#Sensor light for parking

[motionsensorlights]

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[martyrbat]

oh tracy chapman we're really in it now....

[lostandbackagain]

the road to my favorite coffee place is so bad that my car doesn't even register it as a street when I cross over the lines trying to avoid control arm-killing potholes

[rafeandonlyrafe]

deputy's daughter

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only!, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, caught

“rafe!” you hiss as he makes his way into your room through his preferred method of the window. “my dad is going to kill you!”

“is he home?” he questions. he didn't see the cop car sitting in your driveway, which is why he scaled the lattice to sneak inside.

“no, but he's gonna be home any minute now!” you keep your voice quiet despite the rest of the house being empty.

“let me kiss you until he gets home then.” rafe says, cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a heated kiss. you know it's never just a kiss with him, but you can't help but open your lips for his adventurous tongue, gripping his shirt to pull him in closer.

rafe smirks against your mouth. he could have texted you asking you to let him, but that would have taken all the fun out of it. 

“you have to leave as soon as my dad gets home.” you scold him as rafe lays you back on your bed. 

“i know you can’t keep quiet.” rafe chuckles, hand groping at your tits through your thin pajama shirt. thankfully the flood lights above the garage are motion sensored, and with your open window they'll alert you when your dad gets home.

“if only deputy shoupe knew what i was doing to his little angel of a daughter.” rafe chuckles as you send him a glare, tugging at his shirt in a silent plea for him to take it off.

“shut up, cameron. he likes you anyways.” you roll your eyes. now if it was a pogue in your bed, that would be a whole different story. 

“mhm.” rafe nods, tugging your shirt up, revealing your bare chest. “im just so charming. all the parents love me.”

“all?” you raise your eyebrows, taking your shirt the rest of the way off, flinging it across the room. “you mean you do this with other girls.”

“not anymore.” rafe shakes his head, mouth dropping to your nipple, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. “you know they don't compare to that delicious pussy, baby.”

you tsk. “it's a shame you don't have time to eat it then.” 

rafe sighs dramatically, like it physically hurts him to not be able to give you head, to let his tongue drag through your folds and slurp up your juices.

“just a quick taste then ill fuck you, promise.” rafe tugs your pajama shorts down, knowing you never wear underwear just for him as he buries his face between your legs, forcing your thighs apart as his greedy mouth explores your pussy.

“delicious, baby.” rafe groans, voice vibrating against your skin. “my favorite meal.” he continues for only a moment longer, flicking his tongue against your entrance before moving up to press a wet kiss to your clit, making you moan out, eyes flickering to your window, making sure you somehow didn't miss the floodlights turning on.

rafe stands up with a lick of his lips, quickly undressing himself until he's just as bare as you are.

“condom?” he asks, forgetting to put one in his pocket, so caught up with getting over to your house on time, even running from his car to your yard, always parking a block away to not cause suspicion.

“fuck, you didn't bring one?” you groan, turning towards your bedside table. you squint in the low light as you scrounge through the drawer, but you know that you used the last one with rafe a week ago.

“just…” you sigh, pressing your forehead into the bed. “just pull out, okay?”

“promise.” rafe nods, eyes on your ass like they have been since you first turned onto your stomach, only half listening to what you're saying, but glad that you're still letting him fuck you.

rafe kneels over your legs before you can move back to your front or rise to your hands and knees. “stay like that.” he hums, gripping his cock and pushing it between your thighs, rubbing the head through your slick.

“fuck, you're so hot.” rafe groans as you reach behind your back, pulling your ass apart to show off both of your holes. “gonna let me play with this one one day?” rafe hums, his tip sliding past your entrance to your other hole, tapping against it.

“maybe.” you smirk. but certainly not today, not when you're already playing on limited time.

rafe slides back down to your cunt, pushing in as he leans forward, covering your body with his own. one hand keeps him held up, stopping from putting his complete weight on you, while the other grips your ass.

“fuck.” rafe groans out, his voice sounding more hoarse than usual. “you feel so good with nothing in between us.”

you moan as well as rafe bottoms out, pushing as far in as your pussy allows. he sits still, allowing you to adjust, to feel every ridge and vein of his cock. he goes from giving you nothing to pounding into you in an instant, the sound of your skin slapping together filling the room.

rafe gives a glance at the window. lights still off. he smirks down at you, your hands now gripping into the bedsheets as he plows into you from behind, using the full force of his hips with every thrust.

“m-more.” you mewl out, body shuddering as rafe manages to go deeper with a tilt of his hips, along with you arching your back and bringing your ass up further into the air.

you let out loud groans with every thrust that's now hitting your sweet spot, pushing your orgasm quickly to the surface.

“fuck baby, you're so tight.” rafe grunts out. “don't know how much longer i can last.”

“re-remember to pull out.” you manage to hum out, even though you wish you could feel him fill you up, you're not on birth control and are already taking a risk with having sex at all.

“ass or tits?” rafe questions. 

“ass.” you shake your hips from side to side, making rafe let out a loud curse, pulling out sooner than he'd like to to jack himself off, spilling almost instantly over your ass and back, spreading long ropes of cum along your skin.

rafe is quick to grab a tissue and clean you off, as much as he likes seeing you covered in his cum, he's got other things to focus on.

just as he's about to flip you over to eat you out, the lights outside turn on.

“fuck!” you curse, knowing you have seconds before your dad enters the house. you turn over to look at rafe. you gotta get out.”

“you didn't cum yet.” rafe shakes his head, body covering you again, pressing you back down into the plush mattress. “im not leaving without giving you at least one orgasm.”

“you're gonna be leaving with a bullet in your chest if my dad catches you!” you hiss out.

“itll be worth it.” rafe manages to force his hand underneath you, finding your clit with ease as he rubs his fingers between your folds. 

“y/n!” your dads voice calls out. you usually greet him downstairs, staying locked in your room is bound to cause suspicion.

“rafe.” you moan out quietly. “please, stop.” you can barely keep yourself from screaming out as his fingers just move faster, his weight pressing down on you too much to move.

“babygirl?” shoupe calls out, his loud footsteps marching up the stairs.

“i-in my room!” you call out.

“you okay?” he asks, now right outside your door. you have to cover your mouth as rafe flicks your clit. you take a deep breath before answering.

“yeah, fine!” your voice wobbles a little, something you know your dad notices. “just period cramps!”

“can i get you some midol?” he questions, and you know his ear is pressed to the door, listening for any signs that something is amiss as rafe rubs you quicker, refusing to slow down, needing to get an orgasm out of you.

“already took some!” you call out, having to press your face into your mattress as you cum, body shaking as rafe smirks above you, hearing your muffled noises. “i think im just gonna go to bed early.” you say as soon as you recover.

“alright, goodnight sweetheart.” 

rafe finally allows you to flip over, lifting himself to lay on his side next to you. you raise your eyebrows and hold your finger to your lips, signaling rafe to be quiet until you hear your father's footsteps move down the hallway.

“rafe, you almost got us caught!” you whisper, giving him a shove on the shoulder, only to be met by a proud smile on his face.

“had to get you off, princess, otherwise it wouldn't be fair.” rafe leans forward to plant a kiss on your lips, feeling the way you melt against him.

“am i forgiven?” he questions.

“yeah, just get out.” you giggle quietly. you think your dad bought your explanation, but you can never be too sure.

rafe dresses quickly, throwing your pajamas onto the bed so you can also get decent.

“gotta give you one more kiss.” he leans over your bed to give you a sweet kiss, lips moving gently against each others.

“okay, now go.” you shoo rafe out, heading to the window now that your legs feel a bit more stable, watching him climb down the lattice. he gives you a wave once his feet hit the concrete, only for his entire body to freeze when the side door opens up, your dad stepping out into the light.

“rafe cameron, im going to kill you!”

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[aumos]

By now, we are sure you have understood the mechanism and especially the advantages of motion sensor lights and energy-efficient LED tube lights. To all first-time readers, we recommend checking out our previous blogs on this topic and especially to get a great understanding of the benefits of motion sensor lights by AUMOS.

[witchywcmans]

AGAINST THE LAW. | KEN RYUGUJI

synopsis ━━ after one too many trips to the auto repair shop with your old car, you realize you can focus on your work tasks so much better in the waiting room. but when the head mechanic notices you've been loitering, you recognize him instantly: ken ryuguji. there’s zero chance you’re getting out of this one. (older!draken x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ missionary position on a motorcycle (hey, this is fiction), cunnilingus + fingering, praise, semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, pet names (i.e. cherry), mentions loss of virginity in the past, mutual pining, au as helllll, draken is in his late 20s and a mechanic. nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 5.2k

song inspiration ━━ one for the road, arctic monkeys / one of the girls, the weeknd / fallen star, the neighbourhood

author's note ━━ ok off the bat, I just wanna say this fic was completely inspired by this movie called wait with me. my friends and I like to watch passionflix movies for the laughs, but this one wasn't. well horrible. if you watch it, don't expect oscar-worthy performances, but it was fun and stupid and yeah, it made me think about what if part of this concept was applied to draken when he was older, workin as a mechanic. idk. I'm not caught up on the manga whatsoever so take this as a major au lol

Your car was a piece of shit, but that wasn’t the only reason you ended up sitting in the waiting room at the mechanic’s more than usual. A police officer would call it loitering. You, on the other hand, called it a safe space. For the past couple of weeks, your car had been in and out of the shop due to a faulty ignition sensor that your mechanic couldn’t nail down until your car broke down on the side of the highway. For the third time. Needless to say, it had been a stressful past month. The car issues had been one thing, but then there was all the pressure at work. And for some reason, you began to find comfort in working at the mechanic’s waiting room.

Your work as a journalist was very important to you. A perfectionist at heart, you needed to be in the right zone, the right state of mind, to write. Unfortunately, you weren’t someone who could sit at your desk at home for hours, typing away at the speed of light, and you definitely couldn’t focus at a coffee shop. You tried a plethora of other places. The local park: your laptop died. The library: teenagers still whispered too loud even in the quietest of places. The McDonald's parking lot: you got distracted by your hunger. Nowhere was right … until you were forced to work from your mechanic’s waiting room while he worked on your car. 

Even when your mechanic figured out the issue, you couldn’t help but sneak in through the entrance late mornings and work on your articles. The waiting room was just so … quiet, even more quiet than a library. There was hardly anyone in there besides the retired folk who could wait all day for their car to be fixed. You had a coffee machine at your disposable – not good coffee, but good enough – and a selection of snacks from the vending machine. It was pure bliss. You liked to hole yourself up in the corner, picking out different outfits that would conceal your face enough, and type away until the sun began to set. No one said a word to you. No one batted an eye.

So, as you can see, it was a surprise to you when someone eventually approached you two months into your loitering scheme.

It was just about closing time and you were shoving your laptop in your backpack after sending off another draft to your editor. A pair of feet appeared in front of your chair, and when you looked up at the young mechanic chewing on the end of a toothpick, you knew you were fucked. 

“Toyota,” he said without missing a beat, knowing your car from the top of his head, “ignition sensor, right?”

You paused, sliding on your backpack. Could you make a break for it? “Um … correct.”

“That was fixed weeks ago,” he said, slapping a dirty rag on his shoulder, car keys dangling from the other hand. 

Your mouth went completely dry. How the fuck could you explain this without coming off as a total weirdo? Your hands gripped the straps of your backpack for dear life. This was so embarrassing.

Before you could reply, the young mechanic gestured to the back door with his chin. “Follow me,” he said. “Boss wants to talk to ‘ya.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Still fiddling with your backpack straps, you knew there was no choice but to follow this guy. He led you through the back door and into the main workshop area of the shop. There were some cars left on a few lifts, ready to be inspected tomorrow, and the shelves packed with parts seemed to be in disarray. Besides that, there was no one in here but you, the young mechanic, and whoever this “boss” was still working in the back of the shop. You had never met the owner of the shop before; you typically worked with your mechanic and no one else.

You took down the hood that you’d been wearing today. There was no use in hiding your face now.

“Here she is, boss,” the man beside you said, still twirling those keys. “Can I go home now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the boss replied, hidden behind the huge motorcycle he was working on. “Good work today.”

The younger man left, the bell above the office door jingling, and now it was just two: you and this so-called boss you’d never met. You stood there in silence, hands fidgeting with anxiety, as you waited for the boss to say something. From behind the motorcycle, all you could see was a flash of blonde hair and smoke puffing out into the dingy air. It smelled like motor oil and cigarettes back here.

You lifted your foot – maybe it was time to try and sprint out – but then a deep voice entered the work space.

“You know that loitering is against the law, right?”

That voice … it was familiar, but you couldn’t put a pin on it. And then, the boss was standing up, and you saw the tuft of blonde hair slicked back, the shaved sides on his head. That infamous dragon tattoo still on his left temple. The little hoop on his left ear was accompanied by a few other small piercings. He was still the same height – over six feet – but had grown some muscle. His hands were calloused from all those years of fighting, and now, from heavy labor. And those eyes … they were still as stormy and dark as the first day you saw him in school.

This wasn’t just embarrassing. This was mortifying.

“C’mon, Cherry,” Draken said, instantly recognizing you and your old nickname, “you know you can’t loiter in my shop.”

Cherry. You hadn’t been called that since … well, since high school. Your classmates hadn’t started calling you that because of a specific physical trait. To your face, you were told the nickname was for your quick skill of tying a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue. You had been the best, after all. But unbeknownst to you, the nickname came from when Mikey Sano, the infamous former leader of the Tokyo Manji Gang, popped your cherry.

You hadn’t even liked Mikey at the time. You were just sweet sixteen, and he was a year older, and you had assumed it would be better for your first to be someone with experience. Unfortunately, Mikey Sano had no experience. The sex had been awkward and terrible, as most first times between teenagers are, but at least you could say that you lost your virginity to the leader of Toman. Your eyes had always been on someone else, though. Someone who you had been too nervous to talk to, who you had only shared just a few interactions with. You never had a crush on Mikey as a teenager; you had always liked –

“Draken,” you said finally, shock lining your voice. Your eyes formed into wide saucers. It had been so long, and he was here. This whole time. Right under your nose. How surprised did you look right now?

He chuckled, wiping his hands off on a rag. The cigarette dangling from his lips was plucked out, and he stabbed it into an ashtray. “Don’t look so surprised.”

Oh, so you did look that shocked to see him.

He threw the tool he’d been using on a bench and stepped around the bike. “I really don’t go by Draken anymore,” he continued, sitting down on the rusted motorcycle, stretching his legs out. “Just call me, Ken.”

You were speechless. Were you breathing right now? You had to admit … you still found him to be handsome. He always had been. God, you were obsessed with him in high school, but always hid your crush in the shadows. Not even your friends knew about it, but you’d made it obvious, even if you didn’t know it. And now … he’d gotten better with age. The lines underneath his eyes told a story, as well as the scars etched into his veiny forearms. He could have more that you couldn’t see underneath the tattoos on his arms. Your mouth was so dry from staring at him that you had to lick the corners of your lips.

“Ken,” you said in a single breath, lacing your hands together in front of your body. You hadn’t moved from your spot, even when he was looking at you so casually. “I’m so sorry for loitering. Please, don’t call the cops on me. Or something. I have a reason –”

“Me? Call the police?” He laughed again, and it was just like how you remembered. “Do you know me at all, Cherry?”

Once you found the courage to breathe again, you stepped forward. Then another. And another. “I guess I don’t,” you shrugged, still playing with your hands. “I guess I just knew of you.”

“And I knew of you, all those years ago.” He smiled like you two were in on a secret. The rag that had been in his hands was tossed onto his left shoulder. He was wearing a pair of grey coveralls stained with oil, but the top half was unzipped and tied around his waist, leaving him in just a white tank top on his torso, which hugged his muscles so nicely. “So, tell me then. What’s the reason for your loitering?”

This had to be the most words shared between you two than all those years at school together. You thought about pinching yourself, just to check if this was all part of an elaborate dream. Or nightmare, depending on how it ended.

“Um …” You rubbed the back of your neck, blushing slightly. “Well, you see … the waiting room at your shop is very … quiet.”

His brow raised. “So I’ve been told.” He stared you down. “C’mon, out with it.”

“You’re going to make fun of me.”

“I will not.”

“Yes, you will.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because we went to school together!”

“Oh, you know that means noth –”

“I’m a journalist and I write my articles better in your waiting room,” you finally answered, crossing your arms over your chest. “There. I said it.”

Draken couldn’t stop himself from laughing. He knew he promised, but the giggles bubbled up inside him, forcing themselves to emerge. You looked at him incredulously, blinking too fast. All you wanted right now was to crawl into a hole and be left alone. You had to find a new mechanic after this.

“You said you wouldn’t make fun of me,” you sighed.

He waved his hand as his laughter died down. “I’m not. I promise.” Finally, his shoulders sagged again and he stood up. “I think it’s really cool that you … like my waiting room so much.”

You found your lips pulling into a smile at the same time as him. The tension broke and you felt your dimples crease. “I also like all the little snacks in the machine.”

“And the coffee?” He added.

You shrugged. “Could use some work.”

Draken laughed again, and just the sound of it made butterflies form in your stomach. You never had such a reaction to someone laughing before. What was wrong with you?

He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his coveralls. “It’s … really nice to see you again, Cherry.”

You mimicked his actions, instead sliding your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “You too, Ken.”

“I won’t bust you for loitering, by the way. Even if it is against the law,” he chuckled under his breath, whipping the rag off his shoulder once again. “Come over here. Let me show you what I’m working on.”

His tone was so casual, as if years hadn’t passed between you two, as if this wasn’t the most you talked in years. You set your backpack down and approached him in front of the bike. Your fingers ran over the slope of the seat, all new despite the rusty exterior of the motorcycle. “That’s new leather,” he informed you. “Feel free to test it out. I need someone else’s butt on this thing so I know if I chose a good material.”

You giggled, all light and flirty. You simply couldn’t help it, especially when he looked at you with those dark eyes, the corners creasing when he smiled. Without missing a beat, you sat down on the side of the bike, like he had minutes ago, and looked up at him. He was tall, but from this seat, he was even taller. 

He pointed to the wheel of the bike, and then the headlight. “I just started replacing the …” His voice drowned out as you simply focused on his lips. His mouth quirked as he explained what he fixed so far on the bike. You watched his finger dance around the bike, taking in the rough exterior of his hands up close. They were so much bigger now, amongst other things –

“So how’s that seat?”

