#normalize giving gifts to people you love

[alinathinkstoomuch]

TOO PRETTY TO BE STRESSED

pairing: aaron hotchner x wife!reader summary: aaron swears he's not the clingy type...until you show up, and suddenly it's a full blown PDA parade in the bullpen, based on this request. warnings | an: fluff, they're so in love it makes me sick, lots of touching, hotch soothing r's stress with his credit card, i am once again spreading the suggar!daddy!hotch agenda, the team being annoying, hotch enabling r's spending habits. word count: 2.1k

✧ masterlist

Walking through the doors of the FBI never quite feels normal. You’d think being married to the man who runs one of its top units would earn you a little immunity from the nerves, but nope. There are still plenty of tight-lipped smiles from men who clearly think you don’t belong (to be fair, you technically don’t), and those awkward elevator rides where you end up clarifying, again, that you’re just here to drop off lunch for the most handsome agent in the building. Not that you say that part out loud. 

It doesn’t happen often, hardly ever, really. Aaron’s not the kind of man who forgets things, especially not lunch. Maybe twice every four months, if that. And even then, he never asks for you to bring it. He usually brushes off your offers with a quick ‘I’ll grab something from the cafeteria’ which, of course, actually means ‘I won’t eat until dinner.’ 

And that just won’t suffice. Especially not when he’s been filling out his shirt so nicely, lately.

So there you were, pretty shoes dragging against the dull bureau floor, lunch in one hand, cookies and your purse dangling from the other, wrist definitely starting to ache. You weren’t exactly sneaking into the bullpen, but you weren’t strutting either. Just stuck in that awkward middle space reserved for people who technically shouldn’t be there, but have the authority to show up anyway, because boss man said so.

“There she is! Hotchner’s better half,” Emily called out, spinning her chair around with a grin.

You offered a sheepish wave, trying not to drop anything. “I come bearing gifts…and mild wrist pain.”

“Oh! Are those the butterscotch ones?” Penelope squealed, jumping up from where she’d been perched on Spencer’s desk.

“Yes, new recipe,” you said, carefully setting your things down on JJ’s desk as she kindly unhooked your overloaded purse. “I swapped out the dark brown sugar for light, added a little sea salt on top, and I may have used browned butter this time. I was feeling ambitious.”

“You browned the butter?” Penelope gasped. “You absolute kitchen goddess!”

Spencer leaned in for a closer look as you popped the lid off the container. “That actually changes the flavor quite a bit. The Maillard reaction from browning—”

“Yes, yes, science, great,” Emily cut in. “Can we eat them now, or is there a presentation we have to sit through first?”

You laughed, nudging the tin closer to everyone. “No presentations. Just cookies. Though if anyone gives them a rating out of ten that’s higher than a nine, I won’t complain.”

Morgan was the first to grab one, swiftly using it as a pointer to gesture towards Aaron, who was pushing back his chair. “Oh look, here he comes.”

You glanced up just in time to catch it—that little motion he always did, fingers brushing his tie flat against his chest as he stood. A completely innocent gesture. Totally routine. And somehow still enough to make your mouth water.

“You know,” Morgan added, mid-chew, “that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen him leave his office. Last time he moved like that, we had an active shooter in the building.”

“Alright, don’t scare her,” Rossi scolded, swatting Morgan’s bicep with a file. “She already doesn't like coming here as it is.”

“Now, that’s not true, Dave,” you corrected, grabbing Aaron’s lunch. “I love seeing you all. I just prefer doing it without all the security nuisance, badges, metal detectors and guns.”

Morgan nudged your elbow, eyes still on Aaron as he made his way over. “For a guy who claims he’s not clingy, he’s practically tripping over himself right now.”

“Oh, he’s definitely clingy,” you grinned, just as Aaron reached you, wasting zero time before leaning in and placing a swift kiss to your lips, murmuring a dreamy ‘Hi you’ before pulling away.

“Come on.” Morgan shook his head, reaching for his second cookie. “This is the same guy who made us sit through a mandatory refresher on workplace boundaries, and now look at him, breaking every single one.”

“Let them be in love,” JJ said sweetly, sipping her coffee like this was all perfectly normal.

You looked up at Aaron, eyebrows raised, trying to coax some kind of reaction to all the teasing. But he didn’t even glance at the others, just kept his eyes on you as he took the lunch bag from your hands, his fingers brushing along your wrist with just enough pressure to say thank you, I missed you, without saying anything at all.

“You didn’t have to come all this way, honey.”

“I know, but I overbaked and figured I was due for my monthly dose of shocking the system.” You glanced around the bullpen, cringing a little at the endless clacking of keyboards and constant ringing of phones. It was all starting to give you at least four different headaches. “Feels like there’s less oxygen in here somehow.”

“That’s because no one is allowed to breathe until all the paperwork is done,” Emily interjected dryly. 

“Is that true, Aaron?” you asked, reaching up to fuss with his tie. “Are you working your team too hard?”

“They live to complain.”

A chorus of groans and mock-offended noises rose up around you, just as Aaron’s hand slipped to the small of your back, steering you gently towards his office.

“Blinds stay open, you two,” Morgan called after you, pointing two fingers from his eyes to yours. “We’re watching!”

“Just keep walking,” Aaron murmured into your hair, voice quiet and beguiled, giving your hip a subtle squeeze as he guided you up the stairs.

You bit back a grin, feeling far too smug—and frankly, far too giddy—for someone standing in a federal building. Inside his office, he quietly closed the door behind you and you made yourself at home by sliding into one of the chairs across from his desk. 

“Think Morgan might have a point, you are getting a little reckless with the PDA. You’re going soft.”

He moved to his chair, smoothing his tie against his chest as he sat. “I’ve always been soft with you.”

That answer knocked the wind out of you in the quietest way. You blinked once, then shook your head. “Wow. Okay. That’s not even fair.”

He just looked amused, unpacking the lunch bag while sneaking glances at you like he couldn’t help himself. “You know they’ll be talking about this all afternoon.”

You waved him off and kicked his foot gently under the desk, because footsies, like true love, didn’t have an expiration date. “Let them. Let them talk about how you have a gorgeous, brilliant, amazing wife who is kind enough to hand-deliver your lunch.”

“They already know.”

“Good answer.” You nodded, satisfied, and handed him a few tissues just as he took the first bite of his sandwich. “Now, how's your day been? And don’t say ‘fine’, or I’ll start pulling out my therapist's voice and asking about your coping mechanisms.”

He chewed, giving you a dour look over the top of the sandwich like he was already reconsidering speaking at all.

“Busy. Two consults, one profile draft, and I’ve had to remind Morgan three times to finish his report.”

“So… business as usual.”

“Basically.”

He took another bite, and you used the pause to admire him. How pretty he looked. He was getting subtly more rugged with time, never quite managing the clean-shaven look, not for lack of trying, but that had always been fine by you. You loved him exactly as he was.

Your eyes wandered over his desk, taking in the meticulously organised scene in front of you. Everything was in its place, except for a single pen and one loose file slightly out of line, a tiny disruption in an otherwise perfect system. It made you smile.

He wiped his mouth, and in that moment, his wedding band caught the thin stream of light this moody building begrudgingly allowed in. As if the universe was saying, yes, look—he’s yours.

And you thanked her silently for it. Because he was.

“Want to ditch the rest of the day, fake a headache, and run away with me to somewhere that doesn’t require badge access?” you proposed, straightening the photo of you on his desk. 

He tilted his head. “Tempting.”

“You’d never actually do it, though.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I’ll think about it the whole time I’m here.”

Your smile pulled a little wider. “That’s enough for me. That—and as long as I’ll have you home in time for dinner,” you said, though it came out as more of a question. Maybe even a tiny, minuscule threat. 

“Don’t worry, I will,” he assured you kindly. “I know your parents are coming over tonight. I wouldn’t dream of making you face that alone. I’m guessing that’s what’s been bothering you, hence the industrial-sized cookie batch?”

You sighed, slumping back into the chair. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to me.”

“You know they’re hard work. And I can only fake-smile and nod my way through so many stories about people I don’t remember and opinions I didn’t ask for.”

Aaron set his sandwich aside, abandoning it on the tissue you had passed him earlier. He used another to wipe his hands, then stood, taking two steps to get to you. 

Before you could say anything, his hands were on either side of your chair, gently turning it to face him. He crouched down, and you instinctively parted your legs so he could slot in between them. 

“Hey,” he urged softly. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through it together, and if it gets to be too much, I’m excellent at coming up with polite excuses to get them out of the house.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart.”

And just in case his words were not confirmation enough, his hands came to cradle your face, thumbs circling your skin before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“Go to that bookstore you like,” he said next, already reaching into his pocket. “Grab your favorite coffee, roam around for a while, and try not to stress until they text you that they’re on their way, okay?”

He pulled out his wallet and fished out his card. “You’re too pretty to be stressing in this skirt.”

You raised a brow, lifting one leg and watching the flowy fabric settle back down over your knee. “It’s cute right?”

“Very.” He nodded, dead serious. “Go buy yourself another one.” He extended the card towards you like it was non-negotiable.

You laughed, giving his hand a light swat. “I’m not taking your card like some 1950s housewife.”

“You’re not. You’re my very independent, endlessly capable wife who I happen to love spoiling any chance I get. Now, please, take it. Call it payment for lunch…and for making you come all the way here, knowing full well how much you’d rather avoid this place.”

You pouted, eyes dancing between the card and his face. “Fine,” you relented, plucking the card from his hand. “But I’m only getting one book. Two max. The bookshelf is about to collapse.”

“Buy as many as you want.” He reached down, helping you to your feet with a gentle tug. “I’ll build you a new bookshelf.”

“You?”

“Yes, me.” 

“You’ll build me a new bookshelf?”

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “With actual tools.”

“Okay, now I have to see that.”

He pulled back, straightening your cardigan, fussing without ever making it feel like fussing. “Then you better pick up a lot of books.” 

You rolled your eyes, tucking the card away into your pocket. “This is enabling.”

“This is love,” he corrected, stealing a quick kiss before walking you to the door. “Text me when you get there. And if you see a ridiculous romance novel with a cheesy title, get it. I want to hear the plot.”

You grinned, poking his chest. “You just want to make fun of me.” 

“No, I just like knowing what’s taking up space in that beautiful head of yours.” 

“It’s mostly just you.”

He looked like he was trying not to smile too hard at that, so you saved him the trouble by leaning up and giving him one last kiss, ignoring all the hollering behind you from Morgan. 

“I love you,” he promised, smoothing a hand down your arm. “Now, go before I change my mind and fake a headache just to come with you.”

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[rainrot4me]

Ohh what is the love language like make how would they show their love to Mc ?

Also hope you’re having a lovely day or night and drinking plenty of water 💪

✦ . jeff the killer

Physical Touch & Acts of Service

Bruised knuckles? That’s love. Jeff doesn’t say he cares, but the way he throws himself between you and danger, or grips your wrist too tightly when someone looks at you wrong? That’s him screaming “mine.” There are a lot of things Jeff will tolerate for himself, but the list of things he’ll let slip with you is almost nonexistent. He’s more than happy to break a guy’s jaw for your sake.

“Come here, I’m not gonna bite… well, we’ll see.”

You’ll catch him pulling you into his lap without warning, cleaning blood off your shirt while pretending he’s annoyed, fixing things in your space without asking. He won’t admit it, but he likes when you rely on him. He likes to feel needed.

✦ . ticci toby

Quality Time & Words of Affirmation

Toby isn’t great with normal emotions, but he craves connection. When he loves someone, he sticks to them like glue.

“I don’t really ge-get people… but I get you.”

He’ll invite you to go on supply runs in town with him just to be around you, constantly asks what you’re thinking about, mumbles praise into your shoulder when he thinks you’re asleep, and loves sharing headphones or just sitting in silence next to you. It’s just the company and willingness to be near him that makes his sad little heart warmer.

