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luxurychristmaspudding · 6 months ago

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summary: after a night out dancing and a lift home turns into something more, you learn something about your dad's buddy. joel miller fucks.

pairing: young!joel miller x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. it's smut, y'all. everything you've come to expect. respectable age gap (10 years ish), tiny bit of spanking, one (1) gentle pussy slap, lil bit of daddy kink, joel miller eats it from the back (oral (f&m)), edging, unprotected piv (do better), creampie, feelings, joel miller's whore mouth.

reader has hair and wears dresses, no other descriptions or name.

wc: 7.2k

an: for @schnarfer. my favourite hot priest, i worship in your church <3

Joel went out looking for trouble that night.

Hair curling at the nape of his neck, a beer sweltering in his hand as beads of sweat carved their way down the strong line of his back. T-shirt sticking to his skin, tension wound tight in his shoulders, thick in every muscle, every strand of sinew after work.

Revelling in the feeling of how the weight of the day lifted the more he drank, the more he relaxed, feeling his smile get wider the more he loosened up in the crowded bar. Freshly thirty five, another year in hand. Tommy buying the shots, introducing him to every new face that walked into the steaming, heavy swell of wood and linoleum, every stranger who leant against the tacky bar, every pretty girl who flicked their hair and batted their eyelashes.

He’s laughing - held flung back, chest heaving - harder than he has in a long time. Dancing in a way so unlike how he dances with Sarah in the kitchen, welcoming the heavy, slow grind of hips against his own, breathless against a sweet smelling neck. It’s hot and it’s loud on this Friday night in Austin, and he loves it.

Not quite basking in the attention of being the birthday boy, but shouldering the stream of conversation that Tommy directs his way nonetheless. Cheeks flushed pink as he’s hauled up on to the bar top, clumsy, unsure where to look as the bartender encourages him to stand in full view of the crowd. The whole bar, oscillating with colour and light and sound, roaring into a raucous chorus of happy birthday, beckoned by the chime of the bell by the till.

The spectacle of it all makes him look to the ceiling before dropping his chin to his chest, makes him laugh again, watching these people, many strangers, cheer and sing for him.

He holds his beer to his chest through the first part of the song, cheeks tight with a smile. His eyes swivel to the corner of the dancefloor on the downturn of Joel… catching the flicker and flare of a pair he recognises, scanning your face on the refrain - happy birthday - heart dropping confusingly low in his chest, the world taking a sticky beat as his blood halts and begins to rush again - to you.

He’s not seen you here before. Much more used to seeing you coming and going from your father’s house - bright smile, wicked eyes. Moved back home after spending some time out west when you’d finished your Masters program, always happy to chat for a little longer if you were where he was. Interesting and interested - he’s been regaled by tales of you from your father - the man who’s been overseeing safety on Joel’s latest job site - and listened to more directly from you, lip caught between his teeth as he bit back amusement at the things you didn’t want your dad to know.

Your father is a good man. Kind, supportive. So proud of you in the way he talks that Joel’s taking blueprints for raising Sarah. And you - you. Joel tries to think of you in ways he thinks of other colleagues or acquaintances. Smart, creative, perceptive. Patient, generous with your time and energy when entertaining neighbours at cookouts. Any other thoughts creep in in the dead of night, and he’s quick to try and forget them by morning.

But this - you here, now - is entirely different. It could be the buzz of the tequila in his system, could be the hot blood in his veins, could be the giddy little flash of that smile you shoot him as you clap and whoop with the rest of the crowd, but his feet are itching to find you once he half hops, half clambers down off the bar, accepting claps on the back and other sentiments as he searches for you again.

But you’re gone.

Disappeared, into thin air. Like he imagined you in the first place.

He cranes his neck a little, twisting his head from side to side as if trying to loosen another tight muscle, trying to tamp down the damp disappointment he feels.

Trying to remember how he tries to forget.

‘Happy birthday, cowboy,’ the words are breathless, squeezed through a smile.

The grin that creeps across his face is slow and wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he turns to face you.

‘Evenin’, darlin’,’ is his reply. Deep, coy, any idea of hiding his thoughts gone, buried. It’s his birthday, and you’re here. You and your sparkling eyes.

‘You gonna let me buy you a drink, or have you got a queue of ladies lining up to do that already?’

He laughs, and you feel the sound glimmer down your body, lighting every synapse, every receptor. You track his gaze as it drifts down your body and back up, spine straightening at his appraisal.

Delicious thighs beneath the hem of your skirt, soft swell of your breasts above your neckline.

‘Your daddy know you’re here?’ He asks, delighting in the way you scoff.

‘My daddy knows I’m out tonight,’ you say, licking your teeth, eyes dropping to his mouth, ‘And he don’t care much about it. I’m a big girl, Joel. I can handle myself.’

They’re big words for someone around ten years his junior, but he doesn’t doubt it. He’s heard your bartending stories, about your debates with fratboys. Something about your confidence, your self-assuredness licks a tongue of flame up his back. He bites his cheek.

‘Best buy me that drink, then.’

He went looking for trouble that night.

And Jesus, he found it.

Found it on the dancefloor, your soft body grinding against his. The heat and the sweat, how you moved your hips with his, how you’d giggled when he’d turned you around, pulling you flush against him. Your hands grasping for him, clutching at his thigh as you pressed firmly against the bulge growing at your backside, head tipped back, bliss etched across your face as you felt each other.

Found it in his truck when he dragged you outside under the pretence of giving you a lift home, found it when he rucked your skirt up on the backseat, when he pulled the top of your dress down. Inches of skin he had banished fantasies about to the back of his mind, revealed to him in the dim light of the parking lot. The sweat gleaming on your sternum, shining on your clavicles, your neck. He wishes, now, that he had taken more time to tell you how beautiful you looked, how smart you are, how funny, that first time, but the two of you had been too caught up in seeing, feeling, as much as possible.

His knees had protested as he crammed himself onto the floor, wanting to be between those thighs, wanting to taste you. Pressing, gliding his fingers against your pussy over your underwear, watching you keen and beg, hands twisting tight in the material of your dress, then his shirt collar, then his hair.

And that first swipe of his tongue when he’d pulled your underwear to the side, that first, most base knowledge of you. The sweet and sour, your smell, the way you became pliant, willing to have your thighs pushed up towards your chest. Quickly obsessed with the way you looked down at him, jaw slack, pupils blown, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Quickly obsessed with the way your pussy looked, puffy, needy, the way it leaked and clenched before him as he leant back to spit on it, how your head hit the headrest with a soft thump.

Too obsessed, everything about that night feeling too good as he lowered you down onto him, as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder to stop himself from coming too early, watching you bounce on his cock, listening to the way you moaned and panted and whimpered his name. The wet sounds of you fucking, the way he held you still, big hands on your waist as he bucked up into you. The way your noises, your breathing stuttered as he thrusted harder, as he dropped you lower. The fogged windows, low bass from the bar, how you clenched and fluttered around him as he wrung two orgasms from your pretty body before spilling himself inside you.

He’s been finding trouble ever since.

Finding reasons to help you grab drinks, bring out nibbles at your dad’s Halloween party. Finding excuses to have you backed up against the tool bench in the garage instead, his hips between yours, soft lips against chapped or your hand tight against your mouth to make sure nobody would find you. Heading back out into the garden with his cock still swollen, tucked into his black slacks, feeling your slick around its base still, your fake blood smeared on his dog collar, watching as you pressed your thighs together in your seat, knowing you could still feel him trickling out of you. He could hear your teasing through the glint in your eye - some priest you are, father.

Driving you home from the bar after a night of dancing around each other, after glances were snuck whenever they could be - over his brother’s shoulder, between your friends’ laughter. The crackle of electricity in the truck cab as the warm air threaded itself between you, your sparkling eyes, devious little laugh.

Walking you to your door, keeping you safe, don't wanna disappoint your old man.

Jamming his foot between the wood and the frame to come in when you told him he wasn’t home.

The mornings when Sarah’s waking up, still sugar-high after a sleepover, in a house the other side of town. The mornings he’s awake first, drinking coffee at his kitchen table when you hop down the stairs in his t-shirt from the night before, sleep-stained and perfect. The mornings that start with you in his lap, with kisses pressed to temples, lips, necks, his wide palms snaking under the material, fiending warm skin, finding it, cradling it. The firm weight of your breasts in his palms, the pebbling of your nipples beneath his thumbs. The soft rock of your hips against his hardening length, his fingers reaching to pull your panties to the side, finding you soaked like that first night. How you whine and huff against his shoulder as he sinks one, two, three digits into you, as he twists them, pumps them, as he uses his thumb to toy with your clit. The wet patch you leave, darkening the grey tenting below you, the outline of him something you want to press your face against, nuzzle, mouth at until he’s begging this time.

Mornings when he takes you apart deftly, until you hover above him, pulling his hard, leaking cock over the top of his sweatpants, savouring that delicious stretch around him, the way he thickens out at the base, the way the wiry hair there catches on your clit. When you can enjoy the way he holds you there afterwards, talking about your days ahead, nibbling at your ear as his cum slips from you along with his softening cock.

All these moments, and they’re never enough.

Because despite how often they happen, how often he might be able to hold you, kiss you - you make Joel Miller feel like a fucking teenager.

It’s been years since he’s woken up to the cooling evidence of a wet dream in his boxers. He’s having them nightly now in his thirties; sick and tired of waking up wet and aching and sticky, sick and tired of wishing it was you, not his hand, helping to solve the problem.

He wants you here so much more often than he does. The tip of his tongue on the evenings you call, sunlight fading through the window, orange on his sheets. He wonders, as you talk, what it would look like painted onto your skin.

He wants Sarah to actually know how he feels about the woman who babysits her every so often, wants Tommy to understand the reason why he turns up smiling to the site every day. And he wants your father to know his daughter has found someone who’ll treat her right, who’ll hold her hand through the bad days and give her all he can to make her smile.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wonders whether you have, too.

Whether you’d confess to your father the crush you have on the contractor, ask if he could put in a good word for you. There isn’t much between you - it would only take some careful wording, an evening where he can present the flowers he’s been dying to give you at your door.

He’s sure your father wouldn’t mind.

But this secret, the sneaking around - he can’t deny the thrill of it. Stolen touches, kisses, whispers in the moonlight. Quiet jokes between the two of you, the looks exchanged around others, the show of you putting your hand on his shoulder - can I get you anything else, Mr Miller?

You’ve only come close to being found out once. Just the once. By Tommy - who else could it have been?

Tommy, who couldn't hide his delight when he found the underwear you’d left behind in Joel's truck one morning, wheezing with laughter as Joel stuffed your soft, cotton panties into his back pocket. His cheeks aflame, he swore under his breath that he’d kill his little brother if he ever flicked a woman’s underwear at him like that again instead of doing the right thing - kicking them under the seat and pretending he hadn’t seen anything.

Between gasping breaths, Tommy had managed to make a good point. At least it wasn't Sarah who’d found them.

You gonna tell me who the lucky lady is, big brother?

He didn’t. Not yet.

It’s been so unbearably hot all day.

Too hot to work in the open air, and though Joel’s not grateful for the heat, he is grateful for the chance to stay at home. A chance to catch up on chores while Sarah basks in the AC at school, a chance to work his way through bills and invoices, fighting to keep his head clear of any thought of you and what you might be up to in weather like this.