You blinked, bringing yourself out of your horny stupor. “Oh, um – comfy. Very comfy.” You cleared your throat. “So … is this for a customer?”

“It’s mine. This is a personal project,” he explained, leaning slightly to the left, closer to you. “I wouldn’t be working on anything this late except if it was for me.”

His eyes were on you again, drinking you in as you sat on the bike. He placed his hand on the fuel tank, so close to yours. Your stomach was definitely doing flip-flops now, especially when you noticed the way his eyes raked down your figure. You wished you’d chosen something better to wear, something other than a pair of jeans and a cropped hoodie, but you’d only expected to be getting work done in the waiting room today. Not to be confronted by your old school crush. But it looked like it didn’t matter to him. The way he was looking at you … it felt like you were naked.

“It really is nice to see you again,” he said, voice just slightly above a whisper. His stance changed and he moved to stand between your legs.

You bit your lip for a moment. “You already said that.”

“You’re right. Uh … I …” He looked down at his hands, flexing them, breaking his nerves. “You just … look very pretty … sitting on my bike.”

You looked down at yourself. The way you sat with your legs spread wide was anything but attractive, and it wasn’t like you were wearing a cute, little dress. “I do?”

But when you lifted your stare again, his face was so much closer to yours. He was leaning down now, bracing two hands on the leather seat, and trying to pretend like he wasn’t inhaling your perfume. You just smelled … so good. Like strawberries and apples and … cherries. Red, ripened cherries. And the way you were sitting on that seat, eyes wide and cheeks blushing from being caught earlier. Fuck, it reminded him of the first time he saw you in high school. He had been a horny teenager, of course, but the way he saw you tie that cherry stem with your tongue … you were the first person he ever jerked off to the thought of. He had never made a move on you – ever – but at this moment, he was glad. Because things would’ve been different, and you never would’ve ended up loitering at his shop, and you never would’ve been sitting so pretty on his bike, all these years later.

“I just …” He trailed off, words failing him, as he lifted a hand to skim it over your jawline. “You can tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t. You wouldn’t. Your eyes simply batted up at him, leaning into his touch when his fingers caressed your cheek. Your skin immediately flushed. You were so soft, and warm, and god, did his skin prickle when he touched you. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” He muttered, voice gravely. You nodded instantly, and his thumb went to trace the outline of your lips. “I had always been … jealous that Mikey got to you first.”

Had your feelings in high school been reciprocated and you didn’t even know it? You licked at the corners of your lips, your tongue quickly flicking his thumb in the process. “You were?” You asked, already feeling yourself getting wet from just him tracing your lips. “I … never really liked Mikey anyways.” You then shook your head. “It feels silly to talk about this so many years later –”

Draken turned your face back to his, looking into your eyes sternly. “You never liked Mikey,” he said, point blank, pressing his thumb onto your bottom lip.

Without hesitation, you wrapped your lips around his thumb, swirling your tongue around the fingertip. You shook your head at his question.

His breath hitched. Just the sight of your lips around his thumb had him adjusting himself in his pants. He could feel his cock start to swell with need, causing him to mumble a soft, “Fuck,” under his breath.

You weren’t just wet now. You were soaked.

You slipped your mouth off his thumb, leaving a tiny trail of spit. His face immediately got closer, his lips grazing yours. He could tell they were soft, and even your chapstick smelled like cherries. God, how could he be so hard already? “I liked you back when we were teenagers,” you confessed, reaching out to hook your thumbs in the belt loops on his coveralls. “I was too scared to say anything, and Mikey … he’d just been there. Right place at the right time. We really didn’t feel anything for each other.”

Your words stirred something within him, something more than jealousy. Was it regret? The fact that he could’ve had you, all those years ago, if he’d just manned up and asked. He could’ve fought people all day, but when it came to asking out the girl he liked, he’d sat back, let his best friend pop your cherry. It should’ve been him. Fuck, it could’ve been him. 

His lips pressed to yours instantly, needing to taste the sweetness on your lips. His tongue darted out, swiping at that cherry flavor, and he moaned. Actually moaned. Draken wasn’t known to be weak for anyone, but you … you had always been a different story. You pulled him in closer by his belt loops, tipping your face up as he leaned over you. His mouth devoured yours, his tongue slipping past your lips once again to explore your mouth. He gripped the edge of the seat, his other hand cradling your jaw, and you wanted him so much closer. If he just put his knee between your legs, you could –

There it was. He did it, placing his knee right in the perfect spot. You bucked your hips up, setting a slow grind against his knee as he kissed you with feverish intent. Moans fell from your lips and into the kiss, making the tent in his pants grow bigger every passing second. He was so fucking hard now, and he needed more of you. He would have more of you.

“No, stop,” he muttered, breaking the kiss and moving his knee away. You huffed with disappointment, wanting that delicious friction once again, but when you opened your eyes, he was staring at you with purpose. “Please, let me taste you.”

You nodded dumbly, eyes blown out with lust. All you could say was, “Okay.”

In another life, you would’ve said something endearing, or maybe even hit him with a little dirty talk. But you absolutely couldn’t right now. Your head was swimming, the image of him unzipping your jeans and taking them off felt like it was out of a fever dream. Is this what it felt like to drown? No, you were breathing – just about – and Draken was throwing your pants off to the side, kneeling before you. Your legs spread wide as you sat on the bike. Surely, there could’ve been a better place to do this, but the way he was staring at your soaked panties, pushing them to the side to take in your pussy … you knew there was no stopping him. This was just his first course of the night.

His tongue dove between your wet folds, drinking you in like a glass of lemonade on a hot summer’s day. You knew you were done for when his arms wrapped around your legs, holding them apart, giving himself better access to one thing he’d craved for years. He rolled his tongue over your swollen clit, enjoying the sounds that slipped out of your mouth. You muttered obscenities, bucked your hips without thinking, pulled on his slicked-back hair. Anything to give you more friction on your precious, aching clit.

He dragged his tongue down, pushing it inside your warmth, collecting the arousal and groaning like a man starved. Fucking his tongue into you, he angled his nose to brush your clit, and you just about mewled. You had spent so many years either having mediocre sex or stressing over this stupid job, when this – this man you had been in love with in school – was here the whole time, just dreaming about the day he could eat your pussy. So much time wasted, so many fake orgasms, while Ken Ryuguji owned your favorite auto shop, so close to you and right under your nose. 

You were pretty sure the seat on this bike had to have been ruined. Draken was turning you into a wet mess, making your hips buck against his face. His lips wrapped your beloved clit, sucking and pulling, needing more – so much more – of you. Slipping two fingers inside you, he pumped them fast. It didn’t take long for his fingers to curl and find that sweet spot that had your core trembling around him. He didn’t know what he’d do if you came on his face. Honestly, he’d probably cum in his pants on the spot.

“C’mon … c’mon … you can cum in my m–mouth –” He was practically begging, his voice muffled from deep within your thighs. “Tastes so, so good … fuck, Cherry, fuck –”

You couldn’t stop yourself, couldn’t even think about anything but the way his tongue lapped at your clit, before you were cumming on his tongue, your arousal smearing all over his lips. He moaned the second he got just a hint of your essence, burying his face more into your legs. You tasted better than candy, than cherries, than menthol cigarettes. He could spend forever between these thighs, drinking you in and listening to your desperate moans.

Once your body stopped shaking, he dragged his tongue one last time through your folds, making sure he didn’t miss a drop. You yelped from the overstimulation, and when you opened your eyes, he was rising from in between your legs. His licked at your slick still staining his lips, bringing your mouth to his again, letting you taste yourself. Your hands fisted into his shirt, downright desperate for more of him. As if reading your thoughts, he pulled back.

“I know it’s not ideal, given the place we’re in, but …” He cradled your face in both in his hands, as if you were just a baby bird. “Can I fuck you, Cherry?”

You nodded without hesitation, already drunk on his touch. You weren’t exactly sure how he planned on doing this. I mean … you two were in the dirty workshop area of an auto repair shop. This wasn’t exactly the best place to have sex. But then he was adjusting your position on the motorcycle, laying your head down by the handlebar and pulling your legs on both sides of the seat, your ass resting nicely in the curve. His hands were quick to roll off your panties.

“Ken,” you called out, sitting up a little and dragging your hand up. His white tank bunched up at the waist. “Wanna see more of you …”

Draken was so goddamn hard in his pants, his cock throbbing with the anticipation of being inside you, but you were just so pretty and he was putty in your hands. He let your palms explore him, lifting his tank top up so you could see what the fabric had been concealing. He’d really filled out since school – his arms were toned, his abdomen more defined. He looked like the statue of Apollo, all lean and muscled, but with just the right amount of grit. You liked that he never got his dragon tattoo removed (although, that would’ve been very painful), and that his piercings remained the same. Everything about him seemed untouched, but he’d just gotten better with age. Just the sight of him made your mouth water.

You leaned back down on the bike, bringing him down with you. Your lips pressed against his hungrily, and he was so, so tempted to slip his tongue into your mouth, when he felt his cock hard as a rock in his pants, aching and pulsating. His mouth broke away from yours, and he whispered, quite hopelessly, “I’m so sorry, but I really, really need to be inside you or my dick is going to explode.”

A chuckle escaped your lips, and just the sound of it made Draken smile. You nodded, urging him to continue, and he quickly unzipped the bottom half of his coveralls. He took his cock out: it was long, curved, pink at the tip, and leaking precum on the shop floor. All the more reason to be inside you; he couldn’t have his mechanics seeing that on the floor and wondering what he was doing after hours. He pulled a condom out from his wallet and slid the ribbed rubber on. Lifting both your legs onto his shoulders, your ass was almost rising off the seat and he positioned himself between your thighs, noticing the way your slick was smeared all over his seat. He grunted at the sight of it, slamming his cock into your without thinking.

You cried out, feeling him so deep so quickly. He held your legs up, leaning down as far as he could, and muttered, “Fuck, I’m sorry – so sorry – just … needed to be inside you. Needed to fuck you on my bike.”

You hand came up to cup his chin for a moment. “S’okay,” you promised, “just fuck me like you should’ve done years ago, Draken.”

He knew he told you to call him Ken, but just the nickname falling your lips in such a filthy manner had him groaning. Draken pulled out of you until only the tip remained, and then pounded his cock back inside you. You keened, trying to close your legs, but he held them up by his shoulders. He set a fast pace inside you, unable to keep his moans at bay, and slipped one hand off your leg to snake his fingers up your hoodie, pushing it up to your chin. Pulling your breasts out from your bra, his eyes clouded and played with your sensitive nipples. “So good,” he muttered, teeth sinking into his bottom lip for a moment. “Feels so, so good … needed you for so long, Cherry.”

“I know, I know, Draken,” you whimpered, locking your arms around his neck to bring his face closer to yours, your thighs now curling against your chest. Your back ached against the seat and your legs burned from the uncomfortable position, but you wouldn’t dare push him away, not when he was filling you like this. 

With his lips just grazing yours, he tugged on your lip, making you moan, and he fucked into you harder. Your nails were now dragging down his shoulders, leaving marks that he’d think about forever. “Fuck, I’m s’deep … so deep inside you. You’re so warm, so wet – fuck, I’m so close already.”

“Wait for me,” you begged, sighing as his cock curved against your sweet spot. “Wanna cum with you, Draken.”

“I know, Cherry,” he grunted, his pace relentless. Fuck, this was all he ever needed, all he wanted to do, forever. It felt like you were made to take him. “Touch yourself f’me. Cum together … we’ll cum together.”

You nodded quickly, moving your hand in between your bodies, finding your puffy clit so easily. A whine escaped your lips as you fingers rubbed little circles, getting you so close already. You just needed a little push. Draken was slamming into you, his breaths fanning your cheeks, and when he felt your legs start to shake, your walls clenching just a little, he almost died. “Such a good girl …” He cooed, nose brushing yours. “Touching yourself f’me so nicely … fuck, you take me so well … yes, yes, you’re so close. Just like that.”

Your fingers rubbed a little faster, and you knew your orgasm was imminent. With him pushing into you, filling you completely, and the stimulation on your clit … you felt your lips purse into an O-shape. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Draken. I’m gonna … fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“I know, I know,” he groaned. “Fuck – gonna cum too. That’s a good girl … doing so good – fuck –”

His release came first. He had been close for so long, Draken was surprised he’d been able to hold back. He came with a loud groan, spilling himself into the condom, and it was only seconds later that your jaw went slack with pleasure. His name fell from your lips in a whimper, and you kept rubbing that aching clit through your orgasm, going tight around his cock. He wouldn’t stop fucking into you, even when your orgasm subsided, needing to feel you clench around him for just a moment longer. The way he filled you wasn’t like any other. You never wanted to feel empty again. You couldn’t, not when you knew how Ken Ryuguji felt inside you.

When you both eventually stopped trembling, he gently placed your legs back down on the sides of the bike. They felt sore and limp, but that was the last thing on your mind. You opened your eyes at the same time, and you both couldn’t help but laugh at the position you were in, the absurdity of it all. The workshop smelled like gas and oil, and you were surrounded by broken-down cars. But you two had fucked like you were in a bedroom, on a soft mattress, rather than a motorcycle. You hand went over your mouth to suppress your giggles.

Draken smiled with you, and then removed your hand, liking the way you laughed. “I know it’s been a long time coming, but … can I take you out some night?”

You couldn’t stop smiling even if you tried. “I’d like that, Ken.”

His cock had gone soft, but he was still nestled inside you, basking in your warmth. Draken wished he could be inside you forever, with your fingers playing with his hair. He would give anything for this moment to last, but he knew this position on the bike had to be the most uncomfortable for you, and he needed to take off this condom. He chuckled under his breath.

“Also, in case you were wondering,” he said, lips pulling into a smirk. “You can loiter around my waiting room anytime.”

[futurebird]

The more I learn about light pollution harms insects, the more I want to try to help... do something about it. But I live in NYC. It feels like an impossible ask. A whole city devoted to making the most light pollution possible.

I strongly suspect that we'd see a greater variety of wildlife if we could dim the light a little.

Just using colors like red light can help. So can dark hours and motion sensors. What if one day, as a treat, every New Yorker got to see the milky way?

Most people doing light pollution activism are working in places like national parks & deep in the country, places that are almost dark, where the lights are encroaching especially as the cost of very bright LEDs keeps falling: companies and municipalities say "why not? what's the harm?"

The harm is vast. So many creatures need the night to live. Maybe humans need it too. We do, at least, need those creatures.

I care about insects most. But if you don't consider: no bugs, no song birds.

Is reducing light pollution in a big city a hopeless cause? Is it better to focus on those once perfectly dark places being lit up?

One positive of making light pollution an issue in a big city is how it would raise awareness. Imagine if, in the small hours of the night the lights slowly shifted red. Lights with motion sensors that slowly gutter out. You can see NYC on the horizon glowing like a bomb went off for miles, that glow could dim a bit, give the stars a chance to shine.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Perfect Life || CL16 {5}

Summary: It’s Charles first real introduction to his new employee. Warnings: angst, swearing, sarcasm, underground fighting, injuries. WC: 2.7k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six Taglist: RETIRED Head over to my dedicated library blog @dilemmaslibrary and opt to get notifications from there.

The black leather pants and hoodie hid your presence well as you crept through the backyard just before midnight. After years of sneaking in and out of the property you knew exactly where to step to avoid activating the motion sensor lights and Charles followed each step carefully. He had tried to get you to stay at home but finally relented to your stubbornness and changed into more inconspicuous clothes too. 

Eventually you reached the small gate that the gardeners used for supply deliveries and found Franco had left it unlocked. The gentle giant had worked security for the last 20 years and aided your escapes more than he liked to admit. 

“I hope you know how to ride,” you commented as you opened the caretaker’s shed and tossed him your helmet. 

Charles looked at the helmet and turned it so the moonlight caught the almost imperceptible writing on the black carbon - What doesn’t kill me makes me angry. “Fitting,” he chuckled before handing it back. “You wear it.”

“You’re the one with the career, you should wear it.” You swung your heel back and knocked the kickstand up before wheeling the motorcycle out of the shed. It wasn’t the quickest way out but you couldn’t risk waking anyone up with the engine so you always walked it down the street before climbing on. 

“It’s actually in my contract that I should avoid dangerous activities and I’m pretty sure this would count as one,” he said as he hung the helmet back on the handlebars and helped push the heavy bike along. 

“You’re welcome to stay here in that case, or walk.”

Charles scoffed and shook his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

You deemed it far enough from the house and swung your leg over the seat, patting the space behind you. “Get on.”

Charles’ arms wrapped around your middle as he took the seat and kicked the riding pegs out with his boots. 

“I’m not sure if you are brave or stupid,” you commented. “You do realise your life is in my hands now.”

“Ma said the two usually go hand in hand but I trust you.”

You were acutely aware of every inch of Charles that touched you for the 15 minute ride to the latest address you had received. His chest rested against your back and his hands that lay on your thighs, only shifting to hold your waist through the corners he leaned into. It was clear he had ridden before but it was probably his first time being the backpack. 

“This used to be a nightclub,” Charles said with a frown as you parked in an alleyway and killed the engine. 

The old staff entrance was propped open with a brick and you ushered Charles inside where the noise grew with each step. 

“Phones,” Rex said as he held his hand out in front of the door that led to the club. You handed yours over first, taking the tab with a number so you could claim it after but the rules were strict, no phones, no cameras. Charles had a harder time parting with his but eventually handed it over with a frown and the doors opened. 

The old three storey nightclub had an empty core surrounded by a spiralling staircase that descended two storeys into the basement and one that rose up. The biggest punters would be in the VIP area above and the spectators would line the rails to get the best view of the pit that sat central on the lowest level. 

Charles looked over the rail and blanched as two regulars went face to face, blood dripping from the gashes that had been opened by the bare knuckles they fought with. 

“Hey,” Arthur greeted with a beer in his hand. “I thought maybe he talked you out of coming.”

“As if, but I was hoping he would stay behind” you said, stealing his beer to take a sip. “Who’s going to bail us out if this place gets raided?”

“We’ll be fine,” Arthur joked. “He’s a runner so we can still call him.”

