#“then why do you never listen to me?”

[anqelrafe]

— ୨ৎ bsf!rafe showing your date what he was missing out on.

synopsis: after getting stood up by your date, your best friend decides he's gonna show him what he could've had. authors note: i'm honestly not sure how i feel about this but i wanted to get something out before i lose motivation. anywayss, enjoy!!. . .♡ content warnings: not proofread. a little rushed cause i'm tired lol. contains smut, mdni. unprotected p in v. dirty talk. oral f.receiving. fingering. praise. on call during sex.

rafe laid on his bed, his head resting comfortably on his pillows with his arm draped lazily over his eyes. he had been listening to you talk about your day for the past hour, just barely listening to bits and pieces. he was really only waiting for you to skip to the lunch date you were supposed to have that afternoon, but you were so stuck on the topic of wanting to try out a new lip combo—whatever that was. so he decided it would just be quicker to just ask you himself.

“what about that date?” he cuts you off mid sentence, moving his arm from his eyes to peer over at you while you leisurely span around in the swivel chair at his desk. “with uhh...what was his name? ayden?” your glossed lips pull into a frown, stopping your spinning “andrew,” you correct, your finger twirling around a loose thread on your shorts. “and it didn't happened. he never came”

rafe's eyes shifted to yours, an annoyed furrow in his eyebrows forming at your admission “you mean that asshole never even showed up?” he scoffed, now fully sitting up against the headboard.

“nope,” your murmur, shifting in your seat “not only that, but he texted me an hour later to tell me he didn't feel like coming.”

“what a pussy,” rafe muttered under his breath, pushing his greasy hair away from his forehead as he tried to suppress an eye roll. he hated it whenever someone wasted your time or let you down. he always thought any guy who you even batted an eye at was incredibly lucky. “he just doesn't deserve you then. n i already told you that you were too good for him. don't know why you don't listen to me. you need to go after guys who would treat you better.”

your lips purse, tilting your head sideways as you toy with the polish on your manicured finger. “uh huh. and who would that be, hm? you?”

“yes.” rafe’s answer is almost immediate and without hesitation. he had no shame, no remorse, no fear. he was straightforward and honest to a fault. “i’d never let you down, you know that. and i'd show you what your date should've done.”

your fingers stop picking at your nail polish, your lips pulling into a thin line. you knew rafe was a good friend, he always had been. but boyfriend material? you weren't so sure. you've seen the way he's run through girls like t-shirts; and you refused to be one of his discards. “rafe—” you started, but he cut you off, waving his hand dismissively.

“nah, nah. don’t ‘rafe’ me. i’m serious. you don't wanna date me? fine. understandable. but at least let me help ya out. y'know, as your friend. i could be uh...setting a standard or...whatever you wanna call it. i could give you a better time than he would've.”

you weren't stupid, you knew what rafe was trying to do. it's how he got all of the island girls to flock over him─manipulation. but was it really manipulation if you wanted it too?

‎ ‎ ─── ✷ ⊹ ࣪

“you taste so fuckin' good. shit — you're drippin for me.” rafe groaned, his eyes trained on drenched folds before they locked on your face, watching the way it contorted in pleasure with every swirl of his tongue against your clit. “feel good, yeah?”

you were only able to force out a few incoherent sounds, the overwhelming pleasure making your brain fuzzy. any guy you've ever slept with never offered or made the slightest effort to eat you out like this. so the new sensation of rafe's tongue had you seeing stars and gasping beneath him. “c'mon, i asked you a question, i want actual words, alright? i want you to tell me how good it feels. and look at me when i'm taking t'you.” rafe spoke against your sex, the vibration of his words making your hips twitch.

“mngh....y-yes.” you breath out, forcing your eyes open to lock to his, “feels good...s'good.” you whimper, glossed lips parting as you stare down at him.

“mmh, there ya go, that's my girl. when i ask something i expect a real answer, yeah?” rafe murmured as two of his long fingers easily slipped into your soaking hole, pulling a mewl from your lips and making your back arch off the mattress slightly. “fuck baby, you're perfect — s'fuckin tight.” he groaned, watching the way your narrow pussy sucked in his fingers, a ring of your slick coating the base of his digits. “y'been giving this pussy to amateurs i bet. don't worry though..i'll stretch ya out real nice.” rafe murmured, wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud, your eyes rolling back while his fingers moved in slow, deep strokes, finding the spongy spot that made you cinch around his fingers.

“mgnh...fuck, rafe. i—” you gasp, hands fisting the sheets under you, your words being punctuated by rafe purposely humming around your clit, the vibration making your hips twitch. “mmh yeah i know, pretty girl. gonna cum, yeah? go on baby...make a mess f'me.”

his hands squeeze your thighs as they start to tremble, a loud whine falling from your lips as your orgasm hits, your cunt fluttering around his fingers, glossy eyes squeezing shut. rafe groans against you, lapping your juices as he helps you ride out your orgasm. “yeah, that's it, baby...good girl.”

you felt completely boneless, muscles trembling and skin buzzing all over as you slowly try to come down, catching your breath as he pulled himself up to hover over you, his hand tapping your trembling outer thigh “open up f'me baby.”

your eyes flutter open, thighs shaking as you slowly let them fall open. your eyes half lidded as you stared up at him. rafe groans softly at the sight before him, positioning himself between your legs and slowly slid his leaking tip up and down your glistening lips, teasing your clit slowly.

“fuuuck” rafe groaned as he started to slip his twitching member into your leaking cunt, his eyes fluttering at the sensation of him bottoming out. “shit baby, you're so fuckin' tight...suckin' me in s'good” rafe grunted, his hips starting to snap against yours as he drove his cock in and out, watching your lips part and eyebrows furrow in pleasure.

your head falls back onto the mattress as you mewled beneath him, your lips opening but no words leaving your mouth, already too cock drunk to form any coherent sentences. “bet you needed this, hm? needed this pussy taken care of s'bad, you just had to be fucked by your best friend — you like that, don't you, baby? you like your best friend's cock stretching you out?”

before you could even process what rafe said, the sharp, jarring sound of your phone ringing pierced through the air. the loud and harsh sound causing rafe's eyes to snap up in annoyance, his grip on your hips tightening. “fuckin' christ — who's calling?”

with your brain slowly working to catch up to the situation, the persistent ringing of your phone seemed to finally sink in. your hands fumble around as you search for the phone, eventually finding it. glancing at the caller id, your eyes flutter in surprise, and you let out a whimper, forced to keep your eyes open as rafe's hips continue their relentless rhythm. “w-wait,” you stammer, struggling to catch your breath as you see andrew's name flash across the screen. “i — shit — i need to-”

“answer it.” he ordered, smirking down at you as he watched the name flash on the screen. “let him know your best friend's takin' good care of this pussy.” rafe murmured, noticing the hesitance in your expression.

“wasn't a question.” rafe grunted, taking your phone from your hand without any consent, his thrusts getting rougher as he answered the phone, putting it on speaker. “mmh, y/n's busy. fuck— y'know you're really missin' out though, man. this pussy's a fuckin' dream.” rafe spoke between breathy moans, the sounds of skin slapping and both you and rafe's moans clearly heard on the other end by andrew. “hear that? s'the sound of quality pussy, she’s sucking me in so tightly. bet you wish you were me huh?”

“hey, what is…” andrew's voice comes through the other end of the line, his words trailing off when he realized who he was talking to. “rafe?” rafe's smirk only widens at the sound of the obvious confusion and uneasiness in andrew's voice. “uh huh..” rafe groaned, “fuck man, she's takin' my dick so well; she even makes the prettiest noises f'me wanna hear?” the condescending, almost faux sympathy in rafe's voice was clear, it was obvious he was getting off on this.

he angled the phone closer to your face, making sure the sound of your lewd, almost pornographic moans and whines were clearly heard over the phone. “mmh yeah, all those pretty sounds just for me. but i uh— fuck, she might need to call y'back, man. gonna fill this pussy up soon.”

true to his word, rafe led you through four quivering orgasms after he hung up, letting himself go after your fourth one, his hips stuttering as his cock twitched, his warm liquid spilling inside of you.

“that definitely wasn't our last time...pussy's mine now.” rafe breathed out, collapsing next to you.

taglist 🪽: @bunbun-3 @drewscoquette @untitled10351 @rafesweetie @meetmebehindthemallrafe @supercutelovergirl @drewswife @plaidcowboy @missquantic @rafesdiorperfume @minitarayummy @this-one-weeb @akobx @mystianqel @lacebambidoll @dolletebun @milamilkie @ch6rm @rafesprecious

[happyk44]

[ID: 1. Text reading: (16 hours ago) butterfly said: today, the world looked beautiful again. i'm starting to remember what kept me alive last summer

2. Tumblr post from @/firstfullmoon. It includes a screenshot of a tweet from Heather Christle @/heatherchristle replying to @/Danez_Smif that reads, "Once a first grader asked me how long a poem had to be and when I said it could be just one word he wrote a poem that was just his best friend's phone number [heart with sparkles emoji]

@/firstfullmoon adds under the screenshot, "excuse me while i go cry"

3. Tumblr post from @/firstfullmoon, reblogged by @/luthienne. The post is a screenshot of a tweet from @/chenchenwrites that reads, "let me stay tender-heated, despite despite despite". Underneath the screenshot, the OP has added, "i keep thinking of this."

@/luthienne's tags read: #yes yes yes #text #typography #a kind of holiness #favorite #everything that chen chen posts is so good and i love him. <3

4. Tumblr post from @/honeytuesday: love it when people are just a little bit unraveled. hair wisps flying everywhere, wrinkles in yesterday's t-shirt, pockets reserved for useless things only. fingers kissed blue from the last pen that fill in love with you. laugh on the wrong side of raw. smile on the right side of bizarre. bright eyes smeared kohl dark, hungry mouth stained lollipop red. messy messy messy messy. you are blurry like the edges of my favorite old photograph. each second you're born anew. you are beautiful and terrible and the most irreplaceable part of living and i could love you forever and ever and ever

5. Tumblr ask. Anonymous asked: in your honest opinion, what do it means to be human?

@/soracities answered: [Image of text reading, "In the dark times, will there also be singing?

Yes, there will be singing.

About the dark times."

6. Tumblr post from @/coffeepeople, reblogged by @/zarazaramp3: It reads, "I find it endlessly fascinating that most humans just want someone who will get up in the middle of the night to close the windows with them when it starts down pouring. We someone to dry our dishes after we wash them. We just want another person to do mundane activities with. We want to tell someone how the copy machine broke at work and we want to listen to how debra is causing office drama again. We just want somethinng so simply. We want human connection and honesty and to be bored with someone else instead of bored alone.

@/zarazaramp3's tags read: #yeah......... #on humanity

7. Tumblr post from @/bakwaaas: when I was younger, I used to think true love was tumultous and intense. but now, I feel like real love is gentle. passionate in a soft, sweet way. not fireworks and drama, but a love that's like coming home, the breeze on a still summer day. a balm to the aches of the world.

8. Tumblr post from @/mrspider: something sad but also kind of sweet i've noticed about human trait mirroring (i.e. seeing someone regularly perform a physical or verbal action and adapting it as your own) is that even years after a person has stopped being in life they've still left pieces of themself with me. i still smile and wave like my childhood best friend did. i still pull my shirts up to cover my face when i'm embarrassed because my faorite colege roommate did that. i've learned how to be a human being through all those around me, and those after me will likely learn the same way too.

Reblog from @/mrspider: The reblog shows a screenshot of a comment from @/kitterel: it's kinda cute i can trace the trail of saying 'indeed' in a specifically silly voice from my brother to me to my friend to my little sister who has never met my brother.... we're all just connected by strrings we can't see innit]

9. Tumblr post from @/lesbiancolumbo. The post shows an image of text reading, "Sometimes human connection isn't that complicated. Sometimes it's just about stepping back and asking the other person: [italics] What do I mean to you? What do you see in me? Why do you think we landed here? [end italics]

Most people think that love follows some triumphant story line: You meet and you're in love and everything unfolds according to plan. But love is two imperfect people, feeling their way in the dark together. Love is a calamity. You fall in love, and it turns out the person you're with is deeply flawed. You fall in love, and it turns out you are deeply flawed. You think that means nothing is magical anymore, but it really means the magic has just begun.

This is not the end of a love story. This is the very beginning.

Under the image, @/lesbiancolumbo has added, "having a lot of thoughts about this week's ask polly"

10. Quote by Frank Wright, from "East Boston, 1996; Night Walk," in God's Silence:

Walking home, for a moment

you almost believe you could start again.

And an intense love rushes to your heart,

and hope. It's unendurable, unendurable. /end ID]

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Love 101

my week-late valentine's post

summary: third years ask first years for love advice. the first years suck at giving it type of post: blurbs characters: cater, trey, leona, rook, vil, idia, lilia, malleus, rollo additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

I. Cater and Deuce

Cater has always loved the thrill of the chase (or, really, the thrill of stalking your magicam at 2am) and he would have been content with keeping his digital distance if he didn't see you in Vil's last post. Suddenly anxious that he's fumbling, he does what he does best: info. And who would have better info than your best friend? "Uhhh, I dunno," Deuce says. "If you really like someone, then you should be honest with them- that's what my mom used to tell me, at least. Or did I read that somewhere? Uh, never mind. I'm sure the Prefect will understand! Just- you better treat them right, or else!" Be honest? When has honesty ever helped Cater? It'd take two more nights of crushing anxiety for him to send a risky text, spilling all of his feelings for you in a Magicam DM and then handing his phone over to a very confused (but pleased?) Riddle, so he won't check his notifs for your username every twelve seconds...

II. Trey and Ace

Trust me, he was not Trey's go-to. Okay, sure, Ace is your best friend. Sure, he knows everything about you, from your favorite desserts to your grades, and sure, you've probably told him everything about your dream man, but... It's Ace. And unlike darling, doe-eyed Deuce, if someone asked too much about you, Ace would get suspicious and go right into protective best friend mode. So, Trey keeps it vague. "Eh? You're asking me for dating advice?" Ace grins. "About time! I knew you were smart. What you're gonna do is give 'em a little, not too much. Maybe ghost 'em for a week or two, so they'll really miss you when you finally text back!" ...Yeah. Maybe Trey should just stick to desserts.

III. Leona and Jack

Listen, okay, Leona didn't want to ask him, either. But Ruggie had nothing, your other frosh friends couldn't flirt their way out of a paper bag, and Grim refused to give Leona the goods without tuna payments (and he's spoiled enough as it is). Of course, the moment Leona even implied he was thinking of you, Jack jumped. "You have to be direct and honest! This could be your life partner, you have to put your all in!" Right, sure. Why does he even bother with these kids?? You'd be turned off if Leona started spilling his guts like that. He would've given up then and there... but then Jack insisted he come to "support his upperclassman", as if it were a fight rather than a flirtation. Leona cursed the Seven, the stars, and every single student on campus as he stumbled his way through asking you out. "Not that you would, or that I care, but I-" he looks over his shoulder, and Jack is still there, arms crossed like an impatient parent. Leona grumbles. "If you want to..." "He wants to please you, Prefect!" Jack barks. "DON'T SAY IT LIKE THAT!"

