#AM I ONE OF BILLS EXES

[littlemissglitter14]

hey guys, so, book of bill spoilers:

Bill and Ford are like. EXES exes. Which. We all knew that. Throughout the book Bill tries to get us to make a deal with him. But. Doesn't happen. He compares us to Ford like "how could you do this to me you're JUST like Sixer"

so does

does this mean that if you read the book

Bill considers you to be one of his exes

[ilikeevilblondes]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

Part One | Part Two

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[krysmcscience]

Did somebody say Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear? I think somebody said Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear. Thanks to that, have these retooled The Good Place jokes:

The "powers that be" can refer to either the Theraprism staff, the Axolotl, or just. Ya know. Disney in general. Or all three! Whichever you think is funniest. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The "party" Bill's referring to is Weirdmageddon, of course. He was quite the ashhole to everyone back then.

Ford has probably gotten pretty good at the 'tune out your psychopathic ex with dank memes' challenge.

It must be very cathartic to be able to make Bill shut up whenever you want with just the press of a button. I'm sure Ford doesn't abuse this ability at all.

Oh, sure, 'Not now,' he says, before he immediately backs out of the newly-made hole in the Theraprism wall. 🙄

Don't worry, Bill doesn't get far.

also yeah i know this one doesn't have an attempted swear - i just wanted to use the joke because of the massive stink-eye involved in it because it makes me laugh

⬇️ More goofs beneath the brief ramble if you wanna skip it lmao⬇️

Why is Ford even there, you might ask? Well, he either decided he preferred to watch Bill suffer in person over being distantly and repeatedly harassed with the same evil desperation book for the rest of his life, or he got roped into some kind of contrived community service for 1.) all his many counts of interdimensional thievery, and 2.) his ignoring all the very clear warnings to NOT summon Bill in the first place (which I like to imagine is also illegal). Theraprism staff were just like, 'Wait, this guy matters to Bill? Ooh, we can USE that! It might be the only thing that can help him want to get better!' It is not considered that throwing Ford at Bill so soon after Weirdmageddon could instead make them both WORSE - in new and altogether special ways! :D

Anyway, I'm calling it the Community Service AU, and I am most likely not going to do anything else with it beyond appropriating these silly Good Place jokes. So, feel free to adopt the concept if y'all wanna??? Just make sure that Bill is still not allowed to swear, no matter what, full stop. It's gotta be a real linguistic corkblork of a situation for him, is all I'm sayin'.

Finally, have these bonus Good Place jokes, but with Handyman!Bill this time:

'Opposite tortures' doesn't sound so bad...at least until it's an all-powerful chaos entity known for torture saying it.

you may think i forgot mabel's cute pink cheeks but the truth is that i did in fact forget but then immediately stopped caring which makes it okay, SHHHHHHH

And, finally:

lmao this is shit

True facts, if you cram Season 1 Eleanor Shellstrop and Michael into a singular triangle shape, they turn into Bill Cipher. This is science, look it up. Or don't, and just trust the source that is me, bro.

Anyway, I should be in bed, y'all have fun with these, I guess. Tune in after like a week or so and maybe I'll have an addendum to my comic about how Bill was drawn naked for karaoke night. Because him actually being naked was not the only thing I considered as a plausible explanation. XD

Also if you see any inconsistencies or errors in any of these comics, No You Do Not :D

Also also, reblogs are rad as hell and I appreciate every single one, just don't repost, please and thanks. Every time a repost is made, an artist somewhere cries. :,)

[simcardiac-arrested]

I don't remember a lot of the OG gravity falls so this is an excuse for you to be a hater about tbob here

see apparently you're not the only one because i dont think anyone posting about how bill and ford are so #divorced really remembers the original show either or journal 3 or the parts in the book they Just Read where bill was abusing ford . as he does

[blasphemousink]

𝒜𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃’

summary: Joel reluctantly helps elevate the ache between your legs.

warnings: Tent sex, MDMI, tiny bit of mean!joel, guided masturbation, fingering, PiV sex, overstimulation, dacryphilia, virginity loss, praise kink, slight oral (m receiving, one daddy mention, mutual orgasms and age gap (50s/20s)

setting: Tent on the way to Wyoming.

pov: 2nd person.

wc: 3.6k

masterlist

The tent is small. Barely enough room for both you and Joel, but it’s warm with both your breaths and the shitty sleeping bags that you both looted from Bill and Franks. Outside the world is dark, thick and quiet-but not eerily so. The trees are alive and you can hear them creak gently as they sway in the light wind. There’s only one problem. The ache between your legs.

It started earlier in the car, before you both decided to stop here for the night and that was five fucking hours ago. It started with a soft pulse between your thighs, but grew to your untouched cunt clenching everytime you looked at Joel or if he muttered something vague in that Texas drawl. Your nipples were hardened underneath your bra and everything felt hot. Your skin was flushed. Joel even asked you if you were okay at one point, and Joel never asks that.

You didn’t know what it was- well yeah, you did. You were twenty-two, not stupid. You just hadn’t ever felt this needy before. You didn’t understand what brought it on. Sure you’d felt this way before back when you were living in your dingy apartment in Boston, but the world was so dark and unsafe that you never took care of it. But it was never this intense. You were facing Joel, laying on your side. He was on his side too but facing the other way like he always did. There was probably a couple inches between you considering how small the tent was and that just made your situation even worse. Joel wasn’t much of a talker. You had known him for five months now and he’s saved your ass more times than you can count. He was initially supposed to be taking you to Salem to meet with the fireflies, but things didn’t exactly go to plan so now you were both heading for Wyoming to see Joel’s brother, an ex-firefly who may know where they are. He was pretty closed off and probably would prefer not to listen to your yapping, but you both formed some sort of a bond over the last couple months. And to be honest, you don’t know what you’d do without him.

His broad shoulders moved a little with each breath he took, but you could tell he wasn’t sleeping. Five months on the road together meant you could practically read him like a book. The ache between your thighs was almost unbearable now. You did try and elevate the ache with your hand earlier when Joel turned around, but every time it started to feel good, it slipped away and just made you even more frustrated. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Joel?” you whispered. He didn’t answer but his shoulders tensed a little at your voice. You knew he was awake and probably just pretending he was asleep so he didn’t have to listen to you nagging him.

“Joel,” you said again, not in a whisper anymore.

“What?” he snapped out. Not bothering to turn around. Normally, the snap in his voice would make you wince, but right now you just needed someone to help you out.“I.. i don’t feel good.”

You don’t feel good? What the fuck did you say that for. God, you shouldn’t have opened your mouth at all in the first place. You were going to sound so goddamn stupid.

He turned around at that, rolling onto his other side to face you. It was too dark in the tent to his face, but you could see the curve of his jaw and the bump of his noise.

God, this man was so sexy right now.

He leaned over and switched on the battery powered lantern to see you better. He actually looked concerned. Fuck, you shouldn’t have said that. He’s probably gonna think you’re infected or something.

“What d’ya mean ya don’t feel good?”

“Uh..” you paused. What were you meant to say now? Oh yeah Joel, I am so fucking horny right now, can you fuck me to make me feel better? God, this was humiliating.

He sat up in his sleeping bag and twisted his body to watch you properly. “What kid? Spit it out, some of us actually wanna sleep tonight.”“I just feel weird- like my body- uhm.. between my legs.”

He was quiet for a beat, looking at you like his brain couldn’t register that you actually said that to him. His hand came up to his face and ran down it exhaustively.

You chewed on your bottom lip, afraid to say anything in case you made this incredibly embarrassing situation any worse. You just sat up and brought your knees to your chest, tucking them under your chin, pressing them together for obvious reasons.

“Christ,” he muttered. “Why’r ya tellin’ me this, for god sakes.” Your cheeks burned and you refused his gaze. God, you felt like a stupid kid. This was humiliating.

“Just.. thought you could help me..”

“Jesus..” he said, switching the lantern off and laying back down. He turned over on his side, facing away from you once again. But, this time he scooted further away from you, as if you’d pounce on him if he was any closer to you.

You felt humiliated. If a clicker came along right now, you would gladly hand yourself to it. But still, as if the embarrassment wasn’t enough, your panties were still damp and your clit pretty much had a heartbeat of its own. You squirmed around in the sleeping bag, trying to find a position that was more comfortable in your.. situation, but nothing worked. Before you could stop yourself, a soft whimper escaped your mouth from frustration of how badly you ached. Joel stilled and so did you.

“What the fuck was that?” He said, turning over again, his voice etched with frustration that made your cheeks once again, burn. You opened your mouth and tried to find the words to respond that didn’t make you look like a complete fool. “I uhm..”

“Listen, I ain’t your fuckin’ boyfriend. You’re cargo. I didn’t take you to show you how to finger yourself. Either get out of tent and get yourself off, or go to sleep.”

If you were feeling any other way, his harshness would probably make your throat tighten. But right now, the way he was speaking to you made you want him to do unholy things to you. You stomach fluttered and you clenched around nothing. This was pathetic.

“I just- please Joel, I don’t know what else to do, I can’t just.. get myself off, I don’t know how.” You whined.

“You’re- what? Jesus girl, your twenty somethin’ years- anyway, doesn’t matter it ain’t my problem. You’re a big girl, figure it out.” He barked. You could hear his sleeping back rustle as he brought it up higher over him, as if to shield himself from this conversation.

