#i needed the break so clearly and it was WONDERFUL

[bloody-bee-tea]

It was love all along

Satoru is in his favourite spot in the whole wide world. He’s stretched out on top of Suguru, who’s laying on the couch, their legs tangled, Suguru’s heartbeat in his ear and Suguru’s fingers in his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp.

There might or might not be a movie playing, but it’s not as if Satoru is paying attention, as if he could pay attention with Suguru’s steady heartbeat drowning everything else out.

Satoru only notices that something changed at all when Suguru speaks up.

“If you’re going to be a hater, then do it quietly,” he says, his voice pleasantly rumbling through his chest and Satoru presses closer, trying to chase that sound even as he frowns.

Why am I being a hater? he wonders, wants to ask, but before he can convince his mouth to work, the couch jostles and then Shoko speaks up.

He didn’t even hear her come in.

“You’re such freaks,” she says and it’s more fond than anything.

Satoru turns his head, presses his other ear to Suguru’s chest as soon as he can again, and then he blinks up at Shoko, who has her arms crossed on the back of the couch, her head pillowed on them even as she stares at them.

“Takes one to know one,” Satoru mutters, barely able to find his own voice with how good it feels to have Suguru scratch at his scalp more insistently.

Seems he didn’t like it much when Satoru moved.

“What are you even doing?” Shoko asks, one eyebrow raised and Satoru smiles slightly when Suguru speaks again.

He does love hearing his voice like this, all rumbly, straight in his ear.

“Watching a movie,” Suguru replies and Shoko snorts out a laugh.

“Yeah, right. Watching,” she mocks them. “What’s even happening in it?” she wants to know and Satoru certainly doesn’t have an answer for her, because he wasn’t even aware that a movie was running in the first place.

“Things,” Suguru says after a short pause and Satoru smiles slightly. Suguru clearly wasn’t paying that much attention either.

“You and your stupid need to be as wrapped up in each other as you can possibly be,” she mutters and pointedly looks at Suguru’s hand in Satoru’s hair. “It’s sickening.”

“You’re just jealous,” Satoru mutters, and Suguru hums, sending shivers down Satoru’s back.

“Maybe I am,” Shoko easily gives back, “but it’s still not normal what you two are doing,” she tacks on and then climbs over the back of the couch to lay down on top of Satoru.

It presses him even more into Suguru, makes the sound of his heart almost unbearably loud in his ears and Satoru thinks that if he would die right this second, he wouldn’t even mind.

“This okay?” Shoko asks, probably more for Suguru’s sake than Satoru’s, because it’s Suguru who has to bear both of their weights now, who is being pressed into the couch.

Satoru still hums in answer, more content than even before and Suguru also makes a happy sound in the back of his throat.

“’s good,” he mutters, not once ceasing the steady motion of his hands and Satoru can feel how Shoko rolls her eyes.

“Weirdos,” she mutters, but she doesn’t get up or move otherwise away.

Satoru smiles at that, because she can complain as much as she wants, but she’s in this as well and that makes her just as much of a weirdo as it does Suguru and him.

Satoru goes back to concentrating on the sound of Suguru’s heartbeat, on the feeling of his fingers against his skin and he floats for a bit, happy and content with where he is right now.

He’s so content in fact, that he doesn’t notice the niggling feeling at the back of his mind until much later.

~*~*~

They do, eventually, have to get up and go to bed, even though all three of them are perfectly comfortable where they are. But if Yaga finds them piled on the couch like this in the middle of the night when they have missions the next day, hell is going to break loose and no one dares to tempt that.

“Time for bed,” Shoko mutters as she pushes herself off Satoru, rolling off the couch and barely getting her feet under her before she hits the ground. “You should go to bed, too.” She pauses as she regards them. “Preferably to your own ones, but I’m not holding my breath for that,” she then quietly adds and it makes Satoru frown.

“Why go to my own bed, when I can go to Suguru’s?” he asks, turning his head around again to be able to make his frown work better.

Not that it ever works on her.

“Exactly my point,” she sighs out. “Well, I already knew you’re not normal—” she points at Satoru “—but he came as a surprise.” She moves her finger to Suguru and Satoru takes offense to that.

Suguru is perfectly normal.

“Don’t be mean to him,” he chides her, causing Suguru to chuckle under him and Satoru feels as if he’s melting when the sound travels through his entire body.

“She was insulting you, too, you know,” Suguru informs him, but really, Satoru couldn’t care less about that.

He draws the line at people insulting Suguru, though.

“Shoko, take it back what you said about Suguru,” he says, as if he didn’t even hear Suguru, who lets out a fond sigh.

“I will, if you sleep in your own bed tonight. Alone,” she stresses and before Satoru can even open his mouth, Suguru speaks up.

“Not happening,” he decisively says and that’s that, it seems, because Shoko heaves out a huge sigh and then waves at them.

“Thought so. Anything else would have been a surprise with how up in each other’s business you two are,” she says as she walks away from them and it leaves Satoru with a frown.

That niggling feeling is back, more insistent now and he doesn’t like it; doesn’t like it one bit, because it makes it hard to enjoy the head scratches he’s still getting from Suguru.

“We should go to bed, too, though, she’s right about that,” Suguru eventually mumbles and Satoru presses himself closer to Suguru.

“Don’t wanna,” he whines out and smiles when Suguru chuckles again.

“We just have to relocate to bed,” Suguru tries to cajole him, “and then we can go right back to this.”

As if to drive his point home, he scratches at a particularly sensitive spot low on Satoru’s neck and really, that’s not helping at all.

“You’re gonna make my bones melt like that,” Satoru complaints and curses himself when Suguru immediately stops.

“Can’t have that until we’re in bed,” he says and then—because Suguru is cruel and mean and has no regard for Satoru’s safety—he pushes him off himself and the couch.

“Ouch, Suguru,” Satoru whines out, rubbing the aching spot on his butt that met the ground first but he can’t really be mad, because Suguru is smiling down at him as he reaches out and pushes a few strands of hair out of Satoru’s face.

“Sorry,” he easily says and Satoru knows that he’s not sorry at all.

“Whatever,” Satoru grumbles as he picks himself off the ground and just because he can he flicks Suguru’s forehead. “Let’s go then.”

Now that he’s up and away from Suguru he realises just how cold the room as gotten and goose bumps break out all over his arms.

“You’re the one stalling us,” Suguru easily gives back, getting off the couch and simply walking out on Satoru, who is quick to follow him as if there’s a leash tethering him to Suguru.

It isn’t until they are in Suguru’s room—Satoru having followed him there without a second thought—that he hesitates.

Suguru doesn’t notice immediately, because he changes into his sleeping clothes and slides right into bed, but when he finally realises that Satoru is not doing the same, he frowns.

“What are you doing all the way over there?” he wants to know, and Satoru doesn’t know what to say.

“I think—maybe I should—” he starts and points over his shoulder at the door. He doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do, but Shoko’s words shook something loose in him and now there’s this pit of worry in his gut that he can’t seem to shake. “You know, my own bed,” he finishes lamely and it doesn’t help when Suguru simply continues to stare at him.

“What’s going on?” he finally asks and Satoru shuffles on his feet.

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just—” Satoru trails off with a shrug.

“Do you want to go to your own bed?” Suguru wants to know and just thinking about it—laying in his own bed, cold and alone with Suguru too far away from him—makes Satoru’s eyes burn as if he’s going to burst into tears.

He doesn’t trust his voice anymore so he shakes his head and Suguru’s face softens.

“Satoru. Satoru, come here,” he gently says and lifts the blanket to invite Satoru in, and really, how is Satoru supposed to say no to that offer?

He’s across the room with two big strides of his legs and back in Suguru’s arms a heartbeat later.

Strangely enough it feels like coming home and Satoru tries not to think too much about it.

“There, that’s better,” Suguru softly says, sounding just as content as Satoru feels and he arranges them to his liking, until they are in the same position as they were the entire evening. “Now, is this about what Shoko said?” Suguru asks while scratching Satoru’s scalp again and Satoru hides his face in Suguru’s chest.

“It’s just—she’s right, isn’t she?” Satoru dares to ask when Suguru doesn’t offer anything else and Suguru sighs.

“Is she?” he wants to know in turn and it’s not an answer, it’s not even helping anything, so Satoru picks his face out of Suguru’s chest to glare at him. “There you are,” Suguru mutters and moves his hand so he can cup Satoru’s cheek in it. “She’s only right if it bothers either one of us,” he then says and Satoru pouts at him.

“But doesn’t it? Bother you? I mean, she’s right about me, I’m all kinds of fucked up and I’m just—doesn’t it bother you that she thinks the same about you?”

“She’s right, though,” Suguru easily says as if it doesn’t mean anything to him. “You being as touch starved as you are isn’t really a surprise with your upbringing and your technique but you both forget that I’m from a normal family.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Satoru wants to know and he doesn’t even have it in him to deny the touch starved part.

It’s true after all.

“Being able to see curses and not knowing when to shut up about it doesn’t make for a lot of friends,” Suguru tells him. “It doesn’t even make for a lot of affection from your parents, not when they are low-key weirded out by you, too. I didn’t have any friends as a child and even later, when I learned to keep my mouth shut about what I could see it never felt as if I could truly open up to someone. I could never be myself with anyone else; not until I came here.”

“Not until you met us,” Satoru says in understanding and frowns in confusion when Suguru shakes his head.

“Not until I met you,” he corrects him. “Shoko’s great and all, but I don’t click with her like I do with you,” he admits and Satoru feels himself go hot all over at hearing that. “I don’t mind being touchy with her, or having her with us like today, but it’s not the same. I wouldn’t want to do this with just her. That’s all you.”

“It feels right, doesn’t it?” Satoru dares to ask, his heart beating nervously in his chest and it only settles when Suguru smiles at him.

“It does. That’s why I don’t mind. She can call us weirdos and freaks and co-dependant all she wants; as long as it doesn’t bother either of us, I really don’t mind. As long as I’m being lumped in with you, it’s all good.”

Satoru doesn’t know what’s happening to him anymore, but he feels so warm all over, his heart is beating heavily in his chest and he feels as if he just has to do something about all of this so he leans forward and presses his lips against Suguru’s.

It’s only when he moves back that he realises what he did and panic grabs at his heart, turning everything that was soft and warm just a moment ago cold and hard. He knows he has to say something, anything, but his voice is failing him and his panic must be pretty visible on his face because Suguru smiles reassuringly at him.

“Satoru, as long as it’s you, it’s all good,” he says, reiterates that point again and then uses the hand that is still on Satoru’s face to bring him closer once more. “So don’t worry.”

The last part is whispered right against Satoru’s lips, before he kisses him and Satoru simply melts.

“Still feels right?” Suguru asks when they part as if Satoru wasn’t the one who did it first and he’s just so overwhelmed he has to hide his face in Suguru’s neck.

“Still feels right,” he then agrees, because he knows he has to say something and Suguru goes back to scratching at his scalp as if nothing even happened.

“Good,” Suguru whispers, pressing his lips to Satoru’s head and he sounds so content, so happy that it wipes all of Satoru’s worries away.

“Maybe Shoko will find us more normal now,” Satoru mutters. “Maybe it’ll make more sense to her when we tell her we’re together.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to make sense to her at all,” Suguru replies. “Maybe it’s just important that it makes sense to us.”

Satoru knows that he should just take this, should be happy with this, because it does make sense to him to do this with Suguru too but yet again he can’t help the little worry that pokes at his brain. Satoru thinks he couldn’t stand it if Suguru wants to do this without labelling them and it doesn’t make sense because there’s no label for them anyway, and yet—

“I really didn’t know you to be such an overthinker,” Suguru fondly says, turning them around so they can lay on their sides, their foreheads pressed together. “Usually it’s me, overthinking things and worrying about nothing.”

It seems he can read Satoru better than he even thought he could and while it makes him flush it also makes him feel seen in the best kind of ways.

“Maybe you just bring out all of my worst sides,” he shoots back but he can’t deny that he needs Suguru to acknowledge what they are.

“Mh, wouldn’t want that now,” Suguru mutters and brushes their noses together. “Satoru, it’s us. Always. As friends, as partners, as boyfriends. No matter what, it’s always us. And I love you in all instances.”

“Oh,” Satoru breathes out because this is a little bit more than he dared to hope for but it finally melts all his worries and useless, stupid overthinking thoughts away. “Yeah, same.”

“Gods, you’re so lame,” Suguru laughs out and Satoru should be offended—would be with anyone else, really—but Suguru is laughing and he looks so happy that Satoru kind of forgets about that.

“Well, you love me, so that makes you lame, too,” he confidently says and Suguru gives him that one smile Satoru loves so much, the one that softens his entire face, the one that makes his eyes turn into crescent moons.

“As long as we’re lame together,” he gives back and Satoru moves in for another kiss before he chokes on all his happiness.

“Of course we are,” he then says and snuggles close to Suguru, slotting his body against his and brushing his lips over his throat. “I love you, too. No matter what.”

“See, there you go,” Suguru proudly says and buries a hand in Satoru’s hair again. “Shoko will probably be even more disgusted with us now than before.”

It makes Satoru laugh and he has to agree. If she found them annoying and strange before, it will now only make things worse.

“Well, she’ll have to deal.”

“She sure will,” Suguru agrees and then falls asleep between one breath and the next, his hand still in Satoru’s hair, his lips pressed against Satoru’s forehead and if Satoru didn’t know it would wake him back up again he would flail and squirm around with his happiness.

Since that is out of the question, he settles for pressing that little bit closer to Suguru and falling asleep to Suguru’s steady heartbeat, letting him know that it was love all along.

#bt writes #jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #shoko ieiri #getting together #cuddling and snuggling #codependency #love confessions #first kiss

[scribblestatic]

Hey yo, time for a dose of Sheepzun :3

----

Shen Yuan snuck his way further onto Qiong Ding Peak in search of his student. He rammed a few demons along the way, leaving them laying about in his search. Which, yes, he was leaving a mess, but he didn't have opposable thumbs to clean up after himself and he's kinda busy right now!

After some searching, he heard some wild commotion. It looked to be coming from the central platform of Qiong Ding, right in front of the main hall. Who would attack the main hall first except for some show-off, ah? If you want to infiltrate, start from the corners and bleed inwards so the main brass doesn't notice until it's too late! That's the kind of method that works best in this dog-eat-dog world!