He keeps his eyes carefully trained on numbers, figures, dates, unaware of the clock, unaware of the calls he’s missing. Only catches himself daydreaming when the lines start to blur.

He makes it to just past lunchtime when he hears a car pull up in the driveway. He knows the rattle of that engine, the heave of noise it makes as it turns off.

He stands from the table, blood racing in his chest.

‘God- motherfuckin’ shit,'

Joel lets the front door hang open behind him, folding his arms across his heart as you try and jam your wing mirror back in place.

‘You kiss your grandma with that mouth?’

You grin, flipping him off as you slam the door closed. The mirror sticks.

‘Yeah. Suck your dick with it, too,’

His lips quirk, watching as you stand with your hip against the front of your car, a box in one hand, the other shielding your eyes from the sun. Staring at each other, a little game you play. You watch his smirk grow, feeling the trickle of sweat down your spine.

‘There a reason why you’re here?’

You roll your eyes, like it should be obvious. And it is obvious, but -

‘Freezer’s fucked,’ you huff, and Joel raises an eyebrow. ‘Can I put them in yours?’

You hold the box up to him.

‘Popsicles?’ Joel frowns. You roll your eyes at him.

‘Please, Joel. They’re literally the only thing keeping me sane,’

He scratches at his jaw, pretending to contemplate.

‘I dunno, darlin’,’ he says, ‘The only thing? Surely that AC of yours is doin’ a fine job,'

You scoff at him, folding your own arms.

‘That old piece a’ shit ain’t doin’ nothin’ and you know it,’

He chuckles, letting his arms drift to his sides.

‘Guess I can take care of ‘em for ya. Anythin’ else?’

You bite your lip, eyes glinting in the sun.

‘Can I come in?’ you ask. A slow, smug smile grows across Joel’s lips.

‘'N do what, exactly?’

You pout at him, fluttering your eyelashes. His cock twitches.

‘Just wanna swim in the pool. Promise I won’t do nothin’ else, Mr Miller,’

‘Nothin’ else, baby?’ He says, lowly.

You shake your head, eyes wide. Picture of false innocence.

‘Nothin’ else,'

If there are two things Joel has come to know about you in the last year, it’s that you’re a great fuck, and a bad liar.

He steps back into the open door behind him, grinning as you skip past him into the hallway. He watches, snicking the catch and lock as you make your way into the kitchen, swinging open the refrigerator door, finding a spot for your iced treats. He follows, leaning against the doorframe, watching as you stand in the cold air flowing from the appliance for a moment, your eyes closed.

He’s looking at your legs when you turn to speak to him, snapping to meet your gaze as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. That ship sailed long ago. You grin at him.

‘Whatcha been doin’?’

He exhales, stepping closer.

‘Workin’,’

You hum, meeting him beside the kitchen table, surveying the stacks of paper.

‘Not too hard?’

‘Hard to, when I'm thinkin’ ‘bout you,’

You grin, twisting to look at him.

‘You sweet on me, Miller?’

He shrugs.

‘Bout time you noticed,’

His hands find your waist as yours make their way up his chest, his shoulders, winding around his neck.

‘I had my suspicions,’ you whisper, before pressing your lips to his. He smiles into it, parting his lips to invite you in, rocking you back and forth in his arms.

‘Missed you,’ you breathe, and he hums in response.

‘Missed you too, baby,’

You’re salty sweet; warm scent of your skin, your sun lotion, your perfume, your sweat. When he’s satisfied, done licking lazily into your mouth, exploring the taste of your lips, he moves to your neck. Laving kisses there, biting, sucking, nibbling as you sigh against him. He bites harder, earning a particularly needy whimper, hands moving to knead the flesh of your ass through your dress.

‘Joel,’ you murmur, ‘You’ll leave a mark,’

He hums, trailing kisses up your neck to the space behind your ear, along your jaw, before finally meeting your lips again.

‘Don’t care.’

He’s grasping your hips to turn you so you’re pressed against the table, your back to his firm chest. You can’t help the gasp, the giggle that floats from you as he tugs you closer, as you feel the heft of him pressed into the small of your back. You shift your hips, brushing against him, slow and purposeful.

Joel groans - a long, drawn out, hungry sound. He pulls your hips tighter to him, moving against you just the same before his hands slide up to your breasts, holding the weight of each in his palms, squeezing and rolling a nipple between his thumb and finger. You tip your head back against his shoulder, and he hums approvingly as you begin to grind against him in earnest. He pauses only for a moment to pull your straps from your shoulders and work your dress down to expose your tits, and then he’s on you again. Teasing and stroking and pinching, your hand gripping his forearms as you huff and whimper, caged between him and the table. You moan his name, bleeding every once of want you feel into it, hoping he can hear just by the sound of your voice how wet you are for him.

‘Dreamt about ya last night,’ he rasps in your ear, and you flash him a dazzling, breathless smile.

‘Oh yeah? ‘N what’d ya dream about, cowboy?’

You whine as he crowds you, leaning down to suck another bruise into the junction between your neck and shoulders, whiskers bristling against your skin, hands hot and heavy everywhere they can find purchase.

‘Much rather show you,’ he rumbles.

You nip your bottom lip between your teeth, shooting him a wicked look over your shoulder. His eyes crinkle, and as he spins you to face him again, he moves to pinch your jaw, just rough enough to curb your inevitable wise ass response. He watches as your eyes glaze a little, soft slump of your shoulders as he gives your head a little shake. His cock is achingly hard.

‘Upstairs. Now,’

As soon as he backs away from you, you’re sprinting towards the stairs with a shriek. Joel is close behind, and you can feel the heat of him, enough to set your heart galloping in your chest. Something primal urging space between you, something base wishing there was none.

You clatter through his bedroom door, whirling to face him - bare chest heaving, lips curled. He pauses in the doorway - so tall and broad, so imposing - shoulders straining against his t-shirt, curls frayed from your hands. He steps in, swings the door shut behind him, and then he’s closing the space easily - one, two, three - gathering you in his arms until you’re on tiptoes, pawing at the flesh of your ass through your sundress. Obsessed with it. You on him, him on you.

He needs this like air.

His breath is hot against your lips, mouth needy and wet as you open yourself to him. He licks into your mouth, kissing you like it’s something you need to take from him, like there’s something you need to understand through the action alone. He fiddles with the flimsy material of your half-removed sundress, pulling at it a little.

‘Take this off,’ he growls, nipping at your lips.

You step back from him as you push it past your hips, the fabric pooling to the floor in seconds, leaving you in your panties. He bites his lip, murmuring a fuck before stripping himself of his t-shirt. Glorious tan chest, slightly lighter than his strong arms, shoulders seeming even broader, smattering of hair that leads down past his navel, his smooth belly, the constellations of freckles that join beneath your fingertips.

You busy your fingers with his belt as he cups your face once more, pressing kisses to your hairline, your forehead, your cheekbones. You’re giggling, trying to see what you’re doing through the blur of his face and hands, but then his palms are moving lower, groping at your breasts again, swiping his thumbs against your taught nipples, groaning against your mouth as you dip your hand past his unfastened belt and fly, into his boxers to cup his silken skin.

‘How’d that dream go again?’

Joel smiles against your mouth, giving a harsh twist to each peaked bud before beginning to push his jeans further down.

‘Kneel,’ he commands.

You drop to your knees in one swift motion, biting your lip at him as he whips his belt from its loops and throws it to the corner of the room. Your eager fingers curl under the waistband of his jeans, inching them and his underwear down.

‘Don’t know how you’re wearing jeans in this weather -’

‘Cos I knew you’d be here some point to take ‘em off me,’

You smirk, blinking up at him through your eyelashes.

‘Who, me? I don’t know what kind of girl you take me for, daddy, but…’ You’re chewing your cheek to try and temper your look of amusement, but Joel gives in immediately. Goofy smile, all teeth, eyes crinkling at the edges. He cups your jaw as you wrap your hand around his base, pulling him out of his underwear, soft black material barely holding him in.

His body moves with the first pump of your tight fist, the swirl of your thumb when you reach the head, spreading the pearl of precum beading there as he hisses. Thick and pulsing in your hand, velvety smooth, you trace its lines, veins with a delicate finger, press a kiss to his tip. Joel’s nostrils flare.

‘So pretty,’ you murmur, and that smirk tugs at his lips again.

‘I say you could touch it?’

You roll your eyes, quirking your head at him.

‘Didn’t think you had to,’ you shrug, ‘Kinda comes with the territory of tellin’ me to get on my knees -’

He scoffs.

‘Alright, smart ass,’ tangling his fingers in your hair, ‘Make me proud.’

You smile broadly, before inching closer, moving your mouth with your hand to chase down his length. You always know how to shut him up, and right now, the sight, the sound, the feel of you taking him all on the first try makes him fucking dizzy.

Hot and wet, the ridges of the roof of your mouth like satin around his cock, jumping as it hits the back of your throat and further, twitching again as you hum around him, opening your eyes - doe-like, watering already, the pinch in your brows telling him what you need to hear.

‘Good girl,’ he groans, ‘Good fucking girl,’

It’s the encouragement you need, moaning again as you pull back to the tip, taking him back in again as you bring one hand up to scratch at his thigh, the other moving from his length to his balls, cupping them softly, squeezing, rolling, and he’s on fucking fire. If there was ever a chance he was going to hell before, he’s sure the way you make him feel will send him there regardless.

You’re taking it slow, steady, making him feel every inch of your mouth as you moan and breathe, so intense that he can feel his tip heating - a kind of overstimulation - as he lets little moans slip more freely from his lips. Sighs and mutterings, breathless praise, wrecked groans as you start to move faster, jaw falling open. A steady stream of salt on your tongue, the taste making you keen for him, press your nose to the skin above his cock, making you forget anything outside the taste of him in your mouth. The hand on his thigh moving to work his length as you pay special attention to his head, your hips bucking unconsciously. His stomach jumps, lungs heaving as he massages your crown, as you kitten lick and swirl your tongue down the vein on the underside, rewarded with a sharp, wanton gasp as you pull back to slap him against your tongue.

You watch as his pink tip flushes a darker shade, as it dribbles even more, feeling him jerk in your hand. Spellbound, slack-jawed at the way you take him, at the way you want him, like the taste and the pressure is never enough. How you always need more, more, more, and he’s getting closer, closer, closer -

He pulls you off with a deep, guttural groan - missing your mouth the minute it’s gone, resisting the temptation to shove himself back past your lips and come down your throat.

You gaze up at him, pouting, straining against the hand in your hair.

‘What? Didn’t I make you proud, cowboy?’

He tightens his grip, tips your head further to meet his gaze.

‘Bed,’ he commands, relinquishing his hold, ridding himself of his remaining clothes as you do yours, clambering up onto his bed, settling yourself on your knees again, wiggling side to side, your wide eyes rapt, wired. Chin wet, chest heaving, fingers twitching in your lap, he makes his decision almost instantly. Steps forwards, fingers brushing against the inside of your knee. Your legs part automatically, and he follows the contour of soft skin in the inside of your thighs right to the very top, no grace in the way he swipes his fingers through your folds, collecting the wetness there. And there’s so much of it, so much you feel proud of the way his eyes darken when he feels it.

