#u can’t imagine how much I love em

[kik1draws]

some uninvited guests showed up out of nowhere👀

and happy holidays!!🎄❤️

[simplygojo]

Mysterious Day Off

author's note ⸺ I love the idea of domestic Toji so I actually LOVEDDD writing out this prompt request. TYSM for requesting! I hope this is up to your standards! We love a sexy lazy man.

pairing ⸺ Toji Fuhsiguro x reader

request ⸺ "'Let's spend the whole day in bed.' 'We have a few more minutes.' but toji and his partner with a job (his unemployed ass 🙄) i'm jk i love him the things i'd do to have him as my partner are unspeakable (for this can we imagine he's a stay at home partner? or maybe he has a day off? or he works from home idk how that'd work considering who he is but we're rolling with it 😭)" - Anonymous

word count ⸺ 1K

content ⸺ lazy hot toji, girlboss working reader, toji trynna make u late for work, reader uses female pronouns

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You blinked your eyes open, still wrapped in the comfort of the blankets, only to find yourself tangled in Toji’s arms. 

He lay beside you, his face buried in your neck, his breath warm against your skin. His strong arm was slung over your waist, keeping you close, as if he had no intention of letting you go.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep as he nuzzled deeper into the crook of your neck, placing lazy kisses against your skin.

You sighed, running your fingers through his messy dark hair, savouring the feeling of his warmth. 

But reality was already creeping in. You had work today, and as much as you loved mornings like this, you couldn’t stay wrapped in his arms all day.

“Toji…” You whispered though you didn’t make any immediate move to get up. You were enjoying the quiet moment, the way his broad chest rose and fell with each slow breath.

“Hm?” He hummed, not bothering to open his eyes, his grip tightening around you as if he could sense you thinking about leaving. “What’s the rush? Let’s spend the whole day in bed.”

You laughed softly, but you knew better. “I can’t. Some of us actually have to work, you know.”

Toji finally opened one eye, peering at you with a lazy, teasing grin. “I’ve got the day off.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting a little in his hold. “What a mysterious day off…you know, I still don’t even know what you do for work.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his voice full of amusement. “It’s better if you don’t.”

That only made you more curious, but you’d stopped asking a while ago. 

Toji was Toji; mysterious and frustratingly secretive. But right now, you had more pressing matters than figuring out his job—like getting to your job on time.

With a sigh, you carefully untangled yourself from his arms and swung your legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. “Well, I don’t have the day off. I need to get going, or I’m going to be late.”

As you stood and reached for your clothes, you felt Toji’s eyes on you, watching every movement like a predator watching his prey. 

He stretched out on the bed, one arm tucked behind his head, smirking as you grabbed your blouse from the back of your chair.

“You sure you have to go?” He asked, his voice a low, tempting drawl. “We’ve got a few more minutes. Could make ‘em count.”

You glanced over your shoulder, catching sight of him stretched out, shirtless, looking far too inviting. 

The way his dark hair was tousled, the way the sheets clung to his form… It was almost enough to convince you to call in sick—almost.

But you had to be strong. You had responsibilities. A big-shot financial advisor in Tokyo couldn’t exactly blow off work to cuddle all day. Right?

“Toji,” you warned, walking to the edge of the bed as you slipped your blouse on over your head. “Don’t make this harder.”

He sat up, moving with that effortless grace he always had, and in a second, his arms were around your waist, pulling you back onto the bed with him. 

You let out a startled laugh as he pinned you beneath him, his lips ghosting over your neck.

“Toji,” you warned, though your resolve was already weakening. “Don’t make this harder.”

"Harder? I’m not even trying yet," he teased, trailing kisses along your collarbone. His hands wandered up your sides, his touch warm and gentle, but the way he was looking at you was anything but innocent.

You couldn’t help but melt under his touch, your protests growing weaker with every kiss. “Toji… I really… have to…”

He cut you off with a kiss, capturing your lips in a slow, heated embrace that made you forget whatever you were about to say. 

His hands were all over you now, tracing the curve of your waist, slipping under your blouse as if trying to remind you just how good it felt to stay right there, with him.

By the time he pulled back, you were breathless, your mind foggy with a mixture of desire and frustration. 

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though there was no real bite behind it.

Toji grinned, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Maybe. But you love me for it.”

You couldn’t deny that. No matter how infuriating he could be, no matter how much he loved to tease, you loved him. And he knew it.

But you still had work.

With great effort, you pushed at his chest, trying to wiggle out of his hold. “Seriously. I have to go.”

He let out a low groan of disapproval, releasing you and rolling onto his back and throwing an arm behind his head. 

You crawled off the comfy bed and slid on your dress pants. After glancing at the clock, you frantically combed your hair and brushed on some mascara at your small vanity in the corner. 

As you turned the doorknob, you glanced back at him one last time. 

Toji was still lounging in bed, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he watched you, but there was something in his eyes, a softness beneath the usual teasing glint.

Have a good day saving Tokyo or whatever it is you do. But don’t blame me when yer missin’ me all day.”

You smirked, opening the door and taking one last look at the beautiful man laying before you. 

“I’ll survive.” 

[the-moth-archives]

୨ৎ My Personal Logan Howlett Headcanons ୨ৎ

Type: fluff, mild hurt / comfort

Word Count: 401

Notes: hello !! thank you guys for all the reposts and likes on my stuff ! it means so much to me :) i recently saw the Deadpool 3 movie and i’m now OBSESSES with Logan. i wrote this while half asleep so i hope u enjoy :) requests are now open for Wolverine !! also, rlly random, im probably gonna redo my intro !!

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- once you guys first met, he was very stand-off-ish because he feared hurting you. he would talk to you but the second he started catching feelings, he kinda backed off. you were the one to confess and reassure him that he would never hurt you.

- the relationship started off slow but it was so worth it later on when he started to get more comfortable around you.

- he’s not the biggest fan of PDA but once you’re alone, he literally can’t stop touching you

- he likes to spoon you when you sleep and when he does, he goes under your shirt to cup at your chest. it’s 100% not sexual, he just really likes the idea of being close to your heart. he doesn’t care how flat or big you are, he’s grabbing your chest. (i can imagine him kneading your chest like a cat, if you have a bigger chest)

- his love language is acts of service and quality time. if you need anything fixed or touched up, he’s your guy. if you sit with him while he fixes stuff? he may now show it on his actual face but he’s smiling like a fool.

- hair… play w his hair…

- nightmares, sadly, come easy with Logan. most of the time he just jolts awake but in rare occasions where he tries to attack the air, you’re always waiting for him and trying to calm him down. ayer these dreams, he’d want you to lay on top of him so he knows you’re there and the pressure eases him like a weighted blanket no matter your size

- he’s not the absolute best at comforting people so he’ll mostly just be an ear to talk into and will hold you if asked. his ‘advice’ is usually “i can kill em for you”

- GOD forbid you get hurt. especially by someone else? he would burn the whole world down to make you happy. he made a promise to protect you and he doesn’t break promises

- i know this literally wouldn’t work but i can imagine him purring when you scratch and run his face. he pushes his head right into your hands and is completely blissed out

- he’s an early riser but tries to not wake you up. sometimes he does and he hushed you back to sleep while rubbing your back.

- i love him sm it’s not funny, logan pls marry me

quick thing !! here’s some Palestine donation links if you wish to donate and help families !

