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studioghibelli · 4 months

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toothache- a joel miller x reader fan fic

note: hello friends :) this is my first fan fic in a loooong time, and i've been quite inspired by all the lovely joel miller fics i have been reading lately. he's a character i find pretty... alluring. (hehehehe.) it's been quite some time since i've written anything about a fictional character so i hope you all enjoy. any tips, criticism, advice, comments, etc. are always welcomed, so feel free to say anything!

summary: after two long years apart, a failed relationship, and a wasted engagement ring, you and joel reunite at a family christmas party. old feelings come up, arguments ensue, and you somehow end up naked beneath him.

rating: 18+, "mature content" as the kids say, mdni!

word count: 5ish thousand

warnings: no use of y/n, female reader, dbf!joel, big phat huge giant slutty age gap (you pretty much decide, no specific ages actually mentioned, but obvs reader has been legal their entire relationship), no outbreak!au, daddy issues, reader has a bit of an outburst, mentions of christianity, reader is hit by their father once, a delicious bit of angst littered about occasionally, reader just got out of a relationship, childfree!joel, daddy issues, guilt, cocky arrogant charming!joel, a few catty arguments, joel and reader have a PAAAAST, SHMUT (PiV, unprotected sex, creampie, f and m receiving oral, daddy kink, dirty talk, pet names, ehhh i think i got it all.)

Beneath the canopy of glimmering Texas stars, a blanket of dark solitude rested upon your covered shoulders. This night, a chilling, nippy Thursday evening half past eight, was much more calming than most. The wind howled sweetly in the distance, accompanied by the fluttering shake of oak leaves, crisp with the oranges of autumn, browning and crisping at the edges like an overbaked pie crust.

Looking in through the dusty, fogged windows of your childhood home, you saw your mother pacing about, hanging up tinsel and elaborate ornaments throughout the living room, muttering what you could only imagine would be prayers as she dealt with the stress of party planning. Your father sat on a leather arm chair, legs crossed atop the mahogany table, flipping through the channels like a drone, his zombie crusted eyes glazed over with the promise of mindless watching.

The annual Christmas party your parents held religiously each year was tomorrow, Friday the 22nd, at exactly 6PM. You had flown in from the city you had managed to settle in almost three days ago, and were met with all the reasons you had left Austin in the first place. An aggressive and brutal father, a critical mother, and a wallpaper stained room full of regret, slathered with the oil of guilt. Your bedsheets reminded you of him, your pillows were fluffed with images of his graying curls, and the sight of your carpet made your knees burn with the thought of all the times he had you kneel before him.

His hands, rough and calloused by long days working on his truck, contracting out his skills, fixing sinks and mowing lawns for the neighbors. Long fingers leaving trail marks and imprints red with the burn of lust, rough lips that had memorized each part of your neck, your shoulders, your thighs, your collarbones. Your cotton sheets still smelled like him. Like waves of vanilla bergamot wafting through an amber forest, like a night full of sweet promises and well-kept secrets.

Deep down you knew you shouldn't be thinking about him. Especially not right after a breakup. A breakup with the man you had planned to marry. Some mornings you could still feel the weight of the now lost diamond atop your ring finger, somedays you could still smell the citrus of his shampoo, feel the smoothness of his kisses. But he wasn't Joel.

Joel.

You knew it was wrong. You knew you shouldn't have closed your eyes and imagined him, especially not while being fucked by another. But for some reason, some reason completely unknown and foreign to you, you just couldn't burn his image, his taste, his scent from your memory. Whether your ex-fiancé would climb on top of you, take you from behind, lay beneath you- whatever it was he did- you couldn't shake Joel fucking Miller from your head.

"Tha's it, babydoll." A guttural groan seared through your ears like the heavy bass of a song, engulfing your senses with the high burning flames of pride that his praise so often left you feeling. "S'good for daddy."

Joel watched with darkening eyes as your tongue swirled along the tip of his head, licking the precum that leaked from his thick, twitching cock. His fingers had stitched themselves within the yarn of your hair, pulling and guiding you exactly where he wanted you to go. But Joel didn't have to do that much. Oh, no. Not with you. It was as if you were apart of him, as if you knew exactly what he wanted, right when he wanted it. Like you could read his mind. His thoughts were yours to swim through just as much as they were his.

You stared up at him with big doe eyes and, unbeknownst to him, eyes full of adoration. All you wanted was to please him. All you wanted was to taste his cum and feel his love. All you wanted was him. Every day, every night, every morning, every holiday. And although you were young, you were certainly not naive, and you knew why Joel snuck in through your window at night. Not for love, not for deep conversation, not for peace. When he sought you out, he wanted to partake in carnal sin with you. Joel wanted to lick your skin and taste your passion, he wanted to swallow your moans and take you like a wild animal, hungry for a taste of your sweet, devilish nectar.

You gulped thickly in the dead silence of night, staring up at the crescent moon. Thoughts of him filled you dreadfully full to the brim, and all the guilt from the nights you spent dreaming of him and not the man you were supposed to marry, came bubbling up to the surface, choking you. In the end, it was the reason you left your clueless, heartbroken fiancé. You could no longer lie to yourself, you could no longer go about with the it is what it is mindset.

As the night darkened with swirls of purple and navy, and the air grew colder with December chills, you decided it was finally time to go inside. When you got in bed you were met by the absence of his warmth, by the longing for his touch, the smell of his skin, the linger of his fingers. You fell asleep to thoughts of him, dreaming of what once was.

_______

The living room of your old home had been transformed into a winter wonderland full of crimson and gold, the smell of mulled wine and freshly baked bread thick in the air. A crackling fire raged on in the fireplace, filling the room with a warmth not usually found within their walls, and guests were strung about on couches talking, leaning against walls and flirting, and some lingered about the kitchen taste-testing your mother's newest creations.

You wore a simple red dress with black tights and a matching cardigan that would just not stay up on your shoulders, blending in with everyone else for the most part. Your makeup was done, hair perfect, jewelry secured- everything that played a vital role to look presentable at a function held by your parents, you had made sure to do. There was no use in upsetting them, not after the anger and resentment they threw at you when you broke up with that dear sweet boy they thought was just much too good for you.

You rolled your eyes at the thought.

There was a heavy knock on the door that it seemed only you heard, the radio to your left playing a mix of vintage Christmas music you had had memorized since you were a little girl. Setting down the glass of wine, you made your way to the front, slowly opening the door.

A slap in the face of that delicious, panty soaking cologne threw you for a loop. You didn't have to look up from the broad, flannel covered chest to know exactly who it was. Your legs were already shaking, mouth already watering. Yet, despite this, anger drummed within your chest, tugging at your heart with its gnarled, sharpened claws.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his own. Those honeyed orbs that reminded you of the earth after a fresh rain, deep and knowing and mysterious and.... perfect. Always so perfect, so beautiful.

"Joel Miller." You stated, much more plainly than you thought you could ever muster.

"Well hello there darlin'. Long time no see." He purred so sweetly you would have missed the sarcasm if you weren't properly listening. A shit eating smirk tugged at his lips, hidden behind the dark moustache you had become well acquainted with many moons ago. "You sure look pretty. Did ya' miss me?"

A tight clench to your jaw caused your teeth to hurt, nostrils flaring with the heat of aggravation. Your body deceived you, crying out for his touch. It didn't forget all those orgasms he gave you, all those marks he left. How could it?

"No. I did not." You finally lied right through your teeth, cementing your fate in the fiery pits of hell as you grudgingly allowed him to enter.

Joel still towered over you menacingly, and it made your thighs press against themselves. He stared at you, long and hard, taking you in like a drunkard scanning the liquor aisle. "No ring?" He finally spoke.

"No. I left him."

He sniggered, raising an eyebrow. "Probably 'cause you were thinkin' about me too much."

"Just go get some beer, talk to my dad, and leave me alone!" You finally snarled, narrowing your eyes at him. Joel raised his hands in silent defense, shot you a wink, and left you standing in the foyer like a dumb, lost fool.

All night you tried to avoid him. Despite this pact you made with yourself, your eyes always managed to wander towards him, and he always managed to catch you staring. He never approached you about it, he just tilted his lips in a smirk and went right back to whatever conversation he was apart of, nursing a dripping bottle of Modelo, with that damned smirk never leaving.

It wasn't until dinner was being served that you noticed your place card settled right beside his. Great. You groaned.

"It's too late to change places now. You should have told me earlier." Your mother scolded you for your audible discomfort, setting down the casserole dish of sweet potatoes. "Next year, tell me in advance. Instead of waiting last minute and moping about!"

"Yes ma'am." You muttered.

A group of men walked in discussing football amongst themselves, and the remaining chairs were soon full of their laughter and conversation. Joel sat down beside you, smoothing out his jeans with those perfectly roughed up hands. You glanced down at them, tracing his knuckles and nail beds with your eyes. You began chewing on your lower lip, and he had no doubt what you were thinking of.

"Betcha' missed these hands. Hmm?" His voice was so quiet, only you could hear. "These fingers, too."

"You are the most arrogant fucking man in the entire universe, Joel Miller. Has anyone ever told you that?"

His eyes lit up with delight. You stared into them, old memories and feelings you had tried to suppress rushing to the forefront of your mind. The sting of guilt filled your heart. "You jus' did, darlin'." You groaned again, quietly this time, and your ears twitched in annoyance at the sound of his sly chuckle.

"Let's say grace." Your father held out his hands, that fake smile of his stretched out across his face, painfully taut and insincere. He wore a pitiful clown mask. Always had.

You took the hand of the person to your left, someone your mother used to know from a Bible study, and with an annoyed eye roll, grabbed Joel's hand to your right rather brutally. The roughness of his palm felt warm and familiar, and Joel took note of how your legs squeezed together at the initial contact.

"Our father..." Your own began, and you slowly turned to face Joel.

His tongue swiped across his lower lip, his eyes shut as he did his best to listen to the falsehoods your father peddled, about family and togetherness and the giving season of Christmas, and so on so forth.

But Joel wasn't stupid.

He felt your gaze burning holes right through him, and had no problem cracking open an eyelid to meet your line of sight. Your cheeks burnt with embarrassment, and you quickly looked away, too nervous, too scared, too everything to meet those chocolate orbs again.

His thumb circled itself across your knuckles, the rough pad of his digit igniting a fire within you, and you felt his arm slowly moving your entwined hands down towards your thigh. You didn't stop him. How could you? He let go of your grasp, his fingers digging into the fabric of your sheer tights, lifting your dress up ever so slightly. His short nails danced across your skin, lightly tracing shapes and letters against it. Slowly crawling higher, higher, higher....

"- We love you, our good and almighty Father. Amen."

Joel took his hand away, and no one was the wiser.

No one except you. You cleared your throat quietly, beginning to pass around the fresh, steaming food to those nearest of you.

For a while you stared at your plate. Honeyed ham, whipped potatoes, sauteed green beans, crisp broccoli. None of it sounded good. You poked around with your fork, chewing on your lip as you mindlessly paid attention to the conversation bustling around you. Joel was immersed in a conversation with your father about the NHL or NFL, you didn't know because you didn't really care, and your mother was laughing with her friends about shared nail salon stories and talks of their husbands.

"You know, our daughter could have had a husband by the New Year." Your mother finally said, pointing the rim of her wineglass towards you. The blood colored liquid sloshed against the transparent glass, dribbling down the side like falling tears.

Looking up from your plate, you faked a smile. "Yep. Could've."

"Can you believe this girl, Joel?" Your father finally spoke, shoving a fork full of casserole into his wide mouth. "He was perfect, really. Polite, hard working, on his way to law school. Apparently she doesn't know what's good for her." He was practically guffawing, his eyes rolling with each syllable.

Joel turned, looking at you. His brows were knitted together, lips slightly parted, and he looked at you with a curiosity you had not seen him show before. You cleared your throat once more, finally taking a bite of your potatoes and steering away from his burning gaze.

"You're right, dad. I don't know what's good for me."

"When I was her age, phew..." Your mother wiped the fake sweat from her brow, her friends joining her in a choir of laughter. "Let me just tell you, I never would have let a catch like that go. He was so handsome, too."

"Why'd you even leave him, anyways? You never did tell us. Your poor mother was up all night crying when you finally broke the news."

You dropped your fork with a loud clang against the porcelain of your mother's finest China, shrugging your shoulders with an exasperated groan. "You know, I don't really know. I guess I just felt like it!" You lied, your tone dripping with annoyance, soaked with the familiar hiss of sarcasm. "I guess- well you know me- my tiny little female brain can't possibly comprehend what's good for me!" Abruptly, you stood up from the dining room table, narrowing your eyes.

"Don't talk to your father like-"

"You want to know why I really left him, pops? Are you dying to know?"

His cheeks had puffed up like the chest of a mating bird, eyes darkening dangerously quick as he stared daggers into your soul, praying and hoping you would keep talking. Anything for an excuse to have a go at you. "Why?" His voice was low, yet still inquisitive.

"Because the only time I could cum was if I was thinking about another man. Are you happy now? He couldn't please me. He was lazy. Annoying. Li-"

Whack.

Right across the face. A searing hot poker branding your cheek with a hefty, molten, angry slap. His tongue swiped the inside of his cheek, yellowing teeth gritting against themselves so hard you could have sworn you heard a crack. He had his finger pointed, ready to pull the trigger and unleash a spew of cusses and shouts your way, before he was stopped by Joel's deep, anger laden voice.

"Hey!" Joel had jumped up on his feet with lightning fast reflexes, and the room had gone eerily quiet. "Come on now, man. That ain't how we treat ladies." He had grabbed your elbow to help steady you, your head dizzy and eyes clouded with prickling tears. Your father shot daggers at you, paid barely any mind to Joel, and stormed out of the room, steam bellowing from his ears.

Joel looked at your mom, the deep crease settling in against his forehead. "I'll help clean 'er up. Jus' stay here and enjoy the rest of your dinner." He managed a charming smile despite the anger brewing inside the tightness of his chest, and you walked alongside him as he led the way to your room.

Your room.

Joel found the lingering scent of vanilla and tobacco candles filtering in through his nostrils, the familiarity transporting him back to nights dripping with the silver hue of the moon, the softness of your skin and the swirling of your tongue heavy at the forefront of his memories. It reminded him of your gaze, hungry and devilish, the sharpness of your incisors biting into his skin as he took you hard, as he took you rough, as he made you his. The whisper of your sweet voice, the feeling of your chest against his, the way you made him dizzy with the addicting high of desire.

Now is not the time. Not now, while you held your cheek and stared angrily at your wall, tears of both resignation and resentment pooling, your mascara flaking by the corners of your eyes. He felt a bit like a horned up asshole, admittedly.