✦ . eyeless jack

Acts of Service & Gift Giving

Jack is meticulous. The way he prepares your favorite tea, restocks the pantry with things you like, or dresses wounds with surprising tenderness—it’s all love. He’s never showy about it, but he makes it a point to recognize what you like and how you like it so he can always keep it that way.

“You were careless again. Sit down—I’ll fix it.”

He crafts strange little trinkets for you in his spare time: polished bones, stitched fabrics, mysterious glowing stones. If he leaves them on your pillow without a word, he adores you. Careful though, the rusted jewelry and half-torn clothes he gifts are absolutely from his latest meal.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Acts of Service & Quality Time

Tim expresses love through protection and stability. He’s quiet but observant, and remembers the smallest things you say. If there’s something bothering you, he’ll handle it before you even have to verbalize your feelings, because he just reads you that well.

“You hungry? I’ll make something.”

He’ll offer to carry your bag, he’ll keep watch while you sleep, fixes your favorite mug when it breaks and never mentions it. His way of saying “I love you” is doing something to make your life easier. As long as you promise to be there for him with open arms at the end of the day, no matter what he’s done or will have to do tomorrow, that’s all he asks.

✦ . hoody (brain thomas)

Words of Affirmation & Gift Giving

Brian’s love is deeply emotional and intentional. His voice may be calm, but his words are a testimony to his feelings. He never sugarcoats things or drags people on, so if he tells you how he’s feeling, you know in your heart that’s exactly how he means it.

“You’re the only thing that still makes sense to me.”

Handwritten notes tucked into your coat, meaningful glances across the room, a new book you mentioned once mysteriously appears on your desk. He speaks his love softly, but with conviction. He asks for very little in return, just your loyalty and softness in the middle of all his chaos.

✦ . ben drowned

Physical Touch & Words of Affirmation

Ben is a flirty, always has been, always will be. He thrives on touch, especially casual, lingering contact that says “you’re mine.” He never lets you get too far away without reaching for your hand, enjoys it when you both rest your weight on each other on the couch, and especially likes when you subconsciously slip into his arms while you’re asleep.

“You missed me, right? Be honest.”

He’ll play with your hair while you game together, or press his face into your neck just to watch you fluster, then list of 30 reasons why you’re the best. Teases endlessly, but his compliments, when genuine, are disarming and heartfelt.

✦ . clockwork

Physical Touch & Quality Time

Natalie touches you a lot—hand on your back, fingers in your hair, forehead kisses. She needs to be close to you to feel secure. It’s sweet, but it’s more of a reassurance that you’re still next to her than actual affection. She has a subconscious fear if she takes her eye of you you’ll vanish in thin air.

“Come here. You’re safer in my arms anyway.”

She’ll bring you on “errands” just to spend time together. If someone so much as bumps into you, she’s got her knife out, it’s takes time to convince that not every man that looks at you wants to hurt you. Mostly, she loves to curl up and fall asleep on you.

✦ . laughing jack

Gift Giving & Words of Affirmation

Jack gives bizarre gifts like a taxidermy fox or a half-broken music box. But to him, they’re tokens of affection. If it reminds him of you, you best believe you’re receiving it that night, no matter how gaudy or useless it may seem. (You secretly think it might be his sly attempt at turning your home into a knock-knack fun-house).

“I made this for you! It only screams twice an hour now!”

He showers you in compliments—half are ridiculous (“Your soul has a delightful shimmer today!”), but every now and then, he says something real, and it hits you like a truck. The way you know he’s deep in love is when he gets serious around you, leaving his giddy-act behind for a second to just have a heart-to-heart.

✦ . slenderman

Acts of Service & Quality Time

You may never hear it from his mouth, but you’ll feel it. The world bends around you when he loves you, literally and figuratively. There are things that your mortal eyes can’t see, but he makes sure you’re always out of harms way.

(You just know he’s watching over you when the woods go deathly quiet.)

He changes all the traffic lights to green when you’re on your daily commute, wards off enemies you never even saw, leaves little bits of the forest (pressed flowers, river stones) in your space. He’ll let you read or nap in his presence, that’s his version of a date. It may be rare, but the times he appears in your room just to see what you’re doing is a sign he misses you.

꩜ .ᐟ

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Can you please make a fic about Joel giving birthday sex? (My birthday is coming up lmao) I love your fics all of them are such good reads!!

“Last Present”

Jackson!Joel x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

Summary: It’s your birthday and Joel saved the best gift for the end of the night.

WC: 3.8k

Warning/Tags: smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving), dirty talk, fingering, thigh riding, use of daddy, pussy pronouns, finger licking, unspecified age gap, established relationship

It was late by the time the party fizzled out.

You’ve never liked celebrating your birthday. Most of the memories from before the outbreak are hazy at best, just fleeting flashes of bouncing castles, sticky fingers, and cakes with sweet pink buttercream. You were too little to hold onto much more. And everything after that… it just hurt. Your birthday stopped being a celebration and started feeling more like a reminder, of everyone you’d lost, of how much the world had taken from you.

Another year alive didn’t feel like a motive to celebrate. It felt like surviving—just barely.

But that was before Jackson and before Joel. Before warm meals shared around a crowded table, before morning light through real curtains, before the sound of kids laughing in the distance like the world hadn’t ended. You’ve started to find joy in living again, not just surviving, but living.

In the calm of the town you’ve found people you love, and people who loved you back. A life that’s, somehow, relatively normal.

The lights inside your house were low, the scent of sugar and smoke still hanging in the air from your cake—and from the candles Joel had tried to light too fast. You’d laughed watching him squint down at the matchbook, muttering low “goddamn thing,” before finally cupping his hand over the flame like he was shielding it from a battlefield instead of a soft spring breeze from the open windows.

It was a small gathering, just a handful of your friends from town, Tommy and Maria, and Ellie. Joel stayed quiet at first, the way he always did in a crowd, hovering just behind you with a cup of whiskey in that big hand of his, letting you be the center of attention as you opened the presents from your friends. But every now and then, he’d rest his hand on your back, like he needed to remind himself you were still close. Still his. Not in a jealous kind of way, but in a way of proudly saying "Have you seen her? Yeah, this is my girl."

Now the house was quiet and warm, only iluminated by one lamp still on in the corner. You leaned against the kitchen counter, pulling off your boots while Joel lingered by the couch, watching you with that unreadable look of his, something between awe and want.

“Nice party,” he said after a beat.

You smirked. “Nice cake you got from Maria”

His mouth twitched. “Was still your favorite, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” you admitted, stepping toward him. “Pink buttercream."

Joel looked down for a second, almost shy. “You liked your presents?” he asked, voice gruff but softer than usual.

He’d carved a little wooden cat with his own hands—your cat. The one you had before the outbreak. He’d gotten every detail right: the tilt of the ears, the curve of the tail. You still had a photo of him tucked away, faded and bent, but enough to remember how much you loved him.

And then there was the record. That old rock band your dad used to blast in the car, Joel had somehow found a record, and he brought it back like a piece of your past returned from the dead.

“Love them,” you said, stopping just in front of him. Your voice dipped lower. “I love everything you give me. You always get something special for me, that means a lot."

His eyes met yours, a little darker now, lids heavy with something he wasn’t saying yet. He glanced toward the clock on the wall, then back to you.

“It’s still your birthday,” he said, voice low.

You tilted your head. “Mm-hmm.”

“And I ain’t really given you your last present yet.”

You smiled slowly. “You haven’t?”

Joel stepped closer, big hands settling on your hips. “Was thinkin’ somethin’ just f'you. Somethin’ quiet. No one else 'round.”

“Private, huh? What is this—am I gettin’ a strip show, cowboy?” you teased with a smirk.

“Not exactly a show,” he drawled, eyes glinting. “But there’ll be some strippin’ involved, alright.”

“Can’t wait.”

The groan that escaped his throat was low and rough, like it’d been caught there for hours.

“Been waitin’ all damn day,” he muttered, walking you backward toward your bedroom. “Had to watch you glow like a goddamn angel in front of everyone. Had to sit there and act normal while you smiled at every person in town like you weren’t mine.”

You reached up and touched his jaw. “I am yours. Believe me, they all know it too.”

That pulled another sound from him, something feral and full of need.

"I was hard as a goddamn brick watchin’ you in this pretty little dress o' yours."

He kissed you before either of you could say more, slow at first, like he was still letting it sink in. His hands mapped the shape of you through your dress, over your ribs and down to your waist, then lower, grabbing your ass with a rough little squeeze that made you whimper into his mouth.

He kneaded the soft flesh of your ass, warm under his big calloused hands, tugging you closer until your bodies were flush together. You could feel his thick and hardening cock pressing against your lower stomach, the slow rock of his hips making your breath hitch in anticipation.

Clothes fell away in pieces. You didn’t even make it to the bed at first. Joel pushed you against the wall beside the dresser, lips on your neck, hips grinding into yours while his hands slid over your panties to cup your dripping cunt, holding you like you were the last solid thing on earth.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, voice raw. “So fuckin’ warm. Look at you, baby, already soaked f'me and I haven't even started yet.”

You gasped when he slid a thigh between your legs, forcing your legs apart as he ground you down onto it without mercy. His hand came up to cup your cheek, fingers gentle even as his body overwhelmed you, guiding your mouth back to his while his thigh pressed up, firm and unrelenting, until you were panting into his mouth, hips rolling with instinct. The friction made your clit throb, your panties already soaked, the damp fabric sticking to your folds as you rocked harder against him, shameless now, chasing more, needing more.

“Look at the fuckin’ mess you’re makin’ on my thigh, girl… Yeah, thassit, keep ridin’ it like that, baby.” he muttered against your ear, his breath hot and ragged, his hands gripping your hips.

“Fuck me now, Joel,” you begged, grinding your hips against his thigh, chasing friction with a desperate little whine. “Pretty please.”

His voice was low, rough, steady. “Not here. Gonna take you to bed… and give you your gift properly.”

When you finally made it to the bed, it wasn’t rushed. He took his time, laid you out like a gift, stared down at you with something like reverence.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he promised, voice hoarse. “Gonna make this birthday one you remember every damn year.”

Joel’s hands were steady, but his eyes betrayed it, the flicker of restraint, the storm of want barely held back. He looked you over slowly, admiring the way you looked, naked, spread open just for him to see, begging him to fuck you like he was the only man in the world that could keep you satisfied, because he was.

“Been thinkin’ about this pussy all damn day,” he murmured, his fingers paused at the waistband of your pink cotton panties, already dampen with your arousal, dark with the shape of your slick.

“Take your clothes off,” you whispered, breathless. “Wanna feel you. All of you.”

He made a sound low in his throat, a growl or maybe a prayer, and then you were bare before him, the room lit soft by the lamp on the dresser. Joel pushed his shirt off, then tugged his jeans down, his cock already thick and flushed, a little curved upwards, standing heavy against his belly, the tip slick and swollen.

Your mouth parted at the sight of it, hard, already leaking. You couldn’t help it—your hands reached out on instinct, fingers curling around his cock like it belonged to you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, watching you through hooded eyes, chest heaving. “You look so pretty holdin’ it like that.”

You stroked him slow at first, long, teasing glides from base to tip, then back down, dragging your thumb over the slit to spread the precum all over the lenght, making it wetter and slippery.

“This is mine, isn’t it?” you murmured, eyes locked on his dick. “All of it. Only mine.”

“Yeah?” he muttered. "You want this cock only f'you? You little greedy thing."

“It’s already mine, Joel.” You squeezed him tighter, giving his length a harder stroke, just enough to make him shut his eyes and groan deep in response.

"Damn right it is" His voice was rough and low as he climbed over you, broad body caging yours against the mattress.

“Wanna suck it,” you said, flashing him one of those wicked little looks that always made him lose whatever was left of his mind. Your hand didn’t stop moving, wrapping around his cock, feeling it throb under your touch.

“Nnnnghh, no, baby. Not tonight,” he groaned, voice thick with barely held-back restraint.