IV. Vil, Rook, and Epel

It wasn't like Vil sought out Epel for the sole purpose of you, the freshman simply... happened to be in the room while Vil was thinking about it! Out loud! With Rook! In a... slightly argumentative manner! "Epel, settle something for us, would you?" "Oui, you see, I say the way to win the Prefect's favor is by anticipating their every thought!" "And I say that's insane. You know them best, so, tell us, what do they like?" The poor boy looks between them like he's being held at gunpoint. How should he have known?? It's not like you guys spent your time gabbing about boys! "APPLES!" he blurts out. "The Prefect loves apples!! My grandma always said the quickest way to a person's heart is through their stomach!" Rook giggles and Vil mumbles something about Epel's peanut-sized brain. ...Nonetheless, you wake up to crates full of apples at your door the next morning.

V. Idia and Ortho

beeeeeep... beeep... bing! Idia swivels around in his chair at the sound of the printer. Crap, did he accidentally hit print page again? What a waste of ink- that stuff's not cheap, you know! But it's just... Ortho. "Here ya go, big bro! I thought you might need this!" Idia cautiously takes the warm paper, entitled Romance Intel 101. "Uh... Ortho. Why are you giving me this? You know I max out the romance stats in all my games EZ," Ortho giggles. "It's not for a game, it's for the Prefect! Based on the data I've gathered, your heart rate accelerates by 1.2 seconds, and your pupils dilate by 40% when thinking of, or speaking to the Prefect!" Idia turns pink and crumples, as if he were the paper (the first line of which, BTW, reading "step one- make eye contact!") This is going to be a looooong school year...

VI. Lilia and Grim

You probably should've been suspicious when Lilia popped into Ramshackle and offered to babysit Grim for an afternoon, but you weren't- not with assignments due, at least. You said your goodbyes, and as soon as you were out the splintered door, Lilia spun on his heels. Short as he is, he towers over the little direbeast. "Hm, seems like we have time to spare. How about a casual conversation? Yes? Good! So, how do the youngsters these days go about showing their affections? I would like to make my feelings for a certain someone known, but I'm terribly out of practice." Grim thinks for a moment, and then: "Tuna. Looots of tuna. Heaps of it! It's all the rage!" Lilia nods sagely. "Ah, yes, I understand completely. There was a rotisserie chicken fad a few centuries ago... er, so I've read. Isn't love wonderful!" You come home from the library to an unconscious, drooling, but very happy Grim, and Lilia sitting atop a mountain of empty tuna cans and beaming. "Darling! You're back!"

VII. Malleus and Sebek

It had always been Sebek's honor and duty to serve the heir prince of Briar Valley, whether in war or in love. When Malleus wistfully said he wished to know you better, Sebek saw to it. That is, he spent the entire weekend shadowing you. And not subtly- he was never more than a few steps behind, pen and paper in hand. When you asked what in the world he was doing, he- "OBSERVING! NOW, QUIET! BEHAVE AS USUAL!" "You don't have to shout, you're right behind me. And observing what, Sebek?" "NONE OF YOUR CONCERN! ACT AS IF I AM NOT HERE!" At the end of the weekend, Sebek returned to Malleus' throne with a report that titled you "inquisitive, dense, and apparently hard-of-hearing."

VIII. Rollo and You

Your friends had seemed wary when Rollo asked you on a walk with him, though he promised he wouldn't take you too far from their clutches care. You had been in Fleur City for days and he didn't know a single thing about you, other than that you were magicless and pitiful. You were so often spoken over, interrupted, and dismissed, it took Rollo a strenuous amount of grace not to grab you by the wrist and drag you away from your rude, contemptuous classmates himself... He couldn't word the feeling. And he was hoping you could. "So," he says, "They refer to you as Prefect. That is your role? Do you enjoy it?" You shrug. Has being at that terrible school rendered you unfit for social interaction? "Very well. Then what do you do for... fun? You appeared to enjoy seeing the city. Are you interested in history?" You shrug again. How can he be expected to know you if you won't tell him anything?? Rollo decides that words are worthless, and his eyes land on your hands. His own fingers twitch and tingle in anticipation, and for a brief but terrifying moment, he thinks of reaching out to you. ...In the end, he can't will himself to do it. Maybe in another life.

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

𝑹𝒂𝒊𝒏 | 𝑨𝒛𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒍 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

[400 followers celebration]

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Sleepy voice Az, SMUUUUUUUTTTTTTT — pretty vanilla imo (unprotected p in v, creampie, biting, maybe the slightest hint of shadow play? Idk, I just work here) but it's morning sex, fem!mate reader, hints at possessive Az.

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 1.4K

“You don't know the things you do to me, shadowsinger.” Your soft voice cut through the serenity of the room, echoing in a whisper as his shadows caressed your neck, gently brushing through your hair.

The dark sheets beneath the two of you rustled as Azriel shifted slightly; his grip on you tightened a small fraction, pulling your body closer to his.

He hummed sleepily, burying his nose in your hair, inhaling that sweet scent he loved so much. 

“I might have some idea.” He murmured, his voice a low rumble, still laden with sleep. Yet you could hear the slight smirk in his tone.

A soft hum of amusement came from you as your fingers delicately traced invisible shapes on his skin. “Why's that?” Your voice was still quiet, not wanting to disturb the calm that came with the rainy morning outside.

The whole house was quiet except for the soft pitter patter of rain on the balcony and windows, as if everyone else was enjoying the cozy, rainy morning just as much as the two of you were. . . Hell, neither of you had opened your eyes yet. 

Azriel ran his fingers down the bare skin of your back, tracing your spine with a feather light touch; you shivered slightly beneath his hand. 

He let out a breathy chuckle, his hand drifting from your spine to your hip — he gripped it firmly, the muscles in his hand flexing. He shifted once again, his head moving down so he could press light kisses to your skin. 

Your temple. Cheeks. Jawline. Neck. Shoulder. Then he kissed back up again, until they reached your lips. 

He was gentle. Basking in the feeling of your lips against his, the connection was almost lazy in movement. 

Then he pulled back just enough, finally opening his eyes to stare down at you. “Because I know you.” His hand came up, cupping your cheek as his thumb ran across your skin, his gaze tracing every possible detail of your face.

Your eyes fluttered open at the soft touch; your heart beat faster at the sight of his beautiful hazel eyes. Gods, you loved those eyes. . . Especially when the usually stoic shadowsinger was staring at you with such reverence. 

You'd never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you.

“I know how your body reacts to me.” He whispered. You shivered as his touch fell to the pulse point on your neck, gently tracing the area.

“I know how you taste.” Azriel shifted both of you so he was on top, his body naturally taking up residence between your legs. 

He hovered above you, his head lowering to leave a trail of kisses and love bites from your chest to just below your ear. He smirked against you as he listened to your breathing begin to grow slightly ragged. 

“I know how you feel.” He whispered, gently grinding his hard length against you, feeling how wet you already were.

You let out a soft, whimpering moan; he let out a low groan and his hands gripped the dark sheets. 

“I know how you smell when you're aroused. . .” Azriel shifted his hips, positioning himself right where he wanted to be. 

“Az. . .” You whimpered softly. He lifted his head to look into your eyes once again, searching for any indication that you didn't want him to continue. He found absolutely none. . . All he found was a heady mixture of love and lust in those eyes he fell in love with. 

He shifted his hips once again, before he finally began to push in, filling you inch by inch — a hand found your hip to hold you in place.

Your body reacted immediately and arched into him as a sound of pleasure left your parted lips. At the same time, his shadows brushed over your hardened nipples in the cool room, a gentle caress over your skin. 

A guttural, borderline feral, groan came from Azriel as he buried his face in your neck, his teeth grazing your skin while he rolled his hips.

“And I know the way you sound.” He murmured against your neck, gently nipping as his shadows proceeded to roam across your body, touching all of your most sensitive spots, drawing out gasps and whimpers.

“It's all for me.” Azriel raised his head once more, his heated gaze locking on your expression of pure ecstasy. 

“It's all for you.” You moaned out, grasping the dark sheets tightly as pleasure met you with each thrust.

He growled softly, his pace picking up just the slightest bit. . . His hands trailed from your hips to your thighs, pushing them gently so you were more open to him. 

“Mine.” He breathed out raggedly. “You.” Thrust. “Are.” Thrust. “Mine.” Thrust. 

“Yours.” 

He captured your lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth. He couldn't get enough of you, every taste and touch further sparking his need for you.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you as close to him as possible. He rocked his hips against yours, his rhythm becoming more urgent and forceful. Each movement sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through his body, his restraint rapidly slipping away.

He broke the kiss, his breathing heavy and ragged as he trailed his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing over your sensitive skin.

Pleasure built up within you, every thrust driving you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the pressure getting to be too much until it finally snapped with a moan of his name, the feeling washing over you like a wave.

He groaned, feeling your body tighten around him, trembling from the sensations only he could bring you. He didn't want it to end just yet, but he felt his own pleasure building, coiling tightly like a spring ready to snap at any moment.

“So good for me.” He murmured, his movement becoming erratic as he was pushed closer, teetering right on the edge of pleasure. 

He pulled you flush against him as he climaxed, his arms wrapping tightly around your body as he fought to catch his breath. His heart was pounding in his chest. He could feel the tremors running through every part of him.

He nuzzled his face against your neck, his lips caressing every inch of skin he could reach. He didn't want to let go of you, didn't want to lose the feeling of your body pressed against his.

“You're going to be the death of me.” Azriel murmured against your neck, his fingers tracing invisible shapes on your body as you both came down from the high.

A soft chuckle came from you, followed by a hum as you finally caught your breath. “That's what you get for falling in love with me, shadowsinger.” 

He huffed out a small laugh before leaving one last kiss. He pulled out and backed away, looking down at his handiwork. “So beautiful.” He hummed, his voice a low rumble as he stared down at your body. 

Sometimes he couldn't believe it. You were his.

He wordlessly got out of bed and walked into the bathroom, returning a few moments later with a damp, warm washcloth. 

“Here we go.” He murmured softly as he began to clean you up from the encounter; a soft hum of contentment left your lips as you felt the warm cloth on your skin, wiping away the remnants. . . 

Eventually, the day pulled you and Azriel from the confines of his room. . . The rain never ceased, the large drops spilling from the sky creating its own song. 

Cassian's boisterous laughter met your ears as you and Azriel walked down the hall, towards the dining room — side by side, his shadows crawling over your body like you were the one able to command them. 

The quieter voices grew louder the closer the two of you got; then you rounded the corner and the rest of the family came into view. . . 

Cassian's gaze immediately landed on you and Azriel. He let out another laugh, looking between Feyre, Rhysand, you, and Azriel. . . “Looks like everyone started their morning with a bang.” 

Rhysand smirked, pleased with himself as he pulled his mate closer to him.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, yet couldn't help the small upturn of his lips into a satisfied smirk.

As for you and Feyre? A look of slight horror and embarrassment was shared between the two of you.

Cassian went to open his mouth again.

“Cass, for the love of the gods. . . Shut up.” You muttered with wide eyes, effectively cutting him off. 

He only smirked.

Simultaneous groans came from you and Feyre. . . Cassian wouldn't let it go. . . He'd be at it all day. . . Yet when your gaze finally found Nesta, your eyes locked on the new love bites that were just barely hidden by her modest sleepwear.

And then you looked back to Cassian with a smirk.

Game on.

A/N— Y'all, I've been slacking with writing because I've been so busy with classes, writing my book, and trying to get my license. At this point, life is a party and I'm the piñata. . . So I apologize if this isn't that good or doesn't make sense, I'm trying to get back into writing fanfics for all of you.

Xoxo, Silver ♡

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 37 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley delivers some news that has him smiling. While you're exhausted from your pregnancy hormones, you can't seem to get enough of your husband. And he can't get enough of Rose's first Halloween.

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, pregnancy, smut, lactation kink

Length: 3300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

Bradley didn't want to admit why he couldn't stop smiling on his way to work early the next day. Part of the reason was you, of course. And Rose. And the upcoming Nugget. But a major reason for the grin on his face was the fact that Indigo was about to be grounded for the foreseeable future.

Unsure whether or not he should be the one to inform her about it, Bradley had texted Maverick while you were curled up in bed with him last night. But Mav was detained longer than expected in Lemoore, so it was up to Bradley. And he kind of couldn't wait to break the news to Indigo. When he told you that, you gave him one hell of a blowjob and then fell asleep with your cheek on his shoulder.

For some reason, Indigo's aircraft was about to undergo an inspection along with a communications update. Bradley knew inspections were time consuming. He'd been put through one back in Virginia with the Atlantic Fleet. They weren't for the weak of heart, because all your peers took to the air every day while you waited. And waited. And fucking waited until it felt like your spirit would break. There was nothing quite like missing out on the thrill of flying while everyone else got to do it.

This was why Bradley had to wipe the grin from his face as he strolled down the hallway toward his office. Indigo would not only be grounded, she wouldn't even be allowed to attend any lectures as part of the process. He wouldn't have to constantly see her while the harassment report was being handled. Bradley knew you were responsible for this, at least in part, and he couldn't stop kissing you for it. 

"God, I love my wife," he murmured, adjusting the wedding photo on his desk and sitting down to print his lecture notes. Once he had everything in order, he clipped his pages together, grabbed a cup of coffee, and went to his classroom.

As he waited outside the door, Bradley got the chance to greet every officer arriving for class. While he gave Spice a bit of a wide berth, the others were always courteous and respectful on the ground and in the air. The last few aviators trickled into the room, and now Bradley had to watch Indigo strut down the hallway, her black hair pulled into a tight bun, blue eyes flashing. She never took her eyes off him, and she didn't stop until she was just a little too close for comfort.

"Sir," she greeted with a smug smile. He wanted to roll his eyes, but he needed to remain professional. Hadn't he made it clear she wasn't going to get anywhere with him? He was still fighting a grin of his own, ready to deliver the news that would ruin her day, but she licked her lips and laughed. "How's your perfect wife doing? Think she'd believe you over me?"

The urge to smile vanished. Bradley's heart beat an angry rhythm as something precariously close to rage filled his veins. Indigo was threatening him and you, because she had no idea you'd been tucked behind his office door the other day. There was no reason to take the bait. He wanted to blow up again, but he tamped it down.

When she turned on her heel to enter the classroom, Bradley shook his head. "Not today, Lieutenant Jeffries. You and your aircraft have officially been grounded."

The look on her face was reward enough, but listening to her sputtering was also fun for him. "What? What are you talking about? This is ridiculous." She pointed angrily at him, eyes narrowed. "You can't do this. Why do you think you can just do this to me?"

"You'll address me as Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw," he snapped, trying not to smile. "And instead of pointing at me, perhaps next time you'll remember to salute instead." She stood completely still before him, all traces of her anger gone.

"I want to know why."

Bradley backed into the classroom, his hand on the doorknob as he shrugged at her. "You'd have to ask someone a lot smarter than me that question." The door slammed in her face, and Bradley turned to the remaining officers with a bright smile. "Good morning, aviators. Let's get started."

----------------------------

You were exhausted, and your jaw was kind of sore from last night's vigorous blowjob as you walked into your lab after dropping Rose off at daycare. "Ow," you whispered, rubbing your chin as you took a seat. Any minute now, Bradley would be breaking the wonderful news to Indigo that she was currently obsolete. You giggled. You ruined her day, and you got to suck Bradley off. It was a win/win.