Joel crouched in front of you. His jeans spread tight against the thickness of his thighs, the top buttons of his flannel unbuttoned, giving you access to the golden hue of his chest. Now is not the time, you thought to yourself. Not when you wanted to be angry at him, not when you craved to push him away.

"You are the last person I need taking care of me." You snarled. "I-I-" A hiccup erupted from your mouth, a shaky sob leaving you. You were embarrassed by the fact you had crumbled so quickly. "Just leave. Like.... like you did the last time."

"The last time?" He spoke incredulously. "Is your brain workin' properly?" You stared bitterly in his direction, arms now crossed over your chest. "I don't know if you remember, but you're the one that left me."

You sat in silence, top lip curling with confusion. "I asked if you wanted to come with me..."

"To some fancy city hundreds'a miles away from my home? Just up an' startin' a completely new life? That's what you were askin' me to do, babydoll. It was you who decided to leave." His fingers found their way to your knees, his voice calm yet firm. He gave them a tight squeeze, letting you know he was there, that he was present, that he wasn't planning on letting go.

"Are you blind? Did you not just see what happened out there?" You sniffled, wiping your runny nose on the sleeve of your black cardigan. You didn't push his grip away, not when it felt so warm, so good. "I had to leave, Joel."

"If you woulda asked, instead of running off all impatient like ya' did, I would've taken us somewhere. Southwest.... Dallas, maybe. I-I haven't put much thought into it." A complete lie. Even Joel couldn't convince himself of that.

Oh, he had thought of it alright. Day and night, when all he had was his right hand to keep him company, when you were far away sleeping with that kid who wasn't him. For the first time in his life, he had found himself feeling jealous. Jealousy caused by a woman he had no business being so fond, so infatuated, so in love with. A part of him felt ridden with guilt, unsure of the implications your relationship had. The other part didn't give a flying fuck.

"You.... you really would’ve?" Your voice was quiet, barely a whisper. Joel felt his heart tight against his chest. It hurt for you.

All he did was nod.

"And I-and I left you!" You wailed into your hands, falling against his chest. "I fucked it all up!"

"Shh." He held you quietly, his heavy palm rubbing circles into your lower back, gently thumbing the fabric every so often. "S'alright, now. I'm here. I've got you, babydoll."

"I can't even imagine how you felt." You mumbled into his ear, your fingers finding a stray curl behind it. "Knowing I was off with some idiot." A thick stutter of breath got caught in your throat, your nose still sniffling. "I thought of you everyday."

Joel nodded against your head. "I know, I know you did."

"Now is not the time for your ego-"

He cut you off. "I know, because I did too. And me and you? Well, I always thought we were entwined. One in the same. Same typa' fabric, or cloth or.... somethin'."

You pulled away, blinking slowly. "Are you being romantic with me?"

He nodded slowly.

You weren't quite sure what to do, you just stared at the man before you, heart pounding, eyelids fluttering. He moved his hand higher up your leg until he reached your waist, tightly holding it. His fingers grasped into your skin, gently keeping you in place for his eyes only. Joel savoured your presence, taking in every inch of you that he hadn't seen for what felt like a lifetime.

"Will you get up here... with-...." you trailed off for a moment, slightly worried, "-with me?"

"I was startin' to think you'd never ask." He climbed up on the bed, leaning his back against the headboard. Joel pat his hands on his lap, beckoning you to come closer and take a seat on him.

"Maybe.... take those off?" You pointed to his jeans, chewing on the inside of your cheek. A smirk graced his mouth, and he nodded in silent agreement, quickly kicking off his worn leather boots and denim jeans. You settled down on his lap, legs on each side of him as you straddled his waist, nose to nose with him.

You had always adored his nose. Slightly curved, with a beautiful bridge that ever so slightly jutted out. Joel was the most handsome man you had ever seen, and you had seen many men. The crows feet by his eyes had deepened since the last time you saw him, and his curls had been salted with more strands of white. His cheeks were scruffy with prickly facial hair, but his thick moustache had always remained the same. You gently ran your finger across it, setting your palm against his cheek.

He leaned closer to you, fingers brushing a few stray hairs away, before planting his lips against yours in a deep, sensual kiss. Your stomach awakened with butterflies, fluttering and kicking against your rib cage, before all you could taste or smell was Joel.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

That's all you heard in your mind.

Joel's fingers crept towards the heat of your middle, and he let out a deep grunt of frustration when he realized you still had on your pantyhose. It didn't take long for him to quite literally rip them off, setting you back down on his lap as he held you tight and close, almost fearful of letting go. His thick finger traced down the middle of your cotton underwear. Joel felt the wetness pooling at the front, and he smiled a genuine smile against your mouth.

All for me, he thought to himself.

"Look at me."

You pulled away, his lips now stained like cherries from your lipstick, his hair slightly disheveled and out of place. He took a hard swallow, gently running his hand down the side of your face, burying it in your hair.

"Let me make you feel good."

You nodded quickly, falling back on the softness of your mattress.

He peeled your cardigan off, followed by your dress and his own shirt, and you were left with nothing but your mismatched bra and panties, a picture of perfection laid out before him. His hands trailed down your belly, its supple softness a stark contrast to the well-worked leather of his aging hands.

Joel slightly shook his head. "You're so beautiful." He leaned down, planting a kiss to your stomach, his chin resting on your cloth covered mound. "But you already knew that." You giggled softly to yourself, rolling your eyes as you gently cupped his head in your hand.

"If I didn't before, I certainly do now."

He fingered his digits through the hem of your underwear, quickly discarding them and throwing them off to the side. "Ain't she a 'beaut..... now that's somethin' I've not seen for quite some time." He pushed your legs apart gingerly, face to face with your pink, glistening pussy, open and laid bare for his eyes only. You saw the thirst swirling around in the orbs of his eyes.

Joel circled your swollen clit with the tip of his index finger before gently pushing it into your opening, smiling to himself as he heard your wetness. A quiet moan escaped you, and you gently brushed your thumb against the corner of his eye, staring down at him.

He was so handsome. So handsome. That's all you could think of as his fingers continued their much welcomed exploration of the folds of your labia. Joel relished in the slick coat of your glistening arousal on his fingers, and he felt his jaw tighten with a mouth watering craving for the sweet taste of your cum in his mouth.

He couldn't hold back anymore.

He leaned forward, wrapping his lips around your throbbing clit. It elicited a long moan from your lips as you tried your hardest to remain quiet, your stupid family’s Christmas party still playing its scenes just outside your door. Joel swirled the tip of his tongue against your button, his big hands holding your thighs in place.

"Oh, Joel." You mewled quietly, fingers knotting themselves in his hair. "Right there baby, right there."

He hummed against the folds of your pussy, tracing shapes with his tongue, altering between slow and quick, soft and hard. He knew just what you liked, just what you wanted from him, and he had no problem entertaining your wishes.

Joel pulled away, pushing his middle and ring finger inside your entrance, its tightness engulfing him right up to the knuckle. He groaned, knowing how good you felt stretched out on his cock like the good girl you always were, always had been, for him.

"Jus' like this, darlin'?" He muttered, already knowing the answer. Your eyes met his, as he slowly pressed up against the spot he knew made you go crazy.

"Mmhm." You whimpered, holding his curls even tighter. "Need to cum, Joel."

"Ask nicely, baby. Where are your manners?"

"Please. Please. I want you to cum for you, daddy."

"That's better." Joel growled a primal growl deep in the confines of his throat, leaning back down and sucking your clit into his mouth.

If there was one thing Joel loved without a doubt in this life, it was eating your pussy. He loved pushing his nose into your clit while he fucked your folds with his tongue, he loved overstimulating it after a particularly violent and shattering orgasm, he loved teasing it with feather light touches. He loved feeling you squirm, hearing you whimper, listening to his name like a prayer on your lips. You chanted his name like he was your God, your savior, your protector. You chanted his name like it was the only name you had ever learned. And by God did it get him riled up.

Joel shoved his tongue further inside of you, tasting your sweetness, lapping it up like a dog who had just found water after days of searching.

"Damn honey, gonna give me a fuckin' toothache with the way you taste. So fuckin’ sweet. So good.” His voice was raspy with desire, fingers fucking you deep and hard, your clit trembling between his lips.

"Oh, God.... oh, daddy."

"Tha's it, babydoll. You gonna cum for me?"

"Oh!" You cried out softly as his fingers pressed against your g-spot, his tongue swirling across your clit steadily and firmly. You were on the brink now, right at your breaking point. He kept up the sameness of his movements, repeating each step as perfectly as the last. It only took a few blinks, and waves of pleasure came rushing across your body, flooding all your senses as your ears rang with your first proper orgasm in God only knows how long.

"Daddy, daddy, Joel, oh-fuck me-Jesus, oh, God." You had no wits about you, blabbering and muttering like a fool, clawing at his scalp and pulling his hair until his eyes burnt.

Joel pulled away from your clit and placed the flat of his tongue against your folds, slowly licking you from bottom to top, before his mouth rested on your sensitive button once more. He planted a deep kiss against it, making sure he didn't miss an ounce of your dribbling cum.

"Was that nice?" He asked smugly, his facial hair coated and shimmering with your juices. He already knew the answer his question would elicit, he just liked being a bastard sometimes.

"Mhmm." Was all you could manage.

Your eyes wandered down to his remarkably tight boxers, his bulge tenting up against the fabric. "Fuck me." You whispered. "Please."

"So polite." His voice was like a purr, and he shot a cocky smile your way. "Yeah, I'll fuck you alright. Daddy's gonna make that pussy feel real nice." His deep Southern drawl sent shivers down your spine, his voice so deep and raspy. All man, Joel Miller.

He climbed on top of you, his arms on each side of your head, cradling your face as he looked down at you. Your gazes met, and a lovesick smile broke across your face. "God, I missed you."

Joel had to strain his ears to hear you properly. "I missed you." He admitted in turn.

He grinded against you, his boxers coated in your arousal. You felt the thickness of his cock pressing deeper into you, and your moans of want, no- of need- were all that filled his ears. "Want me to fuck that lil' pussy?"

"Please. Please, daddy."

"Don't think I'm gonna go easy on ya' just because it's been a while." He chuckled into the crook of your neck as he pulled his boxers down, his dick springing out with a gentle slap against your thigh.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"That's my girl." The head of his dick was pressed against your entrance, and he met your forehead with his own. Your noses melded together, lips brushing against the other, and Joel pushed in with one swift motion.

You couldn't help but gasp. "Jesus Christ. Feels so good, Joel."

"You're so fuckin' tight."

Your nails gently dug into his shoulders at the sound of his voice. Deep, guttural, primal. His eyes were blinded with archaic desire, lip caught between his teeth as he watched your face with every thrust, every twitch. Joel thought you looked perfect beneath him. A portrait of angelic beauty, for his eyes only. Smooth skin, a dazzling smile, eyes full of emotion reserved just for him- he felt like the luckiest man in the world, getting to take you just like this. His thumb swiped a strand of hair that had strayed away from your scalp, and he nuzzled his prickly cheek against yours, causing a faint burning sensation that felt too good to pull away from.

“Joel?” You muttered quietly into his shoulder, your fingers cascading down the center of his broad shoulders.

“Y’okay babydoll?”

“Joel, I-” Your forthcoming soliloquy was cut off by a moan from the back of your throat, and your fingers grasped ahold of his curls even tighter, his face scrunching up with a pained wince. “Sorry. I-”

Joel’s thrusts were deep, hard, slow, he hit every spot he knew made you shiver, every spot he knew made you drool and gasp for him. He loved watching your face contort with pleasure, the way your eyes would go wide and nostrils flare with every deep breath, the way your tits looked as your chest inflated with gasps of air.

“What was that?” His words were laced with smugness. He was making you feel this good. He was. Joel Miller was the luckiest man in the world, getting to fuck your pretty pussy.

“I just wanted to say- I- Oh!” His cock twitched inside of you, and you could feel his own orgasm soon approaching. “I just wanted to say thank you.” Followed by a whimper that made Joel’s stomach twist with some fancy feeling he hadn’t felt for quite some time.

“For?” He muttered between each thrust, eyebrows knitted tightly together as he focused on his movements, one of his hands holding himself up, the other buried against your head, warm beneath the comfort of your hair.

“Everything. What you did for me earlier, oh-oh! Mmm. Yeah, right there. And-and how you take care of me. How you make me feel.”

Joel nuzzled his forehead closer to your own, eyes dead set on the other, lips brushing together. You felt his fingers gripping tighter, teeth clenched, eyebrows tightly together. For a moment you wondered if you shouldn’t have said what you said, or perhaps waited until a better time, but Joel quickly relieved you of the negative thoughts creeping in, and kissed you with a fervent passion he didn’t know was inside of him.

You moaned against his mouth, tugging at his curls, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he kept his pace.

“Makin’ me blush.” Joel groaned out once he pulled away, nodding a bit as if he were giving himself an internal pep talk before continuing his speech. “Thank you for lettin’ this old fool take care of you.” You giggled softly, shaking your head in disapproval.

“You’re not an old fool.” Peppering his face in soft, gentle kisses of affection, you laid your head back down and stared up at him. “You’re just old.”

Joel rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t matter how old I am, darlin’. Still gonna make you cum for me.”

You let out a soft moan at his promise, feeling his hand snake down to your pussy once again. His middle finger began tracing circles in your sensitive clit, wet and welcoming as he filled you up to the hilt with his thick cock. He had never felt something so good, so sweet. He figured he must have been the luckiest man in the world, and he knew he was an idiot to have willingly let you go so many moons ago. Joel figured he could have saved you from a lot of heartbreak and restless nights.

Your walls clenched tightly around him, and you felt that familiar sensation of an oncoming high brewing within your stomach. “Gonna cum, daddy. Gonna cum for you.”

“Yeah? You gonna cum all over this dick? Like the good girl you are?”

That did your head in. That was the final nail in the coffin. You had to bite down on his shoulder, hard, to muffle the sounds of your orgasm, your pussy contracting against his dick as he rode you through your orgasm, making sure to hit that spot as he did so.

It wasn’t long until you felt his own orgasm coming in the form of sloppy pushes and muffled grunts. Sweat had started beading up at his forehead, stray curls sticking down in every which way, and you held his face in your hands as you watched the emotion enter and leave his masculine, solemn features. There was nothing quite like watching him finish inside you. His jaw would clench, his forehead would wrinkle, and his eyes would always meet yours as he pushed his nose into your cheek, whispering your name like it was a promise. And this time was no different.

Joel held you tight, stuck to you like glue as his orgasm washed through him, and when it faded away he was still holding you against his hot, sweaty chest, hands in your hair and mouth on your neck.

