#But for Latinos it means “fuck/sex”

[connor-mylove]

Fact of the week.

A funny thing that happens to Latin Assassin's Creed players when the game is dubbed in Spanish in Spain is the following...

In Assassin's Creed 2, where Ezio has the option to taunt in the middle of a fight, he says the following: "A qué no te animas a cojerme" and "Ven a cojerme".

A Spaniard interprets it as: "Why don't you dare to catch me" or "Come and get me".

But for Latinos "cojer" has another meaning... So every time I play with Ezio and I play that option, what I hear is "Why don't you dare to fuck me?" or "Come and fuck me"

.... Thank you very much for your attention, you can keep scrolling down.

[joeloverture]

snowbound | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog | ao3 mirror pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] joel is the only guy you know with four wheel drive in the rarely-snowy state of texas, so it seems like a no-brainer to have him pick you up from work — until his truck breaks down, leaving you two to the classic 'huddle for warmth' solution. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!joel, age gap (assumed 20s/40s), reader borrows joel's coat, but does not wear it and uses it as a blanket, self-indulgent humor & banter, joel has sarah and she's a 15y/o menace which means liberties are taken with the timeline, blink & miss it drug mention, close proximity, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, (mocking) dirty talk & dirty talk alluding to anal but no actual anal, daddy kink, degradation, dom!joel, brat!reader, brat tamer!joel, mild bondage (with a scarf), rearview mirror sex, clit stim, riding, doggy, a few pussy spanks, 2 spanks, truck sex, sort of edging, getting caught after the act [no use of y/n] word count: 12.3k a/n: this fic was a labor of love from a request i received earlier this month. i didn't expect it to be this long but i really enjoyed these two! massive massive massive shoutout to talia, @lovesickonmybed, for putting up with me + advising. this fic was way too much to handle on my own. they're the reason i pulled it off. joel is latino here, but i think game!joel can be interpreted as latino too, so read who you'd like.

“Looking ahead for our chances at wintry precipitation tonight – measurable snow, freezing rain, or sleet. It’s hard to get snow here in central Texas – if only, huh? We’re seeing some strong flurries tonight, turning into snow showers in the early morning. Low chances of any significant build up, but you can expect hazardous driving conditions. Black ice and low visibility will make extensive travel dangerous–”

The radio in Keith’s Hardware is old fashioned, curving around the volume and tuning knobs. It’s one of the ones that still has a dial pointer, which is almost always aimed at 92.7 if Keith’s in the back (country); 96.7 (pop) if it’s just you and the only other girl that works in the carpenter’s wet dream of a store. Right now, though, it’s neither of those stations. The pointer is at 162.4, the weather station.

You’d known you were in for it on the drive into work. Watch the weather and it’s real nasty out there airing from your parents lips on your way out of the house for your eight hour shift. The drive had been a gunmetal sort of gray, clouds streaked through the sky and spitting bullets of sleet at your windshield.

For a little bit, the weather had almost cleared up. You’d sworn you’d seen a splotch of sun when you’d tried to step out for break, just to be driven back in by your too-thin jacket and the cold as balls temperature.

Now, though? It’s fucking freezing, and the flurries that the weatherman mentioned are starting to fall. And as much as you’d told Keith that your shitty two-wheel-drive couldn’t handle it, he’d insisted on scheduling you and Liz for close.

Which is where Mr. Miller comes in.

Joel Miller, your dad’s buddy. Joel Miller, the grumpiest secret-softie you’ve ever met. Joel Miller, a knight in shining armor with his 4x4 Ford F150 instead of a horse. Although, if your fantasies are correct – and you like to think they are – what’s between his thighs certainly makes up for the lack of a horse. But he isn’t bringing you for a ride on his cock. He just so happens to be the only man your dad knows with a four wheel drive vehicle, or at least the only one willing to spare you from spinning out by giving you a ride home. Just thinking about it has a knot pinching in the back of your throat. His hands, big and wide and stretching over the gear shift. One muscled arm dangling over the wheel. Looking over his goddamn shoulder to back out —

Liz hops up on the check-out counter where you’re counting up the last of the cash, a spread of Hamiltons, Grants, and Jacksons. You wouldn’t expect a girl like her to work at a hardware store, especially one in the backstreets of the seedy part of town. Some sort of family emergency had driven her back to Austin from NYU design school, which you’re thankful for. Mainly because you get out of cutting wood panels since she has the better eye for measurements, but also because after years of sulking in Keith’s, you finally have someone to talk shit with.

“Those heart eyes aren’t for fuckin’ Alexander Hamilton,” Liz says, tapping her acrylics on your ledger to get your attention. You cough, flipping her off with your pen still in-hand. Liz hums, pretending to think about it as you put down the last numbers. “Although I wouldn’t be too surprised. You do love a geriatric man.”

“Joel isn’t that old,” you scoff, arranging the bills into slim white envelopes and then licking them shut. “He’s just an… acquired taste.”

“Sure, his jizz probably tastes like prohibition-era booze–”

“What the fuck,” you wheeze, hands going out to brace yourself on the closest display case. Your head dips as your chest shakes with laughter.

Liz stays completely straight-faced as she continues, “You’ll have to have 911 on speed dial because if you clench, his heart’s giving out.”

“It is not,” you say, voice still strained with the laughs that won’t stop punching out of you.

She puts her hands up in defense and crosses her legs at the ankles. “Hey, it’s not my fault you like playing whac-a-mole with Great Depression dick.”

“Liz!” You playfully shove her off of the counter, thrusting the envelopes into her hands. “You’re nasty. Fucking nasty.”

She splays a wounded hand over her heart, fanning herself with the envelopes. “You know you love me.” She slips into the office behind the register. You hear the click of the safe before she calls over her shoulder, “Any particular reason you’re fantasizing on the clock?”

“Not fantasizing,” you refute. Liz pops out of the back with a uncertain look scrawled on her face. “My dad talked him into picking me up today so I don’t drive into a snowbank.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a shitty porno.”

“Don’t give me hope.”

“I’m just saying,” she grins. “You can still come to mine. Only a five minute walk with zero chance of rejection.”

“You have such little faith in me.”

She purses her lips. “Mkay…. Pro-tip: Keith probably has some Viagra sitting around in his desk drawers.”

“Liiiiiiiz,” you say. You’re about to tune her out completely when familiar headlights light up the wet asphalt, beaming through the windows. The engine idles, a soft rumble through the linoleum floors. The truck lights dim, leaving Joel in the buttery shine of the streetlamp. His thick arms stretch across the wheel, and he rakes one large hand through his hair. “Shit, speak of the Devil.” You clip off your nametag, tossing it into your half-open bag. “Can you finish closing tonight? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“No problem, no favors necessary.” She closes the register. You fumble to get your bag over your shoulder, not wanting to keep Joel waiting. “Use protection!” she calls after you, and you make sure to flip her off one more time as the door clangs shut behind you.

A wall of cold hits you like a blade of lightning. Wind unfurls, mauling telephone lines and frosted treetops, rippling your jacket. Not even the worn scarf around your neck seems to be doing its job. Suddenly, every one of your limbs feels like an icicle. Joints almost freezing up, you half-jog, half-penguin strut your way to Joel’s passenger side. You wipe the ice off of the door handle with your sleeve. A few stray flurries dust you as you tug the door open, exhaling in relief as you haul yourself onto the side steps and into the toasty warmth of the Ford F150.

You cozy up in the seat, too preoccupied by thawing your hands with long, winded breaths to notice the affronted look Joel is throwing your way. “Are you tryin’ to catch your fuckin’ death, girl?”

“No death to catch. It’s not that cold.” The way you’re shivering says otherwise. Joel pins you with the raise of his brow.

Before you know what he’s doing, he’s groaning as he reaches over the center console into the backseat. You see a flash of his trucker jacket before it lands in your lap, flannel-lined and heavy. You use it like a blanket, draping it across your torso and wrestling your hands into the inside pockets. The canvas smells like car exhaust and off-brand Dollar General deodorant, two things that are so inextricably Joel. As much as you hate to admit it, the warmth is already inking its way across your skin – or maybe it’s just being next to Joel that’s heating you up. “Thanks,” you grumble.

When you adjust in your seat, the inside of your foot catches an empty Dr. Pepper can on the floor. It rattles when you accidentally kick it forward. You lean down and pick it up, going to place it down in the cupholder, only to find it overpopulated with random Home Depot and Whataburger receipts.

“Tax deductions,” he shrugs. “Gotta eat on the job.”

“And a…” You pick up the receipt and squint at the faded typography. “$3.29 strawberry milkshake is part of that, I figure?”

Joel grunts, “Tommy’s order.”

You smirk. “Sure it is.”

“Quit shit stirrin’ and put on your fuckin’ seatbelt.”

You reach back, fingers snagging it and tugging it down. Groping for the belt between the seats and the center console, it goes on for at least five seconds too long before Joel grabs the buckle and shoves it into the slot. His fingers brush your thigh as he pulls away from you and settles his foot over the gas pedal. The singular touch shouldn’t make butterflies beat at the walls of your stomach, but it does. Everything about him does.

Now that you’re all settled in, everything about him is also settling in. The fact that he’s only wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt now that his coat is off. His sleeves are constricting enough that his muscles bulge below the strip of fabric. Ample scruff dapples his jawline, and his hair is disheveled in the way that you’ve learned you like it. You trail your eyes down his body, his tummy, across the undone drawstrings of his dark gray sweatpants, and no, you move on quickly from there, because you refuse to get riled up in the passenger seat.

He’s slowly peeling out of Keith’s parking lot, arm thrown over the back of your seat. You’re starting to fail at your mission of not getting riled up when you see the flex of his bicep, the way his eyes meet yours as he turns to look through the back window. He turns out of the parking lot and onto the relatively barren, icy streets–

“What the hell are those?”

Joel side-eyes you, brows furrowed. He follows the line of your gaze to his feet, which you’re used to seeing in New Balances or steel-toed work boots, but are instead wearing… fur-lined crocs.

“These here? Yeah, got ‘em recently, good for my days off with all this nippy weather. Sarah told me they’re ‘all the rage’ with the youth–”

You can’t help it. You damn near double over with laughter, clutching at your stomach. Joel’s coat nearly slides off of you, but you hang onto it with your pinkie finger, quickly going dizzy from lack of air. “‘All the rage’? Oh my fucking God– Joel, she was pulling your leg. Those are fucking hideous.”

“Hey, now–” He sighs, pinching his nose bridge with the hand that isn’t dangling over the wheel. “Zip it, I don’t needa justify my shoe choices to ya.”

“Does she do anything other than give you shit these days?”

“You’re one to talk about givin’ shit, y’know,” Joel says. Unfailingly, he smiles. The smile that pulls at the edges of his lips. The smile that he only ever gets when talking about Sarah. It doesn’t matter where – loading up his plate with barbecue, your dad asking him while he’s picking up junk mail in the morning, or on the job. If someone asks him about his daughter, Joel fucking beams.

He sucks on his teeth for a second, and then, “She’s picked up soccer. Goalkeeper. Damn good at it, too, all them other kids on her team can’t match her collapse dive.”

“Of course they can’t,” you say. “She’s got better reflexes than a house fly.”

Joel hunches over the wheel, effectively ending the conversation as he concentrates on the road. The only noise is the rumbling engine and the wagging of the windshield wipers as he attempts to navigate the black ice polka-dotted roads. It shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, seeing him in such a state of focus, his thighs tensed as he manipulates the gas and brakes to stop early, start slow. His arms thickening when he makes a right turn. Thumbs drumming drumming drumming on the wheel and maybe they’d do the same between your legs—

“So how’s work?” you blurt out.

Joel mumbles something that you can’t quite make out.

“Huh?”

“Fuckin’ ‘big shot’ gringos up my ass all day. Goddamn shitshow.” He shakes his head, his lips thinned. “I tell ‘em terraforming is gonna make it look like a Flinstone-owned-and-operated putt-putt course. They say do it anyway. I tell ‘em that orderin’ custom windows is gonna put us months behind. They say do it anyway, then come up jibber-jabberin’ all ‘bout how long it’s takin’. And it’s fuckin’... window madness, not one window in that hellhole matches another. Ain’t had so much trouble buildin’ a house since Sarah had me build her one from Hobby Lobby when she was little. Their architect musta been doin’ lines.”

You think you’ve seen Sarah’s dollhouse before when visiting, just in passing when the guest bedroom door was left open a smidge. You remember stalling in the hallway to look at it, with a fleece of dust growing on the tediously placed shingles and the oakwood front door left open like it’d been waiting for someone to come home. But Sarah outgrew it, and although Joel would never admit it, you know he’s too sentimental to leave it on the curb.

“How bad can building a dollhouse from a kit be?”

“With a five year old yellin’ like a drill sergeant in your ear? Worse than you think. She even made me rig the damn thing with electric so she could have her pink chandelier.”

You pout at him, “Wah wah, I’ll bet you loved it.”

“Was a nuisance at the time. But, uh, she was fiddlin’ with some ‘a the dolls I’d gotten her. Don’t think she knew I was watchin’, had gone to put ‘er to bed ‘cause it was a school night. She was readin’ this book I always read to her. Something about… a stuffed bear with a missin’ button and a girl that was tryna to buy him. I don’t fuckin’ know–” “Corduroy?”

“Yeah, that. Anyway, she was reading, usin’ the same tone I always used with her, tucked her dolls in for the night, and switched off the lights. I don’t think I loved it until then.” There’s a glistening in his eyes at the memory.

You smirk, “Sentimental bastard–”

The truck slides. Or maybe it coasts, skimming across the thin film of black ice. Joel eases down on the brakes, hauling to a stop next to a Minivan with its warning lights on. It’s a long stretch, and you can’t even see all the way down the highway with how thick the snow is. No two snowflakes are the same, but you find it difficult to believe when you’re looking at what must be millions of them. They pirouette, landing on window panes, rooftops, and wind-agonized tree branches. Everything is blotted with white. Red warning lights glare on the ice back at you.

“Shiiit,” Joel says as he squints at the road ahead of him. He scratches at his scruff.

“Tell me you’re not going to drive through that shit.”

“I’m not,” he says.

“Then how the fuck are we getting home?”

“Chill it–” “That’s the last thing I need to do,” you huff.

“I’m takin’ the detour.”

With that, he jerks the wheel — a bit too recklessly considering the weather, in your opinion – and pulls off onto a slippery backroad. The snow seems to have clung to the trees more back here, a sort of incandescent saran wrap over the oaks. At a bend in the road, icicles hang from a yellow sign that says CURVE 30 MPH. Joel takes it at ten.

You’re not checking out his hands while he drives, no, of course not. You’re looking at the gazillion lights on his dashboard display. “You usually have that many lights on?”

“Ain’t your truck, ain’t your business.”

“I’m ridin’ in it, ain’t I?” you mock his accent. 

Joel sighs heavily. “Drivin’ me up the fuckin’ wall.” His hands clench briefly around the wheel. “Auto repair shop’s been price gouging, I’m tryin’ to get Tommy to hook me up with his buddy in San Anton–”

“Won’t be able to drive to San Antonio if your bumper falls off halfway there.”

Joel’s voice is dry as bone. “Ha ha. You get off on bein’ a smartass?”

It’s three words – that’s all it is. Just a throwaway phrase that he probably doesn’t even realize he said. If it were anything more, you’d know. But Joel, saying those words in that order? Damn him, because it turns your blood effervescent. You stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together underneath his coat. You’re about to make another quip that’ll not only distract you, but also surely drive Joel up the wall, one of your favorite activities.

His truck putters from ten miles per hour to eight.

Eight to six.

Six to four.