‘What’s this, baby?’ He coos, repeating the motion as you whimper, as your shoulders hunch and your chin tips down. He lifts it with a finger and thumb, before cupping your face. You nuzzle into the touch, eyes hungry. ‘Oh, pretty girl,’ he murmurs, smiling again, ‘This happen while you were down on your knees sucking daddy’s cock?’

You snort softly, forehead knocking against his as he crowds closer.

‘Fucker-’ you start, but it’s cut off by your gasp as he easily slips in two thick fingers. He tuts.

‘Try again,’

‘Yes,’ you whisper, ‘Fuck yes, it did,’

He kisses your nose, pumping the digits slowly.

‘Gonna have to do something about that then, aren’t we?’

‘Please,’ you breathe, and he removes his fingers, slipping them into his mouth with another groan, tasting you - fuck.

‘Hands and knees, baby,’ he says roughly, and you obey.

He pushes you forward so your chest is pressed into the sheets, nipples catching on the fabric, sweat soaking, cooling against the bed. Your breath catches in your throat - good girl, like this - and he’s pulling your hips up towards him, gripping the flesh at the backs of your thighs to spread you. Your knees slide, pliant with the need that scorches through you, and you press your cheek into the duvet, trying to angle your head so you can watch him watching you.

And fuck, is he watching you. Eyes blown, lips bitten, a depraved intensity settling in the way his jaw flexes. You bunch your hands into fists on the cotton, shuddering as his palms run over your curves - hips, waist, hips, ass, thighs - before they stop, parting you for him again. You can’t help the way you present yourself to him, the way your hips tilt when air meets your bare cunt.

‘Atta girl,’ he mumbles, ‘Look at all that. You makin’ a mess f’me, baby? This pretty little pussy achin’ for what I wanna give her?’

You muffle your response, so fucking desperate, against his sheets, clutching the material tighter. He swipes both his thumbs through your folds, tracing the seam of your cunt, spreading the slick there to shine against your skin, teasing one digit at the entrance of your hole, the other inching its way - agonisingly - towards your clit. You throb, and he watches a bead of slick dribble down your folds, grinding himself against the bed as his cock jumps.

‘Is she, baby?’

You gasp, turning your head to him again. His eyes meet yours, dark, burning.

‘Yes,’ you half-moan, half-sob.

He hums in response, before turning back to your spread cunt. The thumb making its way towards your clit disappears, and you scrunch your brows together in disapproval, mouth working around a strangled please- before the sensation is replaced by his warm breath, then his firm tongue as he licks you from your clit to your hole.

The cry that forces its way past your lips is strangled, choked, stuck in your throat as you clench around nothing at the contact.

‘Oh, fuck -’

And he chuckles against you, at the way your legs almost give out, wrapping his strong arms around your thighs in an effort to hold you upright. You squeeze your eyes closed as he licks further - Joel, fuck - seeking your clit again, pulling it between his lips, dragging his face against you, like he needs it, like he can’t be apart from you.

He sucks a little harsher, and at the very same time, you feel the tip of his nose edge against your cunt. You moan, a fractured sound, and he pulls you towards him again, pressing the curve of it further inside, moving his tongue in circles. You’re seeing fucking stars.

Breath shuddering out of you in high pitched gasps, toes curling against the pressure that builds so quickly already in your gut, unable to move, to find any relief as he mouths at you - ravenous, cramming his face, his fucking nose, as far into you as he can, slurping and sucking, letting his teeth graze you gently when you try to protest - too much, close Joel, ‘m close, fuck -

He pulls back just as suddenly as he came near, swatting your ass quickly, once, twice, before leaning back in. You barely have time to register the sting, how it flares goosebumps up your back, what it means, drunk on the feel of his mouth on you. He begins the same onslaught, sucking, licking, groaning at your taste before the knot tightens again.

‘Yes, please, Joel, please -’

But he’s gone again, that same firm hand landing on your backside as he pushes himself up, loosening his arms from their vice grip on your thighs.

‘Not yet,’ he rasps, ‘Not yet, gonna come on my cock, yeah? Get it nice and wet, show me how much you like it?’

You rock your forehead against his mattress, waves of pleasure rolling through you, cunt fluttering, still so exposed to him. You take too long to answer, moaning loudly as he taps his palm against your soaked folds. You jolt, hips moving instinctively, finding nothing. You shudder a breath.

‘Yes, wanna come on your cock, I need it daddy. Need you inside me, need you to fuck me, need to come, Joel, please -’

He pulls you by the hips to the edge of the bed again, one palm kneading the flesh there, the other sliding three fingers through your arousal, bringing the wetness to his cock, slicking himself up. You raise yourself up on your elbows, looking back at him, and Joel's heart almost gives out. That perfect little pout, the sweat dripping down your forehead, the bead of it that travels down the valley of your spine, shining against your skin. Every inch of you so perfect, glossy in the heat, his. The patch he loves so much at the bottom of your back, just before the swell of your ass, even better, impossibly, from this angle.

He holds you still with the grip on your hip as he nudges the tip of his cock against your entrance, and your breath stills in your lungs. That first press, the pressure, the beginning of the stretch, the way you contract around the promise of it, waiting, waiting -

Waiting.

Joel smiles, though you can’t see it. His body pulled taught, barely resisting the urge to push himself further into you.

‘Go on, pretty girl,’ he says, ‘Wanna see you fuck yourself on it. Show me how bad you need it,’

You hear his breath catch the moment you begin to slide down, and then the room is silent, save for the buzzing of his fans and the sticky sound of you pulling him inside. When you reach his base, nestling against the hair there, you both let out an honest, drawn out groan of relief. You’re so full of him, the stretch welcome, pressing against a sweet spot deep inside you, just enough to leave you breathless. You can feel him pulse in time with your heartbeat, feel yourself grow wetter, begin to drip down your thighs as you breathe heavily, as his grip grows firmer, as his fingers slide to the crease between your thighs and your stomach.

‘Move, baby,’ he pleads, sounding just as wrecked as you feel.

So you do. Slow, methodical, so you can feel all of him. Every inch, every vein that makes you clench around him, that makes him groan low in his throat. You know he wants it faster, that this time he wants more, but you’re too busy indulging yourself, focused on the drag of him against your walls, showing him how he takes care of you, making sure he watches how he fills you, how well you take him.

When the pressure begins to grow, when he coos at you a little more, you move with more force, fucking yourself back, your noises coming louder, higher pitched, while his grow lower, as he babbles to you more and more.

‘Fuck, look at you, baby. Look at you. Take me so good, take me so deep. Perfect pussy, made f’me, ain’t she? So pretty baby, so pretty the way you stretch, feel so good, so good, darlin’, fuck -’

He’s almost too caught up in the way your ass recoils against his thighs, the way your pussy moulds itself to him, that he misses the tell tale signs of you about to come. The way you gasp, the way you tighten and throb, the way you fist the sheets around you, the way your body begins to lock up -

‘No. Not yet,’ he grits out, pulling his hips back, pulse pounding in his ears as he watches your body try to chase his before he grips you again, turning you onto your back.

You’re sobbing around your plea - please Joel, been so good, just wanna come around you, please baby - but he’s steadfast.

He wants to see your face when you let go. Wants to watch your eyes roll, wants to watch you arch, wants to see the way your stomach lurches -

You scrabble for him, slurring your words, so fucked out - please Joel please, please baby, god, I just need - as he arranges your legs so your knees are bent, so your pretty little pussy is exposed completely to him - need you, please fuck me - before he swipes his thumb against your clit again, just to hear your broken whine, the hiccuped sigh, the way your body twitches, so close.

He pauses, holds your thighs wide open before him, towering above you. You reach to skate a hand up his tan belly, fingers scraping through the hair there, the muscled lines leading down to his cock, enjoying the thrum of his heart beating through his skin before he knocks it aside, pursing his lips and spitting straight onto where you are connected.

It turns you half-feral, rearing up towards him as he speaks.

‘There we go, baby. This what we need,’

The first thrust in takes your breath away.

And he doesn’t give you any chance to get it back.

He sets a punishing pace, feeding you his cock with dogged precision, consumed by how you look spread beneath him, with how puffy and slick and shiny your pussy is, how it splits around him.

Thick heft of him sawing in and out, the way you clutch at him, sucking him back in, tighter and tighter each time, like your body is already missing him. So wet slick is smeared around your thighs, soaking Joel’s lap, leaking down into the cleft of your ass. He kisses you, slow and deep, gasping and panting against your lips. Guttural moans from him, needy little whimpers from you, the sloppy sound of pleasure.

He breaks away from you when the kisses are splintered by gasps of air, fixing his mouth to your neck, inhaling deeply there, pressing his lips to your shoulder, lower, the top of your breast, your sternum, before closing them around your nipple. You keen as he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive bud, hands flying from his flexing forearms to his hair, scratching his scalp, moaning his name, chanting it - Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel.

He sucks harder, tongue working around the flesh before he does the same to your other breast, fingers slipping down over the damp skin of your belly towards your sex, seeking that last nudge you need to send you flying over the edge.

Tighter, wetter, arching to meet his mouth as you gasp and plead - gonna come Joel, gonna come, please can I come, please, please -

You barely register his nod against your chest, barely hear him gasp ‘Give it to me baby, good girl, that’s it,’ before the flood overwhelms you, clawing through your body, ripping through you like flame. Your body tenses, jerks, hips stuttering against him, pussy throbbing as you cry out, pleasure flushing through you all the way to the top of your head. Aftershocks flare like fireworks behind your eyelids, hips moving frantically with his to chase the very end of your orgasm.

Joel watches, chest hot, stomach tightening with that tell tale taughtness - oh, shit baby, yeah, s'that good? - before his own eyes squeeze shut, his body faltering, pushing all the way up against your cervix as he pulses inside you, filling you with warmth, spilling himself until it begins to leak between your thighs.

He gives a couple of softer thrusts before he groans again, hearing you whimper, ears ringing, pulling out just to watch himself drip out of you. The sight makes him greedy, makes him press it back into you even as you hiss in protest, too sensitive. He looks up just as you crack an eye open, an arm swinging across your forehead.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ you mumble, a smile growing before he breathes a shy laugh at the ceiling. He loves the sound of your giggle as you watch him.

He crawls back up your body, ignoring how the heat begins to creep back in, become formidable again. He presses kisses to your collarbones, your neck, your cheeks, and you thread your spare hand back through his hair, enjoying the way it looks, mussed by you.

His sweaty forehead presses against your sternum, laving affectionate, wet kisses there as you come down from your highs, panting in the warm air of the room.

You continue to card your fingers through his damp curls, staring up at the ceiling fan as it whirs and spins above you. Your eyes flutter closed, content.

‘You’ll have to get Sarah from school soon,’

He grunts in acknowledgement, nuzzling into your ribcage, licking at the salty skin before nipping it between his teeth. You giggle, body lurching away slightly before it’s fixed in place by his wide palms at your hips. ‘And I have to be home before four,’

He groans, pressing a kiss to the underside of your breast.