“Oh, Joel.” You murmured, brushing his hair back.

There was a long moment of silence as he caught his breath. Finally, he spoke:

“Let me take you away from here.”

Swallowing a thick lump that had been forming in the back of your throat, you propped yourself up on your elbows and looked at him curiously. “Right…. right now?”

“I should’ve done it two years ago. I should’ve…. should’ve known what was goin’ on. If I knew he hit you like that-”

“It isn’t your fault, Joel. I shouldn’t have….” Taking in a shaky breath, you scooped his hand into your own. “Take me anywhere you want. Anywhere in the world, and I’ll be by your side through it all.”

Joel looked at you with a glimmer in the darkness of his eyes, and in that moment he knew just what he had to do. He would move mountains for you if it meant keeping you safe, he’d climb Mount fucking Everest if he had to, and in that second your eyes met, he promised himself harm would never, ever come to you again.

In the silver light of the moon that came swirling in through the transparent curtains of your room, he had never seen you look so beautiful. He knew he was in love, as your big eyes stared up at him, full of hope and adoration. He knew he would do anything it took to take you away from this God forsaken place that had caused you so much harm.

He would be your protector, until the day he died, and no harm would come to you under his watch. As he took your face in his hands and professed his love through deep kisses, that was all he knew. You, and the deep, lovely feeling that you would always be for him and his eyes only.

Oh, if only Joel knew the world would be ending soon.

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crazychaoticizzy · 10 months

Text

Slutty Red Dress

The very second Eren saw that purity ring on your finger, he knew he needed to have you for himself. Lucky for him, you're trying to figure out the perfect way to piss off your parents.

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI, all characters are of age, modern au, college au, fuckboy!Eren, Catholic!Reader, drinking, Fem!Reader, brief mentions of homophobia, smut, oral (f receiving), public fingering, exhibition, virginity loss, dirty talk?, unprotected sex, creampie, light choking, degradation (kind of?), praise, mating press, probably unrealistic but that's fine, definitely not beta read, proof read or even reread by me, let me know if I missed anything

Word Count: 4.6k

Masterlist

AOT Masterlist

The moment Eren Yeager saw that purity ring sparkling on your finger was the moment he knew he was the one that needed to take your virginity.

He didn't even know you all that well—you were just an awkward acquaintance that sat beside his best friend all four years of high school. He only ever saw you in passing, be it walking past you in the hallways or across the cafeteria laughing with your friends.

He never paid you any mind until one day, the day you turned sixteen, you walked into school with a ring on your finger.

You wore it everyday, and Eren eventually asked around and found out it was a purity ring your parents had given you.

Since then he'd been doting on you, finding reasons to sit near you or talk to you. He'd started greeting you in the hallways and waving to you in the lunchroom.

He practically stalked your Instagram page to see if you had a boyfriend and learn any other information about you. That was how he found out you were a devoted Christian waiting to give yourself away until marriage. To his knowledge you remained single throughout all of high school, hardly showing an interest in anyone.

That same routine had gone on for years, but the effort proved to be fruitless because you always either sneaked away before he had a chance at a proper conversation or were surrounded by your friend group.

When the first year of college came around he prayed to God that you hadn't moved out of the city to attend some fancy ivy league school. You had always been a million times smarter than everyone in your graduating class and he knew the list of extracurriculars you'd participated in over the years went on for miles. Any college would be lucky to have you.

But when the first semester came around, you were there, coming out of the campus Starbucks holding a mystery drink.

With that fucking purity ring on your finger.

He was almost surprised—he remembered you saying towards the end of your senior year that you had planned to go to Stanford, he'd even heard later in the summer that you had been accepted. What baffled him was why you would choose Paradis University over the dozens of much better schools you applied to and (most likely) got accepted into.

After he digging around he found out that your parents had hidden all your acceptance letters and forged rejection letters instead. Apparently they didn't want you going where they couldn't keep a close eye on you.

It piqued Eren's interest, especially because from what he had seen you'd never shown interest in a romantic relationship.

The first couple weeks you had seemed pretty down, but soon enough you were back to the smiling, innocent girl Eren was used to.

—

He often saw you at parties, standing in the corner drinking from a plastic water bottle while you either scrolled on your phone or observed from the side. You never wore anything too out there or revealing, normally going for a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He knew you were the designated driver for your friend group, and had tried multiple times to approach you only to be dragged back into the crowd by the girl he'd been talking to before you arrived.

He remembered the first time he saw you at a party, actively rejecting a guy hitting on you while you scrolled on your phone. It had been the first college party Eren had attended, and he remembered leaning over to whisper, "I'm gonna fuck her," in Armin's ear.

His gaze never left you, and when Armin turned his head to see who Eren was talking about he laughed.

Eren had raised his eyebrows at Armin as if to ask what was so funny.

Armin slowly nodded, softly chuckling. "Good luck with that. Have you met her?"

"Of course I have. She seems easy enough."

Arming laughed again, taking a sip of the off-brand beer in his hands. "Seems. She definitely isn't. Y'know how many guys have hit on her in the past? Plenty during the classes we've had together alone. She always rejected them, but not just that. She would destroy their egos, dude. Not to mention her parents are fucking psychos."

"Right, they forged rejection letters from ivy league schools just so she would have no choice but to stay where they could watch her," Eren said absentmindedly. Truth be told, he wasn't listening to a word Armin said, instead watching as you continued to give curt responses to whoever hit on you.

"They don't let her out of their sight. Ever. See her over there?" Armin vaguely motioned to the couch across the room, where a redhead wearing a tight green dress sat. "She's someone her parent's hired to follow her around and keep an eye on her."

Eren glanced over at the girl before his gaze returned to Armin. "And how do you know all this?"

Armin shrugged. "I'm the only person she talks to that isn't a church friend or was introduced by her parents. She tells me stuff she wouldn't dare tell them."

"So she knows she's being watched?"

"Of course she does. She doesn't know about the letters, though." Armin took another sip of his beer as Eren hummed, glancing back at you. He gently slapped Eren's arm when he was drifting from reality again. "Don't try anything. She's a sweet girl and doesn't need shit like you getting her in trouble with her parents."

Eren held his hands up in mock defense. "I wasn't even doing anything!"

Armin glared at him, the same scolding face he'd been giving Eren for years when he did something wrong. Eren rolled his eyes, dragging Armin to go play beer pong.

Three years later Eren was surprised your parents hadn't married you off already, purity ring still sparkling on your finger.

This was the year. He was determined to sleep with you at some point. Whether it be during the fall or spring semester, it would happen.

And it finally did one night when you were wearing a lovely red dress.

—

Imagine the look of surprise on Eren Yeager's face when he saw you—the sweet, innocent, Catholic girl that never wore or did anything to purposely arouse men—wearing the sluttiest red dress he'd ever seen, drink in hand and grinding your ass against some random guy.

He was so taken aback he froze, standing in the doorway as he watched the way your hips smoothly moved. He wondered where you learned to move like that for a moment before being pushed out of the doorway.

He tore his gaze off you, turning his head to give a half-assed apology to whoever had pushed him. When he turned back to look at you, your arms were wrapped around a woman, feeling her up before kissing her.

Eren's eyes widened. Oh, dear, what were you up to? Showing up to a frat party dressed in what you wore was one thing, he could assume you simply wanted to try it out for once, but kissing a girl? Especially when your parents were very publicly homophobic.

He's not exactly sure what, but something inside him knows tonight is the night.

And, dear God, with the way you're grinding against everyone but him makes him feel so hot and heavy.

You're still wearing your purity ring, but Eren takes note of how you so obviously make sure its seen. You're practically waving it in front of everyone's faces with the way you flip your hair behind your shoulder and exaggeratedly put your hand to your chest.

And Eren definitely doesn't miss the hungry look in his classmates' eyes as you do so. He had pushed the jealousy down, instead asking around to see if anyone knew what you were up to. No one knew, but he knew that he was going to be the one you did something with.

He sees the woman Armin pointed out to him years ago, the redhead hired to watch you, holding a red solo cup to her lips as she watched you. You definitely knew she was watching you, but that didn't stop you from feeling up and kissing more people.

Once, the only time he had taken his eyes off you that night, Eren turned back to find you pressed against a wall, legs wrapped around his friend Jean as he sucked on your neck. Eren couldn't hear you, but he saw your lips open to moan in Jean's ear.

You were making direct eye contact with Eren, and you smirked when he turned back to you. His cock had already been semi-hard, but dear god that look you gave him just made his ache for you stronger.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

You'd found out earlier that week what your parents had done to your acceptance letters before you even started college. You had been looking for something in their closet, and found a long forgotten box that held the letters inside.

You grew even more pissed as you read each one. This is what you could have had instead of attending some general college that accepts anyone that applies. You could've been at the ivy league school of your dreams instead of cooped up inside your parents' house all day.

Reading the letter from Stanford is what blew your fuse. You knew your parents were protective, but this was a lot more than necessary. This was the kind of bullshit psycho helicopter parents who set up hidden cameras in their children’s room pulled.

You decided that you needed to get them back some way.

You figured being an active participant in a college party would be enough to make them blow up, but while you were staring at Eren from across the room, pressed against the wall by one of his closest friends, you knew you wanted to do more.

You'd known Eren had the hots for you since your mother gave you the purity ring that sat on your finger. You knew that the reason he started talking to you so randomly was because he wanted to get into your pants.

You had hoped to get away from it when you were across the country, attending the school of your dreams.

And when your dad handed you the forged rejection letter, you hoped Eren's little obsession with taking your virginity would fizzle out once the first semester started.

You were very wrong about that. But you suppose that's a good thing, now. Especially since recently he seemed to have a different air about him, and suddenly your intention to make your parents as pissed off at you as you were at them seemed like a piece of cake. Losing your virginity—to a non-Christian at that—would definitely do that.

It's not like you genuinely wanted to wait until marriage, or even a committed relationship, anyway. You always figured that if the opportunity arose you'd take it, and it never did. Not with anyone you kind of liked, at least.

You gently pushed Jean away, making up some excuse about needing to go check on a friend. He nodded, kissing you once more before letting you go.

Jean was nice, but definitely not who you wanted your first to be.

You approached Eren with swaying hips, leaning on the kitchen counter beside him and innocently smiling up at him. You propped yourself on your arms, making sure to make your boobs look bigger by pushing them together.

"What are you doing, Miss Catholic?" he asked before you even got a chance to say anything. He offered you a drink from his cup, to which you politely declined.

"I don't think I know what you're talking about," you replied. You slowly licked your lips, watching as his eyes followed your tongue.

"Well the first thing I see walking in is yourself in this lovely little number." He gently grabbed your hand, making you straighten yourself out before making you spin for him. "And then I see you kissing a woman."

"Is there something wrong with that? I'm a supporter of the LGBT community, you know." He stopped spinning you, which gave you an opportunity to stand closer to him.

"I knew that you were, you're just not one publicly. Your parents hate that community and you would never do something that goes against their morals."

You softly hum. "What else am I doing?"

Eren's hand travels, finding itself resting on the small of your back. He pulls you against him, smiling down at you. "Well you're grinding and switching guys to make out with like a fucking whore. Trying to get attention, sweetheart?"

He leaned down, your noses nudging each other. "Jealous I've done that with everyone but you?"

"And what if I am?" Eren's voice is low and sultry, almost like he's trying to seduce you. Which he really doesn't have to do since you're already soaking your panties.

You let out a breath of amusement, smiling up at him as you bring a hand up to trail down his chest. “Listen, Eren, I know what you’re after.”

“What am I after?”

You meet his gaze. The emerald green of them reminds you of sin and evil, especially with the way Eren looks at you like you’re a piece of meat meant to be devoured.

Your hand tightens in his shirt, pulling him so close your lips nearly lock together. “You want to corrupt me,” you whisper. “You want to be the one that takes my virginity, don’t you?”

The way he grins and hums tells you everything you need to know. He’s still obsessed with that. Before, back in high school, you never would’ve dreamed you’d be in this position, but here you are, standing in a borrowed dress desperate to lose your virginity.

“I’m willing to give it to you,” you say in his ear. “If and only if we make a big deal of it first.”

Eren raises an eyebrow. “Oh? What do you mean by that?”

You softly hum. “I need to piss my parents off, and nothing will get them going more than knowing their little girl allowed herself to sin so willingly and have sexual intercourse before marriage. I need them to know that I did it. If we just go up to a room they can assume I didn’t give myself away like that. Their little assistant they hired to spy on me wouldn’t follow us to confirm whether or not I did it, so we need to do something she can report in her line of sight.”

Eren nodded, his fingers spreading across your back. “I can work something out for that.”

He smiles, a beautifully devious smile, and looks down at you. You return the smile, finally pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

—

Your soft intake of breath doesn’t go unnoticed. The redhead in green sits across the sitting area from where you and Eren are sat. You notice her eyes dart away from her phone towards you, her hands still pretending to scroll through social media.

You exaggerate another moan as he kisses your neck, spreading your legs even more to allow his fingers to slip inside of you instead of grazing over the insides of your thighs.

“You’re making it sound fake, sweetheart,” Eren whispers in your ear. He eyes the woman in green, watching as she crosses her legs and leans back on the couch. “Don’t force it.”

“Well sorry.” You roll your eyes. “I’ve never done this before.”

Your breath hitches when you feel the tips of his fingers softly graze your clothed pussy. God, you just know he can feel how wet you are. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so embarrassed about anything.

“God, you’re fucking wet. All this for me?”

Not exactly, you think. You had unintentionally turned yourself on while grinding against multiple people, allowing yourself to imagine for just a moment what it would be like to fuck them.

“Of course it isn’t. Because you’re nothing but a whore desperate to displease her parents.”

His words alone were enough to make you softly whine, but mixed with the way he delicately moved your panties to the side and ran his middle finger up to your clit had you moaning his name.

It wasn’t a secret what you two were doing, but no one cared. They were either too shit-faced to remember or were too focused on other things. The two of you were almost free as birds where you sat.

You sharply inhale, hand gripping the navy chair’s arm as he slowly slipped a finger inside your folds.

You softly gasp, letting your head drop back onto his shoulder as you close your eyes. You’re on display for anyone to see, but that thought gets put on the back burner once you feel the cold metal of Eren’s rings press against you.

He starts leaving kisses along the side of your neck, his free hand slowly traveling up and down your torso.

“You like this, huh?” Another moan slips from your lips as he adds his ring finger. “Never would’ve taken the pretty Catholic girl to be so into something like this.”

“Eren, please.” It’s pathetic, really, the way he easily managed to turn you to putty in his lap. The way you quietly beg for him to move his fingers faster was humiliating, but you couldn’t help the way it made you feel.

