around your waist. You allowed yourself to slump forward, arching your back and playfully wiggling your ass in the air.

You yelped as he slapped your ass with enough force to feel the sting radiate from his outstretched palm. "Such a fuckin' tease," he growled, filling you up in one thrust. He set a punishing pace that made you sob into his chest. The loud squelches of your release echoed throughout the limo, mirroring your high-pitched wines.

"Oh, my god! . . ." you mewled, savoring the feeling of his cock stretching your walls. Your breath hitched every time his hips met yours, balls slapping against the sensitive skin of your ass.

He fucked up into your cunt, relishing the fact that you'd probably never had a cock as big as his. Logan stared at where you were connected, hypnotized by the subtle drag of your folds along his rugged length.

"Don't know what I did to deserve a pretty girl like you." His teeth tugged on the delicate strap of your top, exposing your breasts. His mouth enveloped the bud, gently sucking and pulling as they hardened.

"Logan . . . can't take it anymore. I'm close." You clenched around him, earning another hard slap on your ass.

"You gonna come for me sweetheart, hm?" He somehow increased his pace, hips drilling into your sensitive cunt. "C'mon, come all over my cock. Such a sweet young thing, so eager to please . . . " he hummed into your ear.

"And just so we're clear, I am definitely older than your father." His filthy words made you arch even higher, stilling your hips mid-air and allowing Logan to fuck you through your release.

The sound of you faintly chanting his name as you came sent him over the edge. "You can take it," he encouraged as your pathetic whines intermingled with his unabashed groans. His hips drove home, bouncing you harshly against his tense thighs and spilling into you with a low growl.

You almost blacked out at the feeling of his cum spurting into your walls, reaching even further when Logan buried his cock to the hilt. You clenched around him, overstimulated and thoroughly fucked.

"That's it, just relax . . . You look so pretty milking my cock," he praised, brushing stray hair away from your face.

You managed to sit upright and shakily moved to lift yourself off his cock, but Logan quickly steadied your hips. He's still hard, you realized, fascinated by his renewed vigor.

He panted, obviously just as spent as you were.

"So, uh, tomorrow, the Italian place on fifth street, 8 PM?"

You narrowed your eyes, incredibly confused at his choice of words after experiencing the best sex you've ever had.

"Our first date," he clarified. He kissed your cheek and you blushed at the contrast between the innocent action and the fact that his hard cock was still buried in your cunt. "After all, I'm a real man, right? And real men plan dates." He plastered on a cocky grin, repeating your earlier statements.

"Okay, old man. It's a date." You smiled, kissing his mouth with passion.

an: Ah!!! I had so much fun writing this. Old Man Logan, when will it be my turn >:[

[irisinluv]

Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? PT 1

All I could do was stare at my reflection. This had to be a joke. I was going to wake up in my bed, right this instant.

“FUCK!”

Ok, so, pinching myself hurts. That’s fine. This is like. Some sort of lucid dream. What do they say to do if you’re lucid dreaming? Oh, that’s right, put your finger in your palm, it’ll phase through!

I resist the urge to scream as my finger meets solid flesh.

You see, I’m not in the right body. Or the right world from what I can tell. No, I’m supposed to be back home, waking up in a panic as I realize my alarm didn’t go off cuz my phone died after I stayed up way too late reading manga.

But of course, I’m not late to work, I’m in a lavish bedchamber right out of the latest webcomic I’d been reading! And by the looks of it…. I’m the crown princes crazy fiancé! As much as I love reading about the Isekai trope, I never wanted to be in one! And come on- as the Yandere Villain!? Couldn’t this at least be original? There’s hundred of stories just like “my next life as a villainess,” why couldn’t I be like… a stable hand or something? Ugh. Ok. Think!

I need to get home. Do the protagonists ever get back home in the stories I read? I pace around my room and rack my brain over every webcomic I’ve ever read, every manga I waited in line for, every anime I binged, even the unfinished manhwas! I can’t think of a single fucking one where they get home?

Well this isn’t going to stop me. I have a cat who’s going to absolutely flip if she’s not given fresh kibble in the morning. She has enough in her bowl for another 2 days but she needs it topped off ok! She’s a princess! I can’t be stuck here! Who’s going to throw her pompom toy for her if I’m not there???

What did all these have in common? What’s the barebones trope layout? Ok let’s see

1) person either died or falls asleep and wakes up in a new world…. Check

2) person is the villain!…. Check

3) to avoid the characters terrible death, person tries to change the story, ends up being new protagonist…

Ohhh… hey…. Do these Isekai characters ever just…. Play along? Even the “reincarnated as a baby” ones, they only play along till they’re old enough to try to run away or rework the political structure of the entire city. Maybe that’s it. Make it to the books natural end, and you’ll wake up where you belong. It’s like when you get part of a song stuck in your head. Play the whole song, and it’ll get out.

Ok, I’ve trained most of my adult life for this- I can totally ace this trope! I just have to stalk the crown prince, act totally in love with him, and be a bitch to the female lead. Then my finance will leave me, I’ll do some crazy dramatic act to try to kill the female lead, and then I’ll be exiled or executed, and wake up to feed my cat. How hard can it be?

Hard. It’s very hard.

Where the hell did he go!? My fiancé, the crown prince Eric, was JUST HERE. I swear! He turned that corner back there and then went down this hall… at least I think it was this hall? Ugh! This is impossible! For someone with such loud shoes and an armed escort, you’d think he’d be easier to follow! Now my feet just hurt. They don’t make these fancy shoes to run around the castle all day. They’re meant to daintily peek from beneath my many skirts as I host a tea party or some shit.

Ok. I’ve got this! I’ll just peek into each room until I find him, maybe I can get a better feel for the layout, or maybe find his office and see if he has a schedule or a day planner or something I can use to make this whole stalking thing easier.

I begin snooping, and it’s a bit of thrill to be honest! Back in my real life, I’m the kind of person to hide a wrapper deep in the trash can if I’m babysitting, sitting on the floor playing a game on my phone after the kid goes to bed rather than “making myself at home” the way the parents insisted as they showed me how to access Netflix. I’ve never been a snooper. Now…. Well. It’s totally on brand for this character! I’m not me, I’m a psycho lovesick fool! I giggle a bit at that as my fingers trail over a shelf of beautiful pottery in some sort of sitting room.

“What’s so amusing dearest?”

I practically screech as my heart leaps to my throat and I whirl around, and see the very person I’d been searching for has snuck up on ME…. That’s so unfair!

“W-what? O-oh! Nothing! I was just- uh, admiring the pottery?”

I stutter out as I try to recall how to act like a human being while simultaneously trying to stop feeling my own pulse in my ears. The idiot has the nerve to LAUGH! Full on snort and everything!

“What are you doing in this wing anyways? Weren’t you meant to be out riding today?”

Shit. I was so busy trying to figure out his schedule, I didn’t consider maybe the body I was shoved into had a schedule of her own. Ok. Play it cool- I’ve got this!

“Yes, well, I decided I wasn’t in the mood and wanted to stay in today instead.”

His brows furrow

“Oh, but you love riding? Are you feeling ill? I can fetch the royal physician for you if you-“

“No! That’s- that’s quite alright! I simply wanted a change of schedule, that is all. Um… what about you? What are your plans for the day?”

He looked a bit surprised at that, and a small smile danced on his lips.

“I was just going to the library to do some paperwork, boring stuff really, and then of course our dinner at its regular time.”

I nod like that means anything to me. Ok think, if I were crazy in love with this man, what would I say?

“Would you like some company? Reading in the library sounds really nice, maybe we could have some tea as well?”

Ok. I’m already fucking this up. He looks confused…. God damnit …. I knew I shouldn’t have skimmed over those early chapters- but the translation was shit ok!?

“Well… I’d actually love that. But are you sure? You haven’t exactly shown interest in reading, and you’ve never requested something like this before…. In fact I don’t think I can recall the last time we’ve interacted outside of dinner or a scheduled social event in… well. Ever.”

Wait…. What? Isn’t my character like goo-goo-ga-ga over him? Are you telling me she never asks to just… spend time with her lover? They only talk during dinner and parties or whatever?

“Of course, I think it’ll be relaxing! Just lead the way!”

My brain is working overtime as I smile politely at him as we reach the library and I pretend to browse for books. I��m missing something here. What is-

Oh. Shit. That’s right. I’m supposed to be really insecure and awkward about him. That’s why she stalks him- she spends all her free time obsessing over this man from the shadows, threatening the competition…. Yet chokes up when it comes to how to act natural. Her inferiority complex is what drives her entire character. And then to him, they’re just two nobles in an arranged marriage who speak on dull subjects like the weather and horse rides…. And who barely interact.

This must have been a real big shake up, she always stays out of sight, they never run into each other by chance. And she certainly never would ask to sit and read with him…. Maybe watch him do his work from a hidden keyhole somewhere, but that’s right…. She IS more of a traditional lady with her hobbies. She was raised to be the perfect noble wife, so naturally, her hobbies include things like dancing, needlepoint, and horse riding. The only studies she’s interested in are etiquette and things that noble ladies are supposed to know.

Well…. Shit. That’s so like me to already have fucked this up. But that’s ok. That’s ok- he’s going to meet the female lead and fall in love and so I just have to be the obstacle they need to overcome. Surely the details don’t matter too much…. It’s my first day in the job ok? Not everyone’s perfect!

I find a book that honestly actually sounds interesting, it’s historical, but it’s giving Hellen of Troy, the closest to a dark romance I think I’ll get from an academic personal library like this. I settle into what looks like the comfiest chair in the central area, and begin reading. The prince and I exist comfortably, the only sound being the scratch of his pen, and the occasional rustle of paper as he flips a document or I finish a page. We continue like this for several hours until he puts down his pen and clears his throat, getting my attention.