‘Come over for dinner,’ he murmurs, ‘Tell your dad we're hangin’ out, gettin’ to know each other. I’ll grill some stuff. You bring some more of those popsicles,’

You snort at him, huffing something about how nothing will get grilled if you’re watchin’ me suck on a popsicle, even as your chest and cheeks heat, before he slumps on top of you, plush lips crushing against yours in a searing kiss, tongue licking into your mouth, setting you ablaze again beneath him. You moan as he moves to your neck, sucking and biting and bruising.

‘Come,’ he groans into your skin, ‘Promise you’ll come. I'll make it worth your while,’

You offer him a breathy laugh, a sure at the double entendre with sparkling eyes. Your back arches, hands gripping his biceps as he languidly moves lower, taking your nipple in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the raw bud, grazing it with his teeth before sucking gently.

‘Joel -’ you gasp, clenching your thighs together as you wriggle beneath him, meeting his warm brown eyes as he looks up at you through his eyelashes. ‘We need to -’

He cuts you off with a sharp nip at the puckered flesh. He turns his head to the side, checks the watch he’s still wearing, and fixes you with a dark, hungry look.

‘Reckon there’s time to go again.’

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel tlou #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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honourablejester · 3 months ago

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I’m watching bit compilations of the Fantasy High campaign(s) for Dimension 20 at the minute, and I’m watching one for Junior Year ep 16, and I love …

There’s a bit where some of Kipperlilly’s motivations for hating the party are revealed, and it’s revealed that she’s jealous that Riz’s father was killed, because she wants a cool and tragic backstory and thinks that her lack of it has kept her back at the adventuring academy while they had an advantage. And Siobhan, as Adaine, without batting an eye:

“And her response to that was to be mad at us, and not to kill her parents?”

To which the others respond … Okay, Adaine, that’s the sociopath test! And just general slightly spooked humour.

And I just love that … You can really see the girl who on her first day at school had a fight break out on top of her and wound up killing a lunch lady with a ladle. You can see the girl who did have to kill her abusive father after he casually murdered her sister. This is all coming from trauma, but she puts such a casual … Like, girl, get with the program on it. There’s such disdain for Kipperlilly whining about it instead of actually doing something.

I love that it is genuinely mostly a joke, she’s not seriously advocating for murder here, but it also does say quite a bit about Adaine. About her trauma and her pragmatism and her lingering perfectionism and her rather enforced nonchalance about the potential necessity of parent murder and her distinct attitude that if a problem presents itself, then you fix it, doing whatever you have to do in the process.

There’s just a sense that, you know, if Kipperlilly has decided to be evil and has decided that she’s fine with killing people, which we have proof she has, why is she not going with the logical solution to her problem? If you have decided that you’re fine with murdering people and that morality is no longer a stumbling block, why are you not doing the most efficient thing to solve your stated problem? If you’re going to be evil, be better at it.

Adaine would be an absolutely terrifying bad guy. And also probably needs more counselling.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #adaine abernant #fantasy high junior year #spoilers #i think adaine and riz are my favourites

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vodkassassin · 10 months ago

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Batcourt

Tim is sick of his family fighting, an occurrence which doesn’t always but enough times has nearly led to murder, that he devises a new method to deal with them and their petty (or serious, but usually petty) arguments: Batcourt

The first ever batcourt trial was to mediate an argument between Dick and Bruce, bc when Tim became Robin they were on the outs; Dick had moved out and was rebelling against his dad. They barely talked to each other, and when they did it was to argue.

Tim, being in the middle of all that, finally snaps and basically strong arms them into a impromptu “court session”, bc if they can’t be civil with each other in conversation they maybe they can at least be professional in this Thought Exercise.

He appoints Alfred as the unbiased jury, and then demands that both Bruce and Dick take five minutes to compile their cases against each other to present to the judge (Tim).

Both Bruce and Dick are incredibly unamused, but Tim has Alfred’s support, so they reluctantly go along with the charade. And…

It’s actually surprisingly effective.

The argument is hashed out without anyone coming to blows or a screaming match. They are all very mature about it and the argument is settled with both parties, if not happy, then mollified that they actually got to speak their parts and come to a conclusion that wasn’t unfair.

Alfred is very pleased with the results of the first batcourt trial, and give his blessing for this method to be used in the future.

And so it is. Tim is typically the Judge, as he is the mastermind behind the method and typically stays out of all arguments as much as he can, and is known to everyone to be extremely impartial when the others argue about anything. So 9 times out of 10, Tim’s judge, and uses a generating software program he developed and installed on his gauntlet (and civvy watch) to choose a jury to preside over a trial when one of the family members opens a case against someone else.

This eventually becomes just how the family resolves disputes.

If an argument comes forth and is starting to get too heated, whoever declares that they’d ‘like to submit a case to the batcourt’ is by default the prosecution, leaving the other party as defendant (these are just terms, this isn’t actually a court of law, this is just a method of resolving arguments, so both sides are heard). At this point, everyone usually turns to Tim, who appoints a jury and then tells the pros and def that they have five minute to compile and submit their evidence to the court.

It’s all very official, and the Rules of Batcourt is that everyone has to remain absolutely professional as if this were a real court case. This is to ensure nobody breaks the exercise, otherwise it won’t work.

Anyway it’s VERY effective, and is used for years in private.

Until a pair of them have an argument in the middle of an op in public and it’s getting in the way of taking out the villain…. So someone declares that they’d like to submit a case to the batcourt.

Of course any non-bat present is like “the what”

But all the bats present, being so used to using the batcourt method to hash out disagreements, automatically turn to Tim.

Anyway, Tim, by habit, immediately runs the jury program and appoints Spoiler and Black Bat as jury (the argument was between Red Hood and Nightwing, with Red Hood submitting the case and therefore the prosecution).

The rogue they were fighting (let’s choose a nicer one, Riddler maybe) is so confused at this point that they kind of stop in the middle of their scheme just to watch the the fuck is going on.

The bystander civilians and any reporters are also like “???” And so basically they all get to watch the first ever public batcourt trial.

(The jury ends up voting in favor of Red Hood, so Tim declares that Nightwing is Guilty “by the power vested in my by the Batclan” and Nightwing is sentenced to Apologizing to Red Hood - since the argument started because Nightwing wouldn’t get the fuck out of RH’s way and he kept almost shooting him lmao, it just went downhill from there. Brothers amirite.)

Anyway the video goes viral immediately, the Gotham internet going insane over the concept of how the vigilantes apparently resolve their arguments.

The riddler is so fascinated by what he just witnessed that he just accepts being taken back to jail for the meantime to mull things over (I love Eddie)

Now that the bat is out of the bag, so to speak, the Batclan submits cases to batcourt in public a few more times without thinking, and the public is very excited every time. Every case and verdict shows up in the next day’s paper, and it’s a Gotham Highlight. People love it.

And then it escapes containment. Because one day a rogue loudly declares that they would like to submit a case to the batcourt. Against Batman.

The present Batclan members all look at each other, and then to Tim, who is already running the jury appointment program without even thinking. It ends up choosing Riddler (who was also there) along with two civilians and a bat (Robin).

Tim blinks, then shrugs, and lets it happen.

So starts the Batcourt trial of the decade: Batman V Poison Ivy.

And Batman loses.

Ivy still goes to jail afterwards, being a criminal and all, but she does so victoriously. She has mad street cred after this. The public goes WILD.

Anyway what I am saying is that batcourt is a highly respected court of dispute in Gotham. The majority of trials are conducted between Batclan members, but there are rogues who have won (and lost) trials in batcourt, and even one very infamous instant where the GCPD submitted a case against Red Hood and subsequently lost when the mostly civilian jury declared him Innocent.

The police force having to then apologize to Red Hood made headlines so big that they broke Gotham City containment and made it into the outside world.

Which leads to the next famous batcourt case: Superman V Batman.

I have been thinking about this concept for weeks and it’s definitely going to be a running gag in all my batfam fics forever

Also we get to have this fun interaction

“Batcourt is now in session”

Batman: please don’t call it that

Tim: ahem

Batman, sighing: objection

Every single one of his kids, pointing at him like in ace attorney: overruled

#Tim drake #Batman #dc comics #batfamily #batcourt

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disast3rtransp0rt · 2 years ago

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youtube

I cannot stress enough how important these segments were. Not only for educating kids about different musical styles, but about accurate representation of the people who built and developed those styles.

youtube

Yo Gabba Gabba also allowed musicians with other talents to share and explore. Mark Mothersbaugh met the other members of Devo at art school, adter all! The monsters also had an incredibly diverse cast of "Super Music Friends" who made guest appearances, from MGMT to The Roots.

I was far beyond the target demographic when it first aired, but I really enjoyed watching Yo Gabba Gabba (and later The Aquabats! Super Show!) with my little brothers. Just like my Dad loved watching "Arthur" and "Buzz Lightyear of Star Command" with me when I was a kid.

Honestly, I believe the world and internet would vastly improve if everyone watched children's television now and then. It's integral that we start remembering the important parts of life: How to be a good friend. How to share. How to be kind and compassionate and patient with each other, because we don't know what our fellow humans are shouldering.

To quote the ancient PBS narrative chorus: "And now a word from our kids!"

MCR’s History with Yo Gabba Gabba

So many people post about how weird it is that the everlasting-emo band My Chemical Romance appeared and performed on the children’s television show “Yo Gabba Gabba”.

So let me tell you why they did that, and why the aftermath is so damn cool.

Once upon a time, in the year 1997, a superhero-themed ska band known as The Aquabats made a goofy, low-budget music video for their song “Super Rad”, which featured a Godzilla-style costume monster…

Keep reading

#pbs kids #yo gabba gabba #infodump #ska #the aquabats #my chemical romance #mcrmy #music #children's television #christian jacobs #mc bat commander #positivity #WATCH CHILDREN'S PROGRAMMING ITS GOOD FOR YOU #Youtube

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fanfic-obsessed · 7 months ago

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Jason Drake

Ok I have one for you that I think is hilarious to think about.

As always expect no cannon here.

It starts a month or two after Tim Drake, age 9, started to take pictures of Batman and Robin (Still Dick Grayson). Tim very much wants a sibling, but has not gathered the courage to ask his parents.

He is out, taking pictures, thinking about how he wants a sibling as his path crosses Jason Todd (six months homeless). Tim takes this as a sign and, over the course of about three weeks, lures Jason home (treating him much like a feral cat). Once Jason is safely in Drake Manor, Tim semi- forcibly (Jason is not against it per say, but is a little confused) adopts him.

Tim’s hacking is good enough that he is able to get back dated adoption records, a news announcement, Two interviews with Jack and Janet Drake about adopting Jason (credited to a journalist who died a month later in a rogue attack) inserted into all the correct places, and got Jason enrolled in Gotham Academy with Tim (backdated the enrollment records too).

They live together in Drake manor for four months before Tim’s parents get back. Tim straight up gaslights them. Without even flinching “What do you mean you don’t remember Jason?” and “Of course Jason has been here for years, here’s the interview you did” and “Adopting him was such good optics for the company”

And it works (By the by, Mrs. Mac fully supports Tim’s slow abduction and adoption of Jason and is pleased to lie to the Drake parents about it).

Within two days Janet Drake is half convinced that Jack tricked her into adopting his illegitimate son. They go to a gala and, due to elite Gothamite weirdness, no one is willing to admit they had never met the older Drake boy before, Jason playing along seamlessly. By the time the Drakes leave again, Janet is congratulating herself on convincing Jack to take in his illegitimate child (who has impeccable grades, and apparently inherited her appreciation for literature) to accompany her son. Particularly since Jason was good enough to understand that Tim was the Drake industry heir.