“Except they took my phone,” Charles grumbled. 

Arthur looked at his brother’s hand that almost always held the device and laughed until he noticed the dark sweatpants and hoodie he wore. “You stole my clothes.”

“You left them in my girlfriend's room.” Charles paused and stole the beer next, finishing it off with a cringe. “That is not a sentence I ever thought I would say.”

“While you ponder what your life has become, I am going to go get ready.” You turned and kissed Arthur’s cheek in farewell. “See you down there.”

“Where’s my kiss?” Charles asked, his brow arched in a challenge. 

You were already two steps away when you looked over your shoulder. “You can kiss my ass.” It unintentionally drew his eyes down your body to the leather that looked like it had been poured onto your skin and those eyes lingered on your ass until you descended the stairs and disappeared from sight.

“You do realise you are fake dating, right?”

Charles rolled his eyes and lightly shoved his younger brother. “I can still appreciate a good looking woman when I see one.”

“Well, keep those thoughts to yourself. She’s been hurt enough.”

Charles dragged a hand through his hair and nodded. “I know, she told me. I really fucked up, but I thought you were happy about the arrangement?”

“I don’t exactly have a genie lying around, so you're the next best hope she has of getting out of that hellhole.” Arthur shrugged. “I don’t have to tell you that if you fuck this up for her I will never forgive you.”

In the bathrooms of the basement you opened the duffle bag and changed into your usual sports bra and shorts before uncapping the Vaseline and smearing the gel over your cheeks. The familiar scent calmed your mind as you wiped the excess off and grabbed the tape to wrap your knuckles. The monotonous routine was your focus, the sounds outside the room fading as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Evidence of your tears still remained in your puffy eyes but you felt better having finally told him what had weighed you down for a decade. You didn’t want to read too much into that thought as you tied your hair back into a bun so no one could pull it in the ring. 

The bell for the end of the last fight rang out and you shook your head to clear it before kicking your bag under the sink and leaving. Arthur was waiting outside with Charles a few steps away and he checked your fists before walking to the ring. Blood splatters littered the vinyl floor that had been rolled out and two of the helpers were dragging an unconscious man out of the way.

“Bathroom is there if you’re gonna vomit,” you said to Charles as he swallowed nervously. From the other side of the ring Kaine was grinning at you, his mouth guard the colour of blood he was looking to spill, and you blew him a kiss. 

“You’re fighting a guy!?” Charles exclaimed as he realised that was your competitor. 

“There’s not exactly many female fighters to choose from.”

“You could get hurt, that man is huge.”

You rolled your shoulders out and bounced on the balls of your feet as you warmed up. “You’re really great at instilling confidence, you should have your own Ted Talk.”

“If you’re not going to help then go away,” Arthur growled before turning to face you. “Remember, he favours his right leg and Javier broke his collarbone last month. What doesn’t kill you?”

“Makes me angry.” You opened your mouth and Arthur put your mouthguard in before opening the cage door for the octagonal ring. On the floors above cash was trading hands as the bookies took the bets but you paid them no mind as you circled the floor with Kaine. 

“She’s going to get killed,” Charles choked as he laced his fingers in the chain link fence. “He’s massive.”

“She’s agile. What she lacks in size she makes up for with speed. Just don’t be shocked by what you see.”

“What do you mean? I'm already shocked.”

Arthur snorted a laugh. “Just wait, I didn’t even recognise her the first time. It’s like watching a completely different person take over her body.”

All the anger and hate that lay dormant in your body awoke when the bell rang and the ref stepped out from between you and Kaine. All the emotions that you kept bottled inside were released and your eyes narrowed on the man who was going to be at the receiving end. 

Kaine rushed across the mat with all the grace of a baby elephant charging on rollerskates. The very floor vibrated with each stomp of his size 14 feet and his fist reeled back and he poured his entire strength into the first punch. Unfortunately it was his bulk that slowed the punch down and you easily avoided the attack that could have probably crushed your skull. You ducked under his arm and used your spinning momentum to land a kick on his left knee. The joint twisted unnaturally and he cried out as with pain and anger. 

Arthur was right, he did favour his right leg and you had just re-injured the old ailment. Off balance, he tried to follow your quick movements but you were already back in front of him, jabbing a quick one-two combo to his core. Heat flared in your fists as they connected with the hard muscle of his abs but you welcomed the rush of adrenaline that followed the pain. Kaine threw a punch of his own and you skirted away but not quick enough and his knuckles more than caressed your cheek. You had dodged the knockout blow but there would still be a bruise to show for your slow reaction.

“Nice work,” you said with a grin as you circled around each other. “You almost got me, big boy. C’mon, take another shot.”

You probably shouldn’t have taunted him because there was no avoiding the roundhouse kick that rattled your rib cage and knocked the breath out of you with a gasp. It was a mistake to look at Charles through the fence but you saw the worry in his eyes and the white-knuckled grip he had on the chain. 

“Watch out,” he shouted as the concern turned to panic for what was coming behind you.

On instinct you dropped low and raised your arms to protect your head, barely missing the right hook that would have rendered you unconscious. Rage took over as he leapt forward on his good leg to attack again and you waited for him to overextend into the punch before stepping closer. It was impossible for him to defend in such a confined space and he was surprised by the sudden change. You planted your feet and drove the power of your punch up from your legs, twisting your hips as you rolled your shoulder and crashed your left fist into the softer skin protecting his kidney. A deep grunt expelled from him as he hunched over and you followed through with a right hook of your own. Right into his weak spot. 

His piercing cry was almost as sharp as the snap of bone under your knuckles and he stumbled back clutching his collar that was freshly rebroken. The roar of the crowd was deafening as the bell rang for the round’s end and you threw your swollen fists into the air while your ribs protested. 

Kaine limped back to his corner and shook his head to the ref, ending the fight after only one round. You tugged your mouthguard out and shook your head disappointingly. “Pussy.”

He spat his guard to the ground and winced as he cradled his arm over his chest. “Crazy bitch.”

You smiled at the insult and curled a finger. “Wanna come over here and say that?”

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t attempt to re-enter the ring so you turned and made your own exit. Arthur was waiting with a grin on his face and his arms open but before you could step into his embrace Charles was there. The shock barely registered when his arms curled around you and for a moment you felt something, but then the pain in your ribs reared its ugly head.

“Fuck,” you groaned as you shoved him away and looked down at the bruise already blooming along your side. “I think he might’ve broken one.”

“Shit, we need to get you to the hospital.”

It annoyed you how easy it was to read Charles' face. Concern, regret, anger. It was like reading a book and you wanted to tell him to relax but it was quite nice to have another person around who actually showed their feelings. 

“Great idea, and what do you think we should tell them?” you asked as you started to make your way back to the bathroom. “I don’t think ‘it was an accident’ is going to satisfy them.”

“Fine,” Charles sighed, “where do you normally go when you get hurt?”

You stared at Arthur and he stared back before his lips twitched and you both laughed. An irritated growl rumbled from Charles before Arthur pointed to the messenger bag hanging from his shoulder. 

“He makes a cute doctor,” you said with a wink before he followed you into the bathroom. Charles tried to follow too but you blocked the doorway. “Sorry, patient/doctor confidentiality.”

You cut off his protests with the door and leaned back against the cold wood. “Do you think he will still be there?”

Arthur nodded and opened the bag to pull out a few bandages and a bottle of arnica. “I don’t think you are getting rid of him anytime soon.”

“Great.”

“Is it really that bad?” Arthur asked as he gently dabbed the arnica over the bruises. 

“Kind of hard to erase a decade of hate, even if he is hot.”

Arthur grinned and you rolled your eyes. “You think he’s hot.”

“Shut up. I’m not blind.” You unravelled the tape from your knuckles before waving a hand over him. “You’re hot too but it doesn’t mean I want to date you.”

“Thanks? I guess?”

“You know what I mean. Would you date me?”

“Are you asking me out? It’s a bit awkward since you are dating my brother.”

You huffed and glared at his amused grin. “Fake.”

“Potayto, potahto. But, no, if you really need to know, I wouldn’t date you. You’re my best friend, you know me way too well.”

“Exactly, I could never be with someone who brushes their teeth in the shower.”

“Once, for fucksake, I did that once when I was running late.”

You screwed your face up and shook your head with disgust. “There’s no excuse, Tur. We will just have to be friends.”

“Carve my heart out now,” he mocked before patting your side. “All done. Ready to go?”

You thought about the man waiting on the other side of the door and sighed at the thought of having to sleep in the same room as him. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“Oh, no, no, I am not going to be your buffer. You gotta figure out whatever is going on between you and Charles on your own.” He kissed your cheek and grinned at the sour look on your face. “Love you.”

“Ugh, I hate you,” you groaned and his smile only grew wider at the lie.

“Tell Cha to call me in the morning, so I know he is alive.”

Click here for the next part.

[tieronecrush]

🎃 trick or treat 🎃

summary: it's halloween and joel's taking your girls trick-or-treating with you in a family costume. feeling uncomfortable in his clothes and his skin, he's on edge most of the evening but does his best to disguise it in order to not spoil the fun. back at home, when his girls lightheartedly tease him about everything he already thought about himself, you're sure to end the night showing joel exactly how you feel about him and his body.

wc: 10k (oops?)

warnings: established relationship/married, canon divergent (no outbreak, ellie & sarah are both his kids, sort of obscure with if they're both his bio kids/your kids - basically y'all are a cute lil family either way! also joel is ~40, no age mentioned for reader!), halloween, family/group costumes, DOMESTIC JOEL!!!, fluff, body insecurities, age insecurities, joel has minor sensory issues?, his kids poke fun at him, sensitive joel, SMUT. it kind of is a thing for the basically the second half, descriptions of joel's body, tummy & thigh worship, oral (m receiving), cowboy rule (for a costume), unprotected piv, lowkey sub!joel for a lil bit, reader is "giving cunt" according to bestie el, then quickly gets back to dom!joel as he gets his confidence back, joel gets that strength in an adrenaline rush that moms get lifting cars off babies but his is for chasing a nut, also, dirty talk!

a/n: my contribution to spooky season, basically at the buzzer lol. this started with me thinking how cute it would be for joel to dress up and go trick-or-treating with his kids, and ended with wanting to s*** his d*** big time. anyways, enjoy my version of halloween with joel, and thank you to @kiwisbell for screaming about this scenario with me and as always a big thanks to my sweet, sweet girlfriend @northernbluess for beta-ing!!!!

Brought on much later than the northern states, fall in Texas is not quite an impactful sight. The one thing that can’t be beaten though is the Texas sun; shining across expansive horizons all times of year, temperatures of the light shifting with the seasons. Orange evening sun stretches across the sky and seeps down in between the leaves speckled with changing colors while Joel’s truck coasts down the neighborhood street. Kids retreat from running around in the road when his car approaches, returning right back to their gameplay when he’s through. Half are dressed up, a medley mix of witches, zombies, vampires, Power Rangers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Disney Princesses, and countless outfits that he has no idea what they’re referencing.

Fibrous, white faux spiderwebs litter the front porches of the houses lining the street, Jack-O-Lanterns carved and lit up stack on the stairs or create a path along the front walkways. Some of the pumpkins’ faces are wrinkly and sagging, signs of overeagerness from when the fall season started earlier this month. A handful of scarecrows find themselves pitched in the middle of yards with hay spilling out of them, and some of the houses have turned out an expense to get those motion-sensor decorations — the ones really intended to scare the kids that will be unleashed on the neighborhood to trick-or-treat this evening.

Rolling to a stop as he turns into the asphalt driveway, throwing the truck in park, he sits in the cab for a still moment, staring at the signs of life scattered around his family’s house. Four pumpkins, gutted and showing off their faces, a family feud that reached a compromise when it was decided that yes, they would carve pumpkins but no, they would not sit to rot on the front porch all month long; the corn stalks wrapped around the posts of the porch, tied with burlap twine and arranged with sprigs of fall foliage; pots of colorful mums framing the path up to the house, carefully selected by your eye and less delicately planted in their terracotta vessels by Joel’s hands. 

Aside from the seasonal decorations, the usual markings of the Miller family were easily spotted: chalk drawings on the shared sidewalk in front of the yard and along the driveway, replaced every weekend by Sarah once the old was washed or worn away; Ellie’s bike discarded on the front lawn, small tire tracks digging up the grass, no matter how many times Joel and you have asked her to put it away when she’s done; the porch swing that Joel built for you, swaying in the breeze and now unoccupied — unusual for the evening routine around the time that Joel comes home from work. He’s normally greeted by his girls, not merely their artifacts. But tonight is a different night, much busier than the slow, molasses life Joel gets to enjoy in the colder weather.

Gathering his lunch bag from the bench seat and bunching up his jacket in the same hand, Joel climbs out of the car and walks into the open garage, leaving his tools behind in the flatbed to be dealt with tomorrow morning. Passing your parked car, he shakes his head with a subtle smile as he closes the driver’s side door of your SUV left open. He can picture you now, running around after picking the girls up from school, mental space occupied by getting everything and everyone together to make it out the door before the sun went down completely. 

There’s a trail of evidence to support his musings: a lonesome plastic bag filled with groceries left on top of the car, Sarah’s purple jacket looped through the handle of the garage fridge, probably left behind after she went looking for a juice, and Ellie’s army green backpack tossed on the ground in front of the shoe racks lining the wall next to the door. None of that would fly had you been your usual focused self — more often than not, you’re the parent to put their foot down and keep the girls in line while Joel is the total pushover.

Along his way inside, he picks up all the left-behind items, balancing everything in his hands while he steps into the mudroom. Ellie’s backpack gets shoved into her designated cubby, and Sarah’s jacket gets wrapped on a hook screwed into the wall as Joel kicks off his work boots. After depositing his own belongings in their spots, lunch bag in his cubby and jacket on the hook next to Sarah’s, he grabs his boots in one hand, leaning out the doorway to place them on top of the shoe rack. Closing the door behind him, he picks up the singular bag of groceries left on top of your SUV and pads across the tile further into the house. Immediately, he’s embraced by the warmth radiating from the kitchen, the smells of tomatoes, onions, garlic, and more wafting into his nose causing a smile to stretch across his face and his stomach to rumble. 

Every year that he’s known you, without fail, you use Halloween night as an excuse to cook up your family-favorite chili recipe. Sure, it doesn’t get too cold for October in Texas, but damn, does he look forward to the night every year simply for a bowl of it. Laboring over the prep and slow-cooking it all day long, anyone who tries it can taste the care in each bite; like a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders that lasts with him for the entire evening spent outside with the kids.

The pleas of his stomach lead him straight into the kitchen, his smile growing wider when he sees you standing over the kitchen counter, affixing a sheriff badge to the cow print vest laid out in front of you. He strides over to your side, resting his palm on your lower back and swiping his thumb against the material of your shirt while he leans in to press a kiss to the top of your head, drinking in your scent and feeling the ache of missing you all day. Losing focus from your task, you turn toward him with a bright smile, a quiet sigh leaving your lips, and your shoulders relaxing from their tensed position. Wordlessly, he folds forward, catching your lips in a lingering kiss. Heat pushes against his chest through his denim shirt, your hands skating from his pecs, up and across his shoulders, and down his arms to rest on his biceps. The motions raise goosebumps in their wake, trailing down his spine with a tepid drip.

Joel steals another kiss before he stands up straight again, voice rasping from yelling over powerful tools all day and volume low to keep the semblance of a private moment between the two of you for as long as possible; anything louder would expose his arrival, bombarding him with questions and conflicts to resolve between his daughters.

“Hey, baby.” He greets you with one fleeting kiss pressed to your forehead, hand at your lower back now rubbing side to side, fingers carefully lifting the fabric and pressing the tips of them into your deliciously soft skin. 

Turning back to the vest, you drop your hands from his arms not before giving them a gentle squeeze, “Hi, Joel. Good day?”

He shrugs, unable to step away from you just yet, “It was fine — much better now. And I take it yours has been a busy one?”

Joel holds up the plastic bag of groceries with two fingers, one corner of his mouth lifting in a teasing smirk. His hip pops out as he leans against the counter, the smirk turning into a smile when you grimace. His heartbeat skips when your laugh fills his ears, the sound still exciting him after all these years, and you stand over the bag to take a peek inside.

“S’all good. Non-perishables.” It’s Joel’s turn to laugh, shaking his head with a breathy chuckle as he places the bag on the counter, unloading its contents into the pantry while you go about recapping your day for him.

In the midst of you speaking, the tumble of footsteps down the stairs draws his attention away, eyes focusing on the open threshold that leads from the living room into the kitchen. As the quickened steps grow closer, Joel turns to you and holds up three fingers, counting down with them. When he lowers his last finger, a mop of curly hair, a bouncing ponytail, and a whirlwind of chaos disrupts the initial peace of his return home.

“Hi girls, how was today?” he starts before a cacophony of noise fills the kitchen. Skidding to a stop in front of him, he exchanges a look with you before facing his daughters, already overwhelmed with their two voices talking over the other.

“Dad, Dad, Sarah said—”

“Dad, Ellie’s saying that I said—”

Holding his hands up, he flicks his eyes between his two girls. Sarah, the older of the two at eleven years old, stands in front of him with her arms crossed and brow furrowed — a look he is all too familiar with, the similarities between him and her emphasized with her annoyance. Ellie, your youngest, stands with her fists clenched at her sides, her mouth twisted up in frustration and the same furrowed brow as her sister. She looks so much more like you at the moment, only a nine-year-old version, calling back on times Joel can remember of you giving him that very look.

However, with their tempers, there’s no doubt that they’re his kids.

Dropping his hands back to his sides, he rolls his shoulders and takes a deep breath before addressing them.

“So, what’s going on now?” he asks, brows raising and head tilting when the girls each take a sharp inhale, about to speak over each other again, “One at a time. Ellie.”

Sarah rolls her eyes at her younger sister being called upon first, expectantly looking at her sister with annoyance still painting her face. Ellie shoots her a smug look before turning back to Joel, drawing a pout onto her lips to sell her story. He can’t say it doesn’t work for a second, it always will with these two and they know it, but with a quick glance in your direction, he sees you turned away from your task, watching the drama from the sidelines. Mustering the strength to stand his ground against the sweetness of his girls, he clears his throat and listens with his best poker face as Ellie begins explaining.