“Joel, please! It aches, it has all day. I promise I won’t ask for anything else- you don’t even have to touch me-just tell me how and then we can go to sleep I promise.” You babbled out sitting up and crawling over to the lantern to turn it on. You sat back on your hunches, watching Joel squint from the sudden invasion of his eyes.

“Fuck- fine, fine! But this ain’t gonna be a..” he gestured between you both. “-a thing, between us. I’ll help ya with this but that’s it then, no more.” He said settling on his back and running both hands over his face.

Your eye’s widened. Sure you wanted this, but you didn’t expect him to actually agree. “Yeah- yeah I promise, just this once I swear.”

He huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright then uh- lay back down and take your pants off.” He said, keeping his gaze at the roof of the tent. You lay back against the sleeping bag and took your jeans and soaked-through panties off with the kind of urgency that would be embarrassing if you weren’t so fucking turned on. You settled back comfortably on your back and tried to control your breating, your heart thrumming in your ears. “Okay, open your legs and dip your middle finger through your slit- bring it to your clit.”

A confused expression formed on your face and you turned your face toward him, questioning without speaking. “‘S a lil bump at the top, it’ll make ya feel good.” He said, closing his eyes as if that will make this highly inappropriate situation with a girl young enough to be his daughter any better. You did as he said, dipping your middle finger through your folds and coating them in your slick. You let out a shuddering breath as you dragged it up to that bundle of untouched nerves at the top of your slit. “Okay-,” you said, waiting for your next instruction.

“Then, start circling it, nice n slow. Put a little pressure down on it.” He said, but now with a slight rasp in his voice. You twisted your head a little to get a look at him. He was shuffling around a little in the sleeping bag, adjusting himself. Was he getting off on this?

You, nonetheless did as he told you. You pressed down slightly on your clit, eliciting a gasp from you. You gave yourself a second to get used to it before starting to circle, nice and slow just like Joel instructed.

Your fingers moved clumsily at first, but you eventually got the hang of it. Your hips bucked up uncontrollably into your hand, seeking more friction as you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Joel,” you whimpered.

“What is it? It hurt?” He said in a surprisingly soft coo-like rasp. But there was still an under lying annoyance. It made your body heat up and your lips part in another moan.

“A little, but feels good.”

He nodded. “S’okay, just the build. You’re doin’ fine.”

You cried out suddenly, your pace on your clit quickening rapidly, causing more arousal to drip from your weeping hole.

“F-fuck..”

“Yeah?” He mumbled.

“Ye-ah, gonna come..”

Joel face screwed up, his composure slipping away. The way you bucked your hips up, the way you called his name and the noises, fuck the noises.. it was too much. The voice in his head was screaming at him to control himself, but his throbbing cock had other plans. He shot up from his position, ignoring the ache in his back when he did.

You stilled your movements when he did, your hand trembling slightly. Your voice came out breathless and desperate. “What are you-,”

His body was over you before you could finish your sentence, pressing sloppy kisses to your mouth, his hand cradling your cheek. You quickly responded to his kisses, a whine clawing out of your parred lips. Your hands moved up to his neck, cupping it softly, your thumbs running over the patches of hair there.

He broke the kiss, but didn’t go far. His face hovered over yours and his uneven breath fanned over your face. “I need to know you’re sure you want this baby- eyes up here,” he said gripping your chin and forcing you to look him in his eyes. “I need you to use your words for me.”

You nodded, looking between his two eyes rapidly. “I want it-please- can’t wait any longer.”

That was all he needed.

He worked his flannel off, undoing each button eagerly and pushing it off his shoulders. You thought it was only fair you took off your shirt too, so you sat up a little and took your Henley top off, tossing it aside and unclasping your bra. By the time you were done, Joel’s cock was already out, the tip red and angry. It was your first time ever seeing a penis. You grew up an orphan in the QZ and were thrown out to fend for yourself by the time you were eighteen. You never got involved with anyone, too dangerous so it wasn’t like you had ever seen a real one except from a diagram when you were learning about penis anatomy in biology class. It was daunting to look at to say the least.

He was at least seven inches, heavy balls with a patch of dark hair around his cock and sack. You bit down on your lip and before your could stop yourself, your hand wrapped around the base. Joel groaned, dropping his head down to your forehead.

“Fuck baby girl, such a sweet girl.” He mumbled.

“Can you tell me what to do?” You whispered. Your voice would probably be incoherent if you both weren’t so close.

“You don’t have-,”

“But I want to.”

Joel froze, then leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Okay. Bring your hand to your mouth and get it nice ‘n wet.”

Your eyes dilated, your lip caught between your teeth. You brought your hand up to your mouth and gathered some saliva in your mouth, letting it drop down into your hand.

“Juustt like that baby, now just squeeze a little, stroke up and down.”

You nodded your head and brought your spit-slick hand back down to his cock and wrapped it around his shaft. You gave his cock a small, gentle squeeze as you stroked it once. A rumbling groan from Joel’s chest spurred you on, so you continued.

Joel’s hand covered yours, guiding your movements as his eyes fluttered closed. “Ah-fuck.. just like that honey, jerk my cock.”

Your lungs punched out a moan. Seeing him getting off like this was making your pussy drip like a goddamn faucet. Watching Joel’s face contort in pleasure was definitely something you never wanted to forget. The feeling of the soft skin of his hard cock in your hand felt better than any sex could.

He abruptly moved your hand off him and cupped your cheeks. His lips came to yours in a desperate kiss, firmer this time. His thumb stroked the apple of your cheek while you both kissed. “You haven’t done this before?” He mumbled against your lips.

You pulled back and shook your head. “No.. but I’m ready.” You said, breathlessly, hands clinging to his biceps. You could see slight hesitation in his expression, but nonetheless, his hand trailed down to your pussy, lightly testing the waters. His middle finger pressed down on your quivering hole, checking to see how ready you were.

“Fuck baby girl, she’s just cryin’ f’me ain’t she? Just needs some lovin’,”

“Mhm.. needs you..”

“Yeah well, we gotta get her ready first, don’t wanna hurt ya honey. Gonna just use my fingers first and then I’ll give ya the real thing, promise.”

“Okay.” You breathed out.

Joel eased his fingers into your untouched hole, but got two in easily from how soaked you were all day. At first it felt a little strange- not painful just.. foreign. But as soon as he was knuckles deep, curling them up with his thumb on your clit, pleasure easily started taking over. At first, an overwhelmed moan left your mouth, but Joel quickly soothed you with his words and gentle kisses on your face.

“That’s it baby, just breath through it.”

“Doin’ so well baby.”

“Just feel it honey, feel my fingers hittin’ that little spot.”

Overstimulated and aching for release, you cried out his name, clinging to his biceps as you bucked your hips up into his hand. “Yes, yes- thank you j-oel- ah!” The coil in your belly was building rapidly and intensified with every thrust of his fingers pressing against your g-spot and every circle on your clit.

“Come on baby, give it to me. You gonna make a mess for me?” He rumbled into your ear. You were so fucked out that you could barely concentrate on what he was saying. Before you knew it, you were crying out, tears streaming down your face as you experienced your first orgasm. Your pussy rippled and clenched around Joel’s fingers as you collapsed into the sleeping bag. Chest heaving.

“There you go baby. Did so well.” He cooed, lips trailing from your neck down to your breast. Joel caught a peak in his mouth and sucked gently on it. The feeling caught you off guard, who knew someone sucking on your nipple could feel so good. You could feel a drop of arousal dribble out of your overstimmed hole. “Joel..” you called, hands in his hair.

“Mmm? Can you handle more? You don’t gotta do nothin’ you’re not comfortable with sweet girl.”

“No-no I want it-please Joel.” You responded eagerly. The thought of him not being inside you in the next two minutes made you crazy. A rare smirk formed on Joel’s face as he leaned down to kiss you gently.

“I know that’s right.” He mumbled, lips brushing yours gently as he gripped his cock in one hand. The tip of him brushed your clit, making you shiver.

Joel’s voice was gentle as he pushed inside, his fat tip stretching you deliciously. The feeling was overwhelming to say the least, but you felt that you would die if he stopped. He distracted you from the burn with sweet kisses and before you knew it, he was balls deep. When the realisation hit you, you cried out, dropping your head back against your pack in which you were using as a pillow. It was so much better than his fingers. Joel groaned pressing his face into your neck as he started to thrust in and out.

The thrusts were slow, more of a grind than anything, but he was so deep his tip kissing that spot so well. Your hands scrambled around his neck, pulling his chest flush to yours.

“Feel so.. full Joel.”

“That’s right honey. Stuffed up huh?”

At that he pulled back, looking at where you were both joined. Watching how he stretched you. “Ohhh biiig stretch baby. ‘M so proud of you.”

“I love being stretched for you.. so much joel.” You said, a sob escaping your plush lips as he thrusted in deeply.

Something snapped in Joel when you said it. Whatever it was, it made him throw his head back, both hands gripping your belly as he picked up the pace just slightly.

“Ohhh.. baby girl.” He groaned out head now falling forward. With each thrust a bulge formed in your belly. It caused Joel to use one of his hands to trace the outline of him.

“You feel me right there honey? Feel how perfect we fit?” He said, other hand travelling down your belly to your clit and circling it.

That was it.

In a matter of seconds you were falling apart, thighs shaking, tent filling with the sounds of your sobs and cries. White flashes clouded your vision and with one big clench, you soaked his cock.

This seemed to push joel over the edge because he was now not just grunting and groaning, but moaning your name. The feeling was euphoric. Joel pulled out, his hand reaching for his cock to finish on your belly. Before his hand could wrap around you grabbed his hand, pushing it away.