Regardless, he kept himself concealed as he approached, noting that most of the disciples, as expected, wore Qiong Ding Peak colors. A smattered few wore Qing Jing Peak ones, with only a dotted minority wearing those of other peaks. When his ears flicked backwards, he heard a few more Qing Jing Peak disciples on their way.

Ah, interrupting the demons in their effort to break the bridge was a good idea! Perhaps Qing Jing could protect these lambs while waiting for more powerful backup. However, Qing Jing Peak didn't have many disciples, right? If it was one of the other peaks, there'd be more backup...but, of course, they'd mostly be lambs.

Where were the instructors, ah?? Their cultivation should be better than these little ones!

Frustrations aside, Shen Yuan snuck around the back of the crowd, easing his way toward the front. He had to be careful several times to avoid rushing disciples, keeping them from knocking into him or his horns.

Eventually, he made it near the front, only to see...dancing?

No, it was a battle. But it looked more like dancing to him than expected. Their fighting was elegant in a way, but it wasn't the sort of bloody event he'd been expecting between an immortal and a demon. Though, perhaps that had to do with the immortal's lack of spiritual sword. She must be of Luo Binghe's generation, some of whom haven't received their swords yet.

As such, her sword didn't ring with powerful energy, and as Shen Yuan watched, he saw her make a few mistakes. She overextended her arm at times, spun a little too loosely, just minute errors. But they built up, resulting in her loss once the demoness she battled struck her arm and chest.

After she picked herself up from the ground, she walked over to a lofty immortal who was leisurely fanning himself and--

Ah! Wasn't that one of the immortal lords he'd rescued in the cave? He was well! How wonderful!

Indeed, his colors were clearly Qing Jing, and he'd managed to clean himself up quite well. Perhaps he'd been cultivating in a different cave before finding the other...err...the pretty one. Yeah. Shen Yuan looked around briefly, realizing he couldn't see him anywhere. Maybe he was still recovering? He couldn't imagine it took that long, but he's a ram. Maybe it worked differently for humans.

Anyway, this guy, in his silver hair crown, fanning himself leisurely, was clearly some sort of immortal master. And he'd saved this guy's life? Perhaps he had some golden thighs to cling to after all!

...Eh? What a strange thought he just had. What 'golden thighs'?

"This disciple has lost and disgraced the mission, I request that Martial Uncle Shen punish me."

Punishment? No, she didn't deserve any sort of punishment. She'd done her best all things considered. Instead, she needed to learn the places she could've done better and continue her educa--

The immortal huffed, dismissing her with the wave of his fan, his expression curled in derision. The veiled girl managed a respectful bow despite her injured arm, then joined the gaggle of other girls in purple garb much like her own.

?

???

???

What an asshole???

Excuse me, Mr. Immortal, this ram had to save you in the caves! Where do you get off on acting like that little lamb was bothering you with her earnest attempt? Aren't you something of a teacher? Shouldn't you use this as an opportunity for her to learn?!

This Shen guy--

...Shen.

As in, Shen Qingqiu?

The demoness who won against the veiled girl smiled coquettishly, her body loosely covered in red bolts of fabric. So much skin, there was little left to the imagination. Ah, but Shen Yuan didn't think too much of that. As it was, his tail and wool were all that maintained his decency, in the humanoid sense, anyway. He would not be a pot berating a kettle.

Rouged lips parted to show bright teeth, canines a tad too sharp to be strictly human.

"This third trial will determine the victory! Who will you send up for the next trial, Elder Shen? This time, you had better choose carefully."

Agh, it really was Shen Qingqiu, wasn't it?

This lofty immortal with no teaching ability, this man was his Bing-lamb's human shizun? What a waste of a handsome face!

Ah, no, he should wait. It wouldn't be right to judge someone so quickly. After all, that immortal had been trying to help his pretty comrade in the caves, only for his messed up meridians to hinder him. If anything, the fact he's cultivated up to a core formation shows his dedication to the craft. Indeed, perhaps this man was simply somewhat cagey.

When the man spoke, a handsome, if not snide, voice rang out.

"No need for the Young Miss to trouble herself. This Shen has a person in mind."

Oof, he's definitely cagey. And quite apt at insults.

The young miss in question called out for a warrior on her side to come forth for what was apparently the third trial. So, there had been a battle beforehand? Who had fought?

But Shen Yuan's thoughts quickly became distracted when the ground below him shook. He moved out of the way as disciples around him shook and clustered in closer, clearly feeling some fear.

Not that Shen Yuan would blame them, considering the one that stepped out!

The huge demon elder was definitely some sort of giant! At least ten zhang tall, with a thick, hefty build, wearing thorny armor all over his body, he dragged an equally-large sledgehammer behind him. A toothy grin peered out from behind his shaggy hair and helmet.

The demoness in red spread her arms in display.

"I'll give everyone on this immortal mountain a warning first. The spikes on Elder Tian Chui's armor are covered with my family's strongest poison. This kind of poison has no effect on demons, but if a human is pierced, there is no cure."

...Excuse me, Young Miss?

Why would you bring an incurable poison to an immortal's mountain unless you meant to murder? Why bother playing around and fighting three rounds when the last one clearly shows your intent? What kind of infiltration is this?!

Also, Tian Chui?! Was this elder born carrying his sledgehammer the entire time?!! Did his mother look down at his body and say, "Dear demon child, look at you, born with a hammer! Your hammer will one day pierce the heavens and fight the power of the immortals!"

Terrible naming! Absolutely the worst!! Spit on your mother's grave, Tian Chui!!

Shen Yuan was so close to stomping his hooves in irritation, he had to grit his teeth to keep himself from doing so. But goodness, he'd never felt so enraged in his life! Something about being away from Qing Jing and Luo Binghe just made this world and its intricacies ten times worse.

Where was his little lamb? He should get the boy and go back to Qing Jing immediately. At least to get away from this mess!

The disciples around him clearly agreed, airing out their frustrations.

"Stinking demon girl!! Competing is competing! Using a strong poison--what fairness is there!"

Damn right, boy in Qiong Ding robes!

But the demoness just laughed.

"I didn't hide this point. If you feel anything's unfair, or if you're afraid of getting poisoned and losing your life, the custom is to cede the trial. There would be no more need to compete then. We demons won't laugh at you since we cherish life." Her grin sharpened then, clearly mocking. "It's only human."

Ah. She's a bitch.

Shen Yuan's not sure what a 'bitch' is, but whatever it is, she's that. He'd have to find out later.

The disciples continued their complaints, angrily condemning the demons. And, of course, none of them stepped forward. Who would? It's not just human nature to value your own life--it's the nature of all living organisms! Who in their right mind would throw it away once you told them an action would end it?

Shen Qingqiu was clearly thinking the same thing. After all, he was being quite quiet as the bantering slowed. As an immortal master of some sort, surely he wouldn't threaten the lives of his little lambs. He was an adult! It's important to give lambs the opportunity to grow, but it needed to be under controlled circumstances.

Before, with the demoness, there wasn't a threat of death. Now there was. Surely, the master would argue--

“Luo Binghe, you come out.”

...

Eh?

After a beat of silence, the Qing Jing disciples immediately started yelling. Disciples from other peaks barely did so, but they could be excused. They didn't know that Luo Binghe, instead of being a head disciple with 30+ years of cultivation under his belt, was just a wee lamb with less than two decades under his belt, more than half of which were spent in the mortal realm.

Of course, knowing this, Ming Fan--Ming Fan of all people--paled, suggesting he wasn't suitable for the task. A young girl also in Qing Jing robes cried out, attracting Shen Yuan's attention.

Sure enough, he finally found Binghe.

His lamb was stiff, eyes wide. The girl who had cried out was clinging to one of his arms--ah, yes, Ning Yingying--saying in a sort of babyish cry that she didn't want Luo Binghe to fight, stamping her feet much like Shen Yuan wanted to.

Of course! Good girl! She got his Binghe into trouble a few times, but she had a good heart overall!

But the immortal simply raised a brow.

“I said to let him go up so he should go up. Are you unsatisfied with this master’s judgment? Ying-er, let him go.”

As Luo Binghe comforted the girl, his tanned face pale, Shen Yuan shook, his hearing turning to white noise.

What was this? Was this really happening right now?

The boy's just barely 16, and he has had next to no battle experience at all. Although Binghe told him about the trip down the mountain and how Ning Yingying had gotten kidnapped, that experience barely counted for anything. A skinner demon was substantially less threatening than this bear of an elder.

What sort of...

He blinked, ears still ringing, and Luo Binghe stood before the hefty demon, like a sproutling before a fierce storm of demonic energy.

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

An anger like no other struck through his body. This...he had to stop this. If Luo Binghe met his end here, he wouldn't be able to live with himself--

But another thought came to him.

He was a teacher, was he not? At least, Luo Binghe trusted him to be a teacher.

And this situation... Luo Binghe was not prepared for it. And so, he should step in...

But something told him to wait. Something nagged at the back of his mind to stay his hooves and watch. It was the same sort of feeling that drew him to the cave, only this time, it was...light.

Positive.

...Although this sort of thing could be like a lamb to the slaughter, an old story he'd heard from another culture also came to mind. Of a young man wielding only a slingshot against a giant. He couldn't remember the names of the subjects in the sacred texts...Dà Wèi [大卫 - David] and Jùrén [巨人 - Goliath], maybe?

Anyway, from what little he could remember in his strange, hazy recollections was that Da Wei, despite being heavily outclassed, won against Juren just using that slingshot he had.

Shen Yuan's little lamb...perhaps he was just as powerful.

Despite his strong desire to interfere, he shakily placed his hoof back down, teeth gritting.

...He would trust in Binghe's power. What he needed more than protection was belief. He needed someone to truly believe in him. And so, as his shizun, he would take that position and put all of his power into believing in Luo Binghe's success.

And so, with the heavy slam of Elder Tian Chui's sledgehammer, the battle began.

Shen Yuan watched carefully, his eyes solely on Luo Binghe. If he would not interfere, then he would catalogue all his movements. Every single place he could've been better, every single move he could improve. He would do his job as his teacher.

He choked down a bleat the first time the hammer made contact with Luo Binghe's body.

But he also watched as the boy rolled, redirecting as much of the pressure as possible to reduce damage. He was, undoubtedly, still hurt, but he showed no weakness.

Indeed, a prey animal could not show any weakness. Doing so could spell death.

Even a mouse, when cornered, opens its mouth and squeaks a war cry against the cat hunting it, threatening with its little teeth.

With enough of an opening, that little mouse would jump forward and bite.

Luo Binghe had taken such lessons to heart, searching for the best place to strike. But it was very difficult. Trying to strike would mean getting closer to the poisoned armor which could kill him.

He was as spry on his feet as possible, still getting hit and nicked at times, but far from the sort of failure one would expect of a poorly trained disciple.

Even so, Cang Qiong's disciples were losing faith.

“Isn’t this a sure loss? What is there to compete?”

Shut up, Qiong Ding disciple.

Eventually, even the demon side recovered from their stupor, jeering at Luo Binghe as he took and avoided hit after hit, no closer to landing a single blow on Elder Tian Chui than before.

The elder bellowed out a laugh that echoed across the area as he caught Luo Binghe with his hammer again.

"This little doll had better admit defeat soon and get off the stage! This old man can still leave you a life!"

A life. Not alive.

Being alive and living a life were two different things, with the context changing depending on who said it and what they meant.

Many of the mortals below were living a life. Those with crippled legs and blinded eyes were living a life of struggle more so than others. The wealthy and affluent could be said to truly be alive. The immortals, with the resources to pursue their immortality, could be said to be living a life worth being alive for.

For some reason, Shen Yuan thought of a human in a strange white room.

He heard beeping from several tall devices near some sort of futuristic bed.

The figure in the bed had short, wavy hair, some of it splayed on the pillow, and a clear mask-like device over his face.

He was pale, dark circles under his eyes, and when he opened them, they stared out at the window, the light too bright for Shen Yuan's imagination to see what was outside. But he could see it.

Longing. Desire.

A painful, reaching drive to leave the pale, beeping room and be alive.

Binghe will be alive.

He is alive, and he will remain that way. He need not accept the scraps of life some elder demon would throw at him. No, Luo Binghe could take it for himself.

With that in mind, Shen Yuan put power into his thoughts, and, mentally reaching out to the boy, he spoke to him.

--

'Luo Binghe, you will win.'

#static writes #sheepzun au #svsss #svsss au #au post 5 #static drabbles #this world is incredibly real to a lamb born into it

[reputahtion]

tonight i'll clean up my blogs and make a comeback here i promise

#i needed the break so clearly and it was WONDERFUL #but i lowkey miss my multi which is why i probably will put a lot of my other blogs back on here as well oop #maybe apart from medea i wanna see if i can spark single muse blog again for her and if it doesn't work i can still put her back #but i am excited comeback era WHEWWWW #🐍ㅤ(ㅤ OUT OF CHARACTERㅤ)ㅤ―ㅤ OH MY GOD‚ SHE'S INSANE.

[wikiangela]

last line tag

tagged by @jesuisici33 @thewolvesof1998 @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @lover-of-mine @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz 💖💖

___

It’s a good few weeks, and it feels like everyone’s back on track, settling into their lives again, figuring everything out one day at a time. Buck’s happy. He has his awesome girlfriend, his best friend seems finally more at ease, even if the divorce is adding some stress, and his other best friend is happier than ever with his mom around. Everything’s finally starting to go great.

And then it all gets disrupted again.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @diazblunt @911onabc @spagheddiediaz @housewifebuck @gayhoediaz @rogerzsteven @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @exhuastedpigeon @weewootruck @loserdiaz @evanbegins @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 @malewifediaz @pirrusstuff @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @spotsandsocks @hoodie-buck @giddyupbuck @wildlife4life @fortheloveofbuddie @nmcggg @diazpatcher @jeeyuns

#the alive shannon fic #last line tag #buddie wip #buddie fic #wikiangela writes #my writing #fic snippet #clearly struggling to segue into the bombing lmao #my wips #skipped wip wednesday so have a lil line haha #thought id have the bombing written already but need to start getting ready for work so i guess writing's done for today lmao #i might be a little absent from the writing games in the next few weeks bc im just so exhausted lately lol #this scene I'm writing is so disjointed and out of order rn and i hate it i need to find more time to write it properly haha #but pls keep tagging me i love reading y'alls wonderful snippets!! #also what do we think shannon's job could be bc im trying to figure it out and have no clue lol #(also i have to actively remind myself of ali's existence and i can't wait until the break up so i don't have to anymore lmao)

[mighty-poop]

Define a woman!