“But Joooeel,” you whined in protest. There were few things you loved more than pleasing the man you loved with your mouth, to look up at him and watch the way he lost control for you.

"Tonight it's all about you, birthday girl," he said between groans. "Don't ya worry, you'll still get your cock."

You purred softly when you heard his words.

“That what you wanted for your birthday, huh? Cock? My cock fuckin’ you stupid?”

You grinned up at him, eyes dark with hunger. “Your cock is the best gift, Joel. Nothing else even comes close.”

He growled—actually growled—and shoved your thighs apart, not wasting a second. “Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna give it to you all night. Gonna ruin you f’anyone else.”

“Already did,” you gasped as his head found its way between your legs. “No one fucks me like you, Joel. No one.”

His lips were ghosting over your dripping cunt, breath hot against it. “Good. But I want ya wrecked fore I even get inside you.”

Then his tongue was on you, broad and slow, licking a long, deliberate stripe up your soaked slit like he was starving for it, like tasting you was the only thing keeping him alive. He groaned, low and rough in his chest, the sound vibrating straight through your core.

He didn’t rush, he savored like it was his last meal. Each lick was languid, worshipful, like he needed to memorize you with his mouth. The flat of his tongue dragged up your folds again, slower this time, and then he flicked the tip against your clit, light and fast, making your whole body jolt.

“S’fuckin’ sweet. Made f’me, huh?” he muttered, lips brushing your pussy like he was talking to it, not you.

You whimpered, your hands shooting down to tangle in his hair, thighs already trembling from the precision of his mouth. But he wasn’t done. He groaned again—hungrier, louder—before sealing his lips around your clit and sucking hard.

The tight, fast circles from his tongue had your hips bucking off the bed, chasing the feeling of his mouth, but his strong arms locked around your thighs, holding you down like you were prey caught in his jaws as he latched onto your clit, sucking on it like he meant it, like he wanted to pull your first orgasm of the night out of you with his mouth alone.

He didn’t let go for a second. Didn’t let you squirm away. Growled deep and slammed his forearm across your hips, pinning you down like he owned your body. Like you were his to devour, to break apart piece by piece.

“Hmmphf, stay still, sweetheart. Lemme eat.”

And eat you he did, like a man possessed, like you were his only salvation, like your pleasure was his religion and he was a goddamn disciple. His tongue worked your clit with obscene, relentless focus while two thick fingers pushed deep inside your hole, curling just right, dragging against that perfect spot until your vision blurred.

He groaned into you, loud and filthy, like he was the one getting off instead of you, like your soaked cunt was feeding something in him, making him whole.

“Fuckin’ mess down here, baby,” he muttered between licks. “Pussy so wet f’me. Ya hear that? Hear how you're soakin’ my face? Drippin’ for it. Goddamn.”

You were shaking and sobbing. Hands fisting the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, like you were drowning and the only thing keeping you alive was the pressure of his mouth.

“Joel—oh my god, Joel—I’m gonna—”

“Then fuckin’ do it, baby,” he growled, dragging his tongue in a firm stripe before sucking your clit hard again while the speed of his fingers increased. “Cum on my tongue. I want it—” he licked again, moaned again, fingers fucking you faster, “—wanna taste every drop. Don’t hold back. Fuckin’ break f’me.”

Your orgasm hit like a wave crashing through your ribs, curling your spine off the bed, throat torn open in a broken cry, your whole body giving in to the man between your thighs like it belonged to him.

Joel didn’t let you come down.

Not for a second.

You were still trembling, still gasping, your cunt fluttering around his two fingers as he rose up over you, his mouth slick with your release, his eyes dark and wild with hunger. He kissed you hard, filthy and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He pulled his fingers out of your cunt, soaked and dripping, and brought them straight to your mouth. They glistened in the low light as he touched your bottom lip, smearing a little of the slick across it before coaxing your mouth open, sliding his fingers in deep and slow.

“Mmm, thassit, baby… suck on ’em,” he groaned, watching you wrap your lips around him when he dragged them across your flattened tongue, before pushing in again. “Taste how fuckin’ sweet you are. You know how good that pussy tastes now, yeah? You see why I love eatin’ it so much?"

You moaned around his fingers as he pumped them in and out of your mouth, slow and firm, watching your lips stretch and your throat bob. “So fuckin' good f'me. My good little girl. Wish you could see how good you look now."

He dragged his fingers out of your mouth, a string of your saliva mixed with your slick wetting your chin. Then Joel pulled back just enough to look you in the eye as he lined up his cock

“You said my cock was the best birthday present, baby,” he rasped, voice ruined and ragged. “Then y’gonna fuckin’ get it.”

"You gonna give me cock now, daddy?" You asked him with that sweet innocent voice of yours.

He grinned, and just like that he pushed in—slow, heavy, thick—stretching your still-pulsing cunt inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt.

You moaned loud, back arching, already wrecked from his mouth and still craving more. Your body seized around him, walls fluttering from the aftershocks of your earlier orgasm, trying to suck him in even deeper, like it wasn’t enough. Like it would never be enough.

“Fuuuck,” he hissed through his teeth, buried to the base, unmoving for just a second as he tried to keep from losing it right then and there. Your heat, your slick, the way you clenched so tight around him, it was fucking obscene. "Tight little pussy is cryin' f'daddy, ain't she?"

You whined, hips already shifting, grinding down just to feel more of that stretch, more of that delicious fullness. His hands shot to your hips, fingers biting in to keep you still, his self-control hanging by a thread.

"S-she... she needed daddy." You moaned through muffled sobs.

“Daddy’s right here. Always got you.” Joel hissed through his teeth, hips starting to move, slow at first, deep and grinding, his cock dragging along every oversensitive nerve like he was rewiring your body from the inside out. “Fuckin’ takin’ it so good. Look at ya. Look how messy this pussy is f'his daddy. So full o' me and still askin' f’more.”

Your hands clawed at his back, at his shoulders, your legs wrapping tight around his waist as he started to fuck you in earnest, deep, devastating thrusts, rocking the whole bed, slapping wet sounds echoing through the room every time his balls hitted your ass. You were already soaking him, the slide of his cock brutal and perfect.

“So full, Joel—fuck—you’re so deep—”

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, voice shredded with lust. He grabbed your hand, flattened it over your lower belly. “Feel how deep I am? Feel me all the way up here? All the way in your tummy, baby. You were made to take me like this.”

Your fingers twitched under his, pressing hard to your belly where he was thickest, deepest, pushing into places no one else ever touched. You were soaked, slick dripping down your thighs, his cock gliding through the mess he’d already made of you, and still it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. Needed more.

“You’re mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, head thrown back.

He snapped his hips hard, punching a moan from your chest.

“Again. Louder.”

“Yours, Joel—fuck, all yours—”

He growled like an animal, pulling your hips up off the bed to fuck into you even deeper, faster, cruel and possessive and so goddamn good.

“That’s right. Birthday girl’s gonna cum all over this cock. Not stoppin’ ‘til you’re ruined.”

You were shaking and sobbing in pleasure, hands scrabbling at his arms like you couldn’t decide whether to hold him tighter or push him away.

“You’re cryin’ for it, fuck—look at you,” he growled, snapping his hips up suddenly. The slap of skin echoed in the room. Your body jolted, mouth falling open in a soundless moan. “So full you’re gonna lose your mind. My perfect fuckin’ girl.”

He could feel you getting close already, feel the way your whole body tightened under him, your cunt gripping him like it didn’t want to let go, dragging him deeper, begging him to fill you.

“You gonna cum f’me again, baby?” Joel grunted, pounding into you with thick, hungry thrusts. “Gonna make a fuckin’ mess on daddy’s cock, huh? Gonna soak me like a good girl?”

You were incoherent—moaning, babbling, sobbing out pieces of his name as you held on, your nails digging into his shoulders, your legs trembling around his waist.

“Yeah, thassit,” Joel growled, his voice rough and feral. “So fuckin’ tight—squeezin’ me like you’re tryin’ to milk every drop.”

You were gone. Wrecked. All you could do was cling to him, breath catching, mouth open in a shattered moan. “J-Joel—fuck—I can’t—”

“You can,” he snarled against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “You’re gonna cum again, baby. You’re gonna soak my fuckin’ cock, just like I taught ya. That’s it. C’mon, birthday girl—give it to me. Lemme feel it.”

And you did. You came with a scream, arching off the bed, whole body locking up as your orgasm hit hard and fast, your cunt spasming around him, milking him.

Joel watched with pride as your body convulsed with your climax. He held his breath, counting to twenty, fighting to keep himself from cumming already. He wanted to make it last, make it all about you. After all, it was your birthday present.

You struggled to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “Let me ride you,” you murmured, voice thick with desire.

“That right, baby? Wanna fuck yourself dumb on my cock?” Joel growled, pulling out of you and rolling onto the bed, his head resting against the headboard. “C’mere and sit down.”

You climbed over his body, straddling him, your hands sliding over his cock, guiding it to your entrance. Slowly, you sank down onto him.

“Nngggh, fuck, baby,” he gasped.

“Oh, Joel,” you whispered, lost in the heat between you.

You sat down on him until he bottomed out, and without wasting another second, you started bouncing on him, letting your body ride every inch of him, up and down, slow at first, then faster.

“Mmm, look at you ridin’ this cock like you own it,” Joel moaned, eyes fixed on the way your tits bounced with every movement, on your flushed pink cheeks, on the tears on the corner of your eyes. “Enjoyin’ your birthday gift, baby?”

“S-so much, Joel,” you gasped, not stopping for a second, your hands sliding to his chest for support as you kept riding him until your legs trembled, almost giving out.

Joel’s hands found your jiggling tits, kneading the soft flesh, fingers rolling and pinching your nipples until you gasped and sobbed from the sharp pleasure.

“Fuck… fuck—shit, gonna make me cum,” he groaned, sliding his hands down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he helped you grind harder, pushing you deeper onto him.

“Fill me, Joel. I’ll be your good little girl. I’ll take every fucking drop.” You whimpered.

Joel snapped, all that restrained pleasure he’d been holding back so he wouldn’t cum too soon now exploded. His hips jerked up, thrusting deep and violently into you, pounding with raw intensity that left no room for anything else but the passionate way he was fucking you with each slam.

“Fuuuuck, I’m—fuck, I’m cummin’—”

His cock twitched deep inside you, spilling everything he had, thick and hot, flooding you full as his head fell back.

“Take it,” he growled through gritted teeth, body trembling with the force of it. “Fuckin’ take it, baby. So good—so fuckin’ perfect f’me.”

You felt it. The heat, the throb, the full stretch of him thick inside you, twitching as he emptied himself with a growl, cock jerking with every pulse of cum spilling into you, deep and hot and endless.

The way his cock throbbed inside you, the guttural sounds he made, and his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, pushed you over the edge again, ripping another orgasm from your body, the third of the night so far, leaving you trembling and utterly spent over his body.

“There ya go, baby. Take all of it. Every fuckin’ drop. Thassit. So good f’me.”

You collapsed over him, both of you shaking, gasping, slick and ruined and so full of each other.

But Joel wasn’t done. He kissed you slow and dirty while he was still buried inside you, still hard.

“That was the first gift of the night, sweetheart.” He smirked against your lips. “Hope you’re ready for the next one. ‘Cause I ain’t stoppin’ ‘til the sun comes up.”

A/N: Happy early or belated birthday, depending on when this finds you! Thank you so much for your request—I hope this made a good birthday gift🩷🫶🏻

As always, thank you so much to everyone reading, your constant support means the world. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always deeply appreciated!!