“I know it’s a long way from dinner…. But I was thinking I’d grab something light for a mid day meal and then take a walk about the gardens …. Would you care to join me?”

Honestly, some lunch and pretty royal gardens sounds like so much fun, so I agree. As we begin walking, I ponder how I can recover from all this.

You know what.. this can totally still go to plan. This is just me being the evil villain and sinking my claws into him! The female lead will appear, and I’ll reveal my true, nasty side to her! She’ll have to fight to save the prince from his marriage to me!

*insert evil laughter!*

“You’re smiling.”

“W-what?”

“A smile. It suits you. You’ve been doing that a lot today….. I like it.”

Ok and now I’m blushing. I go to reply when I suddenly find myself weightless for a moment, and then hit the ground with a hard thump.

“Ow! What the-!?”

My eyes snap up and glare at this pretty blonde girl who just rammed into me, and sent me flying

“Do you not know how to watch where you’re going!? Owww…. Ugh.”

Ok I’m sorry I’m usually a nice and understanding person but I’ve never been literally knocked over before! Who does that to a person?

Eric helps me to my feet and sends a reproachful glare toward the girl, asking me if I’m alright with most concerned look…. And the girl gasps and says,

“C-crown prince Eric! I apologize! I’d didn’t recognize you!”

She drops into a curtsy and lowers her eyes all demure and modest as if she hadn’t just bulldozed me. I send an incredulous look toward Eric…. She… didn’t see HIM? I’m the one she took out? He gives me an equally puzzled look and so I decide, you know what, fuck it. I’m this evil person in this world…. I need to act like it!

“And not recognizing his highness is an excuse for taking out the princess consort, soon to be crown princess? Are you blind or just daft?”

Oh my god I really just called someone daft! This feels like when you stay up late thinking all the witty comebacks you could’ve used against your high school bullies, except actually using them in the moment!

And Eric is being a sweetie and letting me handle this, waiting expectantly for blondie to answer me, just prompting her,

“Well?”

“Forgive me…. Princess consort…. You are right. My oversight in inexcusable. It appears neither of us were looking where we were going. I hope we can start fresh!”

I scoff- that’s it? Who does this bitch think she is? Yes, I was looking at Eric, but I was going a walking pace, who rounds a corner with so much force that you knock someone over?

Suddenly something clicks- oh shit! This is the female lead!!!! This scene happened in the story, just without the prince here. This is good, that means this is on track. Although I gotta say- I was much more on the female main characters side when reading it. Now, I just feel like she’s one of those mean girls in high school who’s not *technically* doing anything mean. Anyways- what was I supposed to say? That’s right.

“Yes…. Well. I’m sure we won’t be seeing much of each other anyways. If you’ll excuse me-“

Nailed ittttt…. Now her line?

“Well, actually…. My name is Lady Cressida, and I’ll be staying in the place for several months as my father is a foreign ambassador overseeing trade agreements with his highness the king. So I imagine we will be seeing *plenty* of each other. That goes for you too your highness! So please- forgive me, I look forward to getting to know each of you better!”

Oh that’s so cool, seeing her recite the lines from the story. But ok- I have a role to play as well. I scoff and grab Eric’s arm, pulling him behind me as I storm off, playing the part of entitled lover, stuck up and irritated at this ambassadors daughter who DARED to speak to my love.

Yea, this will work, Eric will think Cressida is a genuine sweetie, and see me as being the unreasonable bitch who’s refusing to accept her apology, or apologize for not looking where I was going either. And now I’m manhandling him- totally unlady like. God I’m killing this aren’t I? Minimum wage job and demanding cat, here I come!

What I don’t see, as I lead Eric by the arm, is the cold glare he shoots towards Cressida, before smiling down at our connected hands, an unreadable look in his eyes.

Part 2

[gutsby]

Seeing Pink

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel steals more of your innocence every day. Fortunately, you love to give as much as he loves to take.

Warnings: 18+. DD/LG—DON’T LIKE IT, DON’T READ IT. This depicts two consenting adults in a fictional setting! Freeuse & somnophilia with a pre-negotiated safeword. Unprotected p-in-v/a. Soft dom!Joel. Corruption kink (!!) Reading a Regency novel while fucking…for the culture.

Note: ***Spoilers*** for Jane Austen’s Emma. The book has been out for 208 years, but I wanted to give y’all a heads-up.

Word count: 4.4k

You woke with your pants around your ankles.

You don’t remember falling asleep that way.

In fact, you’d always taken great pains to follow the rules: ‘Don’t play while daddy’s away,’ ‘Clothes on if he’s gone.’ So to find yourself sprawled out on the couch, just as you’d been when you dozed off waiting for him to come home—sans bottoms—was unnerving, to say the least. Glancing at your hand, you found your book was still in it. Only the words were harder to read now that your eyes were bleary and the letters were all…jumpy. Jumping?

Bouncing.

As your mind made the slow, steady descent back into your body, you sensed you were rocking back and forth.

Someone was rocking you with the force of his thrusts.

“Daddy!” you gasped, nose half-buried in a cushion.

You were lying face-down on the old, weathered sofa, and you could feel your old, weathered man behind you. Inside you. Stuffing that tight, shiny space between your legs as he straddled your hips from above. His own hips made a soft click, click, click with every piston of his weary bones. He said it’d been that way since the day he’d turned forty. You just might’ve giggled if the sound hadn’t been paired with the chorus of a soft, wet, and sticky-sweet pleasure you knew to be coming from you.

The head of his dick then carved a delectable path to the center of you, like he’d made it himself. You whimpered.

“‘M’sorry to wake ya, bug.”

You could hear his voice was strained.

Daddy never got a head start on playtime unless his day had been particularly rough—unless he really needed it.

Unless he saw pink in your hair, and knew this was okay.

It was your own, secret language, of course. A silly idea brought to fruition by an even sillier admission: when Joel had told you one night that there were times he just wanted to use your body to feel good. When his big one had been at work for hours, and you were so invested in your book and just couldn’t bear looking away, or you’d fallen asleep—would it be alright if daddy put himself inside you for a little while then? I’ll be nice and gentle.

The code was a pink satin bow.

When you tied that ribbon in your hair, Joel knew you were giving him permission to use you as he pleased.

And then there were other ways to make sure he only did what you wanted to do, even in this special ‘scene’; if it ever got to be too much, or you just didn’t want him to be in you or on you anymore, all you had to say was ‘cinnamon’ and your playtime stopped right there. Joel made sure of it every time, and he didn’t make you wait.

When you’d fastened the satin in your hair that night before nestling down to read, you hadn’t expected him to be taking you up on it, really. He’d been so tired lately.

“It’s alright,” you told him, while the air was knocked out of your body through the place he kept pounding you.

“I-I missed you, daddy.” You added, a bit sheepish.

At that—or perhaps just feeling your walls pulse around him—Joel groaned. He placed a broad, callused palm over your spine and held you steady while he fucked you.

“I missed you…more, sweet girl.” And it sounded like a confession. The smallest sliver of an apology: ‘I know I haven’t been here as much as I’d like to be—I’m sorry.’

You’d accept that attempt at making amends, and any other kind Joel would try to proffer, in a position like this. With his hand on your hip and the small of your back, wet member gliding back and forth between your folds, you felt useful to him. His sweet girl. No better thing to be.

Him filling you, and then you, in turn, filling the whole living room with your soft, staccato whines. So nice.

So kind of him to spend his days toiling in the heat to put a roof over your head, a book in your hand, and the silkiest, comfiest pyjamas that money could buy—pooling around your ankles now, but you didn’t mind.

You dropped the novel so you could use your hands. Try to lower your touch to the curve of your cheeks, then spread yourself open for his eyes to drink you in: your tight, dripping hole getting stretched around his cock.

That was what you’d wanted to do, anyway. What Joel liked to see, ostensibly. But the second your fingers lifted from the book, he tightened his grip and shook his head.

“Keep readin’, baby. Looks like you’re close to the end.”

You didn’t know what to say. His observation was correct; you were ten pages shy of completing Emma—but why finish now? Why read when he was right here? If you ever spread your legs while you read it was because you were too engrossed in the plot, and Joel needed release. It was rare he made the suggestion himself.

As if to answer your questions, he wedged his cock even deeper. Confirming his wants with a gentle authority:

“You do like your book, don’t you, sweet pea?”

He’d bought it just weeks ago. You nodded, emphatic.

“I— I do, daddy! I do. I just…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words while his cock made you dizzy with pleasure, “Just…like you better, is all. Wanna feel you.”

You suspected that would work. From the rhythm of his hips, you guessed he’d be likely to assent at any second.

Then he didn’t.

Joel picked the book up and pushed it back to you.

“You can feel me just fine with your eyes on the paper. You did say you wanted to read to be more like a…?”

Uh.

Your brain blanked.

Then you remembered.

“Like a big girl,” you said, in a breath.

Those had been your words. Hardly of note to you now, with your cunt so happily occupied, but ones that Joel wasn’t ready to dispense with yet. Not when you’d been so eager to read these last weeks, to try proving yourself.

You braced your knees against the leather. Tried to shift yourself slightly while Joel kept knocking you back, again and again, with his balls slapping hard against your rear.

Then he slowed, and lowered himself, and came to rest with half his weight blanketing your soft, prone body and his face closer to yours. He kissed the shell of your ear.

“You do wanna get fucked like a big girl, don’t ya, baby?”

And he drove his cock in all the way down to the hilt.

You felt him in your tummy. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the book again and tried to nod your head.

This was a game you liked. An angle Joel loved. A dynamic between you two that turned your insides to syrup and your mind a soft, compliant puddle. He’d shown you what kind of treatment big girls get, and you felt your body wilt with the idea. Joel was laying overtop you now, hips rutting mindlessly against your ass and his arms sliding under you. Grazing the skin and feeling your breasts and telling you again, ‘You can show me, baby. No need to be shy. Daddy’s right here. You’re alright.’