I’m gonna rant this here cus this argument keeps returning on the clock app and one day, I’m gonna be stupid and leave a comment in the wrong thread or smthn so I’m just gonna get it out of my system:

“How do you define a ‘woman’?”

Answer for idiots: you can’t.

You cannot possibly make a definition for the term ‘woman’ without excluding someone from the group when they clearly ARE part of the group (even if you’re a piece of shit transphobe and don’t want to include trans women). A woman is someone who has the potential to give birth? You just excluded every child before puberty, every infertile woman and every woman on menopause, next. A woman is someone who has a uterus? You just excluded a bunch of intersex women and all women who had a hysterectomy, next. A woman has a period? Excluded the millions of women who never get their period for various reasons AND all the women who take continuous birth control AND women who are pregnant AND again, little girls and women on menopause. A woman has to have XY chromosomes? Are you gonna check that for every feminine-looking person you’re gonna meet? How? Do you not think women with down syndrome are women?

Decades of feminism working so hard to make sure women are more than their genitals and potential to give birth, all flushed down the drain because you refuse to believe trans women are more than men in wigs? You’re weak as shit.

So answer for people who actually want to use their brain:

Woman is defined through experiences. Which experiences? Entirely up to whoever defines themselves as a woman.

The ‘female experience’ is so broad. You cannot possibly define it in one sentence and stick it on everyone who calls the word ‘woman’ their own.

You feel feminine and empowered by doing your nails? Congrats, that’s the female experience and makes you, therefore, a woman.

You feel feminine and empowered by wearing plaid and splitting wood in two with a giant axe? Congrats! Female Experience. Woman.

You feel feminine in a dress? Woman. You feel feminine in a tux and suit? Woman.

You feel empowered as a mother and love being pregnant? Woman! You despise the idea of being pregnant but find empowerment in your career? Woman! You feel like your period makes you more in tune with your femininity? Woman. You feel like your period makes you less than human and getting a hysterectomy makes you feel more comfortable in your body? Woman.

you love long hair? Woman. You love short hair? Woman.

You love loving men? Woman. You love loving women? Woman. You love both? Woman. You love everyone? Woman. You don’t feel like love is your thing? Woman!

Sitting at home with a good movie and a bottle of wine? That’s a woman. Getting bloody in a game of soccer? That’s very woman! Taking a walk with your dog? How very woman! Going to the gym? Such woman! Eating out with friends? Friend woman. Shooting a gun in the yard from the patio you built yourself? All woman!

Whatever the fuck makes you feel in sync with your femininity is your female experience, and if you have female experience and you like it, you are a W O M A N ✨

Same goes for men and the male experience btw! Since the question “what defines a man” is never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever EVER asked for SOME 👀 reason. (We all know the reason….) Also same goes for my fellow enbies and the non-binary experience. If painting your nails bring you closer to your enbie side, you’re non-binary.

Gender is such a deeply personal experience, it’s just dumb to define it for someone else, let alone the entire human species. It’s like asking to define a chair, like, you KNOW what it is but you can’t possibly define it without excluding some chairs (“has at least 4 legs”, that’s a horse also swivel chairs exist).

Sidenote: If some idiot tiktokker shoves a microphone and a camera in your face and goes “WHAT IS A WOMAN” or “HOW MANY GENDERS ARE THERE” just go along with whatever dumbass scenarios they come up with. “How many genders are there?” “My dude, as many as you want!” “Oh so like 40??” “Yep!” “Can I identify as a helicopter lol?” “Sure, who cares, do it!” “Should I demand everyone at my job calls me a helicopter” “You can go to your local townhouse, request to change your name to ‘helicopter’ and they’ll most likely let you. You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want as long as it’s not hurting others.” “You don’t think it would be dumb of me to do that?” “Why would I care, I don’t know you?”

#Imma get off the clock app for a while again #My fyp is on the wrong side of the argument again #Saw a lot of comments basically boiling down to “you’re delusional and you need to grow up” #Y’all the ones breaking down an entire socio-biological science to just “can u make baby or nah” #And it’s always under videos of enbies with really Out There fashion senses who have Such Trouble talking on the spot #Or who clearly have trouble explaining themselves #And the transphobe eat that shit up like sugar #Cus that’s all we are right #Blue-haired snowflakes who are so confused about our gender experiences that we fumble whenever asked #Like i love y’all fellow enbies with daring fashion but pls be more mean and confident about your identity #“What does that mean being a they/them” #I’m not a woman and I’m also not a man it’s that simple #“Is it that simple?” Yes what are you not understanding do you need me to tell you like a 5 yo? #I’m a brownhaired twink-looking gremlin who dresses like a skater boi who likes musicals and hates make-up and loves books #TRY to define me #Put me in one of your silly little boxes and see what happens #I’m gonna rip the box to shreds until there’s nothing left unless you leave me the fuck alone and let me pee in whichever bathroom i need #I have more pressing matters than worry about you thinking I’m confused but not empathetic enough to wonder why #There’s too much other really bad shit happening in the world for you to wonder if the blue haired young adult deserves to be taken serious

[bumbleblurr]

picture of tf:a shockwave standing next to megatron with an arrow pointing to him labeled "lmao this idiot doesn't know his leader would kill him without hesitation if it was convenient for him"

#thinking abt trial of megs #shockwave's like the second most loyal dude but he was one of many that was not willing to die to power that ship #(lugnut was the only one that jumped in on his own) #its like wow. i wonder what was happening in his mind at that moment <3 #of course i dont like how short lived that moment is and the fact that it would end his appearances in the show #(or maybe not. i think there were supposed to be more eps with him idk s4 plans are weird) #of course it would be so so much more interesting if he managed to get away from that and is forced to reflect on everything he believed in #like haha i hope he gets to have a bad time. i want that creature to be put through through the wringer. throw him into the microwave #shockwave redemption arc needs to have him suffer so much with mental despair bc i said so #though also i think the only main way for him to really shake him enough to change is to have him rlly pushed to the breaking point #such as his leader trying to kill him #especially that since it rlly makes it so shocks cant rationalize any ideal that megatron is looking out for his followers #though i guess u can interpret many things he does/other details as shockwave already having the capacity to deflect #such as megs not trusting Shockwave to control the omega supremes #somehow he knows that Shock's loyalty is not strong enough to prevent risk of him resisting meg's command #which is accurate based on the events of trial of megs #and the almost sad tone of voice he has when talking abt arcee (though this could be a bit of a stretch but i like to interpret it as such) #oh & also how he tries to peacefully get the codes from arcee as much as he can but megs was clearly in her line of vison #but that would also be megs being dumb. and also definitely be another stretch of an interpretation #shruggies idk putting all these bits and pieces together is still inch resting #i am being a hypocrite though bc im like #''i dont care for interpreting Megatron to be much more of a sympathetic figure than he is in canon (does the same with shockwave)'' #listen its different. shockwave is a cutie pie #i am biased. i just simply like shocks more than megs #🐝 could you repeat the last part? 🟦

[lordsardine]

.

#so im taking a break from work because there's nothing going on per the norm #and im writing. and this chapter is . like. im finally in the POV of this one character i havent done yet #and he's like. my intention is for him to be an incel #and im sitting her like staring at my screen wondering how do i write this guy being vile while showing he is clearly Wrong #like . i know the language these dudes use bit it feels vile to type it out ugh #it's an interesting character to explore though. and i dont want every character in the story to be sympathetic 100% #because that's not how it works? i do have him get better at the end. so maybe that's the magic key #anyway. im enjoying writing again despite the challenge :-) #miscellaneous #the break was needed but i think im back!

[nanaslutt]

Milking Sukuna's cock

cont: fem reader, sex toys, m!masturbation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, m!squirting, dirty talk, shibari, true form Sukuna, Sukuna and reader have some kind of special relationship, Sukuna doesn't know how to deal with love and aftercare, fluff

note: saw an ask for smthn along the lines of this, it’s not exactly what they asked for but it sparked smthn in me so :3 (this is the closest to sub!sukuna i will get, i can’t see him as a sub at all lol)

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"F-fuck a-ah fuck-" Sukuna struggled against the Shibari that kept all four of his arms snugly against his back and out of your way as you sat between his thighs and jerked a pocket pussy mercilessly over his cock. His abs are clenching rapidly and his breaths are coming quicker and quicker as you keep going, ignoring his obvious overstimulation.

His legs are twitching and shaking violently, and still, you keep going. Sukuna's face keeps twitching at his own sensitivity, his nose scrunching as his eyebrows furrow, and his teeth clenched together in tandem, making the muscles in his jaw pop out from under the skin. His mouth stomach is biting his lip between his teeth as you touch him. He's so tense, you don't need to touch his body to tell that every single muscle is clenching and unclenching, not a single atom of his being is relaxed.

When Sukuna growled and tipped his head back against his throne, you knew he was about to cum again, for the fourth time. You were alternating between his cocks, meaning each time he came, one of them sprayed his cum all over his body, making him hiss in annoyance as his cum stuck uncomfortably to his skin, seeping into the shibari. His other cock, whichever was inside the toy, filled it to the brim, so much so it dripped out from the bottom from how much he came.

You had no idea how he still had so much cum left in him, it seemed like no matter many times you milked him, he always had more to give. His hands gripped the shibari behind him harshly as he came again, his thick cum filling up the fake pussy as his jaw went slack, long groans and moans leaving his lips while you jerked him faster and faster, making the cum covering his dick inside the pussy cream up, bubbling around the base of his cock.

"Does that feel good Sukuna? You're so wet down here." You teased, biting your own lip as your eyes raked over his impressive body, not wanting to miss a single reaction from the king. Sukuna groaned at your words, too focused on filling up the toy to shoot back any snarky response.

His eyes fluttered back in his head when you continued stroking him through the aftershocks of his orgasm, your eyes watching his face carefully as his face twisted in pleasure, clearly overstimulated since he had already cum, and yet, you were still going. "Fuck, w-wait woman," Sukuna growled, the muscles in his thighs flexing and shaking as he tried not to get lost in his own sensitivity.

You wondered if he knew how much he was really shaking. He was clearly trying to hold back, maybe to save some of his ego from this vulnerability he was allowing you to see, but he was doing an awful job at holding back. Sweat beaded along his hairline and dripped steadily down the sides of his face, mixing with the drops on his neck. He was panting heavily, and his face was incredibly flushed, it was quite a sight to witness.

"Hm?" You teased, leaning closer to him, placing your hand on his pecs as you got in his face, keeping the toy steadily jerking over his cock as you looked into his eyes challengingly. Your eyes darted from his swollen lips to his eyes, steadily rolling back in his head. "A- A break." He grit through his teeth, keeping his words short so he didn't let out any unwanted noises. "Huh?" you asked, feigning ignorance as you leaned forward, your lips grazing against his as you spoke.

Just when you were about to lean in and kiss him, his head started jerking from side to side away from you, his jaw falling open as he groaned loudly again, his breath coming out stuttered. He struggled harshly against the ropes, his body jolting and wiggling around as he tried to stop your hand as his orgasm rapidly approached again, and so soon after the other one.

You smiled agaisnt his lips, using the opportunity of his eyes being shut to do so. He would've ripped through the shibari in half a second if he saw you laughing at him like this. Right before he came, you pulled back from his body and sat back down on your heels. Quickly you grabbed his neglected cock and held it steady as you ripped the toy off of his cock, sliding the other one inside it.

Immediately a loud groan was ripped from Sukuna's lungs as he came the second his neglected cock felt the tight, wetness of the inside of the pocket pussy. You opened your jaw as you watched him fall over the edge before a warm feeling on your leg brought your attention to below his legs. Looking down you noticed a thinner stream of clear liquid squirting out of his cock, spraying over his and your thighs. "Oh shit, there's so much…" You mumbled under your breath.

Likewise, the cock inside the toy was spurting out the same wetness as it leaked around him. Sukuna's mouth was open in a silent scream as he squirted all over you. Behind his eyelids, he pretended he was filling up your pussy, and with how wet the toy was from his copious amounts of cum, he almost believed it. "E-enough-" Sukuna growled lowly, too quiet and timid for you to take him seriously.

You continued anyways, feeling hot all over, your body feeling reenergized as you just watched the king of curse squirt from getting his cocks milked. When you didn't stop, Sukuna winced hard and yanked hard on the ropes. A loud cracking sound echoed off the walls of the chamber as his arms shot out in front of him and immobilized you. Two grabbed your throat, and two grabbed your wrist ceasing all of your movements on him.

You gasped for breath as Sukuna stared at you, his cocks softening as he caught his breath, letting his head back as he tried to relax now that your assault on him was paused. Sukuna squeezed his hands harshly around your throat, making your mouth open in a silent gasp as air failed to fill your lungs. "When I say enough, you listen." He said, trying to sound stern but the shakiness in his voice was very much evident.

You nodded in his hold, gasping air into your lungs when he released you. He controlled your hands though, slowly sliding the toy off of his cock he winced in overstimulation, his legs twitching around you as he threw the silicone somewhere behind you. He kept his hands around your wrists, preventing you from touching him as he laid back against his throne, his body finally relaxing, save for the unintentional spasming and shaking of his overworked muscles.

Sukuna pouted as he looked at you, almost looking like an angry cat as his eyes never once left yours, but he stayed silent, letting his gaze do the talking. You pursed your lips together to force down your smile, not wanting him to think you were looking down on him. "Sukuna, are you mad at me?" You asked, tipping your head at him. Your arms throbbed from the exertion of jerking him off for so long, and his hands gripping your wrists harshly, preventing blood flow to the sore appendages, wasn't helping.

Sukuna stayed silent, as you already knew his answer. "I'm sorry Lord Sukuna." You said, speaking to him formally to gain his forgiveness despite the uniquely intimate relationship the two of you had. "Please forgive me, I got carried away. I just wanted to bring my master pleasure." You spoke dramatically, looking at him from under your lashes.

Sukuna started at you challengingly for a few more seconds before he decided to release your wrists. You smiled, rubbing the soreness away as he placed his large arms on the side of the throne, looking away from you. "Lord Sukuna, thank you for sparing me~" You cooed, leaning forward and wrapping your body around his, his cum and sweat rubbing against the thin robe clothes you wore.

Sukuna's nose scrunched at the contact, his body going rigid against yours. It wasn't like he hated this affectionate touch, he just never got used to it. Each time you clung to him like this after sex, it felt so foreign to him, and yet he never pushed you away. "I do hope you felt good though Sukuna, thank you for letting me do that." You whispered, nuzzling your cheek against his skin.