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[gothghostiie]

Idk if you write for Nikolai or not but can I have the dungeon ask with nik? If you want 👉🏻👈🏻🥺 I just know that man’s a freak.

pookie have you been here lately? /lh

Nikolai does have a dungeon, but he's got gear hidden all over the house. ropes in the kitchen drawers, a ball gag in the small compartment under the couch, blindfold and a dildo in the glove box of his car - anywhere (he definitely plays a game with his subs when theyre in his house the first time - they spend a normal day together but whenever they discover a toy he uses it on them). anyway, his dungeon is in a shiny black tone, a big bed in the middle of the room so he can approach from any side he wants. lots of hooks on walls and the ceiling, he absolutely loves tying his partners up, preferably with rope (uses what he's learned in the military). he's got a good range of toys, a good mix of everything - not a huge fan of pain toys that sting, he prefers a dull sensation (hes tried everything at least once on himself so he knows what he's doing to his subs). apart from that he has a good amount of things to restrict movement or fully tie people up; pillory, spreader bar, ballet boots, cuffs, anything you want. one of his favourite things is suspension tho, he gets rock hard from seeing his partner squirm in the air, helpless to escape whatever pleasure he's putting them through - sometimes he'll tie them up just above the bed and lie down underneath them, just relaxing while enjoying the close proximity. he's got a wide array of gags too, more so ones that hold the mouth open but don't block it, one of his favourite past times is making out with gagged subs or making them lick/suck whatever he gives them. he definitely has some hand made things too, some gifted by price - they're some of his most priced possessions. his room is somewhere random in the house, he usually doesn't bother to lock or even close the door, he doesn't mind people getting curious. If they get too curious he'll just have to show them, hm?

[rasberrybabez]

Princess Parties

As the princess of Iredelliaya, the pressure to marry another noble was high, despite your extremely low tolerance for anyone but your beloved knight, Sir John Price. Besides, sipping tea and painting at a balcony with your knight beside you is exactly the type of pressure you like. None.

But your knight certainly doesn’t like the suitors either. In fact, he thinks you deserve someone much less…

Royal.

Knight!Price x Princess!Reader

Tags: Pining like no other, reader is very oblivious, some fluff, a little angst if you could even call it that??? Tension I guess??? Smut (eventually), LEGAL age gap, Price is a knight his job is to valiantly kill people so keep that in mind, a few mentions of men treating reader like a title and nothing more (they are dealt with, don’t worry 😉), dad’s best friend trope

Part: 🎀1 🎀2 🎀3 🎀4 🎀5 🎀6 🎀7 🎀8

Chamomile and lavender tea warms John’s hands as he makes his way up to your room.

He doesn’t bother knocking, knowing your door is never locked anyways. Either way, it’s always open to him. He pushes into the room that always surrounds him with your scent, fresh gardenias and soft, subtle berries.

He carries your tea to a small table, resting it between a stack of books and an old cup of paint water. A quick glance at the messy canvas tells him you’re getting frustrated with this current one.

“Princess?”

He calls out to you, looking around the room with a soft frown. His mind starts to buzz to life, curiosity laced with hints of panic, before you pop your head out of the doorway to your bathroom.

“Give me a minute… stupid fucking corset won’t come off-”

John chuckles, running a hand over the cropped brown hair atop his head, musing it in a way he knows attracts your eyes like a magnet. He smiles over at you, undoing his sword belt and throwing it to the side, metal clanging to the floor.

Heavy footsteps hit the sodden floors of your room until they meet the tile of the bathroom, and suddenly he’s right next to you. A soft blush creeps up your cheeks as John brushes your hair from your shoulders and neck, rubbing his thick fingers into the muscle there.

You moan softly.

“That… is heaven on earth…”

Fuck, he can’t handle you like this. He stifles his own groan with a grunt, moving his hands down to the lace of your corset ties. Slowly, battle hardened fingers start to unlace the soft fabric of your pink corset, until all the knots are gone from ribbon and all the air is back in your lungs.

And when you smile up at him like he just made your fucking day? If his cock wasn’t already hard, it is now. Extremely.

He clears his throat. “Lavender and chamomile tea on the table… just how you like it. Brought some honey too…”

You giggle softly at his bashful gaze, a rare heated blush on John Price’s cheeks. Though you don’t know what it’s from, it’s definitely enjoyable.

the corset falls from your chest and pool to the ground with the rest of your gown, and you step out of the fabrics. Undergarments next, sticky from the sweat of a stressful day as they peel from your body. You don’t mind changing in front of John, you do it all the time.

But he definitely minds. Especially if he can’t touch you. He clears his throat again, muttering under his breath something that sounds like feckin’ Christ Princess… before sighing and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Do you want your nightdress?”

You nod as you grab the small ceramic tub of the counter, placing the lid to the jar on the side. Soft flowers crushed into lotion from the cherry trees outside your balcony, mixed with water from the springs in the mountains.

Expensive? Yes. A normal every Tuesday surprise gift from your father? Also yes.

You start applying it across your body, one of the small things that helps you unwind after stress. It’s just lotion, and your father never knows why you love it so much. But he buys it blindly and respects your obsession, but doesn’t bother to dig deeper.

John knows.

He watches the way it melts into your skin, the way your flesh relaxes under your fingers. Tense muscle moving and rippling like water, fingerprints pressed into your breasts, thighs, biceps, neck… like jewels adorning his princess.

And fuck he loves it more than he should.

John is back in a moment of minutes, swallowing hard and using the cover of the door to quickly try and readjust himself. Hopefully, you can’t tell… maybe you can. As much as he loves you… you don’t tend to notice these things. The important ones.

“Your dress, princess…”

He murmurs softly. You smile up at him, rubbing the last of your lotion along the back of your thighs as you take the nightdress. Sheer silk that outlines every contour of your body, maps out every inch of skin that John wants to run his hands over. It’s almost see-through, almost a window into his darkest desires.

But not quite. Not enough… not enough slack on the leash and chain he keeps a tight hold on. The one around his own neck, keeping from you.

You pull on the lacy pink dress with a sigh, finally pulling the pins out of your hair and looking up at him with a smile. The type of smile that leaves creases next to your eyes and dark rings beneath them, the ones that shows how truly tired you are.

“I could sleep. Or paint… actually, yes. I want to paint.”

John can’t help the surprised snort that leaves him, eyes flashing a bit in surprise. He gives you his hand, pulling you up from the pink, satin bench you were sitting on, and guiding you back into your bedroom.

“Paint, princess? You want to paint.. now?”

You shrug and nod, slipping by him to ruffle through your basket of paints. Tubes and tubs of it, old pallets and brushes caked with it.

But he can’t help but stare at just you. The way you perch against the soft wicker basket that’ll top with another ounce of weight. The way your hair falls in soft strands over your face, the way the sunlight colors your skin into gorgeous precious metals. Bronze and gold, and diamonds leaking from the soft yellow hue

And the way your eyes light up when you find the paint you want? Hold it to your messy work in progress with the perfect shade of pink? He would sell his souls to the devil if he could know with certainty that you would look at him like that for the rest of your days.

The brushes in your hands. The strokes on the canvas as he sits and sips his tea, watching you work. Soft fingers reaching out to smudge a leaf, to blot out the shadows on a pillar. The way you look at him with paint across your nose and a brush behind your ear…

He smiles right back.

And prays to whatever gods that are listening that one day, the only person who will ever get to watch you paint, is him and the family he knows you’ll have.

but he knows he can’t have you yet, not in the ways he wants. He knows that the closest he’ll get to touching your skin in more than just a touch of guidance will b elate at night. His hand, fisting his cock and muffling your name with his leather belt between his teeth. Coming at the thought of your pretty pussy tight around him, your sweet cries for only him.

Not those fucking suitors.

You’re so blissfully unaware of him that it would send you spiraling if you knew. Your own knight, John Price… your best friend, it’s come to be. Your only one, besides the bunnies you can coax to your palm with berries out in the field. The only man your father lets you really, truly have. The only one you’d pick with your own will.

If only you knew how deep it could go.

[jellyfishoreo1206]

I barely see any fanfiction with an Older MC/Reader, in a platonic sense so to say, and my mind began to wander, what if there was a Granny Reader in Transformers Prime? This was a WIP I had on paper, merely because I was attempting and practicing to world build a little. It's not quite complete, and may be a LITTLE underbaked since I last touched this paper in my Junior year, but, I present to you my refined idea!

Also, I'll be using she/her pronouns in this, so sorry about that!

Credits for borders goes to @/thecutestgrotto

Granny!Reader, who works at the local library in Jasper, Nevada. She has worked in the same library for the past 30 years (she's in her 50's), slowly climbing the ranks until she became the top librarian, overseeing and make sure the library is running smoothy along with her team.

Granny!Reader, who if you asked anyone in the town about her, will highly praise her and shine her in a positive light. Most will describe her as jolly, energetic despite her age, comforting, and the most caring person anyone could interact with. She cares for her loved ones dearly, and becomes a force to be reckoned with if any of them are hurt in any way.

Granny!Reader, has a younger brother by 18 years. He's currently in the military and is deployed in Bangladesh.

Granny!Reader, despite her age, she is quite athletic. She doesn't tire out quite as easily, and has quite a bit of strength! She also doesn't show the typical signs that most old people have, such as aching body parts, hard of hearing, blurry eyesight, forgetfulness, and the constant need for rest. The reason for this is partly when she unknowingly came into contact with raw Energon in her younger years when she was on a walk in the valley. Accidentally cut herself on a sharp edge when she picked it up.

She still has it, but had a piece of it turned into a necklace she wears daily. The other reason why she doesn't tire out easily and has quite a bit of brawn is due to her working out daily. The Energon in her bloodstream merely gives her a physical boost, therefore reducing the effects of old age on her body and instead keeping it at its ultimate peak.

Granny!Reader treats anyone she considers younger than her as her own grandkids, if she knows them really well. Most times she will chastise troubling people if they are causing disturbances in the library. Normally, she won't kick them out of the library if it's something minor, you would have to have done something really bad to get kicked out.

Granny!Reader lives on the outskirts of Jasper in a cozy little hut that has been passed down from her mother. When she first got it, it was a little...bland. So, to fix it, she got lots of plants, flowers, and planted some herbs, fruits, and veggies! It's now a lot more greener, and is it's own oasis.

Granny!Reader lives with two dogs. A sweet yet fierce Rottweiler named Lovi, and a too-energetic Boston Terrier named Ardo. Both love Granny!Reader to death, constantly begging for affection, treats, walks, and lots of pets.

They LOVEE company, always leaning against said company, or in some cases, jumping on them.

There will be some days where Granny!Reader will have "off" days, where she'll basically act her age. Usually when she is very stressed, anxious, or overwhelmed.

Granny!Reader will most times bottle up her own emotions, since she doesn't want to worry others with her own problems and emotions. But is willing to listen to others about theirs.

She gets paranoid about others safety.

How Granny!Reader got Lovi and Ardo is quite a sweet story. Lovi was a gift from her brother before he was deployed to Bangladesh, since he didn't want her to be alone. Ardo, she found wandering desert late at night with major injuries, mostly to his legs. He recovered, thankfully, but he has a slight limp whenever he walks/runs.

Granny!Reader said she would take him to the shelter in the morning. She didn't. :)

THAT IS IT FOR MY RAMBLINGS!!! There will be more to come, so stay tuned~

[ginandvodka-riley]

Poisonous Blood: Extra chapter.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader.

This is an extra that could count as chapter 6.5, here everything will be explained from Ghost's perspective, so although it doesn't affect the story, I do recommend reading it.

Tw: Sexual abuse, mentions of past rape, harrassment and PTSD.

Word count: 2.9k | Masterlist ← Prev | Next →

Every child deserves to have parents, but not all parents deserve to have children.

That was a brutally true saying. However, just as in science, law, society, and psychology, there are always exceptions, and Samantha was that exception.

Simon always hated her, almost from the beginning.

Since the first day he met you in the supermarket and told him later that night that your daughter had cancelled your Christmas dinner last minute, he felt a knot in the stomach, an awkward one. He understood that young people tended to be rebellious and in their search for independence they separated from their parents, but even so, Christmas was a special day, and you were completely alone, no partner, no friends, you only had her, but she decided to just leave you by yourself.