Jack tends to hyper focus on archaeology and lives in a near constant state of ‘That sounds fake, but I don’t know enough to dispute it’. Loves his family though. Janet accidentally convinces him that Jason must be his, never mind that Janet was his highschool sweetheart and the only person he had ever had sex with. He is not stupid, but is used to being around his genius wife and son and not understanding how they reach their correct conclusions. So just goes with it.

Both boys go out to watch/take pictures of/ stalk Batman and Robin. A few years after Dick becomes Nightwing, Stephanie is adopted by Bruce and becomes Robin. Meanwhile two unknown vigilantes, BlueJay and Ketu (named for the Hindu Winged Serpent that represent Karmic collections both good and bad) start to operate solely in Crime Alley and seem to make a game of evading the Bats and Birds.

Jason and Tim Drake take a particular interest in bettering Crime Alley, creating outreach programs and hiring for Drake industries and education programs with their parents' bemused backing (When Jason is 16 and Tim is 14, Tim discovers that several of the board members had been embezzling funds and prove it. The resulting shakeup still leaves Janet and Jack in charge on paper, but their instructions are ‘do whatever Jason and Tim say’)

#batman #Tim Drake #Jason TodD #Jason Todd is a Drake #janet drake #jack drake

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flamingpudding · 10 months ago

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Code: GHOST

It all started when a number code flashed across the screen of the Batcomputer while Tim was working on a case.

7 8 15 19 20

Flashed across the screen several times to the point it made Tim think that someone somehow managed to hack into the Batcomputer. It was also a number code he was not familiar with at all. So Tim reported it back over their comms in hopes that maybe one of the others knew what the numbers meant. Because all he managed to figure out from it was that the number code was an alert on the Batcomputer, one that came with coordinates that lead into the middle of nowhere.

Tim was about to join the discussion Dick and Jason were having on it when Bruce silenced them all apruptly speaking up.

"Answer code 2 1 20, sent them to the coordinates attached. I will be in the cave in ETA3 and take over from there."

The sudden silence on their communication line spoke volumes especially when Tim new the numbers was a simply code for Bat. He still did what Bruce asked him to do but that didn't stop the questions running through Tim's mind. He watched on the screen of the Batcomputer how the moment he sent the code in return, Programs started like on autopilot. A map opening that contained nothing at first but then changed into a map of a whole good damn city. Tim could only gap at what was happening on the Batcomputer before Bruce appeared and pulled him away from his seat to take over himself.

Bruce without a beat of delay started to input more codes and apparently access codes too as more and more windows opened on the Batcomputer. Tim did not realise that with time Dick, Cass and Damian had joined him as they watched Bruce work away on the Batcomputer. At some point an audiotrack opened but all they could hear was only static. They thought Bruce was going to run it through one of the noise filtering programs.

But to the shock of them, Bruce suddenly triggered a hidden compartment on the console, causing it to flip over and reveal communication link build in a way non of them had ever seen before. It was silver with green accents and looked far... older and less sleek than any of the ones they used. It was clearly not designed to stay completely hidden if put into your ear.

They watched how he simply put that earpiece on and then replayed the audiotrack.

The batkids shared a look of confusion. Non of them sure what to make of the situation until suddenly Bruce stood up from the Batcomputer.

"Prepare for a rescue mission. Nightwing, Orphan and Robin will come with me, the rest of you will stay in Gotham." Was all the man said before storming of towards the Batplane.

"Bruce what is going on?!" Dick instead of going to prepare asked stoping the man before he could get away from them. "What is the meaning of that code? Aside from the fact that simply translated it means ghost."

Bruce eyed the batkids present for a moment before letting out a grunt. "Ghost is finally ready to join the family."

"Ghost?" Tim echoed confused, never having heard that alias for any of them.

"Father what do you mean, 'join the family'?" Damian chimed in clearly frowning with suspicion.

The man eyed them once more his eyes going over each of his children, it looked like he was contemplating telling them more for a moment before he stood to fully face them and let out a sigh. "Like Clark, I too have clone child."

There was a stunned silence. No one speaking up until Dick did. "How long...?"

"14 years ago"

The silence continued as they all did the mental math. Once more it was Dick who spoke up first, clearly stunned. "You had a clone since I was eleven and now is the first time I hear of that?! You never bothered telling any of us?!"

There was a long suffering sigh. "We got to Danny before he was aged up, he was a normal baby even if created in a laboratory, so it was best for him to grow up normally, with the league we arranged for him to be sent to selected family since I had my hands full with you and-"

"Danny?!" Dick cut in. "His name is Danny? Does he even know about us?"

"Dick." Bruce called out his tone warning. "Of course I kept an eye on Danny's life. And I did made contact with him when the time was appropriated considering some of the things that were happening for the boy as he grew up, however he is not aware that he is a clone and it will stay that way. He will get to know all of you once we finished this rescue mission."

Before Dick or any of the others could say anything more Bruce spoke up firmly again. "Get ready now, we do not have any more time. Anything else will be handled later."

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gottencents · 19 days ago

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BAD BAD BAD - Yu Jimin

pairing. idol!karina x aespa!addedmember!reader

synopsis. When aespa’s self-proclaimed “loser” Y/N shocks everyone with her hidden baseball talent, she not only steals bases—but also Karina’s heart.

Seoul Olympic Stadium — a crisp spring afternoon. A charity baseball game featuring idols from multiple groups is being held to raise money for youth sports programs. The rest of aespa—Karina, Winter, Giselle, and Ningning—have shown up in matching team merch to support their least expected player: Y/N.

“Okay, this is the funniest thing SM’s ever done,” Winter said through a bite of hot dog, pointing toward the field. “They really sent Y/N to play in a baseball game?”

“She’s probably gonna break the bat trying to swing,” Ningning giggled, phone out to record the chaos.

Giselle nodded dramatically. “Ten bucks says she trips running to first base.”

Karina, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, didn’t say anything. She’d watched Y/N quietly stretch and warm up on the field for the past ten minutes, noting the way her grip on the bat was tight, precise, and the way she adjusted her cap just before walking onto the diamond. She didn’t look like she was pretending. She looked… confident.

“She’s been quiet about it,” Karina murmured, almost to herself.

Winter raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” Karina said, eyes still following Y/N. “Just… wait.”

Bottom of the 2nd Inning — Y/N at shortstop.

“Ground ball to short!” the announcer shouted.

Y/N moved like lightning, gloved the ball cleanly on the hop, and lasered it to first base.

“OUT!”

“Wait—was that her?” Giselle blinked.

Before they could react, the very next play: a pop fly headed shallow into left-center. Y/N turned and sprinted, making a diving catch that brought the entire crowd to their feet.

“THAT’S TWO!” the announcer yelled.

Karina stood slowly, hand covering her mouth in disbelief—and something else.

“Was she always that fast?” Ningning murmured.

The third out came a minute later: a full-body dive into a sliding grounder followed by a backhand flip to second for the out.

Karina’s heart thudded. “Oh my god.”

Top of the 4th — Y/N’s first at-bat.

“She probably doesn’t even know how to swing—”

CRACK.

The ball sailed out of the park, disappearing over the left field fence.

The crowd erupted.

Winter screamed. “SHE JUST—NO WAY.”

Giselle grabbed Karina’s arm. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

Y/N rounded the bases calmly, helmet tucked low. But as she passed the aespa section, her head tilted slightly—and Karina could swear she winked.

Later in the game:

Five stolen bases. Three more at-bats.

Three home runs.

Every time Y/N stepped up to the plate, the crowd leaned forward. Every time she got on base, she stole her way around the diamond with calculated precision and raw speed. She didn’t even celebrate. She just played.

Karina had barely sat down. Her heart wouldn’t stop racing. There was something intoxicating about the way Y/N moved—sharp, focused, electric. And for the first time, she saw something she hadn’t before.

She saw the girl behind the nerdy anime rambles, behind the loser Twitch streams and long rants about Marvel timelines. She saw all of Y/N. And she was completely, utterly gone.

Post-game. Y/N is named MVP.

Back in the dugout, aespa surrounds her.

Winter grabs Y/N’s shoulders. “You’ve been LYING to us.”

“I thought you were allergic to the sun,” Giselle gasped. “How did you just morph into a baseball prodigy ?!”

Ningning flung her arms around her. “You have stats! You have MVP stats!”

Y/N laughed, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “I played back in the States. Shortstop all through middle and high school. Just… never really talked about it. Didn’t seem like something anyone would care about.”

Karina stepped forward, quiet but steady. “I care.”

The others immediately backed off, eyebrows raised in unison.

Y/N blinked. “You do?”

Karina nodded, lips twitching into a smile. “That was… incredible. I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Y/N’s confidence faltered just a little. “You mean like… not a loser?”

Karina’s smile softened. She reached out and gently tugged on the sleeve of Y/N’s jersey.

“No. I mean, I’ve always liked the loser version of you. The Y/N who debates superhero rankings for an hour straight. The one who rage-quits games on stream and immediately apologizes. That’s the version I started falling for.”

Y/N froze. “Falling?”

Karina stepped closer. “But today? Watching you do what you love, totally in your element, completely owning the field? That just sealed it.”

Y/N’s ears went red. “So… you’re saying you—”

“I’m saying,” Karina interrupted, voice soft, “that maybe you and I should leave early, skip the after-party, and hang out somewhere where I get you all to myself.”

Y/N couldn’t breathe for a second. “I know a rooftop.”

Karina raised an eyebrow. “With ramen?”

“Always.”

After midnight. The dorm’s living room is softly lit by the city lights through the window. The air is quiet, everyone else in the dorm already asleep. Y/N is curled up on the couch in a loose shirt and joggers, a half-finished can of Coke resting on the coffee table. Karina enters quietly, barefoot, in a hoodie and shorts. She pauses when she sees Y/N still awake.

“Can’t sleep?” Karina asked gently, stepping into the room.

Y/N looked up and gave her a sheepish smile. “Adrenaline’s still kinda punching me in the face.”

Karina chuckled, making her way over. “Understandable. You basically turned into an anime protagonist today.”

Y/N groaned and dropped her head back against the couch. “Don’t say that. I’ll never live it down. My DMs are probably full of ‘shortstop slayer’ memes.”

Karina laughed, settling beside her on the couch. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m not used to it. People being impressed by me, I mean. Not in that way.”

Karina tilted her head. “You’re used to people underestimating you.”

Y/N paused. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence between them, not awkward, but charged—like something unspoken had just stepped into the room.

Karina’s voice was softer now. “You didn’t just impress people today, Y/N. You changed the narrative.”

Y/N looked at her, hesitant. “What narrative?”

“The one you’ve been letting define you. The one where you’re the quirky side character. The ‘loser’ of aespa. You’re not just that. You never were.”

Y/N’s eyes dropped to her hands. She picked at the hem of her sleeve. “It’s easier to make the joke first, you know? Be the one who laughs at herself before anyone else does. Then it doesn’t hurt as much.”

Karina’s expression softened. Without saying anything, she reached over and gently took Y/N’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together.