“Motherfuckin’.... shit,” Joel says again, this time much more urgent as he wrests the wheel to the side. The truck skims over the frosted roads and onto the shoulder, rolls for two seconds, and then falls to a complete, utter stop. The windshield wipers pause while they’re still up. Heat no longer spits out of the dusty air vents.

It’s the loudest silence you’ve ever been in.

“...So do you get off on letting your truck break down or–”

Joel sighs in the way that dogs do. “Thin ice, missy.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls out his phone. “I’ll give Tommy a call.” He stares at the screen for ten seconds. Taps it. Shakes it.

“No service?” you ask.

“No service.”

“Let me try mine,” you mumble, shifting in the car seat. Sure enough, zero bars. Even though you know it won’t work, you press your dad’s contact. It goes straight to voicemail. “Well, shit.”

“Shit,” Joel echoes.

It’s unspoken, but you both know the harsh reality of this harsh wintry night: no phone service, no operational truck, and… no heater.

“Hang tight,” Joel says, reaching over the center console and hijacking his coat from your lap. He wrestles his arms through the sleeves and zips it up. He shoves the door open against the hoarse wind that keeps the trees at a slant, hops out, then slams it shut hard enough for the vehicle to rock. From how hard the wind was blowing, stray flurries dust the truck’s interior.

You can’t really see what he’s doing – the snow’s too heavy, the hood popped wide open for him to investigate the truck’s viscera. You run your hands up and down your thighs, already feeling cold. Without the heater, it won’t be much longer before you turn to an icicle in the passenger seat. The hood bangs back down.

Joel climbs in from the backseat, slams the door as hard as humanly possible, and then scoots to the middle seat. 

You crane your neck to see him as he shakes out his cold-reddened hands before puffing air into his cupped palms. “What’s wrong with it?” You ask. 

He lets out a frigid breath. “Don’t fuckin’ know, snowin’ too damn hard to tell.”

“Ten bucks it was one of the lights on your dash,” you say.

Joel glares at you, still huffing into his hands. His fingertips are bright red to match his ruddy cheeks. Snow is sprinkled through his hair like soot, quickly melting to beads of water on his windblown curls.

“Got some… hand warmers up in that glovebox. Grab the whole pack.”

You lean forward, kneeing it open and rifling through all of his shit. Insurance papers, more receipts, Miller Contracting business cards, a folded pocket knife, lens wipes, and –

“When’s the last time these saw daylight?” you huff out a laugh as you hold up a battered box of condoms. 

Turns out, snow isn’t the thing that makes Joel Miller redder than a tomato. It’s the fifteen year old, very expired condoms hiding in his glovebox.

He clears his throat and averts his eyes. “Jesus. Forgot those were in there.”

You shake the box around and pluck a condom out of it. Looking for the expiration date, you turn it over and over in your hand. “August 31st, 2004. Really that long since you got some, Miller?”

“Put ‘em back,” he grumbles. “Pain in my ass.”

You snicker, replacing the condom box with the box of hand warmers. They’re unopened, still sealed. You snatch Joel’s keys out of the ignition and swipe them across the tape. “Happy?” you toss them over your shoulder.

“No.” He tears open the pack and rubs his hands together around the warmer, sighing when it begins to heat.

“Dick,” you grumble.

More tearing. “Brat.” Another warmer lands in your lap.

“Oughta get comfortable. We’re gonna be here a while,” Joel says.

“And whose fault is that?” You ask as you weigh the warmer in your palms. The front seat already feels cramped, and you’re quick to unbuckle your seatbelt. Your legs and arms fold like pretzels as you climb into the backseat. The curse that leaves you when you hit your head on the roof has Joel rolling his eyes.

“Pipe down. First thing in the mornin’ I’ll make the walk out to that country club a mile out and use their phone. Just gotta ride out the night. You ain’t ever roughed it before?”

You fall on all fours on the backseat, finally pulling yourself upright next to him. “Never had a reason to. Like, what if I have to piss? What if I get hungry?”

Joel shrugs. “Tough.”

The cold is starting to settle into your bones. Even your tongue feels popsicle numb, and your fingers are stiff where they wrap around the warmer. It’s like you’ve been trapped in a snowglobe and shaken up by a handsy toddler with how the wind rattles the truck and the snow swishes outside. You suppress a shiver, leaning against the door. Condensation is already building on the windows. Absent-mindedly, you begin to trace a portrait of Joel in the moisture. Your fingertip squeaks against the glass. Your masterpiece wouldn’t be complete without his signature scowl, so you’re sure to paint a frown on his face and his forehead wrinkles on thick.

“Didn’t know you were an artist,” Joel comments from the opposite side of the back. “Looks nothin’ like me, by the way.”

You smirk, “But you knew it was you.”

Because there’s nothing better to do than burn time, you spend the next ten minutes filling up the window with whatever nonsense doodles come to mind — hearts, stars, trees, and of course, the only one that Joel seems to be fond of: Sarah, smiling and curly-haired.

Reality only settles in when you’re done with the ephemeral illustrations, their outlines starting to dissolve back to regular droplets that streak down the windows. You’re stuck, for God knows how long, on this shady backroad that the Zodiac Killer would’ve loved during his heyday. With your dad’s best friend that you’ve been harboring a dangerous crush on.

And it’d be impossible to forget that it’s freezing fucking balls.

“Joel?” you say into the dark truck.

“Hm?”

Always one to speak your mind, you say, “It’s freezing fucking balls.”

A sound that might be a laugh leaves him. “Here,” Joel says, unzipping his jacket. He tosses it over to you, and you snuggle back up with it, nose burrowing into one of the creases in the fabric. His coat smells like him – like cheap body wash, chewing gum, and gasoline. 

You try putting your hands in the pockets, even going as far as to open up a new hand warmer for each one, but they’re full of loose change and, expectedly, more receipts. When you curl up against the corner between the door and the seat, the hard plastic bites into your oversensitive back. Sitting upright or cross-legged doesn’t work, and when you test drive sitting diagonally with your feet propped up on the console, Joel makes a disproving noise and swats gently at your shin. You prop your forehead up against the window, but it’s cold enough to give you a brain freeze. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel snorts. “Get over ‘ere, you wuss.” He hauls you over, big hand splayed over your waist, and drags you across the bench to his side. You yelp in surprise, but only for a second before you’re crushed against Joel’s side. “Can’t have ya gettin’ hypothermia,” he jests.

You don’t know where to put your hands, but eventually, you settle on cupping his neck. Touching Joel, hell, even just being near him, is like being by an open furnace. Or maybe the heat is just your stomach doing somersaults at being this close to Joel after years of frivolous pining. His nape emanates warmth, the kind that flows down your arms and wraps comfortingly around your chest.

Joel exhales, the tendrils of his breath curling from the frigidity. He grabs his coat from the side and flattens it over the both of you, a piss poor replacement for a blanket, but all you’ve got.

Still, cold seeps in through the cracks in the doors, spoiling whatever lukewarm air remains. It doesn’t help that Joel had hopped in and out of the truck to play eye spy under the hood. The truck struggles to hold onto heat properly, especially when it isn’t producing more of it.

Joel sort of… flickers against your back. You think nothing of it until it happens again, this time in short bursts, and then turns into full on shivering.

“Who’s the wuss now, old man?”

Joel tenses up behind you. “Funny,” he says. With your hands cushioned against his neck, you feel the grate of his voice in his throat. “This is the best you’re gonna get unless you wanna be butt ass naked to share heat.”

It should be a joke. But the way he says it… doesn’t sound like a joke.

You go still, lifeless, not even sure if you’re shaking anymore. Because now, the only thought in your head is being pressed against Joel, his soft cock hardening against you, his palms splayed and rubbing over your stomach to keep you warm. And if his cock needed to get somewhere warmer, too…. Your clit twitches at the thought.

You smother the initial shock in your voice with your usual solution: sass. “So what, we’re gonna fuckin’ huddle for warmth?”

As much as you enjoy the idea, you're already dripping — and that’s just from your body being pressed against his, breathing the same air as him, closer now than you’ve ever been before. With no panties in the way, it’s not a stretch to say you’d be dripping down his thighs. You’d hate to have that conversation.

“Would you rather freeze to death?” Joel asks. You look up at him from where you’re curled into his side and find no gleam in his eyes. This isn’t just some knee-slapper for him. Joel Miller is being completely, irreversibly serious.

“I’d rather something less like Naked and Afraid, Joel!”

“It works,” he says, nose flaring. “They do it in those fuckin’... action movies all ‘a the time.”

“I didn’t know Hollywood was writing survival manuals for pervs–”

“God, you’re a piece ‘a work, ya know that?” His eyes flick down to you, and maybe it’s just the fact that this road is damn near pitch black, but his pupils seem larger than before. “Listen, I ain’t tryna perv on ya. I also ain’t tryna send you back to your old man with four fingers missin’ from frostbite.”

There’s no way you’re actually seriously considering this. You’ve heard of cold temperatures impairing thinking, but not like this. Your dad’ll go chasing after Joel with a pitchfork and a shovel if he finds out the man who was supposed to get you home safe and sound was cuddling naked with you. Cuddling naked with you in the backseat, no less. You’re certain Joel won’t try anything – he’s not like that. No matter how flustered you get in his lap, he’d never take advantage of you. What you aren’t certain of is your ability to stop yourself from asking him t0 take advantage of you.

This is practical. It’s only supposed to be practical. He wouldn’t be suggesting something this drastic if you both weren’t shaking like a rattlesnake’s rattler.

“Fine,” you say, already unwinding your scarf from around your neck. Determined to keep some semblance of boundaries up, you add, “No peeping, Miller.”

Joel makes an exasperated sound as you once again scoot out from his coat and across the bench, working yourself out of your shoes, your cotton zip-up, and then the stiff Keith’s uniform – a blue polo and jeans. Joel’s eyes are respectfully trained on the truck’s floor mats, which you’re only just now noticing has a sun-bleached Lisa Frank sticker tacked onto it. 

Down to your bra and panties, your heart rate picks up. Your fingers are so fucking cold that it’s hard to get your bra straps out of the way so you can unclasp the damned thing, and then it falls to the floor. Your nipples harden in the face of the cold. The only thing you keep is your scarf, which do you do your best to cover your tits with. Scooping up your discarded clothes and tossing them to the front seat, you let out a shaky breath.

Fuck it.

You shimmy out of your panties and get rid of them just as quickly. When you try telling Joel you’re decent, or rather indecent, nothing comes out. Instead, you have to clear your throat with a strained,  “All good.”

“Alright,” Joel says, rustling around. You hear his crocs scrape against the mat, and then his shirt swishing over his head.

He doesn’t tell you to look away, but since it’s implied, you look out of the window. The snowy trees tremble in the wind, and you almost wince when you see a small sliver of his tanned skin reflected in the glass. His crocs clunk on the ground when he kicks them off, and you watch his criminally tight t-shirt go flying over the passenger seat. You casually grip the Jesus handle, hoping that Joel doesn’t notice your fist tightening around it when you hear him untying the drawstrings of his sweatpants. When his sweats and boxers follow the path of his shirt, breathing gets a lot harder than you remember it being.

Just an hour ago, you’d been certain that this would be nothing more than a ten minute drive. Maybe, if you were lucky, he’d call you a casual pet name that would fuel the wriggling of your hand between your thighs that night. 

The tension in the air is thicker than molasses. Each breath you take is fragile.

“I’m ready when you are,” Joel says.

Since you’re already half-naked, and since chickening out is out of the question, you inch over to Joel’s side. The air tumbles out of your lungs in one fell swoop when your bicep meets his. With some fidgeting, you bring your legs up at an angle beneath you, wrapping around his side in a way that has you feeling a little bit like a koala. You talk yourself into keeping your eyes forward and then scrub your palms across your freezing arms.

Joel, more indifferent than you think anyone else in this situation could be, abruptly casts his coat back over the both of you.

And, fuck him, he’d been right. The engulfing canvas of his coat keeps warmth trapped where it can be passed easily between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just being confined and skin-to-skin with Joel that has you heating up.

The silence is cruel – it’s much harder to make conversation about work or dollhouses or whatever the hell else when you’re naked. Only the wind’s sibilance keeps you company.

You can get used to this, you think. Drift off into a somewhat sound sleep with your head on Joel’s shoulder and hope that you don’t drool all over him or moan his name in your sleep. More embarrassing things have happened to you.

But then, as if you’re the unluckiest person alive, the temperature drops even more, and suddenly, you’re shaking like a leaf all over again. Your teeth almost clack together as you try to stammer out to Joel, “C–cold, Jesus fucking… Christ that’s cold.”

Joel pouts down at you, but you don’t miss the way his lip quivers. “Should I call the wambulance?”

“Should I call the r–r–r–retirement home to pi…pick up a ru–runaway resident?” It sounded a lot better in your head than bouncing off of your frozen tongue, you have to admit.

“Drama queen,” Joel mutters into your ear. “Can’t do anythin’ more about it. Sorry–”

“Can I sit on your lap?” you blurt out so quickly that you don’t even have time to think about it. You grimace, partially covering your face with your hands. Shit.

Joel’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

You’re already half doomed. Why not go all the way? “Listen, it’s just fucking… fucking freezing, Joel. Holy shit.”

“That bad?” he chokes out.

“You’d be warmer than the seats,” you defend. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Best behavior.”

Joel seems to ponder it for a moment, brows stitched together while he looks down at you from where you’re furled up against his side. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek before giving you a slight nod. “Alright.” You nod in return, heart in your throat. “–But you better mean it when you say best behavior. Can’t have any ‘a this shit gettin’ back to your dad.”

Another nod. You hold your breath as you shinny your way onto Joel’s lap, mounting him from the front so his chest hits your back. In your attempt to get comfortable, you bracket your legs around his. His soft cock fits at the small of your back, and even though he’s as flaccid as can be, he’s big. Apparently your imagination isn’t too far off. Joel’s sharp intake of breath forms a pit in your stomach, and you know when you’re warming up for an entirely different reason than close proximity, you also know that you need to calm yourself down. Fast.

Think of something awful. Like that time that you had to dissect cow eyes in sophomore year biology. Think about mold. How many murderers you’ll walk by in your lifetime. Expired leftovers. Anything–

You adjust yourself in an attempt to get away from Joel’s cock. Instead, your hips move just so his cock slips between your thighs and bobs against your slit.

You whine.

Your body immediately locks up once you realize what you’ve done. Crawling out of the truck to die a hypothermia-induced death seems like a much kinder fate than facing Joel, but no matter how much you scream at yourself to reach out and unlock the door, your hands refuse to move. You hadn’t noticed how wet you’d gotten, and you have no idea how. It’s smeared across your thighs, and now pressed up against your back after Joel’s dick had dragged through it all.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit–

Chancing a look over your shoulder, you’re surprised to find the tips of Joel’s ears flushed, cheeks cherry ripe. His Adam’s apple bobs when you meet his eyes. Holy fuck.

You’ve flustered him.

For some reason, the thought makes your chest a lot lighter. You look away nonetheless, but this time, with a newfound gleam in your eye. There’s no such thing as a bad accident, right?

Maybe Liz was right about having to call 911, because when you ‘accidentally’ repeat the movement, Joel stops breathing all together. His cock, almost hard now, you’ve noticed, bumps against your clit. You almost swallow your tongue trying to keep your moan down.

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” he asks, his gruff voice scratching at your ears.

“I didn’t mean to,” you lie straight through your teeth, a smug little grin spreading on your face. Something about his semi-hard cock between your bodies tells you he’s going to say no to your next suggestion. “Maybe you should put the coat between us, instea–”

“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, girl?” Joel’s voice comes out raspy. He shakes his head, clears his throat. The vibrations rumble up your spine. “And take away the whole point of stayin’ warm? Now quit it. Ain’t that hard to sit still.”