Now it wasn’t so much the command which compelled you but the praise in that sweet Texan drawl. The patience. You could feel him stiff and hard and aching, but he was disciplined enough to wait—let you take your own pace now and show him, in your own special way.

You opened your book to the last page you’d read. Joel stroked your hair, and he kissed the edge of your cheek.

“You’ve made it so far, baby,” he said, admiringly, “Barely been two weeks and you’ve already finished it, nearly.”

You nodded. You let him play with your hair and graze your soft skin with his lips, and when his hips had stilled, you tried not to betray your disappointment. Daddy just wanted to see you could behave—you definitely could.

Even if all you wanted him to do was hold your body to his and fuck you senseless, make you cry and whine and squeeze all down his big, leaking cock while you came for him, you could stay calm. Good girls always did.

Big girls knew how to listen, and when to hold still.

“I like it…like it— a lot,” you told him, and you knew he knew there was more to those words than just the book.

With his hands still underneath you, Joel propped you up to rest more comfortably against a pillow. He slid one hand down your tummy and in between your legs, while the other kept squeezing your breast—tweaking the pebbled nub between forefinger and thumb and feeling you squirm under his touch. You gripped your book tight.

“Keep readin’, sweet pea,” he encouraged, words gentle, “I’d hate to be the one…distractin’ you from all the fun.”

How he could be so calm while talking such nonsense was beyond you. Maybe he’d grinned, too. You didn’t have the strength to peek behind you while his index started rubbing between your folds, and your walls clenched tighter. You wanted to wriggle your hips for friction, but as it was, you knew what you had to do.

You had to try.

At first you read a couple words. A short fragment of a sentence. You yearned to get more, really digest what the passage was attempting to convey—a friend of Emma’s getting engaged, as it was—but prospects were poor. Joel kissed your neck and toyed with your wetness and made you want to whine from all the tension within.

His cock was nestled deep. The smooth, bulbous head had found reprieve near the cusp of your cervix, and with every flick of his finger, it was like you could feel him sinking deeper. Kissing the most intimate parts of you while you had only to breathe. And think. And try to read.

“Learnin’ a lot?” Joel hummed in your ear.

You bit your lip and nodded. He knew you were full of it.

Your legs were now trembling around his hand and your eyes hadn’t moved so much as an inch across the page.

“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he pressed.

“I— I— yeah. Yeah,” you whimpered.

“What’s been your favorite part to read?”

Not this one, that’s for sure. You swallowed.

“W— When…” Again, your mind was wiped of all memory.

“When…”

His index drew a slick, pretty lemniscate on your clit, and you wanted to cry. But you had to keep trying. For him.

“When— when Frank finally shows up,” you huffed.

“Frank who?”

“Frank Churchill. He’s…Emma’s old governess’s stepson. He visits for a little, and then Mr. Knightley gets jealous.”

You were out of breath. Joel was trying his best not to smile behind your back, but you could feel him now—there, and between your legs, making speech a struggle.

“Who’s he?”

The man sounded like a father with all his sweet and calm curiosity. Like he wasn’t balls deep in your heat.

“Old family friend. But he…he’s got a thing for Emma.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah—” And you had to pause to swallow. Suck in a breath when Joel nosed your cheek and told you softly, ‘Doin’ so good for me’ “—but he doesn’t know it at first.”

You felt encouraged by Joel’s words. Enlivened by the pulse of his cock inside you, and pushed toward release with every circuit of his fingers. He was treating you well, making sure it felt good no matter how much he teased.

And then he reached up, leaving your poor little clit to throb all on its own. Something caught between a moan and a plea—‘Joe-el’—bubbled deep in your throat. But Joel was too focused on the book in your hand; he had a wet, sticky finger flipping the page in a second. He’d turned it back, to a passage you had marked in pink.

The sight of the line you’d highlighted made your cheeks heat instantly. That made you want to wriggle away.

Joel held you closer.

“Why’d you mark this, honey?”

Again with the loving, probing tone. You couldn’t bear the thought of explaining your reasoning here. Not now.

But he urged you to read it. Pulled your body nearer to his and kissed the side of your head, while his body blanketed yours and his words were spoken as gentle as ever. He wanted to know what it meant. Why you’d marked it in pink, no less. No diffidence would do.

You balked. Blinked. Remembered that big girls listened.

‘If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.’

And when you said it, it almost felt like telling him yourself. Your grip loosened from the book as soon as the words came out of your mouth, leaving Joel to hold it

“Knightley said that to Emma, did he?”

His eyes were scanning the page, eyes alight and lips smiling. From between your legs, you felt full, and yet nothing was more hollow or harrowing than presently hearing this man chuckle at the words that had made your heart swell in your chest that night. It felt belittling.

And not in the way you liked. Joel reached for your chin to tilt your face to him, and when you mumbled a short ‘yes’ to his question, he softened his hold. He hummed.

“I’m sorry, baby. ‘M’sorry. Knightley’s sweet, isn’t he?”

He nudged your cheek with his nose.

“Uh-hm,” you said, low. Ignoring the urge to be mature.

“Sweeter’n daddy?”

“Maybe.”

Joel grinned again. He shifted his weight. You were just about to tilt your head more, when he sat up completely. You felt his pelvis prod the flesh of your ass, and he left your book to you. He readjusted his grip on your hip in his hand while he used the other to knead your skin.

You keened at the change of angle—feeling the friction between the coarse grey hairs at the base of his tummy and the swell of your bottom, the brush of his manhood.

“Yeah? He treat Emma like this?”

And, to punctuate the question, Joel withdrew himself to the tip and slammed back in. He groaned with pleasure.

“Daddy,” you hissed, and he started sawing back and forth, gently like before, “He just…I— I— I don’t know.”

“400 pages in and they still haven’t fucked?”

“Daddy!”

“What?”

“They don’t do that. Mr. Knightley is a…a…gentleman.”

His thrusts were shaking you again, and you struggled to hold your book. Joel kept his motions shallow. Teasing.

“Is daddy not a gentleman when he does this to you?”

You could’ve laughed at that question. You did, a little bit.

“Plenty gentleman-ly, daddy,” you giggled, “Plenty.”

“Good,” Joel returned, swift.

Then, without warning or ceremony, he spit in his hand. He slicked his fingers with the stuff and sank his index and middle fingers between your cheeks—right above the hole he was stretching with his cock—and pressed.

You jumped, still getting fucked face-down, but now with the tips of Joel’s fingers circling a tiny ring of muscles.

His favorite to tease you with, of late. He leaned in.

“Even here?”

But before you could respond, and while thoughts of love, betrothals, and Georgian-era decorum were still floating through your mind, you felt one finger breach your hole. As his cock continued to slide messily, greedily inside your cunt, you let out a whine.

“Da-a-ddy.”

He knew what it would do to you. What it always did. Particularly when he was taking you from behind and telling you sweet and dirty things. Making you feel it.

You hardly knew what else to do but hold your book to your chest and purse your lips, sensing a familiar sting.

“Did men like him do this to sweet little girls like you?”

“I— I—”

“Or is that just daddy?” He pushed the finger deeper.

Your tender, yet-empty hole sucked him in like a dream. You almost couldn’t believe how quickly you spread for him, having only gotten touched in that new, precious place with just the tip of his thumb before. It was tight.

And tighter still, with Joel’s cock gliding in and out of your cunt and his finger sinking further in a hole he’d never fucked. You pressed your cheek to the couch.

“Go on,” Joel urged, gentle, “Use your words.”

You tried. You parted your lips and squeezed a nearby pillow for support, and Joel even pushed your book down flat on the sofa in front of you so you could see the words more clearly. Focus on those instead of his finger.

He pushed in to the second knuckle, and you whined.

Your mind was blanking again. You had only to say:

“He’s…like you, daddy. Knightley’s kinda…like you.”

Joel didn’t hamper the path of his index, but he did slow his hips. He let them peter off to only the gentlest of thrusts, while the motions of his finger flowed like a white-hot stream between your legs. Petting that tender little ring while diving in and out, swiftly, and teasing.

He stoked the flames of desire inside you with each new touch. He flattened his one free hand beside your book, anchoring himself a comfortable height above, and while you tried stealing a glance behind you, he peered down. Reading—or appearing to, anyway—as he fucked one hole with a gentle resolve and caressed the other. You’d never felt more full, or fucking insane to feel more of him.

Before you could even venture to beg, though, Joel said:

“How are we alike, honey? Tell me.”

You almost wanted to cry as his finger wiggled deeper. You had to answer, though. Recollect as best you could.

Stammering only the slightest bit: “He’s, uh, o— older.”

“Older?”

You could feel the smile start to stretch again overhead.

“Yeah. Emma’s twenty-one and he’s…a-almost forty.”

Presently, Joel’s smile morphed into a chuckle. Low.

“Almost forty? That must make me a fuckin’ fossil, then.”

“No!” you squeaked. And just when you had, Joel’s finger breached your hole straight down to the last knuckle. He let it rest while you squirmed, then dragged it out a little.

“I only—” You quickly tried resuming, but your brain was fried. Your body was limp, and all you could feel, or think, was the slow, sweet, and wet sensation tingling between your cheeks as Joel pushed his thick finger in and out, “—only meant he’s a bit more…experienced…than her. Knows her better than just about anyone, and he— he—”

Made you think of Joel. Made you dream of your own fifty-something lover situated amidst a world more than two centuries old, rousing the most romantic notions. You felt silly. You wanted to bury your face in your hands, were it not for the fear that your cheeks might sear them.

It didn’t matter, at length. Your sweet old man ensured it.

“‘S’okay, little bug. It’s alright. Makes me glad to think you’re thinkin’ of me while you read,” he told you, calm.