[nimmie-nugget]

Hello :3

Can I request?

Logan x reader but the reader is good at martial arts and protects logan? :3‼️

It can be taekwondo, or hapkido or anything u can choose :3‼️‼️

(I love ur stories abt sbg sm bro skdkkwkdk)

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Note#1: Anonnnnnnn🥺👉👈 M’SO HAPPPPYYYYYYYYYY(unless u requested to the wrong person😭🫶) recently just started writing abt em😼💪 Ego go boom boom, just don’t remind me of the Aiden fic I wrote💀🫶🫶—Enjoy!

Note#2: I LOVE LOGAN PLSSSS, I WANT SOMEONE SMART AND KIND IFHHHHHHHJEHDHSNDJ

Note#3: I didn’t really specify the fighting style or anything so you can just leave that part up to the imagination :3

Warning: I apologize prior for any Grammer, Spelling+etc errors. Cringe?? Logan may be OOC >:(

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Logan would honestly love you so much!! You’re genuinely the first person who hung out with him!! Eventually leading to a romantic relationship!!

“[N/N], is it alright if I watch?…I feel so entranced watching you practice.” He muttered to you, fiddling with his fingers as he blushed, looking down at his shoes, wanting an excuse to hang out for the time being.

Logan would have to call out on you to be careful when you pew pew around Mother Nature. He does hold some passion for it after all.

“[N/N]?…could you watch out for the bush please? I heard apples will grow on it soon and I’d really like some..!” He says, nervously smiling as he walked up to you and securely held your hand, enjoying the warmth and protection you give off.

Logan who’d always cheer for you silently when you go up against other people, even if you lose it doesn’t matter to him! He supports you no matter what.

“Nothing to be sad about, you tried your best right?” He reassured, wanting you to feel better about yourself and not think about the defeat. Grabbing your hand with tender and planting a soft, passionate kiss on your lips.

Logan just knew that he could always come to you if he ever felt uneasy!! Always came to you after dealing with Barron daily.

“Be careful?? Please? I don’t want you to get hurt..” He said with concern as he frowned, his hands holding onto your arm with immense grip, shaking.

Logan who’d always scold you and patch you up at the same time if you get injured.

“Please never do that again? You had me so worried!! Think about what your actions before you do it!!” He scolded with concern, dabbing ointment onto your wound with a cotton swab.

Logan who learned how to fight by observing you, wanting to protect you too but it’s always the other way around.

“Like this?” He questioned, looking to see your nod of approval as he practiced.

Logan when he first ever beat up Barron and the group, he ranted to you about it with a hint of anger remembering everything Barron had done.

“You can’t just go bullying others for no reason!! Ugh..” Logan said annoyed, quite out of character for him but you were definitely proud!!

Ruffling his hair as you planted a kiss on his forehead, by that he instantly calmed down and snuggled into you, looking at you as he blushed.

Logan knew that you’d go to Savannah if he ever told you about what happened.

“I know you are strong but…I don’t want you to get hurt.” He muttered to himself anxiously as he glanced at you with fondness.

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Lil Note: Hearts, Comments and Reblogs are Appreciated💙

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[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | smau: one year!

lukecastell4n posted a story!

one year with my five ⭐️

tagged yn_yln.

yn_yln replied to this story:

yn_yln: i love you so much

yn_yln: i miss you so much

lukecastell4n: im literally in the kitchen making u breakfast

lukecastell4n: i love you more btw

yn_yln: idc about the food come back to bed

lukecastell4n: dont tempt me i will burn the pancakes

yn_yln: i need a kiss

lukecastell4n: 🏃🏻🏃🏻🏃🏻🏃🏻 coming

yn_yln: san francisco, new york, boston, and anywhere else you might end up, i’ll be right there by your side. happy one year to us. you’re my favorite person.

im not good with words the way that you are, my poet, but i’ll give you a hundred kisses and a million more to show you how i feel about you.

i love you, pretty boy. here’s to one year and a hundred more.

tagged lukecastell4n.

lukecastell4n: you’re never getting rid of me 🙂‍↕️

yn_yln: i know 😕

travisstoll: LMFAOOOOO

connorstoll: simp 🫵🏼

lukecastell4n: the emoji????? HELLOOOOO????

lukecastell4n: i love you five star. ♾️

yn_yln: i love you more 🩷

chrisr0driguez: imagine JUST BARELY celebrating ur one year 🥱 clarisselarue couldn’t be us!

clarisselarue: tell em baby

yn_yln: OK SORRY I WAS SCARED OF MY FEELINGS FOR HIM

lukecastell4n: yn_yln awww you have feelings for me fr??? 🥹

yn_yln: lukecastell4n i want to break up.

pois0nedmercuryf4n: LOL HER COMMENTS??? i love yn.

iluveluk3: no literally the perfect balance of love and bullying LOLLLLLL

liked by yn_yln.

lukecastell4n: u guys are supposed to be on my side 😀

pois0nedmercuryf4n: lukecastell4n sorry we’re yn stans first!

liked by yn_yln and lukecastell4n.

🎵: glue song by beabadoobee

lukecastell4n: not to be annoying on the main but today is my one year with my favorite person in the world and i need to share it with everyone.

my muse, my love, my forever five star. we’ve been apart more than we’ve been together in person this year but i wouldn’t choose anyone or anything else over you, over us.

the distance is fine for now because we have the rest of forever to be with each other. i love you, five star.

p.s stop looking over my shoulder while i type this.

tagged yn_yln.

yn_yln: how dare you make me cry on our anniversary

yn_yln: you’re evil

yn_yln: fuck i love you so much

lukecastell4n: i love you more you dork stop crying

yn_yln: i just want to make it known that he’s also crying rn

chrisr0driguez: everyone point and laugh at lukecastell4n 🤣🫵🏼

travisstoll: lukecastell4n 🤣🫵🏼

connorstoll: lukecastell4n 🤣🤣🤣🫵🏼

travisstoll: mama y papa

p0isonedmercuryluvr: real

chrisr0driguez: rs, so happy for you bro 🩷 don’t let her go

chrisr0driguez: clar will kill u i think

lukecastell4n: clarisselarue dont worry clar i wouldn’t even dream of it

clarisselarue: good 🥰🔪

p0isonedmercuryfans: happy 1 year to lukecastell4n and yn_yln! thank you yn for giving us bf!luke 🙏🏽

tagged lukecastell4n and yn_yln.

yn_yln: thank u guys!!!! 🩷🩷🩷

liked by p0isonedmercuryfans.

lukeluvr: husband! luke when????

lukecastell4n: soon 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

yn_yln: lukecastell4n 🤨🤨

lukecastell4n: gods can’t a guy plan a proposal in peace???

yn_yln: THE TABLOIDS ARE GONNA GO CRAZY WITH THIS ONE

iluvpm: the way luke and yn are probably giggling writing these comments while they’re next to each other rn omg

chrisr0dfan: GOD WHEN IS IT MY TUUUURRRNNNN

pm4ever: no ur so right… sleeping on the highway tn

lukecastell4n: iluvpm u would be correct.

iluvpm: lukecastell4n ARIANA WHAT ARE U DOING HERE

[wintrwinchestr]

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

read this chapter on ao3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that? 

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway? 

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol. 

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has. 

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night. 

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out. 

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought. 

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you. 

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away. 

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge. 

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears. 