You try your hand at listening – for all of two seconds.

You hike your hips up, fumbling with his coat as you slot his cock against your slit once more, pushing yourself forward. The coat slides right off of you, falling in a dark lump on the floor. Neither of you care — you’re both too heated for the lack of cover to make a damn difference. Joel hisses, a sound like water hitting an open flame. His hands fly down to your waist, anchoring you to his lap. A surprised noise squeaks out of you.

“What, you got rocks rattlin’ around in your brain?” Joel scowls. “You’re real impolite for a cocktease, sweetheart.”

Butterflies flap around in your stomach from his words. It’s enough to make your head tip against his chest so you can look up at him, lips shaped in a perfect pout. “I’m not,” you say.

“Not a cocktease, huh? Not even when you’re rubbin’ all over my lap?”

You gasp as your hands fly down to cover Joel’s, nails etching into where his fingers meet your bare skin. You tug at his wrist, trying desperately to guide him where you so desperately need him.

“Not happenin’,” Joel grunts, yanking your hands behind you and pinning them to your waist like you’re nothing more than a poseable doll. His large, work-worn hands make yours look damn near miniature as he holds you down. The sudden roughness douses your inner thighs with a new wave of wetness. “Jesus, girl. Poor thing, gettin’ all hot and bothered. Don’t blame ya for tryna get me to help out. Can feel ya dripping down my legs, gushin’ like a sprinkler.”

“S–sorry, fuck, ‘m sorry,” you whisper, words sticky with your arousal. Your clit twitches from his words, embarrassment and need doing all the work to keep you warm.

“Nahhh,” he says. “I don’t think you are, baby.” Maybe it’s the condescension he’s purring in your ear, maybe it’s the pet name; most likely, it’s a combination of both that has you convulsing in his lap. It’s like he’s found all of the right buttons to press to get you riled up, getting you back for all of your snide comments earlier. 

His fingers find the fabric of your scarf, luring it off of your neck so he can cord it around your wrists. You squirm when you realize what he’s doing, and a breathless huff of his laughter brushes your cheek. “I’ll be damned if you ain’t gonna be, though.” He draws it tight, tight enough for you to feel your pulses bumping into each other. Joel leaves a fair amount of your unreasonably long scarf loose.

“Joel, what the fuck are you up to?”

“Teachin’ you some sweet southern belle etiquette, darlin’. Such a goddamn troublemaker, grindin’ on me like I’m some kinda… frat boy.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “Pullin’ that shit with your pops’ friend. Real fuckin’ classy.”

“Like you’re so different. Who’s the one that’s tying me up? Huh, Mil–”

You hear the hit well before you feel it, a firm whack to your cunt that makes your vision blacken and electricity scurrying up your spine. It takes you a second to come back to yourself before a ragged cry pulls its way out of your lips. You jolt in his lap, bound arms bobbing in front of you as your body instinctively lurches for control. You damn near kick your feet, accidentally ricocheting yourself into Joel’s chest. His forearms hold you there. 

“Guess I’ll make it crystal clear for ya, baby, since that dumb lil’ head ‘a yours is havin’ some trouble. My truck, my rules. You’re ridin’ in it, ain’t you?” You nod reluctantly as he turns your words from earlier in his favor. “That was a warnin’, you showoff. Think you can bat your slutty ‘fuck me’ eyes an’ get away with murder.” He fucking tsks at you.

He pulls his hand away from your pussy, and you’re both surprised and not surprised at all to see it covered in your arousal, webbed between his calloused fingers. 

“Got a whole goddamn slip ‘n slide down here…” murmurs Joel. You whine, bucking your hips against him. “Oughta just…” he starts, nudging his cock towards your hole. The noise you make is pathetic. “Stop ya from ruinin’ my seats. Cork you right up.” You tense up, fully expecting the intrusion, but his dick passes your cunt right up, instead sliding up to meet your clit. It taps against your swollen nub, and if his goal was to stop you from ruining his seats, you’re certain he’s already failed with how quickly you gush all over the upholstery.

“But that’d be real nice, wouldn’t it? Givin’ ya what ya want so early on…” Instead of pulling away like you expect, Joel griiiinds the head of his cock against your clit. You moan helplessly, head falling back across his shoulder.

And then he does it again.

And again.

And agai–

“Joooooel,” you whine, knees jerking each time his tip meets your most sensitive spot. Heat spins in your stomach.

He backs his hips up “What? Thought you loved this with how much you were gettin’ at it earlier.”

You shake your head rapidly in the negative, chest rising and falling at a breakneck pace while he teases you.

“So you can deal, but you can’t play?”

“I think you’re just taking your sweet old time getting it up, old man,” you grit out, knowing damn well he’s stiffer than titanium behind you.

Joel hums. “Ah, she’s got jokes.” His cock slips back, quickly replaced by his hand engulfing your mound. Your clit twitches ever so slightly against his palm lines, and you’re almost convinced you could get off from that alone. His palm cracks against your cunt again, somehow even harder than the first time. You cry out, eyes burning from arousal and the slightest edge of pain.

With his thumbpad, he taps your clit like he’s just scrolling through the cable guide with a remote. Fleeting movements that have you wanting more more more. It heals the sting of his slap even if the echo of the hit still simmers in your stomach. Your cunt throbs so hard that it hurts, jumping up to meet Joel’s scarce ministrations.

When he retracts his hand, your hips chase the movement. “See this?” he taunts, fluttering his wet fingers in front of your face. You make a choked noise when his drenched middle finger breaches your lips. He doesn’t even need to tell you; you latch on and suck yourself off of his calloused skin. You’re mostly salty, but a little sweet, and tasting yourself on your own tongue by his insistence manages to make you even wetter.

Joel takes his spare fingers, just as soaked, and smears them all around your chin and lower cheeks. He presses down on your tongue as he does. You gag from the pressure, and you can’t hear his laugh over the roaring of your blood in your ears, but you feel it rattle his chest where it meets your spine. Your slick cools quickly against your burning skin, syrupy as it clings to your face. “Need a bib, baby?”

He pulls his finger from your mouth with a pop and your scarf-wrapped hands spring to wipe yourself from your lips, hoping to save yourself from the humiliation of having your own pussy juice anointing your face. You only scoop up a little before Joel lowers his forearm over yours, but for once, you’re faster than him. You swipe your wet hand over his mouth, smudging as much as you can along the scruff surrounding his mouth.

He wraps a burly hand in the scarf and yanks your hands back into place. All you can do in response is giggle, but the breath is swiftly knocked out of you when he drives his cock right into your clit. “Think you’re funny, don’t ya?” He asks, and finally grunts as he rolls his hip into you. A break in his resolve, a sign that he wants this, or at least the discipline of this, as badly as you do.

You almost weep from the pressure, that rope of pleasure in your stomach that he keeps knotting tighter and tighter and tighter with each stroke of his cock, his fingers. “Joel!” you cry out as he follows it up with another firm swat to your clit. His cock spreads your folds as he softens the bashing, nuzzling his tip against your spasming cunt.

“Really, oughta give standup a go one ‘a these days. Be a real hotshot.”

“Oh yeah?” you pant, light headed and woozy.

“Mhm. If the whole crowd’s drunk.” His cock nudges your nub with a new vigor.

“Assh–”

Right as you’re about to press down and follow the sensation, Joel senses it. His cock gives way through your cheeks, just in time for him to land a ruthless slap across your pussy. It’s harder than the others – makes your ears ring for a second, gives you a sort of visual snow that has you doubling over and gripping at the closest object for purchase, which just so happens to be the metal rods coming out of the headrest. 

“Ain’t what you should be sayin’ if you’re plannin’ on gettin’ what you want, sugar,” Joel tuts. He shakes his head at you. “Don’t wanna hear no lip from ya, girl.”

You open your mouth, argument on the tip of your drool-loaded tongue, but your halfhearted attempt at defiance doesn’t last long. Joel’s hand clamps around your chin, denting your skin into your teeth. He jerks your head to face him, knocking you down a peg with scathing eye contact. “You’re pushin’ it.” He loosens his grip.

“As if, Miller. If those pre-Cold War condoms are anything to go by, you’ve been dying for a chance to get your dick wet. Doesn’t matter how much lip I give you, you aren’t gonna blue ball yourself for much longer.” Satisfied, you raise your brows at him.

Turns out, he is going to blue ball himself for much longer, because he lands six slaps in rapid succession across your sopping cunt. The skin smarts, and you cry out. Your grip tightens around the headrest rod to the point of strangling it. Your eyes water, and you can’t tell if you’re crying. Too consumed by Joel, everything has melted into him – the smell of sawdust perpetually sewn into his skin, his cock sealed against your body.

“How many times are ya gonna poke the bear before you learn your lesson, you cheeky little shit?” Joel’s palm cups the inside of your right thigh, just above the knee. He traces circles with his thumb, and heat trails after him with everywhere he touches. “See, the thing about havin’ ‘pre-Cold War condoms’ is that I’ve had a helluva lot more time to learn self control than you. Can wait as loooooong as it takes for you to get your head on right. Don’t matter if you’re waterfallin’ down my seats or not, pretty girl. I’m giving you exactly what ya deserve.”

You whimper, trying (and failing) to get your magma hot core closer to Joel’s unfairly large hand, still splayed out on your inner thigh. You can’t stop how you squirm in his lap, smearing your arousal everywhere with each movement you make.

At a snail’s pace, his hand begins to inch up your leg. Joel pauses to grope at you as his hand travels upward. Handfuls of your skin, rubbing at your scalding hot thighs. Your patience is wearing thin by the time he gets midway there. You need him to touch you. And that’s just the tip of this impossibly destructive iceberg.

You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have let him go down this shitty backroad, shouldn’t have agreed to your dad’s ridiculous idea of Joel picking you up, shouldn’t have asked to be naked on his lap, shouldn’t have gotten naked on his lap, shouldn’t be leaking like a twenty-year-old pipe in a building he’d been hired to renovate. If your dad ever finds out–

“Joel, please, please – plea…” you trail off, dissolving into incoherent whimpers as his hand hovers over your cunt. You’re running hotter than a radiator now, and if you both wanted to be warm, then you’ve got your wish. Although mostly gibberish, Joel has to understand what you want from him. It’s just that the bastard is unwilling to provide.

Joel reaches down to pinch your clit, and your body can’t even discern from pleasure and pain anymore. You react the same to it all, back arching as you try desperately to plant yourself on his cock. “Shhh, shhh, quit runnin’ your filthy mouth. Only gonna get yourself into more trouble.”

You swear you hear angels singing, swear you see the pearly gates when he gives your clit a merciful rub. Melting into him, you exhale shakily.

“See? All nice ‘n quiet when she’s gettin’ what she wants.” You wouldn’t even dream of mouthing off to him now.

“I want – I need…” you gasp out, putty in his hands. Moldable to his liking. Everything you’d pretended not to want.

“Go on,” he coos. “Tell daddy what you need.”

You don’t even hear him say that word. You’re too hooked on begging, begging, begging. “Please – Joel, oh god, please – I need… I need… please please please, fuck, it hurts–”

Joel clicks his tongue. “Nuh uh. Start over. Always such a chatterbox ‘cept for when I need ya to be.”

“Wha…?” you ask, admittedly dazed from the harsh treatment that you’ve come to crave more of.

“Tell daddy what you need,” he repeats, words molasses slow.

You clench, gushing even more all over him. Shit, your next paycheck might have to go to replacing the goddamn seats if you keep up like this.

“D–D… D-” you start stammering out, but you’ve lost autonomy over your body long ago, and apparently that goes for your tongue, too. “Da– Da… pl–”

“Any day now,” he scoffs.

“Daddy!” you spit out all at once. “Please, please, daddy, fuck – fuck me, daddy, please, I want your cock, daddy. Feels so fucking big. Need it daddy, it hurts… please, ngh– daddy!” Tears are burning the corners of your eyes, fueled almost entirely by arousal and partially by frustration. You squirm, cunt crying all over the place. 

“M’kay, baby,” he says. Running a hand down your chest and squeezing your nipple on the way down. He slides his hand down your stomach to cup your mound, giving your clit slow, gentle circles. Your hips jump forward, and this time, he doesn’t stop you. “Daddy’s got ya.”

At the first intrusion of his middle finger in your cunt, you jump. It’s a lot compared to what he’s been giving you, but nowhere near enough. A second finger slips inside. He doesn’t have to do much work to stretch you out — you’ve been seeping out of you since you first got on his lap. He’s all too quick thrusting them in and out of you – the messy squelch of your pussy filling the backseat has you burying your chin against your chest, averting your eyes. The heel of his palm bumps persistently at your clit with each shift of his fingers inside of you.

“I know you ain’t a virgin, but you’re soakin’ like one. Too damn cocksure to ain’t have had a cock in ya before. Prancin’ around like a glorified dick trap.” You inhale sharply when his fingers scrape that spongy spot inside of you that you can never reach yourself. A moan rips out of you. The combination of him talking down to you and rubbing your g-spot has you dangerously close to cumming. Your moan is quickly swallowed up by more of Joel’s condescension. 

He starts mumbling to himself then, obscenities that make you clench even tighter around his fingers. “Gonna get you all sore baby, make you regret beggin’ for this dick like a horny ‘lil bitch that ain’t ever been laid in her life. Fuck you so hard you’ll be cryin’ for daddy’s cock up your ass instead, turn you into an anal slut, too.” He’s too busy listening to himself talk, too absorbed in his own world to feel you balancing on that razor-thin edge.

The noise you make is inhuman. You pulse around him, doing your best to stave off your impending release. “Daddy–” you warn, but he cuts you off then, too. Joel grinds his cock between your ass cheeks, his precum dripping down your slit to meet your trembling cunt. 

“Ever been fucked here before baby?” He swipes his tip along your asshole, and the way you shudder is answer enough for him. “Don’t get all jumpy, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna fuck ya there right now. Be cruisin’ for a bruisin’.” Still, he replaces his tip with his free hand’s thumb, simply rubbing at the ring of muscle. You fidget in his lap without an end-goal. You just want to be close to him, want to take everything he’s willing to give you. His fingers hook just right inside of you. “Would love to be the first to unlock this pretty backdoor. If this tight ‘lil pussy’s anything to go by… Christ. You’d look so pretty squirmin with my cock in your ass, baby–”

“Daddy!” You scream as your orgasm guts you. His fingers and his voice rip your climax right out of you and your cum streams down your inner thighs and Joel’s hand, still smacking against your clit with each thrust. Your cunt spasms around his flexing fingers. He has to fold an arm over your chest to keep you from sliding off his slippery lap entirely.

All the way through the aftershocks that make your limbs quake, Joel holds you upright against his body, still bumping his palm and fingertips against your clit and g-spot. You swear you can feel him smiling against your shoulder.

“Didn’t tell ya you could cum, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, flicking his cum covered finger across your clit. You wince in overstimulation, a whine catching in your throat.

“‘M sorry, daddy,” you pant. His hands go up to 

“‘S okay, babygirl. Pretty pussy couldn’t help it when I was talkin’ ‘bout fuckin’ your ass, huh?” His hands rove up your stomach to play with your tits, palming and stroking, getting his hands all over every carnal part of you.

You hum into his bicep, “Mmmm.”

“That’s alright. Don’t mean you’re gettin’ away with a slap on the wrist though. C’mon, up,” he guides with a small slap to your thigh. You adjust, bringing yourself onto your knees so he can enter you from behind. You look down at his sturdy thighs, flexing as he adjusts himself between your legs. He gives you one more teasing thrust through your thighs, poking your oversensitive clit one more time before reaching down to spread your folds.