"You know better than to grin like that," Cat said, walking past you to her workspace. "Not when I'm the one pulling all the weight around here."

You wanted to insist that you were pulling plenty of weight as the baby thumped on your bladder, but you decided against it. "Should I start addressing you as Queen Cat?"

She laughed and turned on her computer. "Lieutenant Commander will suffice. Now let me get everything in order to start my investigation of aircraft number 156682 200. I can't wait to interview the pilot."

"Oh," you gasped. "You're interviewing her today?"

"I'm starting everything today. Including the actual Super Hornet code update. When we get some results, we can analyze the data together."

"Yeah," you replied, still caught up on Cat meeting up with Indigo at some point today. "I hope she doesn't give you a hard time. I still feel guilty, like this is going to eat up all your time. I don't mind carrying more weight in the lab. You know that, right? Like I can take some of your work-"

"First of all," Cat said, cutting you off, "she will not give me a hard time. I'll do everything by the book, but I can guarantee she'll hate me more than I hate her. And that's saying something. I can't wait to see this little piece of shit who thinks she's entitled to your husband."

"But-"

"And second, I'll let you know if I need help staying afloat, but for now, just concentrate on your forty hours while the baby grows."

"I still feel bad!" you finally said.

Cat didn't answer you for a while as she typed away and printed what she needed. You thought the conversation was over until she stood and started for the door. "You could always name the baby Catherine," she said with a wink before disappearing into the hallway.

You tried to focus on your computer screen, but you were a bit shaken by the sudden realization that unlike last time with Rose, you and Bradley hadn't discussed baby names. There were several you were fond of, and you opened a new document to type them out. All of them sounded good with Bradshaw, and you sighed.

"Maybe he should just pick again." 

You read through the list, ranking them in your approximate preferred order before adding more. You'd messed around with it so much, you were shocked when you realized it was lunchtime. "Let's go see Daddy," you told your belly.

You were ravenous, but if you gained another pound, you'd be in the maternity tent for sure. But it was unavoidable. Especially with how good the burrito bowls smelled. You were just reaching for a tray in the cafeteria when a moan escaped your lips the same time Bradley wrapped his arm around you.

"Oh, I know that sound," he whispered. "Here? Right now?" You turned to look at his excited smirk. "I mean, I guess we could go up to your office as long as we make it quick."

"Bradley," you laughed. "I was moaning for the burrito bowls."

Now he looked less thrilled. "Oh. Well, they do smell good."

Your stomach was growling uncontrollably now as you handed him a tray. "You know I'd usually pick a quickie," you whispered, gathering your lunch, "but the baby really, really wants this."

"Feed the Nugget," he replied, sticking close by your side as you looked for a table. "I just don't want to run into Indigo," he muttered, head on a swivel. "She is pissed at me, and I'm sick of looking at her."

When you sat down, you asked, "So you broke the news of the grounding?" You felt giddy inside knowing she was having a bad day after she'd given you so many.

"Yeah," Bradley grunted, taking a huge bite of his lunch. "She didn't take it well."

You clapped your hands quietly. "I doubt she's even going to have time to eat lunch. Cat's interviewing her and beginning her aircraft inspection."

"So you're giving me details now?"

You froze as you coated your food with hot sauce. "The less you know the better."

He shook his head and inhaled more food. "I'm just looking forward to taking Rosie trick-or-treating tomorrow. Should I stop and get candy on my way home?"

"Tomorrow's Halloween!" you gasped. "I completely lost track of time. Usually I plan a party and have everyone over!"

Bradley waved you off. "I just want it to be us this time. Rose's costume should arrive today or tomorrow morning. We can show her off to the neighbors and walk down to your parents' new house."

You squealed softly. In a few short weeks, your mom and dad would be moving from Maryland into the cutest coastal cottage in your neighborhood. "Okay, you're right. That sounds perfect. Stop for candy on the way home. And don't open it! You always get into it early and eat half."

Bradley stacked your empty tray with his. "So... about that quickie. I've got like thirty-five minutes until I need to be in the classroom..." His pupils were wide, and his leg was restless under the table. Knowing he wanted you made everything easier.

"I have a meeting with Bickel," you whispered, wrapping your legs around his. "Let's wait until tonight when it doesn't have to be quick."

"Jesus," he grunted, gaze sinking to your chest, knowing you'd make it worth the wait. "Yeah, okay. A little milk to go with the Halloween candy sounds good."

"I told you not to open it early!"

He scoffed as he stood. "I'm never not going to open the Halloween candy early. That's just a fact, Baby Girl." 

After he walked you to the elevators, he kissed you and then knelt to kiss your belly before disappearing into the sunlight. Even after your meeting and emptying out your email inbox, Cat still wasn't back. You didn't see her again until nearly the end of the day when she strolled back into the lab.

"What's up?" you asked, endlessly curious about what was going on with Indigo. Cat was giving you a look that left you feeling unsettled. "What? Tell me."

She sighed and sank into her seat. "First of all, Jeffries is a piece of work. She thinks she's hot shit, and I don't understand how you haven't run her over with Bradley's fancy Bronco by now. But..."

"What?!"

"Well, as I finished up my preliminary checks, she looked me right in the eye and asked if I work with you."

Your stomach lurched. "She did?"

Cat nodded. "Yes. She asked me if I work with Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw's wife."

You felt uneasy. "What did you say?"

"I ignored her. But I'd already been ignoring plenty of her mouthing off, so whatever. It doesn't matter."

But it did matter to you. In all of your scheming, you'd almost forgotten that Indigo was still going to be lurking around North Island, ready to try to make your life harder. Ready to corner Bradley again. The fucking Navy needed to sort out his complaints against her faster. But at least you were under Indigo's skin. The thought almost felt good.

When you got home with Rose, you saw a text from Bradley.

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw <3<3<3: don't make dinner, i'll bring food home

"Daddy's giving us more time to play," you whispered to your daughter who clearly wanted to be fed by the way she was clinging to you. "Let's go sit on the swing."

You nursed her on the enormous playset in your yard that Bradley just had to have, then you swung with her. When you started to burp her, your husband showed up, still in his uniform, looking hot as hell with his hands full of bags of candy.

His aviators were low on his nose, and he peered over them when he said, "I bought more than enough, Sweetheart. Now you can't complain when I start eating it after dinner." He dropped the candy on the patio table and made a beeline for you. "Let me burp the Nugget."

He alternated between kissing your forehead and Rose's as you slowly swung back and forth while he burped her. Somehow he just kept looking sexier as he bounced her in his arms, making her giggle.

"Keep your uniform on," you told him, letting your eyes slip to his bicep where his tattoos peeked out. "I want you in your uniform later."

"Yes, ma'am," he grunted, kissing your lips, making you gasp.

"You taste like chocolate! You already got into the candy!"

He winced, nudging his sunglasses all the way up his nose. "In my defense, there were Reese's Cups!" When he changed the subject, you didn't stop him. "Come inside and look at the Halloween costumes before we eat dinner."

Bradley outdid himself in every way. There were costumes for all three of you, and yours was stretchy enough to fit over your belly. The dinner he picked up was delicious, and after he read the book about the Silly Goose, he got Rose ready for bed.

But just the sound of his voice was turning you on. And you weren't even mad that he kept eating the candy. Your brain and your body felt fuzzy as you realized your hormones were completely out of control. When he walked into the bedroom, still in his khaki uniform, you squeezed your thighs together and whimpered.

"Am I allowed to get excited now, or are you still vibing with the burrito bowl?" he rasped with a smile.

"I am horny as hell," you whispered, quickly undressing as his eyes went wide. Maybe a quickie at lunchtime would have taken the edge off, because this was wild. You swore you could smell your husband from across the room, and when his big hand rested on his thick cock through his pants, you ran to him.

You were completely naked while he was fully dressed, and he cupped your breasts in his hands with an appreciative sound. "You were so right about the quickie. Now I can take my time." One hand ended up on your butt, guiding you to face the wall where you braced your hands. Bradley nudged your legs apart, his uniform scratching along your skin deliciously.

"Keep talking," you begged as the sound of him unzipping his pants met your ears. "Keep talking to me, Roo."

His insignia pins rubbed the back of your shoulder and his mustache found your ear. "Oh, you really need this, huh?" 

You jerked your head in a nod as his cock throbbed against your lower back. "I really do. Keep talking."

He guided himself to your entrance, pushing just the tip where you wanted him most before his hands slid around to your belly. "You want me to keep talking?" he murmured, going deeper and deeper, lips teasing your ear. "I could talk about how much I love you all night."

"Bradley," you whined, arching your back as he bottomed out.

"I love the way you say my name. And I love the way you can't get enough of my cock."

It was like listening to sweet and depraved poetry as his thighs slapped against yours. He kept going with his thrusts and his words, stroking your breasts which began to leak milk. But then he crooned about how much he loved that, too. Nothing was off limits as your head tipped back against his shoulder, kissing his tattoos.

His gruff breaths and shortening strokes let you know he was close, and when his fingers, wet with your milk, met your clit, you closed your eyes and focused on the pleasure as he said, "I love you, Sweetheart. I love you so fucking much."

--------------------------------

Bradley cradled Rose in his arms, making a fuss over her. "My little Nugget," he chuckled, kissing her face around her fuzzy costume. Everything was set. What was left of the candy he hadn't eaten was in a bowl on the porch, and he had squeezed into his own costume.

"What about Tramp?" you called from the bedroom. "Should we leave him here so he thinks he's guarding the house from the trick-or-treaters?"

"Yeah," laughed Bradley. "Let him howl all night. He'll sleep all day tomorrow." You appeared in your costume which made Bradley smile. "You look cute as a pregnant bottle of hot sauce."

When you rubbed your belly, he wished he could feel the baby himself. After hours cradling you against him in bed last night, trying every position, he still couldn't feel her.

"I feel cute," you replied, doing a little wiggle dance around the kitchen, tossing a treat to Tramp. "And together we make the perfect meal."

"A meal you can't have right now," Bradley interjected, adjusting his beer bottle costume while the dinosaur chicken nugget squirmed against him.

"I can have dinosaur chicken nuggets and hot sauce, just not the beer," you replied, kissing Rose. "She looks so cute in this thing. I still can't believe you found it online."

"My little Dino Nugget," Bradley whispered. "Can you help me put the carrier on so we can go?"

"The carrier?" you repeated, brow creased. "Why don't we just take the stroller?"

Bradley rolled his eyes dramatically. "For the hundredth time, I don't like the stroller when I can just carry her instead. The stroller is bulky, and I don't even get to play with her when I'm pushing it. I don't know why they exist."

You bit your lip. "You're adorable, Roo."

When you turned to get the carrier, the image of Indigo randomly flashed through his mind. Things had been so nice the past few days, it was like he'd forgotten about the terrible weeks before this. Which he couldn't do. He knew he had to remember how much you were hurting so he didn't fuck up again. But right now, he wanted to enjoy Rose's first Halloween to its fullest.

"Can you still tell what her costume is?" Bradley asked as he fastened his daughter in place against his chest. "Shit. If we have to use the stroller, I'll be so pissed."

"Stop swearing in front of the baby," you scolded, feeding Tramp another treat. "I can very clearly tell she's a dinosaur chicken nugget. And a cute one at that."

"Excellent." Bradley fluffed up her costume and turned to the door. "Don't knock over the candy bowl."

You and he both stepped over it. "I'm shocked there was any candy left to put in the bowl," you told him with a playful glare.

"Listen, Baby Girl," he said, reaching for your hand. "You play your cards right, and you'll be my sweet treat later."

"It's annoying to me that I like the way that sounds."

-------------------------------

We've got plenty more of Indigo coming in the next chapter. Want to know the names BG saved for the baby? Should I just go ahead and put up a baby names poll? Thanks for reading.

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@solacestyles

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@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

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[mlmxreader]

all disrespect to OP, but a lot of you people seriously need to understand that when you do this, you're being racist. and ik you've heard this before bc there's Black people in your replies explaining HOW and WHY what you're saying is racist - but you haven't listened to a single fucking word from them (I WONDER WHY!), so let me try it.

refusing to engage critically w the rhetoric you're using ("this Black artist is GOOD! therefore they CAN'T be human!") is dehumanisation 101 and racist rhetoric which has been used to put down & refuse Black artists what they are owed: respect and decency.

"bbbut we do it to white people 🥺" except white artists don't have to "prove" that they're good enough for you people, do they? all they have to do is have a nice sounding voice and you people fall head over heels EVERY FUCKING TIME.

but Black artists have to "prove" they're good enough for you, and 9/10 they're only good enough when you can fucking mock them and turn them into your little jokes.

Kendrick performed a highly political statement on an international stage in front of at least 110+ million people - your only takeaway from that is that "he's petty", and nothing else. not the fact that he covered the Black American experience and how Black people in America are treated by their white counterparts and have to "play the game" to appease white people (YOU people!!). if Hozier and Florence did a similar, highly charged, political performance you people would fucking lap it up like thirsty dogs - but since it's a Black man on that stage delivering that performance, suddenly it's not about that.

you cannot fucking treat Black artists normally, bc if they're not funny TO YOU, if you can't make jokes about them and dehumanise them and boil down their ENTIRE performances to something that's funny TO YOU, then you don't fucking care and you never fucking will.

pat yourselves on the back for it, genuinely, and feel good that you managed to take a Black man's artistry and dehumanise him over it. truly, you people don't fucking care about Black artistry unless you gain from it.

and since I'M white, maybe you'll actually fucking listen - bc I don't see you fucking listening to the Black people in your replies saying the exact same thing as I have. altho, they HAD to be nice abt it so that you don't take that fucking mask off.

Listen, I have seen many a posts to the tune of "Hozier is a fae god!" Or "Florence is a fae god!" And I am here to tell you that neither of them are fae gods. Paramours, probably, maybe members of an Entourage, but gods? No.

You want to know who an actual fucking fae god is???

Kendrick Lamar.

The pettiness. The creativity. The persuasiveness. The accuracy. He had 110 million people across the nation today singing "a minooooor" like it was fucking nothing. This man has cast a thousand-year curse on Aubrey Graham's bloodline that cannot be undone through mortal means.

Now, THAT is some fae god level shit.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!!

Could I request like a really cute Remus x reader where she’s never been kissed or anything before? Like they’re all out of Hogwarts or in their last year and she’s the only one to have never had a relationship, and she’s kinda insecure and anxious about it all?

No worries if not or if you’ve already done something like this!

Thank you! - x

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: alcohol, reader is a bit tipsy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You don’t often feel self-conscious about your lack of romance. When you’re walking home from a bar on a cold night, it’s true that sometimes you wish you had a hand to hold, or a jacket that wasn’t your own, or somebody to slip an arm around your waist and make sure you keep your footing, but generally you’d rather wait than settle. When your friends start moaning and groaning about being lovelorn, though…

“It’s just been so long,” Sirius laments. He’s three sheets to the wind and hanging heavily from James’ side, who’s nodding commiseratingly as they wind a zig-zagging course down the sidewalk. “I mean, two months, James. Two months.” 

“It’s been nearly two weeks for me,” James says glumly. “I don’t know how much more I can take.” 