“What-,”

Before he could finish, you had him rolled over. You were straddling his lap with a dizzy head from the orgasm you literally just had. You crawled down his body and settled between his legs. It’s not like you exactly knew what you were doing, but all you knew was that you wanted to give him the same attention he gave you.

“Oh baby..” he said in more of a whine than anything. “You don’t gotta do that honey, you’re exhausted.”

“Please let me.” You said softly, puppy dog eyes looking directly up at joel as you held his member in your hand and kitten licked it, eliciting a groan from him. “Please daddy.”

That was it, joel pushed your head down, not hard, just hard enough that your mouth wrapped around his cock. His hips stuttered and he came in your mouth. All from hearing you call him daddy. Thick ropes of cum coated your tongue, your taste buds memorising the taste of him. Joel’s head thumped back as he came, an: “ohhh,” sound coming out of his parted lips.

You had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a one time thing.

[il-miele-che-scrive]

you know what people are saying when a girl gets cheated on? go for his brother.

a/n not tryna offend anyone, I just love a lil drama

Part 2 here

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username1 Miss Y/n Y/l/n getting cheated on? No one is safe fr

↳username2 Yeah cuz how's he casually cheating on a literal goddess??

username3 they were together for almost 2 years😭

username4 My therapist will hear about this

↳username1 And Arthur is paying the bill

username5 that's it I'm NEVER trusting a man

username6 Isn't that girl Y/n's friend too? Poor girl getting cheated on twice

↳username3 yes it is 😭 guess Arthur got it from his brother

username7 Except Charles didn't cheat 😭 he's a homie hopper but he got morals

username8 I don't worry about Y/n, she's gonna find a new bf, but she wasted almost 2 years on him

yourusername excuse my state i'm as high as your hopes

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username2 Miss girl about to enter her hoe phase

↳username3 As she should tbh

charlottesiine Lots of fun last night🤍

↳yourusername nothing will beat an ex wags night out

↳username2 best ex wags fr 😭

yoursister Next time I'm going too to keep an eye on you wtf

username4 Wait so Y/n and Charlotte are friends? When did this happen?

↳username5 Yeah cuz we've never seen them hang out back when ChaCha was a thing and suddenly the girls are partying together?

↳username6 I mean it could be just a "we both suffered a Leclerc so let's hang out" kinda thing

username5 WE BOTH SUFFERED A LECLERC 💀 no okay but that's valid

username7 Am I the only one noticing this post was liked by Charles?

↳username2 He knows his lil bro messed up lmao

username8 Okay guys so what are we betting on - did Charles like this post because of Y/n or because of Charlotte? Also, isn't he in a relationship?

↳username3 Charles has been single for a few months now, he's free to like whoever he wants lmao

↳username9 It's just a like it's not that deep

arthur_leclerc You were my cup of tea but I drink vanilla latte now

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username1 The AUDACITY some men have

username2 and she was her best friend 😭

username3 I really want to believe they broke up before he got with the best friend but I don't think it's true

↳username4 Y/n and Arthur literally attended Charles' race a few days before we got the pics of Arthur with the other girl

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yourusername you don't mean nothing at all to me

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yoursister And I didn't even have to stop you from calling your ex

↳yourusername why would I even wanna call him anyways

yoursister Riiight, you were too busy getting to know some other interesting people:)

username1 What is Y/s/n talking about?

↳username2 Or rather WHO is she talking about?

username3 No Charlotte in the post but Charles is in the likes again 😶

↳username4 Have you seen what this one gossip page posted? Charles being in the likes isn't the thing I'd worry about here

username5 WHAT.

username3 Care to elaborate?

username4 Charles was also at the club with Y/n. It honestly looks like it was organized by a friend of his and he took Y/n there

username2 OH

username2 That's what Y/s/n is talking about

username5 Our girl Y/n is getting promoted from F2 to F1 and I love to see that

↳username6 LMAO it's so funny because it's true 😭

↳username2 Do we know who else was at this party?

username4 Allegedly the party was organized by Gasly, so obviously there was his gf Kika, but also some fellow drivers like Albon, Russell, Sainz, Ocon, Ricciardo and their gfs

username5 I was joking but now it looks like Y/n is actually becoming an F1 wag now lol

username7 Gossip girl on wheels I've been saying it for months

username8 But the caption SLAPS

↳username9 no because it looks like Y/n and Arthur are having a caption war lol it's funny

username8 It's childish but let a girl heal from a heartbreak in peace

yourusername karma will take it from here

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username1 MISS GIRL?? WHO IS THE MAN??

↳username2 We all know it's Charles (allegedly)

username8 Nah cuz I told yall she's gonna find another boyfriend soon

yoursister Loving to see you happy again ❤️

↳yourusername just needed a little upgrade

username3 I have no proof but I just know it's Charles

username4 Do we think she went for Charles because she genuinely likes him or just to get back at Arthur?

↳username5 Wait until someone starts a "she cheated on Arthur with Charles" gossips

username6 My two favorite red flags

↳username7 The homie hopper and the brother hopper, a match made in heaven

username6 The homie hopper is so real, Y/n recently hung out with his ex Charlotte 💀

username8 What kinda brother gets with his brother's ex?

↳username9 Imagine the next family dinner lmao

username10 Y'all it's not even confirmed that the man is Charles, y'all are crazy

↳username6 The post was liked by all the F1 drivers and their partners that were on the party from Y/n's previous post, it says a lot

↳username2 What @/username6 said and also Y/n is now followed by half of the F1 grid AND the wags

charles_leclerc Not your cup of tea, but my glass of wine

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yourusername KARMA IS MY BOYFRIEND❤️

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[joeloverture]

hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.

You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.

Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.

Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax. 

No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.

So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.

The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.

Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?

The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing. 

You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.

Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.

The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.

Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.

You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. 

Bingo.

Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.

You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.

You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.

And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.

It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.

His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.

You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from  — Lucas.

TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.

A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky. 

That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.

Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.

He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.

“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”

Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.

He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”

You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining. 

“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”

“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”

Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.

Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.

“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.

Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”

You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.

“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.

He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”

He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down. 

“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”

There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.

You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”

You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”

“Knew that already,” you mumble.

He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”

You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.

“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”

He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.

The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.

“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.

Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…” 

When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.

“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.

He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.

You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”

“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee. 

“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.

You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”

The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.

“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”

“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head. 

“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.” 

Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”

“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.

You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”

Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.

“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel. 

Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.

“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.

Then — he stops.

His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?” 

"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."

You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.

Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”

 “Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”

You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.

“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.

You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips. 

“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.

Oh.

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.

He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become. 

A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”

If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.

“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.

When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.

“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.

“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel. 

“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.

“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily. 

“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.

“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him. 

His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.

“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”

“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”

Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is. 

Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!” 

“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”

“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.

His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.

“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.

If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”

With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.

Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”

And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”

Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.

With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.

And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.

You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”

When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.

Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?

Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”

Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.

[lailalalesisblog]

Royalties

Clark kent x reader

In which your boyfriend finds out how you're able to afford designer on a secretary's salary.

You came through the door with a gait Clark had learned to identify from fifty yards out: too casual, too smooth, the kind of walk that said, I spent too much money and I’m going to lie about it creatively.

Your arms were loaded with shopping bags—designer names, indie brands, and one that was shaped like a cat for some reason. You sipped a lavender iced coffee like you were the poster child for innocent retail therapy.

Clark, still in joggers from his morning run, leaned against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed and the quiet patience of a man who already knew the answer to the question he was about to ask.

“Hey, love?” he called, watching you start to unbag a pair of boots that looked suspiciously not on sale. “Can I ask you something?”

You glanced up, your expression caught somewhere between casual and please don’t ask about the receipt. “Sure?”

He nodded toward the growing pile of loot on the counter. “How exactly do you afford all this? Because I know what the Daily Planet pays, and you’re not out here writing Pulitzer-winning exposés in your spare time.”

You took a long, slow sip of your drink. Too long. “Okay. So. Do you remember when I told you I used to work for Bruce Wayne?”

Clark’s brows shot up. “You mean that one time I woke up and every tabloid on the East Coast was screaming about ‘Bruce Wayne’s mysterious new flame’? Because someone snapped a blurry photo of you two hugging on a rooftop?”

You smiled, unbothered. “That was just lunch.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, unimpressed. “Meanwhile, Lois was texting me articles titled Who Is She? and Bruce Wayne’s Secret Girlfriend: What We Know So Far. I got sympathy coffee from Jimmy. People thought I was the other guy. Then you casually dropped that you graduated MIT at fifteen and were a lead engineer at Wayne Enterprises. Like it was some summer internship to explain to me that no you weren't cheating you were just hanging out with your ex billionaire playboy boss turned bestie.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” you said, waving a hand.

“Not a big—” He ran a hand through his hair. “You invented compact energy storage systems for WayneTech.”

You held up a finger. “Technically, I co-invented—”

He cut you off. “You have a patent that Batman uses.”

You shrugged. “Well, he doesn’t pay royalties.”

Clark stared at you. “How am I just now realizing you have secret Bruce Wayne money?”

“I don’t,” you said quickly. “But we’re close. He helped me out a lot. Especially after the accident.”

He blinked. “The lab incident?”

You nodded. “Yeah. When the first surge happened. Bruce paid my hospital bills and helped me build the first version of the bracelet.”

Clark glanced at your wrist. “The light-absorbing one.”

“Right. It keeps the excess starlight I generate from… bursting out of me like an emotional supernova.”