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. ��Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need. 

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still. 

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans. 

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue. 

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour. 

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—” 

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” 

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already. 

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some. 

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise. 

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that. 

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why. 

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything. 

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.” 

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. 

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now. 

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up. 

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.” 

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers. 

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough. 

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band. 

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight. 

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary. 

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet. 

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

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[devilmademewriteit]

Joel Miller & Javier Peña Headcanons (Drabbles?) Part 3!

another smutty edition<3

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, oral [both receiving], fem penetration, masturbation) so 18+ only content; afab fem reader; mentions of hair pulling; bratty!reader; violence (slapping, choking, threats); mentions of pornography; description of a panic attack; step-cest; pet names (baby, angel, sweetheart, darlin, hermosa, cariño) dubcon/non-con (age gap, power dynamics, coercion, just a bunch o’ shady shit in general imsosorry)

No use of y/n.

Hello! In honour of 2K followers (woot woot!!!) here is yet another work of absolute FILTH. These just get more and more insane idk what to do w myself. Your requests r gonna send me straight to hell. Anyways, I love u all so much. Don’t forget to join the taglist, you can find the other drabbles on my masterlist, & part 3 of Salvatore coming soon!

-em<3

—

Javi loves when you take charge—God, it just makes him laugh. He watches you, faithful that you’re in control while you ride him, fingers coiling weakly around his neck. “Gonna come for me, Peña?” He lets your imagination run wild until he grows impatient, sitting up to crush you between his arms, fucking up into you at his signature brutal pace. “Where’s all that tough talk now, hermosa?” He sounds so soft, so gentle compared to the thrust of his hips—snapping to bruise against the supple skin of your thighs. You never know how he manages to last so long, only that by the time his hot seed is leaking down between your legs, you’re barely conscious, barely human, and squirming away from those fingers—that cock—stealing non-stop orgasms from your core. He’s only satisfied once you’re reduced to his personal little plaything.

“Where you goin’, baby? I’m not fuckin’ done with you.”

Stepdad!Joel catching you and your boyfriend messing around in your bedroom; “Get out,” he growls, holding the door open as the young man scurries out, averting Miller’s violent gaze with his own downcast, darting eyes, hurriedly tucking himself back into his pants. Shame spreads like the wings of a Monarch across your heating cheeks. “Joel—I—” but he’s already too close, shaking his head in disappointment as he unhooks the buckle of his belt. “Didn’ think you were like that, baby…” and he’s pinning your shoulders down, covering your mouth with his calloused hand, muffling your protests to keep your little lesson private. “Pay attention, angel. F’you’re gonna act like a slut, you’re gonna get used like one, too.” Joel is huge, he stretches you far, far wider than your boyfriend ever could. When he bottoms out between your tight, silken walls, you can’t help your cry of surprise, of pain—of reluctant ecstasy. “Sshh, baby—don’t scream, don’t scream.”

“M’doin’ you a favour, see? Think you don’t fuckin’ deserve this?”

It had been ages since you’d last seen him. He’d gotten himself disciplinary leave—some shady business with an anti-Escobar group of vigilantes. But he’s back now (as your boss, no less) and so is that stupid-old-crush. And God, does he ever look good, sulking around in those navy fitted suits. Your heart had lurched when he’d recognized you—“Nice seeing a familiar face around here, ‘specially a pretty one like yours”—but working late tonight, finally on your way out the door, he commands it to a full stop when a worn-down, stressed-out Javier Peña calls you back into his office. “I-I don’t have a ride home, sir—I can’t miss the last bus,” as he dips down to brush kisses to the side of your throat, as his hands caress the valley of your waist, as he lifts you onto his desk, carelessly scattering confidential affidavits, narco-profiles, ball-point pens. “Oh, but you won’t last long, cariño—I promise,” and you believe him, because his thumb on that delicate, throbbing bud already beckons, pulls, drags you towards oblivion. Sooner or later, he would’ve had you like this—spread open on lacquered oak; thighs trembling in the cradle of his grip; fingers, helpless, tugging at his collar as his own curl inside you. You’re learning a new language: Javier’s native tongue.

“Not gonna say ‘no’ to your boss, now, are you, sweetheart?”

Slapping brat-tamer!Joel across the face after he spends hours teasing your dripping cunt; feeling him ripple with lust-soaked aggression when he finally pulls his damp cock from its drag-and-circle strokes against your clit. “Joel—fuck me, already,” and he claps the back of his hand across your cheekbone, yanks you down the mattress, settles himself to tower, cock in hand, right above your face. He wrenches your lips apart, slaps his length against your awaiting tongue—“Watch your mouth”—eyes alight with caution, irritation, warning. So, you respond, “Fuck you.” A big ol’ fist yanks you up by your hair—you know you’re being punished when he stuffs your filthy mouth oh-so-full with his length. “Yeah, fuck you too.” Every pained choke, the pressure of your hands pushing against the merciless, quick snaps of his thighs—it’s Joel Miller’s favourite kind of apology. He’s nonchalant, deceptively casual when he says it: “Nah, you don’t needa breathe—”

“—You’re gonna stop bein’ such a brat, or you’re gonna gag on an old man’s cock ‘til it fuckin’ kills y’a… whichever comes first, angel.”

On those rare nights he found himself alone, Javi liked to jack off, a glass of whiskey in his free hand. Sometimes with porn, most often without. When he did use the tapes, however, his go-to featured a dark haired man brutally fucking a girl into the dented pillows of a worn-in couch—God, she looked just like you. The real ‘you’ that was tough, incorruptible, a bit high-strung, and completely self-denying becomes a needy, cock-drunk mess at 6:12. Split wide open, taking it so rough, she whines, “You’re g’na m-make me come all—all over your c-cock.” If Javi doesn’t finish right then, he always does around the eleven minute mark, when her cheeks puff up around his fat tip, glassy eyes coming alive with that familiar, feminine devotion to male pleasure. When a forceful hand drags her lips down a long length of cock, that’s when Javi doesn’t stand a chance; he hangs off her every muffled, desperate word (and Christ, does her voice ever sound like yours): “Use me—please—use me, use me, use me.” In his twisted, sex-addled mind, he’s answering you, warm spend dripping onto thick, coiled fingers:

“I want to—fuck, wanna use every square inch of you, baby.”

The Jackson commune required all adults to take shifts patrolling the community; you’d been paired up with a far older, far more experienced, and far more… volatile partner. He rarely made conversation, but he got on with your dad, so it seemed like a good pairing, one that might teach you a thing or two—a rational decision. It wasn’t. Very quickly, you’d noticed his near tangible stares of hunger, the way his fingers clenched into white-knuckle-fists every time the weather warmed and your clothing got shorter—tighter. Soon, you’d made up your mind: you needed Joel. “Stop fuckin’ teasin’” he’d growled under the blood-orange glow of the southern sunset, grasping your flattened palm and moving it from its suggestive position on his chest, “M’not givin’ it to you.” Creeping in close, running your thumb across the sparse, silver-flecked hairs peppering his rigid jaw: “But I’ll be so good, Miller—I’ll listen, I can beg for it, too—please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“S’exactly the problem, darlin’. Jus’ one touch n’ I’d have you doin the dirtiest things for me… Fuck, wouldn’t be able to look your old man in the eye for months.”