Sukuna cringed, he never knew how to respond when you said stuff like that. Instead, he placed a hand on your lower back softly, keeping you pressed against his body as he sighed. "Brat." He whispered, briefly looking down at your tiny body on top of him before he opted to stare at the walls around him, unable to tolerate the strange emotions he felt when he looked down at you clinging on to him.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk x you #sukuna smut #sukuna scenarios #sukuna ryomen smut #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna

[joelsgreys]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

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

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

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

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

word count: 11.5k

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

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

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

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

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

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

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

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

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods, returning to her board.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well?”

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

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

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

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

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

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

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s really not that long.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s here for your father.

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

You force back a small, amused snort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

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

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

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

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

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

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

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

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

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

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

“You became a teacher?”

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

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

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

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

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

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

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

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

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

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

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

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

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

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

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

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

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

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

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

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

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

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

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

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

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

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

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

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

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Joel—”

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

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

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

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

“Yeah, I’m good.”

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

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

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

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

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

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

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

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

“S’it pretty bad?”

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

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

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

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

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

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

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

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

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

“You feelin’ alright?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he does answer, because he does know.

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

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

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

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

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

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

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

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

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

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

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

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

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

“Joel.”

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

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

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

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

Frantically, you nod your head.

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

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

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

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

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

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

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

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

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

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

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

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

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re milliseconds away from release.

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

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

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

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

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

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

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

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

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

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

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

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

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

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

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

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

That’s all he needed to hear.

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

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

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me get the blanket—”

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

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

“But baby, you’re cold—”

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

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

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

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

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

“Do you, now?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d do that for me?”

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

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

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

#asdfghjkl BYE #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x y/n #joel miller au #dbf joel miller #dbf joel x reader #fic: someone to be thankful for

[dakotalun]

"Oops" | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: Part 1--Eddie "accidentally" sends a tasteful pic to his best friend.

warnings: mutual pining, pet names (sweetheart), strong language, description of naked Eddie

word count: 3.4k

Part 2

a/n: went a little crazy at 3am the other night and wrote this. Part two will be up later this week!! Luv y'all <3

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Eddie is your best friend of many years, the two of you being inseparable from the moment you met. So when you got a text from him tonight you don’t think much of it, figuring it was just a dumb meme he saw or a random thing from today.

What you didn’t expect to see was a picture of Eddie standing in his bathroom, towel slung over his shoulders with a prominent boner happening.

His hair is wet as if he just got out of the shower and hadn’t bothered to dry it yet. The long dark brown locks stick to his neck and chest in a way that can only be described as godly. The tattoos on his skin are glistening but covered by the towel around his neck and as you move your eyes downward the path of hair that leads to his dick is delicious.

And talking about his dick it is, mag-fucking-nificent! The way that it hangs there, the tip swollen and red, leaking the smallest bit of precum. It has your mouth watering.

You nearly choked on your own spit when you saw it. Never in a million years did you think that Eddie would be sending you of all people nudes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wonder what he was packing but you never really indulged in those thoughts, until now. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen, memorizing every little detail in the photo.

Eddie sends another text but you’re too distracted to see what it is. Then a stream of texts start flooding in from him.

‘SHIT!’

‘I DID NOT NMEAN TO SNED YIU THAT!’

‘IGNORE THE PICTUREA’

‘HOW THE HELL DO I DELETE THE PIC?!?!?!’

‘GOD I AM SOSOSOSOSOSOSSOO SOORRY!!’

You giggle at his frantic typing, noting all the typos. Curiosity gets the better of you and you scroll up a little to see what he had said after he sent the picture. You’re eyes go wide at the words displayed on your screen.

‘Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. Jerked off twice while in the shower and I’m still hard. Wish you were here with me right now ;)’

You had no clue who this was really meant for but if it was meant for you you would 100 percent be on your way to him right now. The bottom half of the picture stares back at you as your eyes acan over the text again and again. You can’t deny the small hint of wetness that you feel on your underwear while looking at the two.

Twice? He came twice and is still hard. Whoever he thought about must be really hot if he can go 3 rounds without breaking a sweat. Could he go more?

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone receiving a call, from none other than Eddie himself. You sit up in bed and pull your knees towards you as you answer his call.

“Sweetheart I am so so so sorry I sent you that. It was clearly meant for someone else. If I had known it was your contact that I was on I would have never sent that at all. I want you to know that I don’t go around sending nudes to everyone or anything, I’m not a slut I was just-”

“Eddie it’s fine. No need to apologize. I figured it wasn’t meant for me anyways.” It pains you a little at the thought that someone else was supposed to receive that message from your best friend.

“I’m still sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” His voice sounds smooth like spreading butter onto fresh pancakes.

“Hmm,” You fake thinking about what you want even though you know exactly what it is you want, “You’ve gotta tell me who that text was really meant for.” Silence. For a whole minute there is just silence on Eddie’s end, you’d think he was dead if it weren’t for the fast pace of his breathing.

“Sweetheart,” The nickname is not helping the situation you have going on right now, “You don’t mean that. Can’t I just take you to breakfast or buy you a new outfit?”

“Nope.” You respond popping the ‘p’ as you say it. “Either tell me who it was meant for or I send it to the groupchat.” You were bluffing. You couldn’t let the others see him like that, that was for your eyes only. Not that anyone needed to know that.

“You wouldn’t dare,” His voice turned deep and threatening.

“Try. Me.” You challenge back.

Eddie groans, “Fine. You win,” A smile spreads across your face, “It was meant for Callie. This girl in my chem class, we’ve been talking for a little bit.”

You’re a mix of emotions right now; happy that Eddie found someone he’s interested in and took his shot, confused because he never told you about it, sad because you thought he trusted you with things like that, and slightly jealous because you want to be the one Eddie sent nudes to, purposefully.

“Sweetheart? You still there?” You completely forget that you’re still on the phone with Eddie until he says something.

“Uh yeah yeah I’m here. I’m um happy for you Ed. Glad you found someone. Look I gotta go to sleep, big test tomorrow, talk later. Bye.” You hang up before he can say anything else. 

Why did you feel this way about all this? You shouldn’t be thinking of Eddie in this way, he was your best friend. Best friends don’t think about going down on each other, or the way it would feel to have his cock inside you, or the moans he would release when he finally cums in you.

You shake it off and lay back down, setting your phone on your nightstand to charge. You try for half an hour to fall asleep but your mind can’t stop thinking about that damn picture. So you unlock your phone and go back to your messages with Eddie, looking to see if he deleted the picture or not. And to your luck it was the latter, the picture and text below still there for your viewing pleasure.

You’re still horny from the initial thought of him so it doesn’t take long for your hand to wander under your shorts and underwear to your clit. The thought that your fingers were his and the way he would whisper in your ear egging you on to finish.

The images of him jerking himself off in the shower flood you, his hand on the cold tiles, water hitting his back as he fists his cock, rubbing it slowly at first but becoming impatient and going faster until he cums all over the wall and his hand.

The image of his face when he does and the moans that would leave his mouth is what throws you over the edge yourself. Wishing it were him between your legs pulling it from you not your own fingers. Finally your body is tired enough to let you go to sleep, dreaming of Eddie once more.

---

You’re sitting with Eddie and the rest of Hellfire at lunch a week later. Neither of you have talked about what happened that night, both too embarrassed to say anything.

Things were normal though, Eddie would pick you up and drop you off to and from school. You’d talk on the phone every night about whatever happened that day that the other wasn’t there for. You liked the thought that the text didn’t hinder your friendship but you can’t help but be a little jealous about Eddie fucking someone else. It’s not like you were expecting him to confess his hidden undying love for you the next day but the realization that Eddie really did send you that accidentally; hurt.

The freshman are talking about some video game coming out when Eddie lean over to you.

“Whatcha’ thinking about?” There’s a smile on his face, one that you always loved seeing.

“Nothing,” You go back to eating your fruit.

“Alrighty then. Hey I was wondering what time you wanted to come over tonight?”

Your eyes grow wide, mind going back to the text, “Why?”

“Um it’s Wednesday. Horror movie marathon night, remember?” His head cocks to the side a little, his hair falling into his face. It reminds you of a dog questioning what it’s owner has in their hand.

“Oh right yeah. Um I don’t know if I can make it tonight.” That was a lie, you had nothing going on. But being in the trailer alone with Eddie after knowing what he looks like naked is not what you need right now.

“Awe come on! I rented Scream, Saw, and Halloween for tonight. You can’t make me watch them all alone,” He lowers his voice and leans closer, “What if I need protection from the bad guys?” His big doe eyes large and pleading with you.

You roll your eyes and push his face away from you, “Ugh fine. I’ll be there, how’s 8?”

“Perfect! I’ll order the pizzas, do you think you could make those amazing cookies for us?”

“You mean for you?”

“No. I mean for us, I would never eat all the cookies myself.”

“You did like 3 weeks ago! There were 30 cookies there and I had none of them.” You stare at him as he thinks back to then.

“Nope don’t remember which means it didn’t happen. So will you?” There are those puppy dog eyes again.

“Whatever but I swear if you eat all of them again I’ll castrate you.”

Eddie’s hands fly to his groin, protecting it from your threat. “Ouch, sweetheart. Didn’t know you hated my dick that much.”

I don’t. Just hate that it’s not mine. You thought, but you just rolled your eyes and continued on eating lunch until the bell rang.

---

Eddie rushed around his room looking for his favorite shirt when you showed up for movie night. You let yourself in, per usual and set the cookies down on the coffee table before heading to Eddie’s room. He was squating in front of his closet when you come in, you don’t announce yourself just stand there staring at his back.

He got a few new tattoos since last summer, two of which on his back. A skull and crossbones along with a knife wrapped in barbed wire. You haven’t seen them in person yet, it still being too cold to sit out in the sun. But looking at them now was a pleasure, the detail popping out as his muscles flex.

Eddie huffs and stands, defeated about not finding the shirt he wanted. He turns around and finds you standing in his doorway.

“Jesus! Why didn’t you say you were here?” His hand is over his heart as he catches his breath from the unintentional jump scare.

“I texted you like 20 minutes ago that I was on my way. Figured you knew I’d be here soon,” You say as you enter his room fully to sit on his bed.

“I did not see the text, I was in the shower,” The mention of this brought back memories of the photo, and what you did whilst looking at it, “Anyways pizza should be here soon and I’ve got beers and soda in the fridge.”

Eddie walks around you to his dresser, grabbing a random shirt and throwing it on. You’re sad at the loss of his bare skin but quickly shake the thought away. You get up from his bed and head to his living room, Eddie following in toe.

“So what are we watching first? I’ve seen Scream a few times but the other two I haven’t seen,” Eddie remarks as he grabs two beers from the fridge, opening them before handing you one.

You mumble a thanks before taking a sip, the bitter liquid coating your tastebuds. “I’ve seen Scream and Saw but not Halloween. Heard good things about it though, at least that’s what Robin said, Steve had other opinions.”

“Lemme guess pretty boy hated it and wished he never saw it?” Eddie laughs as he sets up Halloween on the tv.

“Yeah pretty much,” You laugh along. The thought of your friend sitting there watching the movie curled up in a blanket next to Robin bringing a smile to your face.

Eddie finishes setting up the movie and walks back the kitchen. He grabs a bag of chips and some dip before returning to your side on the couch. He opens the chips and pops one in his mouth, crunching it loudly.

You smile at the normalcy of everything right now, it’s as if nothing ever happened between the two of you. Which if we’re being honest nothing really did happen, Eddie just sent you a nude on accident. It’s not like you kissed or anything. Not that you’d hate it if you did.

You snack on the chips and dip with him while waiting for the pizza to show up, never starting the movie without it. The two of you talk about nothing in particular while you sit there. Eddie tells you about the upcoming DnD campaign he’s been working on.

His eyes lighting up and hands flying around erratically as he explains what he planned, the animation in his character brings an even bigger smile to your face.

Just as Eddie concludes his explanation, inviting you to come sit in and watch it at the end, the doorbell rings notifying the both of you that the pizza was here and it was now time for movie night to begin.

Eddie pays the guy and happily walks over to the couch and sets the food on the table in front of the two of you, he can’t even wait til the movie starts playing to begin eating. You laugh at him as he opens and closes his mouth quickly trying to cool the hot pizza in his mouth, you just hit play and start watching the movie.

The pizza is gone, same with half the bag of chips and the cookies. Eddie actually let you eat  a few of them before he scarfed down the others. You’re nearing the end of Scream, the third and final movie of the night when you look at your phone for the time. 12:25 stares back at you, you groan knowing that your parents are going to kill you for coming home so late on a school night.

Eddie hears you and turns to see why you made that noise. You just wave him off and go back to watching the movie, watching as Skeet Ulrich gets shot for the final time in the head. A few minutes later the credits roll and Eddie turns off the tv, letting the trailer fade into silence.

“Wanna tell me what that groaning was about?” Eddie asks turning to face you completely.

“Nothing, just didn’t realize that it had gotten so late. Parents are gonna kill me if I go home at this hour.”

“So just stay here,” He says with no hesitation, “You still have a few clothes here after last movie night. They’re just siting in my drawer.”

You think about it for a minute. You and Eddie have had sleepovers in the past, nothing special about them, just two people sharing a bed, occasionally cuddling because of the small size of it. But now the thought of it made you nervous, having him so close to you, so near yet not being able to touch him. It killed you, but it’s better than going back home right now and having your mom and dad rip you a new one.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to shower though. Coach had us run the mile today at practice and I still feel disgusting.”

“Yeah no problem, you go ahead and shower, I’ll clean up here.” He stands and starts clearing the trash from the table. You get up too and head into his bathroom, but no matter how hot the water is or how long you stand under it you can't get the thought of the picture and the words under it out of your mind.

He was right here, jerking off to the thought of someone. You scold yourself for thinking about him like that, again. But you couldn’t help it.

Recently you’ve thought about him more and more; his smile, the dimples that show when he’s really happy, how animatedly he talks, the way his hair is always unkempt but still looks so damn soft. You thought about him in ways you never did before seeing that picture; his arms, his muscles, his hands, his rings. Everything about him turned you on and you needed it to go away.

Eddie finished up cleaning and sat down on his bed, beer in hand while he took out his metal lunchbox for a joint. You walk into his room, towel wrapped around yourself, hair dripping wet from the shower. He stops his actions to just stare at you, the same way you did earlier that night.

“Uh could I borrow some clothes? I don’t have anything to sleep in,” You say wrapping your arms under your boobs, pushing them up ever so slightly.