“Sarah said she wouldn’t trade all her Skittles for my Three Musketeers even though she knows I hate Three Musketeers and she said last week when we were getting our costumes that she would—”

“I never said that, Dad! She’s lying—” Sarah gestures with her hands as if to physically point out the obvious falsehoods in Ellie’s story. Spiraling back out of the fleeting control he had over the situation, the kids get riled up again, yelling over each other, and inching closer. The dad-instincts kick in and he grabs one of each of their shoulders, separating the two of them and turning them to face him again as he puts on what you affectionately call his ‘no-bullshit’ voice.

“Okay, okay, okay! Enough arguin’ about candy that you don’t even have yet. Ellie, you don’t even know if a single house is gonna give ya Three Musketeers, and you don’t even know if Sarah is gonna get any Skittles. Save the trade negotiations for tonight or tomorrow morning. ‘Sides, you gotta pay the Dad Tax before either of y’all get to trade around your pickings.”

“What?”

“No way!”

Joel smiles, waving his pointer finger between his daughters with a single nod of his head. “See? Something y’all can agree on. Now go get washed up for dinner and plot how you can hide your candy from me and Mom.”

As quickly as they came in, they rush right back out, this time a united force scheming against their parents. Joel huffs out a breathy laugh, shaking his head to himself as he turns back to face you. Met with a growing smile, you unravel your arms crossed in front of your chest to pick up the vest from the counter.

“Nice conflict resolution there, hon. Now I won’t see a single piece of candy.” You throw a pout at him, bottom lip jutting out as he steps over to you, one hand splaying on your hip and thumb rubbing languid circles.

“Don’t worry, baby, I think I know every single one of their hiding spots from how many times they had to move their candy last year. They won’t even notice anything's gone.” With a quick wink, he leans in for a kiss, short and sweet. Standing up straight, the smile on your face mirrors his, your left index finger reaching up to fit into the valley of his dimple.

“Are we bad parents to be scheming how to steal from our children?” you question, biting back a laugh.

“I think that’s just part of parenting, darlin’.”

The laugh you held back escapes you, rolling your eyes playfully at his facetious answer; the vest in your hands catches his eyes again, and he sighs to himself as he holds a hand out for it.

“So you really did find a cow print vest for me? How lucky.” Sarcasm coats his tone and you lift the material, depositing it in his open palm.

“It is lucky, isn’t it? I think you’re going to look great in your costume. Got all the perfect parts, plus you can wear your own jeans and boots. Economical.”

“You sure you need me for this group costume?”

“Joel. You’re literally one of the main characters from the damn movie. And the girls really want you to dress up and take them trick-or-treating. Plus it’s probably going to be one of, if not the last year that we get to do all this as a family. Our kids are growing up.”

“Don’t remind me, means m’getting older too,” he grumbles under his breath, eyes falling to the fabric in his hand.

It’s true what they say about having kids: the days are long, but the years are short.

At times, Joel wishes he could pull each hair out of his head instead of dealing with the shit his kids bring to him sometimes — “Dad, I got called into the principal’s office.” “Dad, I threw a softball and broke the window.” “That’s so unfair, Dad! Why do you have to be so mean?” It’s easy to get lost in the mess that is his family, but it’s a mess he loves. It feels like it was only yesterday that he was becoming a father when Sarah was born, getting a grasp on the whole thing and then Ellie came along. What he would do without you there by his side, he doesn’t have a clue.

Like flipping through a scrapbook, he can remember every year prior for his girls. In a flash, they’ve grown from dressing up as princesses and unicorns — a dragon for Ellie — to being Spy Kids and vampires. His oldest is verging on becoming a teenager, and if he knows his daughters, he knows that once Sarah quits dressing up each year, when she asks to go to her friends’ houses instead of spending the night with Mom and Dad, Ellie will want to do the same as her older sister, always looking up to her despite their differences.

There’s only so much more time for his kids to be kids, even if they may always feel like the tiny baby girls he held in his arms. All he wants to do is to protect them, keep them under his eye as long as he can, but he can hear your voice prying his grasp away from them, encouraging him to let them grow, let them experience the world as he got to do when he was younger. You’ll remind him that you were a teenage girl once, reassuring him that they’re always going to need him. He knows it’s all going to sneak up on him; one day, he’s going to pull into the driveway and notice the lack of chalk drawings. He might even be happy at first about Ellie’s bike being put away, but when he goes into the garage to work on some of his projects, he’ll notice the smallest bit of dust on it from disuse.

Stepping away from him to shuffle across the kitchen, you reach on your tiptoes to pull out four bowls from the cabinet. Joel steps over behind you, a hand on your back as he intercepts your movements, grabbing the ceramic dishes and handing them to you.

Like a shadow, he follows behind you as you walk over to the pot filled with dinner, eagerly watching over your shoulder with his chest pressed against your back and hands on your waist as you lift the lift. Aromas waft with the steam rising, the delectably rich dish slowly bubbling as it finishes melding altogether. It smells like home, always the mark of the changing of the seasons in the Miller household, and one of the little traditions that he so appreciates you creating for your family. Just like the way you make crinkle cookies and still sign presents from Santa at Christmas, despite the fact that your daughters found out about that a couple of years ago from a yappy kid at school.

Joel was very close to driving over to his house and letting his parents know how he felt about their kid murdering the magic of Christmas for his girls.

All he can hope is that these little traditions continue even when the girls are grown up; the four of you gathering around the table for your annual chili dinner before they head off to hang out with friends and you two are left to watch cheesy Halloween movies and hand out candy to children that remind you of your daughters.

With another deep breath, warmth surrounds him. Joel’s lips find the spot just under your ear, kissing gently before he rests his chin on your shoulder, “Smells so good, baby. Have I told you how much I love you?”

A breathy, incredulous laugh falls from your lips as you stir the pot’s contents around, your smile sticking around as you counter, “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m feeding you.”

A dramatic, exaggerated gasp sharply inhales into his lungs, standing up straight and patting his hands on your sides, “Absolutely not, darlin’. I love you all the time—”

“But especially when I feed you,” you finish, turning out of his arms to grab the stack of bowls. He stops your motions by wrapping his arms around your waist, feeling the press of you against his torso and relishing in the heat of your body against his. Curling up like a cat in the sun, he nudges his nose against your hairline, peppering kisses along the contours of your face.

In between kisses, he says word by word, over and over, “I. Love. You. My. Beautiful. Wonderful. Incredible. Wife.”

“Alright, alright! Gosh, you’re clingy,” you tease, leaning back to look into his eyes with a playful glint in your eye and a smirk held tight in your lips, “I love you too, my beautiful, wonderful, incredible husband.”

Your free hand smooshes his cheeks together and tugs him down gently to exchange a tender kiss. It ends much too soon for Joel, him chasing your lips and pouting when you turn away to start serving up dinner.

“Better go tell the girls dinner’s ready before they’ve finished plotting how to stow away candy in the floorboards.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answers, punctuating the conversation with a cheeky smack to your ass, scampering away quickly before you can pretend to scold him.

Tugging at the material across his stomach, Joel combs his eyes over his reflection in the mirror of your en-suite bathroom. Rolling his shoulders back, the fabric of the yellow and red plaid flannel pulled taut, lifting the hem a couple of inches and showing off the skin of his softened tummy. Dark curls of hair litter the center of the sliver of skin, trailing down under the waist of his dark wash jeans. He doesn’t bother tucking the shirt in, giving himself the breathing room of the few inches at the hem. Fingers grip the thick fabric, sharply pulling it back down to lay over his jeans again.

Picking up the cow-print vest you were adorned with the plastic gold Sheriff badge downstairs in the kitchen, he’s taken back to a few weeks ago at the Halloween store.

You and he had opted to spend Saturday morning taking Sarah and Ellie to pick out their costumes for the holiday, letting them run free until they decided on a shared costume for once. Sarah quickly picked out her size in the Jessie costume, and all of the family agreed to be different characters from the Toy Story movie.

Ellie wandered the aisles, searching for the perfect combinations to create her ideal costume, which was, of course, the mechanical spider toy with the baby doll head that the kid Sid builds in the film. She returns to where Joel is standing with you, staring at the walls of costumes to find something for the both of you; he looks down at his youngest, jumping minutely when he’s faced with a mutilated baby doll mask, shiny plastic reflecting him in the surface.

“Ellie. You can’t be the creepy baby doll,” he sighs, hand falling to his hip as he rests his weight on it, the other leg stepping out while he slowly shakes his head.

Tipping the mask up to the top of her head, Ellie stomps her feet, shoulders falling and head leaning back as she groans in complaint, “Why not, Dad?” She draws out his parental title, kicking the toe of her shoe against the buffed tiles of the storefront that remains empty eleven out of twelve months of the year.

“You’re gonna scare the little kids, and it’ll be your mom and I who are dealing with the angry parents.”

Ellie huffs out a breath, reaching up to snatch the mask off, turning on the heel of her sneaker, and stomping off to go find another costume. Turning his attention back to you at his side, he notices a cheeky smile on your face as you find your size in a woman’s Buzz Lightyear costume.

“What? What are you laughin’ at?” he questions, his lips tugging up in a grin.

“Oh, nothing. Jus’ that you told our daughter she can’t be the creepy baby doll 'cause you’d be the one scared of her.” A laugh takes over the end of your sentence, a flash of your bright smile widening his own.

“Did not. It’s ‘cause we’d have a bunch of crying little kids and judging parents to deal with.”

“Sure, honey, sure. It’s okay if you’re scared.”

Stepping closer to you, he pinches your side playfully, wrapping an arm around your waist to tug you against his side. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, speaking softly, “Know me too well, baby…”

Your free hand pats his chest affectionately and you unravel from his hold. Joel takes your hand before you get far, intertwining your fingers together while you both shuffle along the wall of costumes. The plastic bags shine, displaying cartoonish outfits of various characters. The exaggerated smiles of the models give him the heebie-jeebies, shuddering his shoulders at the thought that any grown person would be that excited to wear itchy polyester once before letting it collect dust in their closet and giving it away before next Halloween.

Halting in front of the costume you were looking for Joel, you bend down to flick through the sizes, your lips pulling together in a thoughtful pucker. Standing back up straight next to him, your teeth toy your bottom lip left to right, eyes scanning for any other options before you turn toward him.

“Can’t find what you’re lookin’ for, baby?”

With a shrug, you respond, “They have the costume the girls wanted you to wear, but they don’t have your size. Think I can find some stuff at the thrift store or TJ Maxx or online to make the costume up if that’s okay—”

“Whatever you need to do. S’fine.”

“I’m sorry, hon, but you don’t need to worry about it, I’ll find everything.”

“Said s’fine, darlin’. Don’t even need to dress up, really.” A small seed of shame is planted in his gut, insecurity watering it and causing it to grow, branching off to tangled in his chest. Comfort eases him out of the spiral when your hands find his chest, rubbing softly and tilting your head to meet his gaze with pure affection.

“Still gotta dress up with us, hon. Who’s gonna be the Woody to my Buzz if it isn’t you? Can’t dress up as one half of the best friend duo without my best friend,” you grin, standing on your toes to catch his lips in a gentle kiss, which ends too soon for his taste despite being in the middle of the shop.

Vest shrugged onto his shoulder, and he gives himself another once over in his full outfit, the same insecurity from a few weeks ago pouring down to cultivate his shame. He doesn’t look the same as he did when he met you, even the same as he did last year. Graying hair and salt and pepper beard, lines next to his eyes and across his forehead, only deepened when he furrows his brow at the look of him in his costume.

He looks ridiculous.

Better to get this night over with, let his girls enjoy themselves, and attempt to forget his discomfort in the outfit. Picking up his cheap cowboy hat that arrived in the mail earlier that week, he avoids another look in the mirror before he slips out of the bathroom, eyes focused on the toes of his boots while he walks out the door of your bedroom, past the full-length mirror next to your closet and the small round one on your vanity.

No need to foul his mood and spoil the fun. It’s for his girls. 

The screams and laughter of children echo into the deepening night sky, the street bright from the lamps lining it along with porch lights staying on, open garage doors, all signaling a welcoming to the trick-or-treaters to come and grab their haul from each vast bowl or cauldron of candy.

Blurs of costume cross below Joel’s sightline as he walks hand-in-hand with you, kids running around blindly, the safety of such a crowd in the small neighborhood blanketing them with trust that they’ll be able to find their way home wherever they end up. Sarah and Ellie are ten paces ahead, moving quickly and efficiently to “maximize their candy collection”. Ellie’s words, after she presented her hand-drawn map of their neighborhood and the one across the main road, highlighting which houses are notorious for King Size treats and noting which ones give out toothbrushes or nothing at all.

The collar of his flannel is tightened around his neck from the string of his chestnut cowboy hat. Pulled down to rest on his clavicle, the body of the hat swings against his back as he walks, only adorning the top of his head for a few photos that you insisted on dragging out the tripod and self-timer for in the middle of the living room. He took the rest of the photos you wanted, maybe a bit too eagerly getting out of the frame and relaxing the slightest bit behind the camera. Photo evidence of how laughable he looks does not need to exist en masse. With a sigh, he reaches a hand up to tug the string down for what feels like the tenth time in thirty minutes of walking, relief felt for a few seconds before it slides back up to the base of his throat, flipping up the collar of his shirt with it.

Denim from his dark wash bootcut jeans starts to dig into his hips, roughening the skin there from his strides and their inch-too-small size from the year prior. These were deemed his “nice” jeans, per your request, only pulled out a handful of times a year for occasions that he was meant to look nicer than his raggedy Levi’s, covered in spots from paint, wood stain, oil, or dirt, the fraying, white strings hanging from the hems and ripping when caught under his step — all the signs of his day-to-day life. What he’s comfortable in.

These — these are not comfortable, not worn in enough to feel buttery against his skin, and not returning to his size even after washing and line drying. These are stiff, formed to his skin and resisting a tightness with each swing of his legs. The fresh material rubs against his bare skin underneath, the waist of his boxers falling an inch or two down to create the perfect space for the waistband to chafe. He’s tempted to pause the two of you walking along, long enough to tuck in the material of the flannel, but quickly decides against it when he thinks about the exaggeration of his stomach with the form-fitting, tucked shirt stretched over it.

Occupied in his thoughts, he barely notices that you've slowed down until you come to a stop at the end of a driveway, two streets over from your own home, waiting as your daughters wait in line for their packaged sugar. 

You hold onto his bicep with your opposite hand, leaning your weight against his side. Like a weighted blanket, in the interim of a hug from you, he takes on the change to his equilibrium, relishing in the comforting press of your body against him. Easing away his anxieties and his insecurities that, of course, had to be present for this wholesome, once-a-year family night; he rests his chin on your head, breathing in the smell of your rosemary and mint shampoo, tingling his nostrils and drinking down the scent he’s so familiar with.

His focus draws to Sarah, hair in a French braid pulled away from her face and cherry red cowboy hat on her head, and Ellie, lime green face paint that she insisted on and an antenna sticking up from the top of her head and exaggerated, pointed green ears all attached to the same headband. The two of them are near the front of the queue for candy at this particular house, the process a bit more involved with a haunted graveyard required to pass through to earn your sweet reward. 

All she’d been saying the whole night since getting dressed had been “The claaaaaw!” or “I have been chosen!”. She screams the latter in the face of a teenager who pops out from a bush to scare her, completely unphased as she sneaks past him, grabbing a handful of candy for her and Sarah, running back down the path with her older sister before they pause to distribute the goods.

Joel lifts your joined hands, hooking his arm over your shoulder and laying your arm across your chest as he gathers you closer.

“So how many cavities do you think we’ll be paying for ‘cause of tonight’s candy haul?” he wonders aloud, a smile ticking up the side of his mouth when you giggle at his joke. It never gets old, being able to make you laugh, and it’s like a weed whacker to the strangling vines of his insecurities growing tightly in his chest. A looseness that gives him the chance for a deep breath, gratitude wilting the branches as he studies the grin on your face, the admiration twinkling in your eyes.

“Probably should be callin’ the dentist to see if they have a two-for-one discount.” It’s his turn to laugh at your response, tautening his arm around your shoulders to tow you closer to him, your head tilting back as you swing your front toward him. Joel bends his neck, pecking your lips with a smile before he looks back toward his daughters walking back to the two of you.

Annoyance thumbs the bruise of shame, driving his frustrations higher; his hand reaches up again with a huff, yanking the string away from his neck, “Thing’s like a damn noose…”

“Jus’ take it off, hon, I’ll carry it for you,” you sweetly suggest, swinging your joined hands between your bodies.

“But, you got it for me…” he mumbles guiltily, a worry in his voice over your potential irritation with him. Ever the masochist, Joel argues with you, not wanting to disappoint. He knew he should have just kept his mouth shut—

Pausing in your steps, you hang behind him long enough to snatch the hat off his back, releasing it from around his neck and depositing it on your head in one smooth movement. Taking his hand again, you continue, unphased by his complaints and happy to hold onto the new accessory.

At the next house, the two of you wait at the end of the driveway for the girls; Joel taps the side of his pointer finger on the brim as you look up at him, a cheeky smile growing on his face as a thought distracts from his festering doubts. His voice lowers, rasping as he speaks only to you, attempting to disguise the conversation from all the people milling about.

“Y’know, there are consequences for stealing a cowboy’s hat, baby.” Wetting his lips with the quick swipe of his tongue, his hands drift to your waist, fingers stretching to skim the top of your ass, dangerously close to grabbing a handful in front of everyone.

“M’well aware of those consequences, cowboy. Why d’you think I took it?” You shoot him a wink that goes straight down below the belt, a brazen flash of mischief in your eyes, the reflections of yellow lamplight lighting them up further. 

Gripping his biceps, your nimble fingers squeeze gently while your thumbs rub massaging circles into his slightly flexed muscles. A nearly inaudible hum of a moan rolls from your chest, one of his hands gathering the polyester material of your dress tightly at the sound. Beckoning him to fold forward with one look, he molds his lips to yours in a supple kiss. It lasts only the length of an inhale, drinking in the taste of your lips before your warmth is fleeting, hands patting his chest in a signal to wrap it up.

He grumbles, irritation heating under his collar as he itches to get home and for the night to be over, now for more than one reason. You laugh softly at his annoyed pout, poking his chest as you tease, “What? Mad ‘cause you got a snake in your boot?”