Bonus Fluff:

Thank God they’d managed to stop the outbreak. It had felt like the end, at first, with the government-mandated lockdowns, people hoarding toilet paper and Lysol, going stir-crazy behind closed doors. And thank God for your neighbour, Joel Miller, who’d become something like your rock throughout those terrifying weeks. He’d never been close with your emotionally distant parents (really, who was?) but you were friends with his daughter, so he’d always treated you like one of his own. Until one Friday night, when you’d fallen asleep watching TV with Sarah and woken up to the thrum of your heart pounding against your ribs, beige walls closing in tight, the beginnings of a panic attack cresting throughout your shaking body. “S’okay, s’okay,” and he’d been there, cradling you in those blue-collar arms, cooing wispy, gentle comforts into the crook of your neck. The memory was mostly haze—but you kept the ghostly caresses of his finger tips smoothing the tense muscles beneath your skin, the near-kisses he’d brushed to your forehead, throat, and cheeks, and especially his look of restraint as he’d replaced your restrictive clothes with his own oversized tee. The next morning, you’d come to in his bed, nose nestled into the crumpled folds of his black t-shirt. Heat blossomed across your cheeks as the sunrise brought realization’s dawn upon you. “You jus’ wouldn’ calm down—” Joel’s concern had overwhelmed his tone as his thumb traced the apex of your cheekbone.

“Jus’ couldn’t stand to see you so… upset, sweetheart. Holdin’ you’s the only thing that seemed to do you any good.”

It took months of dating before Javi had been willing to surrender any personal information, any vulnerable thoughts to you. Christ, just learning his father’s name had felt like cracking the Da Vinci code. Instead of talking, whenever he got sad, angry, or upset, he soothed himself by stripping you down, shoving you onto all fours or holding your mouth open between his thumb and index—either one worked just as well. Somewhere down the line, you’d learnt that splitting you open left him more inclined to open up, himself. “Why is it always rough when you’re… unhappy?” It’s a timid question, posed with your cheek laid against his shoulder. First, he asks if you really want to hear the answer. Then, he responds with his eyes closed, shy strokes up and down the length of your spine. “Guess I like the control—feel so fuckin’ out of it when shit gets to me.” You go silent, startled by his honesty. “Does it bother you?” and he sounds nervous, concerned. “No,” you say passionately, ardently. “I like knowing I can help.” Smooth and quick, Javi cups your cheeks, pulling you up to straddle him and laying a fierce kiss at the altar of your swollen lips.

“You single-handedly brought me back to life, baby. Got no fuckin’ clue how much you do for me, every damn day.”

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @pining-and-tired @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @sallymilkweed @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @ayehomo

(The rest of the tags will be in a reblog—I don’t want this post to crash b/c of the amount of tags lol).

[princessbrunette]

just imagine older!john b's ego gets to em too havin a pretty little thing mewling underneath him, talkin ab how s'too much or even showin up at his front door one night all needy n teary eyed!! s' not her fault no one can make her feel as good as he can!!! - 🍓

he loves it soooo much !!!! you’re always showing up at the best times when he’s all frustrated n bored, rubbing at the creases in his forehead as he stares at a large map on his table in his dimly lit home !!!

you show up in some thin sundress n little cardigan that’s gonna be off you in an instant, rambling all slurred n needy about how you rode your bike over there and even your bike seat was all wet from how bad u needed him !! he’s just chuckling n easing you inside, stroking your back and telling you it’s okay !! don’t ever be afraid to ask your john b for help !!

he feels young again when he’s got you on your back, spread open for him, weakly pushing at his tummy when it’s too much !! “c—can’t take you, john!” you whine, wriggling away but he just slots his hands under your back and carries on grinding inside you, holding you down on it easily !!

“you can. wanna know how i know you can? because this little pussy took me so nicely last time. remember, sweetheart? c’mon, gimme a good one, yeah?”

[sapphicdib]

Yes, hi, hello, I need you to STOP making such awesome art.

I apologize, but this art is just too good!!! It’s DANGEROUS! Do you know how many people are going to be sucked down the rabbit hole of scrolling down your page just to see all of it??? This is like doom scrolling but WORSE!

(AUHGYYHVH IN ALL SERIOUSNESS PLEASE DONT STOP I LOVE YOUR ART SO MUCH GRFRRXCTCTVHHCHVFF)

(also… did you call sigs a girl..? I promise I’m not trying to sound rude- just a genuine question, I’ve never had someone interpret them as a girl before-)

OMG!! thank you so much x33 i am def never gonna stop!! art is like therapy to me i think if i stopped making it i would explode because so many emotions build up inside me and i usually dump them onto the page to get em out!! (or screen, i guess, cuz i draw digitally) thank u for the kind words this made my day!! 🩷🩷

and yeah!! i am the infamous Girlsig Guy (gender neutral) although technically my sig is genderfluid (he/she/it) and her gender is whatever’s funniest in the moment pfft. and i say infamous literally bc ive deadass seen a confession on the rw confession blog complaining bout “people” (me) making sig a “girl” just so lilypad is a lesbian ship…imagine not knowing the sapphicdib Sig Lore‼️‼️ 🙄 /hj my sig has layers!!

anyways thank u sm for the kind words!! unfortunately it’s been kinda hard to make new art cuz i’ve been busy with work and it makes me so tired when i get home i can’t draw >:( but i am chugging away at stuff slowly but surely :3 have some stuff i’ve never posted, one is from a response to an ask that i never finished (oops) and another is a drawing of me n my gf i made as a playlist cover for the playlist i made them (we make me homophobic fr /j)

[sinsandsweetness]

Good morning beaut! 🧸🥺

I'm loving. your fics <3

Could I possibly have a stepdad! rick x plus size! female reader <3

I do have some more stepdad!rick in the works but here’s a little something for u in the meantime, my love <3

18+ under the cut

The wet kisses on your inner thighs send butterflies right to your core. Painted fingernails already tangled in his hickory curls. Your back arches off the bed as Rick’s lips make their way up and down your body. Kissing every inch of your tummy, your hips and your panties. Pretty, pink lace, hugging every curve so delicately, leaving very little to the imagination. And no matter how much you whine and beg, he refuses to take them off.

“They’re just so pretty, baby. Wouldn’t want to let ‘em go to waste, would you?” He mumbles into your thigh, eyes fluttering shut as he goes to suck a dark hickey into your flesh.

“Ugh,” you groan. The grip on his hair, tightening in frustration.

You don’t really care if they go to waste or not. You’re soaking through the damn fabric at this point. Every feather light touch is heightened from the hour of teasing you’re being forced to endure. Rick having taken full advantage of the fact he has you to himself for the weekend. Your mom is on a two day trip to Oceanside with a few other women from the community, some kind of self defense workshop that Rosita was putting on. Whatever. You didn’t care. Staying home with your stepdad sounded a hell of a lot more fun.

And in this moment, despite what feels like some kind of never ending torture, you’re absolutely right. It is fun. Rick mouthing at your cunt, over the lace of your panties, his tongue only further dampening the arousal coated lace in between your legs. He rarely gets to take his time with you, and though he feels like he’s savouring the moment by prolonging your orgasm, you want nothing more then for him to rip the lace off your body and eat you out until you scream his name.