However, he tried hard to push aside that bitter feeling and focus completely on you. Your mere presence was a warm balm that soothed his scarred heart. He’d never felt so deeply in love. Of course, he’d had partners in the past ―not many being honest, along with being hard reserve, he didn’t trust people easily, much less in one-nightstands. So, intimacy was something sacred to him, something only reserved for someone special. And the more he knew you, the more he fell in love.

It was everything. He didn’t saw just one thing on you, he saw you completely from the inside out. Every part of you was the most precious thing he’d ever seen in his whole life. You were precious, and just by being you.

That love was what made him try to tolerate Samantha, try hard to understand you as a mother and see the good things that you saw on her.

But he couldn’t, and time had proved him right.

It started with innocent comments about her behaviour. You thought it was normal that Samantha tended to throw tantrums even as a teen, justifying it with the trauma you both suffered because of your imbecile ex-husband. And although it could be true ―he perfectly knew the wounds that an abusive father left behind, Samantha seemed to only have those anger problems against you, not anyone else.

Again, you justified her with the trauma and the manipulation that her father had made on her. But she was older enough to know what was wrong or good, for God’s sake she had internet access and could do quick research on her father to verify his crimes. Also, you were a good mother, you always gave her all that she needed and more, even at your expense and own wellness. Your co-workers, Samantha’s friends and professors could confirm it. You put your body, heart and soul into giving her a good life.

It didn’t matter how much you loved her, all the things you did for love, she never reciprocated and what was worse, she even hated you and had the guts to blame you, for what? Only she and her distorted mind knew.

No calls, no birthday congratulations, no visits, no nothing. It was always you who called her, who send her birthday gifts and constantly cared about her, even when she was an ungrateful daughter.

Fortunately, with time your attention on her decreased just a little bit. He helped you to feel worth and special, and when you started to be officially with him, your mind kept busy with you both. Of course, you still cared about her and called from time to time like the good mommy you were, but you didn’t beg for her love anymore. And lucky you Samantha didn’t seem to notice, what gave you a breath of fresh air, ready to explore the world by your own.

And he was always by your side, loving you with every cell on his body, his every pore craved for you in all ways possible. He loved to spent hours just hearing your voice and laugh, bubbling like warm soda through his body. He swore you were a fairy or a witch, an angel as the team described you, with the power of making his kneels tremble just by hearing your name. Your smile cured his wounds, the pure scent of your skin relieved his sorrows, and your beautiful soul reminded him day by day that he deserved love too.

Every night when you slept next to each other, he loved to see you falling asleep into his arms, a kiss over your forehead and he clung to you with all his might, sleeping soundly in the warmness of your body. And when son rose, you both woke up together, ready to start your day.

It was a paradise that only existed for you both.

A paradise that was abruptly taken the day Samantha called you.

Despite that he wanted to grab your cell phone and tell her to fuck off for being an ungrateful daughter, seeing your happiness and warm lovely smile melted him completely, you had him in the palm of your hand. So, he swallowed his annoyance and from the bottom of his heart he offered her your home to stay with you.

Like the mature collected man he was, he pushed aside his bad feelings about her, he gave his all to be gentle and patient with her, just for you, to make you happy. And hard was little compared on how difficult it was for him to treat the woman who evidently treated you badly right. He could see she was a big liar, even suspected that she wasn’t even going to college as she said, not for nothing was he a soldier, he knew how to read people beyond appearances and words.

Oh God help him; how much he wanted to kick her out the house. But, again, he loved you and would do anything for you.

At least he could cuddle with you every night and soothe his emotions.

Until that damn day.

When you went to leave Riley with Price’s wife, he was working at the base doing paperwork, something that surprisedly he finished quickly. That meant he had the day free just for you and him. All the way back home he thought in many things that he could do with you, like taking you to the cinema or your special bookstore, whatever was fine as long as he could spend time with you alone.

The moment he arrived home he headed directly to your room to change his clothes into something comfy. And that’s when Samantha entered the room thinking that it was you who’d arrived finally. He was almost naked, only his trousers covering him. None of them said a thing, he was caught of guard, and she? Well, she was eating him with her eyes, she even dared to bite her lips and smirk libidinously.

The mere act made him feel more than disgusted and he finally react and put on his jeans.

“Leave.” He didn’t mean to sound that harsh, but he was mad and uncomfortable.

However, she closed the door behind her and approached him slowly, catching him out of guard.

“Hey, look what we got here.” She put her hand over his chest, making his spine contracted in unpleasant goosebumps. “Now I see what my mother saw in you, you’re damn hot, big boy.”

He immediately pulled her hand away from him and backed, staring at her with pure rage.

“I. Said. Leave.” The he turned and quickly searched a shirt, at this point he didn’t care if it was a proper one to go out, what he wanted was to cover his body. But that didn’t stop her, when he gave her his back while searching for a shirt, she wrapped his arms around him, her body pressed against him, and as if was the most normal thing in the world, in a quick movement she put her hand under his jeans, grabbing his member.

His stomach tightened painfully, her hands and her entire body felt like sharp knives piercing his body from head to toe. With his body tense and his skull throbbing with anxiety, he pushed her away, then grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the room.

Despite that, she was laughing as if what she’d done was something funny, as if she hadn’t committed sexual abuse. She was delighted, rapt by his body, imaging all the things that she wanted to do with him, all the positions, getting wet by the mere idea of being taken by him while you were working, oblivious to everything.

And him? He was breathing hard, feeling dirty, tainted, abused.

The room started to contract itself, getting smaller until its walls trapped him, constricting his body until break his every bone. His mind became cloudy, senses numb except for his touch perception, still feeling her disgusting hands touching him against his consent.

When he blinked, he was again in Mexico, tortured by Roba, being raped repeatedly by his men and women. People that used his body against his will, touching him painfully, tearing him apart from the inside, leaving deep wounds behind. Wounds that took him months and months of therapy to heal.

Samantha tainted him, abused him, even if was just for a second it was enough to destroy his soul.

Now he was dirty, contaminated, unworthy of you.

“Hi love, are you okay?” Your voice brought him back to earth, to the room he shared with you. He wasn’t in Mexico anymore, he was there with you, knelt in front of the closet and his missions’ bag, how had he gotten there? He didn’t know, and didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around you and clung tightly to you, terrified that if he didn’t, you’d disappear right in front of him.

Regardless of feeling unworthy of you now that he’d been tainted, he needed you so bad that he didn’t care about anything else. He didn’t even have the guts to tell you the truth, firstly because he didn’t want to hurt you with something that hard, and secondly because he tried to believe that he’d been dead clear and she wouldn’t do it again.

So, that day when he felt slightly better, you both spend the day outside home, a sweet reminder that while you were with him, he could endure anything.

Sadly, Samantha’s abuses didn’t stop there. The moment he arrived home she looked for excuses to be alone with him or touch him without his consent. If he went to the kitchen, she followed him with the excuse to grab something from the fridge or de cupboard and brushed her body against his, no mattering that he growled in fury and pushed her away. The only thing that she cared about was her own pleasure, and she was stubborn on making him hers, as if he was a mere object to use and discard.

Every disgusting attempt of hers, he pushed her away and clearly remarked that he didn’t like her, that he only loved you and no one else, while she just laughed and continued trying hard to get close to him against his will.

Every time she came near him, or just knowing she was under the same roof, his stomach churned and gave him headaches, his body paralyzed with fear. Why? He was an elite soldier, having faced humanity's worst horrors on more than once.

But in the face of sexual abuse, he became weak. Even if she only slightly touched him or looked at him lasciviously from afar, his mind immediately filled with memories of Mexico, the pain in his muscles and private parts, the blood and the smell of sweat, saliva, and iron. That damned young woman turned him into a helpless puppy, unable to do anything to defend himself, terrified of losing you and face your disbelief.

Until a day he exploded.

Not only was he fed up with your daughter's sexual abuse, her disgusting insinuations and repulsive touches against his will, but his hatred for her was also growing for being a traitorous serpent, Judas incarnate.

Of all the men on earth, she decided to stalk the man who was with you, her own mother, the man who loved you and you loved him.

After the reunion at Price’s, you both returned home, and he was so touched with your tipsy clumsy state that he didn’t care about anything else in the world, not even your abuser daughter.

When he left you curled up in the bed, he went to the kitchen to prepare you some food to soothe your stomach and brain. While he was making a sandwich, Samantha appeared right at the kitchen’s door. His body tensed, all the memories of Mexico invaded his brains, the torture, the sexual abuses, his body being raped. But he stayed firm, he had to endured it, for you.

“She’s knocked up, big boy.” He only growled as a furious beast in response, warning her to stop, but or she was stupid or just didn’t care because she approached him slowly. “It’ll be just a quickie; she’ll never know about it.” She pressed her chest against his back, and his stomach twisted making him feel nauseous. “She’s so lame and stupid, I can make you feel really good.”

That was the straw that broke the camel's back. No one, absolutely no one would stain your precious name with dirty words, much less a disgusting person like her.

He turned around, she smiled victoriously believing she had won, but her smile quickly fell when he grabbed her arm tightly, so tightly it hurt.

“Hey! You, fucking―” He didn’t let her continue and slammed her against the wall. This time all the lust in her died, giving way to pure terror.

"You're disgusting and despicable.” Despite his cruel worlds, she was so terrified that she didn’t dare to defend herself. “Haven’ I made it clear since that day? I fuckin’ hate you.”

“You’re hurting me.” She sobbed drowned in pain and fear. But that only made him to tighten his grip even harder.

"I know you don' go to school and that you keep the money your mom sends you." Her eyes widened in surprise. "If you touch me again or make disgusting innuendos, and especially if you dare to hurt your mom any further, the woman I love, I'll tell her myself what kind of bitch you are."

Finally, he let her go, she was a bundle of nerves, terrified, surprised, humiliated and physically hurt. He stared at her with pure hate, holding back the urge to kick her out the house in that same instant.

“You have until the end of the week to ge’ the hell out of here and never come back, or else your mom might have ‘o report you missing." He didn’t say more and moved away to continue making your sandwich.

With the little pride she still had, she wiped her tears away and headed towards the kitchen’s door. However, just before leave she spoke seriously.

“You’re threatening me.” He chuckled at her impudence and cynicism. She was accusing him of doing something wrong when had been sexually abusing him for days, harassing him at every opportunity.

“No, ’m not. ‘m jus’ stating facts.”

Finally, she left the kitchen and locked herself in her room. He took a deep breath, and his body went limp. He felt so dirty with himself, unworthy of you and your love. But at least for that moment he felt like he could at least breathe.

He finished preparing your meal and headed into the bedroom where he locked himself with you. Seeing you asleep, he set the food aside and curled up with you, hugging you and clinging to you with his teeth and nails. That night, you were fast asleep due to the alcohol, but he spent several hours whispering sweet words full of love to you, pouring his soul into you.

What he wanted most was to take you with him and go away to somewhere where you'd be fine and protected. But he knew he couldn't for now. At least he knew Samantha had his warning clear and would soon be gone, disappearing from your life forever. So, between whispers that came from his soul, he made hundreds of promises, oaths to always love you, to be faithful, and to protect you with his life if necessary.

He loved you, and he would until the last of his days.

However, what would happen next was something he never imagined would happen.

Samantha set a trap for you two, taking you away from him.

He didn't blame you for believing her; you were a good mother, after all. But oh God, how it hurt him; your pain, your broken heart, that you saw him as a monster. Not in all his years facing the war had he felt as much pain as that day you walked away from him because of a lie.

If he had told you the truth from the start, would things have been different? Would you have believed him? In his attempt to protect you and to spare you the pain of knowing that your daughter was a heartless traitor, he ended up hurting you, failing his promise to be the man you deserved, even if it wasn't his fault.

But that wouldn't stop him, not your daughter, not anything in the world. He loved you and would give his entire life just to make you happy. He had to fix this whole mess Samantha had gotten you both into. He would make her pay, and if necessary, he would spend the rest of his life rebuilding your love and trust, making you happy as you deserved, loved and protected.