He stroked your hair. He stalled his hips, momentarily. And just when you thought you might’ve mustered the courage to speak to him yourself, you heard him again.

Except it wasn’t a word you heard—just a wet noise.

A glob of spit hitting the small of your back and sliding down, crawling slow between your cheeks for Joel’s warm, waiting finger. He withdrew the digit, and then he smeared his saliva all over the place he’d pried you open. Likely knowing you’d be too stunned to talk, he went on.

He worked his finger back in, now coated with a sheen of spit: “Always readin’…feelin’ new things, ain’t ya, baby?”

You nodded, and you scarcely even knew it.

“Only natural it happens like that,” Joel assured you, soft, “Daddy teaches, and you learn…and learn…like a big girl.”

With each new word he wanted to drive home, he pushed his finger in. Dragged it out. Curled it gently, as though beckoning you to him, then watched you rut your hips at the feeling of needing more. He sucked a breath through his teeth when he felt you ooze more, warm.

Nectar trickled down his length while your lips above were drooling, too. Your face was smushed to the cushion below, and your hips were tilted up, desperate.

“Daddypleasejustfuckit—fuck—now,” you cried out.

In all the time you’d been together, Joel had never heard you beg like that. The sound was gratifying to his ears, and his cock grew even stiffer inside you. Just barely checking himself, he moved his other hand to your hip.

Squeezing.

Trying to chide your lack of manners, your swearing.

“That ain’t how you ask daddy nicely, little lady—”

“Just make it full like my pussy, daddy, please.”

Though it was clear you knew better than to interrupt the man mid-sentence, you had used your ‘please,’ at least. Joel was strong, unyielding, in just about every place but the one between your thighs—and with words like those, he had only a moment before his primal drive kicked in and he wouldn’t be able to say no after that, for anything.

He would try to sound stern. Gruff, even. Mumbling something or other about how you had to be sweet to get this dick where you needed it, but the truth was that Joel couldn’t wait much longer for you, either. He caved.

He withdrew his finger, quick. Grabbed your hips. Spit.

Spit again. Smeared again. Felt perfectly depraved making this mess, but you seemed to like it all the same.

“Need daddy to teach you that, too?” he asked, hasty.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you answered, helpless.

“Yeah? Teach you how to take it up the ass?”

“Please, daddy.”

“Dirty fuckin’ girl.”

He smacked your ass, just before poising his tip where his finger had been. He would’ve liked to drag it out. But as it was, the old man was probably four pumps shy of blowing his load; you were all but melted on the sofa.

Joel couldn’t deny it drove him out of his fucking mind to see you like that. Legs spread, slit wet, eyes glossy and listless and so wholly bereft of any other idea in the world but the need for him. It made him sick. He loved you so much. And he’d show you, in ways that any mentor worth his weight in salt was apt to do: he let you feel it.

Slowly, at first. Just the tip made you flinch, and your teeth grit together. Joel found your hand and held it.

“Nice and slow—you’re doin’ so good,” he said.

Even if you didn’t feel like you were in the moment, he always made sure to let you know how much he liked it. How nice you felt stretched for him, how good you took it, and how he had no doubts his girl was made for this.

“Made for me,” he added gently, feeding you some more.

And when he surmised from your soft, strangled sounds that this change was a lot, breaths fast, he knew better than to press again. He pulled out and turned you over.

He had your legs over his shoulders in no time at all and, afforded this new view, was delighted to find a trace of a smile still on your lips. He kissed them. Then he tried to make it fit again. He felt you tremble and held you closer.

“That’s it—that’s my girl—almost there.”

“C’mon baby, just a little bit more to go.”

When you keened at the stretch over halfway through, he brushed the hair from your face and kissed your forehead

“I know. I know. Keep goin’, little one. I know.”

Like he knew what to say to get you the wettest you could be. Your eyes winced, and your cunt dripped a dizzying amount—leaking liquid heat down your slit to coat Joel’s tummy, his overgrowth of hair, and your aching hole, of course. The whole thing was taking you out of yourself with every thrust, and your fingers were laced tight in his. Letting him shower you with kisses.

“Daddy’s so mean for doin’ this, isn’t he?”

He was teasing again, nipping at the hinge of your jaw and pressing kiss after kiss while he stuffed you full. Your eyes were ablaze and fucked-out of their mind, as it was, but still, you managed to smile when he spoke it so soft.

“Not— not mean at all, daddy.”

“You sure?”

Joel wedged himself in to the hilt and grinned back.

You might’ve whined, but you felt too full. Euphoric.

“Uh-huh,” you breathed, head reeling, “I like it.”

“How much?”

Your gut clenched with the punch of his thrusts. Lids fluttered as Joel trailed his tongue up your cheek—another mindless, feral tendency he had close to climax. He held your face and fucked you tender as ever, and when the feeling in your tummy grew and grew and almost bloomed, he slipped his tongue in your mouth. Groaning when your teeth met the muscle and bit it.

“I love it, Joel,” you corrected, panting against him.

He could’ve spanked you for saying his name—breaking character was your favorite way to get punished—but, at present, the man didn’t have the strength to do a thing. He just nodded, and grinned, and licked into your mouth and drove his dick so far up your body that he could’ve sworn he’d grazed your lungs. You kissed him again.

“I love you—” he groaned.

“I know, daddy,” you smiled.

“—so much.”

“I love you more.”

He spilled his warm, thick seed inside. You came undone. Your bodies melded and rutted together in a few last shuddering bursts, and with Joel pinning you down, kissing you more, guiding your lips against his own in a wanton tumult, you felt it—contentment. Full pleasure.

Another soft, dizzying, cum-drenched lesson with daddy.

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing when Joel reached for you next, expression all smug and beaming.

Licking the sweat off your cheek like the freak he was.

“Did I ever tell you pink is my favorite fucking color?”

anyway this was my irl reaction to reading That Line for the first time:

#needthat

[mr-jack-letterman]

We need more young stan content out here.

And nah I ain't talking about 12 year old Stanley or 30 year old mullet Stan, I'm talking 17 year old, slicked back hair, acne riddled Stan pines.

Yeah that one.

I am so happy mullet Stan is so popular because his fit slaps ngl and the angst is so potent I can't not respect it. But teenage Stan has so much potential it's driving me insane.

There is a line dividing the 17 years of relative happiness Stan had with Ford and the 10+ years of depression and crime he had on the streets, and teenage Stan uses that line as a goddamn jump rope.

Seriously, depending on how you look at it dude is either living his best life or is fighting for said life in the trenches of homelessness and poverty.

I see a lot of content regarding Stan on the streets but it only ever focuses on 30ish Stan in his later years of homelessness where he's already a hardened adult after years of dealing with this bullshit. But Stan didn't just drive away and then magically turn 30. There were times in those first few months after Stan got kicked out where he was in his car, trying to sleep, probably starving, while still being fundamentally a child.

Hell, compared to the 30ish age of mullet Stan and the 60+ year old con man he'd later become, teenage Stan is damn near a baby. There's a certain brightness about him, a sort of warm naive optimism that still clings to him because he's straight up just too young to know any better.

He's still fully convinced he's gonna make it rich and go back to his family in a few years. He still believes wholeheartedly that even if shit sucks right now, eventually everything is gonna be okay. It has to be. But it's not gonna be okay. It's not gonna be okay for a long time. And some parts are just never gonna be okay.

Seeing a happy and oblivious teenage Stan feels like watching a baby lamb walk into a slaughter house.

The next 10-something years are going to tear him apart limb from limb. In 40 years he's going to wake up on a boat during a bout of amnesia thinking he's in Columbian prison, or he's locked in the trunk of a car and about to drown, or his shoulder is on fire and his brother is gone, or it's the end of the world and everyone he ever dared to give a shit about is about to die in front of him and it's all his fault because he was too weak to stop it.

At some point, a young Stanley is going to get into his first true life or death fight. He doesn't even have to be involved with crime yet for it to happen. He's probably bruised and bleeding, with not nearly enough money to afford a doctor. He's sitting in the driver's seat of his El Diablo having a complete and utter break down because he almost died and suddenly everything is real.

Nothing is okay, absolutely nothing is going to be okay and whatever is left of his teenage innocence, naivety, and warmth dies in that car and it never comes back.

The next 10+ years are going to fundamentally change Stanley as a person and he's never going to be the same ever again. But teenage Stan doesn't know that, he's still a kid trying to sleep in the back of his car, ignoring hunger pangs and finding comfort in the half baked business ideas his mind cooks up because he doesn't understand how utterly done for he is.

12 year old Stanley I believe is so appealing because of his bright rambunctious spirit. He's still just a kid playing on the beach with his brother, but so was teenage Stan. I just wish the wholesomeness that comes with that and the subsequent hurt that follows as that spirit is broken over and over again by the world was explored more.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

[darknight3904]

buy me presents, baby!

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: The holiday season is packed enough as it is. On top of it all, Joel has a cute little girlfriend he just can't seem to resist spoiling...

Warnings: 18+ Explicit Smut Unprotected p in v, literally one spank, riding, missionary, Joel's a bit of a tease, pregnancy mention (no ones actually pregnant, don't worry) No outbreak au, modern au, viagra mention, unspecified age gap (mid/early-20s reader in mind), Rich older bf Joel!! I don't know how Hinge works sorry.

Word Count: 2.7k

Based on the song buy me presents by Sabrina Carpenter

Masterlist

The local mall was a buzz with what you swore was the entire state of Texas. Everywhere you turned, someone was brushing by you, mumbling an excuse me or just grunting an apology.

"Maybe we should just go home...There's so many people here." You say as you stand off to the side.

"Oh c'mon we drove all the way here, don't you wanna take a peek at some things, darlin'?"

Joel's warm southern tone sent a tingle of warmth down your spine. He was always so charming, that's how he won you over in the first place, his charm.