“Lily will be back from her holiday in three days,” Remus reminds him. He can hold his alcohol better than any of you, and thusly he’s been tasked with carrying the things everyone worried they’d lose. The keys to your apartment are somewhere in his pocket, along with James’ wallet--confiscated after James left it lying on the bar for the second time--and a collection of Sirius’ rings which keeps growing each time Sirius becomes distressed about them somehow falling off. 

“Yeah.” Sirius looks up at James, glaring. “You’re only two weeks in, and you’ve got a lifetime of kisses ahead of you. I’ve got to take them where I can get them, ‘nd I haven’t had even one in two months!” 

“If you think two months is bad,” you say, “try going your whole life.” 

You mean for it to come out light and quippy, but there’s a vulnerability lining your words that you don’t mean to reveal. You wince, thinking everyone’s heard it. 

“Well,” Sirius says after a brief silence, “yes, that does sound worse. Thank you, dollface. You’ve made me feel a bit better.” 

You smile ruefully. “Happy to help.” 

James starts waxing poetic about the shape of Lily’s top lip, and Remus slows his stride, falling into step beside you. You glance over, and he’s giving you a soft look. 

You go sheepish. “Sorry.” 

“What? Why are you sorry?” 

“That was embarrassing.” James and Sirius are talking loudly enough that you don’t have to lower your voice much to avoid being overheard. “I don’t mean to complain.” 

“It wasn’t embarrassing,” Remus murmurs, voice a fond color. He bumps your shoulder gently. “Anyway, I don’t think either of them are likely to remember.” 

You give him a sideways smile. “Maybe, but there’s still you.” 

“I can forget, too, if it suits you.” 

“It does suit me, thanks.” 

“Right. I’ll get right on that, then. Consider it forgotten.” 

You smile down at the sidewalk. There’s something about Remus which always relaxes you. Maybe it’s that he’s so easy to talk to, or that he doesn’t make you feel like you have to talk. You just feel safe with him. You walk a ways in comfortable silence, close but not quite touching, listening to Sirius and James giggle like schoolchildren ahead of you. 

“Do you really feel that way?” Remus asks after a while. “Like it’s bad that you haven’t kissed anyone?” 

You wet your lips. Your saliva tastes like booze. “Sometimes,” you admit. “Like, it’s not as bad for me as it seems for Sirius. But I guess it also probably helps that I don’t know what I’m missing.” 

“Yeah,” he hums, seeming pensive. “That makes sense.” 

“I do wish I’d gotten it over with earlier, though.” 

You’re not sure where it comes from. You do wish that, sometimes, but it’s not the sort of thing you say aloud. Even with a friend as good as Remus, it’s humiliating to declare a want so intimate. 

He looks surprised. “You do?” 

“Yeah,” you say, voice a shade of itself. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“It wasn’t…it wasn’t really a choice. I was never trying to wait, or anything.” You shrug, cheeks warm. “There was just never an opportunity.” 

Remus makes a sound somewhere between a hum and a laugh. “Oh, I don’t believe that.” 

You look up. “Why not?” 

With your attention off the sidewalk, you stumble slightly, the toe of your shoe catching on the uneven pavement. Remus slips an arm around your waist to help. 

“Careful,” he says, suddenly incomprehensibly close to you. “Watch your footing.” 

“Sorry.” You look back down. “Why not?” you ask again, softly. 

“I just don’t think it’s possible no one ever tried to kiss you.” Remus’ voice is quiet but genuine. Unabashed. “More likely people have tried and you haven’t noticed. Or you just haven’t been ready. That’s alright too, you know.” 

“I’m ready,” you say certainly. “I’ve been ready. It just…hasn’t happened yet.” 

He hums. “That’s alright. So long as you’re alright with it.” 

You’re quiet the rest of the way home. You live in the same building as the boys, only the floor below. James’ bedroom is right above yours. He’s not usually too terrible an upstairs neighbor, though you’re looking forward to hearing him stumbling around before bed tonight. 

Remus walks you to your door while James and Sirius wait in the stairwell, cackling and crawling their way up on their hands and knees. He unlocks your door and reaches inside to turn on the hall light. 

“Alright?” he asks as you step inside. 

You nod. 

“Okay. Drink water, and make sure to lock the door behind you.” He gives you a smile, eyes dark in the dim light of your building. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” you say back. But he hardly makes it a few steps away before you’re leaning out of the door, suddenly desperate. “Remus?” 

“Yeah?” He turns. And he’s so lovely, all softness and gentle features. You know he’s the right person to trust with this. 

You swallow. “I’ve been ready for a long time. And I don’t…I don’t know if I’m alright with it anymore.” 

Remus frowns, stepping closer. “It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with it.” 

“I just feel so behind.” Your tone is nearly pleading. “I’m tired of not knowing what I’m missing. I’m curious. I want to know what it’s like.” 

“Y/n.” Remus says your name like a remonstrance gentled. Like he feels sorry for you. “What are you asking me?” 

You worry your hands are shaking, but you steady yourself against the doorframe, making your voice solid. “I’d rather it be with someone I’m comfortable with. Someone I trust.” 

Remus moves closer to you. He’s nearly as close as before, when he’d held you up on the sidewalk. You wonder if this is how close people get before it happens. 

“You’re drunk,” he murmurs, not unkindly. 

You shake your head. “Not that drunk. Not so much I don’t know what I want.” 

He sighs. Says your name again as though to himself, with fondness and something else you can’t place. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you say in a whisper. “I’d just feel a lot better if it was you.” 

“Oh, love.” He takes your face gently in his hands. The pads of his thumbs soothe over your cheeks. “That’s not it.” 

Your breath catches as Remus starts to lean towards you, your eyes fluttering closed. You stay perfectly still as his lips come to rest in the center of your forehead. 

It’s a tender kiss, not lingering but not overly brief. In the end, it’s so sweet you can’t even bring yourself to feel slighted. 

“Go to bed,” says Remus, pulling back with a sorry smile. “If you still want to talk about it in the morning, we will, yeah? It’s not that I don’t want to.” 

“Okay. I’ll…” Your whole face tingles as though you really have been kissed. You’re half tempted to touch your lips to see if they feel different. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’m sorry, Remus.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he begs, backing down the hallway, “please. Goodnight, y/n.” 

Your voice comes out a tad breathless. “Goodnight.”

[dosiadove]

this reminds me of a hauntjng dream i had awhile ago.

it is with joy and sadness I tell you he has begun to die tonight. when I came back with my father to examine the deer, it was already gone. dad did not belive me. he said I was acting crazy again. that he would take a back to the hospital if this happened again. I was confused, I did not know how to convince daddy that I had seen the deer. I could not speak or tell him of the noises I heard rustling in the forest and ditch. but the noise listened and it heard the noise that I did not make. the bushes rustled, there was a familiarity that grew closer. daddy pulled me behind him. it's antlers were larger than I had remembered. I wonder what it's eyes spoke to my fathers when it stared back. it might have been his last wishes. my father didn't have time to pull out his gun, there was no reason to anyway. the deer turned and went into a clearing, it wanted to rest before it had the energy to die.

my father told me to cover my ears. that he would finish the deer as it must have been in great pain. but things had other plans. I wonder if dad felt the same fear boiling his skin as I felt in mine. I wonder if his heart and throat became one beating mass as mine did. I wonder why it bothered to tell us it was here. my daddy must have felt what I had. he had his gun pointed at the night, but it was all around us. it's stench felt like a hug. I think it was being so loud on purpose. its whispering and growls a mockery to our ideas of control. as it tried to get closer, we moved farther back, until we could move no farther or we would fall apon the deer. but it never came closer. never as long as the deer breathed and we stayed by it. we coward by the deers side, until the night became restless and left us alone.

when we thought it had gone and must have been far off we left the deers side. and it seemed to die as soon as we stood. a final apology. my fathers gun was drawn as we walked back to the tent and the light around us had begun to fade. we hid in the tent. and the night returned it was growling louder, it was mocking us that we had thought it was not always watching. it whispered to us things we could understand but could not know. we knew we would did and it drove us mad. we ran from the tent as the beast chased us, seperating itself from the night. daddy shot at it, it screamed. we ran. we ran till we saw what could have been a porch light or heaven. we did not care which it turned out to be.

the cabin was two stories, with stairs climbing to a large porch on the second. we ran up the stairs and locked all the doors and closed all the curtains when we came in. but the beast did not return. we could only hear it's screams. the clocks were broken and for a moment I knew this was a dream. but the tapping on the door lead me deeper. we looked through the curtains to see a demon. she called to daddy. she whispered she could help. that she could save both him and I. he opened the door and let her in. she carried a book. she told him that if he translated the book for her, she could stop the beast from ending our lives. dad did not trust her, we argued about what was right to do. he told me I did not know what was best for me. and he shook her hand agreeing to the deal, and the father became only a man as the spirt of God left his soul. me and daddy went back into the home and as he translated the book, i wept.

this action did not go unoticed. and no longer then 30 minutes must have gone by when upon the porch we heard 3 great thuds. my dad went out with his gun and there crumbled lay 2 fawns and there mother and as I came out to become apart of its audience, the beast hiding by the stairs, reached out and pulled the mother into darkness. dad prayed but the words burnt his tounge and caused him to vomit. he asked me to pray instead. and as I went to ask God for help I woke up.

It’s not too late to turn back

[russo-woso]

Our bubba || Alessia Russo x pregnant!reader

Masterlist

Warning labour and delivery

Summary After nine chaotic months, your bubba finally enters the world

-> Part of A New Adventure universe

“Come on, bubba. Please come soon. Me and mama want to meet you.” Alessia whispered against your bump, her thumb rubbing over it absentmindedly.

She had taken the day off - deciding not to go to training - and instead stay at home to support you in the final few days of the pregnancy.

You’d gotten to the stage where you were done with being pregnancy.

You just wanted your little girl here.

Your back was killing, Your feet were so swollen they looked like balloons and your whole body ached.

Alessia was doing everything she could - back massages, foot massages, everything.

Despite all her help, you were done with the pregnancy.

“She’s too comfy in there.” You joked, offering a small tired smile as your head fell back against the sofa in exhaustion.

“Bad night?” Alessia asked, her eyes full of sympathy as she pressed a few kisses to the top of your bump.

“Maybe two hours sleep? Your daughter really gets confused with day and night.”

“Sorry, baby. Why didn’t you wake me?” She whispered, her lips finding your cheek.

“You looked so cute when you were asleep.”

“My love, we’re in this together, you should have woken me up. How about I make you a cup of tea and you get into bed, have a nap and then we’ll go on our walk later.” Alessia suggested, as you nodded along. “Come on then, love.”

You’d woken up to an uncomfortable cramp in your lower bump.

It wasn’t painful - more so uncomfortable.

Alessia was sprawled out next to you, scrolling away on her phone.

You closed your eyes, seeking the sleep that you desperately needed.

Unbeknownst to you, your daughter had a different idea.

She decided to listen to Alessia’s words earlier that morning and decided that she was making an appearance today.

You’d closed your eyes for two minutes before the cramp turned into a painful sensation - a shooting pain searing across your bump.

You pushed it aside, the possibility of it being a braxton hick high.

But with no surprise, the pain appeared a few minutes later.

“Lessi?” You mumbled, attempting to turn to her but failing miserably as your body flunked back onto the maternity pillow.

“Hiya, baby. Nice nap?” She questioned, pecking your cheek a few times before resting her face in your neck.

“I think it’s time.” You revealed, watching Alessia’s cheeks turn from red to white in a matter of seconds.

“She’s coming?”

“I think so.” You smiled, an excited expression on your face - the complete opposite of Alessia’s.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s call the midwife.”

You’d spoken about the birthing plan when you reached the thirty week mark.

You’d been torn between having a hospital birth or a home birth but in the end you decided to go with a home birth - loving the idea of your baby being born in the house that you’d experienced everything in - from the moment you saw the two lines to the first kick and now the birth of your daughter.

“Lessi, I’ve just had the first contraction. I think we’ve got some time.” You explained with a chuckle, her panic being entertaining.

“Okay.” She breathed, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Our little girl’s coming.” You whispered, the realisation hitting.

“I love you so much for doing this for us, baby.” Alessia told you, kissing your temple gently.

“I love you too, although I don’t know if I’ll be saying that later.”

“I doubt it.”

The day had been filled with memories that would never be forgotten.

It had been long and painful but as soon as you heard the words - you can now push - you knew everything was worth it.

Your daughter was nearly here.

“She’s coming, baby. She’s so close.” Alessia whispered, rubbing your back as tears welled in her eyes.

You gripped her hand impossibly tighter as you felt the pain of the ring of fire.

“This hurts so bad.” You croaked, Alessia’s heart breaking at the sight of you in pain.

“I know, my girl. Our bubba’s so close though. I can see her head.”

You groaned as you felt a contraction coming.

You leant your arms on the bath tub, your head laying in them.

You pushed as hard as you could, encouragement from your midwife and Alessia urging you on.

“Her heads out now.” The midwife announced

“She’s got hair, love.” Alessia said with a smile, watching in awe at how your body was pushing itself to new limits to welcome your daughter into the world.

“Mum, would you like to deliver your baby?” The midwife asked Alessia who nodded - her face full of emotion.

You lifted your head up slightly, looking around the room.

You’d been in the bathroom every step of the pregnancy.

This was the room where you spent every morning throwing up, this was the room where you’d first seen them two lines and now this was going to be the room where your daughter enters the world.

The candles flickered as the soft tune of Never grow up filled the room.

In the background, you could hear the midwife explain to alessia on what to do.

You gritted your teeth as a contraction hit.

“Push, baby.” Alessia whispered gently, helping to guide your little girls head out. “You’re doing so so good, love. One more push.”

“I… it hurts.”

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry you’re in so much pain. Our little girls so so close. One more big push.” Alessia whispered, pressing a comforting kiss to your temple. 

You scrunched your eyes closed as you pushed for the final time.

“Baby, remember if it’s negative, we can try again.” Alessia said, her eyes finding yours as you sat on the toilet, your leg bouncing as you waited for the timer to go off.

You nodded, taking a deep breath in.

The timer rang, breaking the silence in the room.

After stopping it, alessia turned to you, kissing your head gently before reaching for the test.

“Ready?” She asked, as you nodded with a hopeful smile.

Flipping it over, Alessia’s breath hitched as she read the word over and over.

“Pregnant. You’re pregnant, love. We’re gonna have a baby.” Alessia exclaimed, tears welling in her eyes as she enveloped you in a hug.

“It worked?” You cried, pulling away from the hug, your hands resting on the back of Alessia’s neck.

“It worked.” Alessia confirmed before pressing her lips on yours.

The kiss was full of love and hope for the future that was growing inside of you.

Alessia’s thumb moved across your bump, a small flutter being felt before a hard kick.

Alessia looked up at you with wide eyes, checking with you to see if she felt the same thing.

“Did you feel it?” You asked her, and she nodded.

“Was that the first time?” Alessia’s questioned, you nodding before resting your hand over Alessia’s.

“They can tell their mummy is here.” You said, watching as Alessia smiled with tears in her eyes.

“Come on, bubba, kick for mummy again.” Alessia whispered, kneeling down in front of your bump.