You moan as he presses against your entrance, and it’s not the best time to have a come to Jesus moment, but – Joel’s size was in no way over exaggerated between your legs. You stiffen in realization, and Joel, attentive as always, notices. He guides your chin to face him and nuzzles his nose up against yours, mouth tracing down to your lips. Your breath mingles, stagnant in the long-forgotten chill. A cushion of softness against all of his spiky edges that showed up tonight. “You’re on top, baby. Take it as slow or as fast as ya want.”

Nodding at the reminder, you find yourself that you don’t want to take it slow. You want to be as sore as he’d promised, want to feel him for days and be reminded of this every time you look at the winter morning’s frost on the shingles outside.

Sinking down over his throbbing length yanks the air out of your lungs as you seat yourself with him bottoming out and going balls deep in your cunt simultaneously. He grunts against you in surprise, softening the blow of your heady moan. “Attagirl,” he huffs into the crease between your neck and shoulder. It’s a stretch, searing up your thighs and to your lower back. You’re brought back to yourself when Joel rolls his hips into you, making the pain liquefy into mind-numbing pleasure. You spend thirty seconds waiting for him to fuck up into you in a way that changes your philosophy around the world, but instead, he’s still and solid inside of you.

“Go on,” Joel coaxes, placing a steady hand just shy of your mound. “Gotta prove you deserve to cum again.” He taps your thigh as if he’s telling you to giddy up, and the shame warms the back of your neck better than any heater ever could.

You whimper. His hands coast up your thighs, squeezing your hips tight before falling to grip the seats below. You’re still weak from your last orgasm, shaky legs struggling to hold yourself up as it is. “Daddy… I can’t…” 

“Ain’t no different than fuckin’ y’self on that vibrator or dildo or whatever the fuck’s in your nightstand. Girl like you, gotta have a wimpy ‘lil fucktoy somewhere.” His words make you clench around him, and he groans into your neck. Joel looks up at the front window, now covered in snowflakes. He smirks when he spots the rearview mirror. “Oughta make you watch yourself. Show a pathetic, cockstarved slut what happens when she bites off more than she can chew.” At that, you mewl, grinding yourself down. The chuckle he lets out is lined with cruelty.

Joel pins you to his chest with one burly arm and leans forward with a hash of grunts from effort. He reaches out towards the rearview mirror, lowering it to face the middle seat that you’re both braced on. He sinks back quickly, and it almost gives you whiplash before you make eye contact with yourself. You can see everything. Tremors travel up your legs and into your arms. Your body is getting freezer burn from how cold and hot you are at the same time. Pleasured tears threaten to spill over your waterline. Joel’s smug fucking face as he murmurs endlessly at you. 

Your mouth is parted as you take yourself in, truly a pathetic, pretty little picture as you pant. “C’mon,” Joel coaxes, squeezing your ass. “You can do it. Make daddy proud. I’ll even give you a boost.” Joel reaches to your tied hands and quickly undoes the scarf, letting it drop to the floor. You flex your fingers and then reach out for the chairs ahead to get a good grip.

You prop yourself up on your knees, anchoring yourself to the two chairs in front of you. Using a combination of your upper and lower body strength, you rise halfway off of Joel’s cock before your body gives out. His balls slap wetly against your clit. He laughs, still not touching you at all. Your head flops forward as you look down to where the two of you meet, and then at the mirror where his cock is buried deep inside of you. You whine in dismay.

He wasn’t lying when he said he was going to get you sore. You can only moan. It’s pleasure like you’ve never had it before – too much, not enough, painful, so good. “Please, Joel – I can’t… can’t handle it.”

“I’ll decide what you can handle,” he says.

“You’re– you’re so fucking mean,” you rasp.

“Gets you this soaked, baby. Don’t see your pussy complainin’. You love bein’ treated like a piece ‘a meat. Like a little fleshlight for men to fuck.”

You clench, tight. “Ah!” Joel fucking sniggers behind you, but a rush of confidence spills through you at the underlying moan in his throat.

Determined to get what you want, you tighten your grip on the front seats. Haul yourself up, almost so that the tip slips right out, and then collapse back onto Joel’s cock. And, shit, it’s a lot. You doubt you could handle his cock in missionary, but being made to ride him in such a compromising position, sprawled out across his shitty backseat? That’s an entirely different animal, one that you hadn’t expected to have to handle.

You focus on doing just enough to please him and just enough to keep yourself intact. You repeat your movements two or three times, rising and falling. Little moans and whimpers, some pained, some good when he nudges your g-spot just right, slip in and out of you.

“Mmmm, yeah, that’s it. Daddy’s ‘lil wannabe pocket pussy. Doin’ a ‘lil better baby. Keep doin’ that. Jus’ keep doin’ that.”

You’re shaking like a leaf on his cock as you somehow manage to lift yourself another time before fucking back on him. “Daaaddy.” Your lips quiver as you form the word. A single tear runs down your face from overexertion, and he’s quick to wipe it up with his thumb as if it was never there. You look truly whorish and pathetic, just like he’d wanted, bouncing on his cock with the last of the energy you have left in you.

His tip jabs against that goddamn spot again, and you double over on the center console. You take heaving breaths, making eye contact with yourself in the mirror, desperate to please as you attempt to keep humping him with the change in angle. You’re letting out strings of disoriented words, but barely can tell that you’re talking.

“I fuck you dumb already? Slutty little girl. Told ya you were in for it. Ain’t ever had much of a knack for listenin’. Gonna dick you down now, sweet girl.” He drags your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding you upright for him as he shifts to his knees between your legs. Braced on the center console with your pussy settled on his cock, the new angle makes you cry out. You hold yourself up on your elbows, giving shallow rolls of your hips in return as Joel gets settled inside of you.

The first thrust makes your eyes roll back so far that you see black. “Feel good?”

“So… so fu–fucking goo… good daddy,” you whimper into the console, gripping the sides of it just so you have something to hold onto.

“Swallowin’ daddy’s dick whole in this greedy cunt. Goddamn, drippin’ down my fuckin’ balls. Such a masochistic slut, all after a poundin’ from an old man. All up in a tizzy for this cock.”

You moan your agreement, completely submissive to Joel’s wills. You move like a ragdoll for him, letting him yank you back on his cock while he meets you there, thrust for thrust. He pulls out, a small mercy, but when he sheathes himself back inside of you in full, it’s the beginning of a punishing pace.

You don’t even notice yourself drooling all over the console until Joel says something about it. “Droolin’ from two places. Yeah, baby, you needed this. Daddy’s pretty cockslut.” You whine especially loudly when Joel drags you back across the console, damn near fast enough to give your stomach rugburn. 

Hands framing your spread legs, Joel hooks them both around his torso, using the leverage to plow into you. You’re boneless beneath him, mouth frozen in silent moans. His hips meet your ass with each shove of his cock in your sloppy cunt, the obscene sound of slap after slap pealing out within the truck. “Damn lucky we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Joel growls on another thrust. “Someone woulda been knockin’ on the window long time ago with how loud you’re bein’.”

“Mmph,” you gasp when Joel tosses one of your legs up and over the passenger seat. You hold yourself there as he digs his fingers into your other thigh, shifting his spare hand to your mound.

“Daddy please please please plea–” you start panting like a broken record, desperate to feel his hand on your clit, which throbs with inattention on the console. You grind frantically on the edge just in case he denies you again. 

Joel laughs above you, fully smudging two fingers across your clit in a blur of indescribable pleasure. “Ain’t gonna make ya beg this time. Can’t wait to feel ya creamin’ ‘round me… maybe I’ll make ya lick that up too. Nasty bitch.”

“Joooel, oh fuck, please…” you whine as he continues railing you, this time fiercely tweaking your clit in-time with his movements.

The new position has his thrusts meeting your cervix, and you scream, pleasure corkscrewing through your body. There’s nowhere for all of it to go with how viciously it burns in your stomach – all you can do is take it and whine for him. “Takin’ it real good. See what happens when ya behave? You get this fat cock splittin’ your whore cunt in two, jus’ like you were askin’ for.”

He grips your hip tight, clearly expecting an answer. You slur, “Mhm, daddy!”

Joel rubs faster circles around your clit, spouting filth while he drills your pussy. You can tell he’s chasing his own release, too, hips frantically fucking in and out of you, his cock twitching every single time you clench. You’re burning up as he jackhammers your pussy. Your second orgasm of the night brims low in your stomach, “Come on, baby, know you’re close. Feel this slutty pussy squeezin’ me. You gonna ask permission like a good girl this time, or are ya gonna go back to your defiant little slut self?”

“No, daddy,” you whimper, suspended in thin air over orgasmic bliss. He’s rubbing your clit erratically, doing everything he can to hold you in place. “P-please daddy, can I come?” You practically scream it out.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Come for daddy’s, come allll over daddy’s cock.”

The band snaps. Your back arches, and you feel time stop in the second before you fall slack on the console, spasming from the best orgasm of your fucking life. Your clit feels like there’s fucking pop rocks on it, something that not even your vibrator has ever achieved. “Thank you daddy!” you cry out, repeating it as you lose all feeling in your bones. You hardly have any control over your body anymore – it’s just Joel Joel Joel Joel. Sated and weary, you just lay there, letting Joel fuck into you.

And fuck into you he does – roughly, helping you ride out your orgasm as he pursues his. “That’s my girl,” he says, and you swear that alone could make you cum all over again. “Lettin’ your daddy use this juicy, well-fucked cunt to get his own.” He can’t hold back his moans, that’s how you know he’s close, grunting and gasping as he rocks his hips into yours. His hand lands on your ass in a sharp smack, and your pussy clenches in exactly the way that he expected. He lets out a particularly ragged noise, folding himself over you to nip at your neck and rest his forehead against your shoulder blade. “Daddy’s close, where do ya want me, baby?”

“Tits,” you whine. It’s a miracle you can even get that one word out, but somehow, you manage a few more. “Come on my tits, daddy.”

“Fuck!” Joel shouts, yanking himself over you. You help him roll yourself over and sit up on your elbows, and he jerks himself once, twice, before spraying his load all over your tits with the loudest groan yet. His brows fold together as he cums, eyes drooping and his mouth parted as he takes deep breaths.

You sit there for a handful of heavy minutes, listening to each other’s jagged breathing and the sawtoothed wind outside. You’re both so fucked. Literally, and figuratively. Stuck in the buttfuck middle of nowhere, you with your dad’s proclaimed bestie’s cum drying on your tits, and said bestie staring at you with post-coital puppy dog eyes and your cum all over his balls.

You’re the first to speak up, still winded. “That was… that was good.”

Joel nods mindlessly, tongue swiping out to lick his lips. He beckons you closer, and on trembling legs, you bring yourself to the backseat. You return to your previous position, huddled up and curled next to the door. Joel fumbles around under the back bench for a little until he comes up with a small, sunbleached pack of princess-themed pocket tissues that have to be as old as Sarah is. He dabs at your chest before stuffing them into the closest empty cupholder, and then brings you closer to his chest.

You don’t notice yourself falling asleep when all you can feel is Joel.

There’s better ways to wake up than a furious rapping on the window, but that isn’t the first thing you notice. You blink your eyes open groggily, only to face an egg yolk sun cracking wide open over the treeline and snowmelt bleeding out from every given surface. Joel’s behind you, nose in your neck, snoring softly with his arms wrapped around your middle. You take a moment to admire him – his sun kissed skin and his peaceful expression. It takes you a moment to remember you slept with him. You slept with Joel, and it was the best fuck of your life.

You’re stretching, on the verge of a yawn, when you see the familiar head of black hair over the window. “Shit!” you shout. Joel jerks to life behind you, mumbling something that sounds a lot like ‘what?’. 

You scramble to pull the coat over the both of you from where it fell off of you in the middle of the night, covering your naked bodies. “Get dressed!” you hiss to Joel, searching for wherever the fuck your panties ended up last night.

“What the hell’s gotten into ya–” he starts, and you feel the exact moment that he realizes Tommy Miller is outside of the truck. “Motherfucker,” he curses, swaying towards the front seat to snag his clothes. You see him almost put his head through his T-shirt armhole three times before he gets it right. His sweatpants are next, which he tugs up his bare legs without even searching for his boxers.

“Joel?” Tommy shouts outside. “Wake up, sleepin’ beauty!” He knocks on the door again, the windows blurry from melting snow. You have that to thank, at least. It buys you enough time to tug your polo over your head, but not enough time to button it all the way up.

“Fuckin’... dumbass,” Joel huffs as he clips the lock on the door and kicks it open, looking at least somewhat composed. You take deep breaths, looking between the two of them. “How’d you find us?”

Tommy looks Joel up and down, scrutinizing him. “What happened to southern gentleman manners? I came out here to save ya from Mt. Everest, brother! Least you could say is ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you,” you fill in for Joel, even if the last thing you’re feeling is grateful.

“Her daddy threw a hissy fit, y’know? Told him you were fine and we’d go lookin’ for ya in the mornin’. We saw all that backup on the highway, I went this way, he went that way, turns out my gut was right. ‘Course my dumbass brother would take this route… hey, you’re truck’s a fuckin’ mess.” Tommy sinks his hand into the closest cupholder, pulling out a wad of tissues that have been soaked in his cum. You hiss as if you’ve been scalded with boiling hot water.

Joel starts, “Tommy–”

“What the fuck is this shit?” The realization seems to dawn on poor Tommy when he’s peeling apart the tissues, and he drops them like they’re a thousand pounds. You can’t even bring yourself to scold him for littering as the wind carries them away. “Joel. You dirty dog!” He says, eyes flitting between the two of you like it’s the most impossible thing in the world.

Your heart picks up to a speed that can rival most NASCAR drivers and your face burns like hot asphalt. You look pointedly down at the ground.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel seethes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get outta here, you little shit.”

Tommy’s hands go up. “Hey now, I ain’t doin’ anything. That is not a conversation I wanna have with her daddy.” He clears his throat, effectively clearing the air along with it. “So, uh, truck break down?” Joel grunts in affirmation.

“Been tellin’ ya you need to make a stop at the auto shop… C’mon, I’ll get y'all home,” Tommy says, jingling the keys to his own truck. “Call a tow on the way.”

Joel drags his feet all the way to Tommy’s passenger side. You get your wallet and jacket together, winding the latter around your waist. The sun almost blinds you on your way out, and Tommy stops you.

“I hope you didn’t let ‘im stick it to ya with them prehistoric condoms. You’re smarter ‘n that.”

“God, no,” you huff out.

“I dunno what’s stupider, lettin’ my asshole brother hit it raw or gettin’ a UTI–”

“Okay!” you announce, hands going up as you round the back of Tommy’s truck. “Conversation over.” You’re still smiling playfully at Tommy as you clamber into the back of the truck, sighing when the air conditioner hits.

Just like that, back to the same old same old sunny, shithole state of Texas. Joel looks at you in the rearview mirror and winks at you. You guess not everything has to stay the same these days.

[ineedtogetalife11]

You Can't Do That- Leo Valdez x F! Poseidon cabin reader.

summary: your older brother Percy doesn't take to kindly to you dating his ex crewmate....

Warnings: Cursing, Kissing,Boo spoilers, hot shirtless latinos, slight mention of sex, but this is after the war, so percy is 18. Slight ooc characters maybe

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the Giant War, everyone's guard had been high, but after a few months, it mostly passed, and life returned to normal. Except for one thing: you had a boyfriend now, when Leo finally killed Gaia, and died, you had been devastated, but when he flew put of the sky, you had been ecstatic. You admitted your feelings for him, which he returned. But that didn't mean that you didn't get the occasional nightmare.

Percy didn't kill Leo after you guys started dating, but he did hand out some colorful death threats, and start stalking monitoring you and Leo on a daily basis.