There was a pause. Clark narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Wait, wait—feelings power the bracelet?”

You hesitated. “That’s... sort of the idea.”

“Define sort of.”

You scratched the back of your neck. “Well… when I’m emotional—happy, excited, overwhelmed—the bracelet stores that energy instead of letting it leak into the atmosphere.”

Clark tilted his head. “Okay. Makes sense.”

“And,” you continued, “sometimes when we’re… you know… together—intimately—the energy spikes.”

He blinked. “Spikes how?”

You cleared your throat. “Let’s just say... you’re very effective.”

Clark went very still. “Hold on. Are you telling me Bruce Wayne is buying energy... generated from our…”

You shrugged helplessly. “It’s not just that. It’s ambient, okay? It comes from all kinds of emotional states. Excitement. Joy. Surprise.”

“But the bracelet spikes during—”

“Yeah.”

He slowly set his coffee down. “Oh my god. We’re... we’re a power couple. Literally.”

You tried not to laugh. “Renewable. Sustainable. And grid-friendly.”

Clark pointed at your bracelet like it had betrayed him personally. “So Bruce is powering part of Gotham off our love life?”

You raised your hands. “It’s clean energy! And technically just my orgasms”

He walked around the counter toward you, still processing. “I gave a whole speech to the mayor about investing in solar panels. Meanwhile, my girlfriend’s bracelet is moonlighting as a nuclear reactor because we make out too enthusiastically.”

“It’s not my fault the bracelet stores radiant emotion!”

He looked down at you, voice rising in disbelief. “Radiant emotion?”

“That’s what Bruce calls it!” you said defensively. “He says it sounds scientific!”

Clark covered his face. “He also calls himself a billionaire philanthropist"

“But you’re not mad, right?” you said carefully.

He dropped his hands and met your eyes. “No. But next time Bruce invites us to dinner, I’m billing him for emotional labor.”

You snorted. “Fair.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your forehead. “Just... tell me this isn’t why half of Gotham lost power that one night. You remember? Massive blackout. East side out for, like, an hour?”

You froze.

Clark’s eyes narrowed. “No.”

You tried for casual. “Well…”

“No,” he repeated. “Tell me that wasn’t us.”

You bit your lip.

“You told me not to wear it remember?, you said you liked when i glowed,” you justified.

“Oh my god. That was the night you weren’t wearing the bracelet—”

He was staring at you, horrified and impressed. “And then the next day, Bruce invited us to that rooftop lunch and spent the entire meal giving me death stares. I thought he figured out I was Superman!”

“Nope. He was mad because your... performance caused a grid overload in Gotham’s tech district. Took out three data centers. Rerouted power from his private servers.”

Clark sat down on a stool like the weight of his sins had just hit him. “I gave Gotham a blackout and a power surge. Bruce glared at me over risotto because we fried a transformer.”

“He calls it a ‘glowquake’ now, and he was mostly upset he didn’t get to harness the energy. Said it was a ‘missed opportunity for collection.’”

Clark groaned. “I save the world weekly and now I have to track how energetically we—”

“Make love?” you offered sweetly.

He covered his face again. “I hate everything.”

“You’re still gonna keep doing it though,” you said.

He peeked through his fingers. “Oh yeah. Absolutely.”

You leaned in and kissed him, slow and warm and just enough to make the bracelet give a faint, friendly flicker. Clark pulled back slightly, watching the glow fade with an expression of pure resignation.

“Weeknights,” he muttered. “Bracelet stays on during the week. If we’re gonna cause another event, I want Bruce to know it’s coming.”

“Yes, SuperResponsibleMan.”

He kissed you again, laughing against your mouth. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am the power source,” you whispered.

Clark groaned. “God help me.”

●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡●♡

You watched Clark close the freezer like he was trying to reset his brain with cold air and willpower. He stayed there for a second, palms on the counter, head slightly bowed.

You took a slow sip of your lavender coffee, leaning against the island beside him.

“I’m honestly kind of shocked it took you this long to ask.”

He glanced over at you, still processing everything. “Ask what?”

You gave him a look. “How I afford all of it.”

He blinked. “Right. Yeah. No. I just… I thought you had a shopping problem.”

You choked. “What?”

“Like, a little one,” he added quickly. “A cute one. You weren’t out buying yachts. Just… occasionally acting like you lived in Sex and the city with Mr big's wallet.”

You squinted. “Clark.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! I didn’t say anything because I figured it made you happy, and you’re always careful with stuff that matters. I thought maybe you just… stress-shopped.”

“I do not stress-shop,” you said, offended.

He pointed at the cat-shaped bag.

“…Not always,” you amended.

Clark leaned on his elbows, watching you. “And sometimes, I felt bad. I assumed you were using your own savings, so when I noticed your wallet looked light, I’d slide in a couple twenties. Quietly. No big deal.”

Your mouth dropped open. “You were slipping me money?”

“Emergency coffee fund,” he said solemnly. “And if you happened to spend it on a weirdly expensive pair of boots, well... at least your ankles would be warm.”

You stared at him, touched and scandalized in equal measure. “I thought my wallet was haunted. I was genuinely confused about the money situation.”

“I was trying to be subtle.”

“You were slipping me cash like some kind of undercover sugar daddy.”

He looked pleased with himself. “The least threatening kind.”

You laughed, full and open now. “Clark Kent. You’ve been secretly funding my snack runs and retail chaos?”

He smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to hold back. If swiping your card gave you joy, I figured… why not help?”

You walked over to him, arms wrapping loosely around his waist. “That is the most aggressively sweet thing I’ve ever heard.”

He rested his chin on your head. “Aggressively sweet is kind of my brand.”

You sighed into his chest. “I mean, I’m literally generating clean energy from how much I love you. Bruce is monetizing it. I feel like you should at least get a cut.”

Clark pulled back just enough to look at you. “That’s what I’m saying. I should get residuals. Or a gift basket.”

You smirked. “You want me to give you a portion of your own glowquake?”

“I’d settle for a hand-knit sweater that says ‘Grid Daddy’ on it.”

You tilted your head. “I hate how much I don’t hate that.”

“I’ll wear it during interviews.”

“Clark,” you warned.

He grinned. “As superman.”

----

@animegamerfox

[krysmcscience]

At long last: either an alternate explanation for or continuation of my prior comic regarding how Bill was ABSOLUTELY naked in Ford's karaoke night drawing. (Because errors in art do not exist. Artists do not make mistakes. So if you see any in this comic, No You Do Not.)

I am so normal about these old dorks.

I'm not really clear on exactly when Bill started throwing his desperation book at Ford just like a needy ex do, but I find it extremely funny to imagine it happening literally the day of or after the makeshift funeral. Bill just gets this weird sense of 'Ford is taking steps to move on' and CANNOT FUCKING ABIDE.

I hope you enjoy all the goofy things I added to each page of Bill's sad spieling. (Everything SHOULD be readable so long as you view the full size, but I have added basically this whole little fanfic in the image descriptions, LMAO, which lays out all the little written notes and such.) Also don't ask how Bill managed to sneak that vampire pen in there. I have no idea, and honestly? I don't wanna know.

Oh, and a little bonus comic:

Of course Bill would take it as flirting. Because between the two of them, Bill is the bigger masochist By Far. :)

Also I have continued applying The Good Place logic to any of Bill's attempts to swear. Case in point, one last bonus image, this time with a motivational line from my slapdash Theraprism OC, EV-01:

Yes, its name is just 'love' backwards. No, I will not be taking any feedback on this. Yes, EV-01 was only ever assigned to Bill's case due to the Theraprism being desperate to make some progress in rehabilitating him. No, it did not work anywhere close to staff's expectations - Bill didn't even appreciate EV-01's matching fondness for bowties! (He claimed the fondness to be "cultural appropriation" and insisted he'd been traumatized by it.)

Anyway, if you like my stuff, reblogs are very much appreciated, and if you really really like it, perhaps consider my commissions or yeeting a teeny tiny tip my way? I am trying to recoup over 500 dollars in vet bills, ahaha... 🙃

In other news, I loved all the fun tags people added to the prior naked-karaoke comic (such as 'the hat and bow-tie stay ON during sex' and the classic '[insert keysmash here]', as well as the many amused/bewildered remarks about how I either made the bricks a piece of clothing or just straight up peeled Bill's skin off). However, I think my favorite thing by far was the several people losing their shit over the fact that I gave Bill toes. Like, excuse me? The magical talking triangle can have fingers but not toes??? Since when was that a rule????? 🤣 (Also the one person who reblogged with the cropped panel where Bill's fishnets pants are falling off to ask why Bill peed himself. Dude, I want to examine your brain...?)

Okie-dokie, I'm sick of looking at all of this stuff now and I'm off to go to work, after which I will either scribble some more goofy "Billford" comics or perhaps draw my lame human!Bill in Situations, idk yet. Maybe I'll even finally draw more than just a single other person's human!Bill...? Who knows, but I sure hope I can mix it up a little and not turn whatever I draw into a month-long fukken project. >:\

[doctorwhoisadhd]

tbh i feel like the bare minimum for a companion is for them to at least have one story where you cant just replace them with just about any other companion bc if its not Them Specifically the story wont work. i dont know that we had that with ruby but we certainly havent gotten that with belinda yet

& actually you know what let me clarify. when i say this, i mean, if you can take the companion out, and pick someone else at random and swap them in, changing the specific details of personal info to match (ex: parents names, etc) and whoever else you have just subbed in would take the same actions and make the same decisions, that is a fail in this category. (it doesn't mean its a bad episode — like, oxygen doesn't REQUIRE the companion to be bill but it's still a good episode.)

what i am saying is, if a companion ONLY has episodes where you can do this and the story stays the same, then they have not been given a personality. (dialogue will change somewhat regardless of whether a companion swap works, thats too detailed.) so like, no one else from modern who can replace, say, rory in the god complex because everyone else has pretty blind faith in the doctor, and same with clara in face the raven because her being way overly confident in her own survival was part of the point of her arc (also ace in dragonfire, rose in boom town, etc). but on the other hand, you could easily replace ruby in 73 yards with most other companions (particularly since most of the plot of that episode is the exact same as a sarah jane adventures story), and same with mel in time and the rani, etc.