The sun was setting as you laid on the blanket, the cake in front of you along with two wine glasses.

Alessia’s hand was entangled with yours, her other hand resting on your growing bump.

“Are we ready?” Alessia whispered, looking at the cake - boy or girl - written on top of it.

“I think so.” You smiled, the two of you grabbing a wine glass each before looking away from the cake.

“Three… two… one.”

You both pushed the glasses into the cake, still looking away before nodding to one another.

Turning your head, you were met with a bright pink cake.

“A girl. A baby girl.” You whispered, alessia kissing your head as you took in the memory that would last forever.

“A baby girl.” Alessia repeated, tears welling in her eyes at the thought of a daughter - your daughter.

A cry filled the room as alessia placed your daughter on your chest.

“You did it, baby. She’s here.” Alessia sobbed, a hand pressed against your baby’s back.

You looked up at alessia with tears running down your face before leaning in to press a kiss on her lips.

“Hi, bubba.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to your baby girls head. “I know, that was really tough, huh?”

“I’m so proud of you.” Alessia said, rubbing your back.

“Would you like to cut the cord?” The midwife asked Alessia who nodded, wiping her tears from her eyes.

The blade sliced through the cord as alessia smiled with pride, her eyes pooling with tears.

Your daughter’s cries died down as alessia rubbed her back gently.

“She’s perfect.” You whispered, your voice breaking as you peered down at the baby - your baby - on your chest.

“She is, baby. You did such a good job.”

“We did.”

The two of you continued to look at the baby in awe, a glimpse of the future and the hope it held flashing through your mind.

Alessia was lying on the bed, your baby girl on her chest, fast asleep.

The midwife had not long gone, having stayed for a few hours to make sure everything was okay with the both of you.

Your daughter was perfect - her weight, her reflexes, everything.

You were just closing your eyes when a small cry was heard from Alessia’s chest.

“It’s okay, bubba. Mummy’s here. I’m always going to be here for you, bubba. I’m going to be there when you take your first steps, I’m going to be there when you say your first word, when you score your first goal, when you start school. You’ve got so many amazing aunties who are also going to be there. And two uncles who are crazy but they love you so much. You really do have a lot of people who love you, little girl.” Alessia began, her voice soft as her hand rubbed the baby’s back, soothing her back to sleep. “You’re a dream come true for me and mama.”

“She really is.” You murmured, moving slightly to rest your head on Alessia’s shoulder.

“Me and mama love you so much, bubba.”

• alessia and y/nrusso posted •

Liked by leahwilliamsonn, ellatoone and 164,284 others

Florence Kaia Russo 🤍

[unpretty]

If you don't mind answering what about monogamy never made sense to you? This a genuine question I really am curious

i mean i get why other people do it, i just don't know why i would

why would my partner not get to fuck other people? why would they be forbidden from falling in love with other people? why would i care? why would i have to wait until after we break up to have sex with other people? after a breakup is when i'm the least fuckable. as long as they're still paying attention to me i don't care what else anyone gets up to. that's their business. go have many full and fulfilling relationships with other board game enthusiasts while i look for virtual pinecones and listen to podcasts at 2x.

[joelmillerisapunk]

Bottoms Up

bfd!Joel Miller x bfstepdad!Arthur Morgan x f!reader//7.1k

summary: a threesome sex pollen fic where two men kiss

warnings: mdni, 18+, 2 dicks one hole (I am not going for realism this is a sex pollen fic) reader is tipsy, oral m! and f! receiving, alcohol, sex pollen, age gap (reader is in college, make the men however old you want but they are dad's to a college-age girl), Arthur is married Joel is not, shitty moodboard

notes: this is for @yxtkiwiyxt 's nhie challenge. My prompt was never have I ever hooked up at a party with Joel Miller. If any of these warnings or the summary put you off, please move on and do not put yourself through this. A big huge thank you to my baby @thundermartini for holding my hand big on this one, sitting with me through my always never-ending moodboard crisis, helping with the title last minute, cheering me on, reading the smut, listening to me talk about this in between the other 5 million fics I have going for like a month and a half, and just being such an amazing human always I love you more than you know <3 A massive thank you to @arcanefox207 for beta-ing this bad boy on such short notice, being such a wonderful human and hyping me up, and an equally massive thank you to @itwasntimethatdidit40 for reading this as well, being a huge cheerleader always for me and the sweetest lovebug. And of course thank you a million times to @almostempty for giving me the entire sex pollen idea and how to incorporate it. I love you all so very much!! <3 And tysm @/keerysquinnpage on pinterest for the pictures of naked men

masterlist

The evening air is cool, slipping through the cracked kitchen window as Joel rinses a coffee mug under the faucet. The quiet hum of the fridge is the only sound in the house, a rare moment of stillness since Sarah moved in for college. He doesn’t mind the mess she brings with her—the stray notebooks on the kitchen counter, the piles of laundry that seem to multiply like rabbits—but it means his nights often end like this, cleaning up after her, one piece of chaos at a time.

He glances toward the trash can, where the lid doesn’t sit flush. With a low grunt, he tugs the can out, ready to take it to the curb, but as he reaches for the liner, something crumpled catches his eye. His brows knit together as he pulls out the wadded piece of paper. Smoothing it against the counter, his frown deepens.

It’s a flyer. Bright neon colors advertise a college party—cheap beer, loud music, and the promise of bad decisions. His gut tightens as he reads the details. The address is printed at the bottom and the date and time stand out like a glaring warning sign: Tonight. 9 PM. Joel glances at the clock on the microwave—it’s already past ten.

His stomach tightens.

Sarah hasn’t mentioned anything about going to a party. She’s been quiet all evening, coming home from class and heading straight to her room, earbuds in, barely mumbling a “hey” when he asked if she’d eaten dinner.

Joel runs a hand over his beard, staring at the flyer like it might offer some explanation. A dozen thoughts flood his mind- the packed rooms, the loud music, the drunk kids stumbling into each other. He can almost see Sarah in the middle of it all—maybe drinking something she shouldn’t be, maybe with a boy who has no business being near her.

“Dammit, Sarah,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the flyer back onto the counter. His fingers itch toward his phone, and before he can second-guess himself, he hits the contact for her mom.

The phone rings twice before she picks up, her voice warm but wary, the way it always is when Joel calls unexpectedly. “Hey, Joel. What’s going on?”

“Have you heard from Sarah tonight?” he asks, skipping past the pleasantries.

There’s a pause. “No, why?”

Joel exhales, gripping the edge of the counter. “She’s not here. Found a damn party flyer in the trash. Looks like it’s tonight. Think she’s there.”

Another pause, followed by a sigh. “Joel, she’s in college. Going to parties is part of the experience.”

“Yeah, and it’s part of the experience to make dumbass choices, too,” he shoots back, pacing the kitchen. “You know what these things are like. Cheap booze, god knows what else floatin' around. She doesn’t belong there.”

“She’s not a kid anymore, Joel,” her mom replies, her tone calm but firm. “She’s responsible enough to know her limits.”

“Responsible?” Joel lets out a sharp laugh. “She didn’t even tell me she was goin' out. Doesn't sound responsible to me.”

“You can’t hover over her every second,” she snaps, her patience clearly thinning. “She’s figuring things out. You need to let her.”

Joel clenches his teeth, his grip on the phone tightening. “You call carin' about her hovering? I’m just tryna make sure she’s safe.”

“And I’m telling you she is,” her mom says, exhaling sharply. “Joel, you’re gonna drive yourself crazy with this. Let her have her fun.”

Before Joel can respond, she hangs up. He pulls the phone from his ear and stares at the screen, his jaw clenching as frustration boils in his chest. Let her have her fun. The words echo in his mind, making his stomach churn. Maybe her mom can sit back and hope for the best, but Joel can’t. He won’t.

Pulling his jacket off the back of a chair, he grabs his keys and heads for the door. If Sarah is at that party, he’s going to find her. And she damn well better have a good explanation.

_____________________________

Arthur shifts in his chair, the leather creaking softly as he glances over the edge of his book. He isn’t much of a reader—hell, Sarah’s mom teases him often enough about that—but every now and then, he likes the quiet. The house is calm tonight, the kind of calm that doesn’t come around much these days.

Across the room, she scrolls through her phone, half-watching one of those reality shows she claims to hate but never misses. It’s nice, Arthur thinks, this kind of simple peace.

Then her phone rings.

Arthur watches her pick it up, her brow furrowing slightly as she glances at the caller ID. “It’s Joel,” she mutters, swiping to answer.

Arthur sets his book down, leaning back as the conversation begins. He raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. He can’t hear Joel’s words, but he can imagine them—gruff, insistent, probably pacing a hole into the floor on the other end of the line.

When she finally hangs up, she lets out an exasperated sigh, tossing the phone onto the coffee table.

“Let me guess,” Arthur drawls, his voice tinged with amusement. “Joel’s got his panties in a twist?”

Her lips twitch, but she shakes her head. “He found some party flyer in the trash. Thinks Sarah’s there and is acting like it’s the end of the world.”

Arthur snorts, rubbing a hand over his chin. “Sounds ‘bout right. Man’s wound tighter than a spring.”

“It’s exhausting,” she admits, leaning back into the couch. “I told him she’s fine. She’s not a kid anymore.”

Arthur nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe. But Joel’s got his reasons for worryin'. Can’t say I don’t see his point.”

She gives him a sharp look. “Don’t tell me you’re siding with him all of the sudden.”

Arthur shrugs, standing and stretching as he grabs his jacket from the back of the chair followed by his hat. “Ain’t about takin' sides. But if he’s worried enough to call, maybe there’s somethin' to it. Kids these days, parties like that—” He shakes his head. “Best not to assume it’s all harmless fun.”

Her frown deepens. “You’re not seriously thinking of going, are you?”

Arthur shoots her a crooked grin, pulling on his jacket. “Well, somebody oughta make sure Joel don't storm in there like a damn cavalry charge.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue, muttering something under her breath as he grabs his keys.

As he steps outside, the cool night air hits his face. He slides into his truck, glancing briefly at the dashboard before starting the engine. Joel is probably halfway to the party already, tense as a coiled snake. Arthur can’t help the smirk that tugs at his lips.

Guess I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t make a damn fool of himself.

The closer Joel gets to the party, the more his unease builds. He can hear the music from blocks away, the thrum of bass vibrating through his chest. His gut twists, each beat of the song an irritating reminder that his daughter, his baby girl, is likely in there somewhere. He parks his truck and steps out into the loud, chaotic scene.

The house is a mess from the outside, students drunkenly spilling out of the door and onto the front lawn, some of them barely keeping their balance. The closer he gets, the worse the place is—loud and cluttered with more students than Joel can count. He can already feel his blood pressure rising. As he reaches the front steps, a wiry kid in a tank top and backward cap blocks his path. The kid can’t be older than twenty-one and is clearly drunk, his glassy eyes scanning Joel with exaggerated scrutiny.

“Whoa, whoa, dude, hold up,” the kid slurs, holding up a hand. “You can’t just storm in here lookin' like that. You’re way too tense, man. Party vibes only.”

Joel frowns, his patience already running thin. “I ain’t here to party. I’m here to pick up my daughter.”

The kid squints at him, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “Nah, nah, can’t let you in all mad like that. House rules, bro. You gotta chill first. Like, take a shot, loosen up, and then you can go find whoever.”

Joel stares at him, his expression hardening. “I don’t have time for this. Move.”

But the kid holds firm, producing a tray of bright green jello shots with a flourish. “No shot, no entry. That’s the rule. C’mon, man, it’s just jello. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, his patience worn to a thread. The kid in front of him sways slightly, the jello shots jiggling on the tray as he grins like he’s just presented the best damn solution in the world.

Joel doesn’t have time for this. He’s about to shove past the guy when a familiar voice cuts through the noise behind him.

"Well, ain't this a sight."

Joel turns just as Arthur steps up beside him, hands in the pockets of his jacket, that damn cowboy hat sitting low on his head like he owns the place.

Joel hates that hat. He’s hated it since the first time he saw it, sitting smug as hell atop Arthur’s head like some declaration of personality. The damn thing makes Arthur look too at ease, too comfortable in any situation—including this one.

The kid grins wider, apparently delighted by the addition of another older man to his party obstacle course. “Ayyy, two-for-one deal! Y’all both gotta take one. House rules, bros.”

Arthur glances at the jello shots and then at Joel. “You gonna play nice, or you plannin’ to deck this poor bastard?”

Joel glares. “I ain’t here for games.”

Arthur hums, clearly entertained. He plucks one of the tiny plastic cups off the tray, holding it up like he’s appraising fine liquor. “Hell, Miller, might as well get in the spirit.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. He is not in the mood for this nonsense, but Arthur’s already tipping the shot back, his expression unreadable as he swallows. A beat later, he clears his throat, grimacing. “That’s awful.”

The kid cheers like Arthur just won some kind of prize. “Hell yeah! Your turn, grumpy dude.” He shoves the tray toward Joel again, jiggling it obnoxiously.

Joel eyes the tiny cup like it personally offended him. His fingers curl into fists at his sides. Every second he spends out here, Sarah could be getting into trouble inside. He doesn’t trust these kids, doesn’t trust the booze, doesn’t trust any of this.

Arthur nudges him with an elbow. “C’mon, Miller. Ain’t gonna kill ya.”

Joel exhales through gritted teeth. Fine. If it gets this dumbass out of his way faster.

He snatches a shot from the tray, tilts his head back, and swallows it in one go.

Immediately, regret slams into him.

It’s sickly sweet and burns in a way that doesn’t belong in jello. His face contorts, and beside him, Arthur lets out a wheezing laugh. “Oh, that’s just nasty.”

Joel coughs once, shoving the empty cup back at the kid. “Happy?”

The kid fist pumps like a proud parent. “Vibe check complete, my dudes! Go forth and party.”

Joel doesn’t waste another second. He brushes past him, Arthur following close behind. The second they step inside, the heat and smell hit him—cheap beer, sweat, and something suspiciously skunky in the air. The bass rattles his ribs, and the sheer amount of people crammed into the space makes his pulse spike.

Arthur whistles low, glancing around. “Damn. Brings back memories.”

Joel ignores him. 

Arthur sighs, rolling his eyes. “Right, then. Let’s go huntin’ hound dog.”

“Have you seen Sarah Miller?” Joel asks a couple of people milling about the entryway, but no one knows where she is. Some give him blank stares, others are too drunk to respond properly. His patience is thin.

He scans the crowd, eyes darting from room to room, trying to catch sight of her. The music pulses in his ears, every movement around him only adding to the feeling that everything is spiraling out of his control. Where the hell are you, Sarah?

A few steps into the living room, Joel freezes. His name cuts through the noise like a knife.

“Well, well. Joel Miller, at a college party. Never thought I’d see the day.” The voice is unmistakable—playful, familiar, and laced with just enough teasing to make his jaw clench. Joel turns, his eyes landing on you, Sarah's friend.

You’re leaning casually against the wall, a red plastic cup in hand, looking far too amused for his liking.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Joel demands, stepping closer, his tone sharp but quiet enough not to draw attention.

You shrug, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Same thing everyone else is doing. Relaxing, having a good time. You should try it sometime.”

Joel’s scowl deepens. “I ain’t here for that.”