“More like in my jeans…” he mumbles under his breath, loud enough for you to hear and playfully jab his arm, shaking your head as you breathe out a chuckle from your nose.

“Nice, Miller. In a costume for a kid’s movie no less.”

He matches your laugh, shrugging when you turn in his arms, back to him as you await your daughters to make their way back to the both of you. His arms drape around your hips, tugging you into his chest to press against him comfortably, the plush-filled wings of your costume padding you against his torso. Lips find your ear, chin resting on your shoulder as he responds, “What’s the saying from the movie? To infinity and beyond? Reckon that’s where I’ll be takin’ you by the end of tonight.”

“Joel!” you attempted to chide, your laughter exposing your real feelings over the suggestive comment, laying your arms over his. The girls walk toward the two of you, and he takes a second to press an open-mouth kiss to your neck, nipping at your skin before unfurling himself from you. A light smack on the side of your ass is the punctuation to the teasing, Joel standing up straight and taking your hand.

“Giddy-up, partner,” he murmurs before turning his attention to Sarah and Ellie, overly excited and completely calm. “Whatcha y’all get this time? Anything good?”

They answer over each other and he nods along, corralling them to start to walk to the next house, “Alright, mission accomplished at this house. Onto the next, we gotta get this wagon a-movin’! Only got another hour in me, girls.”

Protests whine against his announcement and your daughters start to walk faster, determined to complete their hit-list for the houses with the good stuff. You laugh to yourself, shaking your head as Joel looks over at you, feigning innocence.

“What? Got a bad back, bein’ out in the cold makes it worse.”

Now back at home, the four of you are gathered in the living room, costumes all on still as you seek out the comfort and warmth of the soft furnishings and blankets. Joel lounges on the couch, you next to him, back leaning against his side while your legs stretch out on the rest of the sofa. Ellie and Sarah have taken to the floor in front of the coffee table, massive pillowcases dumped out and beginning to be sorted. Every so often, you or Joel get up with the sound of the doorbell, passing out candy to the dwindling number of trick-or-treaters. Eventually, the intrusion stops completely, the TV playing a bad, kitschy Halloween movie per the request of the girls.

They trade their earnings, and you and Joel steal on the sly, both from the bowl you were handing out and from Sarah and Ellie’s piles. Wrappers are strewn around the floor and across the surface of the coffee table, the sound of another torn open by the girls making you sigh and sit up.

Holding out your hand, you shake your head, beckoning for the treat with your fingers, “Okay, Ellie. No more candy. You’re not going to be able to go to sleep if you keep eating it now, it’s too late.”

Ellie whines, rolling her head back with a groan before pleading her case, “Please, Mom, just this last one! And then I’ll be done, promise. Please.”

Joel chuckles when she shoots you the same puppy dog eyes that he gives to you to get what he wants, knowing his smirk grows wider when you fold easily. Shooting your head over to him, you announce to the whole room, “No more candy for anyone. C’mon girls, put it all back in your bags.” 

Calmness finds itself back in the room once all the complaints are lodged with you, the girls lying down to watch the movie while you continue to sit with Joel. Spaced out as he focuses on the film, his attention is grabbed when he hears the crinkle of wrappers and glances around to find all three of his girls indulging further.

With the remote from his lap, he pauses the movie, pouting as he exclaims, “Hey! What happened to not havin’ any more candy? If I can’t have anymore, y’all can’t either.”

Sneaking the last bite of her fun-size Snickers bar, Ellie giggles and shrugs, always the smart aleck, “Well, you are gettin’ a little pudgy, Dad, maybe less candy’ll help.”

Sarah and you giggle at her lighthearted teasing, and Joel waves it off with a breathy chuckle, leaning back against the cushions as Sarah chimes in with her jests, “Yeah, think you’re getting a little fluffy, Dad. Better to lay off now than at Christmastime with all Mom’s cookies.”

Joel attempts to defend himself from the teasing by threatening their candy supply, eager to end the conversation as the back of his neck heats up, “If m’already gettin’ pudgy then I guess that permits me to eat all your candy.”

They both are in a fit of giggles, continuing to tack on silly comments as Joel sits quietly on the couch, trying to mask the way the words worm their way in, feeding the shame and insecurity that was already festering in his chest from the last few weeks.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head with a smile as you laugh softly, “Alright, alright, enough. Think that’s the sign that it’s time for bed. C’mon, up up up.” Before standing, you pat Joel’s thigh and shoot him a carefully concerned look, but he wipes away your worry by sending you a warm smile back, laying his hand over yours and squeezing gently. 

Joel stays downstairs to clean up, the girls both saying goodnight before you follow them upstairs to get them ready for bed. Gathering candy wrappers in his fists, he throws them away in the kitchen, stomach rolling as he replays the small comments from minutes ago. He knows it was teasing, all in good fun as it always is between his girls and you, but he can’t shake the heaviness inside of him, the hot prickles of shame when he passes by the mirror in the hallway on his way back to the living room.

The bowl of extra candy you were handing out gets placed back on the coffee table, his silly cowboy hat from the evening deposited on top of it to hide the contents. Not that he was going to eat anymore, he couldn’t stomach even the thought of anything else when all he could think about was how much he desperately wanted to shed his skin at that moment. Breathing shallows when he settles on the couch again, one of his hands pressing onto the left side of his chest and willing his heart to slow down, for his brain to silence itself.

The skin of his palm meets the scruff of his beard, scratching against the roughened, worked skin. Grays in his hair, salt and pepper beard, wrinkles on his forehead and at the side of his eyes, softened tummy from years of love and care, from an easy life with you.

He certainly isn’t the same Joel that you met all that time ago, that you fell in love with. Have you noticed the changes as much as he has?

He swears you haven’t aged a day; all the more beautiful with each passing day.

Light steps carry you back downstairs, the sound shaking Joel out of his thoughts as you swing around from the staircase and through the entrance to the living room. Joel relaxes on the couch, the same spot he was occupying before, only sinking further into the cushion, shifting to pull the fabric of his shirt away from his stomach. Glancing up at you, away from whatever was playing on the TV that did nothing to distract him from himself, he sends you a tight smile, stretching an arm over the back of the couch to welcome you in.

Accepting it, you sit next to him, curling up into his side with your legs under you, leaning against his frame with your comforting weight. Your hand rests on his chest, your head on his shoulder while you both watch the TV movie playing. Silence falls between the two of you, minutes passing by with only the noise from the speakers, the volume turned low so as not to disturb the kids upstairs.

Joel feels your hand move against his chest, curling up to leave your pointer finger extended, the pad of it skimming against his flannel. He ignores the feeling, figuring it’s you fidgeting as you do while you focus. The same thing as twirling your hair while you’re reading, tapping your foot as you cook.

But when your hand stairs to wander, his eyes flick down to watch its path, your gaze still facing forward and quiet. With your thumb and index finger, you work open the first button on his shirt, trailing down with the rest undone in your route. Slipping under the material, your cold hand presses against his chest, nails scraping against the skin there. With a sigh at the contact, Joel finally uses his hand to gently caress your chin, turning you to face him.

Low and rasping, he questions, “What are you doin’ exactly, darlin’?”

Innocently, you shrug, bottom lip bit down on while your touch moves lower again, skimming across his stomach and reaching the waistband of his jeans, “Well, I still have to face the consequences from stealin’ your hat, cowboy.”

Fingers dip below his belt line, toying with the elastic band of his boxers. Slipping away, he almost protests at the loss, biting his tongue when you move next to him, sitting up on your knees while both hands reach for the button and zipper of his jeans. When his button pops from its secure place, he warns with a breathy exhale, “Baby…”

“Mhm, yes, honey?” you reply, words trailing up at the end, feigning naivety. Through your lashes, you send him a pout, tongue poking out to dampen your plush lips that he stares at, his mouth parted with heavy breaths. His blood is rushing from his head, leaving him feeling light, as it all pumps to his cock, your delicate and teasing touches getting him half-hard.

Before you can tug down his zipper, you pause, taking your hands off of him; he holds back a whimper, the sound dying as a low hum in his throat.

“Don’t worry, baby, m’not done yet. Let’s go to our room, yeah?” Your voice is soothingly saccharine, an eager nod being his only response. 

Shutting off the TV, you stand from the sofa and take his hand, snatching the cowboy hat from the coffee table before pulling him to stand and follow you across the main floor, down the hallway into your first-floor bedroom. Joel shuts the door behind him, your nod toward the handle serving as a reminder for him to flick the lock.

 “Y’know, honey, you’re always showing me how you feel about me. I think it’s time we had a night that’s all about you…” He’s holding in a breath as you stalk closer to him, shaking his head as the back of his neck heats up.

“No, baby, you don’t—I don’t…” he stutters before trailing off, ashamed that he can’t think of any other excuse than the truth of why he does not want the attention on him tonight.

“You don’t…?” Running your hands across the expanse of his chest, he drops his shoulders in, curling around to make himself smaller, one foot stepping back but he doesn’t move from under your touch.

Shaking his head, he avoids your eyes, faintly confiding, “I don’t feel like I deserve it. I jus’, I’d rather give to you, baby.”

“Oh, Joel…you deserve it and more, honey. Why wouldn’t you?” Your fingers graze up, skating across his skin and carding into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m not…not the same. I don’t look like who you fell in love with. Everything’s changing, catching up to me. Got gray hair and white in my beard and wrinkles and a beer belly startin’ and my back hurts all the time. M’not who I used to be but you—”

“Have changed, too. It’s not just you, Joel. Everything’s a little softer now, I’ve got wrinkles too. Found like four gray hairs yesterday and had a mild panic attack before I got into the shower. M’curvier and—”

“And you’re fucking beautiful, baby. You’re as beautiful, if not more beautiful than the day I met you.” He’s quick to defend your negative self-talk, his hands running delicately along the curves of your sides and around your lower back. Enveloping you in his arms, he presses your foreheads together, nose notched next to yours.

“That’s exactly how I feel about you, Joel. Don’t listen to us teasin’ you, especially me, ‘cause I wouldn’t change a thing about you…” As you tilt your head back, your nose grazes against his cheek, feeling a rush of heat from your breath as your lips hover over his, deliciously close to a kiss, “Can I show you what I think about you, honey?”

Joel nods, wordlessly waiting in anticipation; in the next breath, your lips crash into his, drinking him down deep while the hand at the back of his head tangles further into his hair and tugs. He moans, parted lips allowing you to lick into his mouth, whining at the taste of him before you push the flannel material from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor as you continue to dominate the kiss.

Pressing your hands against his strong chest, you push him back with a step. Joel follows your lead, carefully moving backward, your tongue melding with his. All he can focus on is the taste of you — sweet, fruity, with the tang of citric acid from all the sour candies you stole from the bowl, the softest hint of chocolate as an aftertaste from his indulgences. The flavors of you coat his mouth, the scent of your perfume and shampoo mixing in his nose, and the feeling of your soft skin in his rough palms when he hikes up the skirt of your dress, grabbing a handful of your ass; it all stirs together, creating an intoxicating cocktail of you that he can seem to taste enough of. Joel’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and he’s being pulled away from your mouth with a pop when you ease him to sit down. Curiosity flashes in his mind, the sight of you over him with kiss-swollen lips growing the bulge in his undone jeans. Eager hands find your hips, grazing over to your ass as he looks up at you standing over him.

“Whatcha wanna do, beautiful?” His voice is lecherous as it comes out in a rasp, dripping with desire and a bit of wonder over what exactly you’re going to do with your night in control.

You shake your head at him, standing up straight and reaching for his hands, placing them at the hem of your dress, “Go ahead, baby. Take off as much as you want.”

His choice is obvious, tugging the fabric over your head with your help, a hand around your back yanking you to stand close, between his spread legs, while his fingers work open the clasp of your bra. Sitting back on his hands, he observes greedily as you let the straps fall down your arms, dropping the bra entirely onto the floor.

“These too?” Your thumbs hook into the waistline of your panties, doe-eyed and biting down on your body lip teasingly. Cotton-mouthed, Joel nods slowly, lips parted with shaking breath as you strip completely, sinking to your knees in front of him before he can reach out for a handful of your curves.

He lets you work his jeans down to his thighs, his boxers following in their wake, his cock springing free against his bare stomach. You keep eye contact as you kneel in front of him, his keen stare unblinking as his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, the need to see every single one of your movements outweighing the drying of his eyes with his slow, infrequent blinking. Scooting to settle comfortably on your knees, you stand up straighter, gaining enough height to bend your head over his lap, lips meeting his soft tummy and hands gripping onto his thighs. Delicate kisses and ghosting touches on his skin raise goosebumps, a warm shudder trickling down his back at your tenderness.

“So handsome…” you whisper, grazing your teeth into the flesh of his torso, biting down to nip. “Y’know I think about doin’ this all the time, baby. Every time you take off your shirt, jus’ wanna sink my teeth into you.”

His cheeks heat with sincere attention, muscles in his abdomen flexing when you litter lovebites and heated, open-mouth kisses all over him, the gentle touches and desire to relax his anxieties slowly. The focus on your mouth drops to his thighs, turning your head to the side when you sit back on your haunches, licking a stripe up toward his aching cock, a quivering exhale from his mouth drawing your eyes to his face. A satisfied smile stretches across your face, kissing his inner thigh before mirroring the actions on the opposite side. His fingers curl into the duvet, gripping hard as your lips wander closer to where his stiff cock drips needily, throbbing for any kind of reprieve.

“You’re so pretty, baby. So strong, solid.” The sweet nothings tickle at the back of his neck, words that he’s sure you’ve spoken before, but at this moment, they raise his body temperature and lighten his head, the only thoughts being how much he needs you.

Standing on your knees again, you bend your neck over Joel’s lap, eyes flickering up to his face to look at him through your lashes. Your lips part, spit dribbling from your mouth and onto his waiting cock, the sensation making him hiss with urgency. One of your hands wraps around him and strokes slowly. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, mouth opening in a small gasp at the languid stimulation. One swipe of your thumb across his tip drags the beads of pre-cum from where they’re leaking, melting them into the mix of your saliva that lubricates your motions.

Searing needles pierce into his skin when you finally give in and press hot, open-mouthed kisses against the soft skin of his swollen length. Your thumb brushes against his tip again, another hiss of pleasure escaping from between his teeth. One of Joel’s hands finds the back of your head, tangling fingers into your hair. He doesn’t move to guide you, simply wanting to touch a part of you to ground himself.

Your free hand gently cups his balls as you press a featherlight kiss to the tip of his hard cock. A kitten-lick swipes up the fresh dribbles of pre-cum that have collected and Joel’s fingers tense against your strands. Humming satisfied with the reactions you’re drawing from him, he looks down at you meeting his gaze, feeling the splotches of redness growing across his cheeks and neck at the frustration of your light teasing. He groans out your name as your mouth works to tease him more, not having taken him fully in.

“Fucking hell, baby, quit teasin’, please.” Joel rasps as he watches your methodical seduction. He applies the smallest pressure against the back of your head when your lips finally wrap around just the tip of him, a moan of relief rolling from his chest.

Your eyes stay glued on his face, and he’s lost in the delicious warmth of your mouth, unabashed in every response that he’s having to your mouth working him. Starting a slow bob up and down, he moans at the weight of him on your tongue, saliva coating the underside of his cock as he feels you curl the muscle against every vein. With half of him with your mouth, your hand working what isn’t initially fitting inside. His noises grow louder and in quicker succession, hyperaware that his cheeks are likely visibly warm and eyes dark with a craving when he looks down at you again.

“Such a sweet girl. Look so pretty with my cock in your little mouth. Think you can take more, baby? Think I can fit in your throat?” You shift in your position slightly, thighs rubbing together and a chuckle rolls from his lips, smug in the need he’s drawing from you simply from enjoying his pleasure. A sigh exhales around him in your mouth as your thighs rub together to relieve some of your aches.

The rhythm of your head brings his cock deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. You swallow around him and it squeezes him just right, a loud moan rumbling from his chest, the reverberations sending aftershocks to the tips of his ears. At that point, he gets lost in the high feeling, his composure leaving him when his large hand at the back of your head pushes you down onto his cock, taking him down your throat further and causing you to gag. Tears spill from your eyes and spit drips from the sides of your mouth, the blow job quickly turning sloppy as Joel takes more control.

“Fucking hell, darlin’. Taking me so well on your own, being such a good girl for me,” he whines, heading tilting back as his eyes squeeze shut, shallow thrusts meeting the rhythm of your head. “Gonna fuckin’ come, baby, holy fuck, I—”

A moan around him gurgles to nothing when he thrusts again, hand tangled in your hair pulling you back until his tip rests against your lips, “Don’t wanna—please—” His words are lost on the tip of his tongue, pleasure hazing his mind as he searches for the plea he wants to make with you.

You giggle from your knees, swiping your fingers to wipe away the drool from the corners of your mouth, a satisfied smirk on your face. Bracing yourself on his thighs, you push yourself up, standing in between his legs while your hands find his shoulders, scraping your fingernails against the curve of them.

“You wanna come inside of me? Not my mouth? Is that what you were trying to say, baby?”

“Yes,” he exhales, relieved to find the word he needed, blinking open his eyes to look up at you. Your thumb skates across his bottom lip, holding onto his jaw as you study his features.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Joel. Anything for my perfect, doting husband. D’you know how fucking good it makes me feel to make you feel good?” you question curiously, tilting his head as he lets you mold him whichever way you want. “Tell me how you deserve to have me like this. ‘Cause you’re so fucking good to me, tell me that you’re gonna let me fuck you, let me take your come inside of me.”

“Baby, I don’t think that—” he starts, palms pressing into the backs of your thighs as he looks up at you.

“Tell me, Joel. You said you wanted to be the one giving to me tonight. That’s what I want.” You use his earlier, shy request against his negative thoughts, and the intensity in your eyes bends him to your will.

“M’gonna let you have my cock, gonna let you fuck me and show me how much you love when I take care of you.” The words roll foreignly on his tongue, unconvincing coming from his mind to his mouth. You bend a knee, bringing it up to rest next to his thigh, nodding along to encourage him to continue, “I give you whatever I can give to you, and always gonna, baby. Now’s your turn to take care of me, right?”