[miguelsslvt]

ex nerd! scientist! miguel o'hara x slutty! reader

part two here!

word count: 745

TW: smut, nsfw, d/s themes, mentions of pet play.

A/N: THIS IS INSPIRED BY @nymphomatique SO PLS CHECK THEIR ONE OUT!! their drabble rlly inspired me so i thought maybe i could add a little twist;) welcome to the club!

back in your college days, you were.. promiscuous, some would say. well, you were the biggest slut on campus. if your body count didn't say it all, then the rumours sure did.

you took chemistry, maths, physics and biology. you wanted to be a physics scientist, partially because of the thought of there being lots and lots of different universes, but mostly because the pay was brilliant.

miguel o'hara was your 'pet' back in your college days, per-say.

you used him for your homework, and in exchange you would fuck him, give him head, handjobs, you name it. you took miguel's virginity, and every bit of innocence he had left. he was totally smitten by you. i mean, a pretty, popular girl giving him attention no one ever did? sign him up.

miguel was the biggest loser you knew back then. he wasn't the most muscly, and he had those ridiculous black square glasses, and his outfits were shocking. he had a slight lisp due to his late braces, and his hair was far too long and he clearly struggled to maintain it. to keep it blunt, he wasn't cool at all. he was a loser, a simp, and a goody two-shoes. perfect as your little pet.

it wasn't until after graduation did you stop your little encounters. after leaving college, you blocked his number and left campus on the same day. you thought you'd never have to see that nerdy freak again. well, that's what they all say, right?

that was until you finally got a job at ALCHEMAX. you were a 'technological support scientist', which sounded smart but really all you got to do was watch all the better scientists do tests. you didn't mind, it did more then just pay your bills. hell, with the checks you're bringing in you could probably buy a new car in a few months!

you thought things were all sunshine and rainbows, until the thunder walked in. it's funny though, you didn't realise thunder looked like 6'9 tall and 310 pound of pure muscle and attractiveness. his braces were gone, his hair more clean and cut a little shorter, and his glasses just resting on top of his head, but you knew exactly who he was.

'm-miguel o'hara?!' you said, shocked. he turned around swiftly, looking down at you, before his eyes widened. 'y/n l/n?' he said, surprised. you both had become blushing messes. well, his glow up sure came after only 3 years.

'you.. work here?' you asked, absolutely awe-struck. 'i.. do. i am a technological scientist here. you work here too? why haven't i ever seen you around before?' he asked, intriuged. 'i-it's my first day here. you.. matured.' you said, clearly checking him out.

the man smirked. he actually smirked. the man who would whimper, begging to just get off on your shoe, smirked at you like he was in control. 'and you look as gorgeous as 3 years ago.'

your heart stopped. who was this man? this muscular, defined, confident, completely self aware man.. this wasn't miguel. there was no way.

'you..you're very different, miguel.' you said, a blushing mess. he chuckled, putting some latex gloves on. fuck, even his hands were attractive. 'well alot happens to a guy.' he says smoothly, his voice deeper. god this was going to be hard.

♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎

that very night, you were spread out on the bed, and you didn't recognise the man above you.

3 years ago, a scrawny desperate nerdy little boy was on his knees, as if you were a goddess. and now, that very man was on top of you, kissing your neck so skilfully, as if he's done this for years. his thrusts had rhythm, as he grinded along your g spot with ease, you let out a gasp and a breathy moan, as he shushed you.

'sh, bonita.. you've changed. where's that dominatrix you were back in college days? why are you so.. obedient?~' he whispered in your ear, as you moaned again.

'i-i think i-it's y-you that changed, m-miguel..' you breathily said in response, as he chuckled. 'oh no, sweetheart, i'm still the same loser that was begging on his knees for you. just now, i've learnt how to please you as well as me.' he said in response, his hands moving down from your breasts to your hips, his cock deep inside you as he grinded his hips as you felt every inch.

god, is this heaven?

♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎♥︎♡︎

[pinkslipxox]

Not Ready:

Summary: A conversation with your friends makes you worried about a touchy subject and Billie comforts you

Warnings: fluff, angsty-ish(?), mentions of smut 🥰

part two of Not Ready can be found here 🤗

—————————————-—————————————

The Californian sun shines brightly over the open-air mall located at the heart of Los Angeles. You are sitting with your friends at a café enjoying a latte, listening to a story that one of your friends is telling when in the midst of the conversation, your phone chimes. A smile instantly spreads on your face when you see that it is a text from your girlfriend, Billie.

‘Hey, pretty girl! Just checking up on you. I hope you’re having a good time with your friends. Can’t wait to see you soon,’ the text reads followed by a few heart emojis.

You quickly type: ‘Hi, babes! I am, thank you. See you when I get home’.

“Who’s making you smile like that, Y/N?” one of your friends tease in a sing-song voice.

“Billie,” you admit with a sheepish chuckle as you put away your phone. Your friends giggle, sending knowing looks to each other.

“How are things going between you two?” the other muses, her eyes glowing with delight.

“Things are going so well! She treats me like a princess… and we love each other so much,” you gush, your cheeks warming up as your friends giggle and ‘aww’ like schoolgirls.

Despite inviting Billie to your outing, she had insisted that you and your friends had fun by yourselves. You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that you’re missing your girlfriend. In the time that you two have been together, you’ve built quite a strong bond. And you couldn’t be happier.

“I bet you two can barely keep your hands off each other,” your friend smirks as your other friend wags her eyebrows playfully.

“Tell us eveything!” your other friend insists with a giddy smile.

You had a feeling this topic would be brought up. In the beginning of your relationship, you voiced your desire to save intimacy until further along in your relationship, wanting to take things slow. Billie has been nothing but patient and understanding, and while you know that she’s willing to wait for as long as you need to, you know that you can’t just make her wait forever.

“There isn’t that much to say,” you force a chuckle, shifting awkwardly in your chair. “Billie and I… we haven’t… y-y know…”

“No way! Really?” your first friend gasps, her eyes wide with shock.

“What are you two waiting for, Y/N?” the other interjects.

“We’re just taking it slow. And she’s been very respectful,” you defend, sipping your latte to fortify yourself.

Your first friend huffs. “But you two have been together for almost a year now! Billie’s probably loosing her patience.”

“It’s just sex, Y/N. Not rocket science,” your other friend adds with a chuckle although it comes out more like a scoff.

You quickly change the conversation, not wanting to feel even more embarrassed that you already are. Instead of listening to your friends talk, all you can hear are their words echoing in your ears. The more you resonate on their words, the more you realize that your friends are probably right about how Billie must be feeling. Your last relationship ended for the exact same reason, but Billie is not at all like your ex. She wouldn’t break up with you over something like this… would she?

“I have to go,” you say quickly and leave before any of your friends can say anything.

The drive home is quicker than you except it to be. It hardly gave you enough time to decide what you were going to do when you saw Billie. But the moment you see her at the entrance, smiling at you, you make up your mind.

“Welcome home, mama!” Billie exclaims happily as she makes her way over to you with her arms stretched out. She hugs you tightly, pepping kisses to your cheek.

“Thank you, Bills,” you say softly, and you swear that if she listened closer, she could hear your heart beating out of your chest.

“Let me help you with those,” Billie insists as she takes your bags from your hands. “What did you get? Anything cute?”

“Just some jeans and a new pair of shoes,” you murmur as you follow her into your shared bedroom. You glance at the bed, biting your lower lip, and all of the sudden it looks much more intimidating. And you find yourself asking if the bed has always taken up so much space.

“How are your friends?” Billie asks sweetly and your heart twists at the mention of them.

“They’re fine,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, forcing a smile. Of course, Billie sees right through it. She puts the bags down and makes her away over to you, her hands resting on your hips, pulling you closer. Her ocean blue eyes look at you with concern.

“What’s wrong, Y/N? You—“

You cut Billie off by pressing your lips on hers, passionately, and for a moment Billie is frozen before she instantly kisses you back. Her grip on you tightens, her warm tongue massaging deliciously with yours, and you can’t help but moan into her mouth. You feel her smirk against your lips, and it gives you the confidence you need to trail your lips along her jawline and down her neck, making her gasp.

“God, Y/N,” Billie murmurs huskily, her voice low and rough, as she tilts her head up to give you more access. You suck gently on her sensitive, just the way she sometimes does to you, and the sound of your name being moaned reassures you that you’re doing something right.

Billie draws your mouth back to hers, the kiss more urgent, almost desperate than the one before. Your pulse quickens at the thought of the next step that needs to happen, and with that, you guide Billie to the bed. A soft moan escapes your girlfriend’s lips as she falls back gently on the bed. You straddle her, your heart beating against your chest, your mind scrambling to figure out what to do next. Then, as if to read your mind, Billie flips the two of you over.