“Please what?” You couldn’t see it, but you could feel Eren's condescending gaze burning through you. “You need to speak up.”

You softly grunt as his other hand moves down, gliding across your clit. You press your lips together to suppress a moan. "You know what, asshole."

He laughs in your ear, thrusting his fingers into you just a bit faster. His other hand moves up to softly squeeze one on your breasts, moving your dress down.

He stops just as your tits are about to spill out, moving his hand to place a firm hold on the base of your neck.

"We move at my pace, sweetheart. Got that?"

You sigh in frustration, your grip on the chair tightening as you roll your hips against his hand.

His hold on your neck tightens and he removes his fingers from inside you, making you whine out at the loss.

"My pace."

He's gone back to teasingly rubbing your entrance, always just barely missing the spot you need his most. When you let out a sigh of defeat and relax in his hold, he slips his fingers back inside.

You moan at the sudden intrusion, your legs involuntarily moving to close.

Eren moves his free hand to your thigh, forcing your legs to stay apart. "Don't fucking run. You asked for this, remember?"

His words go in one ear and out the other, but you nod anyway. You don't think you'd be able to find it in yourself to disagree with anything he says—not with the way his fingers slowly drag across your walls, making you desperate for more.

This time when you start rolling your hips he doesn't stop you. He lets you slowly rub yourself on his hand because he's too distracted by the way your ass grinds against his cock.

God, this needs to hurry up so he can fuck you already.

The way his fingers suddenly speed up has you keening his name, pressing yourself further into him. You weren't sure if the redhead had been watching you before, but you're sure of it now because you see her stand up and leave.

You smile, turning your head to whisper, "Okay, she saw. We can-"

You moan, his long fingers grazing a spot you didn't even know was there as his thumb drew slow circles on your clit.

"We're finishing what we started. Now be a good girl and sit still."

His free hand splayed across your stomach, keeping you from squirming or moving away as his fingers increase their speed. You grip the arms of the chair, attempting to muffle a moan. It seemed to suddenly occur to you that there could be people watching. It didn't matter how high or wasted they were, they would still be drawn to the show.

Eren whispered something in your ear. You didn't understand what he'd said, but the tone of voice had the knot in your stomach pulling tighter and your pussy clenching around his fingers.

He condescendingly hummed in your ears as you came undone with a cry of his name. He let out an amused breath, slipping his fingers out of you and readjusting your panties. He gave your cunt a soft pat before gently pushing you off him.

Your legs slightly shook as you stood and fixed your dress, not used to the amount of pleasure you had just received. You fixed your hair, letting out a heavy breath before turning back to Eren.

You almost told him goodbye, your original plan completely slipping your mind. Now that your parents' redheaded employee had seen you and walked away from the party, it completely slipped your mind that you'd promised Eren could be your first.

Even if you'd forgotten, you most certainly didn't mind when he grabbed you by the elbow and began dragging you upstairs.

—

The two of you were hardly dressed when Eren kicked the bedroom door behind him. You're not sure whose room you were in, but you guessed it was a guest room based on the monochromatic color scheme and lack of personality.

Whose room it was didn't matter, though. Not when you didn't even know whose house you were currently in, and especially not when Eren's hands were hot against your skin, desperately trying to remove that slutty red dress from your frame.

He tossed it to the ground once he'd gotten it off, taking only a couple seconds to admire your body before picking you up. Your lips connected in a heated kiss before he started trailing his lips along your jaw and neck.

"God, you have no idea how long I've wanted you," he moaned into your ear. He dropped you onto the bed, quickly removing his clothes. You didn't even get a chance to look at him before he was on top of you, body pressed to yours. "How long I've wanted you under me like this."

His breath was hot against the column of your throat, planting open mouthed kisses along your shoulders and chest. One of his hands held him up, the other leaving a burning trail behind as it drifted to the hem of your panties.

You lifted your hips slightly as he pulled them off, haphazardly tossing them somewhere in the room to be found later.

He continued trailing kisses across your body before you felt something poking at your hole.

You suppressed a soft gasp, immediately being shushed by Eren's soft lips on yours. It was the gentlest thing he'd done all evening, the kiss being chaste and sweet compared to everything else.

"This might hurt a bit, sweetheart. I'll be gentle."

You softly nodded, keeping your eyes closed as you braced yourself for what was to come.

He gently pushed into you, your sharp gasp of surprise enough to make him pause until you told him to continue.

He was so big, though it shouldn't be surprising considering the reputation he has. The rumors that he has the best dick on campus should've set different expectations for you, and though you have nothing to compare it to, you can't imagine ever getting fucked better than this.

Once he's bottomed out inside you he stops, waiting until you give him the green light to go.

He might have been hoping this would happen for years, but it was still your first time. He wanted to make it enjoyable.

"You can move now," you whispered. He gave a single nod, taking your hands in his and pinning them above your head before pulling back, slowly thrusting forward.

You gasp, breath hitching in your throat as your eyes shut in pleasure. Eren leaves kisses along your neck as he continues his slow, languid thrusts.

While you're enjoying what he's doing, it's not enough. You need more. You half expected him to fuck you like a crazed animal, thrusting into you with reckless abandon as you beg him to go slower. You never imagined you'd be begging him to be rougher.

Your request is met with a soft chuckle. "You sure, sweetheart?"

You nod. "Yes, I'm sure. I can handle it."

He tilts his head, slightly shrugging. "Alright then."

His hands release yours, moving down your body. He pushes your legs to your chest, making you hold them there.

The new angle makes his thrusts reach deeper inside you. Eren's thrust are long and hard, making you cry out with each one. When one of his hands traveling to where the two of you were connected and stimulating your clit.

All of that combined with the way a sudden, desperate moan slips from him has you seeing stars, clenching around his cock.

His breaths are heavy, soft grunts leaving his lips. "Jesus fucking Christ," he breathes. Your eyes are just barely open, enough to watch his head drop to your chest. You can tell he's fighting the urge to ram into you, which you greatly appreciate.

"M'gonna fill this pussy up, yeah?" You barely process his words but you're nodding anyway, too far gone to care about much else. The way you tighten around him at the words has his groaning as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your body. "You like that idea, huh? How d'you think your parents would react when they find out?"

He knows damn well you can’t answer with the way his cock hits all the right spots inside you. You give a cry of his name instead, orgasm racing to the finish line as his thrusts become sloppier.

“Fuck.” He bites his bottom lip, eyes screwing shut as he suppresses a moan. His orgasm reaches the edge first, his warm cum filling you to the brim. He’s determined to make you finish, too, though, so he fucks into you faster, pushing his cum deeper into your womb.

Your moans are music to his ears, hands still trying to hold your knees against your chest so desperately. The squelching of your mixed fluids is all that fills your ears before your breath hitches, pussy clamping down on his cock as you gush around him.

You release your legs as Eren falls on top of you, panting heavily as he laughs.

“What?” Your voice is hoarse, and you can feel your throat starting to get sore.

“That was the best pussy I’ve ever had,” he simply says.

You laugh as well, shaking your head. “You’re only saying that because I’m a virgin.”

He shakes his head into your chest. “You’re not the only virgin I’ve fucked. You have the best pussy ever.”

Eren lifts his head, flashing you his perfect teeth as he smiles. He leans back, pulling out of you and turning you onto your stomach.

“Now ass up, pretty. We’re no where near done.” He grabs you by the hips and lifts them, pushing your front down. “And while you’re at it, let’s take this off.”

He reached for your hand and removes your purity ring, setting it on the nightstand.

—

The following Monday when you’d see him on campus he’s talking to Jean, fidgeting with a silver chain he’s wearing.

When he meets your gaze you smile and wave, finding yourself walking closer to him.

His lips curl up into a devious grin, and as you get closer you can see the object on his necklace more clearly. You aren’t entirely sure what it is until he holds it up, almost showing it off to Jean.

It’s your purity ring, being paraded around on his neck.

honestly have no clue what this is but I’m not rereading sorry

also this was my first smut work to let me know what y’all think of it

as always i hope y’all enjoyed. likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated

-Izzy <3

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dataalfa109 · 7 months

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Okay, this post is the last political post I'll make today because I understand how terrifying project 2025 is to people.

It's important to spread the word about this plan because if they get their way, we're gonna see an American culture that...

Takes away children from single parents and non-cishet Christian parents.

Arrests educators for not teaching children in line with conservative Christian values.

Takes away discrimination protections for Trans people and people in the LGBTQ community in general.

Arrests people who AREN'T cishet white conservatives because they view anyone else as pornographic.

Removes the rights for blue states (or sanctuary states in general) to make laws that combat nationwide conservative legislature.

Censor any educational content that shows how economics and history don't fit with the watered-down information they feed you.

And the list goes on.

I'm gonna link the pdf here

Though I'm going to preface it with this: this is for informative purposes, not to shock people or scare people. I know this is a hard topic to talk about, especially nowadays, and i also know that you're probably tired of this stuff. I know, I sure am, too. I also know that if we know what they're doing, then we know how to stop it.

I was a child born to a single mom, and I have people I love who are LGBTQ+. I might not have a horse in this race, but it's clear people following this manifesto are going to actively hurt everybody who doesn't fit their definition of "normal." Ignoring plans like this is going to actively hurt people in the long run.

The manifesto is so stacked (like 900+ pages) that they're counting on people like you, and I, to not read it in order for their plan to remain secret until it's too late. However, it's important that I share this information and tell you to read and understand this information for yourself so those of us living in america can all fight it while we still can (or even run while we still can).

So don't be like me. Stay informed, stay ready, and stay fighting. Because if conservatives are cooking up plans like this, we must never let them take office ever again.

Thank you for reading, vote blue, and never stop fighting.

#us politics #politics #long post #important #lgbtq #blm #black lives matter #lgbtq community #vote blue #please vote #late stage capitalism #project 2025

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skunkox · 6 days

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Country Lovin Darlin and Rambles.

Is this gonna be self indulging? Very much so. I'm starting to realize no one can stop me, but hear me out real quick. Forgive me if you do decide to read all the way through. It's a lot. 🥲

Before moving to Dahlia, Darlin' used to spend half their summers with their grandparents in Texas. Sorta old money/ retired folk. Big land, but not too much on it. Plenty of room for the shiftsr grandchildgren to play. Passively still making money via whool sales. Yeah, there's other animals, but it's not a giant operation. They do have other empowereds working as ranch hands for them, though.

Anyways, a good moth or so out of each summer as a child, Darlin would help around the ranch, learn to cook and bake, and even participate in town events. (I'm telling you the fucker can cook. Just not for one person.)

Lazy Sunday mornings were spent in front of the TV with their grandfather watching old westerns or things like "The Andy Grifith Show," "Little House on the Prarie," and "Tales of Wells Fargo".

Not even halfway into they stay, they'll have developed a country accent. They still struggled to get be friends with most of the kids their age. Was it because they picked up a garden snake like it was just a piece of rope? Was it because they alegedly chased a kid girl with it that had been giving them hell? Who knows.

I wholeheartedly believe that Darlin was a pageant kid at some point in their life. Regardless of how ruff and tough they are, they were a cute kid. Don't pay the bandaid brand character bandaid any mind.

This is where I say this is really just my version of Darlin and a little bit of Sweetheart. It's Redunk Time.

Specifically for my version of Darlin (fem), "Southern Bell" like fair competitions are what her grandmother would enter the kids in. The one day out of the year she's happy to put on a frilly dress and bows. Not a whole lot of confidence for themselves on stage for the most part, though.

Diving more into the idea that Darlin and Sweetheart used to be friends before the move idea. Sweetheart has gone with them once or twice. Especially when the older cousins were visiting for less time, if at all. The old wolves like a full house, so they had no problem hosting another empowered child.

Sweetheart loved taking pictures and video of their adventures. Still currently holding footage to a misshap of sorts that they swore to never tell anyone about. They also have footage of competitions from the fairs. Including the pageants. Do they plan on telling the pack? Yes. (That's a post for another day)

The duo thought it was weird that the they would be leaving at separate times. They noticed the soured moods of the grandparents but the older wolves couldn't bring themselves to say anything on it in the days leading to their departures. Sweetheart took the flight home alone. Darlin was under the impression that the family was taking a short trip to California before summer ended.

Much to their distraught, their parents had either been moved and or found new jobs in Dahlia. The move was in the works for nearly half a year and they had no idea. Their older siblings knew, but they did everything their parents told them. They got no warning that they wouldn't see their friends anymore. That they wouldn't be attending school that fall with the same kids. That they wouldn't even get to say goodbye to their old house. No proper goodbye to Sweetheart.

Summer visits to Texas were just about haulted. Their parents wanted Darlin to better acquaint themselves with the other pack children. This was a struggle for years.

Sweetheart moving to work for the department and finding themselves with Milo was one thing. But the first time they happened to see each other in a pack meeting was rough. They knew almost instantly who each other were.

Sweetheart had seen a photo in Milo's living room. It was framed next to a lamp. The picture was of Christian and Amanda who awkwardly sat side by side. Hands just nearly touching. On one end of a log. David sat facing forward while Asher sat crooked with an arm thrown over David's shoulder. Both had been laughing. Milo and Darlin had been on the ground and back to back. Darlin had thrown up a rock sign with a small smile, attempting to no ruin the picture with their resting pitch face. Milo sat leaning on one knee, trying his best to look cool and composed.

To make a long story short. Both played dumb as to knowing each other for one reason or another. It wasn't till the Quinn situation, and Darlin coming back to the pack did the two start to speak. It took it all being over for them to finally become close again.

Back to the country thing

Hearing Sam speak for the first time really took them back especially at the end of their conversation with "Didn't your mama teach you not to talk to strange men in the dark, all alone?"

It felt familiar. It disarmed them and put then at ease. Sam's voice is something Darlin couldn't and still can't get enough of. They slip into an accent every once in a while. To them it feels right. Some slips happen in front of the pack and they've been teased for it. Sweetheart knows thr truth and is waiting eagerly to spill the beans on their country loving friend.

So... didn't mean for this to be as long as it is. Really putting a lot into Darlin's character cause it feels right. I like old TV. I mean sorta staticky box tv vibes. My grandfather was into a lot of it. My mom started me on LHOTP and I recently discovered a live channel for it and only it.