“That’s right, honey. I should show you how much I appreciate you more often…you work so hard, give us exactly what we need, and provide for us. My big, strong man. You do so much for me, baby. Gonna show you how thankful I am for you, how grateful I am that you’re lettin’ me have this cock,” your words breathe hot against his ear, your other leg now straddling him on the bed, cunt hovering over his waiting cock. A hand leaves his shoulders, reaching between your stomachs to wrap around him, guiding him to your entrance. His breath catches in his throat when you ease down onto him, pushing through the wet seal of your slit.

Wet heat envelopes him, taking in a few inches of him; Joel groans under you, head falling forward onto your breasts, forehead pressed into your sticky skin. One hand tangles into his curls, dragging his head back to look into your eyes. Your hips start to move, adjusted to his size easily and taking more of his cock, letting it split you open inch-by-inch. His eyes wildly search yours, seeing the pleasure overtake your mind, lips parting to match his as you both breathe out shallow, hot breaths.

“Fuck, Joel, so fucking big…” you whine for the first time tonight and the sound goes straight to his cock, twitching him inside of you as his hips jerk up, giving you another inch. Lust clouds his mind, nodding confidently as you take him, desperate to feel your tight, dripping cunt around him entirely.

“I know, baby, I know. Should’ve let me get you ready. But I bet you like the stretch, like a lil’ bit of pain, huh?” he coos, arm snaking around you to hold you closer, your eyes fluttering closed above him as you nod languidly.

“Fuckin’ love it, makes it feel even better,” you whimper when his arm tugs you down further, only an inch or two away from him being fully sheathed.

“C’mon, be my good girl, baby. Show me how you sit on my cock.” He leans forward, bending you backward with his force and holding you tight, his lips attaching to the soft, velvety skin of your breasts and biting, “Gotta face your punishment for stealin’ my hat. Take a cowboy’s hat, gotta ride the cowboy, babygirl. I don’t make the rules.”

You giggle, eyes clearing as you’re pulled out of your cloud of pleasure, gripping onto his shoulders and holding eye contact as you finally sink completely down, burying Joel’s cock inside your soaked pussy. Moans echo in the room, bitten down before they get too loud, your hips immediately finding a quick, sloppy pace to chase your highs. The slick glide of your walls grip his cock lusciously, your flooding arousal coating his balls as thighs as you ride him. Little noises slip from your mouth, simmering the coals burning in the base of his gut as he feels the familiar bliss building.

“Is this what I’m supposed to be doin’, cowboy?” you wonder, hips continuing their pace and mouth twisting as you hide a smile. Joel is unashamed, a wide grin on his face as he unravels one arm from you, picking up the hat from the corner post of the bed, and setting it loosely on top of your head. Giggles erupt from the both of you, your pace faltering as the muscles in his stomach cramp from use. 

Recovering from the interlude, your thighs rub against the outside of his as you bounce, nails digging into his shoulders as your rhythm picks back up, the slap of skin against skin the only noise save for your airy breaths that get shallower and shallower. Flames have ignited in his gut, licking inside and burning hotter and hotter the closer he gets. Nearly at the edge, he needs more, body taking over and lifting you with him as he stands, holding you up on his cock as he thrusts hard and quick into you, dripping for him and gripping him tight to keep yourself up while he fucks into you.

“Oh—fuck, Joel! Right there, m’gonna—oh!” Your desperate pleas in his ear pitch up as you moan, cunt tightening with a flutter around him as you come, soaking his dick as he continues his hard pace, selfishly chasing his high. 

A growl rolls from his chest when you come, his fingernails biting into the flesh of your ass, the slap of his balls against your skin as they draw up. His eyes squeeze shut as he moans your name, the first rope of his come released into your cunt, smaller whimpers following in its wake as he fucks one, twice more, filling you up as deep as he can.

Limbs feeling heavy, he turns you both around, pulling you off of him and dropping you gently onto the mattress. He flops down next to you onto his stomach, blissfully out of it as you move to straddle his back, fingers working the knots and soothing the aches growing there after a long week of work, and a night spent corralling your kids.

The warm press of your body against his back makes him hum contently, your breasts at his shoulder blades as you lay on him, one of his hands reaching the rub his fingers softly against the outside of your thigh.

“You know I think you’re the most handsome, right, honey?” you ask with a hint of worry in your voice, barely above a whisper. He nods, rolling over to his back underneath you and meeting your eyes, brow furrowed with concern.

“I know, baby. Jus’ was feeling weird this whole week. You made it a lot better, though.” A knuckle nudges your cheek, and you take the hat off, Joel chuckling again as you throw it off to the side of the bed. Laying down on him again, he strokes your hair while you hug yourself to his torso, both your eyes and his fluttering shut with exhaustion, from tonight and life in general.

Before drifting off, Joel speaks up, cheekily asking, “So…can I wear this costume next year, too?”

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my kofi

[pwinkprincess]

angel face ୨ৎ

you met toji at a bar. you remember that setting very well, sometimes too well. when you’re bored, you’ll sit back and think about that very night. you had just turned 20 not too long ago, and your friends had finally got the fake ids they ordered months ago. with excited giggles, they handed the ids out. you’ll never forget how your heart thumped as you examined the little card that displayed lie after lie. you had never done something so illegal, something so sinister.

that night, you waited until your parents were sleeping. no, not just laying in bed and resting, but absolutely sleeping. their breathing turned heavy and their chests rose up and down slowly. their backs touched each other as if they had enough of each other, even while unconscious. with the knowledge that they were asleep, you made sure to close the luxurious door as quietly as possible. the door closed shut with a soft thud. you stood there for a second, holding your breath. you weren’t sure as to what you were waiting for, but you waited.

you counted to 60 in your head four times before solidifying that they were actually asleep. your eyes crinkle as a smile adorned your lips. with newfound enthusiasm, your feet that were comforted in white lace socks pitter patter against the prime grade wood flooring. you skip into your room and close and lock the door behind you.

you grab your phone that sits on top of your nightstand.11:20 it reads. you have exactly an hour and ten minutes to get ready. you’re quick to rush into your white marbled bathroom that had soft pink enhancements sprouted throughout the room.

the walls are adorned with large, glossy white marble tiles, reflecting light and creating an illusion of spaciousness. lowered chandeliers create soft, ambient lighting, casting a gentle modern glow over the room. the room's main feature is a gleaming white marble bathtub with simple, elegant lines and a large basin that invites you to have a relaxing dip. a peaceful waterfall faucet that cascades above it softly filling the tub with warm water whenever you feel the need to soak your stresses away.

you choose to use your stand-up shower, for this occasion. the shower is fully glass, exposing everything and more. two sides or large glass panels trap you on your sides to stop the water from escaping freely. as you turn the hot water on, both the overhead shower-head and the six miniature shower-heads come to life. you take off your pink silky robe, hanging it on the nook that’s nailed onto the wall beside your shower. you rub your body clean with soaps and exfoliators. the water plays a soft tune throughout the bathroom, the relaxing sound from the faucet merges with the sweet scents. it’s a precise routine that you do daily. scrubbing yourself until you’re absolutely sure your body is sparkling, and then stepping out of your shower with a pink fluffy towel around your body. a large white bathroom rug catches all of the spare droplets as you walk to your sink.

when you’re done with your skincare routine which includes not only your face but oiling your body down, you’re leaving your bathroom and walking into your walk-in closet. the automatic light sensors turn on, almost if it was awaiting your arrival. you choose a short light pink dress, and a pair of expensive shoes that match the shading. you gush over the cute bows that are etched onto the heel of the shoe.

time moves quickly. one minute you’re brushing your hair and inserting a clip on bow, and the next you’re quietly sneaking out through the back door. you walk to your friend’s white range rover that’s parked three houses down.

the rest of the night is moved in little blurs. you feel like you’re sitting inside of a cinema, watching a newly released movie. the bar is full of men. and not the guys you’re used to seeing around at these little college frat parties. no, these are men with tattoos, men with beards, mens with war battles littered on their body, men who are old enough to be your dad. as you look around, you suddenly feel childish in your outfit. the women in the bar wear crop tops and little shorts that have their ass cheeks hanging out. there’s a sense of maturity that courses through the bar, something the frat parties could never carry.

these are criminals, office men, police officers, businessmen. and suddenly there’s a throbbing in your lower region that you’ve never felt before. you’re looking around curiously as if the bar is some sort of museum that hold rare artifacts.

you look over at a table full of guys, their faces are littered with tired eyes and white beards. you accidentally make eye contact with one of the men and he winks before smirking and muttering something to his friends. they all snap their heads to you and your friends. some of them whistle while the others carry the same smirk. you should feel disgusted, guys that were possibly in the same classes with your dad, are making advances towards you. but instead the throbbing increases and a feeling of need courses through your body.

your friends make it to the bar and take your seats. a female bartender who looks to be in her mid 30s walks up to you four. she has overgrown blonde roots and various random tattoos littered all over her skin. her skin is obviously fake tanned, the exposed parts of her body are three shades darker than her head. her makeup is cakey and there’s dark eyeshadow around her eyes creating a lazily done smokey eye look. there’s a few facial piercings on her face as well. a dermal beside her eye, two dimple piercings, an eyebrow piercing, and when she opens her mouth to greet you all you can see the ball of a tongue piercing.

“what can i get for you ladies?” her voice is somewhat strained and gravelly. as she leans in, you can smell the lingering smell of cigarettes on her tongue.

“can i have eight shots of lemon drop, please.” your friend flashes the bartender a mischievous smile.

those shots were what got the night going. you were already very tipsy after your two shots and also a half glass of tequila. your friends had scattered around the bar, having conversations amongst themselves. you watch them, there’s envy burning in your stomach at how social they’re able to be so easily. you take it as competition. you sway your head to the side and your eyes land on a guy who’s sitting on the far end of the counter.

with the confidence you mustered, you walk up to him and sit in the wooden chair beside him. the chair creaks as you adjust yourself. sucking in a heavy breath, you smile at him.

“hi.” you greet him.

“’m not a perv. fuck off.” his response has you blinking rapidly in shock.

“uhm .. what? i’m-i’m of age!” you exclaim. you don’t know why you feel so offended at his words. most girls would’ve instantly stood up and walked away from his hostility, but if anything it strung you in even more.

“yeah, okay. and lemme guess, there’s pigs out there flyin’.” he chuckles but it’s forced, if anything.

“you, sir, are reaaaal hostile.” you drag the word out. the alcohol in your system is fumbling with your ability to talk normally.

“go away, little girl.” he dismisses you once again. he’s gripping his glass, with the muscles straining from his tight black shirt you wonder if he’s going to end up breaking it.

you have no idea as to why you’re so stuck on staying beside him and continuing to try. “i’ll have you know,” you emphasize, making sure the word rings through his head. “i can do everything you can do. vote, pay taxes, drive, all of that.”

“not drink, though.” he argues.

your eyebrows scrunch and suddenly you’re digging through your purse searching for that fake id. once your fingers grasp it, you’re pulling it out and slamming it on the polished wood.

“actually, i can.” you challenge. you’re sliding the card in front of him, all of your confidence powered into that one finger.

the guy goes quiet for a second, he’s reading your id. you cross your arms in victory. yeah, he doesn’t have much to say now.

or so you thought. “this shit’s faker than me claimin’ t’be a good father.” he says, his voice tinged with disgust. he slides the card back in front of you.

“okay. whatever. ‘m of age, though. okay? i’m 20 and if i’m not mistaken that’s grown.” you reply.

he finally turns, his entire body turns to look at you. lean and toned. he’s extremely built, with muscles everywhere. not to mention his waist, that’s so so slim. he’s wearing black jeans but you don’t even have to see his legs to know they match his arms. your eyes dart away his lower body to focus on his face. his face is rugged and masculine. he has sharp, angular features, including a strong jawline and high cheekbones. his green eyes are sharp and piercing as he stares down at you. you notice there’s an attractive scar that runs through his thin lips.

“‘nd is there a reason as t’why you keep botherin’ me, ms.twenty year old?” he asks sarcastically.

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“g-gonna cum again!” you gasp. your head lays in the crook of his neck. he has one strong hand holding your head so even if you wanted to move it, you couldn’t. 

you had only had sex with one guy, ever. and he was more so on the skinnier side. you wouldn't shame him at all, he had managed to pull a few orgasms out of you. but this一this was different. he was stretching you out in ways that had your mind completely fucked. your pussy is stretched and wrapped tightly around his cock as if it was made for him and him only. 

your knees laid on both sides of his hips. you had started off riding him but he had quickly taken control when he realized how awkward you are when you’re on top. the way you stiffly jerked your hips would have resulted in absolutely no orgasms if he had let you continue. his feet were planted flat on the mattress  while his other arm was wrapped around your lower back so that he could have leverage as he plowed his cock into your dripping pussy. 

you could faintly hear the sound of police sirens through the thin motel walls. you had let the mystery man sway you to this cheap motel that looked as if it was infested with a little bit of everything. you remember the look on the receptionist’s face, a big man dressed in all black with a girl that’s inches shorter than him right beside him. they looked suspicious until you grabbed at the guy’s hand to lead him back outside once the two of you got a key.

“fuck are you so quiet for?” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts. before you could respond his big palm is striking down on your ass, sending multiple slaps. you whimper and jerk in his hold but he doesn’t let you move. “ungrateful thing. should i stop?”

“no!” you sob out. “please don’t stop.”

he rubs his hand over the spot he attacked before gripping your hip and fucking up into you even harder. the sound of his balls slapping against your skin and your pussy wetting his dick even more echoed through the room. the motel bed squeaks with every movement, like an old door protesting against being opened.

your senses whirl as he abruptly hurls you onto the side of the bed. your form plunges into the worn mattress, a musical of creaking springs accompanying your fall as you land on your stomach. everything moves fast as he’s suddenly behind you and pressing cock back inside of your awaiting pussy.

“arch your back.” he grumbles. he doesn’t give you time to move on your own before he’s grabbing your hips and adjusting them into the air. his sharp eyes take in your bruised pussy that’s clenching around nothing.

he lets his leaking cockhead rub against your pussy for a few moments. he shudders when his thick pre cum mixes with your arousal, creating a beautiful canvas. you’re whining and cooing out to him, he takes not of you growing impatient and taking it upon yourself to move your hips in desperate attempts that his dick would enter you.

“desperate girl.” he tuts before lining his dick up and slamming his dick back inside of you.

you let a deafening scream as your pussy streams out liquid. he immediately pulls out and rubs his length through the mess you’re creating.

"gooood girl. mhm cum all on m'dick. jus' like that." he coos at you. "gonna gimme some more? hm?" he asks while bracing his cock for your tight walls.

you whimper out something unintagible as you fix your arch once again. just the thought of him scolding you for not listening put a sense of uneasiness in your body. you wanted to continue being his good girl.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

nestled in a sea of soft, spiraling sheets and flat pillows, your soft breathing created a peaceful, rhythmic lullaby in the room. your chest's soft rise and fall resembled the waves' gentle rise and fall on a calm beach. your shape was nestled into the motel bed, which provided a false sense of haven from the outer world. toji gives your body a once over. he had really done a number on you. your body is littered with bites and bruises from him gripping you too hard. and somehow through all his negligence and however rough he was with you, you continued to moan and beg for more.

he told himself he was done with one night stands. god damnit. and then here you go walking into the bar with those needy ass doe eyes. he could smell the youthfulness on you. a twenty year old prissy girl with no true understanding of how ugly the world actually is.

toji exhaled while being lost in his own world as he stood outside the dimly illuminated motel room, wisps of smoke swirling around him. the light from his cigarette flickered with every breath, highlighting his face in the shadows.

he'd be lying if he said it didn't feel good. having a fine thing begging for more of his cock, the way you gripped the sheets whenever the overstimulation got too much to deal with, your choked sobs as he brought you to a place you've probably never reached before. a smirk tugged on his lips. you made him feel young again, that's for sure.

he could feel his phone buzzing in his pocket, it's possibly his boss who has found a shady job for toji to do. usually, he would've accepted in seconds but the thought of you halted him from doing so. this motel was located in a rather dangerous location and toji would feel like shit if he was listening to the news one day and found out some criminal got to you. he decides he'll walk you to a safer area before the two of you part ways.

his heart thumps hard in chest when he realizes this is the first and last time you two would ever do something like this. he enjoyed your smart replies and the fake confidence you put up at the bar. even more so, he enjoyed the size difference between you two. he dwarfs you in every way. he was practically throwing you around like some ragdoll and you took it. you took it all and that shit is fascinating to toji.

he tilts his head back, a cloud of smoke escapes through his mouth and into the air. that was一fun. he decides.

[ellephlox]

Lights Out

Summary: You’re touring a haunted house with Matt, and the entire building loses power when a thunderstorm arrives. On the bright side, you’ve got Matt to lead you out (when he’s not taking advantage of your inability to see). 

Pairing: Matt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Creepy haunted house imagery, swears

The sign for local attractions on the highway was battered and scratched, bearing the words HAUNTED HOUSE — EXIT 64. Rain pounded on the windshield as you drove; it was a long seven hours from the weekend holiday you’d taken with Matt back to Hell’s Kitchen, and you were only halfway done the drive. There was obviously no way for Matt to switch off with you, so instead he kept pushing for rest stops so that you could stretch your legs from the driving, despite your assurance to him that it was okay. 

You pulled into a parking spot outside the attraction, mud and dirt grinding under the tires. Once the key was out of the ignition, the silence of the engine was eerily fitting for the view of the haunted mansion in front of you, especially with the pounding of the rain on the roof. 

“Wow,” you said, peering up at it. “This thing’s actually pretty big. It looks Gothic — there’s a rounded tower-like part on the left, with bay windows, I think. In the center where the roof is highest, it’s pointy and there’s a weathervane with a skull on top. The outside is painted a really ugly purple. Oh, and the decorations are awesome. They look genuine, too; gravestones, a body sticking out of the chimney, blood splattered all over the front porch. Ha. There’s even a hearse parked next to us.”

“Scary or corny, overall?”

“It looks pretty good. I’d say it’s scary but you’re here with me,” you said, grabbing his hand. “Ready?”

You paid at the ticket booth and then entered the mansion. Only once you were safely inside, far from any of the workers, did Matt drop his hand from your arm. “There’s no one else here,” he said. “Just you and me.”