“You’re so beautiful,” Billie whispers, gripping your chin lightly, and you notice that her eyes have darkened yet the usual softness is still visible in them, comforting you a bit.

“I love you, Billie,” you say softly, and Billie’s lips spread into a smile.

“I love you, too, Y/N,” she replies sincerely before brushing her lips against yours.

Then, to your great surprise, Billie gets off you.

“W-what’s wrong? You’re not going to make love to me?” you panic and Billie kisses your forehead, letting her lips linger there before pressing her forehead gently against yours.

“Not tonight, sweet girl,” Billie murmurs softly and your heart sinks.

“Why? Don’t you want me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper and for a moment you don’t recognize it. With a soft sigh, Billie pulls you to her lap, her arms wrapped around you tightly.

“Of course I do, Y/N. But I can tell that you’re not ready for this yet. I want this to be memorable for you. For us. And I love and respect you too much to do this when you’re not one hundred percent sure about it,” Billie says, her voice soft but firm.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whimper as tears slowly begin to roll down your face. You’re embarrassed. And yet at the same time relieved. Deep down, you know you aren’t ready. Not anytime soon.

“You want to tell me what brought this on?” Billie asks, tucking a few loose stands behind your ear.

You take a deep breath. “My friends asked me how things were going with each other. And they asked if we’ve ever been intimate… and when I said no, they were in shock. One of them even said you were loosing your patience with me. That’s why… because… I-I’m sorry, Billie.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, my love,” your girlfriend assures you, gently wiping the tears away with her thumbs. She gives you a gentle smile. “I’d wait forever for you, Y/N. Not just for sex but for anything. Please don’t ever forget that.”

“Promise me that one day, when we do it, it’ll be special,” you murmur softly, looking into your girlfriend’s eyes.

“I promise,” Billie hums before sealing her promise with a gentle kiss.

“Cuddle me?” you request and Billie smiles softly.

“Whatever you want, Y/N,” she replies before laying down on the bed again, her arms reaching out for you. You snuggle up to her, grateful to have a girlfriend like Billie.

[ctghost]

okokok i can't stop thinking about @yan-randomfandom 's godling fic so here's some drabbles on ford's thoughts.. this can be some sort of continuation of this! (P.s i hope i'm not bothering by tagging you jdkdkrjk 😭😭)

part 1 part 2

visualization that inspired me

"Well i'll see you later, pines, until then!"

Ford wakes up.

You really aren't just a piece of his dream. But he can't just believe fact that you aren't bill. Second dimensional, wearing a bowtie, and all that. Who would know if he could just be wearing some sort of bizarre skin?

But then he starts thinking what you just called him. Pines. Bill never called him that. All his years studying and time with bill, he had never heard anything about a deity like you. Could you possibly be from the same dimension as bill? If so, wouldn't that mean you're bill's ally? That's got to be the only logical reason here. You're likely trying to trick him to be able to make a deal with you. Well that sure isn't gonna work now.

But he had to be sure.. maybe this night he'll try to get some answers out of you.

-

"You're not here to make a deal, are you?"

"Deals aren't my forte,"

"I do wishes."

-

"Is that so? Well then, how many wishes?"

"One." His eyebrows furrowed at that. "Bill-"

"I am not Bill Cipher."

-

"You could use your wish to help me gain my memories back, or you could use it for yourself, it's your choice, really."

After a little more talk, he knows now that you are likely not lying, and that really don't have any recollections of your own past, and even your name. Still, he couldn't just trust you. Everyone knows what happened the last time that happens. He still needs to fish out as many answers as he could get.

But you probably even don't have much to give anyway, since all your replies are just "i don't know" or "i don't remember". He became slightly frustrated at your lack of vary answers, but guess he should appreciate you not trying to twist any truth there is.

Back in the mindscape, Ford's deep in his thoughts as he observes you moving around almost boredly. There's just so many questions.

If he really used his wish to get your memories back, would you be indebt to him? Or would you try to burn the world down just like bill?

He let out a small sigh, but soon a realization hit him, You can read his mind. If bill has that power, you could do the same-

He suddenly jumped, alarmed. You paused what you were doing and looked at him. "You alright there, pines?"

He was about to retaliate- but seeing your almost sincere and confused look on just a singular eye, he calms down abit from his overthinking. Just because you have similiar physical traits, you're not bill. Atleast not as far as he knows now with your memory loss.

You can't hurt him. Not in the mindscape anyway.

"I'm fine." He finally replied, after seeing that you were still staring at him.

He should probably start investigating to see if there's anything out there that could tell him more about you.

-

Aka, ford keeps comparing you to his ex muse after first few meetings

[sugurusfavemonkey]

CALL IT FATE - PROLOGUE: KNOCKIN' ON HEAVEN'S DOOR

summary: your roommate left and the bills were staring to pill up when three knocks to your door bring you Ino Takuma: say hello to your new roommate. The easygoing boy quickly worms his way into your life and heart. pairing: Ino Takuma x reader word count: 1.3k contents: college AU, short series, afab!reader, fluff, some crack, cursing, miscommunication (you think Ino is gay), strangers to friends to lovers (and they were roommates!), smut to come in future chapters (MDNI)!

prologue || chapter one

"What do you mean you're moving?!" you bellow, throwing your hands up in disgruntlement as you walk back and forth through your living room.

"I know it's sudden, but-" your roommate tries to chime in from her spot on the couch, shoulders hunched as if trying to make herself look smaller and hands splayed together on top of her thighs.

"Sudden is right. I'm not saying I'm not happy for you, but you could at least have let me know in advance, you know? I mean, a little room to breathe would've been nice." you keep on rambling.

"I'm so sorry! It's just... we've been dating for a few years now and when she asked me to move in with her I just- what was I supposed to do?"

"Say yes?" at that you finally stop, one hand running over your face, "and then ask for a little time so your roommate doesn't get swarmed in debt."

Utahime has the chagrin to stay quiet while you let your frustration out. Glancing at her from between your splayed fingers, your own shoulders fall, defeated. You walk to the couch and let yourself fall down beside her with a deep sigh, head lazily lolling back against the worn-out cotton.

"I can't afford this place on my own and we're in the middle of the semester, how am I supposed to find anyone?"

"I'm sorry." she tries one more time, softly.

You turn your head to face your ex-roommate and reach for her hand, a small if not bittersweet smile on your lips.

"I really am happy for you, Hime."

"I know."

"Ugh! The commute back and forth to campus has been taking me ages. I haven't had the time to skate in... forever!" Ino Takuma whined to his aloof blond friend, head falling down against the table wooden top with a smack.

Nanami scowled in disgust, who knows how many people have done god knows what against that same table top but showed no other reaction to Ino's dramatic display. He kept on politely munching on the surprisingly good sandwich he had just bought at the campus cafeteria.

The unlikely duo had come to be when Ino had been a freshman at Jujutsu Tech and desperately needed help in one of the general courses. With the pending prospect of failing his class, he finally sought out tutoring. Cue in Nanami Kento, a junior with one of the highest GPAs in the school who offered tutoring lessons for extra credit.

Takuma had instantly latched onto Kento, his admiration and high regard evident through his constant praise of the slightly older man. And Nanami try as he might couldn't help but cave in under Ino's unrelenting enthusiasm because, as cold as he may seen, he has a soft heart underneath.

"You think maybe I could get a spot in one of the units closer to the campus?" his voice comes out muffled.

"We're in the middle of the semester, Ino. I doubt there's anyone interested in-" Nanami cuts himself off when an abrupt memory flashes in his head.

"You're right." Takuma lifts his head up and sighs, taking a large bite of his own sandwich and chewing thoughtfully.

"No, no. I just remembered something. Believe it or not a friend recently had her girlfriend move in with her. Her roommate could be looking for a new tenant." Nanami puts his sandwich down and reach for a napkin, meticulously cleaning his fingers before picking up his cellphone and scrolling through it.

"You're joking?" The brunet visibly perks up, his entire demeanor shifting, eyes wide and lips splitting into a wide grin.

"Not at all." Nanami replies mindlessly as he starts typing on his phone.

Meanwhile, Ino's eyes grow distant as his head spirals into different thoughts and plans, "that's like... it's gotta be destiny or something like that, right?!"

Just then Nanami's phone chimes with three consecutive pings.

"Yes. Very fortuitous indeed. They are in fact looking for a roommate. Here, I'll send you the address."

After your roommate left for good, everything seemed to be going downhill.

Five out of the six jobs you applied to had reached back out only to let you down, you missed the deadline to an important project in one of your classes, you accidentally washed a red pair of panties along with the white clothing ending up with a bunch of pink pieces instead and, to make matters worse, the heater broke down just as the temperature started dropping.

You were in the middle of a break down when there were three knock to the door.

Your spine went rigid, cold sweat running down your back, immediately assuming the worse. Murphy's Law has been theorized for a reason after all.

"Well, better nip it in the bud." you mumbled before lifting yourself up from your laid out position on the floor with a grunt and some joints popping.

As you open the door you're surprised to find a boy you're pretty sure you've seen in passing across the campus standing with his hands in his pockets. He is handsome in a boyish way and you can't help but appreciating his big dark eyes and disheveled brown hair.

"Can I help you?" you ask after a few seconds of awkward silence as he stares at you with wide eyes.