“You don’t need to shrink yourself to be loved,” Karina whispered. “Not with me.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Karina held her gaze, steady and open. “I know you think you have to keep your guard up. That it’s safer to be the weird gamer girl who doesn’t get taken seriously. But I’ve been watching you longer than you think.”

Y/N blinked. “You have?”

Karina gave a soft nod. “Every late-night stream you stayed up for. Every time you randomly monologued about Marvel on a car ride. I didn’t just tolerate that. I liked it.”

Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper. “Even when I went on that thirty-minute rant about why Batman would lose to Gojo Satoru?”

Karina grinned. “Especially then.”

They both laughed quietly, the tension slowly melting into something warmer. Karina’s thumb brushed across Y/N’s knuckles, tender and grounding.

“I didn’t think someone like you would ever look at someone like me,” Y/N admitted. “You’re… Karina. The it-girl. The goddess. The standard.”

Karina’s smile faltered just a little—but not in sadness. More like she was seeing herself through Y/N’s eyes, and it overwhelmed her.

“I wish you could see what I see,” Karina whispered. “You were magnetic today. And not just because of the game. You were you. Completely, unapologetically. And it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N looked at her, stunned. “Karina…”

“Can I kiss you?” Karina asked softly.

There was a heartbeat of stillness.

Y/N nodded. “Please.”

Karina leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to back away—but Y/N didn’t. Their lips met gently, hesitantly at first, before melting into something softer, deeper. Y/N’s hand came up to Karina’s cheek, fingers trembling slightly from nerves, from adrenaline, from everything.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them lingered in the closeness, noses brushing, foreheads resting together.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh. “I think I blacked out for a second.”

Karina grinned. “Same.”

Y/N tilted her head, voice barely above a whisper. “Does this mean you like me? Like, like-like?”

Karina laughed. “I just kissed you, Y/N.”

“You could be doing it for charity.”

Karina rolled her eyes playfully, then kissed her again—firmer this time, more certain.

“This isn’t charity,” she murmured against her lips. “It’s something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, her hand still on Karina’s cheek. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Karina smiled. “Because I thought maybe you’d never see me that way. But then I watched you on that field, completely in your element, and I realized… I didn’t want to wait anymore.”

Y/N leaned into her, their hands still tangled, hearts still racing.

“I think I’ve loved you since our third vocal lesson,” she whispered. “You sang one note and I forgot how to breathe.”

Karina blushed, eyes wide. “Okay, you win.”

Y/N smirked. “Always do.”

They laughed together, collapsing back against the couch, tangled up in each other and the quiet glow of a moment they never thought they’d have.

Outside, the city sparkled.

Inside, Y/N finally felt like she was home.

#cents works #aespa #aespa x reader #kpop wlw #kpop gg x reader #yu jimin #yu jimin x reader #karina #aespa karina x fem reader #aespa karina x reader #karina x fem reader #karina x reader #aespa karina #yu jimin x fem reader #aespa yu jimin x reader #Spotify

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neeeooon · 30 days ago

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Hello again!! This is probably my 2nd request and please take your time on this, since you are probably busy.

But I would like to request the blue lock boys (Itoshi brothers, Reo, Kaiser, Nagi) realise they are falling in love. Like they are childhood friends and somehow they have a soft spot for the reader (like they put more effort into them, than they did for the others) but they did not realise it since they were still kids until they grew up realising they fell in love with their childhood best friend.

Thank you!!! Mwah 😘

—Stef

thank you sm for being patient ml MWAH

when they realize they’re falling in love

childhood bff bllk x gn!reader. fluff and angst, some of the boys (kaiser) refuse to accept their feelings

itoshi sae

-> you always meet up for lunch during your breaks. you got accepted for a exchange program in madrid the same year sae left to train with real, something you jokingly called fate

-> when you drop into your usual seat across from sae, already mid-rant about how you were chosen to lead an event at work, sae’s hit with an unusual feeling in his chest

-> you do this every day. sit with each other as he eats and you talk, but today feels different. your hair lays perfect. your eyes sparkle brighter. the light catches you and frames your features stunningly. something that leaves sae breathless and blushing

-> “sae? are you feeling alright?” you ask when you notice his warming face and reach other to press a palm to his forehead. “hm. you don’t feel feverish. is everything okay?”

-> he lightly bats your hand away and mumbles in reply before sliding the fries that came with his meal over to you, as usual. “fine. i’ve gotta go. text me when you leave.” and he’s gone before you can reply

-> sae leans against the locker room wall, staring off into space as he tries to force the sight of you from his mind. since when have you made him feel like this? and how can he make it stop

itoshi rin

-> he’s going through it. like, locked in his room with the curtains drawn tight type going through it

-> you, knowing your best friend, automatically assume the worst and worry. you text him more than you should, drop food off for him, and talk to him from the other side of the door. finally, he unlocks the door with a click and doesn’t say anything as you slip into his room

-> “how bad is it? on a scale from 1 to sae returning from spain.” his eyes glaze at your joke and you quickly apologize with an anxious laugh. “sorry.. wanna talk?”

-> “i love you.” rin says so suddenly it nearly knocks you off your feet. he isn’t the type to use his words affectionately, so his confession makes your heart swell. “aww, rin! i love you too.”

-> you watch as his jaw clenches. “no. i love you, y/n.” and when he finally meets your eyes, you get it. “oh.”

-> “don’t say anything,” he immediately begs as he squeezes a pillow to his chest. “you don’t have to say anything. i just needed to tell you. keeping it buried was burning a hole in me.” you ignore him and move to sit beside him on his bed. “that’s why you’ve been holed up in here?”

-> “… maybe. yes. shut up.” you catch his cheeks turning pink before rin pulls the pillow up to hide his face. it makes you laugh, which earns you a scandalized look. “i tell you i love you and you’re laughing.”

-> you laugh harder. “y/n!” “i’m sorry, i’m sorry! you just look so funny all flustered.” “you aren’t helping.” his grumbly tone makes you want to embrace him and never let go. “don’t be shy. and you know me well enough to know you’re stuck with me, buddy.”

-> “buddy-zoned,” he mumbles, horrified. “i’m ending it all.” “you’re so dramatic! don’t worry. i like you, too. maybe we can go on a date when you’re done hiding in your room like when we were kids~” “go away. tomorrow?” “let’s do it!”

mikage reo

-> reo grew up keeping people at a distance, especially his friends, because that’s how he was raised. make connections, network, but don’t get close enough to where they could ever hurt you

-> those rules don’t apply to you

-> he always knew you were special. reo isn’t afraid to be himself around you, as you radiate such warmth and comfort it’s hard for him to ever feel uncomfortable in your presence

-> but when you ask him to rate your outfit for a first date, he realizes just how special you are to him

-> “date?” he asks, failing to sound disinterested. you smile. “nothing serious, just some guy i met at work. he’s cute, though.” “cuter than me?” you can’t help but laugh when reo pokes his cheek to tease you. “no, i don’t think anyone’s cuter than you.”

-> your words shouldn’t affect him the way they do, but suddenly reo is standing in front of you. “if no one’s cuter than me, why go out with them? what if we went out instead?” you blink up at him and let out a nervous chuckle. “like a date?” “why not? we already know everything about each other. we already get along. we trust each other. we should go on a date.”

-> hearing reo say that after you’ve been crushing on him for years is almost too much, but you force yourself to nod. “l-let me text my date. you better not make me regret this, mikage.” reo loves the way you say his name. “i won’t.”

michael kaiser

-> he always had a soft spot for you, and kaiser hated when people would call you his weakness. so when he realizes that his childhood best friend might mean more to him than that… he’s not happy

-> he joined a new team to play soccer with, and though you aren’t allowed to watch him practice, you’re at his first game. when kaiser scores the first goal, he immediately searches the crowd for you. his smile falls when he catches himself wanting to run in your direction and drown in your praise

-> this isn’t normal, he tells himself. you’re his friend—only his friend. he shouldn’t be to desperate to hear your voice or feel your arms around him

-> kaiser avoids you after that. he doesn’t know how to process or accept his feelings for you, so he ignores them. at least he tries, as you make that difficult for him

-> “micha,” you call breathlessly, finally managing to catch him after a game. “what’s wrong with you? why are you being so distant?” kaiser hates the sad sound of your voice and how it makes his chest clench painfully

-> how can he explain that he’s in love with you, and he doesn’t know how to handle it? doesn’t how long it’s been since he’s had these feelings? doesn’t know what to do?

-> you fill his silence by stepping forward and taking his face between your hands. “i’m your friend, always. i’m here when you’re ready.”

nagi seishiro

-> stares as you from across the room as you walk past in a towel, comfortable enough with your childhood best friend to change in front of him. “oh.”

-> “sorry, did you say something?” you ask as you rummage through his closet for a shirt to wear. he turns his attention to the ceiling when you glance back at him. “mm, nothing.”

-> liking you is a hassle. it’s troublesome. if you don’t feel the same, then your friendship will change, and nagi doesn’t want anything to change, as he doesn’t want to rebuild his life without you

-> “nagi?” you ask when you catch him drifting off for the third time. “okay, clearly something’s bothering you. let it out. i’m all ears.”

-> he hums and debates which path is easier. if he keeps avoiding and lying to you, you’ll continue to bother him. if he tells you the truth, you might reject him. however, nagi knows you well enough to know you’d never leave him, not entirely, so he shrugs and says, “i have feelings for you.”

-> whatever you were going to say vanishes from your mind when his words hit your ears. you had the biggest crush on him in grade school, and while nagi always had a soft spot for you, your relationship never advanced. you assumed he didn’t like you back and tried to bury the feelings down, but hearing those five words from him had them rushing back so fast you felt dizzy and breathless

-> “you have feelings for me.” “yes. for a while now, i think.” “you’ve had feelings for me for a while.” “yeah.” “… well, it’s about time, you oblivious fool.”

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monstersholygrail · 1 month ago

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I've been working on stuff for uni and I just thought of something-

Yandere!university professor who does his very best for you to be accepted in his master program and his only.

He can't risk having you accepting another master program's offer, right ? I mean, how else is he going to keep an eye on you, make sure you're safe and succeed ?

But let's be honest here. Even if you don't end up passing your exams, it's fine. He's right there to take care of you after all, is he not ?

Yandere!University Professor x GN Reader

It took a great deal of work to manage to make oneself into a highly regarded professor at a prestigious university. If anyone were to even simply bring up Yandere!University Professor’s name, they’d hear that there was no better teacher than him. None more dedicated, caring, patient, understanding, and always incredibly helpful. They’d tell you that it was as though it was his calling. A perfectly gentle hand that naturally guided young and impressionable students on their way to a better future.

It was something he took great pride in. It was almost as though he had a six sense about these sort of things. Managing to spot star students right away and tucking them close under his wing where he could direct and nurture them. Ensuring them that he knew best, they should trust him, let him take care of everything. Then letting them go on their way, even if they were left a little uncertain. He had done his job right.

But all that changed when he first saw you nervously shuffle into his classroom. Apologizing to every student you accidentally bump into. Your mouth closing and parting as you hesitate to ask if anyone had taken this empty seat before promptly rushing over to an empty cluster of chairs. With you he didn’t see some star student who he could mold their future career plans for. No, you gave him a far more delicious challenge. He wouldn’t just mold your future, he’d mold your life. Your life with him.