You nodded at a skeleton sitting at a piano. “And Mr. Bones right there.”

Matt tilted his head. “There’s a motion sensor ahead. Probably there’s going to be a jump scare.”

“Well, it’s not a jump scare anymore,” you said, rolling your eyes. “How much of this can you sense, anyway?”

“It’s... kind of a confusing influx of sensory details. Different machines behind the walls for all the animatronics and music, weird smells coming from everything, and I can feel the shifts in air pressure when something’s moving. It’s all kind of a... bonfire of input.”

Sure enough, a vampire sprung out of a coffin moments later, and even with Matt’s warning you still flinched, heart skipping a beat when it shrieked at you. The layout of the mansion was narrow and winding; different hallways took you through a variety of different rooms and scares. Some of the sights were admittedly scary; an animatronic girl with stringy hair and an axe came flying out of the shadows, and even the floorboards and doors beside you would buckle unexpectedly as you passed by them. To your delight, one of the picture frames turned to life and even caught Matt off guard — you felt him stir slightly beside you. The path through the mansion took you up two flights of stairs, all the way to the top floor of the house. 

“It’s a kitchen!” you said, admiring the decorations. “With — ew. Blood coming out of the faucet. And fingers baking in the oven.”

But Matt had his head tilted slightly towards the window. “Lightning’s about to strike,” he said suddenly, and true to his word, a massive flash lit up the entire room only a second later. The clap of thunder that followed was nearly simultaneous with the lightning, and rattled the mansion so hard that the window shook. 

And that was when the mansion lost power. Everything, all at once, fell silent as though it had been muted, and you were plunged from shadowy, dim lighting into absolute pitch blackness. 

“Matt?” you said uncertainly, reaching out for him and only finding empty space. The thought of all the things around you — amusing only moments ago — suddenly made your heart spike. 

“Right here.” Matt grabbed your hand and squeezed it. “Any light coming in at all?”

You waved your hand in front of your eyes. “Nothing. It’s like a black hole in here. And of course we left our phones in the car,” you grumbled, shifting closer to Matt. “A flashlight would be nice.”

“No light is coming in through the window?”

“Only when there’s lightning. And I don’t think there are many windows in this labyrinth.” Gingerly you stepped forward. “This is... not fun.”

“I’m personally very offended by how opposed you are to being visually impaired.”

You frowned. “You make fun of my bad hearing all the time — which, by the way, is not bad hearing, it’s simply normal-person hearing.”

“I think it’s bad hearing.”

“We’re allowed to make fun of each other’s senses,” you continued. “That’s the most important tenet of dating someone.”

“Oh, really? Then I’m free to tell you that you’ve got absolutely terrible common sense?”

“Ha, ha. You’re so clever,” you deadpanned. “Are we out of the creepy kitchen yet?"

“Yeah.” Matt nudged you to the right. “This way.”

“Are we close to the exit?”

“No. It’s probably another ten minute walk, at the very least.���

“Lovely. Why doesn’t this place have a generator?”

“It should. This could be a huge liability. If someone got hurt and decided to sue, the owners could easily get in trouble.”

“Only someone who had to endure the trauma of a bar exam would think about liabilities when the power goes out,” you said appreciatively. “So... we’ve got two flights of stairs to go down?”

“Three. The exit’s in the basement,” Matt said. “Watch out. There’s fake cobwebs ahead of us.”

You were glad for the warning, because the revolting sensation of gossamer threads brushing against your face would have otherwise been disturbing. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the hallway, and for a moment you were face-to-face with a ghastly clown that was grinning beside you. You yelped, nearly falling backwards into Matt. Adrenaline soared through you, and you couldn’t help but squint through the darkness in an attempt to make sure the clown wasn’t moving. It was to no avail — when the lightning was gone, so was any visibility.

“Take a deep breath,” Matt said, nudging you with his shoulder. “Your heart’s going a hundred miles an hour.”

“There’s a clown, Matt.”

“And he’s made of rubber, wood, and plastic.”

Lightning flashed again, and you winced at the clown’s companion, a bloody jester gloating on your left. “Are the haunted house workers coming in to help?”

“No. There’s only one worker, and based on the way her heart jumped with the power going out, I highly doubt she’s going to walk alone into a haunted mansion with all the lights off. Careful, the hallway twists a bit right here.” Matt gently guided you to the left. You went forward reluctantly, feeling that you were about to walk into something at any second despite your trust in Matt. “And there are two steps down right here.”

“Right where?” you asked, slowing to a halt.

“Right here, in front of us.”

Anxiously you edged your toe forward, feeling for the drop of the step. “This is incredibly creepy.”

“I’ll tell you when to step. Just keep going, and step downward when I say.” Matt tugged you forward, and you resisted, moving as carefully as possible until you were down the steps. 

“I don’t like this,” you informed him. “Because I know for a fact that there are probably zombies or vampires or something in here.”

“Dolls, actually.”

“Oh, God. Are you serious?”

Matt laughed. “At least, I think they’re dolls. Ceramic faces, stringy hair, small size.” He took your hand and guided it in front of you. “Here. Want to feel one?”

“No!” 

“There are lots of dolls in here. And it feels... dark. Wait.” Matt’s hand suddenly held yours more tightly.

“Well, I could’ve told you it’s dark in here.”

“No. I mean... a different type of dark.” Matt was silent, and you imagined he was cocking his head. 

“What is it?” you asked, squinting around as though it would suddenly help you to see the surroundings. 

“Something’s moving,” he whispered. “One of the dolls.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I mean a doll is moving,” he repeated. “Wait here—”

And then he pulled his hand away from yours, lost in the blackness of the house.

“Shit!” you yelped, hugging yourself. “Matt! Don’t leave me here!”

There was a small crash to your left, and then footsteps, slow and creaking, from behind you. Holy shit holy shit fuck fuck fuck fuckkkkk—

“Matt!” you shrieked. “Come back!”

And then, you felt something behind you, and the warm exhale of someone breathing near your ear. “Boo,” Matt said, in a low voice, and you automatically swung around so quickly with your fist that you would have socked him in the face, had he not caught your wrist first. 

“Shit – sorry, I didn’t mean to almost punch you—” You stopped yourself, mid-apology. “What the hell, Matt? You’re awful! How could you do that to me?”

To your indignation, he actually chuckled, sounding so damn pleased with himself that you would’ve marched away and continued on your own if you could actually see. “You know, I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever heard your heart go.”

“Yeah, because you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry.” Matt wrapped an arm around you as he continued steering you forward. “But you must have known that this was coming, sweetheart.”

“Um, no, I didn’t think I had it ‘coming’ because I thought I could trust my boyfriend to lead me out of a freaking pitch-black haunted mansion without trying to prank me like a five-year-old—”

“I couldn’t resist.”

“You couldn’t resist. Oh, well, that justifies it,” you grumbled, pushing at him again. “How much longer until we’re out of here?”

“Stairs to the first floor are right in front of us. Then we’re almost to the basement.” Matt dropped one of his hands so that it was on your lower back. “Your eyes haven’t adjusted at all?”

“I think the clouds are too thick for any moonlight to come through. And, of course, the lightning now decides to not flash at all.” You wished you could simply sense your surroundings like Matt could. “You’re amazing.”

“Weren’t you just saying I was awful?”

“No, really. I mean, the fact that you’re able to do all that you do, considering you can’t see; and me, the second I can’t see, I’m completely useless. It just makes me admire so much more the way that—”

“Stairs,” Matt warned. “Thirteen steps.”

“Thanks. But it just makes me admire so much more the way you... honed your senses, I guess. I mean, how many girls can brag that their blind boyfriend easily led them out of a haunted house with the navigation skills of someone with night-vision goggles?”

“It’s easier than you’d think.” Matt stopped suddenly, his fingers lightly raising to brush your upper arm and spin you so that your back was pressed into his chest. “Listen.”

You obeyed, falling as quiet as possible. Even this close to Matt, though, you couldn’t hear his heartbeat. “Matt, I’m not going to magically have your ability to hear well—”

“You don’t need my level of hearing,” Matt said. “Sometimes you just need to listen more closely. Hear that whistling?”

You focused. It was faint, but audible. “Yeah.”

“What’s that coming from?”

“Sounds like the wind coming through a vent.” Realization dawned on you. “Which means that there’s a wall in front of us.”

“Exactly. And did you hear that scuffle above us?”

“Yeah, that thump?” You hadn’t even paid attention to it until now. “It was probably that worker, right? Which means... we’re in the back lefthand corner of the house.”

“See? Easier than it seems,” Matt said, leaning in and kissing your temple. “You’re a natural, sweetheart.”

You smiled, feeling heat rise up your neck. “That’s really nice of you, but I know what you’re up to. You feel guilty for scaring me earlier and now you’re trying to make up for it with flattery.”

“Floor gets squishy right here,” Matt said suddenly, and you were glad for the warning as the wooden floorboards beneath your feet unexpectedly transitioned to foam. “They really went all-out with this haunted house.”

“Too bad we’re missing most of it. And... Matt, I love you for guiding me, but can we please slow down?” you said, leaning backwards to reduce the speed Matt was leading you at. “I feel like I’m about to walk into a wall.”

“Sorry.” Matt slowed his pace. “We’re almost out. You know, I’ll miss this a bit.”

“What, me being temporarily blind?”

“Yeah. Because you can’t see things like this coming.”

“Things like what—?”

But then Matt’s lips were on yours, passionate and hard, as he pressed you backwards into what was presumably a normal wall and hopefully not an upright coffin or anything gory. You made a small sound of surprise and kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Matt’s left hand cupped the back of your head, and his right groped underneath your shirt on your lower back; goosebumps ran up and down your arms.

And then, without warning, the lights flooded on, machines and animatronics beside you whirring to life. You jumped, heart skipping at the massive demon leering on the ceiling above you. Painted flames danced on the walls and a horned mannequin, eyes blinking and head rotating back and forth, grinned at you deviously. “Oh, God. We’re in Hell, I think.”

“We are? I wasn’t really paying attention.” Matt leaned in and kissed you one more time. “Your body was just a bit distracting.”

“Okay. New idea, Matt,” you said, staring at the fiery devil as it continued to sneer at you. “I see a really, really, really amazing photo opportunity. If the attendant lets me, I’m going to run and get my phone from the car quickly, then I’ll be back.”

“You’re going to abandon a blind man in a haunted mansion? How will I ever know where to go if you’re not allowed back inside to guide me?”

You laughed. “I’ll convince her to let me back in.”

And that was how, a week later, you happily received a photo print in the mail: Matt standing beside an animatronic devil, pointing at it with his thumb and smiling widely.

A/N: This is based off of a really neat haunted mansion that I visited on Prince Edward Island awhile back. Happy almost Halloween, everyone!

[writeyouin]

Lost light megatron trying to have fun with his s/o, but kinda failing cuz he thinks of all the ways it could go wrong? (Maybe they’re on a planet in a theme park?) and reader has to convince him to let loose?

Megatron X Reader – Let Loose

A/N – Slowly, whittling my list of requests down.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

Megatron snatched the cotton candy from you, earning a startled look from the vendor and the surrounding people alike. You, on the other hand, merely smiled, knowing what he was like.

“Babe, it’s not poisonous,” You told him patiently, waiting for him to agree.

Megatron tore off a piece of the fluffy treat, scanning it with a device he had procured from Red Alert; that bot was equally paranoid about all the things that could poison you, or that could contaminate the ship’s supply of energon, or that could… Actually, the list of things that Red Alert was paranoid about was endless.

He hummed and passed it back to you begrudgingly. While it was true that the food wouldn’t kill you, it wasn’t very good for you either, which is exactly what he told you after you tore a piece off, popping it in your mouth gleefully.

“Would you lighten up?” You laughed, elbowing him playfully. “Today is supposed to be fun.”

Megatron followed you through the Carnival that Rodimus had insisted on making the Lost Light stop at. Frankly, he thought that he had been doing well by not complaining that it was a waste of time and energy to visit such a trashy attraction, especially when the crew had to make use of their holo-forms which increased their energon consumption by 3.7%. That might not have been a lot for one bot, but when used by the full crew, it would ensure they practically ate through their energy reserves.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), but how exactly would you have me ‘lighten up’?” Megatron used air quotes upon repeating you.

“Just cut loose. Have fun for the day, okay?”

Megatron scowled. His idea of fun was composing poetry to sum up his deepest thoughts and clear his processor, or to spend an evening with you, consuming some of the universe’s best literature, while you spent time on one of your hobbies.

Frankly, this was when another bot might comment on how odd your relationship was. You and Megatron were not alike. You were loud, carefree, and energetic. He was sombre and contemplative, and he preferred not to waste energy on frivolous activities.

Yet, Megatron found himself wanting to please you. Part of this stemmed from the idea that he didn’t believe that he deserved you, and partially because you asked very little of him, taking the relationship one day at a time while he learned how to navigate it with you.

“Very well,” Megatron sighed. “I shall…” He tripped over the words cut loose, finding the slang un-endearing, opting to finish by saying, “Try to relax somewhat.”

“That’s all I ask,” You chuckled, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the first game of the day.

It was a simple ring toss over some bottles, with various prizes hanging overhead. You spotted a plushie armadillo which was arguably the most hideous of the prizes, yet it held your attention, your pupils dilating at the sight of it.

“Oh yeah, that’s coming home with me.”

And so the game began. You tried again and again to win the creature, putting more and more credits on it, much to the vendor's satisfaction.

Megatron watched, bemused, until finally, he grabbed your shoulder, shaking his head disapprovingly.

“What’s wrong, babe? You want a go?”

You held out a ring to him. Megatron glowered first at the bottles, then at the vendor. “You should leave this game.” He told you matter-of-factly. Then in a whisper, he added, “My sensors show that it has been rigged. Winning is a statistical impossibility.”

“Oh,” You deflated. You had already guessed that the game was rigged, but it had been fun to try all the same. Half-heartedly, you threw the last ring before walking away. “Okay… something else then.”

Megatron silently cursed himself for upsetting you, but it was better you knew now rather than trying to win the impossible.

Your eyes lit up again when you saw what had to be the world’s most unstable rollercoaster.

“How about that?!” You pointed to it excitedly.

Megatron scanned the structure, messaging Ultra Magnus to see how many laws it broke. According to him, the ride had 36 structural weaknesses, broke 17 laws, and would only be legal on 3 planets.

You shook your head as Megatron’s face set into its default scowl.

“Oh, come on, please,” You begged, clasping your hands together.

“I won’t stop you, but I shan’t join you,” Megatron said drily, thinking about how he would be prepared to shed his holo-form and rescue you when the ride inevitably flew off the tracks or something equally terrible.

“Really? I can’t convince you?” You pouted.

“I should think not.”

You opened your mouth to argue until Rodimus ran into you, “Hey (Y/N). You here for the coaster?”

“Yeah, I was about to get in line. I’m just asking Meg-”

Rodimus rolled his eyes, “Megatron isn’t going to join you. It would mean having fun, something he’s completely allergic to, you know, alongside joy, laughter, puppies, flowers-”

“Shut up,” You punched Rodimus playfully in the arm.

Megatron watched as you and Rodimus played, eventually getting his approval to go on the ride together. It sometimes amazed him that you hadn’t chosen to enter a relationship with someone like Rodimus. The two of you were quite similar and had a good rapport.

Megatron sighed as he watched the two of you on the ride. He was somewhat you were relieved that you were with his co-captain. At least that way you would be safe with him should something happen. One person with you, and another on the ground in case something went wrong.

Yet, remarkably, nothing bad happened, except for Megatron putting yet another damper on the day, making him practically miserable.

Once you had come off the ride, Megatron made his excuses to go back to the ship, leaving you alone with Rodimus. He had much to think about when it came to the two of you, and frankly, he felt like he needed to find some reasons that the two of you were together, especially after such a disastrous excuse of a date, wherein he had only helped to sour your vibrant mood.

Megatron startled at the sound of the doorbell ringing.

He answered the door to find you, holding tightly onto the plushie armadillo that he had claimed was impossible to win.

“So, you somehow won the ring toss,” He stated, gesturing to the toy.

“Nah. Rodimus distracted the guy there and I took this,” You held out your prize, grinning victoriously.

“Stealing?” Megatron said doubtfully, thinking about what a terrible influence Rodimus could be.

“I’d like to think of it as liberating a plushie who needs a lot of love. Besides, you said it yourself. That guy was cheating, so it’s only fair he loses a prize or two every now and then.”

Megatron nodded stiffly, his optics following you as you entered the hab-suite.

“I’m sorry-” He started, surprised when you said “Thank you,” at the same time.

“What’re you-” “Why are you-”

You laughed as you both spoke simultaneously again, gesturing for him to start first.

“I- I’m sorry for leaving you at the fair,” Megatron sighed in his usual melancholy tone. “And you don’t have anything to thank me for. Believe me, I should know.”

You grinned, holding back a bout of laughter since you didn’t want Megatron to be offended.

“I’ll admit, I was sad that you left early, but… I wanted to thank you, for a really good night.”

Megatron didn’t respond. Frankly, he couldn’t see how you had a good time with him at all.

“I know the carnival isn’t your scene, but you went with me anyway, and… I love having someone who looks out for me all the time. I think it’s really sweet that you don’t want me to get conned out of my credits, or get hurt on the big rides, or, y’know, die from poison. I love you, Megatron.”

That wasn’t the first time that you had told Megatron you loved him, nor would it be the last, and yet, you always said it at the most unexpected times.

“I… Love you too,” Megatron said haltingly, scared as usual that his vulnerability would lead to a terrible end for the two of you. “Would you like to spend the night here?” He offered.

“Sounds good to me,” You beamed.

[aumos]

The benefits of motion sensor lights that we have been highlighting since our origin because the evolution that we envision to bring about in this industry is actually all about apt optimization.

[saltofmercury]

hii its me again, can you do one where könig is handling a totally wasted and drunk reader? like where the reader just got done celebrating and having a few drinks with some co-workers. (got this idea after my tipsy friend pointed to a big bulky guy and said "i want him to take me home" and the guy just shyly waved at our crowd and it really reminded me of könig.) i'm not much of drinker since i don't have a high tolerance

Yuhhhhhh I loved this request. Takes me back to the times… now I can barely drink a pint without priming myself with Advil.