You’re whines must be getting your hint across because he speeds up his pace a little. Which you make sure to thank him for with a drawn out moan of his name. It helps that his skilled tongue knows exactly where you’re sensitive bundle of nerves is pulsing for him. Begging for his attention. And you’re more than a little shocked at how fast your orgasm is actually building, given that fact that he still hasn’t taken the pretty panties off yet. The friction of the lace against your clit is different. Stimulating you in a way you aren’t familiar with. Wet lace rubbing up and down your cunt as he eats you out through your panties.

But before you know it, you’re legs are coming in on his head like a pair of earmuffs, head shooting off the bed as you gasp for air. He keeps going, nose grinding against your clit while his grip tightens around the fat of your thighs. Tummy twitching and legs shaking from the intensity of the climax.

When he comes up for a kiss, you can taste your cum on his lips. He pushes your legs open and positions himself between them. Hooking a finger under the soaking fabric, pulling them to the side and lining himself up. Immediately smirking when you start to whine,

“Really? Just take em’ off, Rick. Please.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes at your attitude. His hand comes up and squishes your cheeks, forcing you to look right at him.

His voice is low, and his stormy eyes darken. Suddenly, you start to regret giving him any attitude.

“Maybe I should gag you with em’, huh. That’d quit your whining, wouldn’t it? Why can’t you just be grateful and take it like a good girl?”

Yeah, you definitely regret giving him that attitude. And unfortunately, you’re almost positive that no amount of “I’m sorry, daddy. I’ll be good, daddy,”s will be enough to dodge the bullet that you’re about to get hit with. But hey, it’s worth a shot, right?

[i4bellingham]

INSTAGRAM FILES: joão felix x singer!reader

SYNOPSIS: in which you and joão slowly unveil your relationship together as you announce your new EP.

WARNING: incorrect portuguese to english translation

yourusername

❤️ 💭 ↗️ 　　　　　• •

Liked by oliviarodrigo, kaiagerber and 1,245,657 others

yourusername cooking something in the lab ⚗️

tagged: yourproducer

user1 are we having another album soon ? 👀

user2 after a year and a half the drought is finally oveeeeeeeer

user3 omg imagine if she features someone in a track with her 😣

user4 hmm, miss olivia rodrigo liked her post

user5 she literally follows y/n of course there's a possibility that she could like her posts lmao y'all reaching sometimes

oliviarodrigo 😍😍

　　　

yourusername

❤️ 💭 ↗️ 　　　　　 • •

Liked by joaofelix79, jennaortega and 2,457,097 others

yourusername after eight months of working on this EP, i am very happy to finally announce that OUT OF THE BLUE will be out in a week!! the entire song genre is something that i’ve never worked with before but it is heavily inspired by the experiences, memories and happenings that i went through this year and i am proud to say that the songs featured in this EP are my ultimate favorites in all of my creations! i hope you guys will enjoy listening to my craft as much as i enjoyed preparing it!

p.s. to my muse, to the sole reason of this EP (you know who you are) thank you so much for the support and love you have given me relentlessly. this one is for you ❤️

conangray slay miss bae 😍

madisonbeer can’t wait for the release!!! 💗

user1 wAIT A DAMN MINUTE-

user1 EP LAUNCH WITH A SOFT LAUNCH-

user1 MISS MA'AM WE MISSED AN ENTIRE CHAPTER WHAT THE FUCK

user2 this is a live broadcast of y/n stans losing their minds bcs of this ep announcement + the soft launch 😭

user3 user1 mood 😭😭

jennaortega ❤️❤️❤️

user4 joao what r u doing here fam

user5 can he not be a y/n stan like the majority of us lingering in her ig posts my god

　　　

joaofelix79

❤️ 💭 ↗️ 　　　　　• •

Liked by yourusername, enzojfernandez, chelseafc and 987,463 others

joaofelix79 an out of the blue beach trip ⛱️

user1 damn u look fine as fuck

user2 ive never wanted to be a seat so bad in my entire life

user3 that caption ???? anyone noticing something ???

user4 wait are u a y/n fan too? 😭

user3 user4 she's my wife ❤️

user5 please provide context for us uncultured people in the back

user3 user5 so basically y/n posted her new ep entitled OUT OF THE BLUE just last week and joao has been liking her ig posts and now we have his caption 🤔

user4 not only that but y/n soft launched someone in her ig feed too and then we have joao posting that middle pic holding hands with someone AND Y/N LIKED IT

enzojfernandez have fun brother!

chelseafc enjoy joaofelix79 ☺️

　

yourusername

❤️ 💭 ↗️　　　 　　 • •

Liked by jenassainte, madisonbeer and 5,675,870 others

yourusername guess we're doing this out of the blue 🤷🏻‍♀️ the last year had been absolutely memorable for me with you by my side. i can never thank the universe enough for letting our paths cross, for letting us create all the beautiful memories we have together. i love you always, my muse ❤️

tagged: joaofelix79

jennaortega you guys are so cute please 😭

masonmount the cat’s finally out of the bag!!

oliviarodrigo finding someone willing to change spots with me when they start acting all lovey-dovey 😍

chelseafc beautiful couple ❤️

joaofelix79 poderia escrever muitas páginas para dizer o quanto te amo, mas agora ambos sabemos que nenhuma palavra poderia ser suficiente para o quanto significas para mim e o quanto te amo. por causa disso, continuarei a fazê-lo mostrando-te o quanto em vez disso. tu fazes de mim o amor mais feliz, eu amo-te tanto ❤️ i could write a plenty of pages to say how much i love you but by now we both know no words could suffice to how much you mean to me and how much i love you. because of that, i will continue doing so by showing you how much instead. you make me the happiest love, i love you so much.

comments on this post have been limited.

[siyooungi]

HAII i love ur works sm THEYRE HONESTLY WELL WRITTEN. NO THWYRE A MASTERPIECE i always smiliny n shi everytime i read em🤭

i act have a request!! can you please write a idol!huh yunjin x yn. theyve been in a relationship for almost a year. ANDD yn is a shy person,she rarely talk cause shes insecure w her voice and the way she pronounce stuff(she has lisp? she can’t properly pronounce the letter S” so means yunjin rarely heard her voice.

yunjin did try to convince her multiple time that yn voice is the most beautiful sound in this world,its like a lullaby to yunjin.

THEN on their first anniversary,yn decided to suprise yunjin. yunjin woke up to a singing vd by yn HSJSHSHS OMG the vd is like this https://youtu.be/V-1vBrlD0Bc (lets pretend thats yn???!3!3!3)) YEAH so maybe you can come up w rhe ending cause i act dont have any idea for that hehe. THATS ALL FROM ME THANK YOU SO MUCH MY BRO ILOVE U SM (you dont have to do the request if youre busy<3 it just at thought from my brain hehe)

A/N: Awww, thank you so much!! That really means a lot. Although the video was unavailable, I can only imagine how amazing it sounded. I really hope you like this then!!

Pairing: Yunjin x Fem!Reader

Idol: Huh Yunjin (Le Sserafim)

Warning(s): None!

Yunjin is someone you’d consider your greatest supporter and hype-woman, as there was not a single day that passed where she wasn’t treating you like you were a prized possession. She loved everything about you, everything, from all of your little mannerisms to the beauty you possessed. On top of that, she made you the happiest girl in the world. Some might even consider her the ideal lover, a role that suits her entirely.

You, however, despite all of the never-ending praise and love she showered you with, were burdened by a deep insecurity that prevented you from fully expressing yourself. You dealt with a lisp, which made it difficult for you to pronounce the letter 's,' becoming a source of self-doubt and unease.