He isn’t surprised to find you struggling with his course right off the bat. Far more early than is necessary for this type of concern, he comes to you, offering he tutor you. He’s helped so many before you, you can trust him to get you through the class. The best environment to learn is somewhere comfortable, so why not his home, right? Although you’re unsure at first, his assurances break you down. Before you know it you’re going over to his place nearly every night, studying well into the night. It only makes sense for you to stay, he couldn’t have you getting hurt out there.

As the weeks go on of course your fellow classmates begin to whisper. Trading rumors and gossip every time you pass them. You try not to let them get to you. You know nothings going on with your professor, the two of you always just study together.

Sure, he sits a little close to you on the couch, his arm curling around your shoulders and rubbing your back whenever you get an answer right. And yeah, sometimes you feel like you’re being watched by the painting of the man hung in the guest room. Maybe sometimes the two of you tire yourselves out so much studying that you both fall asleep and somehow end up tangled up in each others arms. But it’s all harmless! And he’s helped countless students before you, you have no reason to be suspicious. Not of someone who’s helped your grades go from scraping by to getting high marks.

With exams getting closer and closer you’re only feeling more confident in your abilities to succeed after this class. One evening you express just that to your Professor. Thanking him profusely for all the ways he’s helped you. Building you up so that you can finally start working towards your goals. You even mention to him a couple of masters programs you’re looking into after you finish. Some even as far as the other side of the country. A few of the Professors you’ve spoken with have already encouraged you greatly.

Something dark simmers in his chest at your words. It seems as though you’ve gotten a bit too confident in your abilities. Doing something as silly as going over his head and deciding things about your future that he didn’t agree to. And across the country?! There was no way. He has put in so much time and work with you, shaping you into the smart and accomplished young student you’ve become.

You couldn’t just leave him now. There was still so much work to be done. He wouldn’t be able to look out for you from so far. He couldn’t ensure your success because there was certainly no way you were achieving it on your own. You relied on him, you needed him. And he was going to remind you of that fact.

He made sure to be with you the moment exam scores hit. And when you immediately burst out into tears at the abysmal score painting your screen like a slap in the face of all your hard work, he is right there to comfort you. His arms curling around you in comfort instead of congratulations. The realization makes you sob even harder and his hand is cupping the back of your head and tucking you snugly into his neck. Letting your tears soak through his white button up shirt. When you try and lean back, insisting you’ll dirty his expensive looking shirt, he shushes you and pulls you back in. He couldn’t care less about the mess you make. In fact, he relishes in your tears. And how he’s the only one who could possibly make you feel better right now.

“Don’t mind the scores, darling. There’s always next time,” he murmurs soothingly. You’re so caught up in your grief that you hardly notice the way he pulls you into his lap, securing you safely against his body. “I-I know but the programs!” You wail in response and his hold tightens. Wishing you’d just forget about those blasted opportunities. You didn’t need them. Not when you had him.

He holds you for hours, softly rocking you on the sofa of his living room. Whispering soft praises in your ear while you cry and cry. He could hold you forever like this. So reliant on him. In such need of him. You couldn’t think for yourself, not like this. And right now, to him, you couldn’t be more perfect. He pulls you back and something wicked sparks inside of him at your whine, the way you push back as if wanting to return into his warm neck.

His smirk is clear on his face and he doesn’t bother to hide it. His eyes sparkle up at you in adoration as he brushes your hair away from your eyes. “What if your future wasn’t meant to be academic?” It was so cute the way your brows furrow, your pretty head totally empty in your confusion. “I think all of this happened to lead you back… to me. You needn’t worry about academics. All you need to be is Mine.”

Then he’s tucking you back into his chest before you can fully register what it is he’s planning for you. For your future. Your body tenses in his hold for a moment before you remember this is just what he does. He knows which paths his students should and shouldn’t take. He’s never been wrong about a student before. So how could he possibly be wrong about you?

A million thoughts are battling against each other in your head but you push all of it aside and melt back into his arms. Not wanting to admit the gigantic weight lifting off your shoulders as you start to envision the future your Professor’s molded for you. Suddenly none of it matters. Not the programs, the exams, the schoolwork, and all the stress that comes with it. All that matters is that you’re here with your Professor, just as you’re meant to be.

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yzzart · 11 months ago

Text

DARLING, AND I WILL BRING YOU HOME ── KENJI SATO

── summary: While Ken and Emi trained, played together, you were in the stands, cheering them on; unearthing a memory from Kenji's mind.

── content warnings: F!reader, fiance!kenji, scenes of Ken and Emi playing together, mention of Emiko and Professor Sato, a little angst but with comfort in the end!

── word count: 899!

"Lets go, girl!"

Kenji's voice exclaims, in a high and benevolent tone, highlighting a magnanimous animation and excitement for the peaceful environment, so serene and enchanting; hearing the return of his voice through the stillness of the place. — A lovely place, capable of leaving anyone speechless. — A space to call his own.

Fixing and comfortably positioning the cap, Sato takes two steps back and raises his hand for the second time. — Waiting for the attention and focus he were looking for.

“You can do it, you know that, don’t you?” — He questioned with support, helping the big baby lizard; who, in response, grunted gently, without lacking her tenderness, and shook her small, and immense, arms. — "Of course you know!" — He expressed, proudly.

“Go, Emi!” — Claps, associates of euphoria, entering into a condition of encouragement, from you; earning affectionate glances and admiring expressions from Sato and the baby. — “Make me proud!” — You got into the rhythm, feeling the wave of encouragement, content in the crowd. — Like you did every time you watched Kenji's games.

Sitting in the stands, made, technologically, by Mina, which easily reproduced a real and authentic Baseball field, containing all the tiny and relevant details. — Including the fact that that field was always chosen by Kenji. — You watch them play.

Moments, scenes, like these had already become routine between you; bringing cycles of leisure, distraction and a way to teach practical notions to Emi. — Which was, faithfully, important and approved by Professor Sato. — In addition to directing, training and, again, further preparing Kenji's passes for the championship; you advised him, agreeing that it could help him.

"Did you hear her?" — He tilted his head toward you, earning an excited squeal and a blink, with precision, from Emi. — "Pay attention to the ball, like last time." — Kenji swung the small ball, attracting her concentration, and smiled when he realized he was reaching it. — "There you go!" — With a strong throw, intending a stable impulse, Kenji threw the ball towards the adorable creature.

With the basic reflexes, which, by the way, were being amplified, upon seeing the small object heading towards her, Emi, holding the huge bat, easily bounced the ball and shot so far that it disappeared into the programmed sky. — Being worthy of an incredible play.

"That's right, baby!" — You shouted, standing up, quickly, with enthusiasm, burning with exaltation and vibration, raising your arms up. — The baby lizard, finding your voice, directed her head towards you; smiling, dazzled by her celebration and, even though she didn't understand so many things, she happily got excited.

It was not possible, much less plausible, to counter the emotions, and old sensations, that came from Kenji's chest; conceiving an ardor of passion, bonds of fascination upon hearing their cries of celebration. — In addition to your claps, the way you had gotten up and approached the field, wanting, in some way, to capture every little point of the play. — He remembered, with such grace and delicacy, the moments when his mother watched him play.

Not missing any matches, even training, she was present; shouting, clamoring, cheering for little Kenji. — Recording all the games, leaving them as souvenirs and secretly sending them to his father; Ken wasn't aware of that, he wasn't that. — Emiko was always there for him and with him.

And watching, witnessing you accompanying him, lifting him, supporting him and guiding him for so long — now, caring, by his side, for a young Kaiju — guides Kenji towards a light, deeply, pure and loyal to all the love he could feel in his heart. life. — The same light that guided his father to his mother.

"Now, run the bases, girl!" — He warned, smiling and ecstatic about the result, and signaling Mina to follow Emi, who quickly flew towards her. — "I'm proud!" — He exclaimed and was responded to with a loud and cheerful, and slightly breathless, scream.

Moving away from where he was, leaving Emi running across the field, Kenji took steps towards you, never stopping to smile, even more so, hearing the baby's amused grunts and seeing the adorable and charming expression on your face. — Also, influenced by the fact that you are wearing one of his caps. — Contemplating you once again.

"She's getting better and better." — You said, biting the lower part of your cheek, bowing your head, looking at the young man and raising one of your hands to his t-shirt, repairing a small and insignificant dent.

"That's good, however…" — He looked up, acting as if he were thinking about something convenient, promising. — "…i feel like our girl could surpass me at any moment." — He joked, in a mix of drama and suffering.

Taking you by surprise, even though you were so used to his comments, you couldn't contain a beautiful and melodic laugh, shaking your head, refusing to believe his words; but, feeling your heart warm when you heard the magnanimous and dazzled way in which Kenji recognized Emi. — Letting that phrase repeat itself in your mind.

Kenji was right, you hadn't, and wouldn't dare, disagree about what he had said; no one could.

"Our girl…" — You murmured, conveying tenderness and softness in the small words. — Resting your head on Kenji's chest, being able to hear his heartbeat, and feeling one of his strong and safe arms around your waist, bringing caresses to the area, you and Sato saw Emi running through the large and beautiful field.

#kenji sato #ken sato #kenji #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #kenji x reader #ultraman #ultraman rising

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shortnsweetsposts · 6 months ago

Text

Bat!reader: If we came from monkeys, why are there still monkeys?

Jason: Because some of those monkeys that lived a long time ago turned into other monkeys that we see today like chimp monkeys and so on.

Bat!reader: All right. So, the monkeys that didn't turn into humans; they must be gutted that they didn't turn into humans.

Jason: *shrugged*

Bat!reader: Right. Sometimes when I watch these past life hypnosis programs on Satellite channels, all the people on those are always ladies in waiting or Gladiators. They're never monkeys. Why is that?

Jason: Probably because they don't actually remember their past lives. It's probably not true.

Bat!reader: Oh! But, I find it easier to believe that I was a lady in waiting than a monkey.

Jason: Well, it's maybe easy to believe that your ancestors were ladies in waiting-

Bat!reader: Then monkeys?

Jason: I don't see the problem believing that both your ancestors were ladies in waiting a few hundred years ago.

Bat!reader: And before that?

Jason: And before that-

Bat!reader: Monkey ladies in waiting.

. .

. . .

. .

Batfam: ...

Duke: Oh that's not

Stephanie: Hold on let them cook.

Part: 1, 3

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amirawrah · 9 days ago

Text

⭐︎ This is all i want

with JOBE BELLINGHAM⭐︎

synopsis: After a playful movie night turns into a chaotic pillow fight, you and Jobe find yourselves tangled up in laughter—and something even deeper. A heart-melting confession and a soft morning after prove that this love is exactly where you both belong.

The evening was set. The lights in your living room were dimmed low, your favorite blanket was spread out across the couch, and a bowl of popcorn sat beside you. Everything was perfect for your cozy movie night with Jobe—except for one thing.

You were both in the middle of trying to pick a movie.

Jobe scrolled through your list of favorites, clearly unimpressed with each option. He let out a dramatic sigh.

“Why do you even like these?” he said, teasing, flicking through the options. “They’re all, like, the same thing. Sad and dramatic.”

You raised an eyebrow, turning your head to look at him. “Excuse me?”