“Figured.” You sip your drink, your gaze never leaving his. “Lemme guess. Sarah?”

He nods tightly. “You seen her?”

“Maybe.” You tilt your head, there's a playful glint in your eyes. “What’s it worth to you?”

Joel lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand over his face. “This ain’t the time for games, darlin’.”

You laugh softly, setting your cup down. “Relax, Joel. I’ll help you find her. You know,” you say, your eyes sparkling with mischief as you lean in slightly, “you clean up nice. Didn’t realize you’d turned into such a hot daddy.”

Arthur immediately coughs—more like chokes—his hand flying to his mouth as he fights to hold back laughter. “Oh-ho, now this is gettin’ good.”

Joel’s jaw drops slightly, his ears burning. “The hell did you just say?”

“You heard me,” you reply, unfazed. “Hot. Daddy. Don’t act so surprised—it’s a compliment.”

Arthur slaps a hand on Joel’s shoulder, grinning like a damn fool. “You know, Miller, I've been sayin’ you were gettin’ a little too soft in the middle. Guess the young folks got a name for it now.”

Joel looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. “You’re both somethin’ else, you know that?”

Arthur leans in slightly, smirking. “Yeah, well, guess that makes you Daddy Miller now.”

Joel’s groan drowns out your laughter as he rubs his face. “I swear to god—”

“Oh, c’mon, Daddy,” you tease, winking. “Let’s find your kid before you have an aneurysm.”

Arthur, still grinning, tips his hat. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

Joel barely has time to recover from your teasing before you grab his arm and start weaving through the crowd. His gruff protests are swallowed by the thumping bass and the loud laughter of drunken college kids. He follows reluctantly, still fuming but unable to shake the warmth spreading over his cheeks from your earlier comment.

“Where’d you see her last?” he asks, his voice low as his eyes dart around the chaotic scene.

You glance over your shoulder, smirking. “Patience, Joel. I’m working on it. You’re like a bloodhound, you know that? Just sniffing out trouble.”

He shoots Arthur a glare. “You comin’ or just standin’ there lookin’ smug?”

Arthur’s smirk widens as he follows. “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Joel pushes through the crowd with Arthur close behind, his jaw clenched so tight it’s a miracle he hasn’t cracked a tooth. The bass rattles the floor beneath his boots, the house packed shoulder to shoulder with college kids shouting over the music, some already sloppy-drunk and stumbling. Every second that ticks by without finding Sarah makes his chest tighten, but what’s almost as frustrating is the bastard at his side.

Arthur, the smug son of a bitch, is clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Well,” Arthur drawls as they push past a couple making out against the staircase banister. “If ya told me you wanted to relive your youth, I’d have suggested a saloon instead of a damn frat house.”

Joel shoots him a glare, but Arthur just grins, scanning the room like he’s actually enjoying himself. “This ain’t a joke, Morgan.”

“Didn’t say it was. But you gotta admit—” Arthur gestures at the chaos, some kid throwing up into a plastic cup a few feet away, “—it’s pretty damn funny.”

Joel exhales sharply, fighting the urge to deck him. “Only thing funny is how I keep puttin’ up with your shit.”

Arthur smirks. “Aw, you’d miss me if I was gone.”

“Like I’d miss a damn splinter.”

Their back-and-forth is interrupted when a girl stumbles into Joel’s side, nearly spilling her drink down his shirt. She blinks up at him, eyes glassy, then lets out a breathless laugh. “Oh my god. You guys are, like, way too old to be here. Are you professors?”

Arthur lets out a barking laugh before Joel can answer. “Somethin’ like that, sweetheart.”

Joel shakes his head, muttering under his breath, and keeps moving. Arthur follows, still smirking, but then you step into their path, that mischievous glint in your eye returning as you block their way.

“Boys, please.” you say, arms folding across your chest. 

Joel exhales sharply. “You know where she is or not?”

You hum, tilting your head, letting the tension stretch just a little longer. “Maybe.”

Arthur snorts. “She’s messin’ with ya.”

You flash him a grin. “Maybe I just like seeing Joel all worked up.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “You ain’t the first.”

Joel rolls his eyes.

You step closer with a knowing grin. “Pretty sure she went upstairs.”

Joel stiffens, scanning the crowded staircase. His gut twists. Upstairs could mean anything—she could be safe, just hanging out, or she could be caught up in something way worse.

“I’ll check,” he mutters, already moving toward the stairs.

Arthur’s about to follow, but Joel shakes his head. “We cover more ground if we split up. Keep lookin’ down here.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so I get to stumble ‘round in a damn sea of drunk fools while you get to skulk off someplace nice and quiet?”

Joel shoots him a look. “You’d rather deal with the mess up there?”

Arthur considers, then sighs dramatically. “Fine. But if I get puked on, I’m makin’ you buy me a new damn coat.”

Joel just grunts, already halfway up the stairs, while Arthur turns back to the party. The moment you reach the second floor, the thumping bass fades slightly. The air is cooler up here, the chaos of the party reduced to muffled echoes below.

Joel glances back at you, suspicion in his gaze. “Where?”

You nod down the hall. “Last door on the left.”

Joel doesn’t waste a second, pushing forward. You follow, letting him step inside first. The moment he’s over the threshold, you swing the door shut behind you with a quiet click.

Joel turns, frowning. “What—?”

“She’s not up here.”

His brows knit together, realization settling in. “What the hell, darlin’?”

You take a slow step forward, and Joel—big, brooding, and absolutely clueless—actually takes a step back and sits on the bed.

“You seemed stressed,” you say lightly, tilting your head. “Figured you could use a break.”

Joel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “This ain’t funny.”

“Who’s joking?” You step closer, close enough that he can smell whatever sweet perfume clings to your skin. “Arthur can keep himself busy for a little while. And you… you look like you could use some help loosening up.”

Joel’s jaw ticks, his hands flexing at his sides. “Ain’t happenin’.”

You smirk. “Sure about that?”

Suddenly, the room tilts—not in a drunken, careless way, but in a slow, creeping blur. Joel sits on the edge of the bed, broad shoulders rising and falling with unsteady breaths. His shirt hangs open at the top, sweat beads at his temple, and his fingers dig into the mattress like he’s holding onto the last thread of his sanity.

Something is wrong.

You stand in front of him, warmth blooming in your chest—not from alcohol, but from the way he looks at you. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his entire body wound so tight he looks ready to snap. He looks wrecked.

“Joel,” you murmur, stepping between his knees. Your fingers trail along his jaw, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. “You feeling alright?”

His throat bobs with a hard swallow, his whole body rigid beneath your touch. “Somethin’ ain’t right,” he rasps, voice thick with strain. “Shouldn’t be feelin’ this way.”

You smirk, dragging your fingers lower over the pulse hammering in his throat. “Feel what way?”

His jaw flexes, eyes darting away, searching for an anchor—something to ground him. But control is slipping through his fingers like sand.

“You,” he grits out, voice thick and strained. “You smell so damn good.”

Your grin widens, emboldened by the way his hands twitch at his sides, like he’s resisting the urge to grab you. “Maybe that’s just you finally admitting you want me.”

A low, ragged growl rumbles in his throat. Before you can tease him further, his hands shoot up, gripping your hips with a desperation that wasn’t there before. 

“Don’t play with me, darlin’,” he warns, though the heat behind it is fading fast, cracking into something more vulnerable. His chest rises and falls unevenly, his pupils dark pools of hunger and confusion. “I—I can’t think straight.”

You lean in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Then don’t think.”

Joel exhales sharply, body trembling beneath your touch, every muscle wound tight like a drawn bowstring.

Then the door creaks open.

“What in the hell?”

Arthur’s voice slams into the moment like a bucket of ice water.

Joel curses under his breath, hands jerking away from you like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. You turn to find Arthur standing in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his expression shifting rapidly from bewilderment to something sharper, more knowing. His sharp gaze flickers between you and Joel, taking in his disheveled state—the sweat at his temple, the way his chest heaves like he’s run a mile.

Arthur’s frown deepens. “You wanna explain why Miller looks like he’s ‘bout to keel over?”

Joel groans, squeezing his eyes shut, like he’s fighting off some invisible force. “Somethin’ was in those damn shots.”

Arthur’s face darkens. His jaw tightens, his hand dragging down his face as the realization clicks into place. “Oh, for fuck sakes.”

For the first time, you notice it—how Arthur's fingers flex restlessly at his sides, the faint flush creeping up his neck. The way his throat bobs when he swallows, like something is catching there, thick and unshakable.

You bite your lip, watching as Arthur exhales sharply. His usual composure cracking, just enough to reveal the heat flickering behind his gaze, the same one you just saw in Joel’s.

Arthur clenches his jaw, shaking his head like he can force away the sensation clawing its way up his spine. “This ain't happenin’,” he mutters under his breath, pacing in short, jerky steps, his boots scuffing against the floor.

But you see it. His fingers flex like he’s itching to touch. His gaze flickers to you, then to Joel, then back again, lingering just a second too long. He’s trying—god, he’s trying—to hold himself together, but his breath comes faster and his muscles tense beneath his shirt.

“Arthur,” you murmur, stepping toward him. Your fingers ghost over his arm, stopping his restless pacing. His muscles jump beneath your touch, his jaw locking tight as he flinches back like you’ve burned him.

“Are you feeling it too?”

A sharp inhale. A pause.

Then, in a voice stretched thin with restraint, he rasps, “Don’t.”

But there’s no real bite to it—just a desperate, fraying edge. His pupils are blown wide. His nostrils flare as his gaze flickers around the room—searching for control, finding none.

"You say that," you murmur, dragging your fingers down his chest, slow, teasing. "But you feel it too, don't you?"

Arthur’s pulse throbs under your fingertips, hot against your skin. His breath is uneven. “Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.” The words break off, swallowed by a tightness in his throat that says more than he can put into words.  “‘Bout—” He cuts himself off, like just the thought of it is too much.The way he trembles, the way his eyes darken—they’re confirmation enough.

You trace his torso before feeling the undeniable bulge beneath his jeans.

He tenses. A sharp inhale punches out of his lungs. His hips jerk forward instinctively, the thick heat of him twitching under your touch, seeping through the denim.

Arthur lets out a low, muttered curse, his resolve shattering like glass. Before you can say another word, his hands are on you.

It’s sudden—like a dam breaking. His grip is firm, almost bruising, as he yanks you in, crashing his lips against yours. Heat ignites in your veins, scorching and insatiable. You melt into him, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him closer. He groans into your mouth,his hands anchoring you to him, pressing you flush against him.

Behind you, Joel makes a strangled, guttural noise—something raw, something starved.

Arthur finally pulls away, his breath ragged. His forehead presses against yours, hands locked around your hips like letting go isn’t an option. His grip is possessive, claiming.

But Joel isn’t about to be left behind.

He exhales shakily, hesitation flickering in his gaze for only a second before he’s on his feet.

He closes the distance in a single step, his fingers threading into your hair, tilting your face up. And then his mouth meets yours. It’s different from Arthur—deeper, rougher, edged with something raw and desperate. His grip is sure, his hands sliding down your body, pulling you flush against him like he needs to feel every inch of you, needs to brand himself into you.

Arthur shifts behind you, a low scoff slipping past his lips. “Oh, come on, Miller.” His voice is rough, breathless, and laced with utter need. “You kissin’ her or tryin’ to romance her?”

Joel pulls back just enough to glare at him. “Least I know how to take my time, Morgan. You just gonna stand there and watch, or you gonna do somethin’?”

Arthur’s smirk is sharp as a blade. “You askin’ me to show you how it’s done?”

Before you can blink, Arthur’s hands are on you again, gripping your hips so fast your head spins. He tugs you against him, chest flush to your back, his breath hot against your ear.

“You wanna be handled right, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your skin. “You come to me.”

You feel it—the heat, the desperation, the all-consuming ache that quickly becomes unbearable. This isn’t just lust. It’s chemical. Something unnatural coils through their veins, winding tighter and tighter. Their hunger intensifies until it borders on agony.

“Sweetheart, you gotta tell us—" Arthur's hips jerk forward rolling against you and a strangled grunt slips from him. "—gotta tell us it’s okay, ‘cause I can’t, won’t be able to stop."

Your stomach clenches. The sharp spike of arousal sends a pulse of heat straight between your legs. They’re breaking apart, and it’s because of you.

You swallow hard, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Arthur hands are on you in a flash, tearing at your clothes like patience is a thing of the past. His lips scorch a path across your skin, demanding and relentless as his tongue explores every inch of you. He pants like he’s drowning and needs you to breathe.

Joel is no better. His large hands roam over your body, shoving under your shirt, his fingers greedily grabbing and kneading your skin.

“Darlin’, we gotta get this off,” Joel mutters, voice thick with need.

Arthur growls, yanking your shirt up and ripping it over your head in one rough motion, fabric flying to the floor. Your bra is next, unclasped in a single tug, his calloused hands immediately covering your bare skin, kneading your breasts, thumbs swiping over your stiffening nipples.

“You’re so goddamn soft,” Arthur rasps, voice wrecked, his palms mapping every inch of you.

Joel presses his lips to your skin, tongue teasing your nipples with slow, deliberate flicks before sealing around them with a hot, insistent pull. His hands trail heat down your stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of your jeans. He pulls back with a wet pop, breath warm against your skin. “Ain’t fair, Morgan. Can’t let you have all the fun.”

Joel growls, shoving your jeans down, gripping your ass, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

Arthur’s fingers skim lower, finding you already soaked. His grin widens. “Fuck, sweetheart, you really want this, huh?”

“Yeah? How wet is she?”

Arthur drags his fingers through your slick folds before flicking his gaze to Joel, smug. “Why don’t you feel for yourself?”

Joel doesn’t hesitate. His hand joins Arthur’s between your legs, their fingers brushing, both of them feeling just how desperate you are.

A sharp inhale escapes you. The sensation—both their hands on you, teasing, possessive—sends a shock of pleasure straight through you.

Arthur chuckles, thick with satisfaction. “Damn. You feel that?”

Joel exhales sharply, grip tightening. “Oh yeah,” he grits out. “Feel that sweet cunt droolin’ for us.”

His fingers slip inside you, stretching you open, coaxing a moan from deep in your throat. Arthur watches, dark eyes hungry. “Gotta admit, I like hearin’ you make those sounds sweetheart.”

Joel scoffs. “Least I’m makin’ her moan.”

Arthur growls, fingers moving faster, pushing Joel’s aside like he’s reclaiming what’s his. “Let’s see who gets her beggin’ first.”

Both men grin, dark and satisfied, fingers still teasing through your slick folds. “Think she likes bein’ between us.”

Joel’s eyes burn as he watches Arthur’s hand disappear between your thighs. His jaw tightens. “Quit runnin’ your damn mouth and do somethin’.”

Arthur just smirks, fingers hooking into your panties and yanking them down, damp fabric sliding over your thighs.

“You’re a fuckin’ dream.” Joel murmurs.

Arthur scoffs. “Ain’t just gonna tell her. She deserves to feel it too.”

Joel steps back, eyes dragging over your body, chest rising and falling heavily. Arthur does the same, lips parted, a groan slipping from his throat.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” Arthur mutters, fingers tracing the swell of your breasts, down the curve of your waist. “Ain’t never seen anythin’ prettier.”