Yunjin, being the loving and supportive girlfriend that she was, had repeatedly reassured you that your voice was a treasure, a melody that resonated deeply within her heart. She cherished every hum and shake of the head that you used as substitutes for words. Hell, she even got excited when you spoke a few words. It was all she would typically get when you spoke to her. Despite Yunjin’s best efforts, you remained hesitant and continued to limit your speech, unable to believe in your own voice's beauty.

As your first anniversary approached, you did your best to overcome your fear and surprise Yunjin with something you’d hope she’d feel proud of. Considering you don’t speak often, you figured the least you could do was use your voice for your anniversary. Although she adapted to your lack of vocalness, that didn’t mean she didn’t want it. She’d made it clear every time she tried to evoke more words out of you. Whilst you were more quiet, you expressed yourself through actions. That was something she was always grateful for.

On the day right before your anniversary, while Yunjin was away at practice and you had the place to yourself, you mustered up all your courage to do what you had been planning for awhile.

With trembling hands, you composed yourself and positioned your phone before hitting the record button. Taking a deep breath, you began to sing.

The sweet, tender sound that escaped your lips filled the room. Your voice carried a vulnerability that mirrored your own insecurities, yet it was also infused with a profound love that only Yunjin could truly understand.

When you felt that you sang enough and brought the song to an end, you stopped the recording. It wasn’t necessarily long, but it was more than enough. Well, at least that’s what you hoped.

Feeling satisfied with the progress you made, you locked your phone with a smile. You would send this to Yunjin when she headed off to sleep. She was going to stay the night with her members and drive back to you on the day of your anniversary.

Fortunately, that day arrived rather quickly. You were still asleep by the time Yunjin had awoken. She wanted to wake up early so she could get a gift for you and then head your way, hopefully arriving before you woke up.

Yunjin’s alarm went off, waking her up and earning a groan in response. She picked up her phone to look at the time, squinting her eyes as they attempted to adjust to the brightness of her screen. As soon as her eyes were used to it, she did just that and while doing so, she noticed a message in her notification center. Wondering who could’ve possibly texted her while she was asleep, she unlocked her phone and checked.

It was from you, morphing her confusion into exhilaration. She clicked on the message and saw that it was an attachment, returning her puzzled expression as she sat up straighter and tapped on the video.

The sound of your voice filled the space of her room, bouncing off the walls and gracefully entering her ears. The latter couldn’t help the emotions that washed over her at that moment.

Yunjin's eyes welled up with tears as she listened, captivated by the beauty that resonated within every note. Your voice washed over Yunjin like a gentle wave, drowning out any doubts or insecurities. In that moment, she realized that your voice was not just a lullaby to her, but a symphony of love and vulnerability that transcended any imperfections.

The video eventually came to an end, causing her to quickly wipe her tears away and jump out of bed, forgetting to respond. She rushed to get ready, nearly tripping over her pants as she hopped on one leg to pull them up.

She was ready in record time, putting her phone in her pocket and grabbing her bag. She quickly double checked the bag for the necklace she bought you before closing it and running outside. Her manager knew that she was planning on getting you some flowers, so they already had the car ready by the time she made it outside.

Yunjin hastily got into the car and closed the door. Sensing the younger girl’s urgency, they sped off and headed to a local flower store. As fast as she entered the vehicle, she exited just as swift.

She searched the shop for your favorite flowers and and grabbed them as soon as she spotted them. Not wasting any time, she paid the owner and sent a thankful smile their way before rushing back out.

It didn’t take long before she arrived to your place. Thanking her manager as she got out, she made her way to your front door, knowing you’d still be asleep. She had the spare key to get inside, anyways.

Once inside, Yunjin took the small jewelry box containing your necklace and put it in her pocket, as well as placing the flowers on the counter. Yunjin tiptoed through the hallway, careful not to make a sound. She gently pushed open your door, revealing a scene that melted her heart. There, lying peacefully under the covers was your sleeping figure.

A tender smile graced Yunjin's lips as she observed her sleeping beauty. She couldn't help but feel a rush of overwhelming love and admiration. Kneeling beside the bed, Yunjin reached out to caress your hair, her fingertips gliding through the strands with utmost care.

As if sensing Yunjin’s presence, you stirred, slowly awakening from your blissful slumber. Your eyes fluttered open, and a tired but content smile adorned your face. Seeing Yunjin before you brought a spark of joy to your eyes.

"Hey," You murmured, your voice filled with warmth and love.

"Hey, sleepyhead," Yunjin whispered softly, her voice carrying a gentle tenderness. "Happy anniversary, my love."

Your smile widened as you stretched lazily, reaching out to pull Yunjin closer. She intertwined her fingers with yours, putting your hand on the pillow and leaning in for a soft kiss.

"I am really lucky to have you," You murmured, your voice laced with sincerity. "Thank you for being in my life."

Yunjin stayed close and she looked you deeply in the eyes, smiling fondly. "No, thank you for making every day brighter, for being the love of my life." Her voice was filled with a deep affection that resonated within their shared space.

“And thank you for allowing me to hear that beautiful voice of yours. Best thing to wake up to.” You felt your flush from realization. You completely forgot you sent her that video of you singing before you went to sleep.

“Ah..”

“Well, second best thing to wake up to. You’re first.” Yunjin spoke as she used her free hand to caress your cheek. The reason behind your flushed face was no longer from embarrassment, but instead from your girlfriend’s words.

“Just come in the bed..” You mumbled, patting the space beside you. If she wasn’t within such close proximity, she wouldn’t have heard you. Smiling, she did just that and laid on her back, turning her head in your direction. While you were beneath the covers, she was on above them, considering she was already dressed for the day.

You observed as she got comfortable before inching closer, wanting to be as close as possible, evoking a chuckle out of the raven haired girl. She happily embraced you, allowing you to rest your head on her chest.

“Do you want your gift?” Yunjin asked quietly, playing with your hair and looking up at the ceiling as she waited for your response. You hummed, not wanting to get up.

“Not at the moment. I just want to cuddle for awhile.”

Pleased with your answer, she planted a kiss on your forehead before resting her head on yours. Your breathing synced up with hers and you closed your eyes, feeling a wave of drowsiness wash over you again. She knew it wouldn’t take long for you to fall back asleep, so she closed her eyes as well. You both would be able to further enjoy your anniversary when you woke up.