One night, when Percy was fucking around hanging out in the Athena Cabin, you had a nightmare, Gaia had rosen back and had taken her revenge on Leo. You shot up, and saw that Percy, who usually helped you through your rough nights, wasn't here,

'Oh yeah, he's busy having his own rough night' you thought. You decided to run to the Hephestus cabin to visit Leo.

"Mamacita?" Leo asked sleepily as you shook him awake. "What's up?" You hung your head.

"I- uh, I had a nightmare." Leo sat up.

"Ah, y/n, mamacita, I'm so sorry" he comforted you. "Come on, you can lay here." He said as he scooted over. You climbed into his bed and snuggled into him. And that's when you realized he had no shirt on.

'Oh' you thought slightly staring. He noticed and laughed

"Did you come here to get comfort or did you come to stare at my abs?" You suddenly felt warm.

"I can do both" you retorted he laughed and pulled you closer. He patted your head and you both eventually fell asleep.

~le time skip~

"WHAT THE FUCK!!" You and Leo started awake. You looked up. It was Percy.

"Oh shit" you muttered "Hey Percy!" you smiled

"DON'T 'HEY PERCY' ME Y/N!" you dropped your smile. You could see that this was not going to be easy. Leo shrunk back behind you.

"Coward," you muttered. "WHAT?" You yelled back.

"What are you doing in here?" Percy fired. You opened your mouth to respond, but he had more to say. " What were you doing last night?""Why is Leo shirtless, and why aren't you wearing pants?!" He asked, which made you aware that you were wearing a big t-shirt and underwear.

"Oh my Gods Percy-" you started but he cut you off.

"Were you guys, oh my gods, you're too young, you can't do that!" You felt yourself heat up, and Leo burnt his pants off too.

"NO!" You screamed. "It just got hot at night, so I took off my sweatpants!" " And since we're on that subject, what were YOU doing in the Athena Cabin last night?!" Percy blushed, and you were all suddenly aware that the entirety of the Hephestus cabin was watching.

"Nothing to see here!" Leo said unconvincingly

You glared and kissed him on the cheek. You pulled on your sweatpants. "Bye Leo." You did awkwardly. He waved an tried not to burn his boxers off. Peexy pulled you out of the cabin.

Lets say, that the three of you never brought that up again. But that didn't mean you stopped doing it.

[notsentimentalll]

Joel Miller Masterlist

NONE OF THIS FANFICTIONS ARE MINE!

I've been reading for a while and I want to keep track of the best things I've read, while also sharing. So, I will be upgrading this constantly! Main masterlist here

Joel's children by absurdthirst

One night together in Jackson leads to the discovery that Joel is going to be a father again, right as he lets Ellie back into his heart. Only for that to be threatened when you all meet up with the Fireflies again.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, shower sex, vaginal sex, pregnancy, vomiting, angst, mentions of medical procedures, murder, Joel being ruthless for those he loves.

Subscribe by joelmillerisapunk

When Joel accidentally stumbles upon your only fans he convinces himself he's only subscribing to help you through college. And then you send him his top-tier subscriber personal video and he's fucked because you don't even know it's him your dad's best friend.

Warnings: Reader has an only fans, unprotected p in v, f!andm! oral receiving, age gap (at least 10 years), reader is in her 20's, alcohol consumption, there's a dick pic, reader posts nudes of herself on her OF, two consenting adults.

Her bodyguard, His shining star by mermaidgirl30

You’re performing at Coachella, throwing winks and flirting with your eyes as Joel Miller watches you from the side of the stage. He’s your bodyguard, and he should know better, but he wants you just as much as you want him.

Warnings: Fluff, flirting, pining, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, cute pet names, unprotected p in v, switching POVs, reader is a singer, Joel is a bodyguard, reader has long hair, large age gap (reader is 25, Joel is 44).

Wrong delivery by bitchesuntitled

Sleepin' with the hot construction guy doing the remodel at your work, he winds up buying flowers for someone else...

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. No outbreak/pre outbreak(you decide), fluff, smut, miscommunication, cussing, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv, cream pie, Joel being a dork.

I run to you by backtothefanfiction

When your abusive ex turns up drunk on your doorstep, yet again, there’s only one person you can turn to.

Warnings: Angst, implied past domestic assault, high school sweethearts, hurt/comfort, make out session.

Have a good night by punkshort

Every week like clockwork, the same devastatingly handsome man comes into the grocery store where you work to buy flowers. It's not until he asks you out when you realize the flowers aren't for his wife or girlfriend.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, language, flirting, alcohol and food consumption, smut (18+ MDNI), protected piv sex, size kink, shy!joel, fluff, mutual pining, cringy/embarrassing crush interactions.

Grays by mrsmando

You wanted to show Joel just how much he means to you. 

Warnings: jackson!joel, unspecified age gap (20+ years), but reader is of course an adult, established relationship, cursing, spicy thoughts & happenings, joel miller will never play golf here, 18+ mdni.

Papi chulo by yxtkiwiyxt

You and Joel take your first vacation away from Sarah after becoming parents and discover that you like using a new nickname on your incredibly sexy husband.

Warnings: Established relationship, fluff, flirting, kissing, language, brief insecurity about body post baby, alcohol, teasing, size kink? dirty talk, fingering, papi kink (aka daddy kink), 3 punani slaps, sex on a yacht, unprotected p in v sex, praise, pet names, latino!actor!Joel.

Maybe someday by bingbongsupremacy

You've been hardcore crushing on your neighbor Joel Miller since the day he, Tess and Ellie arrived in Jackson. Rumor has it he's in a relationship with Tess. Maybe someday he'll finally return your feelings.

Warnings: Unspecified.

Summer's in the air and baby, heaven's in your eyes by love4pascal

Just another barbecue at the Miller's, right?

Warnings: Fluff, age gap (readers 26 & Joel is 33) Joel and reader have been friends for 4 years so, Fake dating, creepy neighbors husband, protective!joel for like 2 seconds.

Joel's secret love by joelastofus

Joel is secretly in love with Tommy’s girlfriend and comforts her while his brother is in jail. God, Joel didn’t know what the hell you saw in his brother or more so how the hell Tommy could get a woman like yourself.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, protective!Joel.

Owned by milla-frenchy

Just smut

Warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap, infidelity, daddy kink, possessiveness, piv, creampie

Harvest moon by joelmillersmunch

Joel Miller can't keep his eyes off of you. And damn, that ass is nice.

Warnings: Fluff, some cussing, ass staring. Mostly just Joel Miller being in love and Tommy Miller being a little shit. Age gap, but both reader and Joel are grown adults (like reader is 30s Joel is early 50s) Joel has some anxiety, but nothing too descriptive. Canon divergence.

Diehard by gutsby

Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Warnings: Unprotected p-in-v. Erectile dysfunction. Daddy kink. Praise kink if you squint. Overstimulation. Cumplay. She/her pussy pronouns. Pushing physical limits with a pre-negotiated safe word in place for it.

Ruined! by gutsby

Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.

But daddy I love him by talaok

You and Joel shouldn't be together. According to the people in Jackson, he's a bad, cruel, crazy man, and yet... he's all you ever wanted.

Warnings: smut (unprotected p in v), angst, blood, physical fight (?), happy ending (cause of course)

Series

Trial & error by thetriumphantpanda

 Tommy has always been the loyal and doting boyfriend, the literal man of your dreams. Ready to take things to the next step, you soon find that Tommy is unable to have children. A family is all you've ever wanted, and neither of you are going to let this get in your way. Enter Joel, dark and mysterious and willing to do anything for his little brother, including fucking his girlfriend to get her pregnant. That's what brothers are for, right?

Warnings: Tommy Miller x f!reader x Joel miller. Pre/No Outbreak AU. Talk of infertility, mention of consuming alcohol, Breeding kink, girlfriend sharing. Several other warning vary. 

Roomates by punkshort

Your roommate, Maria, introduces you to her boyfriend's brother. You hit it off immediately, but when you find out the true nature of his profession, you both decide to remain just friends. But once the four of you eventually move in together, lines get blurred.

Warnings: No outbreak -au-. Pornstar!Joel Miller x f!reader. Language, smut (18+ MDNI), slow burn, cigarette use, some descriptions of porn (obviously), angst, mutual pining, jealousy, possessive behavior, infidelity (reader cheating on OC), alcohol use.

 But I would die for you in secret by wheresarizona 

The relationship you have with Joel Miller is... complicated, and you're not entirely sure what to even call it. There's the fact no one can know, so his kid doesn't find out, and you're pretty sure he's ashamed of your age difference—he's not your boyfriend, but you only fuck each other; this thing started months ago, and Joel does not like it when men give you attention, because he wants you all to himself. But again, he's not your sexy, older boyfriend.

Warnings: Explicit smut (18+), no y/n, alternating pov, porn with some plot, Possessive Joel Miller, Dominant Joel Miller, age gap (unspecified, reader is an adult), secret relationship, sneaking around, accidental voyeurism, orgasm denial, mutual masturbation, dirty talk (so much), oral sex (f & m receiving), deepthroating, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), rough sex, creampie, spanking, spit as lube, biting, love confession, Good Parent Joel Miller, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, TLOU AU where Joel doesn't lie to Ellie and they're good when they get back to Jackson.

[st4rymoon]

Guardian angel miguel 😳👀

🤫 guardian angel/stalker mig….

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 ・𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘖'𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

- 18+, fluff, “guardian angel” Miguel but this is giving more stalkerish, book geeks, kissing, language, p in v, unprotected sex, rough Miguel, breeding kink, genetically made for each other <3, protective Miguel, lap fucking, BD Mig, oblivious reader, praise kink

Miguel always found you fascinating. Whether that be the way your sweet scent intoxicated him or the lack of self-awareness you had, it didn’t matter.

He was always on the sidelines, watching you from afar as you went about your day. He didn’t know why he took it upon himself to make sure nothing happened to you but he couldn’t help but worry about you after seeing you in his universe.

You were blissfully unaware of the ruby-red eyes that protected you as you walked out of your insufferable job. Miguel smiled as you bent down and pet a stray cat, watching you coo as the cat leaned into your palm.

Miguel’s eyes darted to a shadow walking towards you, eyes narrowing at the figure as it grew closer. You waved goodbye to the cat as you got up and made your way back home.

Still completely unaware of the fact that Miguel had a man wrapped in a choke hold in the alleyway a few steps away.

He made sure you got home safely, following behind you and making sure you locked the door.

That’s how most days went, Miguel would make sure you never got hurt but he never got too close.

Until he did.

You were scanning through the rows of books, about 5 books already in hand as you eagerly read through the spines of books. Miguel walked into the bookstore, eyes already in your direction as he walked through the aisles.

He was scanning through the science books, telling himself he might as well. Your eyes widened as you walked into the same section, stunned by the tall, brown-haired, Latino Ken doll right in front of you.

Your eyes darted down as he shot up. Miguel almost jumped at the sight of you standing at the end of the aisle with your head down low. He knew you were looking at him and he loved it.

You grabbed a few books on physics which caught Miguel’s eye. It was interesting to see Wuthering Heights and a book about psychics in the same pile together.

“Emily Brontë and Stephen Hawking in the same pile is something I thought I’d never see” Miguel spoke with a smile as he glared down at the books in your arms.

“Oh I- yeah, I mean why can’t I have a love for literature and science at once?” You chuckled “Hey I’m not judging, just an interesting pile” Miguel shrugged playfully.

“And you have… Principles of Biochemistry with some more chemistry books. Science lover, not much on the literature” you hummed as you took a look at the stack of books in his hands.

“Hey, I still love my classics, Frankenstein, The Great Gatsby, and Crime and Punishment. I’m not all science”

You laughed at the way he jokingly raised a hand in the air “Good to know” you smiled as you looked down at your feet.

“You got any book recommendations?” Miguel asked, trying his best to not pay too much attention to how he towered over you. “I always do, have you read the picture of Dorian Gray? It’s one of my favorites” You nodded as you made your way towards the section the book would be in.

Miguel followed close behind, mesmerized by your features and beauty that he couldn’t quite see from afar. “Here it is” You held the book out for him shakily as you used your chin to hold the rest of your books up “Thank you, here let me help” Miguel grabbed the books slipping from your grasp and carried them for you “you don’t have to, really it’s ok” you smiled as you felt a bit rude to make him carry your dozens of books.

“You sure? I don’t mind, it isn’t like I have much to carry” he shrugged “I’m about to pay so how about you just do me the favor of helping me with them to the counter”

Miguel eagerly agreed as he followed you upfront towards the counter. You chatted with Miguel as both of you paid and talked more about some of the books you picked out.

“This was nice” Miguel nodded as you stood outside the bookstore, bags in hand he smiled down at you “It was” you shyly smiled.

You felt like this was some sort of movie, a gorgeous polite man runs into you at a bookstore. What a dream.

“You know if you want any more book recommendations, I can always give you my number if you want some more” You were surprised by your boldness but you wouldn’t mind rejection from a stranger even if he was gorgeous.

“Sure” Miguel smiled, both of you swapping phone numbers with a glint of passion in both your eyes.

And after all of that, it led you to where you are now. Many dates, a few kisses, and hundreds of laughs later, you were straddled on his lap.

Miguel couldn’t believe he had you in his grasp. After years of making sure you were safe out of pure instinct, he was finally able to protect you and lose himself in your sweet kisses.

His hand cradled the back of your neck as the both of you hungrily pulled at each other's clothes. You moaned as you snaked your hand under his shirt, the warmth radiating off his whole body made you shiver.

Miguel let out a gruntled hum as you pulled his shirt over his head “Someone’s eager” he teased. You nodded in bliss, not caring for his teasing as he tossed your top somewhere behind him.

You could feel his bulging cock through his jeans and it was driving you crazy. You don’t know what’s gotten into you, you were grinding into his length in need. It felt like you’d die if he wasn’t buried inside.

Miguel felt the same, your scent filling every molecule of his body. He soon began to understand what it was that drove him so crazy about you, genetics.

You shaped perfectly in his arms, smelt like a dream, and kissed like an angel. He couldn’t help but protect you, watch you like your own guardian angel. You were his angel, his to protect, his to love.

You could feel your own body burning at the skin-to-skin contact “Please Miguel I need you” you whined. Your hips rubbed onto his lap eagerly, fucking yourself onto his lap as he hungrily yanked your skirt down your legs.

Hearing you beg was enough for him to lay you on your back and start pulling your panties down your legs. “Fuck” Miguel let out a moan at the sight of your back arching off the bed, pussy in full view as you held onto his arms.

“Please Mig” You were unbuttoning his jeans halfway before he slapped your hands out of the way. He couldn’t resist himself from being rough but you certainly didn’t mind it.

It turned you on seeing him so eager for you.

You whined at the sight of his cock springing out of his boxers. You clenched around nothing as you took in how big he was “It’ll fit, I’ll make it” Miguel hummed with a hand running your thigh in reassurance.

A raspy moan spilled from Miguel as he coats his cock with your slick, hips swaying and nudging your clit ever so slightly.

You gasped as with one swift motion, he rammed into your tight cunt. Your nails dug into his arms while Miguel let out a shaky groan as he steadied himself with his hands on your hips.

His pupils dilated at the glimpse of the bulge on your tummy, he slid in and out leisurely with a sly smile.

You mewled as he quickens his pace, his cock plunging deep inside you and stilling just to pull back and bury himself inside again.

“Oh- you have no fucking clue h- how long I’ve dreamed of this” Miguel hummed in his euphoric state. You nodded dumbly, as you squeezed around his cock. The vice grip of your cunt made him lose himself with each thrust “m- Miguel! Oh fu-“ you mewled out.

His thick fingers played with your messy clit, slow circles rubbing onto your throbbing clit. He smiled in accomplishment as you came around his length, your eyes rolled back in pure pleasure as Miguel continued his pace “Yeah, jus’ like that” Miguel purred as he buried himself into your neck.