You'd stumbled across his Hinge profile six months ago. Your friend, Jess had jokingly set your profile to look for men over ten years older than you.

"Trust me, Dilfs are a whole different ballpark, girl!"

You hadn't believed her, after all, who would want some old half-bald, blue pill-taking man sitting across from them at dinner?

Things of course changed late one Wednesday night when Joel, 40 popped up on your screen. Not only did he have all his hair (and teeth!) but damn it he was so hot.

For lack of a better word, Joel was the perfect gentleman. He'd picked you up for your first date right at 7, opened all the doors for you, and even pulled your chair out for you to sit at the restaurant. Conversation had flowed so easily with him, that you'd almost forgotten you had just met the man across from you.

Fast forward a few months and here you were walking the mall with the head and Co-owner of Miller Construction Co. Joel's big hand cradled yours as he opened the door to Sephora.

"Said you needed some more of that lip balm you like right? Let's get it now."

You nodded and let him pull you into the store. He always did this, pulled you into stores so you could look at things. Of course, that wouldn't be a problem if he wasn't always buying half the things you picked up to admire. Hell, one time you were at Macy's with him and made a joke about the adult Spiderman onesie that was being sold, two days later it was sitting in your lap in just your size.

Jess had told you to enjoy it, to let him buy you everything your little heart desired but you couldn't help but feel guilty. You already spent most of your time sleeping at Joel's place, showering there, and eating his food. What were you even working for if you couldn't buy a measly lip balm for yourself?!

You pulled the one you wanted from the shelf. You'd run out a few days ago and your lips had begun to crack without it. Your eyes fell down to look at the price that was beside the scent

Twenty-four bucks?! That was nearly two hours of working at the shitty secretary job you had down at the local library! Whoever was setting prices at this company needed a serious reality check.

Joel's back was turned as he was staring at an array of brushes, mumbling that no one needed that many things for their face. Perfect! You could sneakily set this back on the display and-

"What're you doin'? Isn't that the one?"

Shit.

"Well yeah, but..."

"Then put it in the basket."

Joel's outstretched arm came up to present the little black and white basket he'd taken from a worker when the two of you entered.

"I just think that twenty-four bucks is too much for a little tube of lip balm. I think I'll just switch back to Carmex or Burts Bee's."

"Darlin' I'll buy it." Joel gave you a warm smile, "Let me spoil you."

"No way! You just bought me dinner!" You shake your head, thinking of your leftovers that sat in the backseat of his car.

"And now I wanna buy you a lip balm," Joel says taking it from your hands to put in the basket.

"Nope. We're not getting it." You say, pulling it from his hands and tossing it back on the shelf, "Let's leave."

Joel protests but lets you pull him from the store and back to the car.

Three days later...

Joel never liked shopping. He'd always been the kind of guy who bought the same shirt in multiple colors just because it made sense in his mind. Even when the company had taken off and he and Tommy were living comfortably instead of paycheck to paycheck, he hadn't really found an excuse to indulge and spend a lot of his hard-earned cash. Sure, he'd dropped a lot on a new car after his poor pickup truck had gotten rear-ended two years ago, damn teen drivers. Then, there was the new roof that his house needed last summer. But, both of those were easily paid off and Joel often found himself with a bank account higher than necessary.

It never bothered him, after all, it just meant retirement would come quicker, and if he ever had kids they'd have a lot of inheritance. Yes, Joel was happy living his simple lifestyle. Of course, that was until he met you...

You were just perfect in Joel's eyes. From the moment he saw you on that dating app Tommy had stuck on his phone, he'd known you were the one for him. Initially, he'd felt weird when he'd swiped on you, after all, you were so young compared to him. His fears though, they'd vanished the moment you started laughing at his lame jokes, adding your own even worse ones to the conversation. Yes, you were just perfect for him.

Now, it was December, the holiday season was in full swing and Joel found himself itching to spend some of that cash that'd been sitting in the bank for ages. He'd spent the last six months trying to keep the spending to a minimum, you always scolded him despite enjoying all of his gifts and he'd hate to make you feel uncomfortable. But after today when you'd put that little lip balm back on the shelf, he'd felt sad for you. Joel hadn't missed your small frown when it clattered back onto the display next to the others. You wanted that lip balm and, you were going to get that lip balm.

It was as if he was a man possessed. Three hours had passed since he'd walked into this mall and his arms were begging to feel a bit sore. Sure, he'd bought you the lip balm but before he knew it, he was wandering into all the other stores, looking for things that'd make you smile and cover his face in kisses. As he loaded the bags into the trunk a bit of worry crossed his mind. Had he gone overboard?

No, there definitely could be more...

December 25th, Christmas Morning at Joel Miller's

The warm scent of coffee had your eyes slowly pulling open. You groaned and pulled yourself out of bed, fumbling to pull Joel's shirt on before finding your discarded panties from last night. Whoever told you that older men needed Viagra to get it up clearly hadn't met Joel.

You padded down the steps to see Joel hunched over the stove, flipping pancakes while his beloved coffee maker brewed.

"Morning." You chirp, wrapping your arms around him, and resting your hands on his soft belly.

"Good morning." Joel's deep voice filled your ears

You greedily let your hands slip under the waistband of his plaid pajama pants. Joel lets out a hum and scoots away from you.

"Keep that up and we won't be eating or opening gifts til noon."

You roll your eyes and go to pour him his coffee.

After a delicious breakfast, Joel pulled you into the living room where your jaw nearly met the floor. Last night when you'd passed out in bed after the third round, there had been six presents under the tree, three from him and three from you. Now there had to be over triple that.

"What did you do?" You ask, spinning around to face Joel.

"What? I'm not allowed to spoil you?" Joel asks, a boyish grin on his face.

"It's like you bought the whole damn store and put it in your living room." You point out

"Not the whole store, just some of it." Joel laughs

Nearly an hour later, you were sitting in a pile of wrapping paper and bows.

"Alright, last one," Joel says, pulling a small gift bag with a snowman on it out.

You sigh in fake exhaustion, "Hand it over, cowboy."

Joel snorts and hands you the bag which a moment later you find has the lip balm you'd put back the other day.

"Went back and bought it for ya. Got a little distracted though..." Joel smiles

"Oh, only a little? Is that why there's lingerie and a new pair of boots sitting in boxes next to me?" You laugh, "Not to mention you even bought me a new frying pan."

"Yeah, just a little sidetracked s' all," Joel says, looking at the many different things he'd found for you.

"Thank you, Joel." You smile earnestly, "It's your turn now."

"Why don't ya model this for me, darlin'?" Joel asks, pushing the red babydoll dress towards you

"But what about your presents?" You pout, "I put a lot of thought into the one with the green paper."

"Give me a fashion show, it can be part of the gift." Joel coerces.

"Ugh, you're lucky you're hot, Joel." You huff, scooping the fabric up and heading off to the bathroom.

Joel lets out a long whistle as you reenter the living room, "Well, would you look at that?"

"Pervert." You scoff as he pulls you into his lap

"Not allowed to appreciate my girl?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek

"You just wanted to see what my boobs looked like in red lace." You point out

Joel gives you a grin, busted.

"Nah, what makes you think that?"

Joel's lips capture yours and his hands secure themselves at your waist. Your resolve loosens as your hands curl against the soft skin of his chest.

"What about your presents?" You ask breathlessly when he pulls back

"Got everything I want right here." He says, "Let's go upstairs, this old man needs a bed if he's gonna fuck you silly."

Joel's hands are back on you the moment he kicks the bedroom door shut. His lips find yours again as his hands begin to pull the straps of your outfit off your shoulders.

Your back hits the mattress and one of Joel's big hands snakes down between your thighs.

"Still wet from last night." Joel laughs into the kiss

"Mmm, I think it was from earlier. Seeing you shirtless, cooking for me was hot." You admit

"Yeah? Y'like me cookin' for ya?" Joel asks

"Course, who wouldn't wanna see a hot old man cooking pancakes for them on Christmas?" You tease

Joel delivers a sharp slap to your inner thigh, "Not that old, darlin'."

"Sure you aren't."

You push at his shoulders and straddle him, loving the way his hands gently rest on your thighs.

You hum in delight as his hips lift and he pulls his pants off, finally exposing the rest of his body to your greedy eyes. Joel's lips ghost over your nipples, teasing them with his tongue as he lifts you up so he's notched at your entrance. Eager, you move to push him in but he stops you.

"What do ya say, baby?" Joel teases

"C'mon Joel..." You groan, "I want it."

"Ask nicely then," he clicks his tongue, "Go on,"

You huff a small breath of frustration and Joel's hands squeeze your hips.

"Please," You mumble

"What was that? This old man needs some help hearin' ya." Joel prods

"Please, fuck me, Joel." You groan, wiggling your hips as the head of his cock teases your hole.

"S' what I wanted to hear," Joel says, pressing a wet kiss to your neck

Joel's loud groan mingles with your girlish one as he lets you go to take him in. Your mind goes blank as your hips begin to rock. Joel's hands roam your body as he pinches and teases the sensitive flesh of your chest.

"C'mon girlie, give it to me." He encourages

"I'm trying." You huff, the feel of your burning thighs was slowing you down

A loud slap rings out followed by a yelp from your mouth. Joel's big hand rubs at the reddened mark on your soft skin.

"Don't worry, I gotcha, sweetheart, let me."

Your world turns as Joel lays you back down on the soft mattress, pushing your knees to your chest you're practically folded in half as he pushes in again.

"Fuck me..." Joel groans in pleasure above you.

"Already am." You laugh breathlessly

Joel shakes his head but you see the smile playing on his lips.

Rough thrusts steal your breath away as Joel begins moving his hips in earnest. The softness of his belly meets yours as he leans over you and presses his lips to yours. A hand pushes into the middle of your shared mess and a finger toys with your clit. A whimper escapes your lips as Joel groans when you tighten around him.