"Uhm... yes! Yes. I, well, you see, I was complaining about the loooooong time it takes to and fro from my apartment to campus and how I no longer have time to do anything, it's really annoying because I like to skate and chill with my friends sometimes, you know? And then Nanami, who's whip-smart, reminded me we're in the middle of the semester so chances were I would be stuck there at least until it ended. But suddenly he remembered a friend of his had just had her girlfriend move in with her so now her girlfriend's roommate could be seeking another roommate! So he reached out and turns out, she is! I mean, was. If she takes me, that is. No! Wait, I mean, if you take me."

You blink owlishly as your brain struggles to comprehend the influx of words being thrown at you at breakneck speed, "what?"

"Damn," he sighs and looks down, wincing at his own frenzy, "I'm sorry, I got ahead of myself. Let me start over," the boy fixes his posture and tries again, "hi, I'm Ino Takuma. I heard you were looking for a roommate and I wanted to apply for the position!" He punctuates his sentence with a charming smile that had no business being as cute as it is.

You introduce yourself with a chuckle.

"I am looking for a roommate. You said Nanami sent you? The blond guy with the glasses and a penchant for weird patterns?"

"Yes! That's definitely him."

"We may not be close, but I know for sure that's the most trustworthy guy on campus."

"He really is. Nanami is like the most amazing guy I ever met. He's so smart and cool. And handsome too!" Ino says dreamily, a bit too dreamily for it to pass as only admiration and you feel yourself growing a bit less tense, letting go of the door you were halfway hiding behind.

Sharing your housing with a man would be a risky venture at the very least but if said man played for the same team? maybe that could work.

"I'm not gonna lie, you've come at the right time." You admit, glancing at him from below your lashes. He seems to falter for a second, but recover just as quick.

"See! It's like fate!" his overexcited reaction has your smile growing, Ino has this endearing quality to him that immediately lowers your defenses.

"Fate." You nod your head, lost in your own head.

"So?"

"Oh, yeah! Right! Come on in. Let's chat about this."

next

taglist: @lavenderdaydream97 @ilovemyhusbandnanami @iluvmusicxoxo @tunnelvisionlove @sweetwonieee - I went ahead and tagged those who showed interest in the drabble that lead to this series as well as those who asked for it, hope you don't mind (and if you do just let me know and I'll take you out) <3

©sugurusfavemonkey 2025┃all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, translate or otherwise modify this work

[sturnioz]

hear me out…. one of fratboy!chris’ ex fwbs runs into him and shy!reader at a party and she makes it very clear she misses sex with him

how are they both reacting?

you can't help but stare at her in awe. she is gorgeous.

cherry. that's her name — or rather, her nickname. all thanks to her vibrant red hair and big breasts that fit so perfectly in her low-cut dress.

you know you probably look a bit silly, standing beside chris in the crowded kitchen, your mouth agape and eyes sparkling as you watch how she carries herself with an intoxicating confidence.

her red lips curl into a sultry smile as she gazes at chris, her perfectly applied fake lashes fluttering as she speaks to him. you watch, mesmerised, as she leans in closer, placing a hand on chris' shoulder, her fingers lingering just a moment too longer as she whispers something in his ear. he nods, reaching into his pocket to grab whatever she asked for, and the sight suddenly twists your stomach into knots.

when her eyes finally dart toward you, your heart races. you straighten your back instinctively and offer her a polite smile as she tilts her head slightly, seemingly sizing you up.

"hi," she greets, her tone short and blunt, but you barely register it.

"hello." you kindly introduce yourself, hastily adding your name at the end, hoping to make a good impression. "you're really pretty."

"thanks." her tone is blunt again, and while the straightforwardness of her reply should sting, it barely registers in your mind; you're too consumed by her beauty, trying to comprehend how someone so stunning could be standing right in front of you.

"how do you know chris?" you ask, trying your best to keep the conversation flowing despite your social awkwardness.

"we used to fuck." the way she says it makes you blink, recoiling slightly. there's a sharpness in her tone that leaves you feeling unsettled, and a frown threatens to break across your lips — not because you're surprised by what she said, you're fully aware of how many people chris had slept with before you.

it's the way in which she delivers the information that feels off, leaving a strange feeling within you that you can't quite pinpoint.

"that's... that's cool, yeah," you murmur awkwardly, your admiration rapidly overshadowed by an uncomfortable tension. the intensity of her gaze makes you feel small, and you instinctively shuffle closer to chris' side, as if you're seeking out help or comfort.

chris remains silent, completely unfazed as he pulls a baggy filled with pink, heart-shaped pills from his pocket and hands them to cherry, who immediately breaks into a smile, her fingers lingering in his grasp just a moment too long.

"you're the best, as always," cherry says, her voice going back to that sultry tone as she leans in closer, her gaze fixed on chris. "am i still allowed to pay for this a different way or...?"

"nah, pills went up a lot since last time. s'gonna cost you," chris says as he holds out his hand with a nonchalant grin. "pay up."

"come on.. you know money isn't always the better payment." her tone is playful now, yet there's an underlying intensity that makes your stomach churn, and you swallow thickly, unsure on how to react with seeing this happen right in front of your eyes.

"i need the money." chris doesn't back down, his expression now firm as he still holds out his hand. cherry hesitates, her jaw tightening, the playful glint in her eye momentarily dimming as she reaches into her purse, retrieving a handful of cash and slamming a few hefty dollar bills into his palm.

your eyes wide at the amount you see — more than you originally expected for just a few miniature pills, and you're unable to contain your curiosity as you accidentally blurt out, "how much are the pills?"

"why?" chris snaps back his usual response when you ask about these things. he rolls up the bills and shoves them into his pocket with practiced ease, his eyes narrowing as he stares at you. "don't get any funny ideas, kid, or i swear—"

"s'just a lot of money..." you speak in awe, your gaze darting from the cash in his pocket to his eyes, searching for an understanding. "that's, like, a lot."

chris blinks, the corner of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly at your expression. "well, yeah.. its fuckin' drugs."

"i used to pay for it a different way, right?" cherry chimes in, her voice smooth and enticing. to be honest, you did forget for a brief moment that she was still here with you, and your head turns towards her, but her focused is locked on chris. "i still should, to be honest — you always liked it that way."

"yeah, i did," chris hums in agreement, and you shift uncomfortably beside him, chewing on your bottom lip as a wave of anxiety washes over you.

"do you still have those blue ones we used to take together?" she asks him, but her focus now shifts to you. "we used to get high together all the time, and the way he would move his hips when we fucked? it was something else."

you catch a glimpse of the smug, proud grin on chris' face from the corner of your eye, and a rush of discomfort floods your system, twisting your insides. the feelings bubbling up inside you are confusing, leaving your head spinning as if you've had three beers too many.

"i don't have that shit anymore, wasn't doin' good." chris confesses, pulling out a joint and fishing for his lighter, his nonchalance only making it worse for you.

"you still have my number right?" cherry asks, her voice low and inviting. "if you start selling it again, you should give me a call.. you know i'll be there."

as chris strikes the lighter, the flame flickers to life, igniting his joint as he looks at cherry — holding her gaze for a moment longer than necessary as he takes a hit, holding it in his lungs before releasing the smoke in a slow, deliberate exhale.

"yeah, a'ight. i will." he drawls, and your heart races as you watch cherry smirk at him, a look of satisfaction spreading across her face before she gracefully walks off, her hips swaying as she disappears into the crowd.

you swallow hard again, glancing up at chris, who's still staring in the direction cherry left as he takes another hit. you want to ask him what that was all about, to try for answers, but the words catch in your throat. it's not your place to question him, yet the urge to understand still lingers.

but, to your surprise, chris lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he pulls out his phone. "m'gonna run her money so fuckin' bad," he hums, a smirk playing on his lips as his eyes flick to you. "she's not gonna know what hit her, kid."

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Lean On Me (Part 5/7)

Pairing: Dr Michael 'Robby" Robinavitch x younger! Langdon's little sister! reader

A conversation that needs to be had, is had....

Warnings: casual drinking, work in a strip club, general lack of clothing in the workplace slow burn

(I know nothing about working in a strip club, so this is all based off media representations, sorry for any mistakes)

part four / part six

taglist: @dayswithoutcoffee, @hagarsays, @4ishere, @omgbrianab, antisocialfiore, eugene-emt-roe

“Michael what the fuck!” you hiss, ripping your arm from his grasp as soon as the door slammed shut.

You clock your colleague Holly marching towards you, with a baseball bat raised high.

“It's okay! He’s my-”

“Boyfriend?”

“Friend!” 

Holly puts the bat down and smiles at Michael, who's still glaring at you. He runs his hands through his hair, and his breathing is heavy. You know whatever conversation that was about to happen could not happen in the change rooms. 

“Holly, can you watch my section for a minute,” you say a lot calmer than you feel, “I’m going to take Dog and him,” pointing at Michael, “outside for some air.”

Holly agrees because of course she does. You two have been at this club for years together, she was a single mum of two, who's been caught dancing by many ex-boyfriends, she knew what conversation was about to be had. 

Not that Michael is your boyfriend.

Dog is sitting patiently under one of the makeup desks, her tail wagging as she watches you pick up her lead.

“You bring your dog to this place.”

It's the first words Michael has said all evening and you turn to him, all fake smiles gone.

“Of course I do! I work 10 hour shifts some days, I can’t leave a dog in Frank's apartment for half the day!”

Michael says nothing, but ever the gentleman, he holds open the backroom door for you as you and Dog wander into the alley way.

The back alley behind the bar is as safe as any place can be in Pittsburgh after dark, it has two large gates on either end and only staff at the club know the combinations to the locks. It was where you have spent a lot of time either chain smoking when you were young, or internally screaming as you got older. 