I really do apologize for how messy this all looks. It was an accident. Anyways, some bits and pieces of this will eventually be drawn out. Got weeks worth of stuff to do for this Fandom alone 😭

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted headcanons #redacted darlin #redacted tank #redacted sam #sam collins #redacted sweetheart #redacted milo #redunk universe

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vaspider · 1 year

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Just throwing it out there, but I'm a Quaker (aka Society of Friends) (a lot of people consider us to be Christian but I don't - we're not expected to believe in Jesus or even a god, nor read the Bible, go to church, celebrate Christian holidays, any of that, though we're allowed to if we want to. Quakers are actually allowed to belong to any other religion, or lack thereof, which is rather un-christian. Like, you could be a Muslim Quaker or a Hindu Quaker or whatever, it's all good (I'm an atheist Quaker). We did start off as an offshoot of Christianity but there's plenty of offshoot religions that become their own thing, like Christianity itself). Context aside, it's literally, explicitly against my religion to try to convert people. We're not even allowed to suggest it to people, although it's not a closed religion. Like, if you ask me about becoming a Quaker, I'm welcome to talk about it, but I can't just tell people that they should do it.

So yeah, just adding to the anti "proselytizing is just a required part of religion" pile.

On a side note, the main tenets of Quakerism are Simplicity, Peace, Integrity, Community, Equality, and Stewardship, and in my experience, a frightening number of Christians (my parents included) balk at the "equality" bit. Like, people have legit gotten angry with me about it. Despite the "we're all God's children"/"all sins are equal in the eyes of God" thing that a lot of them talk about, because when *we* say equality, we actually do mean equal.

Also, fun fact since it's Coronation Day or whatever, Quakerism is inherently anti-monarchy as part of the "equality" tenet 😉

I attended multiple Quaker meetings (Lehigh Valley Friends Meeting, Lancaster Friends Monthly Meeting, Gwynedd Friends Meeting) for like... a total of about eight years of my life, and I was planning to marry a Quaker. My HS boyfriend was super active in Young Friends; we used to do a lot of the setup and teardown for the Peace Walk in December and before First Day Meeting. Emet and I used a self-attesting/Friends wedding license. I spent most of my life before 2019 living in the eastern half of Pennsylvania or in Maryland. I know what Quakers are, but I appreciate your thorough explanation for folx who might not know.

I ... have a lot of respect for the Society of Friends, and I applaud the Society's attempts to keep everyone under the same big tent, but to say that the Friends are not Christian is quite a stretch. 89% of Friends worldwide belong to Evangelical or Programmed Meetings, with a pastor and Bible readings.

It's probably more true to say that American Quakers of Friends General Conference do not have a Creed, that some Quakers are not Christian and that many Meetings, especially Unprogrammed Meetings in Friends General Conference in the United States, welcome diverse faiths as well as non-theist members.

I think it's important, however, not to look away from how deeply-rooted many Xian ideals and concepts are in Friends philosophy. Saying "Friends aren't Xian" kind of allows for a sort of magical thinking that all of those ideas - some of which are harmful or have been used for great harm - are just gone. That's not the case.

There's a lot of classism issues in many Friends Meetings, too, especially some of the older ones, because many of those Meetings are populated by people who have an awful lot of old money, and that can give people outsized voices when it comes to seeking consensus.

At least, that's what caused me to come away from the Friends, though I went through multiple times of returning to Meeting because I was deeply Convinced at multiple points. I was drawn to Meeting very strongly by the ideal, and the reality pushed me away.

None of this is to say that Friends don't do wonderful things or that FGC's work isn't often lovely and commendable. I just ... object to the idea that Quakers aren't Christian. Well, no, many are, and the deeply Xian roots of the Society are still very visible to me. I love the Friends deeply (the design for a Publick Universal Friend pin is waiting for me to set up our next Kickstarter), and I'm very glad you find such joy and fulfillment there. I have confidence that if anyone can continue working on the issues within the conference itself and on the greater issues of the world with patience, consideration, and genuine consensus-seeking, it's FGC.

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punkeropercyjackson · 3 months

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Here's the downlow on the 'You can't be punk if you have [interest here]!!!' and 'You're gatekeeping punk by saying i can't like [same thing] and be a part of it!!!' discourse:There are many ways to be punk.There are many things that can make you inherently NOT punk unless you change them about yourself.I'm gonna use myself as an example so you can understand what i mean with specifics:

I'm afrolatina.I'm extremely feminine,pastel,super goofy and i wear skirts and stockings and sweaters and do my makeup in 2000s styles.I'm autistic and some of my special interests are kidcore and the indie genre,including listening to stereotypical transmasc/nonbinary bands like The Front Bottoms and being fandoms like Adventure Time and MLP.I haven't been able to go to protests or deface public property yet because my current living situation would put my life at risk if i did.None of this makes me punk nor disqualifies me from it

I've read a lot of punk history and will continue until i literally can't find stuff i haven't.I'm a socialist.I'm learning to diy.I listen to punk music.Because of all the restaurant chain boycotts that have been going on,i've stopped buying from the ones i used to go to and looked up recipes on how to make their foods so i can still eat them but not give them support and similarly,i've decided to buy all my merch from media i like either secondhand or much preferably fanmade so i can support small artists with a focus on ones of color and trans and disabled ones.I save up spare money and have lied to my relatives to get them to give me more so i can donate to causes.I spread awareness about people in need so others can help them too.I do my best to be as respectful as possible in a humanizing way to minorities i'm not a part of and have erased my conservative family's teachings

I plan to get piercings,a battle jacket from a thrift store and load it with patches i made and pins bought from punk bussinesses and my current style is inherently gnc by virtue of me being both a man and a woman and i'm gonna present pastel punk specifically and that'll make it even moreso.I'm a firm believer in rights for all minorities with children being one of the main one's because i'm an eldest sibling and that made it so i ended up befriending a lot younger people enough that we consider eachother siblings too and a few of them even call me their parent because their actual ones are abusive and that's what made me go so hard for children's rights to begin with,especially since in almost all their cases it was motivated by them queer or neurodivergent or so forth,and a few of them have gone punk too because i inspired them to.This makes me punk and the first part dosen't invalidate that in any way,it's just another part of who i am because i'm a human person and therefore multifaced

And that's just the thing-Hobbies and tastes and most styles aren't inherently punk.There's tons,TONS of punk subgenres for a reason.Yes,they're are ones that make it so you can't be punk and yes,there's also ones that would you make a dumbass if you said they're the same as that.Punk has rules.You can be punk and be edgy,femme,indie and everything inbetween.You CAN'T be punk if you don't actually have our ideologies and do our cultural requirements because punk is not a universal heritage.You're not unpunk for not living up to the most popular imagine of us even though you have the personality and fufill the actions.You're unpunk if you prioritize fitting in over being kind and don't help out minorities to prioritize oppressors even though they're the ones you're supposedly fighting for and cry 'cencorship and purity culture' when people think you're gross for having age/raceplay and incest and noncon kinks and sexualizing minors even if they're not 'real' or it's 'just pretend' when there's actual harmful cencorship and when purity culture is about christians historical abuse of young women using their sexualities against them to cater to men.Los Punkeros son asunto serio,no mamen

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evilwickedme · 1 year

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I would like to see the Jewish headcanons please

Hi yes thank you so much I wasn't fishing for this at all

We've already covered this in that post that gained me 150 followers in a week, but obviously Peter Parker is Jewish. My personal headcanon is that he's Ashkenazi and somewhere between Reform and Conservative. Like he flip flops on keeping Kosher and observes the high holidays as best as he can assuming there's no world saving he needs to get done, but overall being Jewish to him is about community and culture over the religious part of it

For Bucky Barnes, however, being observant was a way to reclaim his identity after... Well, you know. He's vaguely conservadox? He doesn't really define it beyond being Sephardic. He keeps Kosher (which was difficult during WWII unfortunately) and wears tzitzit and goes to shul whenever he can. He'd love to keep Shabbat but it's just not practical most of the time - essentially it's like being an on call doctor, where your job is essential to saving lives and therefore he can't keep Shabbat properly, but he likes to have Friday night dinners with his friends (and Natasha, whether they're together at the time or not) whenever he can. He doesn't know if God exists, but during the High Holidays is when he comes the closest to believing it

Bruce Wayne is canonically Jewish but like, by accident? I feel like he less defines himself as Jewish and more defines himself as Not-Christian™. His mother used to take him to Synagogue but the memories are vague now, but he always enjoyed lighting the candles on Hanukkah, especially with Jason. He stops celebrating the holiday after Jason dies, because he loved it so much. It's a shame because I KNOW Cass would love Hanukkah and Steph would be so into the Maccabees' story

Tim is also Jewish but he's entirely non practicing; his parents were never around to celebrate any holidays or impart any Jewish traditions on him and Bruce had stopped doing the one Jewish thing of lighting the hanukkiah/menorah (whichever you wanna call it) by the time he became Robin. The main Jewish thing in his life is antisemitic garbage being published about both Bruce and himself, especially once he becomes CEO of WE

Damian was raised Muslim and doesn't really know how to feel about being half Jewish. When he grows up he might try to find a way to reconcile those two parts of his identity, but the only Jewish person who actually practices that he sees even irregularly is Batwoman, who's his cousin once removed and he's not exactly close to, so he just doesn't feel the need to deal with it yet

The Thing and Batwoman are canonically Jewish this doesn't count as a hc I just love them

Same for moon knight minus loving him cause I have a bunch of his comics but just haven't gotten around to reading them

Actually can we talk about Mayday Parker? Because I feel like Peter would absolutely raise his daughter to be Jewish. He wants her to feel that connection to the Jewish people even though he's always been so wishy-washy about it and she grows up to be way more observant than him

I actually don't want canon!Clark to be Jewish, but I think exploring his Jewish subtext in fic can be so interesting? Cause, you know, he's Moses and shit. I feel like an Modern Orthodox Clark would have the exact same values as current Clark but also I'd love to hear his thoughts on certain Mishnahs, you know? Also having read the Death of Superman arc earlier this month I can confirm all Jesus metaphors in adaptations are such bullshit oh my God did you even read the comic

Anyway I think that's it for now? Unfortunately I have not read Every Comic Ever yet so there might end up being even more HCs later on (especially since I plan to read Greg Rucka's Lois Lane series soon and I'm hoping for some Jewish subtext in that)

Thank you so much for asking this was so much fun!!

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kamorth · 9 months

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Just as an intro, yes this post reads VERY white. Unfortunately a lot of recent history is only accessible through white lenses and as I myself am about as white as it is possible to be, I don't have another viewpoint that I can write from with any kind of authority. My lack of experience does not negate anyone else's experiences or views.

In the 80s, being punk was how you showed disdain for conformity. NO, I DON'T Want to be Like You THE WOLRD IS SHITTY AND I AM ANGRY. They were the trash that you warned your kids to stay away from because they were dangerous and violent.

Grunge quickly followed suit with Yeah the world is shitty why do what the boring conformist bougies tell you when you can just do your own thing over here instead. They were the trash you hoped your kids got sick of but the worst parents ever suspected of them was maybe a bit of weed and some clumsy make outs, not that big a deal.

In the late 90s (my teens) it was goths. We are so sick of you and your church and shoving it down my throat with pushing for prayer in schools and Christian Pop Rock all over the billboard top 40. That kid is a witch now and You JUST Don't Get It. Depression is my baseline and the idea of being like you is the cause. We were the trash that were just indulging in a phase and would grow out of it, so we could be humored but mostly ignored (unless your parents were hard core Bible bashers, in which case you would get sent to something akin to conversion therapy - since you were also probably Queer it often was just outright conversion therapy).

Then the emos showed up and people started getting annoyed, partly because suddenly there were goths that you COULDN'T ignore for two reasons, they were LOUD about being sad and THERE WERE SO MANY OF THEM. Since they couldn't be ignored out of existence, the Western world decided to collectively bully them instead. They were the trash that was Just So Damn Cringe!

And now poverty is skyrocketing. Homelessness is a plague that has struck so many people who have committed no crime outside of bad luck. Actual fascists are in positions of power. Planned obsolescence and decades of lobbying by the oil industry in favour of petrol and plastics is destroying everything beautiful about this planet.

And Punk is back. Be ANGRY at your politicians who don't listen. Let your anger be heard so that they know you will not accept these ideas. Grunge is back. It doesn't have to be new, it just has to be functional. Work together to make a community you WANT to live in. Goth is back. Mourn for the world we were promised but never saw. Learn about belief systems that are different to the one you were raised in, ESPECIALLY if doing so pisses off your parents. Emo is back. Fuck haters. Cringe is dead. Being comfortable in your own skin means being allowed to do what YOU want, not having to exist for the benefit of someone else.

Before us it was hippies and beatniks and flappers and dadaists and before them there were the coffee shop philosophers and the point is there have ALWAYS been people who want the world to see its own flaws and fix them. I know other cultures had the same sorts of groups, like the Japanese Subekan gangs (who created the original lolita fashion trend as a way to take femininity back from being sexualized) and Islamic Sufism (an Islamic sect who practice things forbidden by stricter groups, such as singing and dancing) but I'm an armchair scholar, not an expert.

When society is broken, our numbers surge.

We are surging.

Society needs us.

#do good recklessly #Because society fucking HATES it #It's all good talking about how the world needs to be fixed #But to change things #You need to do things differently #And people despise change #And counterculture shows them a mirror that tells them they need to change anyway #When you dye and style your hair ''unprofessionally''#When you mend torn clothes with safety pins and patches instead of buying new ones #When you don't wear the make up and clothes from this season's displays during the season they're being displayed #And that's enough to make some bigot scoff at you and treat you as less human than them #You are shoving that mirror in their face #You are asking them what the fuck they think freedom means Earl #And if you can do that safely you should #And if you are as white and straight passing and cis passing as I can be #You are probably WAY more likely to be able to do that safely #So you should #Because there are SO MANY people who can't #ESPECIALLY NOW #YOU ARE NOT CRINGE FOR NOT CONFORMING #Conformity is a tool of those in power #Fight the system by not following stupid rules #And most of them are stupid

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sznofthesticks · 1 month

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Hi Rachel! Favourite and holiday for you 🌸

hi dalawa! thank you for asking :)

Favorites - what’s your favorite show, movie, and book?

show: (besides both 911) probably criminal minds or shameless

movie: scream 1996, jennifer's body, or bottoms (im terrible at deciding one favorite, can you tell? lol)

book: okay this is another where im like, i have favorites for different genres.. for romance its d'vaughn and kris plan a wedding by chencia higgins. for fantasy it's crooked kingdom by leigh bardugo. for horror, i haven't read of ton but cirque berserk by jessica guess was such fun, campy horror.

Holiday - favorite springtime holiday?

i don't really celebrate any holidays much, but especially spring ones. i grew up with christian parents so we always did easter, but its meh to me 🤷‍♀️

spring asks

#ask game #bonheur-cafe

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doverstar · 2 years

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Some fun facts about my husband, who I've said looks/acts a lot like a Christian version of Eddie, since I've gotten light, mild, positive feedback on the subject (hopefully he won't mind; he thinks it's funny when I compare him to Eddie):

He once jumped on top of a picnic table and yelled aggressively at the top of his lungs down at me (before we were dating, in the friends-who-flirt stage) that regular Oreos are better than Double-Stuffed, and that the idea that we needed more than the original cookie was "mindless capitalist propaganda" somehow.