His soft lips lapped and sucked onto your neck as he focused on your gushy walls throbbing around him. A loud groan spilled out of Miguel as he squeezes his eyes shut, mind going completely blank as he fucked his loads into you.

“You were f- fuck! Made for m- mhm” Miguel’s moans grew louder as he continued to fuck himself deeper into you.

When Miguel pulled out of you, his eyes were focused on your pretty face. You were completely fucked out, hair disheveled, and saliva all over your lips. He hummed at the sight of his cum leaking out of your tight hole “You look gorgeous” he cooed.

He laid beside you as he pulled you onto his chest, hand rubbing down your shoulder as you took a few breaths.

“You have no clue how much I love you” 







[punkeropercyjackson]

Honestly why even bother making Jason afrolatino if you're not gonna write him as he is in canon when that's what actually'd make him work good rep for us.What i mean by this is

His ego is huge,he's super tough and an edgelord,has anger issues and brutal ass tactics and is a morally gray vigilante but he's ALSO a huge woman respecter to the point he thinks they're better than men,is extremely kind with a huge soft side and his exterior attitude and Red Hood are trauma responses that're framed as valid on his end so he's not the 'Scary Black Man' stereotype and with the exception of the vigilante part this is actually a pretty common personality type for irl black men-Important note that i don't fall under the attitude but i AM a black man(and woman)

He's been a huge nerd since he's debut in both meanings of it-He's a genius who was a star student in school and loves classical literature,theater and speaking articulately and poetically but just happens not to 24/7 since he's a comic book character,not a Shakespearen one

And his soft sunshine boy with hidden depths Robin self is a critical part of making him as black latino work-You can't go with the retcon of him as a mini thug because it's extremely dangerous stereotyping

Duke as his favorite brother-It's erasure with white gringo Jason but even worse and just stupid because both of them being black would it EVEN BETTER writing they're eachother's number one Batboy pick.Ain't no nigga picking Tim when the only other black guy in the factor is Right There and fuck ya aus,keep Jason white in them and leave afrolatino Jason out of your mess

He hasn't expressed a particular preference for girls he likes but HAS for the ones he dosen't and it's preppy perfect judgemental ones who try to 'tame' him so rip all y'all's white X Readers LMFAO.Worth noting that his canon girlfriends have been a half cambodian tomboy(Rose),an edgyptian butch(Artemis)and a darkskin black woman(Dana)and that he's actively rejected a white blonde girl on the basis of her being too normal(Isabel)and Kory post deblackification so i think it's obvious where his tastes lie

You CANNOT make him and Roy or Batcest a thing-I don't think i need to explain why pairing up a white man who knew an afrolatino since he was 14 and him grown with a daughter and putting him in incest is violently antiblack

Poverty is not inherently bad in black or latino characters and there was a point in canon where it was used as simply an element in Jason's story instead of demonization so use that edition.But making him a drunkard,a smoker or a sex fiend is 100% perpetuating stereotypes and he's canonically the opposite of all three so again,sometimes things that are canon are better

Him being tall and super jacked and intimidating looking can actually enchance it-He uses it to his advantage to get people he dosen't like to fuck off because they buy into the propaganda and gives him more deepness with the rest of his personality

This includes him being a real gamer and his neapolitan food addiction and your headcanons on his other tastes should follow their lead-His favorite characters should be black and latino ones(His favorite Marvel hero is Miles Morales,it's canon to ME),he should listen to black and latino artists,he should eat black and latino food and know how to make it for that matter,etc

Back to a Duke situation-You also can't make a white woman instead of Talia his adoptive mom for obvious reasons and imo if you're gonna make him and Stephanie besties,she should be black too for that black best friends and found siblings rep(She works as a black woman as much as he does a black man and i'll make a manifesto of that like i did him if asked).This applies to the Team Dad Jason take too in the sense that he should mentoring Damian and Nell and Tiffany since they're Batgirls instead of white kids

In summary what i'm trying to say is:If you're going to see Jason as an afrolatino man,you need to go beyond just the aesthetic and little bits you feel like including because you think they're appealing and actually write him as an afrolatino man,as Jason Todd and not some random guy

@nogender-onlystars @willieoo @mayameanderings @desi-pluto @insomniac-jay @vulnonapixes-dc-corner

[mueritos]

im glad that people r clowning on that detrans person who went viral on twitter for blaming trans people/hrt for his baldness and normal male genes, but i really hope this can at least wake up some transmasculine people, ESPECIALLY white transmasculine people.

many BIPOC transmasc people already have standards of whiteness imposed onto us, but we do not cry wolf when our genetics cause the male secondary characteristics that they do. many of us are hairy, many of us have thick and coarse hair, some of us get extremely deep voices, etc and etc. BIPOC transmascs already have to deal with the masculinization of our bodies even before HRT because many of us cannot achieve white standards of womanhood. it is just also incredibly ignorant to shed tears over normal secondary sex characteristics that everyone on HRT are informed about. Just because you have male pattern baldness, an adams apple, and a low voice doesn’t mean you suddenly lose your worth as human being. white transmascs who successfully performed white femininity and desperately still cling onto it or try to be a hairless pretty twink after HRT,,,PLEASE understand that you cannot control the way HRT reacts to your body. You cannot complain about not looking like a beautiful twink because you cannot control how your genetics and HRT will masculinize your body. Like holy fuck. 

there is definitely a time and a space for detrans people to discuss their journeys. Many of them don’t regret HRT, many of them just simply realized they don’t need to be binary passing. But when we center detrans experiences as the reason why HRT needs to be stopped, why trans people are making “serious mistakes” to their bodies...yea I dont care how much you hate yourself. You do not need to make your insecurities everybody elses problem.

I genuinely hope this makes some white transmasc people realize that its okay to look like a normal dude. Some of us feel euphoric by the male pattern baldness. Some of us love our hairy arms and legs. Some of us love being men. Some of us love loving men. Some of us love having friendships with men. There is nothing wrong with being a man. The biological essentialism of vagina=good and penis=bad is not just a gender issue, it’s a race issue as well. These ideas are inherent to whiteness; when you say you distrust all men, when you say they all deserve to die...this means ALL men...Black men, queer men, transmen, Asian men, Latino men, Indigenous men, men who are disabled, men who are GNC, lesbians who are men, butches....

Having a caution toward men or male presenting people because of patriarchy, sexism, and misogyny? Fine. Hating them, vilifying them, viewing them as inherently predatory and evil? No. Thanks for making us feel like we’re all dangerous, that definitely does nothing to the male pysche, and thanks for conveying that anyone with a vagina is inherently good.

god. destroy white ideas of gender and sexuality already. you guys are just so damn annoying. we cannot get an ounce of solidarity because of you guys.

[wenellyb]

Eddie Diaz is a white Latino. Did people learn nothing from the Pedro Pascal discourse? And does the fandom *not* remember that episode where the funeral protestor refuses to be tended by Hen and Chim, so he asks Eddie to give him care— fully seeing he’s white— until Eddie says his last name is Diaz and his father’s Mexican, but he can channel his mother’s Swedish heritage for the man’s comfort? White people are not members of the global majority, but they do live and exist outside Western Europe and the U.S. (like Mexico).

It’s so weird how parts of the fandom are making any positive reaction to a m/m relationship in this show (that isn’t their yaoi ‘buddie’ fanfiction) into something about loving to see white men kiss. Y’all would still be getting that with canon buddie! Y’all couldn’t even support Michael and Glenn (calling them “homewreckers”). Y’all constantly ignore Hen and Karen with your complaints of “queerbaiting.” Y’all also called TK & Carlos’ (911 Lone Star) relationship “toxic” because it began with sex and because y’all fanon Carlos as some aggressive control freak. Like… c’mon!

I don’t think anyone who is supportive of Buck’s new relationship is arguing that Tommy is perfect. He’s was a fucking dick to both Hen and Chim when they joined the 118. His “delivery man” comment to Chim was wildly unacceptable. No one has forgotten this. Yet both Hen and Chim are *NOW* good friends with him…? Why? He changed. And the show shows the audience this. They show that he developed a great camaraderie with Hen and Chim. They show how he— unlike Sal and Gerrard— shifted his behavior and worldview to accept, embrace, and enjoy change.

Tommy could have been Sal. He could have been Gerrard. He had a good working relationship with both men and both men encouraged bad behavior in the 118. Yet he didn’t. He stayed on and befriended Hen and Chim (when most of the other guys still refused). Because he chose to learn and change and open himself to people’s differences (which likely also helped him come to terms with his own “differences”).

Tommy’s arc is meant to show how someone can make amends, repair relationships, and become a better person (y’know… learn, grow, and reform himself). The general audience for this show is straight and white. They *need* to see white people changing and learning to be better. They *need* to see queer people coming into themselves. These are important story lines.

Fans like Buck and Tommy together because they like Buck and Tommy together, because they like what this means for them and what might happen going forward. That’s literally it. We’re all just overjoyed by having more queer representation, including Bi representation. That’s it.

But there are a lot of “buddie” shippers in people’s inboxes hating on Buck and Tommy together for no reason other than it stands in the way of their ideal porn fantasies (“buddie”). And they’re being weirdly queerphobic about it, too.

Hi Anon!!!! So much to unpack here. I'll post this and let anyone comment their thoughts because this is an interesting conversation.

I'll start by saying that it never occurred to me that Ryan Guzman was not White, until Bucktommy became more popular and some Buddie shippers said that Bucktommy shippers were preferring the White MM pairing and I was like "Hmm.... both Buddie and Bucktommy are White MM pairings"???? Like it never even occured to me.

I'm not here to debate Ryan Guzman's ethnicity, he knows that better than us, but as you mentionned people seem to forget that there are White latinos.

I should add that Americans will maybe have a different perspective but in Europe, there is racism, and there is also xenophobia both are bad, but not the same.

If I'm talking about someone who is White and Latino being a victim of prejudice, I would never say that they're victim of racism, I would say that he's victim of xenophobia.

Believe it or not there are a lot of Europeans are xenophobic but not racist and vice versa.

With that being said, I agree with the rest of your ask..

I love 911 Lone Star and watched 911 casually but I never got the Buddie shippers, especially the ones who said they shipped Buddie as a form of activism, or because there was a lack of Queer representation (which is true) but Henren are there, TK and Carlos are right there and it's the same franchise.

They never cared about Henren, they even erased them whenever they accused the show of Queerbaiting even thought it has several Queer characters.

I remember when they started complaining that Bucktommy had more fics that Henren after one kiss.... but never said anything about Buddie having over 20 000 fics after 6 years of nothing even thought Henren was canon.

A lot of their takes are rooted in hypocrisy, it's like they're taking all the arguments that have been thrown at them and throwing them back at Bucktommy shippers without even thinking about it.

It's very important to have discussion about fandom racism, because it's a huge issue especially in the biggest fandoms but I do feel like some of them are bringing the issue in bad faith. This discussion is so important but it needs to be had with the Bucktommy fandom AND the Buddie fandom. So far the Buddie shippers only want the Bucktommy shippers to have it.

Why don't they take a look at the mirror first and ask themselves why they never cared about a Black Lesbian couple when one of them was a Main Character. Why don't they ask themselves why a ship with 2 best friends has over 20000 fics and a canon ship that is TK and Carlos only have 7000.

And why do they find the weirdest excuses to hate on Carlos (as you said), who's clearly not White and never give him the same courtesy they give their fave White chatacters.

When Buddie shippers talk about fandom racism, all I can think is: the call is coming from inside the house.

[goldensunbathed]

could you do latino!jfp talking in spanish while he fucks reader??? if you're uncomfortable with this just ignore it <33

thank you for requesting noni, forehead kisses<33

78 words, james potter x f!reader

warnings: probably horrible spanish, unprotected p in v, pet names [baby, my girl], kind of mean!james but not rly

"jamie," you let out a breathy moan as james pushes back into you. you've been having almost non-stop sex for the past day, overheating under the sun in mexico.

you visit together once a year, visiting james' family, using the abandoned beach house.

"¿mi bebé ya está sobreestimulado?" james says in a mocking tone, his hand clutching your jaw, staring into your eyes. "mi pobre chica." he grins, leaning down to take your bottom lip between his teeth.

[kinnards]

a little tip for people who want to write a bit of spanish into their buddie fics:

querido = dear, not really common as a pet name nowadays unless you're like. a grandma

mi amor = my love, people also use just 'amor' and its probably the most common petname

other cute petnames in spanish include: mi cielo/cielito, mi vida, bebé, cariño (also used by older people), and others depending of the country, you can look that up.

boyfriend = novio, but there's a lot of different slang to mean that kind of relationship, look it up too.

do Not translate holy shit as 'santa mierda', that's not actually a thing! i've seen it too many times and. no. please.

fuck = joder, but it's more commonly used in spain than in latinoamerica. also since it's a verb it has conjugations and shit (ie. dont fuck with me = no me jodas, fucking sexy = jodidamente sexy). it can also be translated as 'maldito/a' depending on the context, like an insult (ie. fucking idiot = maldito idiota).

fuck as an exclamation of frustration can be translated to 'la concha de tu madre!' (your mother's cunt), conveys same feeling as screaming out 'fuck!' hkajsjsk used in various countries.

to fuck/have sex = coger, follar (also most common in spain but i've heard other latinos use it, not where i live though). there's a lot of slang in this too.

nieto = grandson yes, but abuelas dont really call you nieto all the time, they use petnames or nicknames(?) it's really common to have a special nickname only your family uses, like eddito in eddie's case. i would have her and pepa call him eddito instead of nieto or sobrino (nephew)

gringo = person from europe/usa. or just mostly white and/or blond people. can be used as a descriptor or as an insult, it really does depend on context and intention. my abuela calls my boyfriend gringo as a nickname, because he has light colored hair and eyes, but it's not mean-spirited, it's like, with love haha.

other phrases abuelas use: ay virgencita! (refering to the virgin mary, exclamation), señor dame paciencia/fuerza (lord give me patience/strenght, it's literally this 🙄 feeling for grandmas), ay dios mío señor (oh lord, oh my god).

on that note, it's more common to say 'dios mio' or 'ay dios' than just 'dios', when trying to translate 'god/oh god', as an exasperated exclamation or in smut.

that's all i can remember for now! pls latinx side of the 911 fandom add whatever you might find useful. i'm really tired of seeing people butchering the language because they only use GT and dont bother to check it it's right.

[fuckentoastybitch]

TOXIC_RAP.mp3

All the bros have had a go on this flow

So I thought, no, it's my turn

I'm gonna give someone a chance to strike a pose

On this beat like Jojo's

God only knows when this beat feels right

Oh, but it still goes hype when played at night

And now I could cut the tension with a knife

Bottle of absinthe on the shelf

Take a sip. Or twelve

Slip into alcoholic dove and fill the slick and shit

Let's drink till our blood levels turn toxic

Bust out the Bacardi and rum

Drink shots to the sound of a starting gun

Slam drinks back a little hardy and run

What bar should we start at for fun?

So here we are, back again

Will this guy put down his pen?

I have a phone. It's terminology

2023, we have the technology with the new LP

Us boys are all running free

Who the fuck are we meant to be?

A man who's on a legacy?