You let Dog off the lead, who trots off to do her business and turn to look at Michael, who was looking around the alley, his brows raised. You could still feel the anger coming off him.

“So?” you start, crossing your arms until you realise all that's done is press your tits up and make them even more obvious to the red faced doctor.

“You’re a stripper.”

“Waitress technically- I lost my spot on the stage when I went to Europe.”

“Why?”

“Why did I lose my spot or why am I here?”

He rolled his eyes, “Why are you here?”

“Oh I just love getting my breasts out for random strangers.” the sarcasm drips from your mouth, you can’t help it.

“Sweethea-”

“No Sweetheart! No! You can’t just walk into a stripclub, then get mad when a woman has her tits out!” 

“I didn’t want to come to a strip club.” he said weakly, his own argument falling flat.

“Oh your old mate Jack just pulled you in here under protest?”

“Well-”

“What are you really mad about, Dr Robinavitch?” he flinches at the formal name and you can’t help but smirk.

“Why are you here?”

“Money.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously, I make more here in one night than I would in a week somewhere else. It's good, fast money!”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you need to make fast money?”

The question has you laughing, maybe not with humour but with amusement. Dog wanders off as you drop her lead to gather yourself.

“Why? Why do I need money? Oh I don’t know, maybe because my big brother is in rehab? Or because my parents are in a facility that has exorbitant bills their pension doesn’t cover? Rent? Vet bills? I’ve maxed out four credit cards since I have gotten back, so those need to be paid off as well? How else should I make my money, Dr Robinavitch?”

He’s silent, and the rage has simmered behind his eyes but his hands flexed between open and fists as if trying to ground himself.

“What about your degree?” he said, each word a challenge.

“What degree?” you huff, “I dropped out of school at fifteen.” 

The rage rose again as he took in your words.

“What?”

You move to lean against the wall of the club, it was cool (and a little gross) against your exposed skin.

“My dads a high functioning alcoholic and my mum- my mum is a self centred bitch who only cares about two things, my dad and Frank.I was an unhappy accident.” You close your eyes, you haven’t admitted any of this to anyone, ever, “Dad lost his job when I was fourteen, Frank was fifteen, and the bills started the pile up. Sacrifices had to be made, and that included my dance classes which I was mad about but I was told by my mother, young ladies do not complain. Then dad got a new job and it was okay for a few months but he hurt himself and ended up on workers comp. Then the bills piled up again and mum sat me down and told me that I needed to pull my weight around the house.”

“What about Frank?”

“Frank was top of his class in everything, he was on the football team and looking at a scholarship to any college he wanted. I was not doing so well in any of my classes, which got worse when I started working at the local diner every night. We chatted about it but he didn’t want to drop out of school so it was decided, I would.”

“That's not fair.” Michael said and when you opened your eyes he was in front of you, his hands on your face, tilting your head up so you could look him in the eye.

“You shouldn’t have been saddled with that.” 

You lean into his touch, and feel his breath on your face. It would take only a moment to breach the distance between you. You could almost taste him on your lips as you look him in his eyes.

The anger is still there, seething behind the golden brown colour but you can see something else there as he looks from your eyes to your lips. 

You need to break the moment before you kiss him in the alley.

It was a cliché to kiss someone outside of the club in this alley, plus your boss had cameras rigged out here 'for your safety'.

“But I was. I left school and started odd jobs, waitressing, working at a grocery store, I was even a cleaner at your hospital for a few months. But nothing was covering all the house repayments, Frank's textbooks or my mum's spending habits.”

Michael was now shaking his head, his thumb gently grazing your cheek.

“I know Frank, he’s an ass but he wouldn’t have let you pay for everything.”

“My folks didn’t tell him everything, and I didn’t want him to know. He couldn’t be distracted, he had a plan and a path and it was my job to keep him on it.” You didn’t sound bitter, the words could have been bitter. Others might have thought you would be bitter, but you weren’t, not at Frank. 

He had always been the kid who was going to make it.

You were just the little sister that was going to help him get there.

“I got a job here just before my sixteenth birthday, started as a dish-bitch, worked my way up to dancing by the time I was seventeen.”

“Seventeen?”

The grip on your cheek is tighter, as you watch him school his emotions, he got a little crease between his brows that looks like a ‘v’ as you watch him swallow a further remark.

“Yep- I had a fake ID in case the cops ever came in but they never did, at least not to raid us.” you joke but the brow on Michaels brow just got deeper, “No one cared really, I had boobs, and ass and was willing to work every night. So I did, I paid off my parents house, I covered Frank's textbooks, the excess of his college living costs and got him the best birthday and christmas presents. They never asked where the money came from, maybe they never cared enough to, I think Frank might have an idea but he never brought it up.”

Michael pulls away slightly, still in your personal bubble but no longer touching you. You try not to verbalise a whine as you try to lean back into his touch.

“You made enough to pay off your parents house.” A statement not a question.

You could tell Michael was processing, his hands were now in his pockets and his entire body language had changed, he stood taller, ridged as he blinked slowly. He walked away from you, suddenly on the other side of the alley.

“Michael?”

“You paid off your parents' house, and Frank's bills, just by dancing?” There was something under those words, an accusation you couldn’t quite place. Somehow during your confession he had picked up something that he couldn’t get through.

“Yes.” Your voice was small, and you realised your hands were shaking. You had just poured your whole truth out to this man and while you hadn’t expected open arms, his response had you thrown.

“You managed to pay off your parents' house, just by dancing on that stage?”

There it was, the judgement and the disgust. 

Michael was an understanding Doctor, a person who would advocate for those less fortunate.

But all people have their own hang ups, the thing they would never be able to look past.

And you just found his.

“Stripping is not prostitution.” You say through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t say that-”

“You didn’t have to! I heard it in your voice!”

“I didn’t-”

You want to cry, the tears are there but you won’t cry in front of him, how had you gone from flirting over pancakes to being judged in a back alley.

“We are done here, have a lovely rest of your evening, Dr Robinavitch.”

You push past time, snapping for Dog to follow you. She does, stopping only for a moment to sniff Michaels pant leg before trotting back inside, excited to see who was backstage and ready to give her cuddles.

“Why did you come back to it?” 

You look behind you, “What?”

“When you came home, why did you come back here?”

You sigh and just shake your head.

“Because Frank needed me.” You admit before closing the door and returning to your shift.

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Michael’s table of friends are still there when you come back, your fake smile plastered wide on your face.

You couldn’t wait until the club closed and you could go home and cry into your pillow.

But there were still four hours left.

Michael returned to the table a few moments after you, but left almost immediately, making his excuses to the bachelor and Jack. You stayed well away until you saw Michael leave, letting Holly and Joe fill any drink orders.

Jack's eyes stay fixed on you for moments after Michael has gone, tracking your every movement.

You smiled back at him, daring him to say anything. You could do with a fight tonight you thought to yourself as you passed out wings, and whiskey glasses to another table that had come in. 

But he’s gone after you pick yourself up off a table, belly button still wet from a body shot.

You look around for him or any of Michaels friends as you tuck the $100 bill into your purse, but the table was empty, bar their finished glasses and a tip.

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The liquor was flowing at almost every table by the time 2am rolled by, and Holly had just taken her place on stage. You wanted to laugh as she sent you a wink and a kiss mid-dip.

Joe is still behind the bar but he stops what he's doing as you shuffle up, exhaustion and sticky heels wearing you down.

“You okay?”

You laugh and give him a gentle push, “I think that's the third time you’ve asked me that tonight.”

He shrugs and pushes you back, “You spend half your life looking after everyone else. Someones gotta check in.”

After the conversation with Michael and the rollercoaster the last few weeks have been you can’t help but hug the older man. Pulling him in and clinging to him as you whisper your thanks. You had known Joe since you were fifteen, he had stood behind you for your first week, snapping the fingers of anyone who tried to touch you while you washed dishes in the ugliest frumpiest clothes he could talk the boss into letting you wear. 

“I think the crush is over before it even began.” You admitted as you pulled away, grabbing shot glasses for the table closest to the stage. They wanted to do tequila shots with Holly, so you poured four tequila shots for the guests and one shot of water in a ‘special’ sparkly glass for Holly. It wasn’t against the rules to drink during a shift, when someone wants to buy you a drink, but you knew Holly had an early school run the next morning and the last thing she needed was a hangover.

The shift goes on, and you go through the motions. Pouring drinks, folding your tips into your little purse and every so often taking money for a dance.

It was like you somehow ended up on autopilot, just doing everything with a smile on your face and a bounce in your step as your mind continues to just replay your conversation with Michael again and again.

“You managed to pay off your parents' house, just by dancing on that stage?”

He had asked the question again and again, and maybe it was your own insecurity but each time felt heavier and heavier. 

You had paid off your parents' house by dancing on a stage.

You had gotten your brother through college by dancing on a stage.

And you would get him through rehab with lap dances and body shots.

And you were not less than him for doing so.

The bar lights came on as the clock turned to 4am. You hadn’t even noticed the hours pass by, but as one last patron tried to grab your ass you waved goodbye to the stragglers and let out a sigh of relief.

Your feet hurt, and you just need your bed. 

Joe’s changed the music to a remix of ABBA’s greatest hits and you take a moment to remove your heels, enjoying the feel of the trainers you keep in your bag.

You're half way through putting chairs on tables when the front door slams open.

You turn ready to tell whoever was there to go home to their wife when your voice fails you.

“Can we talk?”