Eddie clears his throat, “Yeah, sure.” He gets up and walks over to his dresser, rummaging through it to look for something you can wear tonight. He pulls out a pair on your underwear that you “left” there a while back and one of his Hellfire shirts. You denied his offer of some pants, saying they would be way to big on you and you’d rather just sleep in the shirt.

Eddie’s mind went straight to the gutter at that thought, you sleeping next to him, in just his Hellfire shirt and a pair of underwear he stole from you. His dick was growing hard just thinking about it. He quickly got back to looking for his joint and lighting it upon it’s appearance. He took a few hits while you changed in the bathroom, his mind slowly fogging over.

You return, hair still slightly wet with the towel in your hand. You toss it into his hamper before laying on his bed, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. You lay back and close your eyes, letting the serenity of this moment wash over you. Eddie offers you a hit but you decline, being that you don’t ever mix weed and booze together.

He finishes the joint while you finish his beer. The two of you just sitting there with the light sound of whatever record Eddie has playing. Your thoughts are quiet for the most part, just soaking in the time with your best friend, until you think of something. A question you’ve been meaning to ask for a little bit.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He responds head leaning back onto the wall where a headboard should be.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, hit me.” You reach your hand out and hit him in the thigh.

“Ouch! Not literally, I meant with the question, sweetheart.”

“I know,” You giggle.

“Brat,” He mumbles back.

“Anyways, I was gonna ask -and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to it’s just something I’ve been thinking about- but did you really not know it was me you were sending that picture to?” The words lay heavy on your tongue as you say them aloud. You’ve been thinking about this for a while, it’s hard not to.

How did he not know it was you he was texting, your name was right there at the top of the screen. And if he was sending it to someone else how could he not double-check to make sure he wasn’t sending it to someone like Wayne or Robin.

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking about the best way to tell you that, yes he did know it was you he was sending it to. And yes he knew it was stupid but he wanted to try something to see if you felt the same way about him that he does you. Eddie’s loved you for about a year and a half now, never saying anything to anyone in fear of running your friendship.

But that night he was watching a show and one of the characters did this thing where they pretended to send a text to someone “they didn’t mean to”, to see how they’d respond. He thought that maybe this was an easy way of figuring out how you felt about him. But when you didn’t respond to his photo or texts he got scared and called you. Needing to clarify what he sent, and why.

Eddie Taglist: @ali-r3n @dixontardis

#eddie stranger things #munson #eddie munson #eddie my love #eddie my beloved #female reader #oneshot #smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #stranger things season 4 #eddie x reader

[bratphilia]

overtime (m. schmidt x reader)

request: "Hey ! Just discovered your account and I love your writtings ! I was wondered if you could write a smut and romantic thing with mike ? I dont have any specific context and all its up to you ! <3"

note: ty sm for showing love to my work and for requesting!! i finally was able to write something actually sweet with mike for the first time lmao.

pairing: mike schmidt x reader

tags: small age gap, fingering, missionary

after putting abby to sleep, you fell asleep yourself in front of the tv. you couldn't help it! it was a long night of cooking spaghetti for abby (and ordering pizza, per her request), helping her build a fort, and coloring with her inside it. abby's a sweet kid, but babysitting has always tired you out in general. plus her older brother, your boss, started working the graveyard shift at his new job, so it would be unfeasible for you to not go to sleep during your time spent over there.

you woke up to the chair next to you being shifted in, and open your eyes to see mike sitting there, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. you feel embarrassed that you fell asleep on the job and quickly explain yourself. "i'm so sorry for falling asleep, i was just—"

he looks at you. "no need to apologize. i don't expect you to wait all night long for me."

awkward silence fills the air. well, that settles that. god, he's so cute, you think, even all stressed out and with bags under his eyes. he's also been nothing but kind to you since the two of you met. always concerned with how you're doing, how school is holding up, and just generally about your wellbeing. you try to do reciprocate as it's obvious mike doesn't have a lot of people in his life doing the same for him.

you're the first to break the silence. "uhm, there's leftover pizza in the fridge... you know, in case you want any..." you comment, not quite sure what else to say to him.

"oh! thank you," he says. "did abby ask you to..."

"make her spaghetti and order pizza? yes, she absolutely did."

both you and mike laugh. "i'll make sure i can pay you back for that. you really didn't have to—"

"mike," you interrupt, "seriously, don't worry about it. i understand your situation and i want to help you."

mike looks at you gratefully, almost lovingly.

"y'know—"

"so, i should really—"

the both of you talk at the same time. "oh, sorry, you go."

you smile gently. "no, you go. i was just going to say i should hit the road."

he runs a hand through his hair again, eyes darting across the room bashfully. "well i — uh, i just wanted to say thank you for all you do for abby... and for me. it means a lot. you're very... kind."

your smile widens at his awkward choice of words, but it deeply touches you that he appreciates you. you place a hand on top of his. "of course, mike. i'm always here for you."

mike looks at your hand and inhales deeply through his nose. "will you — will you stay for just a little while longer?"

before you know it he's on top of you on the couch, slamming his middle and ring finger inside you while you bite back moans. "gotta be nice and quiet for me, sweetheart. can't wake abby up, okay? or else i gotta stop and neither of us want that," he whispers to you sweetly.

instead of letting you respond, mike presses his lips against yours in a deep kiss while he continues to finger you. you break apart to quietly call his name, letting him know that you're close.

much to your dismay, he pulls his fingers out before you can come. "mike, please," you whisper.

"please, what, honey?" he teases.

you squeeze your thighs together, trying to relieve the tension in your core. "please fuck me already."

mike presses his forehead against yours, breathing sharply as he slowly pushes inside you, inch by inch. you bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out as your pussy swallows his hard length.

as he begins to move, he also clearly struggles to keep his noises to a minimum. as a solution, he envelopes you in a kiss as he moves inside you. his pace gradually increases from gentle to faster. the feeling is absolutely delicious.

he can feel your pussy spasming around him and his own dick pulsing too. he uses the hand caging you in on the couch to hold yours as he continues to fuck you.

"feel so good around me, baby," he whispers hotly. "you have no idea what you — ngh — do to me. every time i see you i always think about fucking you like this."

"mike," you moan quietly. his words only encouraged you.

his name becomes a whispered chant falling from your lips as he fucks you through your own orgasm. he's sure to pull out and come on your stomach while he pumps himself.

mike wipes the sweat off of his forehead and sits up so your legs lay over his lap. "sorry for pushing you into overtime," he jokes.

you give a small laugh. "no worries. it was my pleasure."

mike shakes his head at your dumb joke. then his smile fades and he looks at you seriously. "is it... too early to say that i love you?"

you lean up and meet his lips in a kiss as your answer.

#five nights at freddy's #fnaf #fnaf smut #fnaf movie #fnaf x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader

[anantaru]

DAY 11 — BREEDING

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — wriothesley, zhongli, thoma, ayato

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, breeding, hitting it raw, established relationship, lots of cum & making a mess, taking about starting a family, a little baby fever, praise kink, petnames used: princess, baby, cute boys & feral boys, love sick genshin men

𖧡 — WRIOTHESLEY

wriothesley's trace was slow on you, on the other hand it was also precise, as if he was wholly sure on where he was supposed to touch you.

at the end of the day, it was him and he was aware on what would please you— certainly it's over his logical thoughts and his body moves on its own when he digs his fingertips into your hips to push into you strongly, a hazy grin brilliantly touching up his soft lips when you curve one hand around his neck, forcing your eyes to meet. his arms hold your legs apart consistently, sending charged shivers hastening from your quivering thighs to your sloppy sex.

how utterly perfect you were to him and how unbelievably well he could snug himself inside your dripping pussy— you're driving wriothesley insane, you better keep that in mind, and the way your walls were narrowing down on his thick shaft, almost tasting just like a warm peck of your soft lips worshipping his skin.

and with no punches pulled, wriothesley wonders if you're real sometimes, it's truly frightening that he cannot resist you. mainly when he ghosts his thumb over your perspiring skin, idly contouring the outlines of your curves and smiling when you puff out a needful whimper because of him. other than that, he doesn't move slowly when it came to his hips, and his hands? well, they're ruthless, way beyond recovering, exploring your body when his painfully hard cock snaps forward— you're almost there and so was he, feeling it wide in your belly, pulling the coil in your stomach and soon after he chases more of his relief, unable to keep his hips still, he tastes the shivers of an impending orgasm like a vibrating, electric current weighting around the hardened outline of his length.

"—wanted this for so long." his way of wording was slurred despite his clear intention to confess his desperation, and you're clearly unsure on what exactly wriothesley meant by that— needless to say there were conversations in the past that revolved around dodging the condom for a while, so he could penetrate you raw and reach the warmest, most delicious sweet spots on your walls without the thin plastic ultimately separating you two.

but instead of asking him for a better explanation, you reach out to touch him and mouth wet kisses over his neck before whining when he spreads your thighs further apart to watch how the filthy blend of your arousal and his milky whites dribble out of your hole, your used slit drawing more of it out each flutter— so, wriothesley does what he believes was the most proper way to handle such situation and immediately shuts his dripping dick back into your core, your mouth going dry by the unexpected intrusion as he kisses your forehead with a soft laugh, sending a ripple of heat to your stuffed cunt while tracing the patterns of your walls with his pink cock head.

it's cute, when he kisses your forehead again before continuing his sentence from earlier, "i dream about this constantly." a low, rumbling heave breaks into your ear all hotly and wet, "to feel you, baby, fuck— for real this time." as you peer up at him— he looks like your cunt just sent him to heaven, his thrusts sloppier than before but imbedded with more passion.

they're purposeful, tensed and slobbering all over your cum-stricken walls— he's giving you his all, holding you still while pushing his cock deeper only for you to clench down again, almost bringing him to tears by how eagerly you were responding and how desperate you fluttered around his shaft, almost strong enough to push him out again, your sensitive pussy so responsive, and deliberately letting his cock feel the warmness of your insides.

𖧡 — ZHONGLI

under the homely protection of zhongli's weight on top of you, he greedily pumps his thick shaft in and out of your cunt, attempting to shift his hips a little so he could trace his cock head even better, more so finer into your walls that the intense precision of it stole the air off your lungs.

the passionate noises expelled by your bodies graze against the shell of your ears, the wet, smacking plunges burgeoning at every following thrust as zhongli twists his large palms around your knees with the force of his bodily strength before pressing them towards your chest, your complete frame now folded in half, your dripping cunt on full display and fuck, you're so damn tighter this way— and your precious husbands eyes edged on to the brink of swelling with translucent crystallines due to how unbelievably constricted your tiny hole got just when he sunk back inside, seeking out more.

pushing his tip through your pussy, he roams over your silken walls lingering on his shaft, the small oozes of your arousal and his cum spitting and drooling all over his dick as he rams it back into you, so he could claim you, dwell on top of the correct spot, so he could scatter his load all over your insides, his balls slapping against your flesh. zhongli doesn't give you time to breathe, leisurely fucking you through your helpless whines, puffed out hiccups of zhongli, zhongli, touching the depths of his heart as you coax a breathy chuckle from his throat— you're so fucking adorable when he gets you to that point of wobbly trembles taking over your frame, your half-broken sobs sealing the cracks of his soul.

zhongli likes to dwell on the thought of starting a family with you, his cute darling loving him and yearning for his body— it had always persisted through his consciousness whilst playing small fantasies on repeat. truly, it was difficult to hold himself back in bed, taken into consideration just how strong zhongli was, and he genuinely does try his best to not go beyond feral on you, holding himself back when he lastly drips his creamy cum down to your battered walls, your head lolling back and digging into the disheveled pillows as your mind breaks in shambles.

in spite of that, he gives you what your body shamelessly yearned for, his bangs sticking on his wet forehead as zhongli continues to paint your sloppy pussy and plaster his cum all over you, dragging his hard shaft over a sensitive patch on your responsive flesh. suddenly— you make a mistake and cry into his neck, whilst unbeknownst to you, you're turning him on again immediately, his cheeks inked in redness, his lips curved up, his eyes widening with a light bead of sweat forming just above his brow bone.

𖧡 — THOMA

this was, without a doubt, the furthest you have ever gone with thoma this eventful night— and you cannot help the perpetual twitches of your body before you pant out a passionate cry, so blissful that it brought you to tears when he cums inside of you again— with a low, deep rumble of your name coming undone, a feral noise coruscating through your delicate shape with how impossibly intense and hot it was.

his white, creamy seed sowed a blistering hot spot on your inflamed cunt as his sticky load easily slips into you and overflows the deepest depths of your pussy, messily bubbling out instantly before thoma swiftly crowds it back into you— your fists trembling against your body when his cock messily slaps at your cunt.

but do not be mistaken, because his muscled arms won't move away from you, even after cumming large and hot, he keeps his hips steady at all times whilst slowly rutting in and out, in and out before lifting up one of your leg to settle it on top of his shoulder, coaxing minuscule effects of overstimulation on your throbbing pussy.

"fuck— i can't wait." thoma suddenly whispers at you, his lips leaving wet manifestations on your cheek before grabbing onto the swell of your breast with his palm, all the while forcing his thudding cock back into your poor cunt, your clit twitching in anticipation to climax once again. "i really can't want to start a family with you."

in a way, you could state that thoma meant it in a literal sense, because the split moment after spelling his words out for you to hear, he does not waste a single, more second before ramming you into a feverish daze— and he thinks it's adorable when all you can do is whine in response, your hips steadily moving up to receive his blows as you corner his neck with your trembling arms, your lips mouthing hasty please, please, please, and more, more, more, as a pearl of sweat forms on your forehead.

you clench so tight around him now, thoma thought he's about to break under the pressure you put him through— despite that being utterly determined to make this work flawlessly, prolonging your lust when he reaches down to your clit and flicks one calloused finger over the bristling bundle of pleasure, pending between rubbing rough circles over your inflamed nerves and nudging his fat cockhead inside your cunt walls, his balls straining from the heaviness of his milky whites when he once again— nuzzles his face inside your neck and noses over the familiar scent of your wet skin before shooting his full load into your tight pussy, his abs hot and red, flexing with the ridges imbedded in sweat.

thoma just loves his little sweetheart so much, and he'd never deny any requests you'd throw at him— and the moment he comes back from his strong high that made his heart almost burst out of his chest, he nips at your bottom lip all sweetly, his hands a little shaky, closing around your frame;

"i just love you so much, ‘can't wait to start a family with you."