He has a white, old 90's T-shirt with Metallica's ...And Justice For All album cover on it. I wear it a lot.

When we weren't dating and were still feeling each other out romantically, I sat at a picnic table reading and he interrupted me. During the course of this conversation, he mimed being shot by an arrow and flung himself backward off of the picnic table bench. No, I'm not exaggerating or making that up. It's what made me like Eddie immediately as a character. When he, too, launched himself off a picnic table to make a girl laugh. Husband has also punched a tree before, and does things like absent-mindedly punching a tree often.

He wears red flannels (yes, like the picture of Eddie's possible costume changes) primarily, but does own a denim jacket and likes to wear it with the collar popped for some reason.

My family back home refers to Eddie Munson as 80's [Insert Husband's Name Here].

He's 6'3 and I am 5'2.

He is a self-proclaimed music snob, felt it "in his soul" when Eddie shouted THIS IS MUSIC, and never lets me control the radio on road trips because his music is superior. He will, however, belt Disney music with me.

He was diagnosed as a kid with ADHD and used to take medication for it. He agrees with the headcanon that Eddie has it too. He plays with his wedding ring and my wedding ring, chews the straw in every drink you give him, habitually forgets where he leaves things (keeps his personal effects in the pockets of whatever jeans he's wearing at all times for this reason, even overnight), and bounces his leg constantly. CONSTANTLY.

He makes huge gestures with his hands and arms at all times. No matter what he's talking about. He also uses props when trying to explain his points or describe something in a story he's telling. On our first official date he pulled the salt and pepper shakers off the table and used his enchilada to explain the terrain on a road trip he'd taken.

He shouts all the time. Especially when he's happy. He never gets angry, but if he gets slightly frazzled or frustrated, he talks through his teeth briefly.

He, like Eddie, has big huge brown eyes, slightly-past-shoulder-length brown curly hair he's very proud of, and big hands and feet as opposed to thinner legs and arms.

Has been planning to get several tattoos all along his arms, but his parents literally have a longstanding joke-deal with him they made in high school, where every week of his life that he doesn't get a tattoo, they pay him $50. He's going to get them (most of them are in Greek) by the end of the year, he assures me.

And finally, he makes an incredible Dungeon Master. He acts everything out, does lots of different voices, offers advice and maps out characters and campaigns feverishly in his head during free time. Carries his dice and character sheets in a thrifted tortilla box. Might seem weird to some people that I'm sharing this info, but I really like talking about my husband (any time, all the time), and I also add some of his mannerisms to Eddie when I'm writing him, so readers of mine might find this fun.

#also this is just one of many lists I've written even just for me about the things that fascinate/delight me in my man #so #doverstar's thoughts #eddie munson #eddissy #hellcheer #tagging that because I do ship it and I write for it and yeah #chreddie #munningham #stranger things #text post

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beardedmrbean · 1 year

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So the other night a NHL player declined to participate in warmups because of pride gear, but he wasn’t be derogatory about it. He said he respects everyone’s choice, just that his chose to stay true to him and his religion (Russian orthodox). Despite that, he earned the ire of a gay NHL agent who said that it’s clear NHL isn’t safe for gays and that he was completely being selfish by choosing not to participate in that and more conversations will be needed with this player. Thoughts?

I bet those Christian Post and LGBTQ Nation articles have interesting takes on this, likely distasteful at places too.

Had this article sitting waiting for a few min where I could read it, think you just gave me the excuse to do that here, we'll see if I guess correctly.

Amiddle school in New Jersey has removed rainbow-themed “safe zone” signs from its campus. Superintendent Peter Turnamian announced the change at a January 3 board of education meeting.

The LGBTQ+-affirming signage at Long Valley Middle School, in place since 2019, was the result of a student-led effort at inclusiveness. Recent complaints by parents led Turnamian, superintendent for the Washington Township School District, to consult with district lawyers.

“Ultimately, the advice of legal counsel was to have them come down,” Turnamian said of the signs. Lawyers characterized parents’ concern over favoritism as “appropriate criticism.”

The superintendent unveiled plans for a “Profile of a Panther” initiative to replace the safe zone signs, using the school’s mascot to “encourage kindness” among the school’s sixth- to eighth-grade students. Plans for the initiative would be developed with feedback from the community, said Turnamian.

The change marks a victory for parents who lobbied for the signs’ removal. A months-long campaign at school board meetings in the rural township in southern New Jersey brought out residents on both sides of the issue.

“School should be a safe space for all kids, not just some kids,” newly elected school board member John Holly said at the meeting in early January. “Is this just a convenient way to push ideology on kids?” he asked, speaking of the rainbow-themed signage. ______________________

Cutting a lot off of the end there, doesn't feel entirely relevant not that I'm opposed in any way to creating a welcoming and safe envrionment.

“Ultimately, the advice of legal counsel was to have them come down,” Turnamian said of the signs. Lawyers characterized parents’ concern over favoritism as “appropriate criticism.”

That had to hurt to write, situation there and with the NHL dude I think can be summed up in a short little ditty about faith and religion.

I run into a bit of issue with this since proselytizing is part of most faiths, but there's a massive difference between asking a friend if they'd like to join you for church or whatever and the westboro baptist church, as two very extreme ends of spectrum.

Be all end all of these things is that you have every right to live your life the way you want to live your life, within reason obviously, what you do not have is the right to force anyone else to participate.

Got these dudes taking a knee, NFL I think it is that says go ahead and stay in the locker room till it's over. You're ok with that I can't see a issue with the gentleman not wanting to participate. Especially considering the guy isn't protesting just sitting it out quietly.

First amendment says these kids could refuse to say the pledge if they wanted to so so as is their right.

In the end it would come down to a situation where the response is something along the lines of

I respect you and and respect your rights to live your authentic life the way you want to live, I will take no part in anything that hinders your ability to live the authentic life you want to live and will actively fight for that to continue.

All I ask is that you extend the same courtesy to me.

Activism done with a gun pointed at your head isn't activism, you don't bully people into being an ally

Nothing indicates the guy has any personal issues with LGBT people, his actions are because of his faith.

Guy crying about it is being a bully, because he knows that will work to get people on his side.

#anonymous

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yurievinstitute · 2 years

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Always on my Mind

by Sephi

Fandom: The Batman (2022)

Pairing: (F/M) Bruce Wayne/Edward Nashton (swimsuit fetish, porn with feelings, fem!Edward, high school AU)

Summary: The quiet, stoic Bruce Wayne keeps to himself, but he can't take his mind off of Edith Nashton, his shadow in the school corridors.

Read on: AO3 | FFn | Tumblr (under the cut)

・‥…━━━━━━━🦇💞❔━━━━━━━…‥・

A/N: This is inspired by @Lacryboy's art on twitter that has put a spell on me ever since I first saw it: (Here) and (here). Please give the artist some love!

Thank you to J (for everything), especially since I've handed you two Batman fics to edit in the same week.

I've decided to call female Edward ->; Edith. I honestly don't know if the fandom has agreed upon a name so I went with what felt right to me.

I listened to this song the entire time I wrote this.

I really, really enjoyed writing this and I am considering making this a series. Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading. Happy 6/9! [and happy belated crosspost lmfao]

・‥…━━━━━━━🦇💞❔━━━━━━━…‥・

Bruce had once again been instructed on what his plans ought to be for this late fall Friday night. A girl in his sphere of influence was throwing a very trendy pool party that he simply had to attend, renting out the entirety of the giant complex. It came packed with decorations, an ice cream cake served in the aquatic themed dining hall after hours of ‘free’ swimming for as many teens as she dreamed of inviting. The tactic, of course, was one would prompt their parents to rent the space and reap the rewards of inviting every person in school to come whether they liked them or not—because in order to be invited the promise of a birthday present was required.

Of course, she was here. Bruce sighed heavily, suppressing the swell of emotions that welled to the surface as soon as she walked through the sliding glass doors. While he couldn't put words to what he felt—disbelief and pleasure blending together at the forefront, the fear of getting caught in his attraction a close second—it hadn’t dawned on him that she’d actually show up.

It didn’t help matters that he could already smell her, a scent he’d never appreciated until he’d buried his face into the nape of her neck the very first time they’d gone there.

No one knew about Bruce and Ed’s secret afterschool hobby, and for the sake of his comfortable daily life, they couldn’t find out. Bruce belonged to a different social class, his pool of potential girlfriends predetermined by the hierarchy of the school years ago—not that he ever acknowledged them or had any interest.

Edith was a strange girl, a quiet, studious type, notorious for making the wrong outburst or remark in class or to her peers. She had long been deemed creepy, unwilling to socialize, let alone make friends. The first time she’d spoken to Bruce one on one, it dawned on him that he’d never really heard her make any sound beside her signature giggle, a mix between a snort and a laugh. Many of his classmates blamed her behavior on her strict, militant upbringing in an orphanage that masqueraded as a Christian organization. Yet her overall peculiarity was precisely what attracted Bruce in the first place, what made him respect and ultimately obey her quiet, giddy request from that first encounter.

Bruce watched Edith wander to the very outer corner of the entrance to the public pool, standing sheepishly under some birthday balloons and staring like a fish out of water at all of the other girls. As each took their turns placing the gifts they’d brought for the birthday girl atop the large pile in the center of the hall, he remembered their first time.

・‥…━━━━━━━🦇💞❔━━━━━━━…‥・

After the drama and chaos of previous years, the staff of Gotham High decided that lockers would be assigned through a random draw. This year, their final year, Bruce’s locker was right beside Edith’s. Many times, he’d close his locker to see her peeking out behind hers, cowering as soon as he'd give her a quizzical look only to resume staring as soon as his back was turned. She’d never talked to him, but she'd always made a point to stay there as long as he did, watching which book he took out first, and how. Or admiring how he smoothed his hair in his locker mirror.

Today, Bruce was late leaving classes; he'd had a few questions to ask his biology teacher about an upcoming test. The hall was a ghost town—everyone else had long cleared out to rush home—all save for Edith, waiting patiently at her locker, growing more and more giddy with excitement as Bruce approached.

Outwardly, he ignored her. Internally, he was fascinated. He screwed up his combination twice under the pressure of her heated gaze from behind her long bangs and thick glasses.

“Bruce…. Wayne…”

Her voice was as quiet as a mouse. If Bruce had been rattling inside his locker, he wouldn’t have heard it. He turned to face her with a respectful half-smile.

The silence dragged between them as Bruce waited patiently for her inevitable question. She giggled, breathing heavily as though she were drunk on his attention.

Before the tension could become unbearable, he asked: “Yes?”

Edith twirled her fingers. She couldn’t seem to stay still; she bounced on her feet gently, suddenly self-conscious and staring at her fingers. Her face flushed a warm pink.

“How dirty is your cock?” She blinked demurely, unflinching.

Bruce dropped the pencil and papers he’d been carrying. As he stared at her in shock, she bent low to pick them up. Edith made a point to look directly at where his cock sat in his jeans and inhaled deeply as she passed it.

“Do you watch porn?” She smiled gently. “Bruce…?”

She extended the papers he’d dropped as if it was nothing. “Are you circumcised?”

It didn’t take much for Bruce to turn a bright red. “What?”

Edith set his papers in her locker, closing it before stepping closer to Bruce, close enough that he could feel her shallow breath against his skin.

“Silly… are you circumcised, Bruce?” She laid a hand on his chest. “Can I see it? I’ve never seen one in real life before.”

Bruce felt all the blood in his head rush to his cock. He could smell her shampoo. Her hands were so soft and gentle. Her eyelashes looked so long behind her glasses. The evening sun leaked in through the windows at the end of the hall, turning the edges of her sandy-brown hair a glowing orange.

“Please?” Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. “I really need to know…”

Bruce swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. Her hand trailed down his chest before falling back to her side. Her gentle mannerisms beckoned him closer. She acted as though the questions she’d asked were all so normal, so simple…

“I can’t just do that—” Bruce’s hormones quickly overruled the response he’d been meaning to give, “—right here in front of everyone.”

Edith squealed with joy, covering her face in her hands, rocking back and forth ecstatically. “That’s okay, that’s okay! I know a place no one goes.” She hooked her arms into his. “Come show me what it looks like,” she whispered, “Master Wayne.”

Edith hurried to pull him down the corridor before he could come to his senses. She threw open the janitor's closet door, pushing him in first before following him, locking the door behind her. It was dark. Bruce had only a few seconds to balance himself between the dusty shelves of cleaning supplies before it went pitch black.

He gasped, shocked, as he felt her palm against his jeans, massaging and coaxing his cock gently into saying hello. It felt good. It felt really good. It wasn’t long before the tightness of his jeans became unbearable; he busily unzipped them, pulling his boxers down just low enough to expose his cock.

Edith pulled the string to the small lightbulb that hung in the closet. It was dim, but just bright enough to see Bruce in his full arousal, flushed just as pink as she was. She squatted down, bowing her legs, coming closer to get a really good look—as far as Bruce would allow before he reflexively started backing up against the shelf, rattling its contents.

“Wow…” Edith took a deep breath. “It smells so strong…”

Bruce blushed deeper, embarrassed, especially as he watched her continue to huff the smell after saying that.

“So this is what Bruce’s uncut dick looks like…” She sighed dreamily, licking her lips. “What does it look like when Bruce Wayne touches himself? I wonder…”

Bruce had never had a woman look at him like this; he was a private person, but the attention was intoxicating and the pleasure led his hand to act before he could think. He ran his fist all the way down the length of his cock to Edith’s gentle applause. He reasoned to himself he could stop after a few thrusts, but those few turned into many until he was fisting his cock exactly how he liked it, coming apart exactly as he did every night when no one was looking.

It didn’t take long.

“I wonder,” she breathed, “what does Bruce Wayne look like when he cums?”

That was all it took. He let it all go across her waiting face, most of it landing on her glasses. She grinned like a child at the foot of a Christmas tree.

Together, they had crossed the point of no return; that evening marked the start of their secret, special relationship.

・‥…━━━━━━━🦇💞❔━━━━━━━…‥・

Bruce thought about it the entire time he undressed in the men's changing room. He turned himself towards his locker and peeled off his clothes until he was down to his baggy swim trunks. Two long white stripes trailed neatly down his outer thighs in harmony with the smooth lines of his long legs. He was grateful for the way the shorts fit; the looseness afforded him some level of safety and privacy when it came to his sinful imagination.