Pairing: König x reader (more so f!reader?)

Summary: You come home tipsy to König’s house.

A/N: a lil jealousy mention, but nothing too serious. Playful teasing? (Can you guys see the development of him falling in love with you and being more vulnerable maybe just a bit?)

“Home”

Your shoes knocked under you. Your feet ached. You weren’t sure how exactly your group of friends and yourself were able to squeeze into the Uber. The woman inside the Uber was intimidated, begging everyone to please use the plastic bags she had behind the passenger seat if they felt sick.

You and your group of friends had gone out to a bar for the night. It had been months of not seeing each other, one round turned to many, soon all of you clearly intoxicated, releasing the built up stress of your day to day.

You rode in the Uber, your head spinning. Maybe the plastic bag was a good idea. You just wanted to go home, take off the tight clothes on your body, hide your annoying shoes, and wipe off the sweat on your face.

Your friend kept talking to you, asking to describe the house.

You had picked König’s house to come home to, promising to spend the weekend with him for some sort of gaming event he had got tickets to. You were just happy to come home to him.

“It’s got little stones in the driveway” you mumbled, the window of the car starting to spin.

“The color you idiot.. maybe even a car?” your sober friend in the passenger seat directing the driver to slow down so she could watch.

“like dark gray rain clouds” you closed your eyes, clearly nauseated. “He’s got a g-wagon.”

“Dark gray rain clouds?” They giggled uncontrollably.

“We get it you’re fucking a German.” Another one said.

“Austrian.” You mumbled back. A finger in the air.

You searched for the house in your mind, your muscle memory focusing on the left curve the driver took, then a right up a hill. You kept ignoring the laughter behind you. The house soon came into vision, one light on outside, but the rest of the lights off inside. His car was parked in the driveway, and as soon as the Uber parked behind it, the motion sensor light went off.

“Are you sure this is the house?” You friend asked skeptically, feeling unsure. The rest of the neighborhood was asleep, the top of the hill had only a couple of porch lights on in the distance.

“Yeah it’s just a quiet neighborhood” you hiccuped, started tying your shoes up again in the dark.

You looked up again, recognizing the figure coming outside the door. His broad stance, his weight shifting equally on both of his legs, bulky arms hidden underneath a gray crew neck sweater.

God… just his figure made you fidget in your seat. You felt the anticipation to touch, feel him. Your hands itched. His stride to the car made you tingle.

He was covered up… in a face mask? He approached the car while you tumbled out of it excited. The rest of your party teasing you, as you yanked yourself away from them, and pulled towards him.

“Whoa! You’re gonna break your knees..” he lunged forward, caught you swiftly up into his arms, pulling you up, then shifting your weight onto your legs. He held you there, but could see you swaying. He held back a laugh, tucked your chin between his thumb and index finger.

“schatz…” he spoke softly as he held you closer, your chests touching, one arm wrapped around you.

“’m okay!” You held a hand up in the air. More so towards him than your friends hysterically laughing in the car behind you. Most of them were staring at him. Attempting to get any peak of his face.

He nodded gently towards them, made his voice a little deeper, huskier— “Thank you guys, goodnight.”

Another fit of giggles.

Annoying. You freed yourself underneath him and walked towards the door, him trailing behind you, which quickly shifted next to you because of how much you swayed. He chuckled as he put an arm over your shoulder and opened the door.

You walked towards the kitchen, opening the refrigerator, then proceeded to gulp down one of the cold water bottles in there. You gulped the last drop and then turned around.

His face mask had been taken off. He was biting his lip, trying not to laugh, his fingers lightly drumming on the countertop.

“What?” Were you that drunk? You spoke in an accusatory tone.

He scoffed, eyeing at you. You weren’t going to come at him with that attitude,

“You don’t even have the shoes that you left with on.” He laughed.

You looked down, the dress shoes you had worn were not on your feet.

He proceeded to mimic your voice, “I’m gonna have 3 adios motherf-“

You cut him off. He wasn’t going to have the opportunity to make fun of you, not in this state.

“Shuuuuuut up, what’s up with the face mask?” You laid back against the steel fridge, the coolness feeling good against your back. Somewhat trying to regain composure. Holding the water bottle close to your cheek, to hide away any evidence of redness. Now it was his turn to blush.

“Your friends.. like a little mystery, I’m happy to offer that to them.” he smirked, clearly aware that your friends had begged and begged to see him, but never had the opportunity to catch a glimpse of his face in person. He became so vain once you told him about how they oohed and ahhed about him. You smiled, he needed a little attention. And you liked that he gained it.

Now it was your turn. You made the best impression of him. You made your voice huskier, as deep as it could go —

“Ohhhhh, thank you guys gooodnight!” “Really König— we get it. Six foot fucking seven and your deep voice.”

He burst out laughing, shaking his head, the corner of his eyes forming crinkles, hiding beneath his hand.

“You’re so ridiculou-“ he cut you off.

“Have you ever been told how much of a little brat you are?” He spoke a little deeper now, his voice still full of admiration, he smirked, his voice echoed down the hallway. He came closer to you, holding your chin between his fingers again.

He could kiss you— you looked so disheveled, your makeup running across your eyes, your hair matted on your head. Some of your clothes had been tidier and tighter when you left. He looked at your eyes, wondering how on earth you had continued to come back to him. Your head barely touched the bottom of his chin, you stood on your toes trying to get some affection but he drummed his fingers down the side of your waist, hauling you up the kitchen counter.

You sat, quiet and excited. How much it made you burst that he could pick you up and place you anywhere.

“So how was the bar?” He began, then turned to grab condiments out of the fridge, strawberry jelly, peanut butter, butter, and bread. He grabbed another water for you, opening the cap.

“It was good!” You sat there watching him prepare his favorite, a peanut butter & jelly banana sandwich.

“No one really got there until 2-3 hours after us,” You rambled on, telling him about how your friends peer pressured you into shot after shot. Which you didn’t mind, you needed a distraction. Small glimpses were thrown back to you, with eyebrows raised, lips pursed, and smirks as you animatedly told him about your night.

“I think the best part was when a group of barely turned 21 year olds tried to buy us a round” you didn’t make eye contact. You knew what you were doing.

“Kind of hilarious seeing them pool their money together to buy 5 shots.”

His right eyebrow raised. A small smile formed at his lips. He swiped a banana from the hanger, began slicing it at an angle. The way you like. You were going to be in big trouble for that comment.

He arranged the banana on top of the peanut butter on the warm bread, and began to spread jelly on the other. He cuts it diagonally, then swipes the oozing jelly off the end, sucking on his finger before handing it to you on a plate.

He put the stuff away, then settled his arms on either side of you. You chewed slowly, making eye contact with him. Smiling, wondering if you looked innocent enough. Then took another bite, jelly getting caught on the corner of your mouth, before you could even grab with your tongue, he spoke low,

“Bet a 21 year old wouldn’t make you a sandwich, or keep you hydrated.” He got so close to your face, you practically felt the mint toothpaste from his breath on your tongue. Yup. You definitely struck a nerve.

He then proceeded to do the one thing you absolutely hate. He grabbed your face with one hand, then licked the corner of your mouth, followed by a firm kiss on your lips.

“I swear….to god!” You made it seem like it was disgusting, dramatically wiping your face, hiding the smile, sobering up slowly. You shoved the remaining bites of the sandwich in your mouth. He took the plate and placed it in the sink.

He hauled you up again, legs wrapped around his waist as he walked over to the bathroom, sat you down on the counter. Began removing your shoes, clothes, then he picked up the “melt” cleanser you used (he called melt because it melted in your fingers) and began to rub it in.

You closed your eyes. König could be so soft with you. He was surprisingly gentle with your face, rubbing in circular motions, gently swiping underneath your eye and eyelid, then grabbed a washcloth to take it off. Put the second cleanser in your hands, he walked into the bedroom.

As you finished the routine, he came back with warm pajamas for you. You held them in your hands… “Did you place these in the dryer?”

He shrugged, picking up all of your hair in a scrunchie.

“Come on babe, brush your teeth and get ready.” He said softly. A small pat to your bum.

You were definitely sobering up now, as you brushed your teeth, admiring the way he collected the hair away from your face.

He had laid on his side of the bed, both arms behind his head, leaving your side open. The side of your nightstand had a hydration packet with another cold water bottle. You slipped in.

But of course, he needed the last word.

“A 21 year old wouldn’t have done all this. As a matter of a fact I think they would’ve let you go to sleep drunk.”

“König…”

“A 21 year old,” he scoffed, “you should be ashamed.”

He leaned in towards you, cupped your face in his right hand, and deeply kissed you. Rubbing the side of your face, a small moan came out from him. He looked at you with so much admiration and love, happy you were back home.

A small smile from him, his lips parted as he began,

“A 21 year—“

“Oh my god goodnight” you bury yourself beneath his arm as he laughs uncontrollably.

“Goodnight schatz.”

[marlynnofmany]

Fun and Dangers with Hovercycles

When the spaceship is grounded for a mechanical checkup that most of the crew helps with, but your knowledge of alien tech is limited to “That button means go, right?” then there’s not much to do. I’d been stuck with cleaning duty on other similar overhauls, which was fair enough. But it sucked. So I was delighted today to find that Mur was giving the hovercycle a once-over in the cargo bay, and didn’t mind letting me help.

“Is it hard to ride?” I asked while he shone a flashlight into the fuel tank, standing on the tips of his tentacles to get a good look. “I’ve never actually gotten to.”

“I wouldn’t say so,” he replied. “The balancing function is top-notch, and the brakes are reliable.”

Paint sorted through the toolbox, organizing wrenches and whatever. “It’s a little high off the ground for my taste.” She craned her lizardy neck to look up at me. “But that may not bother you.”

“Probably not,” I said with a smile. “Can I try it? There’s never been a good chance before. It’s always in storage unless we need it for some rush delivery on the far side of a space station.”

Mur sighed and clicked off the light. “Yeah, and that’s usually my job these days. Mimi is a great rider, but he’s usually busy, and Coals is respectable but doesn’t like to…”

“I don’t like to either!” Paint exclaimed, holding a scaly hand to her chest. “He always has a better excuse!”

“Why don’t you like to?” I asked.

“Too fast, dangerous.” Paint shook her head. “I don’t like the pressure of urgent deliveries when a minor distraction could leave me and the package smeared across the scenery.”

“Okay, fair,” I said.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Mur said. “It won’t tip over, and the brakes have an impact sensor.”

“It feels that dangerous!” Paint insisted, lashing her tail and looking away.

I said, “I guess you can’t really drive slower without being late, huh?”

“Oh, some deliveries have plenty of time. But it’s still too high off the ground.”

“Can I try?” I asked again. “It really doesn’t sound that scary to me.”

“Sure, why not.” Mur tightened the fuel cap and consulted the checklist. “We’re almost done here.”

The rest of the checklist was quick. I helped by holding things and occasionally reaching with my long human arms, while Paint was in charge of the toolbox and unscrewing things with her claws.

“Annnd done!” Mur said as he finished the checklist with a flourish. “Let’s take it outside where you won’t crash into a wall.”

“I thought you said there were impact sensors for that,” I reminded him as he clambered into the seat.

“Eh, they’re not perfect.”

Paint hit the controls for the bay door, toolbox already set aside, and I followed as the hovercycle whirred quietly out onto the alien landing pad.

I reflected that this really was an ideal place to practice riding. Only a couple other ships were parked at the moment, some distance away, and the settlement was set far enough back that people wouldn’t be bothered by the noise and whatnot of landing spaceships. Everything else around us was dry, rolling ground, with hills in the distance and not so much as a cactus to dodge around.

“You twist this to go forward,” Mur said. “Turn it the other way for backward, or just a little to slow down. It’s pretty intuitive once you’re moving.”

“Just don’t twist it too far!” Paint said. “It can go really fast!”

“Right, I’ll be careful,” I said. “Do I steer by leaning or turning the handlebars?”

Mur gave me a few more pointers on the basics, with Paint adding cautionary tips, and soon enough they let me get on. It wasn’t really human-shaped like an Earth bike, but it was close.

“Okay, so I’ll just aim to go over that way, then circle back,” I said. “This way for forward, this way for backward?”

“Right,” Mur said, tentacle-walking up onto the ramp.

“Start gently!” Paint said as she scampered up beside him.

“Got it.” The motor was already on and burbling away, so I held on tight and gave the throttle a minuscule twist. The bike scooted forward.

With Mur and Paint offering encouragement behind me, I eased it out across the smooth ground with no trouble, giving a couple experimental leans to get a feel for the auto-balancing mechanism. It really was good. Then I sped up a little, and was honestly impressed with the stabilizing gyros or whatever. Even on sharp turns, I didn’t feel like I was in danger of being thrown off or skidding out of control, which was pretty great. I still had a traumatizing memory of bike-riding as a kid and running over a tin can that slid out from under me. But there would be no scraped-up arms today! This hoverbike knew what it was doing. I gave it some proper speed.

I zoomed over a couple low hills, laughing at the change in pitch while the hover engines adjusted to catching air. I spun in tight circles and a gradual curve, leaving a faint trail of dust behind me where the wind of my passing had kicked it up.

Then I got a look back at my coworkers on the ship’s ramp, and they were waving their hands urgently. I straightened out and looked around in alarm; was some local beastie or natural disaster right behind me?

Nope. Not unless it was invisible. Which I wasn’t ruling out.

I powered back toward the ship, worried now, and braked to a stop that felt pretty darn perfect for my first time out.

“ARE YOU OKAY?” Paint yelled, rushing over.

“Yeah, why?” I looked behind myself again.

“Wait, you weren’t out of control?” Mur demanded. “You were going that fast on purpose?”

“Uh, yeah? Should I not have?” I took in their worried faces. “It felt pretty safe. You’re right about the balance; that’s great.”

“WHAT?” Paint exclaimed while Mur laughed. “Why would you go that fast on purpose?”

“It’s fun?” I asked, shrugging. “I really didn’t think it was that big a deal. Do neither of you like going fast ever? I mean I can understand not wanting to worry about getting an urgent delivery there on time, but what about casual joyriding?”

The way Paint was sputtering for an answer and Mur wasn’t even trying to come up with one told me I’d stumbled into another unexpected bit of culture clash.

Paint finally settled on, “No, that is terrifying!”

Mur straightened up from where he’d collapsed into a puddle of tentacles and helpless laughter. “I’ve been doing all the time-crunch bike deliveries because I can hold on best! You’re doing the next one.”

“Okay,” I said, smiling a bit myself. “You know I thought you were trying to tell me there was something chasing me, right?”

Paint covered her eyes. “I can’t believe you flew over that big hill deliberately.”

“Oh, that was great!” I said. “I want to do that again. Can I?”

Paint spun to walk back up the ramp. “Have fun! I’ll tell whoever’s in the cockpit not to call for bandages unless you ask.”

Mur told her, “You should probably tell the captain about the roster change too.”

“On it!”

“Thanks,” I said. When Mur waved me forward, I zoomed back out into the desert for more joyriding. It really was fun. I made sure not to do anything reckless like standing up during a jump, as much as I wanted to. The crew in the cockpit was probably worried enough already.

I looked forward to the next urgent delivery, though.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

[thefreakandthehair]

no better version I could pretend to be tonight

written for ‘charm’ wc: 548 | rated: m | cw: eddie munson's near-death experience and description of panic attack/nightmares @steddiemicrofic

Eddie wakes up screaming. 

It’s how he experiences the crushing weight of living when he was so certain he would die beneath that fiery, starless sky. No one sees the hollowed out face of Death and comes back through the veil unscathed, but if the only sacrifice Eddie makes for his life is his right nipple, some flesh, and peaceful sleep, he figures it’s a bargain. 

Every night for the last several months, a hole cracks open in his chest where his lungs once were that bottoms out and refuses to hold the oxygen he desperately tries to pull in to fill the void. His skin feels too tight, his throat hoarse, his palms sore from the clenching of his fingers into fists that swipe at nothing. The taste of blood and rust coats his mouth, a phantom sense that nothing but time dissolves. 

Casual shrugs and black coffee disguise his discomfort when asked if he’s okay. 

Never better. I’m alive, aren’t I? He jokes.

That should be enough of an answer for his new friends. And it is, mostly. They don’t believe him, but they leave well enough alone. 

That is, everyone but Steve Harrington. 

Steve’s proven himself to be an enigma, wispy in Eddie’s grasp. He can’t quite get a handle on him, but he’s been nothing but good to Eddie besides his relentless insistence that Eddie try sleeping at his house. 

“Just give it a shot, Munson. I’m tellin’ you, I’ve got this sleep charm.” 

“If you wanna get me in your bed that bad, you’re gonna have to try a little harder than that.”

“If that’s all I was doing, this would be a lot easier.”

The kicker is that he does. He trusts Steve, and maybe he just wants an excuse to pretend that Steve’s his to wake up to but the next time he wakes up screaming, he gathers his shit, scribbles a note for Wayne in the kitchen with shaking hands, and drives across town. He parks, walks up to the door with a pillow under one arm, and knocks loudly, unencumbered by the liminal space that is Loch Nora at two o’clock in the morning. 

Steve opens the door before detaching the deadbolt, sleep rumpled and adorable– save for the nail bat just barely visible through the crack of the door. He’s shirtless in just a pair of pajama pants, blue and green stripes that hang a little loose from his hips. 

“Eddie?” Steve mumbles, his voice croaky and low as he rubs at his right eye. “Fuck.” He closes the door just long enough to undo the deadbolt and holds his arm out, ushering Eddie into the quiet of the house. 

“Here for your sleep charm, or whatever.” Eddie looks around the room, dimly lit by the motion sensor porch light through the window and doubts himself. “This is stupid as shit. I can just—” 

Steve shakes his head and places a hand on Eddie’s lower back, gently guiding him upstairs to his bedroom.  “Don’t even think about it. You’re here, and we’re gonna get you some sleep. C’mon.” 

It won’t be the last time Eddie wakes to the tickle of Steve’s chest hair against his nose and the gentle press of lips to the top of his head.

there's a version of this that's 3k that lives in my google docs and maybe one day, that'll end up on my ao3 [update: the 3k version did, indeed, end up on my ao3]