𖧡 — AYATO

your husband ayato was, in his untouched eminence, a kind man— compassionate and affectionate, and he works hard at his job to provide for his family, adores spoiling you and treasures your precious frame, as if it's the most delicate, most exquisite diamond in the world.

most importantly and beyond anybodys imagination, the yashiro commissioner likes to reveal a side of him, that he believes needs to devour you entirely;

"so tight, fuck!" he curses through a tensed jaw when he fucks you, and your ayato always made it his duty to tell you just how he was feeling because of you— what kind of pleasure he was experiences, how his soft, kissable lips touched up into a hazy smirk when you peer up at him, "i crave you, princess." he whispers again, your moans energizing him to hit all inside you, splitting you effortlessly with the thickness of his shaft reaches places.

it's quite easy for him, and he fills every last inch of your pussy that it overcrowds you and you start to believe that if you were to push down on your stomach right now, that you could actually feel him brush in and out.

another experimental thrust and you greedily squeeze up around him as he makes you swallow around his cock, gaping down before admiring just how fucking sinful it looked disappearing in your sloppy pussy— a ring of pearly whites presented around his shaft, almost like you're claiming him that particular way, the film of your arousal sticky and spilling all over his stiffened erection.

"w-where do you want me?" ayato leans over to mouth a kiss on your cheek before whispering wetly into your ear, hoping you are still able to respond despite looking like a hot mess by now— your legs quivering and on the brink of giving up on you if it wasn't for him strictly keeping them apart;

"inside..." you babble incoherently, inside, inside, inside, gasping, when he observes you struggling to properly take the fullness of his cock even though he had prepared you properly beforehand, his muscled arms looked against you before he drums his erection back and forth, your cunt creamed up and ready to take another one of his load.

"fuck— you don't even know how much i wanted you to say this." he confesses, the soft sounds of your cunt suckling him in appear like the finest music to his ears— and your body arches up into his chest, twisting slightly under him as you listen to a deep groan fall from his lips.

you whine, overstimulated, and squirm under the towering touch of his body when he obliges to your pleas, your bedroom feeling oppressively hot as he fills you at last, the trace alone, fuck, the warm feeling of ayato filling you with his seed made your head spin and rewire— he was so big, so hard and he just felt so good throbbing angrily inside of you.

his balls drip with your arousal and his cum, there was just so much of it that it made you dizzy, an aching pulse on your wet sex pawing its way through your sensitive places, your body jolting heavy while grinding on his hips, his dick sinking and bulging constricted around your insides, mouth agape and whining out a silent scream.

it took your breath away, truly, and now it’s silent and everything else stood still, only your foreheads pressed against one another, the room humid and smelling of lewdness and filth— but it's comforting in a way, and ayato’s hand drums up to your bare side, inches his way all up to your soft cheek before pushing you against his mouth with the same intensity as he was handling your pussy earlier, squeezing the air from your lungs, suffocating you with sweet nothings and praises, new confessions and small fantasies of breeding you once more.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

#genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #ayato smut #thoma smut #ayato x reader #thoma x reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli smut #zhongli x you #wriothesley x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #kinktober #genshin impact drabbles #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact headcanons

[pucksandpower]

Young Love and Old Money

Max Verstappen x Stroll!Reader

Summary: Max quickly learns that life with the paddock’s favorite nepo baby as his girlfriend is never boring

You take a deep breath as the town car pulls up to the grand arched doorway of your family’s Montreal estate. Beside you, Max squeezes your hand gently.

“Don’t worry, schatje,” he says, “Your father will love me.”

You smile nervously. “I hope so. But you know how protective he can be.”

Max grins. “I can handle it.”

The driver opens the door and you step out into the crisp night air, your heels clicking on the cobblestone. Max follows, straightening his suit jacket.

Inside, the foyer glitters with crystal chandeliers. A maid hurries to take your coats. As she leads you to the formal dining room, your heart pounds.

This dinner needs to go perfectly.

Your father and Lance are already seated at the long mahogany table, chatting. They look up as you enter and break into smiles.

“Y/N!” Your father exclaims warmly, standing to embrace you. “So wonderful to see you, mon minou.”

You hug him tightly back. “You too, Papa.”

Lance grins as he hugs you next. “Hey sis. Long time no see.”

You playfully mess up his hair. “Too long, little bro.”

Finally, you turn to Max, who is waiting patiently. “Papa, Lance, you already know my boyfriend, Max.”

Max steps forward confidently and shakes their hands. “Mr. Stroll, Lance, it’s an honor to finally meet you both properly.”

Your father looks Max up and down appraisingly. “The honor is mine, Max. Please, call me Lawrence.”

You let out a small sigh of relief as you all take your seats. So far, so good.

The first course is brought out — a decadent lobster bisque. You all sip appreciatively.

“Delicious,” Max compliments.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” your father says graciously. “Now, tell me Max, how is your season going so far?”

You tense slightly. Here it comes, the interrogation.

But Max just smiles. “It’s been excellent. A few tough races, but I’m leading the championship at the moment. The car has great pace and I think we have a shot at the title again this year.”

Lance jumps in enthusiastically. “I saw your battle with Charles last race when I was rewatching the tape. Epic stuff, man!”

“Thanks, mate,” Max chuckles. “It was a fun one for sure.”

You exhale in relief. Max is charming them perfectly.

The conversation flows easily through the next few courses. You can’t help but gaze admiringly at Max as he seamlessly meshes with your family. He has a natural confidence and charisma that puts everyone at ease.

Over dessert, your father says warmly, “Max, I can see why my Y/N cares for you. You’re clearly an exceptional young man, both on and off the track.”

Max smiles, touched. “Thank you, sir. Y/N is very special to me.” He squeezes your hand.

You beam, your heart swelling. This is going even better than you hoped.

You finish up the chocolate mousse and set down your spoon contentedly. “That was delicious. This dinner has been wonderful, thank you Papa.”

“Of course,” your father says fondly. “I’m so glad you both could make it out here from Monaco.”

“Thank you for having me,” Max adds.

“Anytime,” Lawrence smiles.

You glance around the table happily. Your boyfriend fits right in with your family. Everything feels so natural and perfect.

“Daddy, could you please pass the sugar?” You ask amiably.

Immediately, both Max and your father’s hands reach for the small pot of sugar in the center of the table. They both freeze awkwardly for a second, before Lawrence pulls his hand back slowly.

You feel your stomach drop as you see the dawning realization cross your father’s face.

Oh no.

This is bad.

Lawrence’s smile becomes forced. “So tell me Max, what exactly does my daughter call you?”

Max’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Um, just Max usually.”

You sink down in your chair, wincing.

Your father lets out a hollow laugh. “Is that so? Because it didn’t sound like that to me.”

A leaden silence descends on the table. Lance glances between you all, smothering a smirk.

Max clears his throat awkwardly. “Well, uh, that’s just a casual nickname really ...”

Lawrence raises an eyebrow. “A casual nickname you say? For my daughter to call her boyfriend in front of her family?”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to vanish. This is excruciatingly embarrassing.

“Dad, come on,” Lance snickers, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “They’re young, it’s whatever.”

“No Lance, it’s not whatever,” your father snaps, an edge in his voice now. “I would like Max to explain himself here.”

Max holds up his hands placatingly. “Sir, I apologize if we’ve made you uncomfortable. But I assure you our relationship is completely respectful.”

You nod quickly. “Papa, he’s right. Can we please just move on?”

But Lawrence is unyielding. “I will not have anyone take liberties with my daughter, do you understand me, young man?”

Max looks properly chastened. “Yes sir, of course. I meant no offense.”

Your father bristles as he glares between you. The awkward tension hovers for several painful moments.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. “Papa, stop!” You blurt out. “I’m an adult now. You can’t control what I choose to do with my boyfriend.”

Lawrence looks stunned, then hurt. “Y/N, I’m just looking out for you ...”

“I know, but I don’t need protecting from Max. He’s wonderful and he makes me so happy. Can’t you let me make my own choices?”

Your father’s expression softens. He sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just … so hard for me to think of you growing up.”

You reach over and squeeze his hand. “I know. But I’ll always be your little girl.”

Lawrence smiles tenderly at you, then turns to Max. “Forgive my outburst, son. I can see how much you care for each other.”

Max looks relieved. “Of course, sir. I understand completely.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Crisis averted.

Your father stands, raising his glass. “To young love. May you always treat my daughter with the honor and respect she deserves.”

“I will, sir,” Max promises earnestly.

You all clink glasses, the tension dissolving. Conversation resumes, lighter and more relaxed now.

Later, as Max helps you on with your coat, your father claps him warmly on the back. “Thank you for making my daughter so happy. You’ll always be welcome in our home.”

Max’s face lights up. “Thank you, sir. That means the world.”

Lawrence winks. “I was young once too, you know. Just maybe keep the nicknames to yourselves around me.”

You all laugh together. Your heart swells with joy. Despite the awkward moments, the evening couldn’t have gone better.

As the chauffeur drives off into the night, you snuggle contentedly into Max’s shoulder. “Thank you for being so wonderful tonight,” you whisper.

He kisses your hair. “Of course, liefje. I would do it all over again for you.”

***

The sleek red Ferrari glints under the showroom lights as you and Max admire your reflection in the gleaming curves.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Max grins, running his hand along the hood. “I can’t wait to take her out on the open road.”

You smile at his childlike enthusiasm. “She certainly is gorgeous. You have great taste, babe.”

The salesman steps forward eagerly. “Yes, the Ferrari SF90 Stradale is our newest supercar model. Twin-turbo V8, 720 horsepower. She’ll do 0 to 60 in under three seconds.”

Max’s eyes light up. “Incredible. I think I’m in love already.”

You laugh. “Should I be jealous?”

“Never,” Max winks, pulling you in for a quick kiss.

The salesman smiles indulgently. “Why don’t we step into my office to finalize the paperwork?”

“Sounds good,” Max agrees, lacing his fingers through yours as you follow the salesman.

In the sleek minimalist office, you both take a seat across from the desk as the salesman pulls up Max’s file.

“Excellent. Everything looks in order, Mr. Verstappen,” he says briskly. “If you just sign here and here, we’ll get you all set up.”

Max eagerly scrawls his signature on the documents. You watch in amusement — he reminds you of a kid on Christmas morning.

“Alright, congratulations!” The salesman stands and shakes Max’s hand. “The SF90 is all yours. We’ll have her prepped and ready for you within the hour.”

“Amazing, thanks so much,” Max grins, standing up.

You’re about to follow him out when a flash of black catches your eye. Through the office window, you spot a brand new Ferrari model on display in the showroom.

“Ooh what’s that one?” You ask curiously, gazing at the aggressive curves and styling.

The salesman glances over. “The new 812 Competizione A. It is a limited edition 599-unit production run. Just unveiled last month.”

You feel a thrill run through you as you take in the stunning hypercar. “It’s incredible. I have to have it.”

Max raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? You want that one too?”

You turn to the salesman decisively. “I’ll take it. My family has bought from Ferrari for years, my name should be in your client database.”

“Of course, Miss Stroll,” the salesman nods, typing rapidly into his computer. “I see you right here. Let’s start the paperwork and we’ll get the car ordered for you right away.”

You grab your purse, immediately fishing out your black Centurion Card. “Just bill it to my usual card, thanks,” you say breezily, handing it over.

You can feel Max’s stunned gaze on you but you keep your focus on the salesman, reviewing the spec sheet and customization options.

This new Ferrari is just too sexy to resist.

Within minutes, the paperwork is signed and you’ve secured the very first 812 Competizione A destined to stay in Monaco. You grin excitedly — you can’t wait to get your hands on it.

“Thank you so much, just have it delivered to my place in the Fontvieille district when it’s ready,” you tell the appreciative salesman before turning to leave.

You lace your fingers through Max’s, still smiling about your new spontaneously purchased hypercar. “Ready to take your new baby out for a drive?”

Max is quiet as you walk back to the showroom, seemingly lost in thought. He stays silent as the gleaming red SF90 Stradale is pulled around, not even cracking a smile when the salesman hands over the keys with a flourish.

It’s not until you’ve been driving for several minutes, weaving along the coastal roads overlooking the Mediterranean, that Max finally speaks.

“That was 2.13 million euros,” he states flatly. “And you just ... bought it. Without a second thought.”

You glance over, taking in the unreadable expression on his face. “I mean, yeah, it’s a beautiful model. Why not just get it?” You say casually.

Max shakes his head slowly. “I just can’t wrap my head around having that kind of money. That you can just drop over two million without thinking twice.”

You shift slightly, feeling defensive. “I’m sorry, does it make you uncomfortable? I know I grew up with a very different lifestyle ...”

“No, that’s not it at all,” Max interrupts. He pauses, gazing out at the sparkling blue sea pensively.

“It’s just … I’m not used to being with someone who’s on my level. Financially, I mean. All my previous girlfriends, I always had to take care of everything. Pay for dinner, vacations, whatever they needed.”

He turns to look at you. “But you’re different. You have as much money as me, more even. You can buy a hypercar on a whim, no problem. It’s new territory.”

You chew your lip. “I don’t want you to feel emasculated or anything. If you want to pay or take care of things ...”

Max shakes his head again, more firmly this time. “That’s just it — I don’t. I like that you’re independent. It’s really ...”

He pauses, blushing slightly. “Sexy. That’s the word. It’s sexy that you have your own money and success. I’m not used to feeling that in a relationship before.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. That was not the reaction you were expecting.

Max glances at you almost shyly. “Is that weird to say? I just mean, it’s different than what I’m used to, but in a good way. Like we’re equals, you know?”

Slowly, a smile spreads across your face. “No, not weird at all. I get what you mean.” You reach over and squeeze his hand. “This is new territory for me too. But I like discovering it together.”

Max’s face lights up with that radiant smile that melts your heart. “Me too, liefje.”

Your conversation flows easily as you cruise along the seaside, the setting sun glittering on the water. And seeing the look in his eyes when he glances at you now — equal parts love and admiration — you realize just how right it feels.

Being with someone who can match you in every way is new and different for both of you. But you have a feeling it’s the start of something beautiful.

***

The energy buzzing around the paddock is electric as you walk hand-in-hand with Max towards the Red Bull motorhome. Fans line the barriers, cheering and shouting his name. Max smiles and waves, slowing to sign autographs and snap selfies with outstretched phones.

You hang back politely as he interacts with his adoring public. You know the drill by now, having attended countless races with your dad and brother over the years. Blend into the background and let the drivers have their moment.