You were both laying on the couch, a pile of pillows surrounding you, your legs tangled together under the blanket. You gave a light tug on the corner of the blanket, pulling it tighter around the two of you. “My movies are classics, Jobe. You just don’t get it. They’re emotional, heart-wrenching. They’re art.”

Jobe snorted, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Yeah, art that makes me cry. No thanks.”

You glared at him playfully. “You’re just mad because your taste in movies is... well, I don’t know how to say this nicely—terrible.”

Jobe’s eyes widened as if you had just insulted his entire existence. “Terrible?! What do you mean, terrible? I have impeccable taste. I’m all about the classics. Action, adventure, you know, something that actually makes me feel alive, not sad for no reason.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “Please, we both know your idea of a ‘classic’ is some boring superhero movie with explosions and people yelling at each other.”

“Excuse me, The Dark Knight is a masterpiece,” Jobe argued, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back into the couch.

You scoffed, leaning in toward him. “It’s literally just a man in a bat suit throwing punches. It’s not even that deep. You know what’s deep? The Notebook. Now that’s a movie that makes you feel all the things.”

“Ugh,” Jobe groaned, dramatically rolling his eyes. “You’re not serious. Are you telling me you would pick The Notebook over Inception? Come on, babe, that’s a no-brainer. Inception blows The Notebook out of the water.”

You threw your hands up in the air, mock-exasperated. “You’re impossible! There is no way you can convince me that Inception is better than The Notebook—not in a million years.”

He tilted his head and gave you a sly smile. “I bet you five pounds you can’t even follow the plot of Inception. It’s way too complicated for you.”

“Me? Not understand Inception?” You gasped in mock horror. “I get it just fine, thank you very much. I’m not the one who falls asleep halfway through a movie, Mr. ‘I only watch action scenes."

“Oh, we’re going there?” Jobe raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You always fall asleep halfway through every movie. The only reason we’re having this debate is because I have to keep rewinding scenes that I know you missed because you were too busy snoring.”

“I do not snore!” you protested, your cheeks turning a little pink.

“Oh, yes you do,” he said, his grin widening. “And don’t even try to lie about it. You always make that cute little snoring sound right around the climax or something.” He laughed as you playfully slapped his arm.

“That’s it,” you huffed, turning away from him. “I’m choosing the next movie. No more superhero nonsense, no more confusing plots—just something sweet.”

Jobe grinned. “Fine. You choose. But I’m picking the snack. No more of this weird popcorn with chocolate in it.”

Your eyes widened in mock offense. “What do you have against chocolate popcorn? It’s delicious, Jobe. Get with the program.”

“I’ll never understand you,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You both stared at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter, the whole room filled with the sound of your playful banter. It was always like this—easy, fun, and light-hearted. There were no pretenses, no pressure. Just the two of you, enjoying each other’s company and being unapologetically yourselves.

You picked a movie—The Princess Bride, naturally—and tossed the remote back on the coffee table. You pulled the blanket tighter around you, leaning back into the pillows, ready to settle in. But before you could fully relax, Jobe suddenly reached over and grabbed one of the pillows, pulling it playfully toward him.

“What are you—”

Before you could finish, he launched the pillow at you. It hit you right in the face, and you gasped dramatically. “Oh fuck you Bellingham!”

You grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it back at him with as much force as you could muster, but he was already diving at you, his arms pulling you into a pillow fight that quickly escalated from playful throws to full-on chaos. You found yourself laughing uncontrollably as the two of you rolled around on the floor.

You were both so caught up in the moment that you didn’t even realize netflix was asking 'are you still watching'. The floor was now covered in scattered pillows and blankets, the remnants of a chaotic but incredibly fun night. You lay there for a moment, breathless, with your head resting against his chest, your laughter still echoing in the room.

He looked down at you, a soft smile on his face, his fingers brushing through your hair. “This is what I want every night with you,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

Your heart skipped a beat. The sound of his words, so simple yet so full of meaning, made the room feel like it was spinning, but in the best way. You couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks flushing just a little.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel the same,” you whispered back.

You stayed like that for a while—tangled up in blankets and pillows, his arms around you, the two of you just enjoying the silence and the quiet intimacy of the moment. No movie, no distractions, just you and him.

And somehow, in that peaceful, perfect chaos, you knew this was exactly what you wanted too.

You both lay there in the aftermath of your chaotic pillow fight, the soft hum of your breathing the only sound filling the air. Jobe’s hand was resting casually on your waist, but the way his thumb lightly traced small circles on your skin sent a tingle straight to your core. You shifted slightly, realizing just how close you were. Your heart picked up the pace, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you met his gaze.

He was looking down at you, his expression soft but intense, like he was considering something more than just the playful banter you’d been indulging in. You swallowed, suddenly feeling aware of how his body was pressed against yours, the space between you shrinking with every passing second.

“You know, you look pretty cute when you're flustered,” he said, his voice a low murmur that made your stomach flip. There was something in his tone—playful, yes, but there was an underlying hunger there too.

You couldn’t help the shy smile that tugged at your lips, but it wasn’t enough to hide the way your body reacted. The way his eyes were on you now—focused, intense, a little too quiet—made your pulse quicken.

“Really?” you teased, trying to keep the tension light. You shifted again, this time to get a better look at him, but your movement brought you even closer, your chest brushing against his.

Jobe’s breath caught in his throat, and you saw the way his jaw clenched just slightly. His hand, which had been resting on your waist, slid slowly to the small of your back, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush. The shift was subtle, but it was enough to make you feel how much he wanted you—how much he’d always wanted you.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The room seemed to shrink, the playful atmosphere from earlier replaced with something heavier, more urgent. Jobe’s lips parted slightly as he leaned down toward you, his nose grazing the side of your face.

“Mhmm,” he whispered, his voice thick with longing, “I don’t think I can go another night without kissing you like this.”

And with that, the playful teasing of earlier gave way to something more primal. You didn’t need another word—his lips crashed against yours, urgent and heated, with all the desire he’d been holding back since the moment you two had started teasing each other.

Your hands found their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt as you responded with equal intensity. His lips were soft but demanding, pressing against yours with a hunger that made your stomach tighten. You melted into him, your body naturally arching toward his, desperate for more.

Jobe let out a soft groan as he deepened the kiss, his hand moving from your back to the side of your neck, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your jaw. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but respond, your hands slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, grazing the warmth of his skin.

He pulled away just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes were dark with desire, pupils blown wide. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured, his voice rough. “You have no idea how hard it is, being this close to you and not being able to… to feel you like this.”

A rush of heat flooded through you, and you pushed yourself up to meet him, closing the distance again, your lips brushing against his in a softer, slower kiss this time. The sensation of his lips on yours felt electric, like every touch, every breath was building toward something more.

He responded by pulling you on top of him, the change in position allowing you to straddle him, your body now fully pressed against his. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through you, and for a brief moment, you hesitated, your body tingling with anticipation.

“Jobe…” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly, unsure whether you should push further or just enjoy the intimacy you’d already built.

“Shh,” he whispered, his hands running down your back, his fingertips barely grazing your skin in a way that made you shiver. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

He brought your lips back to his, and this time the kiss was deeper, more urgent, as if you both had been waiting for this moment for too long to stop now. His hands roamed under your shirt, brushing against your skin, and every touch made your breath hitch. You responded by tugging at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in a desperate need to feel more of him.

The air between you both was thick with the electricity of your connection, and with every movement, the urgency grew. Your fingers found their way to the waistband of his pants, your mind now clouded with the heat of the moment. But before you could go further, he gently grabbed your wrists, stopping you.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but the intensity of his gaze made your heart race. He was asking for your consent, your comfort, and you realized how deeply he respected you.

You looked down at him, eyes searching his. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your body on fire with desire, but you needed that moment to be as much about trust as it was about passion.

“Absolutely,” you whispered back, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions flooding through you.

A slow smile curled on his lips, and he pulled you back into a deep kiss. The world outside your little bubble ceased to exist as you both gave in to the connection, the passion that had been building for so long.

You woke up to the soft glow of morning light peeking through the curtains, painting the room in a hazy, golden hue. For a moment, you didn’t move—you just let yourself breathe, wrapped up in the warmth and quiet that surrounded you.

Your body felt heavy in the most delicious way, like every muscle was still humming from last night. Every memory rushed back at once—the laughter, the teasing, the way Jobe had touched you like you were something sacred.

You shifted slightly, feeling the barest brush of skin against skin—and that’s when you realized you weren’t alone.

Jobe’s arm was draped lazily around your waist, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and slow against your skin. His body was pressed against yours, tangled in the mess of blankets you both hadn’t bothered to fix after collapsing into bed hours ago.

You smiled to yourself, heart swelling. It felt… easy. Natural. Like you belonged there, in his arms, like you always had.

You twisted a little to face him, careful not to wake him, but your movement must’ve stirred him because he let out a low, sleepy groan and tightened his arm around you.

“Mm… stay,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, his lips brushing against your shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back, running your fingers through his messy curls.

He shifted again, finally lifting his head enough to blink at you through heavy eyelids. His hair was a chaotic mess, and his face was still flushed with leftover warmth from sleep.

And he was smiling. That soft, lazy kind of smile that made your heart ache with how beautiful he was.

“Morning,” he rasped, his voice deep and rough in a way that made you shiver.

“Morning,” you replied, feeling your cheeks heat under his sleepy gaze.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. You just stared at each other, grinning like idiots, soaking it all in—the closeness, the quiet, the fact that there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Finally, Jobe stretched, letting out a soft groan as he pulled you even closer, burying his face in the curve of your neck again.

“You’re too good to be real,” he muttered against your skin.

You laughed, the sound muffled by his hair. “Says the guy who’s literally clinging to me like a koala.”

He grumbled sleepily, clearly not in the mood for teasing yet. “'Cause you’re comfy,” he defended weakly, his hand smoothing over your back in slow, lazy strokes. “And warm. And… mine.”

The last word was whispered, almost too quietly to catch, but you heard it—and it made your heart flip so hard you were sure he could feel it beating against his chest.

You tilted your head back to look at him properly. “Yours, huh?” you teased gently, smiling against his hair.

He lifted his head just enough to meet your eyes, his expression completely serious despite the playful words.

“Yeah. Mine,” he said, voice low and certain. “And I’m yours. If you’ll have me.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t even have to think about it.

“I already do, Jobe,” you whispered.

His smile turned into something softer, almost shy, before he dipped his head and kissed you. It wasn’t heated like the night before—it was slow, sweet, like he had all the time in the world to show you how much he meant it.

When you finally pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his, both of you smiling so wide it was almost ridiculous.

“So…” you said after a while, voice teasing. “What’s the plan for today? Stay in bed forever?”

He smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “Sounds about right. Maybe we can argue about movies again, have another pillow fight…” He trailed his fingers lightly up your side, making you squirm. “…maybe repeat a few things from last night.”

You laughed, swatting at him playfully. “Wow.”

He gave you a mock-offended look. “It’s your fault. You’re too pretty to leave alone.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but you couldn’t stop smiling. How could you, when Jobe Bellingham was holding you like you were his whole world—and when you felt exactly the same way about him?

And in that messy, sun-drenched room, tangled up in him, you realized you wouldn’t change a single thing.

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