He stood under the last shower, the broken one no one dared to use that only supplied cold water, hoping it would shock the arousal out of him. He should have known from all his many sleepless nights that there was no chance he would fix things so easily.

He didn’t bother to make small talk with his friends even as they all stood awkwardly in line. They had accepted long ago that he wasn’t the chatty type. Bruce maintained an ice cold expression, brows furrowed, deep in thought—even if those thoughts were only about Edith, her body, the way her hips curved, the heat of her plush thighs…

Bruce practiced counting down in his head from ten, trying his best to focus on the numbers instead of the memories of their secret encounters; the way her hands felt; the way he melted into her eager mouth… He tried pitifully to read the variety of bright posters plastered over the tiled mosaic walls, all futile attempts to coax his brain into memorizing the pool guidelines rather than imagining what she might look like, soaked through in a clingy swimsuit. His peers mistook his steady concentration for anger.

Despite his efforts at self control, Bruce started scanning the perimeters for a glimpse of Edith as soon as he was let through to the bright, open space of the pool. He knew she would be away from the rest of the girls, most of whom were throwing vibrant inflatables back and forth at each other in the sun shelf of the pool. The water glittered under the fluorescent lights, a serene aqua-blue that reflected all the colors of the energetic paintings along the walls and foundations. The complex was split into multiple pieces. The largest section of the pool was structured in a tiered grid. The rest of the concrete space was shared with a hot tub and a children's section under a bridge walkway connected to the most shallow entrance of the adults’ space.

Edith cowered under the shadow of the bridge, the only girl wearing goggles. The water lapped at her calves. Her swimsuit was tight, leaving no part of her anatomy to the imagination. It looked wet, glistening whenever the reflection of the light hit the latex off the face of the waters. Unlike the skimpy bikinis the others wore, hers was a single-piece suit, terracotta-green and undoubtedly a hand-me-down—if the outdated color didn’t give it away, the fit certainly did. She cradled herself, covering as much of her body as she could, her skin flushed a light pink—whether from embarrassment or arousal, Bruce couldn’t tell.

As his peers dove into the water, Bruce watched her, entranced. Her naked body… slick, wet and on full display. In public. He clenched his hands into fists. Counting wouldn’t help him now. He watched as she nervously spun herself back and forth, talking to herself. He wished he could make out what she was saying.

“Come on, man!” One of his friends grabbed his shoulder, leading him around the mouth of the deep end. Edith’s eyes caught Bruce’s. She smiled, knowing she had his full attention. She opened her arms, proudly revealing herself, her body, her perky nipples to her exclusive audience. One of Bruce’s friends pushed him into the pool while he was too busy studying the lines her pussy made in her damp swimsuit.

Under the waves, under the shock and pressure of the cool water, there was only one thought Bruce could hold on to. No matter what it took, he had to fuck her today.

・‥…━━━━━━━🦇💞❔━━━━━━━…‥・

Bruce waited at the vending machine, conveniently beside the exit to the girls’ changing room. He pretended to fiddle with it, pressing buttons every so often but never completing a purchase. He’d left the pool earlier than anyone else, changed quickly, and anchored himself here to capture the object of his desire. He’d have just enough time to take her outside, around the back of the pool, to the cover of one of the tube slides in the abandoned playground. That would be enough. He’d make it be enough.

She came out quickly, more quickly than Bruce anticipated—she must have been watching Bruce, following him as soon as he’d left the pool. Her hurried footsteps altered Bruce before she even made it down the long entryway filled with all of her classmates' empty shoes. She beamed when she saw Bruce stationed at the vending machine.

“Edith.” Bruce’s voice was quiet but had full command of his strength. Edith seemed stunned that he would address her directly, but her surprise melted into an expression of pure euphoria. She smelled of chlorine, her oversized blouse was soaked; she hadn’t even bothered to take off her swimsuit. Bruce was excited that she was only wearing her standard long skirt.

“Were you really waiting for me?” She breathed. She looked away, blush coloring her cheeks. “I’ve been waiting for you too.”

Bruce couldn’t stand to keep himself back any longer. He lunged forward, grabbing her by the wrist. Edith let her body go slack, let herself drift to his arms, let him lead her out through the glass doors into the chill of the crisp fall air. She giggled, questioning none of it, sweating and warm despite the cold.

They rounded the corner, stopping at the tall wooden fence of the playground that would offer the majority of their cover. Bruce let go of Edith just to launch himself over, offering her a hand from the top of the fence so he could effortlessly pull her over. They crashed into the gravel with a sound like fireworks amid the stars.

Bruce wordlessly carried her to the bottom of the covered, plastic blue tube slide. He pressed her down with firm hands, not caring about the puddle of water on the mouth of the slide she crashed into. She was wet anyway. He wanted her wet. Bruce stared at her for a moment, his eyes full both of tenderness and the pain that bloomed from his unending want.

Edith stretched her arms out to him and wrapped them around his neck. They kissed.

Bruce kissed her deeply until he had to pull away so they could catch their breath. He rested his forehead on hers, panting, feeling the relief of finally getting close to her after what felt like an unbearable time apart. Before he could even rest his hands on her waist, Edith was hurrying to unbutton herself, exposing the shiny, sultry swimsuit underneath. Bruce groaned as his hands finally slid against it—he could finally feel for himself how thin the fabric was under his fingers. Edith gasped, rolling her hips, bringing her legs up around Bruce’s waist to pull him in closer.

His knees buckled until he rested them against the edge of the slide, a steady force reigning over her eager body. His desperation and need washed over her, and he pressed frustrated kisses along the side of her jaw, then down her neck to the raised line where her swimsuit hugged her collarbones. She tasted like fresh water and salt. All Edith could do was bask in his advances, rocking her head back and forth as waves of pleasure shivered through her, her body trembling with excitement and bliss.

Bruce pulled her swimsuit collar down forcefully, although it eagerly bent to his command, revealing her milky skin, the crest of her tender breast. He thumbed her nipple through the slick, damp fabric, relishing the moans that escaped her lips as he worked. He touched her with severity and impatience. Her breast popped out of the tight material, instantly assaulted by Bruce’s waiting hand. He pressed her back deeper into the slide, grinding his arousal—physical evidence, proof, I need you—down into the damp heat of her pussy.

His strong hands trailed down her chest, down across the valley of her smooth stomach, quickly brushing down along the length of her legs until his fingertips met the edges of her long skirt, sliding it upwards, discarding it around her hips. Beads of water rolled down her thighs, steam ghosting along the small gap of space between her pussy and Bruce’s erection. Edith shook, pressing the pads of her fingertips into Bruce’s shoulders, pressing him closer.

“Are you gonna put it in me?” Edith whispered into his ear, her lips brushing against it gently. “You’re not going to use a condom, right?”

Bruce tightly clenched his fist around the edges of her discarded skirt as she spoke, a feeble attempt to control himself.

“I want to feel you all the way inside…” Edith gently carded her fingers through his hair, rolling her hips up to meet Bruce’s waiting dick. “Bruce… I missed your cock so much.”

Edith wasn’t just wet from the waters of the pool. The bottom of her swimsuit was slick with cum, a demonstration of how badly she needed him in return.

“Fuck,” Bruce groaned as if close to tears, “I can’t take it anymore.”

He pressed into her, gliding once, twice into the heat of her pussy. He brought his hand down to feel it for himself, feeling her twitch against his index finger as she moaned his name. His finger came back glossy with her cum.

He pulled the thin swimsuit to the side of her pussy, exposing it to the cool air. It was so pink, so warm, so plush… Instinctively, he ran his finger gently along the edge of her clit, savoring the way she rocked her hips and cried out into his neck. He let his finger slip between her folds, her pussy throbbing as though it was trying to suck his finger inside. Like lightning, he unbuckled his jeans, pulling down his boxers, crashing his lips into hers as he rubbed his thick cock between her legs.

“Yes… yes…” Edith purred against his lips between their passionate kisses. “Bruce… yes…”

Bruce hadn’t fucked anyone before, let alone Edith—the one he’d imagined being with the most. His cock wept for her, his stomach knotted in tight braids of ecstasy. He let his cock taste her cum, let it slide against her clit. He rocked against her, savoring each of their special moments, relishing his primal satisfaction at finally tasting the fruit he’d dreamt of.

Bruce slid inside Edith all at once, pushing in as deep as he could possibly get before pausing in shock. He couldn’t believe how good it felt to have her surround him completely, to squeeze him so tightly. He adjusted himself, trying to aim further, to feel more of her—quickly craving more, he pulled back in one fluid motion before crashing into her harder than before, lost in the fever. Bruce pressed both of her legs up to her chest, fucking her like an animal. The sound of their sex was loud, obvious, filled with Edith’s gasps between their sloppy French kisses.

This was all Bruce ever wanted. Every time he sank balls-deep into her secret embrace, the realization hit him harder and harder. Edith was all he had ever wanted. Edith was all he had ever needed. His cock shivered as Edith clenched down around him.

He had to cum inside her. He had to make her all his own.

Before she could protest, Bruce slammed her waist to the back of the slide so she couldn’t escape. He pounded her faster, sweating; now his legs were shivering as Edith’s had been the entire time.

He’d do it. He was going to do it. He was fucking Edith. He was inside Edith. This was what Edith’s pussy felt like. This is what Edith felt like inside, in the space no one else could fill. He was a part of her now. Now that he’d had it once he’d chase it forever. He broke from her lips, a trail of spit following his lips.

He wanted to see what she looked like when he did it.

“Edith.” Bruce sounded weak, contrary to the force of his thrusts. “I’m… I’m gonna…”

Bruce came hard into the deepest part of her, harder than he’d ever come before. Edith looked serene, face plastered with the gentle smile she only ever offered to him, the glow of their sex glittering off her cheeks. He sank to his elbows, leaning into her, nesting his face into the crook of her neck while he poured out all those unspoken feelings into the only person he felt mattered.

Edith, Bruce held her close, I love you.

#edward nashton #edward nygma #bruce wayne #riddlebat #the batman #fic rec #DS

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adarafaelbarba · 2 years

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I’ve seen @teamsladsandgents do it mainly with Rafael and Sonny. But do you have any dad hcs with any of the guys? 👀

Boy do I! 😅

I’m thinking of revamping widower!Mike (hopefully soon) and giving his daughter Grace two brothers, Parker Dodds (who’s the oldest) and Michael “Micha” Dodds jr. (youngest, and named after Mike 🥰). Parker was 5 when his mom passed away, Gracie was 3 and Micha was 1. And ever since then Mike’s taken care of them mostly on his own (of course with sitters and family helping when he works). Mike’s content with not moving on, wanting to have his wife be his first and last love. But with some encouraging pushes he manages to find someone who loves him, quirks and all, and absolutely adores his kids. Only a selected few outside of family knows about them. Parker is the spitting image of Mike, Grace is their mom’s clone, while Micha is a perfectly balanced mix of the two 🥰

In my mind Joe is a single dad (baby mama walked out on him and the kids) of two kids, Josephine and Gabriel. Josie is the eldest. And Joe does his best to take care of the two and keep them safe while doing his job. His mom and sister-in-law help a lot with the two, but like with Mike, not a lot of people know about the kids. Both babies are a mix of both parents, which made Joe’s heart ache at first, missing their mom. But he’s gotten over it now.

Sonny (who I’ve written a family verse for) has a lot of kids! In my Sonnyverse he has the following: Dominick Gabriel, Matteo Lucas, Giovanni Elijah, Angelina Maria, Beatrice Esther, Christian Isaac, Adelina Magdalena and Virginia Louisa. All of them having two names (An Italian and a Biblical). If we’re not talking this universe, I could see him wanting still a few kids, not that many (but to be fair, Christian and Adelina were unexpected twins, and Virginia was not planned 😅). I want to stick with some of the names for them. Definitely Dominick for one of his sons, and they would definitely call him Nicky! 🥰 the whole squad get frequent updates with baby pictures and he gushes about them 😅 just as much.

Rafael would have one, a son, named Emilio. Rafael was so scared when he found out he was going to be a dad. Scared that he would be just like his father, but the second he holds Emilio in his hands he swears to do right by him. Rafael is set on teaching his son how to be a good person and treat others well. At first Rafael would be hesitant to tell anyone outside of his mami (and abuelita if she’s still there). But then Emilio would sometimes need to stay with Rafael in the office if something came up. And he would, at one point, especially around nap time, be found on the couch with Emilio falling asleep in his lap as Rafael reads for him.

Nolan has one too, a daughter named Eloise. She’s the absolute apple of his eyes, and he’s with her as much as he can. If he’s just gonna be in his office all day he offers to have her there with him, of course having the nanny on standby in case something comes up. Everyone at the DA’s office knows about her, and Samantha will sometimes stop by just to say hi to “my future colleague”. Not many people know this, but Samantha is Eloise’s godmother 😌

Peter has two sons, Andre (after Andre Dawson of Chicago Cubs) and Frank (after Frank Chance of the Chicago Cubs). His partner wasn’t all too happy about the name Frank, so no one calls him that, all going by the nickname Frankie. He teaches them everything there is to know about baseball, starting when they’re born, heck even before that. And will of course coach their team when they start playing. Peter will occasionally call in “sick” on days the boys are playing, and is their number one supporter.

Nick in my opinion would be done after two. Having Zara and Gil part time (unless it’s after his cameo on the show and he’s married to Cynthia) is enough for him 🥰 he’s a loving dad though and makes every moment with the kids special 😌

#karen writes #my headcanons #the bois #law and order svu #sonny carisi #rafael barba #mike dodds #joe velasco #peter stone #nick amaro #nolan price #law and order

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strangenessbooks · 2 years

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The Bat-Man Recap #12

Robin is here. His name is taken from Robin hood (which is funny considering what the most famous Batman rip off took its inspiration from). I am dyslexic, ao the intro text sadly looks more like "anally", than what it actually says which is "an ally".

Another interesting note is that the location is a nameless town near a nameless city. As all origins of all comic book heroes do, this story involves death, so spoilers for an 80-year-old story. I do recommend reading this issue.

I do think it's funny that the Graysons are named before Martha Wayne was. Their names are literally Mary and John which is what everyone was called in the Westen world during this time.

The Bat Car is red again, though maybe this is just Bruce's car as he wasn't planning on Batmaning at the circus. I do think it's hilarious that Bruce is defined by that damn pipe.

I always want to defend Batman but this series of events is not the best way Robin has been introduced. This is a 12-page story so there's no room for nuance. Bruce hiding Dick from a mobster makes sense, but Bruce also tells him, he has devoted his life to "exterminate" criminals and then has Dick make an oath.