"Gonna let me come inside ya hmm? It'd be the perfect Christmas gift for me darlin'..."

Your brain is mush as Joel's finger plays with you while his cock relentlessly slams into you. Your stomach tightens as he continues.

"I-I'm gonna-"

"C'mon let it out, soak my fucking cock." Joel commands

As if he's magic your body yields to him and you come. A strangled groan leaves Joel's lips while your eyes slam shut.

"Good girl." Joel coos down at you, his hips never slowing.

"Joel!" You gasp, the pain of overstimulation beginning to ebb at your brain.

Joel lets out a soft moan of his own, his brow furred in concentration.

"Where?" He asks

"I-Inside" You gasp

Joel smirks, "Yeah? Gonna take it like a good girl? Let me knock ya up, pop out a brat for me in nine months?"

"Yes!" Your hips arch off the bed when his hand comes down to grind at your clit.

Joel's hips stutter against you and a loud moan escapes him as he fills you. Gentle thrusts follow as he comes down, dropping your legs as he does.

Joel flops down beside you on the bed, his chest heaves a bit as the two of you catch your breath.

"Y'okay?"

"Always." You say looking over at him with a dopey grin on your face

"Wanna go finish those pancakes?" Joel asks

You laugh, Joel was such a typical guy, thinking with his stomach, "You just fucked me and threatened to knock me up but your first thought is pancakes?"

"Well, I was gonna get a washcloth and clean ya up first, if that matters," Joel says

"Wow, what a gentleman." You scoff

"Glad you think so." Joel mumbles

You lay next to him in silence, listening to his breathing and watching his eyes flutter shut in satisfaction.

"What if we did?" You ask

"Did what?" Joel asks looking at you, "If you're talking about round two, I'll need a few more minutes, I'm not twenty anymore."

You slap his shoulder and roll onto your belly, "No, perv. I meant a baby. You were just talking about getting me pregnant."

Joel looks over at you like you've lost your mind, "Are you being serious right now?"

"Totally. You don't want a mini us running around?" You ask hopefully

"Course I do baby, didn't ever think a pretty young thing like you would want that with me though," Joel admits, pulling you towards him so you're resting partially on top of him

"Really Joel?" You scoff, "You're like the hottest guy in the world."

"Now you're just buttering me up." He laughs his head hitting the pillows behind him

"I'm serious!" You smile as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips

Soft silence flutters around you as you watch the gears turn in his mind.

"Gonna have to marry you if you start popping my kids out." Joel grins

"Of course," You laugh, "You think I'm gonna go into labor without a ring on my hand?"

Joel's nose brushes yours as he leans a bit closer to your face, practically breathing in your scent. His hand grasps yours where it rests on his chest.

"Guess I gotta start looking at jewelry then, darlin'. You're gonna have the prettiest ring in all of Texas."

"Ugh, there you go again, plotting to spend way too much money on me again." You groan in embarrassment.

Joel leans in and steals a kiss from you, the taste of pancakes and syrup lingers on his tongue as he does.

"Gotta humor me here," He smiles into the kiss, "Let me buy you presents, baby."

Consider this a mini-rant against the people behind the prices at Sephora. I'm looking at you Summer Fridays...

Want more Joel? Check out my series All Too Well.

[whisperofwonder]

Comfortable

Uncomfortable domestic moments when you realize just how comfortable you are together, and how much he really cares about you

I just really love domesticity, okay? Even when it isn't pretty.

Featuring: Kuroo Tetsurou, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Miya Atsumu x reader

(a few potential triggers here, sorry!) TW: vomit / vomiting in Kuroo's ; blood/period in Ushijima's, then you'll have Atsumu's which is really just light and kind of goofy oops

KUROO TETSUROU

"Ugh," You moan as you reach to flush the toilet. You get to your feet and turn to find Tetsurou still hovering behind you. You grimace thinking about how he'd held your hair back just moments ago, as you released the entire contents of your stomach into the toilet bowl.

He hands you a cup of water. "How are you feeling?" He asks as you rinse out your mouth - it's a silly question, all things considered, but you don't exactly have a snarky answer at hand.

"I'm sorry," You blurt instead, not quite sure how he can be looking at you with that almost tender expression on his face after witnessing that.

"Why are you apologizing?" He asks softly, reaching to unstick a sweaty strand of hair from your face.

"Because, it's so gross. You didn't have to come in here," You insist. "I'm an adult, and - you really shouldn't have to see that." You purposefully avoid glancing in the mirror. You don't even want to know what you must look like right now.

"But I don't want you to feel gross alone," He says as if it's simple. You open your mouth, searching for some kind of retort, but nothing comes. "I know you can take care of yourself, but you shouldn't have to," He continues. "Not when I'm right here."

It's so surprisingly sweet that you feel your face start to crumple. "Tetsu," You squeak out.

"Shh," He shushes you, "Just tell me what I can do. Do you need anything?"

"I just want to go back to bed," You admit, reaching out to grab the edge of the sink as you feel yourself begin to waver.

"Okay then," He says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he scoops you up in his arms, slowly carrying you back to the bedroom and setting you gently on top of your pillows. "Try to get some rest," He murmurs, pulling the blankets up over you. "I love you," He adds, brushing the hair away from your face.

"I love you too," You murmur back, leaning into his touch and the comfort of the knowledge that he'll always be right here.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

Your alarm feels even earlier than usual, and after confirming that it is indeed time to get up, you turn it off with a groan. You're feeling particularly at odds with the world already today, and part of you just wants to pull the covers over your head and go back to sleep. Instead, you slither out of bed, standing next to it as you check the e-mail notification that had popped up overnight.

"Oh," At the sound of his voice, you turn to look at Wakatoshi. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, and he's looking at you with a slight frown on his face. "My love..." He gestures down at your side of the bed, and to your horror, you see a streak of red on the otherwise pristine sheets.

Suddenly, the way you're feeling is making a lot more sense. "Oh no," You drop your face in your hands, muffling your words. "That's absolutely disgusting. I'm so sorry." You don't even want to look at him, but at the sound of rustling sheets, you finally drop your hands. Your boyfriend is methodically stripping the bed.

"Why don't you get in the shower? I'll start washing these." He says matter-of-factly. There must be something in your expression, because you see his face soften. "It's alright. It's natural," He assures you.

"But-" You can't put into words how mortified you are. Natural or not, he shouldn't have to see it, much less clean it up. "At least let me do that," You insist finally, reaching for the pile of bedding.

"No," He twists away so that it's out of your reach, "I've got it. Just get in the shower, okay?"

"You shouldn't have to, though," You say more softly.

"I don't have to," He agrees. "I want to help you. Can I do that?"

You bite your lower lip, trying not to let your hormonally-charged emotions win this battle. "Okay," You say finally.

"Okay," He echoes you, dropping the sheets into the laundry basket before crossing the room back to you, gently taking your face in his hands and pressing a kiss to your lips. "I'll make you some tea to have with breakfast," He adds after he pulls away. "Will that help?"

"Yes," You whisper, the I-love-you hidden in his words practically echoing in your head. You can't resist pulling him back in for one more kiss, hoping he feels the I-love-you-too that you press into it.

MIYA ATSUMU

"Atsumu!" You knock on the bathroom door, "Are you soon done?" It's moments like these when you really regret that this apartment has only one bathroom.

"Just got in!" He shouts back above the sound of the running shower. You bite back a sigh. He's famous for his long, hot showers.

"I really have to go!" You call back. "Can't you make it quick?" You're on the verge of pacing back down the hallway, just to help you hold it in.

"The door isn't locked! Can't ya just come in and go?" You freeze. It might be silly, but it's an unspoken milestone that you haven't crossed yet - peeing in front of each other.

"But!" You groan.

"But what? Ya've seen me naked before," You can practically hear his smirk.

"Tsumu," You whine, but in a matter of moments, you open the door anyway. It's gotten to the point where you don't have much choice. With only a moment's hesitation, you put up the toilet lid.

"How was yer day?" Atsumu begins conversationally.

"We're not doing this," You say quickly. "I'm going, and then I'm leaving the bathroom."

You hear him sigh. "Want me to get out and pee too, so we're even?" He asks, completely serious.

"No!" You say quickly. "I'm leaving now." Before he can say anything else, you're closing the door behind you.

About 10 minutes later, Atsumu finds you in the kitchen, towel wrapped around his waist as drips of water slip from his hair. "Guess we're a real couple now," He grins, leaning in and pressing a damp kiss to your lips.

"We weren't before?" You ask, quirking an eyebrow.

"'Parently not. Didn't know it was such a big deal," He says with a smug grin. "How will I ever look at you the same again?"

"Hey!" You swat his bare shoulder indignantly. "It was your idea." You remind him.

"Guess so," He hums. "Know what? I think I still love ya just as much." His smile is softer somehow, despite the teasing glint in his eyes.

"Oh?" You ask, struggling to maintain your haughty expression.