A/N: Thank you for the request, and love you too!!! <33

[sweetstench]

answering a bunch of questions

i get lots of asks but i'm bad at responding to them, so here's a big post where i answer all of em in a row. sorry if i missed any

thank you! honestly voice acting for my videos has helped me a lot over the years; I find it a lot easier to experiment with my voice in character, when it’s detached from my own ego. re: publicly transitioning, i can only speak from my own experience, but i’ve found it just takes a lot of baby steps to get where you want to be. it’s awkward at first but i much prefer to be awkwardly me rather than someone i’m not. i believe in you!

thanks, that's very considerate! yeah i'm sweetstench on youtube, tiktok, and twitter, and i'm sweet.stench on ig because someone else got it. i'll add the links to my blog header at some point, i hardly know how to use this website

i'm carter amelia davis, and i don't make creepy videos, all of my videos are nice :)

NO!!! that is not ok

hmm i live in minneapolis, that must have been my philly doppelganger

cool, i'm glad i did a good job tagging that one. someone actually requested the “parasite” tag for that one so i added it. it seems like people really want to define their own experiences on here and i respect that. tagging my posts kinda makes it so I can’t post “in character,” but i also don’t want people to be uncomfortable. my goal with the gore and body horror shit is to be nasty, so i can’t fault people for finding it nasty, haha. just trying to do my best

thanks, it's been a good one. i had some good tamales

this is so sweet of you to say! means a lot, truly <3

i have to imagine this was sent with good intentions but it feels like a well-crafted neg, haha. anyway peace n luv xoxo

i'm pleased to hear that i’m giving off leaking gas pipe woman vibes. Very cunty

not sure how to engage with this one , never had someone hit on me anonymously.. you correctly clocked me as a lesbo tho, haha

nope, can't dwell on my past work. gotta keep moving forward!

you must be cutie-melon to the fullest extent!

i looked it up, this is some freaky stuff! thanx for recommend

~~~ General Nice Comments Section ~~~

~~~ These Are All Appreciated, Thank U ~~~

i hereby grant swagheartwerewolf permission to fuck, in general. they are no longer banned from making love. that is my decree.

[hungharrington]

i would uh.. like to put my own little menace!steve in bed thoughts out here.. they will make ZERO sense and will be all jumbly n gross but it’s like midnight n i have to be up at 6am so BE KIND <3

as someone who is 100% very shy/extra nervous at first, no noise, trying to mask facial expressions and hide parts of my body. this type of reader especially?? oh ho ho

menace!steve doubles as sorta loving!perv!steve. he can and will fantasise abt cumming on ur tummy and move his way up the best he can - still cumming - until he shoots some onto ur boobs as well. on his come down, all out of breath and smiling with his eyes closed, he can’t wait to open em and see ur blushy, shocked little face, and ropes across ur chest, across ur tummy, maybe he even dribbled some across ur pussy cus he didn’t time it right and shot a bit early (no complaints)

menace!steve who is all slow thrusting with his entire body, borderline begging u to take the big shirt off, he wants to see you all bare so bad.. he’s naked and skin on skin would feel so much better for u baby! steve who, when little noises do embarrassingly slip out, he lights up, copies em; he’ll nudge ur nose with his as ur eyes try and screw shut from embarrassment, his own eyebrows knit up in mocking and his pout mirroring the one he saw, all oh did that feel good sweetheart? oh, it felt so good right there, huh? look at me, look at me.. look at me, or im gonna make u cum.. right now.. so close to me, make u cum with my face so close to urs huh? with his hand trailing down towards ur clit threateningly (because the only thing more embarrassing than making noises like what u just made, would be cumming so quick and hard and probably very noticeably lmaoo)

menace!steve who notices that u like him beefy and hairy. imagine him laying in bed while ur getting ready, and he’s shirtless???? with the covers bunched over his hips, n he just busts out some little quip about how he’s been dreaming about u cumming on his chest so bad. wants to make u ride it, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to have ur pussy that close to his mouth without tugging u up onto his tongue. ur stood there with ur hair tie half done, frozen, bc he looks so nonchalant saying that with his huge biceps crossed over his chest.

menace Steve who wants to simultaneously cum inside u, suck it out, sloppily spit it down ur tits and into ur mouth and makeout, JUST AS MUCH as he’d want to cum inside and then not move. breeding kink menace Steve’s brain goes wee-woo-wee-woo empty when he sees u eyeing his cock when it leaks pre-cum. the man just cannot have his dick in ur mouth, he’s so serious he wants to make every drop count, but he also makes u want it so bad that whenever he gets the vibe that u just need it/need him, u come back into whatever room ur in to see him stripping. he’s so fucking coy abt it too, just shrugs and waves his hands for a second like duhh?? get with the program..

LMAOOO out of left field, but menace!steve who maybe does smthn mundane, like ur pipe breaks (i am NOT a plumber I don’t know what im talking abt), but while he’s down there, laid with his head in the cabinet tinkering around, he tries to role play a ‘oh no my pipes burst and oh? hunky plumber man came to fix it!’ porno scenario. but he doesn’t tell u. just works himself up and lets himself get so noticeably hard that ur like.. are u alright stevie?? n he just has to tell u to pls for the love of god ride him like he’s just some maintenance guy n ur just a hot babe who needs some good dick. take it from him - he’ll keep working (n if it’s a reader who like previously mentioned, isn’t at that point yet.. yea icl I’d do it. don’t judge me but if he’s all sighing and giving up like honey PLEASE take my dick out.. yeah 🫶)

menace!stevie who at every inconvenience, when his little princess is huffing and puffing abt something, rolls his eyes, tugs her under him like god okay babe, i hear you, u need eating out okayy i get it, need to let me kiss u down there for a bit as if he wasn’t the only one out of the two of u thinking that, but boy menace!steve?? can make an excuse out of ANYTHING. oh they gave u crinkle cut fries instead of french? his eyebrows raise as he sighs all dramatic, fully prepared to try n finger u in the diner booth. the dress ur trying on in the changing room doesn’t fit like u wish it would? he’s clicking his tongue, caressing ur hair back just to bend u over infront of the mirror, raring to go and dry hump. the reason??? he’s is. a menace. and kinda bitchy. but it fits.

(also, when ur making out and straddling him, he’d definitely break away, massive grin, just to tease u abt how he can feel that, yknow?? FEEL WHAT??? yknow.. ur heartbeat, baby? the grin is still there, head tilted down to look at u through his lashes. manhandles ur hips harder into his lap and u finally get what he means)

I WAS ALREADY SAVIN UR OTHER ASK TO COME BACK TO BUT HOLY FUCK I CANT ADD ANYTHING TO TOP ANY OF THIS

i’m also a no noise & quiet, ‘can i keep my shirt’ on babe and this felt like a direct ATTACK. steve trying to make his plumber porn fantasy to come true is peak steve 😭 and i would fucking indeed. get his dick out and ride it while he fixed my pipes :)

[celestie0]

i've always wondered have you ever given the y/n in your fics a personality description? like everything about her just ties the whole story together yet the reader can actually, embody her in some way?? that's one of the things that makes your writing so enjoyable to read and i've always wondered if you see yourself in her when u write ;

IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN IT BUT i hope u know what i mean 💔💔

love u loads btw you're like my comfort writer as we speak

GASP i have neverrr actually, i dont think i’ve formally sat down n really given any of my characters personality descriptions i just kinda have a vibe of them in my head haha but this has intrigued me 🤔 I KINDA WANNA MAKE EM NOW!!! (i hope this is what u mean by character descriptions btw hahah)

kickoff reader.

i think she is a little self conscious at times, easily affected by things going on in her life, definitely tries to bite off more than she can chew, and she’s an anxious avoidant until she can’t take it anymore and becomes overtly confrontational instead alskdjdh i think this can be seen in the way she confesses to gojo, in her interactions w kai, and then also her turning down the newsletter job before she realized it was actually a good opportunity, etc etc. when i write for her, i kinda wanna give the vibe of tired college student that has a lot going on in her head n in her heart, but she’s slowly starting to learn to live again and is looking forward to life after college (aka me all of my senior year loool) i think she has a pretty neutral personality overall :0

in holy matriphony reader.