Because Simon Riley loved you, and even after death, he would fight against physics, universe and God himself to get back to you.

Tag list: @blahox @miluiel1 @vajjaa @phineyy @beautifuleaglealpaca @carolchaotic @readawaythereality2

I just wanted to leave a little reminder here: being touched in an intimate way against your will is sexual abuse, not flirting, joking, or teasing. And that person deserves to be in jail, no matter yours and their sexual identity. Don't feel afraid on report an abuser, you're valid and worthy of love and protection, my child.

In this list, you'll find psycho-emotional support hotlines for any type of abuse or problem you may be experiencing. Contains all types of emergencies sorted by continent.

Thanks for reading ♡

[archive-of-the-lost]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 — ♡ @loremellos ♡

You like people who are patient and welcoming. Well, Trey certainly fits the bill! He isn't the first few people who might come to mind if you're trying to think of someone smart from NRC, he isn't so bad. His grades are decent and he's the well read type. Though you both don't seem likely to gravitate to each other, Trey would be a good match for you in terms of a relationship. His friendly, diplomatic and accepting personality allows him to slowly make you come out of your introverted shell and handle your moods, and even your selective mutism. Besides, he has his own secret weird side. He's not the most normal one around (despite what he says).

♡ Trey doesn't have much time for hobbies, having to juggle schoolwork and his vice dorm leader duties (that seem to involve a lot of baking delegated to him simply because he can bake), but he tries to connect with you over the hobbies you like when he can. He finds that he quite likes your taste in hobbies, happy to read books or play indie video games with you. It's relaxing! He likes relaxing (hobbies). Watching fantasy anime with you isn't bad either, and he comes around to the magical girl genre too, just because you like it so much. And the characters are cute but he won't admit it to you outright.

♡ Your love languages align quite well! Like you, Trey is also one for quality time and gift giving. Most of the time you spend with him is chill and relaxing, whether it be just chatting, reading different books side by side or eating together. Speaking of eating, most of the gifts he gives you is baked goods baked by yours truly (and dental floss and toothbrushes but we don't talk about that).

♡ Your dream dates are the kind that Trey would totally gravitate towards arranging! He's a fan of cozy and intimate dates like you, so he would be more than happy to arrange for picnics, bring you to cafes and libraries even before you tell him those are the kinds of dates you like. You both are a good match for each other in that way.

⋘ 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠… ⋙

██ 20%  ████ 60%  █████ 80%  ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ 100% ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

──・──・・♡ 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞: 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫/𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬

It's a sunny day. Perfect weather for a picnic. You breathe in the first winds of spring with a smile, basking in the warmth of the sun.

"You ready to go?" You open your eyes to see Trey with a picnic basket in hand, smiling at you expectantly.

"Yeah." You nod, noting his outfit curiously. He's wearing his nicer clothes, plaid button up and overalls. It's cute. He pulls it off well. But why dress like that for a simple picnic for just the two of you?

You don't have to walk far. There's a park nearby your house, a nice space for all the neighborhood to walk or play. Trey lays down a red blanket close, but not too close, to the lake where a family of ducks live. You watch as a pair of siblings feed them breadcrumbs and bits of cooked carrot and smile. Your hometown is as cozy as you remember.

Trey doesn't call your attention back to the picnic, and he's already got everything laid out by the time you turn back to him. The sight of cheesecake, a pie, cookies, berries and juice greets your eyes. You look to Trey with a delighted "ah". "Can we finish all of that?"

"If we can't, it's fine. My siblings will be happy to eat it." He shrugs with a lopsided grin. You don't miss the tenseness in his shoulders.

You hum. "So what's the occasion?"

"Occasion? No occasion."

"You just wanted to have a picnic?"

"Yeah, just wanted to spend some time with you. Do I need an excuse?" He looks away, reaching up to fiddle with his glasses frame.

Then, it all clicks together. The invitation for a picnic out of the blue, without any of your other mutual friends, Trey's nice clothes, the impressive spread of food that he insisted on packing without you needing to bring anything, the nervousness.

"Trey Clover. Is this a date?" You ask with a teasing lilt.

He still can't look you in the eyes, more flustered than ever. "No. I mean, yes. I mean- Only if you want it to be. If not, that's fine. We can just hang out like normal and it doesn't have to mean more than-"

Your laughter snaps him out of his rambling. The way his nervous expression softens into an adoring smile too, you don't miss. "It's alright, Trey. This can be a date. I was wondering when you'd finally ask me out, and you didn't even do it properly."

"I didn't want to overstep." He pouts playfully, finally settling into your usual comfortable dynamic. There's the Trey you know and love.

"Let's eat." You direct your attention back to food, eager to find out what's in the filling of the enticing pie.

The both of you settle into a comfortable silence as you dig in, not mentioning the air now charged with tension. You ignore it for now, content to enjoy Trey's presence as it is. Maybe later you'll take his hand in yours, just to see how he reacts.

[positivelyadhd]

i have been reading through the diary I kept from ages 14-17 and realising how helpful it can be to keep a record of how you're feeling at different moments.

not only is it helpful to write down and process how your feeling and give yourself time to truly think about it, it's nice to have something to look back on. to not just remember how you felt about a certain situation but to actually have yourself from that time tell you.

and also, from an adhd perspective, it's really lovely to have reminders of things I'd almost entirely forgotten. it's easy to think that your life right now isn't interesting, but in 5 years time? to know what songs you were listening to or book you were reading or even that Thing that you were so worried about but now you can't even remember the details. it's nice to have a physical reminder that time passes and things really can get better.

[neiptune]

real talk though I would have such a hard time dating someone rich like a pro soccer or volleyball player. I don't like it when too much money is spent on me, I'd hate to be constantly spoiled and for a man to pay for me all the time

[bhaalsdeepbat]

Astarion refers to the other spawn he intends to create as his children and I personally HC it more like his consort spawn eventually plays the role of brood mother to whoever the favored "children" are for eternity. like they recreate a fucked up family unit. romanced player and the children have to compete for scraps while he spoils whoever his romance partner is. and the cruelty of it is that Astarion's consort has all the gifts to be in the sun, but Astarion now wants an eternal night for all of the children he intends to make (and force to live in the shadows).

[pissfizz]

Valentine’s Day is tomorrow I am shaking in my boots gnawing at the bars of my enclosure etc etc

[moe-broey]

I think every transmasc should have a girl blorbo

Delve deep into her writing/character and expand on it and extrapolate ESP if the source material Does Not do her justice or doesn't give her the things she deserves. Find your pain in her pain and find her pain in yours and give her the things you will never have. Whether it was taken, starcrossed, or never meant for you. It could be for her. It could be.

Bestow upon her a gift, what remains of a life never lived. Leftover love of things that never fit right, never suited you, never were meant for you. Things you learned to love anyway, a love both real and manufactured out of necessity and survival.

And bestow upon her another gift, of love that has nowhere to go, of doors you've had to lock shut, doors you know go nowhere for you. Give her the key. Take up your pencil. Draw her in an adorable outfit. Draw her surrounded by loved ones, who love her so dearly back. Every drawing, a wish. That she can have a kinder life than mine. That I could give that to her. A parting gift, from me to someone who I can no longer host, that can now live on peacefully within her and lead an even better life than it ever could have within me. It was in the wrong house I had to rehome it.

Something adjacent to Gandalf Big Naturals ect ect

[cheehuahuah]

Knowing the pain and cruelty they showed to me will never be put onto another is making me rabidly enraged tonight

[luvkimi]

satoru "i love my wife" gojo.

the man was practically a puppy nipping at your heels. when you were dating, he attempted to be less clingy at times because he didn't want to scare you off, but since you're stuck with him forever now, he has no issue clinging to you.

you both could be in public, and his arm would be around your waist the whole time. if you're looking at something, he'll hug you from behind and rest his chin on your head until you're done looking.

and also, ever since you both got married, know that you won't be addressed as anything but 'my wife' for a while.

there's no more sweet names like baby, honey, or love. it's always 'my wife', but emphasize the 'my'.

he will literally scream the 'my' part and just normally say 'wife' because he wants everyone to know that you're his.

"do you want your usual?" satoru would ask as you both walked into a cafe, and you would nod in response while he just gave you a smile. his hand was currently interlocked with yours, and with how tight he was holding it, you knew you wouldn't be able to let go any time soon. the barista looked at you both as she gifted you a smile, and she turned her attention to satoru. "what can i get you two?" "i'll have..." satoru hummed before pointing at a coffee on the screen. it couldn't even classify as coffee—it mostly looked like foam and whipped cream with a bunch of sprinkles and mochi on it. "that one." the barista nodded as she tapped on the screen in front of her, "is that all?" "also, can MY—" the cafe fell quiet with satoru's shout, and the barista just quietly laughed once you smacked his arm. yet, the man only grinned before contiuing. "can my wife have that one?" he pointed to the screen that had your usual order, and the woman nodded. "your total is twelve dollars and sixty-seven cents." "can you write 'gojo's wife' on her cup?" the barista nodded at satoru's question, and you just frowned. yet, you didn't mean the frown. more than anything, you wanted to jump into satoru's arms and laugh at his stupidity. a few minutes later, your orders came out, and on your cup read 'gojo's wife.' when you finished your drink, you cleaned out the cup and stored it in a box with all the little trinkets satoru has given you over the years.

that's also another thing about being married to satoru—he gives you random things, and you can never tell what he's going to give you next.

one day, he'll bring you your favorite flowers, and then the next day, he'll bring you a random rock he found on the ground.

the best part about that, though, is the face he makes when he gives you the trinket.

he'll have a bright grin on his face while holding out the object in both of his hands, and if his blindfold is off, his eyes are practically shining with excitement and curiosity as to how you'll react.

and trust me, he memorizes how you react. that's one of the things you love most about him. he pays attention.

if you get really happy over one gift, he'll start bringing things like that around more. if you only smile at him and thank him for the gift, expect to find those things in the trash later.

he wants all your trinkets and gifts to be things that make you insanely happy—not just meh.

though, he doesn't just pay attention to how you react over trinkets. he memorizes everything about you.

he can tell your mood from the tiniest things.

if your eye twitches even the slightest bit, he knows you're irritated and will get rid of whatever is bothering you. if the corners of your lips fall down for a split second, he knows you're upset and will try to make you laugh. if you narrow your eyes, he knows you're mad, and will try to calm you down.

the reason he does this is because he wants you to know that he does pay attention, for he never wants you to feel neglected.

another thing he does is that he will have a serious conversation with you on the oddest topics.

his tone will make people think that he's talking about the earths issues or whatnot, but in reality, he's just talking about how it's stupid some birds have wings but then they can't fly.

"what do you mean ostriches can't fly because they're too heavy? are you calling them fat?" satoru frowned at you from where he sat—slowly resting his head on the kitchen island while you rummaged through the fridge for dinner ideas. "yes, i am calling them fat. they're too heavy to fly." your answer only made satoru pout. "then why do they have wings at all!? it's like false advertising for birds—can you even call them birds at that point if they can't fly!?" "birds are defined by their wings, feathers, and beak." "okay, first of all, you're a nerd." satoru commented as you walked over to the kitchen island, and you leaned against it while staring at satoru. "and secondly, that's stupid. wings are supposed to help you fly. like, why do penguins have wings?" "they're flippers, toru." "SHUT UP! THEY LOOK LIKE WINGS!"

now, satoru does a lot of random things, but a favorite has to be when your phone camera is on.

no, not just on him, but you as well.

your selfies? most of them have him in it. it's either his hand is in a peace sign, his arm is wrapped around you, or he secretly leans his head in frame and sticks out his tongue.

your mirror photos? his arm is wrapped around your waist with his chin on your shoulder, or if he's shirtless, he will step behind you and flex.

you complain, but you always end up looking back at those photos with a smile.

now, when the camera is on him, he does take it seriously. many think he would be funny with it, but satoru knows he's handsome.

so, he has to make sure all of your photos of him are good-looking so when you look back at them—he knows you look back at them—you remember how amazing he is.

but if you asked him to be silly, he just has to do it.

not because he wants to, but because you want him to.

he'd do anything for you, which is why he's satoru 'i love my wife' gojo.

he would legally change his middle name to that if it proved to you that he is hopelessly in love with you.

a/n : someone's reblog text of one of my other writings inspired this.

comments & reblogs are appreciated !!