“Max! Can we get an autograph?” A young girl calls out eagerly, brandishing a cap and marker pen.

“Of course!” Max says graciously, letting go of your hand to walk over.

You hang back contentedly, happy to let him have his moment with his supporters. You catch snippets of their supportive comments as Max signs item after item, posing for selfies in between.

“You’re the greatest, Max!”

“That last win was epic. Get that fourth title this year!”

“We love you so much!”

You smile to yourself. Seeing how much joy Max brings to these fans makes your heart swell with pride and affection.

As you stand waiting patiently, you overhear the girl lean over to her friend and not-so-subtly whisper, “Who’s the chick with Max? She looks kinda stuck up if you ask me.”

Your smile freezes. You see the girl jerk her head rudely in your direction, glaring at you.

“I know right,” her friend agrees in a carrying whisper. “Another gold-digger who managed to sink her claws into a rich man too blind to see what she’s doing.”

You clench your jaw, stung by their spiteful words. Who do they think they are, judging you when they don’t even know you?

Max is still occupied with the other fans, oblivious. You debate whether to just ignore the rude girls. But their jealous gossiping has sparked your defiance. Why should you stay silent?

Squaring your shoulders, you turn and level a steady gaze at them. “For your information, I don’t need a rich man. I am a rich man,” you state coldly.

Their eyes widen in shock, mouths dropping open stupidly. Clearly they weren’t expecting you to confront them.

Before they can react, Max is suddenly beside you, slipping his arm around your waist.

“Whoa, everything okay here?” His gaze darts between you and the embarrassed fans.

You take a breath, ready to explain it away. But Max doesn’t give you the chance.

“You know, if anything, I’m the one who got my claws hooked into her,” he announces, lips curving into a smirk.

Now it’s your turn to gape at him in surprise. The nasty fans look completely bewildered.

“That’s right ladies, I’m just a kept man,” Max continues lightly. “Her arm candy. A sugar baby, if you will.”

He pretends to examine his nails arrogantly and you have to stifle a shocked laugh. Is he actually joking about being your boy toy right now?

Max leans in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, dating a Stroll has done wonders for my bank account. I mean have you seen the new and improved garage decor?”

You smother your grin behind your hand as he prattles on, winking at you.

“So don’t worry about Y/N here, she can buy and sell me twice over.” Max presses a smacking kiss to your cheek. “Isn’t that right, schatje?”

Finally you can’t hold back your laughter anymore. Max joins in and the fans stare, unsure how to react.

“Come on sugar mama, we’ve got a race to win,” Max says breezily, steering you away.

Once safely inside the garage, you turn to him incredulously. “What was that all about?”

Max shrugs, his expression sobering. “I heard what they said. Just wanted to shut them up and defend my girl.”

Your heart melts. Standing on your tiptoes, you kiss him soundly. “My hero. Thank you.”

Max still looks bothered. “You shouldn’t have to deal with stupid gossip. Especially not lies about you using me.”

You slip your arms around his neck persuasively. “It usually doesn’t get to me. Let the jealous haters talk. We know the truth.”

He sighs, gently moving a strand of hair from your face. “I just hate anyone thinking badly of you. You deserve the world.”

Touched by his sincerity, you pull him down into a soft kiss. When you finally draw apart, an idea pops into your head.

“Although ...” you begin thoughtfully, “Maybe we should lean into it.”

Max looks confused. “What do you mean?”

You grin mischievously. “You’re my hot trophy boyfriend. I need to show you off and treat you right.”

Comprehension dawns on Max’s face and he barks out a laugh. “Well I won’t say no to being spoiled.”

He winks roguishly and you dissolve into giggles. The stupid gossipers don’t know anything. You and Max are just perfect together.

For the rest of the weekend, you shamelessly flaunt your new role as Max’s “sugar mommy.” At every opportunity, you shower him with over-the-top gifts and PDA in front of the other drivers and team members.

Designer watches, bouquets of flowers, bottles of decadent gin for his favorite drink — you deliver them all publicly to Max along with cooed compliments and kisses. You can see the amusement hidden behind his mock protests at being “objectified.”

The other drivers are endlessly entertained. Daniel teases Max about latching onto an heiress, while Charles jokingly asks if you have a sister he can date.

By the time Max wins on Sunday, cementing his spot at the top of the championship, the silly gossip from earlier in the weekend is long forgotten.

As you snuggle together on the flight home from the race, you turn to Max curiously. “So, how does it feel being a kept man?”

He pretends to consider it deeply. “Hmm, tough to say. The gifts and pampering were nice ...”

You swat his chest indignantly and he laughs.

“Kidding, kidding,” he assures, pulling you tighter against him. “Obviously I love you for you, not your money, schatje.”

His voice softens. “Thank you for this weekend. I know the gossip bothered you, even if you didn’t show it. I’m lucky to have you by my side.”

You tilt your face up to meet his lips, kissing him tenderly. No more words are needed. Being together says it all.

***

The roar of the crowd surrounds you as you step onto the red carpet on Max’s arm, cameras flashing wildly. He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze and leans in close.

“You ready for this, liefje?”

You take a deep breath and nod, pasting on a smile. “Ready.”

This is your big formal debut — attending your first FIA Prize Giving Ceremony as Max’s girlfriend. And with him just winning his fourth World Championship, all eyes are sure to be on you both tonight.

You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you begin the walk down the carpet, waving politely to the fans shouting Max’s name. He looks completely at ease, his fourth-straight title boosting his confidence even higher.

You, on the other hand, feel like you might trip over your gown at any moment under the blinding spotlights. But you keep your chin high, channeling the poise that’s been drilled into you since girlhood.

Perks of growing up in high society — you know how to fake it on a red carpet.

About halfway down, an interviewer steps forward, microphone in hand. “Max Verstappen! Congratulations on your fourth championship. How are you feeling tonight?”

Max smiles easily. “Thank you, it feels amazing. It was a great battle all season long so this one feels very satisfying.”

The reporter nods, then turns her attention to you. “And who is this lovely lady accompanying you tonight?”

“This is my girlfriend, Y/N,” Max introduces you proudly.

“Y/N, you look absolutely stunning tonight, if you don’t mind me saying,” the interviewer gushes. “That gown is exquisite!”

You relax slightly, warming to her friendly tone. “Thank you so much!” You smile.

“In fact, both of your outfits are fabulous,” she continues. “Who are you wearing tonight?”

Max’s face lights up. He squeezes your hand excitedly. “Funny you should ask — we’re both wearing custom Y/N Stroll originals!”

You have to resist the urge to giggle at the unconcealed pride in his voice.

The interviewer’s eyes widen. “No way, you designed these yourselves?”

You nod, enjoying her reaction. “I did, yeah. Fashion design is a bit of a hobby of mine.”

“A hobby she’s amazing at,” Max interjects adoringly. “She could have her own luxury brand if she wanted. I feel so honored to wear her work.”

You blush at his high praise. “Oh Max, stop. But thank you, that’s so sweet.”

The reporter seems thrilled at this exclusive scoop. “Incredible! It looks like you have some serious talent, Y/N. Any plans to pursue that more seriously?”

You hesitate briefly. Your father has been gently nudging you to take over his fashion business when he retires. But that’s still in the future ...

You decide to give a lighthearted answer. “We’ll see! Fashion does run in my family so it’s always a possibility.” You finish with a coy smile.

“How wonderful! We’ll be keeping an eye out for Y/N Stroll designs in the future then,” the reporter concludes enthusiastically.

You grin and wave as she lets you continue down the carpet, Max’s arm securely around your waist.

“See, that wasn’t so bad was it?” He murmurs in your ear.

“Not at all,” you admit. “I might get used to this whole red carpet thing after all.”

Max winks. “Stick with me and you’ll be a pro in no time.”

Your heart flutters happily. Being by his side just feels so right.

Inside the lavish venue, you’re shown to your table near the front with the other top drivers and their partners. Max pulls out your chair politely before sitting down beside you.

You chat with the other girls at the table, fellow WAGs you’ve gotten to know over the course of the season. They gush over the dress you designed, making you promise to create something for them too.

Soon, the lights dim and the ceremony begins. You clap loudly as Max wins Driver of the Year, bursting with pride for your champion.

Finally, the moment comes for the big one. The announcer begins the buildup, recapping the season’s epic title battle between Max and his closest rival.

"… And in the end, one man emerged victorious for the fourth time in his young but dazzling career,” the announcer concludes. “Formula 1 World Driver’s Champion ... Max Verstappen!”

The room explodes into thunderous applause as Max squeezes your hand and makes his way up to the stage, beaming. You watch with tears in your eyes as he accepts the trophy, looking so handsome and accomplished.

After the ceremony finishes, Max makes his way back to you, trophy in hand. You throw your arms around him. “I’m so proud of you!”

He hugs you tight, then pulls back, his expression earnest. “I couldn’t have done it without your support this season. Having you by my side means everything to me.”

Your heart swells and you kiss him tenderly. “You deserve this so much. And nothing makes me happier than being with you.”

Max’s eyes shine. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Max.”

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #max verstappen #mv1 #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen blurb #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x female reader #max verstappen x female reader #max verstappen x y/n #red bull racing #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen drabble

[rafeandonlyrafe]

deliveries

words: 1.2k

warnings: ex!rafe, reconciliation, kinda sugar daddy rafe but he just likes taking care of his girl mhm iktr

“can i say no?” you sigh.

“say no? did you not place this delivery?” the man raises his eyebrows.

“i didn't. my- my ex did.”

“well, i have to deliver it, ma’am, but i don't care what you do with it afterwards. give it to your friends or throw it out.” the man sets the bags of food at your doorstep, snapping a picture before walking off.

you can't blame him, plus it's probably a situation he's never encountered before.

you sigh as you pick up the bags, carrying them into the kitchen counter. packages, deliveries and letters have been showing up on your doorstep for two weeks, ever since you broke up with rafe.

you're sick of it at this point. as you go through the food, picking out something to eat for dinner (you're not just gonna let it go to waste!) you grab your phone and unblock rafes number.

you wonder how long it will take him to realize as you sit at your desk and eat. you're in an apartment complex with pretty tight security, it's the only reason why rafe isn't knocking at your door himself, instead sending whoever he can to get a message to you, while simultaneously making sure you have plenty of food to eat and things to take care of yourself with.

you answer your phone after the first ring. you deleted his contact, but rafes number is forever memorized in your head.

“stop sending me things.” 

“baby, its a relief to hear your voice again.” rafe sighs, sounding genuinely happy, like a weight is suddenly off his chest. “please, let me just talk to you. i miss you so much.”

“no, rafe. we broke up. you need to stop.” 

“why'd you break up with me? what did you tell me princess?” rafe questions. “i wasn't giving you enough attention. now im giving you everything. please, y/n.” he pleads. “im not going to stop.”

you take a deep sigh. you really love rafe, despite your relationship being only six months old when you broke up with him, it was just too much. too much attention from your friends and too much pressure from his family. it pushed your relationship farther apart until rafe barely paid attention to you, receiving constant questions from his dad and friends.

“you have to, rafe. clearly things weren't working out. we tried. we can say that. gave it a fair shot.”

“im not done trying. yes, i let my family and other people get into my head about our relationship, but im done with that bullshit. i want you back.”

“let me think about it, okay?” it's an olive branch. the best thing that you can extend right now.

“okay.” rafe agrees. “how about i call you friday?”

you glance at the calendar hanging over your desk. two days. two days to think. you're not sure it's enough or too much.

“that works… but rafe, stop sending me stuff.”

“i can't, baby.” you can practically see the way he's shaking his head right now. “gotta take care of my girl, even if you don't wanna see me.”

“fine.” you groan. you know there's no talking rafe out of it. “order me some lemonade next time then.”

--

you yawn as you wake up with a big stretch, instinctively reaching over to the other side of the bed. your hand pats the sheets before remembering that you left rafe.

you slide out of bed, heading towards your kitchen to get something for breakfast when a knock on your door interrupts you.

“one second!” you're in pajamas, but they're far too small and tight to answer the door in. you rush back into your bedroom and pull a robe on to cover up.

“hi!” the delivery woman smiles. “y/n?”

“yup.” you nod, stepping to the side. “do you mind just setting it down on the counter?”

the woman places the bags down before saying goodbye and seeing herself out. you sigh and look into the bags, eyes bulging when you see velvet boxes carefully placed inside one of them.

you pull out one of the boxes, gasping when a beautiful diamond necklace is revealed. you continue to open them, realizing rafe bought you jewelry of almost every variety.

“oh, gosh.” you grab a note, opening it to see his handwriting.

it's just what you deserve. i love you and want you back. can't wait to talk to you tomorrow.

rafe

p.s. i paid your rent for the next three months

you grab your phone before even looking in the other bag, dialing rafes number. he picks up almost instantly.

“you know you can't buy my love, right?” 

“im not trying to.” rafe says. “im just trying to take care of you. did you get the breakfast?”

you peek into the other bag, seeing a stack of delicious looking pancakes inside a clear container, as well as some other options.

“yeah, ill eat it in a minute.”

“good.” you can practically hear rafes smile over the phone.

“how about we meet up in person to talk tomorrow instead of on the phone?”

“ill go wherever you want.”

“our first date.” is all you say before hanging up, grabbing the pancakes and container holding scrambled eggs.

--

you're aware you didn't say what time as you pull up to the pier. it's a warm day, sunny with almost no clouds in the sky, but a light breeze gives you the perfect amount of cooling.

you walk down the pier, unable to hold back your smile when you see rafe sitting on the bench where you ate ice cream on your first date after finally agreeing to let him take you out.

rafe watches you carefully as you sit down next to him.

“you're wearing the necklace i got you.” he smiles, seeing the gold chain around your neck.

“i am.” you nod. 

“can i… can i hug you? ive missed you so much baby.”

you nod again, not sure you can find your voice as rafes arms wrap around your body, holding you into his side. you snuggle into his chest, eyes sliding shut. 

“love you so much.” rafe says, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “so much i messed up the first time not trying to be too obsessed. i just didn't want to make you run away, turns out i did the exact opposite and you felt ignored. you know how my dad is…” rafe trails off as you pick your head up to look at him.

“we shouldn't have let others get between us.” you know you're not innocent in it either, contributing just as much to rafe to the tension that had grown between the two of you.

“and we won't let it happen again now that we know.” rafe says, a promising look in his eyes. you swear it looks like he might cry as you nod.

he ducks his head, pressing your lips together in a sweet kiss. you fist your hands in his shirt, keeping him close as you kiss back, having missed his lips on yours more than you'd like to admit.