omg i haven’t written much for ihm reader yet but i already ADORE her so so so much based on what i’ve got planned for the series, and i think i understand her the most of the oc’s i’ve made. she is someone that gets crazy tunnel vision, can only really focus on one thing at a time, often neglects her other responsibilities if it means getting The Main One done, she is hella jaded because of all the financial stress, work stress and caretaking stress which means she doesn’t have much of a filter anymore, she’s very cynical and pessimistic and easily irritated and prideful BUT…..deep down she’s a huge softie and is actually very self aware of her flaws n just really wants to get better but she just can’t find a moment to breathe…im gonna enjoy writing for her bc i think she’ll come off irrational and a bit over the top at times, but in those soft moments, she’ll be very down to earth :)

in another life reader.

aww i haven’t had too much written for ial reader yet, but in my head i picture her as a veeeery soft spoken, sweet natured woman in her older age (she’s engaged to nanami, who i imagine has mellowed her out in comparison to when she dated bad boy choso lol), idk i think she’s kind of basic 😭 not that that’s a bad thing at all, i kinda wanted that dynamic of crazy rock star lifestyle choso mixed w simple lifestyle reader (for when they meet again later in life). when she was younger, she was highly impressionable, often thought she was more mature than she actually was, n loves veeeerryy deeply, so much so to where old scars hurt even after years and years. i think she always tries to do the right thing, but bc of her conflicting emotions, she has the capacity to cause a lot of hurt

AHH idk this is just the vibe i get from them or try to encapsulate while i write them, and i also totally think readers can have diff interpretations of them than me and still be accurate about it (idk as the author i don’t feel like i even know everything ab my own stories sldkdjdh at times i feel some of my readers know more than me haha)

i think kickoff reader is the most confusing in my head, but i like it that way because i suppose she’s the youngest and she’s in college and it makes sense for her since she’s figuring herself out

i definitely do see myself in all of them!! i have certain attributes i share n some that i don’t. for example i don’t think i’m as brave as kickoff reader (to pursue passions or confess to a boy so brazenly or slap tf outta someone at a bar LOL) and i don’t think i’m as crass or no-filter as ihm reader for example, but i definitely relate to certain aspects like the tunnel vision, anxious avoidance, and stuff like that!! but i still try to make them their own characters i suppose, but it really depends on how i want their personalities to mesh w the love interest as well

GOSH THIS IS A LONG FUCKIN ANSWER MY BAD i was just so intrigued by this ask xD i’m soooo sososoossooo happy to be your comfort writer and that you enjoy my works 🥺💕you guys keep my passion alive n i’m always so grateful for you all <33 have a wonderful day/night!! 🧚‍♀️✨ilyy

[maweallgotohell]

Heyyy ik you’re working on something rn, but if you still want to do requests I’d request something fluffy with Jerome… like cuddling or being touchy or whatever. I’m a hoe for fluffy soft stuff, personally :)

Hey hun <3

Thank u sm for your request.

And sorry I’m so late with this 🥲

I literally have 27 story drafts for the Cam character stuff and 3 stories I started to write, and somehow I’m working on all of them from time to time but somehow I need so fuckin‘ long to finish 'em.

But requests are something to distract myself from those if I’m having kind of a writers block on them so here we fuckin‘ go, baby!

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Fluffy Jerome would include:

• him being touchy. Literally all the time.

I’m sorry, but I can’t see this guy ever letting go of you, honey, nah ah.

He is always touching you, in whatever way. It doesn’t have to be holding hands all the time, even tho he loves that. How your small and soft hand fits in his large and rough ones so perfectly - It’s just chef’s kiss honestly.

When you two watch TV and sit on the couch together, cuddled up in a warm and cozy blanket, that’s big enough for the two of you, you mostly lean against him. First with just your shoulder and then with your head.

He doesn’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt the comfortable silence while watching some nostalgic disney movie,

but he nearly always puts an arm around your shoulder, laying his hand onto the top of your head, pulling you closer in the motion. Then he just softly caresses your hair with his thumb while smiling to himself when you cuddle yourself up into his side even more. It’s just so cute tbh.

He also can’t stop smiling when you two are literally anywhere and you intertwine your pinky fingers. It’s just so fuckin‘ cute to him. Like a lost puppy. And he does that sometimes too. Jerome holding physical contact>>>>

• yeah, as I already mentioned, I’m hardly convinced he loves watching Disney movies

And I believe that his inner child is obsessed with the Disney princesses. Those movies are his favorite.

When you watch those, he always criticizes if the prince, or whoever “saves“ the princess, does something stupid while trying to save her. He then explains to you, how he would save you in such a situation, which would obv be a way sm better than theirs, because u are his princess and his plan to save you would be bulletproof.

Even tho it’s a joke, he makes up those plans kinda seriously, because he wouldn’t ever risk losing you. Ever.

He‘d also appear randomly and sing Disney songs. I’m fuckin serious darling.

You’re in the kitchen, making pancakes?

Not without musical accompaniment, babe.

The kitchen door swings open and your bf storms in, blasting ‚Be our guest‘ from Beauty and the Beast on full volume while dancing gracefully around the kitchen, acting like Lumière and knowing literally every. single. word and phrase.

He should’ve gone to broadway instead of becoming a serial killer.

First, you always break out in laughter, obv. But then you join in. How couldn’t u, really?

Couple goals, if u ask me.

• okay here comes another thing I literally ALWAYS imagine happening when yourein a relationship with him.

Like, you obv think he’s pretty. Super incredibly pretty. And most of the time he isn’t really insecure about anything but he has his moments where he feels like not being enough for you. Which obv isn’t true.

You then always take a moment to really tell him how much he means to you.

You also have these random moments where you just realize over and over again how much you love him. Like, obv you know that, but I think we all know these moments where we look at a person we know and suddenly this wave of admiration washes over us? This can’t be only me guys.

Like imagine you two preparing dinner or something and you take a quick glance at him slicing tomatoes but you’re not able to take your eyes off of him.

Eventually he notices and looks back at you questioningly but amused.

„ Yn, you good? Do I have something on my face?“

You shake your head. Then you take a step forward and put a hand on his cheek, tracing his scars with your thumb.

„ What is it then?“

You follow your thumb with your eyes, admiring every single inch of his face.

„Nothing…“, you say, still not looking him in the eyes.

„You’re just so pretty.“

GIRL WHEN I TELL YOU HIS HEART MELTS?

IT‘S DRIPPING ON THE FLOOR.

He loves these moments just as much as you do. Sometimes he still can’t get his head around the fact that somebody, and then even such a cute, loving and beautiful person like you, really genuinely loves him so much.

Sometimes he even shed a tear but psst-

Don’t tell the rest of the league ;)

Jk he wouldn’t really give a fuck if anyone saw him crying. His masculinity isn’t that fragile and those are tears of joy at that so yeah

Our baby is a slaying queen-

Anyone making fun of him could end up with a bullet right between the eyes so there isn’t really a risk of that as well

But he mostly just doesn’t cry. After the abusive time with his mom, he somehow just stopped crying. He shed so many tears through that time, that there kinda weren’t any left.

And if he cries, he just does it in your presence, because you’re his comfort person and he knows he’s safe with you.

It’s so cute-

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Hope u like it. I‘ll edit this later if you don’t mind-

And I’ll probably post more of this kinda stuff bcs tf this is cute so yeah.

If anything you had in mind wasn’t in here, feel free to let me know <3