Joel hums in agreement, hands following the same path, like he needs to memorize every inch of you.

Arthur’s the first to move, unbuckling his belt with a swift pull, letting it drop with a heavy clink. He shoves his jeans and boxers down, stepping free. Your breath catches.

Not to be outdone, Joel shrugs off his shirt, muscles flexing as he makes quick work of his jeans. When they fall, your mouth goes dry.

They’re both… big.

A nervous thrill rushes through you, anticipation crackling along your skin like a live wire. Arthur smirks, catching the way your eyes widen.

“Somethin’ catch your attention, sweetheart?”

Joel exhales sharply, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Bet she’s wonderin’ how she’s gonna take us both.”

Heat floods your cheeks, but the pulsing need between your thighs overpowers any hesitation. You reach for Arthur first, fingers wrapping around the base of his length, feeling the sheer weight of him. His head tips back slightly, but his eyes never leave you.

Not wanting to leave Joel waiting, your other hand wraps around him, fingers curling, testing. He sucks in a sharp breath, muscles tensing beneath your touch.

“Fuck,” Joel mutters, voice strained.

Arthur chuckles, breathless. “She’s got a good grip, huh?”

You lick your lips, heart hammering as you stroke them both, hands moving in slow, deliberate motions. The power of knowing you’re the cause of their unraveling sends a rush of arousal straight through you.

You lean in, taking Arthur first, tongue flicking against his heated skin. His hips jerk, a low growl slipping from his throat.

Joel’s hand slides into your hair, fingers threading through the strands—not to control, just to feel, to anchor himself as he watches you.

Arthur exhales a shaky breath, fingers flexing at his sides. “Hell, sweetheart… keep that up, and I ain’t gonna last.”

Joel chuckles, rough and strained. “Guess I gotta see what all the fuss is about.”

You glance up, meeting their hooded gazes before switching—lips leaving Arthur to wrap around Joel, your hand still working him as you take him deeper.

The sounds they make—needy, desperate, barely held together—send heat pooling between your thighs.

Arthur strokes a hand down your back. “You look so damn good like this, sweetheart.”

Joel exhales sharply, grip in your hair tightening just slightly. “Yeah, she does,” he agrees, voice ragged. “Come on, darlin’. Need you on the bed. Now.”

You barely hit the mattress before Arthur is on you. His mouth is hot, insatiable, kissing you like he’s got something to prove. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, messy and frantic, like he’s trying to erase every other man you’ve ever kissed. His hands grip your skin with urgency, mapping out every inch of you for himself.

Joel isn’t far behind. He crawls onto the bed, big hands sliding up your body. “Goddamn, baby,” he rasps, “you feel so damn good.”

Arthur drags his mouth down your throat, biting at your collarbone, fingers flexing against your hips as he grinds against you, shameless and eager. “Can’t stop touchin’ you,” he mutters, breath coming in heavy, hungry bursts.

Joel watches Arthur roll against you, sees the way your body arches for him, and lets out a low, frustrated sound. His cock twitches. His fingers dig into your thighs, possessive, patience unraveling.

“Goddamn,” he grits out. “I need you.”

Arthur’s head snaps up, eyes dark and burning. His chest heaves. “We need you,” he corrects, voice rough, daring Joel to challenge him.

You whimper, heat pooling low as Joel meets Arthur’s stare, something dangerous passing between them. Then Joel moves, fast, gripping your chin, tilting your head back into a deep kiss. His tongue sweeps against yours, stealing your breath, swallowing your sounds like he owns them.

Arthur watches with an intense gaze, his chest rising sharply. “Shit,” he mutters, voice strained.

Joel chuckles darkly. “Ain’t no stoppin’ now, Morgan.” He smirks, taunting, then glances down at you, his touch slow but deliberate. “She needs us.”

Arthur swallows hard, gaze flickering over you, taking in your wrecked state. His cock is flushed, leaking, aching. The sight of you between them, desperate and wanting, nearly drives him insane. “Then let’s give her what she needs.”

Joel’s fingers trail over your breast, rolling a nipple between them. You arch, whining, and his voice drops to a rasp. “Look at you. So goddamn beautiful.”

Arthur groans in agreement but refuses to let Joel take the lead. He moves lower, mouth dragging down your stomach, hands gripping your thighs, pushing them apart. He inhales sharply at the sight of your slick heat. “Christ, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking through your wetness. “All this for us?”

You nod, breathless, fingers tangling in his hair. “Please,” you whisper, wrecked with need.

Arthur doesn’t hesitate. His tongue flattens against you, moving with slow, devastating precision, determined to ruin you for anyone else.

Joel shifts beside you, watching, stroking himself. “Fuck,” he mutters, his free hand tracing over your trembling thighs. “You like that, darlin’? Like him eatin’ you out while I watch?”

Your answer is a broken moan. Your fingers tighten in Arthur’s hair as he sucks your clit, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through you. He pulls back just enough to rasp, “Wanna feel you come on my tongue, sweetheart. Be a good girl for me.” Then he’s back on you, relentless, holding you down as you writhe.

Joel grits his teeth, watching you fall apart, his strokes turning rougher, breath ragged. “Goddamn it.” His gaze burns at the way your body shakes, how your moans break into gasps.

It doesn’t take long. Pleasure coils tighter, spiraling until it snaps. You cry out, thighs trembling as you come. Arthur groans against you, licking you through every wave, refusing to stop until you’re shaking.

When you finally sag against the mattress, panting and wrecked, Arthur pulls away, wiping his mouth. His jaw is slick, eyes dark with satisfaction. “Think she liked that.” His fingers stroke over your inner thighs, teasing. “Sweet as honey.”

Joel clenches his jaw, his cock thick, heavy, flushed a deeper shade than normal. “Fuck,” he growls, gripping your thigh, spreading you wider. His voice is rough, raw with hunger. “Need to be inside ya, darlin’.”

Arthur chuckles, breathless. “That so?” He shifts up, hovering, smug. “Think I should get a turn first, Miller.”

Joel’s eyes flash. “Like hell you will.”

They hold each other’s gaze, both rock hard, both determined. Neither will be satisfied until they’ve both had you.

Arthur shifts back, but not in surrender. A challenge. He lets Joel take his place between your legs, then leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, fingers teasing down your stomach. “Tell him whose cock you wanna feel first.”

A needy whimper slips past your lips. Your legs spread wider in silent invitation. Desperation threads through your voice. “Joel—please.”

Joel groans, victorious, guiding himself against your entrance. “That’s a good girl.”

With one brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, knocking the breath from your lungs. You whimper, still trembling from your release, but Joel hushes you, voice softer now. “You can take it, baby. You want it bad, don’t you?”

The stretch burns, but it’s a sweet, aching pain drowned out by the desperate pulse of need. Joel presses his forehead to yours, his breath ragged, his hips already snapping into a deep, unrelenting rhythm. He’s relentless, making up for lost time, proving something with every thrust.

Arthur exhales sharply, his cock twitching at the sight of you unraveling beneath Joel.

A deep, broken moan rips from your throat, your fingers digging into Joel’s biceps.

“Hell baby feel so good,” he grits out, head dropping to your shoulder. “So goddamn tight.”

Arthur watches, smirking. “Damn, sweetheart. Feels good, don’t it?” He tilts your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Bet you’re squeezin’ him so fuckin’ tight.”

Joel’s jaw tenses. “Ain’t gonna last if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Arthur chuckles darkly. “Then I better make it worse.”

His hand drifts lower, brushing featherlight over your swollen clit. The jolt of sensation sends a wrecked moan spilling from your lips.

Joel curses. “Son of a bitch—”

Arthur grins, circling slow, lazy strokes, watching you shudder. “What’s wrong, Miller? Too much for ya?”

Joel growls, slamming deeper. “I can handle my fuckin’ business.”

Arthur doesn’t stop, his murmured praises filthy and relentless as Joel fucks you harder, driving you into his hold. “That’s it, baby,” Joel rasps. “Takin’ it so fuckin’ well.”

Arthur presses a kiss to your jaw, fingers working you over. “Come again, sweetheart. Let him feel you clench up nice ‘n tight—then it’s my turn.”

Pleasure coils in your belly, overwhelming, consuming. Arthur watches, his grip tight around his cock, stroking in quick, eager pumps. His jaw flexes, frustration flickering in his dark gaze before he moves.

No hesitation. No warning. Just action.

His hands grip your hips, shoving Joel’s hold aside like he’s claiming you for himself. Joel doesn’t even glance back—but his fingers tighten, sensing exactly what Arthur’s about to do.

Arthur spreads you wider, pressing in beside Joel, the stretch sharp and immediate. Your body struggles to take them both.

Joel curses, breath wrecked. “You feel that, baby? Takin’ both of us like you were made for it.”

They move in tandem, one pulling out as the other pushes in, a brutal rhythm that has you seeing stars. The pressure, the stretch, the way they fill you—it’s too much, too good.

Joel’s head falls back, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as his cock grinds against Arthur’s with every deep thrust. Skin slaps, breaths tangle, and they stretch you to your limit.

Then Arthur grips the back of Joel’s neck, crashing their mouths together. It’s rough, desperate—teeth clashing, tongues fighting for control.

Joel groans into the kiss, hips snapping harder, like he’s trying to fuck you so good Arthur can feel it too. He fists a hand in Arthur’s hair, yanking him closer, deepening it with a low, wrecked sound.

The sight makes your head spin. The way they lose themselves in each other, needy and ravenous, it’s intoxicating. You reach between them, wrapping your hand around Arthur’s cock pulling it from its warm home, slick from where he’s been inside you.

Arthur jerks, gasping, his eyes blown wide. He moves, shifting toward your head, his cock brushing your lips in silent demand.

You take him in, hollowing your cheeks, sucking him deep. Arthur curses, fingers twisting in your hair, guiding your movements.

Joel’s thrusts stutter, then recover—harder, relentless. “Jesus christ,” he grits out, watching the way you take Arthur. His cock twitches inside you, throbbing. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Arthur groans, hips jerking. “That’s it, sweetheart. Takin’ us so damn good.”

Joel’s mouth crashes back to Arthur’s, their kiss messy, desperate. They groan into each other, bodies moving in perfect rhythm—Joel stretching you open, Arthur hitting the back of your throat, pleasure spilling over in waves.

The tension builds, unbearable. Joel’s grip tightens, thrusts turning erratic before he shudders, spilling deep inside you with a wrecked moan, forehead pressed to Arthur’s.

Arthur isn’t far behind. His grip in your hair tightens as he comes, thick and hot down your throat, his moans swallowed by Joel’s mouth as they kiss through it. His free hand flexes against Joel’s neck, holding him close even as his hips still.

For a long moment, the only sound is ragged breathing, the slow cooling of sweat-slicked bodies. Joel presses his forehead to yours, fingers smoothing over your waist, grounding himself. Arthur trails lazy patterns over your skin—unexpectedly gentle after the desperation of moments ago.

Joel finally breaks the silence, voice low and hoarse. “What the hell was in those shots?”

Arthur lets out a breathless chuckle. “Just know I ain’t never felt somethin’ like that before.”

You hum, fingers threading through Joel’s damp curls as he nuzzles into your neck, his body still half-draped over yours. “Guess that makes three of us.”

Arthur’s fingers ghost along your hip, voice quieter now, but dark with something possessive. “Y’think it’s outta our system?”

Joel’s hand slides over your stomach, flexing like he’s already thinking about round two. “Hope not.” His smirk brushes against your skin before he nips at your shoulder. “Ain’t done with you yet, darlin’.”

Arthur chuckles, warm and dark against your ear. His teeth scrape your pulse, his hand gripping your thigh. “Reckon neither am I.”

taglist:

@harriedandharassed @syd-djarin

[bunni-v1]

relating to your last ask that included arguments between shadow milk and his lover, i cannot get the following picture out of my head:

his doll, while a bit (a bit more) off-put by the whole truthless recluse situation, is very much "whatever, their soul jam, their business" about it

however-

what grinds their gears is the fact that kids (aka the gingerbrave gang) are involved

i can just imagine them going off on shadow milk like "listen, i get it, your plans but they are kids. literal children?? keep them out of this-" "no, doll, listen, they're scheming kids-"

ik this isn't really an ask, but i just wanted to share it :)) love your writing, you're amazing, and your shadow milk headcanons live rent free in my brain (actually i am paying them-)

Lolololol (Feel like a mysmes character typing ts... okay), I guess we can say this is ur rent. I'm happy for your payment though, it's good food for thought my love! Have a little midnight snack as a treat!

Just imagine you're someone who's more compassionate. It's something that Shadow Milk Cookie cherishes about you... when it's directed at him. You're always worrying over him and his little henchmen, Candy Apple especially since she's so young. It's annoying, but it's sweet how much you dote on them, and he can't say he dislikes the idea of you in a more parental role...

It becomes an issue when those little pests come around. You've never nosed your way into his business at all, leaving things between him and Pure Vanilla to be what they are. He prefers it like that, keeping you out of trouble was always a positive on his mind. Oh, but then those cute little annoying snotty nosed brats come along and ruin everything.

It wouldn't have been an issue if you hadn't overheard him threaten to drown them. It not like he was actually going to, he was just poking at Truthless Recluse, that's all. You didn't take it though, you were all kinds of pissed off at him.

He thinks it's a silly thing to be upset about, you know he didn't care enough about those kids to do much of anything to them. Yet, you remain upset, even after things are done and Compassionate Pure Vanilla has TEMPORARILY taken him and his plans down. It stumps him, he can't possibly wrap his mind around what's gotten into you. Such a small insignificant act is nothing compared to half of what you've seen him do.

When you refuse to say more than a few words to him, he starts to worry. What did he do wrong? Well, you told him, but why was it so bad this time? The best answers come from the source, of course, but getting it out of you might be a little harder than he likes.

"Doll? Dolly? Little star? Won't you talk to me?" He pouts, trailing behind you like a lost puppy.

You might've teased him if you weren't so upset now. You keep your nose upturned, doing your best not to crack under his relentless pressure. He could be so persistent about these things, and normally you would give, but he'd crossed a line this time. You didn't mess around with children, and he should've known better.

A drawn-out sigh comes from behind you, "Are you still upset about the drowning thing? It was all in good fun I promise! Nothing to worry your pretty little head over!"

He didn't know better, though. For the former fount of knowledge -- and someone who could literally read minds if he wanted to -- he was terribly unaware sometimes. It made you so angry, and you felt bad for being angry because he really didn't get it.

"They're just insignificant little kids, it's a silly thing to be angry about." He continues, and oh that gets a reaction out of you.

You turn around to face him, the boredom in his expression only making that anger bubble up more and more. You really can't hold it in anymore.

"Exactly, they're kids! Just kids, they don't have any stake in this. Why couldn't you let well enough alone for once!" You shout, and it feels so good to get out. Pettiness aside, you'd wanted to get it through his head since this all started.

You watch his face shift through surprise and annoyance and then flatten into an unreadable expression. It was unsettling to see, especially pointed in your direction. Still, you tried to stand your ground, though you'd never felt so small next to him. He lets the silence linger in a purposeful move, you're not sure why. It keeps you on edge the whole time, unable to tell what his next move might be.