[sceletaflores]

GIVE IT TO HER LIKE A MAN!

꩜ masterlist ꩜ update blog ꩜ requests ꩜ taglist ꩜

｡𖦹°‧➵ pair: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ wc: 5.1k

｡𖦹°‧➵ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, joel’s pov, swearing, age gap (52/23), semi-public sex (more of a semi-public ALMOST over the pants handjob?), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, spit kink, degradation, pussy spanking, creampie, fucking in your childhood bedroom RAAAHHH, one (1) single line about joel wanting to slap you, one (1) single use of the word daddy, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ nat’s note: hi babies! i'm back! did you miss me? cause i missed you and oh em gee i'm so excited to be rejoining the party. this actually wasn't what i planned on posting but the angsty joel fic is kicking my ass so hard that i had to take a break from it. i just needed to word vomit some raunchy, freak-nasty porn to cleanse my palate! i don’t normally go for the dbf trope but it's just so joel i couldn't not dip my feet in these waters. it's also more like dad's-close-but-distant-acquaintance-joel because in my head that man has little to no friends honestly. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel gives the best graduation gifts...

Joel isn’t the type to get invited to these kinds of things.

Graduation parties for Ivy League brats. Champagne in fancy crystal flutes and catered hors d'oeuvres getting passed around on silver trays. Men in loafers and pastel polos calling each other “old buddy” without any irony. It’s a far cry from his usual crowd—his mangy old t-shirt and stained blue jeans stick out in the place like a damn sore thumb.

The invitation came from a distant friend, someone he used to work with before his career took him in an entirely different, much shiner direction. He was here more as a favor than anything else. Tommy’s been worried about him, says he needs to get out more.

“Meet some new people, drink a few beers.” He’d said with his hand clasped on Joel’s shoulder. “It ain’t healthy to spend every weekend fixin’ shit around the house, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t see the problem. He’s fine the way he is. But somehow, he still got roped into going when he could have used any excuse to pull out at the last second. He could have faked sick, faked busy, faked like he had anything else to do besides sit at a fancy oak table on a back porch bigger than the whole first story of his house, decorated in Yale blue balloons and streamers. 

He regretted giving into Tommy the second he pulled up in the driveway—a too-big Craftsman style place in West Lake Hills, all clean laid brick and perfectly manicured lawns. Joel couldn’t for the life of him remember why he said yes in the first place. Maybe it was the guilt of worrying his brother. Maybe for the decent catered food and overpriced beers he knew would be there when he first got the address.

What he hadn’t expected—what hit him in the goddamn chest when the door swung open after he knocked—was you.

And Christ, did you look smug about it.

It had been months ago. The only reason Joel was even in Connecticut was to meet with a client, a big time East Coast entrepreneur who wanted a new add on to his ten car garage and was fine slinging around the money to pay for a round-trip flight and a cushy hotel room.

He hadn’t planned on going to the bar that night, but after hours of back-and-forth about permits and material costs, he needed a drink. Just one, maybe two—enough to take the edge off before heading back to the hotel.

It was a shitty little dive about ten minutes from where he was staying. The beer was cold, the lights were low, and he wasn’t supposed to be making decisions with his little head. But then he saw you across the way, right in the middle of the dancefloor.

You were in a circle with a few other girls, your dress riding up higher and higher each time you’d roll your hips to the heavy bass blaring from the overhead speakers.

Joel watched you like that for a while, leaned up against the bar lazily sipping at his beer. He hadn’t planned on doing anything about it, just sat there and enjoyed the view. But you’d caught him looking, and instead of turning away and pretending not to notice, you’d smirked.

Joel should have known right then that he was in trouble.

It wasn’t long before you left your little group and made your way over, slipping on the stool beside him like you belonged there, like you’d already made your mind up about what was going to happen next. You’d leaned in close, close enough for him to catch the scent of whatever perfume you’d rolled over your throat before heading out—something rich and heady that damn near made his head spin.

“Hey, cowboy.” You’d said with a tilt of your head, the long column of your neck dewy with a light sheen of sweat he wanted to feel under his tongue. “You’ve been watching me?”

There was no accusation in your voice, just a quiet sort of amusement, like you already knew the answer.

Joel had huffed a laugh, he didn’t see the point of denying it. He was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. “Yeah.” He’d admitted, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down. “What about it?”

Your eyes dropped down the length of his body, studying him, and he’d let you. Let you take your time looking, even as heat crawled up the back of his neck.

“Buy me a drink?” You’d asked, smiling up at him like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

That was all it took.

One drink turned into two, which turned into three, and then you were leaning into his space like you were made to be there. Your index finger teasingly tracing along the collar of his shirt as you whispered something filthy in his ear that had all the blood in his brain rushing down south.

Joel really shouldn’t have let it go any further than some goddamn footsie under the bar and a few dirty words whispered over the rims of shiny glasses, he was too old for shit like that. But you were just so damn tempting—confident and sharp and pretty as all hell.

Before Joel knew it he had you pressed up against the side of his truck, giggling into his mouth, fingers tugging at his belt like you couldn't get it off fast enough. You’d tasted like the fruity cocktails he bought you and something sweeter underneath, something distinctly you, and Joel had to have more.

You let him have it too—fisting his shirt and dragging him into the backseat without a care in the world, all eager hands and breathless laughter as you straddled his lap.

It was supposed to be just that. A reckless decision with a pretty young thing as the cherry on top of his trip. A one-night deal he’d let himself have because, fuck, it had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

Joel tried his damndest to think how he should’ve, tried not to let some one off fuck turn him all sorts of ass backwards. He tried his damndest to boot you out of his mind the next morning when he was boarding the flight back to Austin—but you stuck anyway, like a burr in his goddamn brain. 

The way you’d looked sprawled out under him, eyes glazed over with pleasure, lips parted, or the way you’d moaned his name like it was a prayer you needed him to hear. The way you’d rode him nice and slow, dragging your nails down his chest just to watch him shudder. The way you’d kissed him after, lazy and sweet, before sneaking off into the night like a goddamn thief.

Joel could've sworn he saw God that night, a smudged silhouette in the fogged up windows of his truck.

And now you’re here, standing in the doorway of some polished, high society home, looking like sin wrapped up in tulle and pearls.

Joel wasn’t a man who spooked easy, but seeing you again, surrounded by people who had no goddamn idea what you’d let him do to you in the backseat of his truck all those months ago, knocked him on his ass harder than a sucker punch.

The recognition was damn near instant, your eyes shining just as much as the sparkly sash that read “GRAD!” in big glittery letters. The initial shock gave way to a tiny, secret smile as your gaze slid up and down his body shamelessly, like this was some kind of funny inside joke. 

Joel was seconds away from turning tail, walking back down your ridiculously long driveway and getting in his truck to get the hell out of there, but then your father was walking up behind you with a big grin on his face. He clapped Joel on the shoulder roughly and introduced his “Old buddy Joel Miller from his blue-collar days!”

You were all coy smiles and wide eyes. A sugared, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Thank you for coming…” passing through your glossy lips.

The same lips that left shiny red smudges along the skin of his cock when you slid him down your throat, peering up at him with glassy eyes. The memory alone was enough to get heat stirring deep in his gut, and the way you looked at him now—all demure and polished, like you were some angelic scholar fresh off a podium—only made it worse.

Joel is too damn old for this.

“Very top of her class,” your father boasts, swishing his beer bottle through the air towards you flippantly. “Can you believe it? Just think of what we were doing at her age, brother. She sure as hell didn’t get any brains from me, that’s all her mother.”

Joel tries to chuckle with him, but it sounds strained, forced. He keeps his eyes facing forward, knee bouncing restlessly under the table. You’re looking at him again, hot and persistent against the side of his face. The heavy weight of your gaze practically begging him to look back. He doesn’t.

This dinner is it’s own form of torture, because of course, you just had to sit in the empty seat next to Joel—close enough that he can feel your knee bump up against his every few minutes.

He’s done a good job avoiding you until now, always walking the other direction when you waltz into the same room, not making eye contact when your gaze would sweep over the crowd hoping to catch his, trying for once in his life to be a good man.

A good man that suffers through this damn party without doing something he'll regret, that leaves at the end of the night and never has to see you again.

“Yeah,” he says, nervously starting to pick at the label of his own beer. Some snobby, imported New England brewery, probably sixty bucks a six-pack. “Good times.”

Joel can see you lean forward out of the corner of his eye, the neckline of your dress sliding down an inch as you stare at him, attention rapt. “What were you like back then, Mr. Miller?”

Joel nearly winces, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer hard enough to turn the skin around his knuckles white.

‘Mr. Miller’ echoes in his ears lewdly, blaring like church bells. Your voice is nothing but a honey-sweet mockery, so syrupy he can nearly feel it trickling down his throat to add to the warmth settling low in his stomach. 

Your father snorts over the lip of his bottle, answering you before Joel could open his mouth. “Joel didn’t go to college, honey. He went into the trades right after graduation,” he takes a long sip, Joel feels your knee bump against his again. “That’s how we met.”

You hum, nodding your head languidly. “You’re an architect too?”

Joel shakes his head, not looking at you as he answers. “Carpenter.”

Your father launches into some story about his old work days with Joel, about how back in the day, they were “real men” with “real jobs,” but Joel can barely process any of it. He nods along absently, lets out some half-hearted chuckles when he needs to.

Joel nearly puts his knee through the table when he feels your barefoot brush up against his ankle, hiking his jeans up ever so slightly. He shoots you a glare as subtly as he can.

It’s a look so sharp, so warning, that it should be enough to make you back the hell off from whatever game you’re playing. You’re not even looking at him anymore, eyes glued to your father as you nod along to whatever story he’s telling now. 

But there’s a knowing little smile on your lips as your hand creeps beneath the table and falls into his lap, the pads of your fingers pressing against the inside of his thigh.

Joel goes still. Rigid as his breath catches on a sharp inhale.

Christ, you’re trying to kill him.

Your father’s voice pulls him out of the silent panic and heavy arousal waging a war inside of him. “How’s business, Joel?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “You and Tommy still running things at a hundred miles a minute?”

Joel barely registers the question as your hand inches higher and higher. He can hear his own pulse pounding in his throat, in his chest, in his cock, already half-hard in his boxers from some goddamn heavy petting like a wet behind the ears teenager. 

“Yeah, we–” Joel pauses, willing his voice to steady with a quick cough to clear his throat. “We’ve been pretty busy with Summer rollin' around.”

Your father hums in agreement, cracking open another beer. “Of course, my schedule’s been a killer too this season,” he brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Joel are in the same boat. Only your fathers boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing for blue-print meetings with big shot celebrities and architectural digest interviews. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow stroke, your palm grinding roughly over the tip through the tented denim.

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice has gone all light and airy around the edges, almost melodic as it buries itself in Joel’s ears. At first, Joel thinks you’re talking to your father, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re looking at him—your eyes half-lidded and sparkling with something dangerous as your fingers tug at the tab of his zipper.

Joel’s hand flies to your wrist, squeezing tight enough to stop your pawing at his now fully hard cock. “Alright if I use your bathroom?” he asks sharply, his voice a little too loud. He tosses your hand away and stands abruptly from his chair before he’s got an answer.

“Of course,” your father says easily, thankfully not noticing the tension at the table, or the way Joel’s trying to subtly hold his hands over his crotch. He turns his attention towards you, “Would you show Joel where the downstairs bathroom is, honey?”