"Yeah," He nods. "Looks like you're stuck with me." He leans in for a longer kiss, almost making you forget about the small puddle that's begun to form on the floor.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ my life with you (that’s way over now)

synopsis. some people get drunk calls from their exes, maybe even flowers with hand written apologies. you get a knock on your front door with two random kids and a murder case

length. 3.0k words (once more it was supposed to be short)

contents. exes to lovers, ex boyfriend! suguru, gn! reader, slightly deviated from canon (he doesn’t kill the entire village + doesn’t defect), slightly a fix-it fic, blood, murder, child abuse + neglect (canon events with suguru and the twins), angst to slight fluff with hopeful ending (pretty much happy tbh), mentions of family + kids, suguru pretty much being a broke and depressed lil guy lollll

notes. idk what this is but it was written for me i just wanted to write it so here. take it and look away

right before you graduate, you and suguru break up. you don’t want to, but he insists it’s only fair—he can hardly be there for you the way you need him to be, he says. something’s changed in him, it has since that day last year. but still—you don’t want to break up.

so you argue, he stays firm, you cry, he doesn’t change his mind, you break up, he leaves, and the world momentarily collapses.

it’s the way things work, you suppose. they don’t quite always go the way you planned. you graduate not long after that, leaving him behind to throw yourself into work while you toe into the baby steps of adulthood. real adulthood—the jujutsu world has a way of thrusting you into that faster than normal, anyway.

by the time it’s late summer, you get your first apartment. it’s a rundown place—the bathroom tiles look dirty no matter how much you scrub, the walls haven’t been repainted in what seems like decades, and the thermostat never works properly to feel like what the temperature indicates.

but it’s yours—you leave jujutsu high fresh into the real world, paying your taxes and buying your groceries all while you exorcise curses for a living. barely an adult, barely getting by, barely alive as you get up each day and live.

and then suguru comes knocking on your door half past midnight.

“hey,” he says nonchalantly, like there’s nothing wrong with standing there—but you know him better than that. you can hear that detachment in his voice as he stares between your eyes, but not quite in them.

“you—” you start, staring at him incredulously before you decide to give up. there are no surprises with suguru, not anymore you suppose. you don’t really know him anymore. “suguru, it’s midnight,” you sigh—and that’s when you see them: two small children that can’t be much older than five.

bruises are clear as day on their arms, even while standing in the darkness outside. there’s also the slight swollen curve of their eyes, and you can’t help but notice how they’re practically skin and bone. children who have probably not yet even lived for five winters, and you almost wonder if they’ve been through more than you have in you’re entire lifetime.

suguru clears his throat before you can stare at them any longer.

“this is nanako,” he gestures at the blonde, “and this is mimiko.” the brunette one seems more shy, curls behind his leg further as her name is uttered.

you don’t know what to say, so you settle for smiling—you’re not sure if it comes out too genuine, but you try. it’s all you can offer, really.

“hello,” you hum for a moment. and then you turn back to suguru, “it’s midnight.”

“i know.”

“you should be at school grounds.”

“i know.”

“suguru,” you sigh, eyeing the blood stained on his cheek. you don’t like where this is heading. there’s a sick feeling twisting in your gut, bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.

bile. you can taste it. something’s not right.

“where did you find these kids?”

“on a mission,” he says simply, “village heads were keepin’ em locked in a cage like animals. can you believe it?”

again, that casual tone. it almost as easy as humming your favorite tune, as smooth as your skin on freshly washed sheets, as quiet as the first day of snow when the world is still. but something about it is hollow—something’s not right.

“why’d you bring them here? instead of school? shoko should look at them—”

“i told them they’d be safe here.”

they’d be safe anywhere, you think. as long as suguru’s there too. as long they’re under his watchful gaze, nothing could hope to beat down on their youth like it already has their whole lives. but you don’t say that—something tells you he won’t believe you.

maybe not right now.

you don’t look at him. you can’t. something’s not right, but there are children present. so you throw on your best smile and open the door wider, offering them to come in.

your apartment is small, just one bedroom and one bath. there’s hardly enough food for yourself for tonight, you still have to go grocery shopping this week. the missions were lined up back to back to back—but that’s just life as a sorcerer, you suppose. most days you hardly have the energy to eat more than a few apple slices when you return home anyway.

you wave your hand at your place dramatically as you say, “come on in, ladies. your humble abode awaits.”

they giggle slightly at that—it’s the first time suguru hears them laugh. you have that effect, he knew you would. it’s why he brings them here and not there. and…well, there’s a more complicated issue at hand. but that’s for later.

right now…well, for right now, he lets you guide them to the bathroom.

“you have money on you right?” you ask. he blinks, staring at you for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

“spent the last of it on cigarettes this morning.”

great, you think, before sighing and trudging over to grab your wallet as you press a few crisp bills of cash in his hands.

“here.”

“what’s this for?” he raises a brow.

“go buy them clothes,” you look at him like he’s stupid. he might be, in all honesty. just a little. “i’m not putting them back in…those once they’re all cleaned.”

“wha—i’ve never shopped for children before,” he gapes, “and i don’t know what size they are, or—”

“figure it out, suguru,” you say tiredly. it’s half past midnight—by now, you’d be passed out from your mission. he seems to take the hint. “and bring some snacks too. should be enough.”

“fine,” he grumbles—and then he’s walking out the door.

for a second, it feels familiar watching him leave. but then you decide not to dwell on it—there are much more important matters at hand.

you turn to the two girls before crouching in front of them with a gentle smile, “who’s ready for bubbles?”

——————

nanako and mimiko have never had a bubble bath before. you decide to let them taste the first tendrils of youth by splashing in your tiny bathtub while you find suguru for some much needed answers.

he sits on your couch, shirt wrinkled and hair falling loose and blood still staining his cheek as he hunches over his legs, elbows resting on his thighs as he thinks. and thinks. and thinks and thinks and thinks.

you wonder about what—what could be plaguing his mind? a lot you’re sure, but this isn’t suguru. not the one you know, at least.

the one you knew, the voice in your mind hisses—do you really even know him at all anymore?

“so,” you sit on the opposite side of the sofa, curling your legs under yourself as you eye him from the side, ���care to explain?”

“i killed them,” he mutters. you go still. “the village heads. i did it without hesitating. that’s bad, right?”

“well fuck, suguru,” you breathe, restless, “that’s certainly not good.”

“i had a reason,” he argues, “all i needed was one.”

“there’s nothing that excuses murder—”

“oh, but we can excuse locking kids in cages, is that right? why? cause they’re sorcerers? they’re not—they’re children.”

“i didn’t say that,” you rub your forehead. this is all too much. too, too much.

being a sorcerer is too much. being in front of suguru is too much.

you finish your third year with a broken heart and graduate in spring—at one point you’d hoped graduating wouldn’t change anything between you and your friends, between you and the boy you loved. everything would be the same, even if you’d leave the place that held you all together—you’d still find a way back to each other, you liked to think. but then it all changes before you can even comprehend.

haibara is dead. nanami is hardly coping. gojo is everywhere but here. shoko is in high demand. suguru is hardly present even when he’s right in front of you. nothing is the same and you don’t think it ever will be. you lose the one thing you count on being yours forever, and now, he’s right here again. but not really here—not with you so much as near you.

suguru has killed people, sitting on your couch with you while the two children he finds are bathing happily in your bathtub.

there’s some irony in that—maybe in a perfect world, suguru and you would sit on the couch, much happier than right now, though. maybe you’d be tucked under his arm and curled into his side as you both chuckle at the happy squeals in the distance. maybe in a perfect world.

but this world is cruel. too cruel, in fact. it forces children to grow up too fast during some times and lets adults continue to be children during others. it’s sickening and all too much.

but this is the world you live in. there’s not much to change in that—not much you can change. maybe sitting on the couch with suguru is what you should be grateful for, whether it’s in this world or another.

“i came here because it’s safe,” he mumbles, quieter this time, “i don’t…i didn’t trust anywhere else.”

something tells you he’s not talking about the kids. you look at him for the first time that night—really look at him. you take in the lost weight, the sunken cheekbones and the bruised under eyes from the lack of sleep. the cracked lips from being chapped and the dry hair that’s lost its normal shine.

something’s not right—you won’t be able to mend it, but you think you can keep it from getting worse.

“it is safe here,” you murmur, nodding in assurance, “but you can’t…i can’t let you do that. not again.”

“what? kill people?” he snorts in dry amusement. it’s quiet for a bit—you open your mouth a few times like you want to say something, but nothing ever comes. he finally decides to fill the silence. “i don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. people shouldn’t kill. but some people shouldn’t live.”

“i think jujutsu is supposed to save people. not everyone will deserve it, but i suppose we wouldn’t be much better than them if we used it for anything other than that,” you whisper. he looks over at you at that, peers at you deep in thought as he contemplates your words.

“that’s funny,” he chuckles, “i used to think that too.”

“what changed?”

“everything.”

“then change it some more,” you shrug, “until you think it again.” he looks at you incredulously at that, eyeing you like you’re crazy.

“you’re an idiot,” he scoffs.

“says the killer,” you scoff back. you look at him this time, in the eyes and full of conviction, full of promises you couldn’t make before but fully intend to keep now. “don’t kill anyone else and i’ll help you. with those kids, i mean.”

“you want to co parent with me?” he chuckles.

co parent—the word makes your stomach twist. even after all this time, after all the hurt and pain, suguru is easy to imagine that with. he’s easy to imagine anything in the future with, really. he’s always been perfect like that, but you’re starting to realize there’s a lot more imperfections to him than you initially thought.

but it’s okay, you think. if you didn’t stop loving him before, you certainly don’t stop now. blood on his hands or not, he’s yours—even if he doesn’t want to be.

“don’t say it like that,” you murmur softly, hugging your arms around yourself, “please.”

you let yourself be vulnerable for just a moment—not because you want to, but because he needs to know. he needs to know how unfair he’s being and how patient you are with him despite it all. you deserve that much.

“sorry,” he mutters—he has the decency to look away and drop his smile.

“you don’t kill anyone, and i’ll look for a bigger place. deal?”

“for us…all?”

“yes. just until you figure it out, i’ll help you out with them. and then you’ll responsibly use your paycheck as a full time special grade sorcerer and maybe send a few checks my way to say thanks to my good will.”

he chuckles at that, shaking his head. “i’ll repay you,” he hums, tapping his foot. he does that when he’s nervous, you still remember—you could never forget anything about him. “i…i owe you, anyway.”

it’s quiet some more. you don’t know what to say, and quite frankly, you don’t want to say anything at all. but once more, he fills the silence for you after a while.