Due to the accusations that will be thrown against Batman in the coming years, I hesitate to use this word but we're all Batman fans here, so I will. Batman grooms Dick into becoming a killer. We don't see Robin's lust for revenge, he witnesses the death of his parents and then he's kidnapped by a man dressed like a bat. But also this is the 1940s and they don't want to actually deal with trauma. They want to make weird shit up instead e.g. "comics making people violent and gay."

As I have said in other recaps, morals have changed and what we expected of heroes has changed. The idea doing anything for revenge is common. Making an oath to get revenge against those who killed your loved ones, is still a common trope in adventure stories. Except the ending has changed. Our heroes learn the errors of their ways and that revenge doesn't bring satisfaction. Those stories did exist before and during this time, but the whole killing of someone can still be a just action. The disconnect is still odd to read from a modern perspective.

Reading these Batman comics actually makes me want to read old Pulp novels and other comics. This is turning into special interesting territory.

Back to this issue, where Bruce is making Dick get a job as a News Boy.

Christian Bale should have been Robin (Newies jokes are likely to be recurring). This has some detective work, though all it's done by Robin. Who knows what Bruce is doing while Robin sells Newspapers and gets bullied.

This Zucco who runs this "Arising Town" who ordered the hit on Dick's parents. Batman decides to do a bunch of fuckery to mess with this guy. Also, stop his protection racket and illegal casino.

This issue has especially inspired me to list all of Batman's crimes besides the whole being a vigilante thing (I'm not checking to see whether these were crimes in the 1940s, they are all morally wrong anyway).

Kidnapping

Tapering with a crime case.

Vandalism

Assault

Animal Cruelty.

Child Endangerment (though never told exactly how old Dick is).

Murder (multiple second and first degree).

Batman is all for torturing bats to prove a point. I guess at least it's not a Robin in there with him.

I haven't talked about how ridiculous the Robin costume is. Probably because it's not really fair to. Like being called Dick, the costume hasn't aged well. It was designed and coloured for 1940s comics. They were print limitations and it was done for cheap. I am reading from archived which has been remastered clearly (I couldn't find any inside pictures of this original comic). You wanted your characters to stand out and be seeable even when the detail is not there. Honestly, there are worse costume designs from comics at the time.

Robin immediately gets a kill count. He kills a whole two people in his first appearance and another definitely has brain damage. He also doesn't wait for Batman and goes straight for the attack so maybe he does have a blood lust, but this is months after "training".

Robin immediately gets his revenge having killed the man who killed his parents and framed someone else for the murder. He decided he likes being Robin so he's here for keeps.

There are a lot of great panels in this comic. I saved like 30th of them. This is a good comic to read if you just want a taste of the Golden Age. It doesn't have any gadgets but it has the usual mayhem. It is an important comic as is the first Robin appearance as well as this marking the first full year of Batman.

This is when Batman gets a whole comic book to himself. Detective Comics was made up of different stories, I'm not sure how I'll handle Batman #1.

#Batman #Robin #dick grayson #the bat-man recap

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samethyst01 · 1 year

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Through The Window

Chapter One

‘None shall find joy in this false grain of hope, and to concede upon which their mind may fill with chaos.’

That was the final line of my father’s book. As you might be able to tell, he was a rather eccentric man, one who found fanciful intrigue in the works of Lovecraft and Poe rather than sports stars and craft beers. He was a private, distant man. Time spent in his office was rather more akin to all of his time, hunched over his desk and either typing or scribbling away some mad ramblings.

I might be exaggerating, but he really was a very strange man. Whenever we spoke, which wasn’t often, he never knew exactly how to relate to me. It was almost as if he never wanted me, like my existence was a complete inconvenience to him. He was never abusive or toxic, but that doesn’t mean he loved me. He merely understood that I was his son, and I lived in his house, and he was one half of the union that sired me.

He would often catch me looking through his things, especially the papers in his office. He never scolded me for it, simply told me in his hushed voice that it was not for me to see yet. In one of the only moments of intimacy between us that I can remember, he sat me on his knee and told me his plan. I was far too young to understand what he meant in his words – I was only about five or six – but I was just happy to hear him finally speak to me.

What I remember of this conversation was the word ‘small’. He told me how small we were. Not just us as in himself and my mother and me, but the whole human race. He told me there was something out there that was far bigger than us, far more important, and that we were all just waiting for it to come down from space. He looked me in the eyes and told me one day, one beautiful day, all of humanity would become one with this vast something and be happy forever.

As I grew older, I wondered if maybe he was part of some obscure offshoot of Christianity, and this ‘beautiful expanse’ was just a word for God or Heaven. I was disabused of this notion on the day I finally read his stories, which also happened to be the day he died. I learned very suddenly that my father was not a man of God, nor of Satan or any conventional deity.

But before I speak of that, I must tell you how I came to see him dead.

If you’re the type of person to fall deep into intensity in your life, you might have something akin to a ‘happy place’. Whatever it is, whoever you are, it’s either a physical location or some abstract feeling or concept that fills you with comfort. It is, for some, a kind of immortal liminal space that they may regress into and find deep reassurance in. This is especially true if one has been traumatised.

My happy place was a seaside town which I visited with my parents once every three years. It’s still there, in a quiet corner of the world, tiny and unassuming and home to a great many secrets. We first travelled there when I was a baby, far too young to remember the details. As my mother would later tell me, it was the town my father lived in when he was younger. He was born and raised in that place, and only left in order to pursue a career in theatre, which he promptly abandoned after some unknown event.

It wasn’t until I was six that I have a clear enough memory of that town. It was truly miniscule – a cluster of buildings nestled against the sea with a quayside that led upwards along a raised path towards the beach – and the waters beyond. I remember being fixated on the town when we first arrived, obsessed with every small store and business, from the arcades to the strange shop that sold dreamcatchers and totems, and from there to the acrid smell of vinegar from the fish and chip place that wafted all the way down towards the caravan park at the end of the path, set in a forested area that overlooked the sea.

On the colder days, my mother and I would visit the Highstreet shops, from the ones that sold wetsuits and coats to the other that offered hot sauce and quiches, among other things. It was like a dream to my younger self, this place so isolated from the rest of the world and so content in its own sense of progress and serenity. I wanted to be like it. I tasted every morsel on offer, from crab meat to haddock to cod to battered sausage, and I fell in love.

We drove a few miles down and came upon a restaurant that overlooked the swampy marshes, and we ate lunch in the quiet sunshine. I tasted lobster for the first time, and squid, and I saw my father smile. The expression was so rare and unexpected that it felt like an event, a moment I would savour in my mind for years. When he smiled, my mother returned it twice as widely and I laughed with a kind of innocent joy I’m sure I shall never recreate.

I spent time swimming in the sea on the hottest days, when the tide was as far in as it could go and the water stretched on into the horizon. That beach was massive, so wide that you’d get lost if you walked for only a few minutes. I saw seals flop onto the sand and bob up and down in the waters, and once even saw a galloping horse ride in from somewhere far away, majestic and stark black against the pale shine of the sand.

I wondered what lay out there in the ocean, far beyond my reach. I remember seeing the tiny speck of wind turbines in the distance and wondering if they were people who were stuck out there and could never come back to land. Once, and only once, I saw the shadow of something moving slowly beneath the surface, gliding away from the shore and deeper into the depths. I hoped it was a dinosaur.

One night, my parents and I visited the local cinema to watch a film. It was Toy Story, my favourite at the time, and when I learned it was the movie we’d be watching I was overjoyed. In a rare act of kindness, my father bought me the biggest bucket of popcorn they had on offer. My mother gave him a look that bordered between disapproval and joy, one she could not properly express. My father said nothing and simply winked at me.

When the film was over, I remember an older couple approaching us. They must’ve been in their late fifties, maybe early sixties, and they regarded my father with familiarity. My mother was uncomfortable but polite, and the couple spoke with a great degree of intensity. They looked from my father to me and I remember their smiles were almost frightening in their enthusiasm. I felt very disquieted by them.

That night, as a storm lashed at our cottage – we couldn’t stay in my father’s old home, as it had long since been destroyed – I felt an overwhelming urge to go to the beach. I waited for my parents to fall asleep before I dressed quickly and braved the weather, stumbling down the quayside towards the path. It was so dark that I could barely see a matter of feet ahead of me, the rain and the night combining into a complete, incomprehensible abyss.

I was able to walk the path instinctually. I still don’t know how or why I was compelled, but I was far too young and naïve to ignore the feeling. So I walked, and I walked until I arrived at the beach. The water was further out and the tide had ebbed, leaving me with much ground to cover before I could reach the sea itself. A distant, quiet whisper filled my ears and I strode onwards, ignoring the rain pelting my coat and the mushy sand filling my boots.

And then, like it could’ve been simply a dream, a bolt of lightning arced across the sky and illuminated a figure far out on the sand.

My eyes widened at the sight and dread filled my stomach. I felt control of my body returning, and I suddenly wanted no part of this midnight stroll. I wanted to go home, to run back to the path and pretend I was having a nightmare, but something about the figure intrigued me. Their dark form, set in shadow against the storm, swelled this horrible curiosity inside me that I couldn’t understand. I thought I was going to die.

Before it was too late, I felt something grab me from behind. It was my mother, my father at her side. They hugged me tightly and my mother screamed with fright over the sound of the storm, tears streaking down her face. I began to cry at the sheer ferocity of her emotion, but only because I was scared she was angry with me. I couldn’t begin to understand how worried she must’ve been. She probably thought I was dead.

I was too upset to articulate what had happened, and sensing this, my mother wrapped me up in her coat, kissed my forehead and began leading me away from the beach. My father’s gaze was fixed on the horizon, and I wondered if perhaps he’d seen the figure too. My mother gently took his hand and her touch snapped him out of his daze. We returned home and over a hot cup of cocoa, I pondered what had happened to me. Fruitless guessing was what it ended up being, in the end.

We returned to the town every three years, with almost the exact same routine each time. The only difference as the years went by was me, as I became older and more independent. I would wander off a lot more, exploring the hidden corners of the town more frequently. Our cottage had a basement that I managed to find the keys to, and I hoped it contained something dark or scandalous. It was just old swimming gear and firewood. There was, however, a hidden door within it that had no key.

That couple always managed to find us, too. I found out that they were Howard and Diane Lorely, residents of the town who knew my father through his father. I never spoke much to them but I also never shook the feeling of unease when I did. Their faces always had this uncanny stretch to them, like if they kept at it, one day they’d freeze up and never be able to move the muscles again. They always addressed me as ‘the special one’, a label I came to find patronising the older I got. Maybe it was just teenage arrogance, or maybe there was truly something insidious about it.

The last time we visited the town, I was eighteen. I was the typical angsty teenage boy, but despite my bloated sense of self-importance I still regarded the place as one I held dear. At this point in time, my father had become so distant that even my mother had stopped trying to engage him. She was fatigued with him and his coldness, and I could tell that their relationship was on the brink of collapse. As for the man himself, he only spoke a few scant words to me across the entirety of the visit, and only once looked me in the eyes.

The Loreleys were still as intrusive and unrelenting as ever, and upon our last meet, their demeanour caused my mother to snap and demand they stay away from us. I have never seen such malice and hatred since, when I saw it in their eyes in that moment. They looked at my father with palpable disappointment, and in his expression I saw a deep sadness and regret. It disgusted me to think he held these crones’ opinions higher than the welfare of his family, and my already existing distaste for him only grew.

On the last night of our trip, I decided to venture out onto the beach one final time. I knew I’d find nothing, but a tiny part of my still inquisitive mind hoped I might get some closure. In the dead of night, when I was sure I would be walking alone, I headed down to the sand and stood before the still-ebbing tide. Moonlight reflected off the waves and the gentle sound of sloshing water filled me with calm. I thought, in that moment, that I was truly at peace.

Someone stepped onto the sand beside me and let out a long, heavy sigh. It was my father. I looked away from him, having nothing to say. I didn’t need to speak, however, as it seemed he had come there to set things right with me.

He told me he was sorry for the way he treated me. He told me he never wanted children, that his relationship with my mother was always intended to be a brief one, fit for naught but sex and drug use. He told me there was much about himself I would never know, and it was a gift he had given me; the gift of ignorance. He turned to me, and I felt compelled to do the same, and for the first time in quite literally years, his gaze met mine. His hooded eyes locked upon my own and he whispered a phrase I had never heard before or since.

“I love you, son.”

To this day, I still have no idea if he was telling the truth, but in that one moment, I didn’t care. That was all I had ever wanted from him, all my private desires and holiday wishes, all of it had been for that moment. I just wanted him to acknowledge me, and he did. I didn’t say anything, and without another word, he placed a hand on my shoulder, smiled softly, and walked away. It was like a dream.

I stayed on the beach for a little while longer, hoping to catch a glimpse of something drifting in the water or standing ahead of me on the beach. I didn’t, however, and I resigned myself to returning to our cottage. We left the town the day after and my father and I never spoke of it. I doubt my mother even knew we had exchanged such an intimate moment.

Exactly one year later, on the eve of my father’s forty-sixth birthday, I resolved to understand him. While he and my mother were out at an art gallery – a vain attempt on their part to rekindle their love – I stole the key to his private office and looked through his writings. The contents of his personal laptop were mainly dark poetry, which I rather enjoyed, but the physical notebooks contained that which I now believe have led me to where I am today.

I dare not describe them in detail, not yet, but the concepts and confessions they presented left me haunted. I was suddenly and totally learning just what kind of a man my father was, and the truth was not merciful or in any way kind. The very moment I heard my father’s return, I tidied his office in a panic and pretended I never even knew the location of its key. My mother was fooled – she always did see the best in me – but he knew as soon as he looked at me.

Just twelve hours later, I would watch my father’s heartbeat slow and disappear on the ECG as he slipped into death. It was deemed a sudden and tragic heart attack. The horror of its timing was not lost on me, nor my mother when I told her what I’d done. Something had killed my father, and it had done so to express a point. Nothing he had ever created was meant for my eyes, nor for the eyes of any but those it deemed worthy of its secrets.

I know that must sound like madness, but there are things I have learned that will not leave me. Things not just about my father, but about my mother and that town and worst of all – about myself. This journal or table of confessions or whatever it is serves as my way of keeping a kind of routine in my life. Things are getting hard to process. I apologise for the way in which I write – my language, syntax and tone – but it’s a style I rather think I’ve adopted from my father. He was a flowery writer.

As for what I will tell you of: the cottage my family and I stayed in has just recently come up on the market. I’ve reserved it for two weeks. Whatever I find in that place, I’ll be sure to record it here. If you doubt my sanity at any point, I congratulate you. That is the sign of a sound and steady mind.

I don’t think I can be sure of my own mind anymore. I’m not sure I can trust it.

#creative writing #horror #memorycore #liminality

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