So I'll make this easy

Nice and speedy

No drinks here with antifreeze

No drinks to sneeze at

Only squeeze in my glass, please

Till I feel queasy

Shot, shot, shot, shot

Cans and bottles, that's your lot

Drink till you lost the plot. Brain rot

Drink till the fives out of ten look hot

Give her the sex, don't call me a miser

She drinks apple cider, came inside her (note: FUCKING WILD)

Back in the room making noise

For gangs of people who enjoys

Acting like tough men, one of the boys

Whilst packing heat at the treat like toys

Arrive on the scene with my team

Looking mean

stacks of green

Feeling preen

We careen to the bar

Smooth like a dream

Dressed up smarter, cash pro rata

Back to the tinnies, crack her lager

Make some bread, not stored in a larder

Spend on brands, devil wears Prada

Committing sins, corporate greed

Take lunch money, mouse to feed

Pop a lock, finally freed

Fuck the lager, grab the mead

Downing honey, busy bees

Send that bottle, what a breeze

Twenty percent proof I'm on my knees

I think I'll try another bottle of that, please

So give me the vodka, that's not what I meant

But a label says that it's forty percent

Would've drank that until the same gents

Started kissing threes whilst pitching a tent

So moving on

Brandy next

Had two shots for the flex

Already looking round for the next

Throw that money, bounce some checks

Cards maxed out, I'm resigned

So let's see what other drinks can I find

Hey there, babe, if you're inclined

Buy me a drink if you don't mind

Rap to the beat on the edge

You see I'm making a splash like Latino heat

So lie, cheat, steal, for real

Grabbing snacks for the main meal

Hidden agenda, big reveal

Cost quite dear and I don't mean veal

Take my chances on my own

Life switched on, not monochrome

We'll take one more for monotone

One last drink before crawling home

Sorry if this topic's over the line

But I like to sit down and write some time

Take some notes

Filling some blanket back with a nice little hobby of mine

After party, rinse and repeat

Wobble around as I find my feet

Party spills onto the street

Now where the hell did I leave my seat?

[Interlude]

Search continues

Bottles fizz

It's around here somewhere

Oh there it is!

Back into it while the beat still goes

Why is it silent?

God only knows!

This song keeps you on your toes

I (should?) see the rapping to the pros

I'm going to woo with flair.

Rick, get me in there

DJ Eric, Eric, death stare

Never mind I don't care

Glare at the back of my head

Wishing the beat was dead

I'm going to invite another guy

Instead of the shit Brit with wit

Looking round for street cred

So hello. Hi.

I'm the one whose lexicon is next to none

Because I'm sitting in a quiet corner

Bouncing off the walls like Yak and Warner

From episode one on TV screens

Across the West and scream dad jokes loud from the chest

The only one in the smoking section

Using a party blow that he kept inside his vest

Objectives announced the fleece

Will this nonsense ever cease?

Feeling relief on the brand new release

Making a move so I'm off now, peace

[billthedrake]

LAW OF AVERAGES (UPDATED)

What do you know: I posted the wrong draft yesterday. This is the finished story.

"Good evening Officers," I said as I walked down 6th Avenue, feeling in a good mood from dinner with friends. Two of New York City's finest were on the corner, beat cops keeping an eye on the park nearby, or maybe just resting for a bit.

The taller one, a 40-something Italian-looking man, tipped his hat in acknowledgment and flashed a wry grin as his partner, a shorter Latino cop, had his eye fixed on a group of women in sun dresses walking by.

I gave a confident smile, but kept walking. But ten paces on, I turned my head back for another look. Officer Friendly was looking at me, all right, and kind of laughing at my brazenness.

It was that fuck-it attitude that got my success rate up. I have a thing for cops. I mean, who doesn't? But I go out of my way to have sex with them. It helps that I live in the best city on earth and have a full-on smorgasbord of men in blue to scope out. And I swear, policeman or not, so many New York City straight guys have a bi streak. Maybe it's the prevalence of no-strings dude sex on the side, maybe the freedom of the city infects them, too, just like it does with us gay guys.

OK, not every cop is looking to hook up with a dude, not even for a no-strings BJ. But enough are, and if you play the averages right, you get your fair share of cop dick.

It helps that I'm 28, fit as fuck, and have a gym-pumped jock body. Before I moved to the city, I had no idea that my Iowa cornfed looks were cop-bait, but apparently they are. I'm just masculine enough to put a police officer at ease, and just gay enough so that even the most clueless of them know I'm available.

Of course you can't just walk up to a cop and proposition him. Maybe he goes on an app, DL, and propositions you. But usually, it's about laying the ground work, being flirty in a low-key, friendly kind of way. Getting to know by name the policemen in my neighborhood, near my office, or even on trips uptown or to Brooklyn. Seeing which ones might be interested.

I thought that was going to be my plan this evening. But the looking in Officer Friendly's eyes made me want to feel him out more. I gave him another look, then ducked into the first deli I came across. I kind of wandered next to the refrigerated section. Maybe I'd just get a water, or maybe nothing. Mostly I wanted to see if Cop took the bait.

He did. I heard the bell ring from the door opening. A couple of footsteps on the linoleum floor and sure enough the tall, Italian cop was rounding the aisle, his face with a knowing grin as he spotted me.

Compared to other guys, I have an advantage in my hunt for policemen. I like 'em all. Short, tall, fat, thin, older, younger... I don't care if they're classically good looking. If he's law enforcement and he has a dick, I'm into him. I just love cops.

But this one was a real looker. Fit for his age, strong build beneath his bulletproof vest, and a certain dimpled boyishness to his DILF-y Italian looks, with a closely shaved full beard and a square jawline.

"Nice night, huh?" he said as he got closer. As an Iowa boy, that New York accent would never fail to get me hard. His voice wasn't as deep as I expected but it was sexy as fuck.

"Sure is, Officer," I greeted. "They keeping you busy out there?"

He laughed. "Kind of a quiet night, actually," he said. "I'll take quiet, though."

I stopped pretending I was looking for a water or gatorade or anything and turned to converse with the man. I was on the tall side of average at 6'1" but Officer Friendly had a few inches on me. "You boys in blue deserve a break now and then. For all the work you do." OK, maybe the flattery was cheesy, but it was sincere. And it was just the kind of double entendre a law enforcement dude can recognize.

Those brown eyes grew a little wider and he smiled. Officer Friendly leaned in. "You offering tonight, buddy?"

I nodded. The first time this happened, the first time an NYPD cop said yes to my advances, I was nervous as hell. Now, I just excited. "You bet, Officer, if you're interested. I live over on the next block."

You never know what you're gonna get. The shy kind, the offended kind, the naughty kind. Officer Friendly was pure Horndog.

"I got about five minutes. Think that will work?" he asked. His voice was a little quieter, in case someone was listening. No one was.

"Definitely," I smiled. Boasting. I was talented and I knew it. Pretty soon Officer...

"Cantone," he laughed as he saw me scoping out his name tag.

"Pleasure to meet you, Officer Cantone."

God, he was adorable as we walked the block over to my building. Definitely in his mid 40s now that I had a good look but his dimples made him seem youthful. "This you, buddy?" he asked with a smirk.

I nodded. "Did I use up my 5 minutes?" I teased.

He strutted up the steps to follow me. "Just make it worth my while and I'm not gonna split hairs."

I had it down pat. In full-on buddy mode as I ushered him in my place. Then crouching down in front of him, taking only a second to feel up that uniform fabric before I started unzipping.

Cantone had to help me pull his erection out from his briefs. He wasn't huge, but he was plenty big. I liked big. I licked him up and down some and I knew then from how hard he was, Cantone was a bisexual dude. Not just wanting to shut his eyes and think of a chick. He liked getting head from a guy.

So I went for it. Pulled that cop dick down and swallowed half of it.

"Holy fuck, dude," the policeman gasped. "Suck my dick."

I knew he was on a time crunch so I went for it. Nice sloppy, hungry blowjob. His hands settled on my head as I gave him head, which only fed my fire to do him right. I was determined to get this cop off big.

But the hands left and I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Buddy... I hate to press my luck," he hissed. "But do you take it up the ass?" God bless bisexual men.

Honestly, I'm not the biggest bottom, but a fitter policeman in uniform is usually enough to get me to put out. I looked up excitedly, in a way that told Cantone all he needed to know. "Still gotta make it a quickie, OK?" he clarified.

"Fuck yes," I said. I stood up and he followed me to my bed. I tossed him some lube then undid my shorts and leaned over the bed. I was keyed up but it had been a while since I'd been fucked, so I sure hoped this cop knew what he was doing.

He did. It took him twenty seconds for his blunt tool to work me open. To a great extent, sex is psychological for me and my attraction to Cantone and the surprise quickie was making me really enjoy this. I realized how much I missed it a full, thick bare policeman cock working me open and pressing deep.

His dick felt great but it was the uniform and the bulk of the kevlar vest against my back that had me going wild, spreading my legs and pressing my butt back against his crotch.

That was the signal he needed. Wrapping his strong arms around me, he started pounding hard and fast. His cock had me cumming a few seconds before I heard his own belabored breath in my ear and felt his body jerk and seize behind me. I forgot to look at the clock, but it was no more than a minute and a half before he came. I'd been ridden good and hard and it felt glorious.

No guilt either afterward, just a polite shyness as he asked for something to wipe off with. I obliged then watched his naughty schoolboy look as he tucked back in. "Ramirez is gonna razz me so hard," he chuckled.

"Ramirez is just jealous," I smiled, which made him laugh. He stepped up to me, not kissing but nudging my chin affectionately. "Can I get your number?"

I went to get a pad to scribble it down and handed it to him. He folded it like a prize lottery ticket and stuffed into his uniform shirt pocket.

"Thanks man, that was incredible," he said.

Then, he was out the door.

***

I have one rule, and one rule only. And Deputy Inspector Geoff McMullen was about to learn it.

"I could use one of your blowjobs, man," came the DM on Grindr. I'd met the Queens career cop the first year I lived in NYC. He pretty much was central casting, barrel-chested Irish daddy in his early 50s. Cautious enough to feel out guys discreetly, but smart enough to know being a DL married cop was his calling card on the app. He hit me up, I chatted him back and we set up a blow job date.

That first hookup lasted three minutes, five if you include the hello when he walked into my apartment and the chit chat as he tucked back in. That married cop prick was short and fat and clearly loved a mouth on it.

He apologized a little for blasting off so quick, but it was adorable actually. I assured him it was hot as fuck, and he got a playful grin on his face. "I'll hit you up again?" he asked as he paused by my front door.

We repeated that three weeks later, this time me going out to far Queens for a chance to blow him in his uniform. McMullen may not have a big dick but he sure shoots a hell of a cop load. I sucked it down like a pro, then got a healthy taste of the dribbles before licking him clean and tucking him back into his uniform trousers. McMullen loved that touch.

Then Deputy Inspector McMullen disappeared from Grindr, either playing things safe or just feeling guilty or whatever. That's cool.

Recently, almost two years to the date, I heard from the man. His profile was stripped down now, not even a good chest picture, but he'd logged on for a repeat. "I keep thinking of your blowjobs, Kyle. You're the best at em."

I didn't need flattery, I just needed a hard cop dick offered to me. I invited him to look me up when he was in Manhattan. It was the next day, and the Deputy Inspector had a heavy load saved up for me. Even if he was cheating on his wife, I felt bad for the man, in a way. He clearly didn't get enough action at home.

That's why I almost caved two days later when he DM'ed me again. But I didn't.

"Sorry, Officer, I have a three time rule."

"Three times?"

"I'll only service a man three times if he's not gonna put out for me."

"Whadda mean?" Damn I could sense his horniness even over these texts.

"Three BJs is the installment plan. After that I get to fuck your ass."

There was a long pause. There always a long pause. How often did this rule work in my favor? Let's say I struck out a lot. Generally most of the time, even. But the law of averages meant I'd fucked six NYPD asses since moving here. I wanted to make it seven.

"You're bullshitting me," came McMullen's reply.

"Friad not, sir," I decided to address him with extra respect. I wasn't looking to make McMullen my bitch. I just wanted inside his seasoned cop hole. "It's kind of my thing."

"Yeah... can't do that, man," he replied, less upset than I expected.

"No hard feelings." I said. Like I actually expected him to bend over for me.

Maybe this was easier because I was finding new police dick to suck. It wasn't the entirety of my sex life, but it was most of it. There are 36,000 police officers in the NYPD, and I was fooling around with about 2 or 3 a month, including some rotating regulars Life was good.

I was just getting off work one day, when out of the blue McMullen messaged me. "What do I get if I let you fuck me?" he asked bluntly.

Holy fuck, I had a live one on the fishing line. I grinned as I typed, "The lifetime plan. BJs whenever you want."

"You sweet talking fucker ;)"

He didn't elaborate, and I didn't push him. But an hour later he picked up the conversation again. "I'm cherry. Think you can go easy?"

God my dick was so hard right then. "Absolutely man. I want it good for both of us."

"You done this before?" he asked, with less pause than before.

I wasn't sure what he meant. Fucked a cop? "Done what?"

"Taken a guy's cherry."

"A few times, yeah," I replied truthfully. "I'm good at it." OK, you'd have to survey the men I'd done to see if they agreed, but I knew a little boasting would help my case.

He told me he'd think it over and get back to me.

"Take your time Officer," I wrote.

***

Sgt. Ellis wasn't bi. He watched PornHub vids on his phone the whole time I sucked him. The ones with loud moaning chicks doing bad fake orgasms. I never see why straight dudes like that shit. But he had a nice tool.. long more than thick, with foreskin over the head. His build was tall and matched his cock size. He wasn't Office Cantone hot, but he was muscular and the chocolate-dark muscle looked great in uniform. 9 times out of 10 when I blew the Sergeant he was in uniform.

The cop was the opposite of verbal. It never took him long to cum but neither of us rushed it. The man would come into my place, unzip to pull out that long schlong and then pull up a new favorite video on his phone.

Sgt. Ellis was on the Lifetime Plan. He had grinned and bore it when I fucked him. He was a tough as nails fucker and actually relaxed into it. He didn't get off or enjoy in the way gay men enjoyed it. But he actually had fewer hangups than I expected. I made a play for a repeat but he gave a firm no. That was OK, fucking him had been a trip and I still got off knowing I'd tapped that ass.

Some months I heard a lot from the Sergeant, some months not at all. I guess he dated women who took care of his needs. But when he was single I'd get a text from the police officer. A day in advance or a half hour. It was all good.

The man never announced his cum. He didn't need to, I knew it was coming by the way his legs shook. He came a lot and was sweet tasting. I loved it. I gave a soft lick before he pulled completely out because Ellis was always super sensitive after a nut. He'd silently wipe off with the rag I'd give him and tuck back into his uniform. And then put away that damned phone.

And as I walked him to show him out, he'd thank me. "You do good work, man," he'd say.

***

Deputy Inspector McMullen was nervous as anything. I did my best to calm him. A beer, some sports talk, some jokes. I thought of myself as the cop whisperer, but as he sat on my couch almost shaking, I worried this one was gonna bolt.

"You OK, man?" I had to ask.

He looked at me and forced a smile. "I can't believe I'm here."

"I'll do my best to make it easy for ya man," I said. "I swear I'm good at this."

He gulped. "Maybe that's what I'm worried about," he admitted. He took a swig of beer and set down the bottle with a clank on the coffee table. "Think we can just get this started?"

I nodded and led him to the bedroom.

He was half hard when he stripped which was a good sign. "Just go with the flow," I urged, then started my method: slow oral worship of his cock, but not getting him off. Lots of attention to his balls and the spot underneath. Finally, directing him to lift his legs so I could eat him out. I gathered McMullen had never had a rim job before. He wouldn't be the first cop to have that milestone with me, but he was the most enthusiastic.

"Fuck buddy," he gasped as my tongue drilled and teased his daddy ring. "That feels wild."

"It's gonna feel wilder," I boasted and dove back in for some more intense ass eating.

By the time I was moving on to the next stage Geoff McMullen's short fat cop cock was a rock hard spike leaking against his furry belly.

"Feel good?" I asked as the first lubed finger teased then slowly entered him.