“what if…” he starts, “what if i want to co parent with you?”

“you dumped me,” you point out, unable to hide the bitterness any longer. it cracks from your tongue through your words like honey that went dry. “remember that? cause i sure remember.”

you’re an adult now, just barely, but an adult all the same. you should handle this the mature way—but you’re still young. still hurt. still blanketed in the fresh wave of nostalgia that leaves you aching with grief.

so you let yourself be bitter. suguru can handle that much after he left you to pick up your shattered pieces.

“i didn’t want to,” he says quietly. “i never wanted to.”

“but you did.”

“i didn’t…you didn’t deserve to see me unstable.”

“you’re not very stable right now either,” you pinch your nose tiredly, “you killed people, suguru. but somehow you can manage to have two kids now. but not me.”

“they need me,” he defends.

“i needed you too,” your voice cracks.

you did. you needed him—and you like to think he needed you too. maybe it wasn’t perfect, nothing ever is, especially not when you fight curses and see their ugliness every day. but that’s the best part of having each other—having something pretty amidst the hideousness.

he left you with more ugly than you knew what to do with. it’s unfair, you think for a moment, unfair that two girls who hardly know him at all have more of him than you ever did. he’d never abandon them—that much you know for sure.

you’ve laughed with him, held him and wiped his tears and kissed him under the moon until it became the sun. you’ve seen him with his hair down and his guard lowered. you’ve seen him in every way possible but in the end, he walked away.

they’ve seen him for less than a day and somehow, he’ll be there forever. there’s something unfair about that and you hate that you’re bitter with children but the world in cruel like that.

suguru slowly inches over—it’s cautious at first, and then he fills the gap all at once. you pretend you don’t feel the way your thighs touch.

“i need you too,” he admits, voice small. there’s a small, shaky crack that eats away at your heart, trying to gnaw into the raw part. the easy to reach part. the part you shouldn’t let him see anymore. “i…i always needed you. i’m sorry.”

“we were supposed to need each other,” you sniffle.

“we do,” he slowly slumps his head onto your shoulder. you let him stay there—don’t dare move a muscle in case he pulls away. “you’re the only thing that keeps me stable. i don’t think that’s fair.”

“needing someone isn’t unfair, suguru,” you scoff.

“okay,” he grabs your hand, squeezing. for the first time, he lets it all go. lets tears slowly slip from the corners of his eyes as he slumps into your side. he cries for riko. for kuroi. for satoru and the time he lost him for a moment. for their youth. for haibara. for not being enough even when he shouldn’t have had to be. somewhere amidst all that, your arms wrap around him and he’s pulled into your chest—that familiar feeling of your fingers threading into his hair makes the world start spinning again. “i need you,” he chokes.

“okay,” you say shakily, nodding slowly as you let yourself hope, “as long as you don’t stop this time.”

he buries his face into your chest, and you kiss the crown of his head.

cruelty is an unstoppable force. your love for suguru is an immovable object. neither is going anywhere, but perhaps they can coexist.

“satoru’s gonna have a massive headache when he explains this one to the higher ups,” you snort after a while.

he laughs into your shirt, real for the first time in a long time. “i’ll buy him something sweet. should make up for it,” he hums. and then he looks up, smiles innocently as he asks, “wanna lend me some cash? i’ll pay you back when i’m a responsible handler of money.”

“you’re hopeless,” you chuckle, “but at least you’re here.”

————— BONUS —————

“okay,” satoru starts, holding his hands up in surrender as he stands before the higher ups. damn old geezers, he thinks. “so he did kill a person or two…but—”

“there is no excuse,” a voice hisses.

“he didn’t mean it,” he huffs indignantly, “it was an accident. those can happen sometimes.”

“what—”

“he’s going through a phase, okay? let him work through it, he’ll be fine.”

“that’s not—”

“i’ll let him off the hook this time,” satoru grins, pushing his glasses up his nose as he shrugs, “he’s got a family now, y’know? kids and a spouse, and they’re looking for a home. can’t take that away from them.”

“he’s not even married—”

“it’ll happen eventually,” he insists, “so let’s all just calm down, yeah? great, thanks!”

“gojo—”

“see ya!”

he walks out, flashing an obnoxious peace sign at the higher ups as they hiss at him to return as he’s walking out. that takes care of that, he thinks, as long as suguru doesn’t make his life harder and kill more people, he can handle it—you did promise him kikufuku if he does.

satoru is babygirl defender no. 1 ain’t nobody doing it like my guy 🤞🏽 he would be loyal to you while you were in jail no doubts

[buckyalpine]

I want more mob bucky teaching a shy bambi to touch him cause she’s scared and hesitant and his sweet little princess has never touched a man before, not until she met him. (Disclaimer: all consenting adults here, reader is naïve and inexperienced but absolutely wants him just as bad)

-

“Are you sure?”

“Of course Bambi” Bucky purred, keeping you in his lap while sitting in his office chair. “You’re not doing anything wrong”

“But-

Your eyes flicked to his thick erection, the bulge in his pants making your stomach flip. You’d never admit out loud how many times you’d secretly glanced over, heat pooling between your legs whenever you’d catch a glimpse of his length pressing painfully hard against his pants.

You instinctively pressed your thighs together, biting back a whimper, struggling to ignore the pulse you felt between your now very soaked folds. Your parents told you over and over again that was a no no area. No one was ever to touch you there ad you definitely were not to touch someone’s private’s.

“I was told I’m not allowed” you shyly whispered, blinking innocently.

“Not allowed to what” Bucky smirked, knowing what you were talking about but he loved to make you squirm, “what are you now allowed to do baby”

“Touch-touch you there” you stuttered out, avoiding his darkened gaze.

“Awww princess, but daddy gave you permission, remember?” His nose nudges against your cheek, “I told you you’re allowed to touch me right here baby”

He guides your hand down to his clothed cock, letting you feel how hard he is for you. He presses your shaky palm against his length, holding it there while your fingers twitch with uncertainty. What if you did something that hurt him accidentally? Bucky could see the wheels in your head turning, tilting your face to kiss your lips.

“You won’t hurt me Bambi” he cooed, working at his belt buckle, letting it hit the floor before pulling his cock out. He was so thick and leaky, his silky pink tip wet with his arousal.

“But daddyy” you whined, worried you’d do something wrong, too nervous to touch him there. “That’s- we’re not allowed to touch that place, it’s your p-

“I’ll teach you, Y’know it feels good when you touch me there, C’mon, daddy’s cock is so hard baby, stroke it better, it’ll make me feel good” He’d told you countless times he’d love when you play with his cock and no one else but you is allowed to anyway. Only his Bambi can see and touch him there. You let him wrap your hand around this throbbing length as he guides your hand up and down while keeping you on his meaty thighs, the warm skin of his cock pulsing with each stroke.

“Fuck bambi” Bucky moaned, his head hitting the head of the chair, thrusting his hips up while he helped you jerk his cock, loving the way your eyes were fixated on his length, experimentally gripping him harder, "That’s it babygirl, stroke it nice and hard”

You whimpered at his words, the combination of his heavy breaths and raspy moans making that spot between your legs throb. Which didn’t go unnoticed by him the slightest. He let go of your hand letting you take over for a bit before moving you off his lap to stand between his legs.

“Daddy?- before you could finish, he hushed you, lifting you with ease to sit on his table in front of him. “Daddy, what are you-

“Shhh baby. Why are you all squirmy, hm? Are you all wet now Bambi?”

You whined in response, torn between wishing he’d do something and feeling conflicted over if this was okay. Bucky kissed up your thigh, sensing your hesitation.

“You’re not doing anything wrong baby, let me see princess” he moved you to lie down on his table while he spread your thighs apart, pulling up the dress of your skirt to reveal your cotton panties. “You’re such a good girl” he whispered, rubbing the soaked material up and down the middle of your clothed cunt.

“You made a mess in your panties baby” Bucky smirked, pushing them aside, the sight of your soaked folds too much for him to bother with restraint. He needed your pussy fully exposed to him, pulling them down your legs and shoving your thighs apart. "Look at that Bambi, my poor baby is soaking"

You pouted at him while he groaned at your sweet scent, leaning down to part your folds, pressing a soft kiss right onto your clit making you gasp. His warm lips were soft on your most sensitive parts, the sensation addicting as he kissed you there again. "Your little button is so precious baby, are you gonna let daddy play with you there?"

"P-please" you nodded, choking on your words when he sealed his lips around your bud, suckling with just enough pressure to make your back arch off the table.

He's actually such a menace though. Cause imagine he gets you to touch his cock whenever he wants. Doesn't matter where you are or what you're doing. He'll push his hips forward letting you know how hard he is for you, pulling it out and helping you stroke him till he's cumming all over your hand. You're always so shy about it and he gets off on the way you try so hard to not stare even though your mouth is watering.

He plays with your clit like its his own personal toy. Whenever you're in his lap, he's sneaking his hand into your panties, rubbing lazy circles around your silky skin. Sometimes its not even fast enough to make you cum. He just loves the moans you make when he's touching you somewhere no one else is allowed to, rubbing your most intimate parts like he owns you.

Imagine the day he lets you to put your mouth on him. His precious Bambi scared to suck cock but he's there to help her, parting her little pouty lips to slip his swollen tip till it hits her throat.

Don't even get me started on the day you first have sex. How much he's gonna coddle you in bed, reassuring you theres nothing dirty about the fact that his dick is stretching your cunt apart, all while playing with your clit making you squeal. Theres nothing filthy about how much cum he's going to flood you with. Nothing debauched about the way his heavy balls hit her ass or about the way it all feels so good, he's gonna fill you up again.

"D-daddy, are you sure?"

"Very sure Bambi, you're still my good girl"

After all how can something that feels this good be wrong?