“does this mean you'll tell security im allowed back in?” rafe laughs gently, cupping your face, his thumb gently stroking over your cheek.

“hmm, i guess.” you giggle.

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @sourkittie @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @drewsephrry @1aarii1 @bejeweledreverie @winterrrnight

#sorry for the boring fluffy fics lately #i just need themf dslk #rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe x oc #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron x reader #rafe imagine #rafe drabble #rafe one shot #rafe blurb #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron blurb #rafe fluff #rafe Cameron fluff #soft!rafe #soft!rafe cameron #soft!rafe cameron x reader

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two (You are Here) / Part Three 

A03

Hopper had undersold Harrington's condition. 

Wayne hadn't expected anything pretty, but the face that turned to them as they walked through the door almost had him freezing in place. 

Black eye, bruised chin, split lip. 

More and more bruises, some faded and some very new, trailing down the kids neck. 

 The rest was hidden by his preppy little polo shirt, but Wayne didn't doubt that there were more.

Harrington tried to stand when they entered the room and the way he moved--entirely unbalanced, clearly in a lot of pain--made Wayne think the only thing the kid really needed was a hospital. 

Because Steve Harrington hadn't just been beaten. 

He'd been tortured--and very recently strangled. 

(Abruptly, Wayne realized that Hopper had implied the boy had been in the mall fire--just as much as he implied the mall fire was anything but. 

He also hadn't stated how Harrington had escaped the Suites trying to break into his house.) 

"Sit down." Hopper commanded, and Wayne expected Harrington to do anything but listen. 

Say something cocky, or act the part of a demanding little shit maybe, despite the condition he was in.

Instead the kid just sighed in relief and dropped like a stone, right back into the chair. 

Hopper came around his desk, talking all the while. "Steve, this is Wayne. Wayne, Steve."

"Hello Sir." Steve croaked politely. His voice was wrecked, no doubt from the necklace of finger shaped bruises around his neck.

"You're going to stay with him for a while, and you're gonna pay him for the privilege." Hopper informed him, as he began digging around his desk. "Money, chores, whatever Wayne wants." 

Wayne held his gaze as Steve turned to appraise him. 

Would Harrington pitch a fit? 

Would he look at Wayne's work clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat, with the name of the warehouse embroidered in the corner and crinkle up his nose, just like his daddy did? 

Hopper didn't lie, but a part of Wayne wanted to see just how different this Harrington was. If the respectful demeanor was an act done for Hopper. 

Or perhaps, Hopper had mentioned Steve's father for a reason, instead of his mother. Did he adopt her ice-like approach to life? 

Micro managing and long-held grudges were Stella Harrington’s game, and she excelled at it. 

Steve however, did nothing of the sort, instead settling with the situation in a way that reminded Wayne far too strongly of the men and women who'd come home from war.

"Okay." The kid said simply, after a long moment of consideration. He turned back to Hopper. "But we need to tell the rest of the Par--" 

Here he cut a look back to Wayne, correcting himself. "the kids. I don't want them showing up at my house trying to find me and freaking out." 

"They wouldn't--" Jim paused, fingers freezing from the rummaging they'd been doing. "they absolutely would, goddammit." He muttered darkly.  

"I'll tell the kids. The only thing I want you doing right now is laying low. I need to get a hold of Owens, but it's gonna take time to do that, and more time to fix this, so as of right now, Harrington? You're on vacation." He pointed sternly, as if Steve might argue.

The kid looked too tired and messed up to bother trying. 

"I mean it. You're out of the country, where is anybody's guess. No one's seen you and no one better be seeing you, got it?" His voice held firm, and Wayne had to blink because the tone here wasn't one of a police chief warning a teenager--but of a father talking to his son.

He knew, because his own voice did that now. Took on a worried tone that masqueraded as something more like annoyance and seriousness. 

"Yes, Sir." Harrington said, remaining weirdly compliant. "Consider me gone." 

A hand came up to briefly press above one eye, and Wayne wondered if the kid had been looked over, or if they had just crammed him into Hopper's office without offering so much as a tissue box. 

How many painkillers did they have back at the house? Wayne usually kept a good bottle around, but Steve was going to need more than that…

He found himself once again cataloging Steve's wounds, this time comparing them to the medicine cabinet he had at home. 

"I expect you to be a damn good house guest, you hear me?" Hopper continued, trying to cut a menacing figure. He finally found what he was looking for; pulling out a large, padded envelope. 

He handed it over to Harrington, who took it without looking, shoving it into the duffle bag he'd had sitting at his feet. 

There was a smudge of red on the handle of said bag, that matched perfectly up to a shittily done wrap on Steve's right hand. 

Wayne mentally added 'buy more bandages' to his list. 

Steve nodded at Hopper again. "Yes, Sir."

Jim’s eyes narrowed. "Quite that, you know I hate that." 

The briefest glimmer of mischief crossed Harrington's face. "Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir."

'Ahh.' Wayne thought. 'So there's a teenager in there after all.'

Jim rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office."

"Thanks Hop." Harrington said, finally dropping that odd obedience, a hint of a smile on his battered face. 

He stood, and Wayne had to stop himself from offering an arm out as Steve reached for his bag and limped towards him. 

He paused right before he left Hopper's office, hand on the doorframe.

 "You'll check up on Robin too, right?"  He asked, and for the first time his tone took on something more alive--and filled with worry. "And Dustin? Erica?" 

"Dustin and his mom are finally taking me up on my suggestion to see their family in Florida for a while, and the Sinclairs are taking a sabbatical from Hawkins. I'm working on the Buckley's." Hopper drummed his fingers on the desk. "So far, no one else besides you and El have been targeted, and we're going to keep it that way."

Steve let out a breath, and while Wayne could tell the worry hadn't left him, he could almost physically see Steve force himself to put it away.

Another act that was far beyond the kid's years. 

A different officer popped up as they walked down the hall towards the exit, waving his hand madly. "Harrington! Chief says you forgot this!" He barked.

(Or tried to anyway. Callahan wasn’t the most aggressive of officers and frankly, never would be.)

A slim sports bag was held in his hands, and Steve nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to turn and claim it.

"I'll get it." Wayne said, knowing his tone sounded gruff.

No use for it. He could either sound gruff or sound sad, and Wayne knew better than to start off the relationship with yet another hurt young man by acting sad.

Pity wasn't gonna win him any favors here. 

He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, uncaring of the wince on Harrington's face until something sharp poked at his shoulder. 

Several somethings, in fact. 

"What the hell do you got in this thing?" He asked once they hit the parking lot, voice low as he escorted Steve to his truck. 

"Just a baseball bat, sir." Steve said, in the exact same tone Eddie used every time he thought he was bein’ slick. 

Considering the thing in the bag could have passed for a baseball bat if not for the sharp pokey bits, it wasn’t a bad attempt. Steve just hadn’t accounted for the fact that Wayne lived with Eddie. 

An unfair advantage, really. 

‘Least there can’t be any baby racoons in the damn bag.’ Wayne thought idly. 

Went on to gently put the bat in the backseat, watching as the kid struggled to lift himself into the truck.

"You can drop that, I take too being called Sir about as well as Hop does." He said, keeping his tone nice and calm, hoping to ease into calling Steve out on his lie. 

Fussed with a few dials on the stereo, giving Steve an excuse to take his time before starting the engine and taking the long way home.

Wayne wanted to talk a little-- without the chance of Ed’s interrupting. 

"Son,” He started off. “I was born in the morning, but not this morning. I'm hoping to make the next few weeks as easy as I can for both of us, and I can't do that if you're starting off with a lie." 

Steve blinked, turning to face him in a matter that was too fast for his injuries. He didn't bother hiding the hurt it caused him, but his voice stayed even as he spoke.

 "What do you mean Si--Wayne." 

"Nice catch.”  Wayne said. “We’ll get you there yet.” 

It was a trick he'd learned with Eddie--little tidbits of praise went a long way when it came to gaining trust.

Especially with kids who hadn't ever been given much. 

Harrington seemed smart to it, or perhaps was just hesitant to speak in general because he remained quiet, not offering up any info. No further lies, but nothing towards the truth, neither. 

Which was fine. Wayne didn’t think a little pushing would hurt.

"That bat of yours was digging into my shoulder like a bee swarm." Wayne continued, when it became clear Steve wasn't talking. "I'm more a fan of football than baseball, but last I checked they hadn't changed the design of a bat." 

"What teams?" Steve asked, perking up a touch. "Of football. Which ones are yours?"

Wayne could ignore it of course, or demand Steve give him an answer to the question he asked. 

He did neither. "I’m liking the Colts since they got moved here. You?" 

"Green Bay Packers, though I like the Colts too--that trade in 84’ was crazy." Steve said. After a second he proved that answering instead of pushing was the right move because he added; "What did Hopper tell you? About…" He trailed off, making a gesture Wayne didn't bother trying to interpret. 

"He said some things. I've guessed a few others." Wayne admitted. Cut a little look out of the corner of his eye as he came to a stop sign. "I know the feds are real interested in you after Starcourt." 

Steve took that in, hands tightening on the handle. 

"It really is a baseball bat." He said, a little fast and with the tiniest hint of that challenge Wayne had been looking for. "It just also has nails hammered into one end." 

Wayne took that in with one nice, slow blink. 

"A bat with nails in it." He said, and it made a hell of a lot of sense compared to the sensation he'd felt carrying the case. "You use it against anyone?" 

"Some of the feds." Steve admitted, and even with his eyes on the road Wayne could tell he was being stared at.

Judged.

Not in the way one expected a rich kid to judge, but in the way Eddie had, those first few months he'd lived here. The times when  he'd push, just a little, to see what Wayne's reaction would be. 

Eddie hadn't done it in a damn long time, but Wayne recognized the behavior nonetheless. 

"Anybody else?" He asked. 

"Nobody human." Steve replied. 

"Alright." Wayne said, and made a mental note to drop all questions related to that. 

He didn't need to know, definitely didn't want to know, and had a feeling if he did know he'd find himself being watched by the same spooks after Steve.

"I've got a few deck boxes that lock on my porch. Think you'd be agreeable to leaving the bat in one?" 

Steve paused, hand clenching tighter around the strap of his duffel bag. "If you gave me a key so I could get it in an emergency,  I'd be happy to." 

He tried to sound calm, even a little charming in that sort of upper-class businessman sort of way, but the fear bled through. 

The kid wasn't happy separating from the bat, and given it sounded like it might have saved his life recently, Wayne understood the hesitation. 

With an internal apology to Eddie, he promptly threw his nephew under the proverbial bus.  "I've got my nephew at home and he'd be far too interested in it, is all. Blades and weapons and such tend to attract him, and I don't need to be rushing anyone to the ER." 

All of which were very true facts (one Wayne learned the time he'd allowed Eddie to bring a sword  home, only for him to nearly cut his own nose off winging the thing around) but he figured it might make Steve more amenable to separating from it. 

Sure enough, some of the tenseness bled out of Steve's shoulders. "Yeah that's fair." 

The truck hit a few potholes as they finally turned into the trailer park, and the kid hissed, a quiet sound. 

Judging by the uncomfortable wince, and hands clenched into his jeans something painwise was giving him trouble. 

"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Wayne asked, doing his best to weave around the other holes that dotted the gravel roads.

Steve blinked. "Uh…" 

"You take any today son?" 

Steve his head. 

"Didn't have time to grab it." He said, offering a sad look to his pack. 

Course he hadn't. 

"Let's get you inside then and get you some." Wayne said with a sigh. Thankfully Eddie's van wasn't here--Wayne was fairly certain he had band practice today but knowing him it could be a million other things.

Just meant he had to acclimate Steve as fast as he could, to try and get the poor guy settled before Ed’s came in. 

He just hoped life and lady luck would work with him, for once. 

#hands on knees #this is gonna have more than three parts fffffff #FAIR WARNING I do jump between Wayne and Eddie’s pov in this. #Everything Ive written so far while in parts for tumblr would basically be chapter 1 on A03 #Eddies POV change would be chapter two #Ugh Im gonna have to put this on A03. Dammit brain. #also I updated this very fast for me #no one get excited Idk the brain is doing #steddie #beat to shit Steve Harrington #wayne pov #outsider pov #wayne as a BAMF #I tried to get to the part where Eddie shows up but it just got too long for a tumblr post #pre steddie #wayne and Hopper both as psuedo parents to Steve #tw injuries #0o0 fanfics #stranger things

[beansprean]

If this doesn’t happen just go ahead and end the series

Pointing Guillermo sticker now avail on Redbubble for all your executive function needs!!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Shoulders up of Guillermo with Nandor standing close behind him, the vague background of a mall beyond. Nandor leans in with an excited grin, twiddling his hands together, and asks "So, how are we going to be spending our leisure at the mall?" Guillermo, back to Nandor, breaks into a nervous sweat. 1b. Repeat. Guillermo turns back to Nandor and carefully replies "Well...I'm gonna go take care of some personal stuff-" Nandor frowns and interjects, "So I will come along!" Guillermo says "Um. No." 1c. Repeat. Guillermo turns back around and starts walking forward again, continuing, "You can hang out over here until I get back." Behind him, Nandor is pouting, clearly upset, a dark cloud forming behind his head.

2a. Close up of Nandor frowning on a dark background, looking to the ground. 2b. Repeat. Nandor flicks his eyes up as Guillermo says from offscreen "Right here, Master." 2c. Reverse shot, Guillermo small in the corner pointing to the area behind him, where there is a alamy stock photo of a carousel. 2d. Close up of Nandor on a sparkly background full of hearts, his eyes gone huge and shiny and sparkly with wonder as he stares at the carousel, one shaky hand reaching out as if to touch it. Behind him, the word "horsie" is repeated about 50 times. Nandor breathes out, "Guillermo...this little circle battle..." Guillermo corrects him, "It's called a carousel. You can ride it." Nandor lets out a delighted gasp at that. 2e. Wide shot of Nandor riding a gray horse on the carousel, clutching the pole with both hands and looking happier than we've ever seen him, eyes sparkling, glitter and hearts surrounding his head. Behind him on the other side of the small gate, Guillermo is smiling nervously and slowly backing away, saying "Okay, I'm going now...stay here, alright?" When Nandor ignores him, he continues, "Okay...bye..." /end ID

#wwdits #wwdits season 5 #nandermo #mlm #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #image described #yes I just pasted a stock photo instead of trying to draw a carousel what of it lmaoooo