"Dolly, they were in my way, I had no choice-" He starts, but you've had enough of the manipulation and sitting quietly.

"What threat are children to you?" Your voice breaks halfway through the sentence, tears you didn't realize were building pouring over your cheeks, "You are so frustrating sometimes. In what universe would I ever be alright with hurting children? Sometimes it's like you don't even know me!"

You don't realize he's in front of you until he's lifting your face in his hand with uncharacteristic gentleness. His face is still flat, but you see the worry shining behind his eyes.

"Y'know you shouldn't lie to the literal embodiment of deceit," He says quietly as he brushes your tears away.

You know you shouldn't, but you laugh a little at that, "I'm sorry. I'm just upset."

"No, really?"

"You don't get to joke around right now," you scoff with a halfhearted shove at his shoulder.

He hums, leaning into your vision so you have to look at him, "It's making you smile, though."

"Shadow Milk Cookie."

"Okay, okay. I get the message," He backs off, "Just don't cry anymore, please?"

You smile, "Maybe if you promise not to involve those kids more than you have to, please?"

He seems to think it over like it was a hard decision. He doesn't think much longer when you flatten a glare on him, "Alright, it's a promise! You can look at my fingers, they're not crossed either! I'll keep my word!"

You scoff at him, "What do I see in you?"

"My charm and wit, of course!" He puffs up like a proud cat, the usual grin back on his face.

"Just kiss it better you dummy!"

"Whatever you ask for, you shall receive, my little star!"

And kiss it better he does, until you can hardly remember why you were so mad at him to begin with.

[ruinix]

Quinn with the 'when I say sit on my face, i don't mean hover.'

Lovely anon, do you know how downbad I am? No? Well, I am. Also, are you in my Instagram algorithm??? That phrase kept showing up even if I say ‘not interested’ (I am but you know, I’m trying not to be the whore that I am). Anyway, it’s maybe a bit cringe…I swear I tried...Sorry in advance…😭🧎🏻‍♀️

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Implied Unprotected Sex (use protection, silly), Oral (fem receiving), Face-sitting, Cum eating… 👀

Count: 998 words | Masterlist

You’re not listening to him. Why are you not listening? Is what he said so hard to understand? Quinn is seriously stunned—utterly flabbergasted—when you try to get out of the bed.

“Quinn, get off me!” You grumble, trying to slip out of his hold, but Quinn is still stronger than you. “This is holding me against my will! Kidnapping! Hostage taking!”

Quinn bursts out laughing. Fuck, you’re so silly sometimes. It’s never a dull moment with you, even when you are suddenly on a different wavelength. No, not even, especially. Quinn holds you closer, hand resting over your middle, pulling you closer against his chest.

Soon, your laughter follows—a beautiful mix of giggles and chuckles. Your sound makes him warm all over. When you crane your head so your lips graze his cheek, your hand  entwining with his, the other holding his jaw, Quinn almost forgets why he was holding you in the first place. You trickster.

“You’re distracting me,” he growls softly in your ear. Your little squeak makes him chuckle as he nips at your nape, your shoulders, your jaw. “You can’t get out of this.”

“Quinn,” you whine, “we just had sex. I’m sensitive! Plus I’ve already sat on your face earlier.”

“Sat,” he scoffs. “Sure.”

“Is that attitude?” You twist around so quickly, beautiful eyes narrowing, lips pouting, hair still very much disheveled from your earlier rounds, your nail scratching over his chest. “Don’t scoff at me, Quintin.”

Quintin. His first name. Fuck, it sounds so good.

Quinn sighs, pulling you closer, hooking your thigh over his hip. “Sorry.”

You both groan when his cock graze your pussy lips. Quinn’s member rousing. Yours quivering, leaking with your arousal and his cum. Oh, right. He filled you up so good, didn’t he? Quinn presses against your pussy, feels your entrance pulse, sees your hooded eyes.

“Again? I’m tired,” you whine, protesting but it’s you who reaches his cock to press it against your hole. “I’m so full, Q.”

Are you? You’ve already wasted a lot of his cum. Already so spent for the day. Quinn knows that. He fucking knows that. Despite wanting to pound into you, to fuck you until the next morning—and the through the whole day—he needs to hold back.

That’s why he fucking needs you to sit on his face. Right now.

“Then why is your pussy begging for more?” Quinn asks, eyes hooded, watching every shuddering breaths that escapes your lips. “But I know. You’re busy tomo—”

“Quinn, shut up.” You grab his cheeks and kiss him so sloppily. “I’m so sore, Quinny,” you whine when his tip teases your entrance.

You keep protesting, but it’s you who pushes your hips, chasing after his dick, seeking more and more.

“Sit on my face, my love.” Quinn whispers. His words echo in his ears. Does it with yours? Does his voice rattle your soul as much as yours with his?

“But…” You still hesitate.

You’re rarely hesitant. But when you are, you are. Like he will be turned off by you. Like he will care about your filled up pussy. Like he will suddenly be disgusted with you when he could very much lick the ground you walk on, kiss the pebbles of sweat on your body. Oh, he got you. Silly girl. Just breathe and you already have him hard and begging for a fuck.

“Trust me,” Quinn pleads, pressing his forehead against yours. His nose touches yours. He can see the little fear in your eyes, the doubt, before it dissipates into lust. “There we go.”

He gives you a small peck on your blushing cheek. “And, my Love, when I say sit on my face, I don’t mean hover.”

The wanton moan that escapes your lips is Quinn’s last straw. He could just fuck you. It would be too easy. Just one thrust and he’ll be inside your pussy. Just one kiss and he’ll have you begging for it—sore or not. But he doesn’t. Not when you finally agrees.

Quinn helps you over him. His hands glide and grips your skin. He can feel your shivers and trembles as you kneels over his face, legs beautifully parted for him to see your flushed pussy, too used and fucked.

“Quinn,” you whimper, hands planting on the headboard.

He mutters your name like a prayer and when you lower your pussy to his face, he knows his Goddess—you—answered.

He gives your clit a small kiss, tongue flatting over your trembling slit. The way you squeal and say made his heart flutter faster and faster in his chest. You taste divine. His cum combines with yours. Salty, musky, and somehow sweet.

This is what he fucking wants. He needed—still needs—this for so long. To be able to savor what he has done to you. To know how perfect your pussy would be with his fucking cum that he has never dared to taste before.

Fuck.

Oh, his love of his life. So perfect, so delectable, so fucking divine.

He's so happy that you’re not hovering. So happy that you finally listened. So happy that you’re grinding your pussy against his lips, using his nose to your clit, letting him hear every moan, groan, and whimper that escapes you. So happy to feel your weight on him.

He grips your thighs securing to him as he slips his tongue in your pussy, tasting more of you and him.

More.

Quinn thinks he should have done this earlier. Should have filled you with more cum and not let you argue and waste a single droplet. Should have feasted on you, stained and dirtied by him. Fuck. He needs more.

For every gulp and lick, your pussy tightens around his tongue, squeezing out his cum and your addicting arousal. Quinn can feel your thighs quiver, your pathetic attempt to escape him.

Oh you can’t.

He won’t have it.

 He needs you to come. He needs to feel you rob him of air as he does when he wrapped his fingers round your neck as he fucked into you.

He needs this.

Fuck. He’s so hard.

Maybe he can convince you for another round—rounds—of him buried deep in your pussy. Maybe he can persuade you not to attend the appointments you got tomorrow. Maybe he can just fuck you, clean you with his tongue, then fuck you again. Again. And fucking again.

Because this is not enough.

God, he’s so selfish. So fucking selfish.

He needs more and more of everything you can give him. His life is yours. Forever.

[gourmand-cookie]

[Bard & Beasts] Mystic Flour Cookie x Bard!Reader: Elysian Serendipity

inspired by @brittle-doughie's bard reader (i hold that request he's made for me close to my heart <3) also, this is my first time writing x reader content, please be kind

You've heard of her, through whispers of awe and adoration. How she could grant wishes to any and all, big or small.

But that's left you wondering...

When was the last time someone granted a wish of hers?

AKA Your first meeting with Mystic Flour Cookie during the Halcyon Days.

tags: Gender Neutral!Reader, Flashbacks, First Meetings, Fluff, Reader is called Bard Cookie, Serenading, Friendship, Cookies Have Human Traits, Cookies Are Still Cookies, Canon Compliant, ANIMATIC BELOW IS MINE! :3

"Hey, Bard Cookie?" You shift to look towards the sheepish voice that came from Gingerbrave, blinking idly as you wait for him to gather his words.

"What is it, Gingerbrave?" You give a gentle nudge amidst the silence, taking note on how Wizard Cookie and Strawberry were trying their best to look like they weren't eavesdropping, they've grown into strong and crispy cookies but it's clear they're still a little soft inside.

You don't mind their curiosity, there's not much they can do when you're all stuck in the air, headed for Beast Yeast after all.

"So, you said you've lived in Beast Yeast a long time ago, right? Can you tell us anything about that place?" Gingerbrave tunes you back in with his question, eager to know, stepping forward with that unusual brevity that leads you to soft laughter.

You don't miss how the rest, even Pure Vanilla Cookie, were now perking up at the prospect of hearing something new about an era older than them.

"Hmm." Instinctively, your hands reach around your back to grasp an instrument, pausing as your fingers feel the thrumming warmth of one made of spice and charred remnants.

"Why should I tell you..." Your words trail off, unaware of their shared looks of confusion and concern.

Your hand passes over to pull out a well loved guitar, made of wood and sugar that didn't smell of smoke to strum a familiar melody into the piece.

"When I could sing it instead?"

You've heard of her, through whispers of awe and adoration. How she could grant wishes to any and all, big or small.

But that's left you wondering...

When was the last time someone granted a wish of hers?

You were young and ambitious, nothing but a flute in hand and your ragged cloak, a scrappy cookie amongst the many others, it was a wonder you reached her that very same day.

"What is it that you wish for?" Perhaps you did have something to wish for but all you had back then was one question.

"What about you, what do you wish for?" It had caught her by surprise, your question alongside the way your confident smile wavered but eyes shining with dedication.

You'll never forget the way she smiled and asked for a simple song, having seen the flute tucked behind your person.

And for a moment, the pagoda was filled with the distinct sound of a flute, you played the best you could and she listened to your serene melody.

Alas, all things come to an end, your time together interrupted by the others who wanted their wishes to be heard.

You left your flute with her, with the promise to play for her again when you come by once more.

(You wonder if it's still there, you didn't have it in you to check before leaving your home.)

[purplesaline]

That radar, by the way? It's your unconscious brain (aka not thr part you actively think with) recognizing subtle body language cues and other non-verbal communication cues and noting a pattern then sending up red flags.

These body language and other non-verbal communication clues are so subtle that thr other person doesn't even realize they're doing them either.

ADHD folks and Autistic folks tend to be VERY good at reading these (because out brains don't automatically filter out unimportant stimuli the way neurotypical brains do), though autistic folks aren't generally as good at understanding the flags their brain is sending up (sometimes because so manu situations male them feel uncomfortable they assume it'sa false alarm). Anyone with PTSD tends to be even more keyed into these indicators, especially when it's a potential threat.

What's really cool is that you can train yourself to get even better at doing this. It's not some mystical ability some folks have and others will never have. Even neurotypical folks can teach themselves to pay more attention to these cues. A lot of it is working on mindfulness, start using active listening skills to pay closer attention to the people you're talking to. When you get a vibe, no matter how small, don't just automatically dismiss it, tuck it away until after the conversation and analyze it. Those vibes are the ways right, the larger the database your brain has on human behavioural patterns the more accurate they'll be so when you first start out you're likely going to be off a lot. Keep in mind this skill is only and always a tool to be used in conjunction with other skills and tools, you should never rely solely on this skill to form judgement about a person.

Start paying attention to behavioural patterns. "People who do X often react this way to Y situation." And pay attention to when that's not true, try to figure out what variable you may be missing that explains why they're acting in a way you didn't predict. Human behaviour is ALWAYS rational when perceived from the perspective of the person acting. There is always a rational and logical explanation for why a person is doing anything, no matter how illogical or irrational it may seem to you. If you can't figure out a rational explanation it's because you're missing key data.

And even when you're really, really good at reading people some folks will still throw you for a loop. It happened to me recently and I trusted someone I shouldn't despite this being a special interest of mine for literal decades.

And even I was shocked when I learned about Gaiman, because the information most of us had access to was specifically curated. He always felt a bit off to me, but in a socially awkward sort of way not in a predator way.

One final point about Gaiman, don't let him get away with "They'll all said they wanted it" or whatever bullshit he's trying to excuse his behaviour with. His art has, for decades, demonstrated he has a full understanding of consent and coercion and how vulnerable people will give in to powerful ones when they feel threatened even though they don't want to. His stories are full of these situations and he clearly demonstrates he knows that it's exploitation. He doesn't get to hide behind the socially awkward "I didn't understand" justification. Neither does Palmer, though with her it was more a case of willful ignorance and wishful thinking. Wanting to believe it would be okay this time so she ignored the red flags. I've got issues with her particular brand of exploitation under the guise of community too but that's another post entirely.

I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.

[svtiddiess]

Could I request number 17 from the first list with Scoups and maybe Jeonghan as the one eho catches them?

Cuddles And Kisses

Pairing: Seungcheol x afab!reader

Genre: fluff, suggestive, established relationship, drabble

Rating: suggestive

Word count: 0.4k

You giggle softly as Seungcheol's hair brushes against your neck, sending a ticklish shiver down your spine. It's been a chaotic week for both of you, and the added pressure of keeping your relationship under wraps has made it even harder to find time together. But now, finally stealing a quiet moment, you're curled up on the couch in Seungcheol's apartment, wrapped in each other’s arms while some random show plays on the TV in the background.

"I wish you could just stay with me forever," Seungcheol murmurs, his voice low and warm as he nuzzles closer, his breath ghosting over your skin.

"Me too," you reply softly, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his arm.

Being apart from Seungcheol is always tough, especially when he's off touring the world. But no matter how far apart you are, he never lets you forget how much he loves you or how much he longs to have you back in his arms. It’s those little reminders that keep you going.

Seungcheol smiles, his lips brushing feather-light kisses along your jawline, eliciting another quiet giggle from you. "I love your laugh," he murmurs, his voice tender. "I could listen to it all day."

His kisses trail upward, slow and deliberate, until they finally meet your lips. You melt into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as the warmth between you grows. What starts as sweet and gentle quickly deepens, the pent-up longing of days apart pouring into every touch, every breath.

Seungcheol pulls you onto his lap, and you settle there, straddling him as his hands grip your waist. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and a soft moan escapes your lips. The slow roll of your hips against his draws a low groan from him, his fingers tightening their hold on you.

"So this is why you weren't picking up my calls."

The two of you freeze, your heads snapping toward the voice. Standing in the doorway is Jeonghan, his signature grin plastered across his face, looking far too pleased with himself.

"What the—Jeonghan?! When did you get here?!" Seungcheol exclaims, his voice a mix of shock and embarrassment.

"Just now," Jeonghan shrugs. "So this is why you've been all giggly and distracted lately," he teases, his grin widening.

You and Seungcheol exchange a panicked glance, your faces burning. Well, there's no turning back now. You definitely have a lot of explaining to do.

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