He nodded. "So far so good," he answered. The nervous was coming back but not too bad.

I added a second. Tight at first but soon the officer got used to it.

I took my time. By the time I had three fingers in him, the Deputy Inspector wasn't only ready for it, he wanted it.

I didn't want to jinx anything by asking if he was ready to be fucked. I just maneuvered so my slicked up meat was lined with my hand. He looked down his girthy bod at me, his legs pulled wide and back in a receptive position. I timed it so my fingers pulled out as my cock pushed in.

Fuck, I was in cherry cop territory. Giving gentle thrusts in and out about three to four inches. The tightness and thrill I fucking live for.

Geoff breathed heavily but wasn't objecting. I could tell he was adjusting to the mind fuck of it all. Particularly once I felt the relaxed hole allow me to press all the way in.

"You got it, Officer," I announced proudly.

His eyes lit up. "Fuck!" His spike thwapping on his belly.

I thrust in. Actually fucking that rack of Irish cop beef. Not hard but steady.

"Not gonna take me long," I announced. "You wanna stroke off while I fuck you?"

It was like the idea hadn't occurred to the man but after I drizzled some lube on his stick he got the hint. As I worked my hips harder, he jerked like a horny teen, fast and spasmodically. I gathered that was McMullen's normal masturbation style.

It took a minute. A minute for me to show this 54-year-old cop his p-spot. His face went pink then red and his body gave it up. Heavy spurts of seed onto his belly and blocky pecs just as my own ejaculation began inside his guts.

We were both out of breath as we recovered and as McMullen laughed I started laughing too. "Goddamn, that was something else," he said as my dong slowly softened and slipped out of him.

I took a chance, hoping I was reading him right. I leaned in...

"No," he said brusquely, the laugh stopping suddenly. "I don't fucking kiss."

***

Officer Cantone, the 6'4" DILFy stud I'd met on my block, held my head tight against his crotch. He smelled like cologne and cop uniform and man. It's what helped me keep my gag reflex in check as he claimed a deep throat and unloaded those heavy balls of his.

"God fucking damn, buddy, that's sweet..." he hissed, excitement in his voice as he rode out the orgasmic pleasure and finally extracted that beautiful seven-incher from my mouth.

I was still catching my breath and on my knees when the man tucked back in, not even bothering to wipe off the spit and sperm from his dong. "I knew I could count on you, buddy," he said. Of all the cops I'd done, Cantone was the friendliest. The fact he was a bachelor, divorced maybe, made my mind race for the first time to think of what it would be like to date a cop.

"Happy to help, Officer," I said in my normal post-sex manner as I got up on to my feet. "It'll be the last." I explained to him my Rule of Three.

He shook his head. "I'll be damned. That ever work for you, buddy?" He was clearly amused by my chutzpa.

I shrugged. "I'm discreet. But yeah it works more than you'd think."

He didn't say anything. He just picked up his cap and put in on his head. I couldn't tell if he was offended or thinking it over. Maybe both. Gone was that Officer Friendly manner. Instead, he turned and walked out of my place without a word.

That was the hardest part of the no-strings approach, and if there was a man who made me question it, it was Rich Cantone. But damnit, it was such an unrealistic idea. Cops like that didn't date men, they just got sucked on the DL.

***

Deputy Inspector McMullen kicked off his shoes as he undid his belt. I could tell his short fat spike was rock hard. "I got a full two hours, man," he said excitedely. "Maybe we can go for two?"

"Your call," I replied with a laugh. I knew Geoff McMullen would want head regularly now that he was on the Lifetime Plan, but even I was surprised by how regularly he made excuses to come into Manhattan. I offered to go meet him, but he liked the freedom and privacy of my place.

He shucked down his jeans and there it was, commando... that thick married cop cock. Drooling even in anticipation. He stepped out of his jeans. McMullen was a top heavy man, and had put on a couple of extra pounds as he approached 55. Like before, he hesitated to take off his sweatshirt. I didn't give a fuck either way. This career cop was the real deal.

"Kyle..." he asked after I milked load number one of him. "Think you might wanna fuck me today?" Not nervous this time. I could tell McMullen had been thinking this over, a lot. And he knew he had the goods, how crazy I'd be to get in his ass again.

"Yeah, man," I said as I peeled down my workout shorts and stroked my bone. "That'd be incredible."

Then the guy surprised me by leaning in and putting his hand behind my head. Instead of guiding it to his cock, he pulled me up into a kiss. Our first one. I'd fucked seven cops, and Deputy Inspector McMullen was the first I'd kissed.

The kissing made that fuck even hotter. We took our time, particularly since Geoff needed some recovery before round two. It was worth it. I fucked a healthy load out of him and left a matching one inside him. He felt more comfortable in his skin, even after the sex.

I let Geoff shower up first. He had to get back home and I was just enjoying the relaxation of lying in bed after a good lay. A little proud that my swimmers were deep in the Deputy Inspector's guts.

Then, as I checked my phone I saw I had soem texts. A couple from my friends checking in about evening plans, but one was from Officer Cantone. "All right you win. Let's do this."

God fucking damm, I was gonna add cop number 8 to my collection.

[plinkodiskhorse]

on labels

The back and forth over the use of the word “queer” baffles and frustrates me. I think the arguments, and the term itself, are illustrative of a dialectic. Queer is simultaneously collective and individual, affiliation-group and self-identity, over-arching and specific, degrading and embracing. Until a time comes that all variations and expressions of gender and sexuality (and combinations thereof) are free from social and institutional stigma, queer will never mean just one thing.

Queer, as an over-arching term for anyone who is NOT cisgender, heterosexual, or perisex, acknowledges the overlap and interplay of gender assigned at birth, identified gender, gender expression, sexual attraction. A cisgender, butch dyke (a person assigned female at birth who aligns with that identity and is attracted to other women, while expressing her gender in a “masculine” manner) and a faggy, transgender man (a person assigned female at birth who “rejects” womanhood while dating men and expressing an “effeminate” masculinity) may seem very different from one another but can have MANY shared experiences of “queerness.” Both may be targets of transphobia and misogyny — even when one of them isn’t trans and one of them isn’t a woman — and both may be targets of homophobia. “Queer” (can, should) holds space for all of these aspects of self, even when they seem to contradict one another.

(How can a transgender man experience misogyny? When he is not perceived/treated as a man, but as a “failed woman.” How can a cisgender woman experience transphobia? When she is perceived/treated as a “non-passing” transgender woman encroaching upon “women’s spaces.”)

When this hypothetical cis dyke and transfag both claim the word “queer,” there is (or should be, in this umbrella interpretation of queer) an understanding that “your fight is my fight.” We may not be the exact same flavor of queer, but our liberation is interconnected. My freedom, as a transgender man, cannot be won at the expense of women’s freedom. I don’t mean that just in the sense that I would be morally opposed to that situation; I mean it in the sense that the oppression of women WILL impact my own freedom.

The baroque complexities of queerness become further entangled when considering race, religion, and disability. Can “queer” hold the history of racialized gender in America? That black people have been hypersexualized/virilized and subsequently fetishized and denigrated for this projection. That East Asian women have been seen as seductresses or naturally submissive, while East Asian men are desexualized or objectified as seeming young and effeminate. The stereotypes of the hot blooded Latina and the macho Latino. Can “queer” encompass the deliberate destruction of Native gender identities and the subsequent (current) obfuscating mythologizing by white queers? Can “queer” be a place for people who see their gender and/or sexuality as a manifestation of/connection to the Divine while also being a place for those deeply harmed by religion because of their gender/sexuality? Can “queer” accept people with disabilities as people capable of eroticism even if their bodies don’t allow for some forms of sex acts?

As a dialectic, rather than a static fact, queer can hold these things, and there are times that queer will be too broad for all these things and specificity is needed.

As a dialectic, queer is a slur and an academic term. Queer is an acceptable word in a peer-reviewed journal, and has the potential to be “fighting words” interpersonally. What matters is the context and the individual interpretation. And it’s HIGHLY personal.

I was born and raised in Texas from the 90s to the 2010s. I never heard queer used as an insult, except in media from (or set in) the past. If I had heard someone use queer as an insult, my initial reaction would have been confusion. Are you fucking old? Is this the 70s? But I did hear gay used as an insult all the time. And faggot and dyke, if there weren’t any teachers within hearing range. I didn’t really encounter queer until undergrad, as an academic term, an area of study, and then as how my friends self-identified. Because of this, my associations with queer are largely positive.

But I know people who also grew up in Texas, only a 30-45min drive away from where I grew up, who did experience queer as a slur. For them, they may feel more comfortable reclaiming fag or dyke, rather than queer. And that’s their decision to make. And yet, it would be reductive if they were to treat queer as only ever a slur, not as a word with decades of usage in academic and intracommunity contexts.

I like queer as a word that can veil meaning.

It can be a conversation stopper. You don’t get to know the specifics of my gender history, my sexual partners, the roles I take in sex, the acts I enjoy during sex.

It can be a conversation starter. I see you’re different in a way that is similar to how I’m different; let us now ask each other oblique and leading questions that the cis hets around us won’t understand.

I dislike how queer is increasingly absorbed into the corporate rainbow-washing of assimilationists. A company doesn’t get to sell me Pride merch with one hand and donate to anti-trans politicians with the other hand.

I cannot say that queer retains its edge, nor can I say that it has been defanged. I cannot force others to reclaim the word, nor can I gatekeep the word. In the first “queer studies” class I ever had, my professor explained “autonomy” literally means “self-naming.”

There is no right or wrong answer, there is only ever-increasing nuance.

[prodigal-explorer]

specific things i’ve seen tss fans do that make me hate this fandom:

(disclaimer: a lot of this fandom is great but oh my lord i just have to show some of y’all how your behavior affects others because it’s atrocious)

please read this guys because chances are you or someone you know has done at least one of these things because they’re so rampant in this fandom it’s crazy-

1. sending death threats and calling somebody a “boot licker” and a “d-rider” for defending thomas’ silence about the war. like he shouldn’t be saying anything about the war unless he knows enough to have authority on it??? he’s a privileged white man who lives in a place where the war is not taking place. what productive thing would he be able to say about the war?? leave the man alone, he’s not a politician or a military general. if he did say something, it would probably be misinformation. stop acting like you’re some saint because you’re using bullying tactics to make yourself feel more woke.

2. writing aggressive posts about stuff thomas does that is not an issue. what i mean is that he does deserve to be called out if he fucks up (like the whole thing with underpaying his employees), but i saw a post where someone was using super aggressive language because thomas said he was “being delusional” in a short and someone was on their high horse about how thomas was “being insensitive to people who have mental disorders that involve delusions.” like…please go outside. anyone can have a delusion. and if thomas does make a REAL mistake that actually matters, there are better ways to go about it than spewing hate and name calling. he tries very hard and actively patches up mistakes as well as he can, which is more than what can be said about most cis white male celebrities.

3. blatant racism. i’ve been told by white people that my views on poc headcanons are wrong. like i’m a poc??? i would know more than you??? and i try to be nice about it?? so don’t attack me for saying that there’s nothing wrong with race headcanons as long as they’re done in a respectful way? or that just because roman speaks spanish one time doesn’t automatically make him latino and that’s actually a pretty racist assumption? just trust poc fanders. WE KNOW WHAT WE ARE TALKING ABOUT BECAUSE WE EXPERIENCE RACISM ON A DAILY BASIS. white people will never know what it’s like. so stop acting like it. that’s a huge issue in this fandom.

4. a LOT of aphobia. there’s this concept going around that’s like “oh the sides could be ace because they’re not human so they don’t get romance!” like…babes let’s step back and look that over…cuz ace people aren’t ace because they don’t “understand” sex. that’s infantilizing and dehumanizing. it’s possible to be ace just because you don’t want sex in a conventional way. the sides are not a vessel for your aphobia.

5. SO MUCH RUDENESS WHEN IT COMES TO CHARACTER CRITICISM. the amount of death threats i’ve gotten just because i hate patton??? like PLEASE. i’m allowed to hate a character!! i have trauma and patton reminds me of horrible people in my life who did horrible things to me! he’s like a carbon copy of them in my mind! and even if i didn’t have trauma, it would still be valid because patton is a flawed character! there is nothing bad or wrong about dissecting a character’s unkind actions??? that’s just basic analysis. like i ADORE roman and you don’t see me wishing death upon people who don’t like him??? i just block and move on or i hear them out!! because discussion about the flaws of a character you like isn’t a personal attack!!! people NEED to get that in their heads cuz it’s so frustrating when people take it so personally and actively seek it out just to get mad at it.

[ninelivesastrology]

tw: racism, misogynoir, internalized misogyny, racial fetishization, abusive friendships, abusive relationships, domestic violence, rape, CSA mention, paraphilias

It's peak misogynoir for non-Black women to think that Black women should take undesirable men. The way I was attacked by other women over not wanting to be with my abuser is actually crazy, as if I shouldn't do better than him because it was an expectation for me to be abused. I stopped protecting him and everyone else took my place. Poor little baby didn't do anything wrong!

And even on a interracial level, it's believed that Black women shouldn't be romantic interests to white and Asian men, even biracial men. The tolerable exception is usually a Latino man. You break out of that mold and everyone is on your neck. I had rumors about me spread that I was into raceplay... That was the craziest projection.

My husband told me that non-Black people believe that Black people hate themselves when they date out. It's not the same for anybody else, though. An Asian woman has children by a white man, checks off her children as white on official documents for years instead of checking Mixed Race and nobody blinks. But Black people hate themselves. Lmao.

And I don't care about non-Black women being in relationships with Black men. Black men have been dating out for decades, who cares, but it's the way racist non-Black women use dating Black men as a trump card against Black women. The non-Black women that are fetishizing Black men have only approached me for friendship to literally be a culture appropriating vampire. They really feel like they should replace a Black woman in order to be in a relationship with a Black man and need a Black woman to leech off of—Slang, style, music, FOOD and sex. And it's all rooted in insecurity. I swear they binge watch Ebony amateur porn because they bring up Black penis unprovoked. It's a red flag to me.

In my opinion, they care about us being in relationships with Black men and get off on some weird "I can take your man if I want to," dynamic like that's your biggest opp if you're with a Black man, that bitch wants your life and is not your friend. 🤣 Heed my warning! She's mirroring you, love, she wants something from you and it comes at a great cost. Even if you're in an interracial relationship, they swear they can take your man... G'head.

And I'm not saying Black men are undesirable, hell no, but racist non-Black women expect us to be with abusers regardless of race because we aren't perceived as victims and they have access to all the "good" men, whatever the fuck that means. We are so hypersexualized that they want us to be with these dudes who have raging paraphilias, want us to have our children around them because that's a necessary evil they're willing to accept. Our children are a worthy sacrifice and they'll gladly look the other way. They always have.

They don't feel good enough even if they don't date Black men and put that on Black women to be the reminder, the mule, the most disrespected. Refuse to engage in the power dynamics and you're public enemy number one. Believe that you can do better and everyone's jumping into formation to humble you. Everyone hates a "bed wench" because you're encroaching on their territory. You can't be desired and deserving of love to them. It's unfathomable.

Don't be gaslighted.

[punkeropercyjackson]

Percy Jackson has to be like the most mischaracterizated protagonist in at least 3 decades and i mean that even if this one's barely started.Why the fuck are the 'trans female/transfeminine','autistic','parental' and 'latino' tags for Percy on ao3 not even hitting the 50 fics mark with 'black' and 'afrolatino' specifically not being searchable but there's 1k of the Percy Jackson/Apollo tag,not only a greek god to Percy's 18 but also who they canonically think of an annoying manchild they don't get the romantic/sex appeal of and subtextually maybe even a creepy cousin.Ain't Pjo a children's book series even if Percy themself is an adult