Your smile only widens as you slip your sandal on and calmly stand from your own chair. “Sure,” you say breezily, but you’re not looking at your father, dark eyes still glued to Joel’s. “Follow me.”

The flowy fabric of your dress swishes behind you as you walk through the yard, Joel hot on your heels. He waits until you're both in the house, stepping through the open sliding glass door and out of view before his hand flies to your arm and squeezes hard.

Joel hears you wince softly, but you don’t try to fight your way out of his grip. He leans down closer, his lips inches away from your ear. His voice is low and rough as he grits out, “Take me to your room, now.”

You lead him through the kitchen and up the stairs silently, but Joel can still see the smug smile on your lips as you turn the corner. The need to slap that bratty shit right off your face wracks through him like thunder, anger burning hotter in his chest with every step.

You push the door to your bedroom open and step inside, barely turning to face him before Joel slams the door shut behind him and stalks past you. His eyes are dark, filled with a mix of rage and want as he stares you down.

“Do you think this is a goddamn game?” His voice is teeming with fury, the calm facade he scarcely maintained at dinner now entirely gone. “That you can do whatever the hell you please because your Daddy’s sittin' across from you?”

You bite your bottom lip, leaning against the door with your arms crossed behind your back coyly. “You didn’t bring me a present.”

It’s a taunt if Joel’s ever heard one, and it finally breaks him.

He crosses the room in three large strides, pinning you against the door. His hands on either side of your head, caging you in. Joel cranes his neck down, his face inches away from yours. He can smell your perfume this close, it’s different than what you wore at the bar—something soft and girly and sweet that has his cock straining in his boxer.

“You’re real fuckin' proud of yourself aren’t you?” he spits roughly, watching the way your pupils dilate, eyes going glossy under his intensity. “Does your old man know how much of a tramp his precious little baby girl is? That she’s got such a greedy fuckin' pussy she can’t help herself from rubbin' his buddy Joel’s cock under the table like a desperate slut.”

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly, all the attitude draining from you at the drop of a hat the second he gets a little mean. Your eyes are stuck on his lips and, after a beat, you start leaning in, like you’ll die if you don’t kiss him.

Joel stops you with a hand fisted in your hair, keeping you still a few centimeters away from his lips. A pitiful whine falls from your slack mouth, wide eyes flicking back up to meet his with a pleading look.

“You want me to kiss you, princess?” he asks, mean and condescending. Your breath puffs over his lips, hot and needy as you nod your head as best you can. Joel laughs, dark and cool as he shakes his head slowly. “Whores like you don’t get kissed baby, they get fucked.”

It does something to you—Joel can see it in the way your lashes flutter, in the way your thighs press together, like you can feel his words between your legs. He watches the rise and fall of your chest quicken, the way your lips part as a little breathless sound escapes them, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Desperate. Squirming. Ready to let him ruin you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, low and almost reverent, but the wicked curl of his lips betrays the softness in his tone. “Bet you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod, your chest rising up to press against his with every breath.

“Words,” he demands, voice sharp as a needle. Your thighs twitch at the sound of it.

“Yes,” you breathe shakily. “I’ve been wet since you got here.”

That has Joel groaning, jaw ticking as his cock twitches heavily in his boxers, pre-come oozing into the cotton.

He doesn’t waste another second. He drops your hair to grab your shoulders, pulling and pushing until you’re tumbling onto your old bed. You let out a sharp gasp as your back hits the mattress, the force of it bouncing you a few times.

Joel looms over you, watching you, finally letting himself get a good look at the picture you make. Splayed across dainty floral sheets, chest heaving, staring up at him with need written all over your pretty face. It practically pumps off of you in waves, he can almost taste it.

Without another word, Joel reaches for his belt, his heavy gaze never leaving yours. The metal of his buckle clinks loudly in the quiet of the room, underscored by the quick pants of your breath. It snaps with how hard he yanks it out of his belt loops, the leather cracking in the air menacingly.

"You wanted this," Joel mutters, popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down with a sharp hiss. "You practically fuckin’ begged for it."

You make a desperate little sound at the sight of his cock finally being freed from the confines of his jeans—thick, heavy, and leaking when it slaps against his stomach. Your legs spread wider like an offering, like you need it in you now.

Joel huffs out a laugh, grabbing your ankle and yanking you down the bed, making you squeak in surprise. He climbs on the mattress, his body completely blanketing yours so you couldn’t move if you wanted to.

His hand drags down your body, over the swell of your breasts, over your ribs, the curve of your hip, until he’s gripping the hem of your dress. Joel slips his hand under the skirt, rough palms gliding up the soft skin of your thighs before gripping the meat of them hard enough to bruise.

The thought of you finding the marks tomorrow, pretty shades of purple and yellow branding your skin as a reminder of this moment, of what Joel did to you—it makes his stomach flip with a sick thrill.

It doesn’t take much for Joel to push the bunched fabric around your hips the rest of the way up, exposing the barely-there scrap of lace covering you.

He makes a sound low in his throat when he sees the little damp spot blooming along the powder blue fabric. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, tracing his middle finger along the wet seam of your pussy, featherlight, teasing. “Can’t even sit through one damn dinner without beggin’ for my attention like a two-bit truck stop whore.”

You nod frantically, lips trembling, pupils blown wide as you blink up at him.

Joel tsks mockingly, raising his palm to give your clothed pussy a sharp slap that has you crying out. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Joel.”

Your voice is so soft, so wrecked. And Joel feels himself get impossibly harder, his cock throbbing where it’s pressed against your stomach, blurting pre-come onto the delicate pink tulle of your dress. He can hardly wait any longer.

Joel hooks a finger into the leg of your panties, dragging them down hard enough that he hears a rip. He can’t find it in himself to care, he just pulls them far enough that they pool around your ankles uselessly.

He finally takes himself in his hand so he can drag his cock through the wet mess of your pussy, bumping it up against your hole but not giving you a damn inch. A devastating noise falls from your lips, slow and sweet as molasses, your hips buck up off the mattress, trying to take him in. He presses one heavy hand down on your stomach, keeping you still.

“Ask me for it,” Joel whispers darkly, slapping the head over your glistening clit. “Beg for my cock.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, frustration and desire burning in the inky black of your pupils. “Please, Joel. It’s all I can think about, can only think about you,” you ramble senseslessly, voice breathless. “About you fucking me. About your cock stretching me open. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

Fuck, he loves hearing you beg.

Joel grips your hips, holding you steady as he presses inside, slow at first, just enough to make you gasp, enough to let you feel how thick he is stretching you open. He curses, head falling forward as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.

Your hands scramble along the length of his back, nails scratching uselessly as you try to adjust to the sudden fullness. Joel knows he’s too big, the stretch too much all at once without prep. He knows it. He just doesn’t give a damn.

“I know, it’s a big stretch ain’t it?” Joel coos, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips. “You can still take it, darlin’. It’s what you wanted, wanted me to lose my goddamn mind and ruin this sweet little pussy.”

You nod desperately, a loud cry bursting from your chest as he pulls you back until his hips are flush with your ass. Your velvety heat feels scalding around him, snug and perfect, like it was made for him—made for his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he stays there for a beat, buried to the hilt—forcing you really feel the full, aching stretch before he starts to move. He drags his cock out to the tip, almost all the way, before slamming forward again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “That’s it—take it all, just like that.”

Joel sets a brutal pace, fucking you so deep he swears he must be in your goddamn guts. His grip is merciless, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses them to pull you back against him, meeting every punishing thrust. The dirty sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixing with the slick squelch of your pussy as it tries to suck him back in each time he pulls out, the pretty soft gasps and moans you’re struggling to keep quiet the cherry on top of it all.

It’s so loud, a symphony of lewd sounds bouncing off the walls enough that Joel would be worried that someone might overhear if your house wasn’t such a maze.

Joel watches you writhe beneath him, your back arching, hands grasping at his shoulders, his arms, his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucks into you with ruthless precision. Every thrust sends a shockwave through your body, makes your breath hitch, your legs trembling where they’re locked tight around his waist.

“Poor thing,” he mutters, voice a low rasp in your ear. “Too dumb to talk now, huh? Just layin’ here, takin’ it like a good little whore.”

Your eyes roll back in your head when he tilts his hips, the new angle forcing his cock to rub up against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Joel–”

Joel leans over you, breath hot against your ear as he mutters, “This what you needed, baby? Needed Daddy’s friend to hike your pretty dress up and fuck you good and hard like this?” He speeds his hips up fast enough to get the bed shaking on its frame. “Actin’ like a spoiled little brat all night just so I’d drag you up here and teach you some fuckin’ manners?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck—” Your words slur together, breathy and high-pitched, your fingers twisting in his hair as he keeps up that relentless pace.

Joel reaches up to snatch your jaw in a tight grip, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. “Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks meanly. When you don’t, too fucked out of your mind to listen, he shakes your head back and forth like a bad dog. “Open it.”

The command breaks through the pleasure filled haze clouding your mind, and your mouth falls open obediently. Your slick lips parting enough for Joel to see the enticing pink of your tongue. A groan claws its way out from deep in his chest, and he leans down close to spit into your mouth.

Your moan is a high, choked whine as your eyes flutter shut, your pussy squeezing around his cock impossibly tighter. 

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ swallow,” he says, fucking into your clenching heat harder. “Hold it right there.”

You open your eyes to stare up at him like he’s some kind of God, your lashes clumped together and glossy with unshed tears—gaze glazed over with a kind of bliss that makes something dark and satisfied wriggle to life in his chest.

“Good girl,” he mutters, barely above a whisper, but the words hit you like a sack of bricks. Your walls squeeze around him, and he groans low in his chest. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you even wider so he can watch the way his cock disappears into your puffy pussy, shining with your slick every time he pulls out. “Look at that. Fuckin’ made to take cock, aren’t you?”

You moan around closed lips, nails digging little crescent moons into his shoulders so hard that he can feel his shirt ripping under the force of it. Joel can tell you’re getting close, your whole body trembling violently as the coil of your orgasm winds tighter and tighter.

“Go ahead and swallow for me, baby girl.” Joel needs to hear you, needs to hear you say his name when you come on his cock. “Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

The sound of you swallowing is music to Joel’s ears, his hips stuttering as he watches your throat work.

“Please,” you gasp, fat crocodile tears rolling down your cheeks. “Need to come, need you to make me—”

“Yes,” he hisses, his thrusts turning sloppy for a beat before he regains his rhythm. “You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my cock nice and good?”

His words push you right over the edge. Your entire body tenses, pleasure rolling through you in a white-hot wave as your climax crashes over you, stealing your breath. You sob Joel’s name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, body shuddering beneath him as you clench down so fucking tight he can barely move.

Joel groans, his jaw going slack as he watches you fall apart, losing himself in the feel of your pussy milking his cock. He grits his teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chases his own release. 

“Fuck—gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Gonna fuck you full of me, make you mine.”

With one last thrust, Joel spills inside of you. He buries himself as deep as he can go, warmth flooding your core as spurt after spurt of come paints your insides, thick and hot. His body shakes with the force of it, a deep, guttural moan falling from his lips as he rides out his orgasm.

Joel just stays there, panting, his forehead resting against yours.

For a moment, both of you are too overwhelmed to move. You just lay on the mattress tangled together in the aftermath, breaths mingling, bodies slick with sweat. Joel smooths his hands up your sides, grounding himself as you both come down from the highs of ecstasy.

When you finally stop shaking, Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, to take in the wrecked, spent look on your face. He brushes his knuckles over your sweaty cheek, softer than before. “Still think I didn’t bring you a present?”

You let out an amused huff, pushing your hands up under the back of his shirt so you can trace the column of his spine with gentle fingers. “Trust me, it’s the only present I’m getting that’ll be worth a damn. Money can’t buy this, Miller.”

Joel chuckles, low and smooth as warmth blooms in his chest. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You earned it, baby.”

mini nat's note: thank you so much for reading! mwah.