#Or its just been so long that I can't remember if this was a universal issue or not

[joelsgoldrush]

“lovers once a year” | 9.4k

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

SUMMARY: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. joel’s POV. a lot of introspection. mentions of alcohol. miscommunication. no outbreak. dbf!joel. age gap (25 and 56). petnames. religious imagery. car sex. oral sex (f!receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. riding. missionary. doggy style. orgasm denial. crying. hair pulling. thumb/finger sucking. cum shot. creampie. reader sits on joel’s lap and has hair. moodboard for aesthetic purposes only. A/N: the fact this idea has been sitting on my drafts for over a year is just crazy. i finally found the time to put into words, and i know i’m a little late to the whole dbf!joel trope, but i’m a real sucker for it... hope you like this one! <3

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend.

For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the sentimental type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length.

Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state.

Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree.

Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing could throw him off.

Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

His gaze drifts across the room, settling on you at a smaller table a few meters away, surrounded by your younger cousins, ages five to fifteen. He watches as you scroll absent-mindedly on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, only tearing your eyes away from the screen when one of the kids hurls a handful of salty peanuts at you.

You press your palms flat against the tablecloth, eyes narrowing as you scowl playfully at the child, a mischievous glint in your expression. “You’ve got ten seconds to run,” you utter in a tone meant to sound ominous, tickling his sides until he erupts in laughter, his giggles filling the dining room with raw joy.

Joel’s been here for over two hours, but he can’t recall a single detail about the night’s events. All he knows is you—he’s studied your every movement, following the shape of your silhouette through the crowd. He’s accepted a few drinks, engaged in shallow conversation with your relatives, trying his best to play the part of a man with nothing to hide. But despite his efforts, despite every attempt to appear unaffected, he feels a slow burn kindling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that curls through him in a deliciously destructive way.

It’s when you look up, locking eyes with him, that he nearly mutilates the chicken breast on his plate, the knife skittering over porcelain with a screech. He quickly mutters an apology, excusing his clumsiness and blaming it on one too many drinks. Meanwhile, you don’t quit glaring at him, a hint of a challenge dancing in your stare.

This shouldn’t feel the way it does, this hazardous, risky game you’re playing. At one time, he might’ve thought this was something only seen in movies, something imagined and unreal. But here you are, and here he is, and the indisputable hunger in your eyes is as real as anything he’s ever known.

Suddenly, his memories drift back to a year ago, to your grandmother’s 84th birthday—the night it all began.

Stephen had left Austin when he was eighteen to pursue a college degree. That’s how he’d ended up in New York, and from that point on, he never came back. It’d been amazing to see him as an equal when they were teenagers, but as they grew older, the only things they shared were the white hairs scattered all over their beards and the memories of much better days.

Whenever they got in touch—which didn’t happen often—your dad would talk about you. You were just a name without a face, an empty canvas. Close to graduating, with only a few subjects and finals left. Psychology was your major—weren’t you smart? Joel remembers typing back with a string of exclamation marks to show his contentment. His best friend’s daughter was a success; how could he not be happy?

One random day, Joel’s phone buzzed late in the afternoon, flashing with Stephen’s name. It was rare for them to talk outside the usual birthdays and holidays, so seeing his name on the screen sent a small jolt through him. A dozen scenarios raced through his mind as he picked up, each one edging between concern and curiosity.

Just like that, Stephen dropped the news without any preamble. “I’m moving back to Austin,” His voice came in clear, and there was something unusual about it, brisk but almost nostalgic. Joel gripped the phone a little tighter, processing the words. “In fact, I’m filling up the gas tank as we speak. There’s someone at home who wants to see you.”

That someone had been your grandmother. With a twinkle in her eye, she’d insisted on inviting Joel to her 84th birthday. “It’s the perfect chance for you two to reconnect,” she’d declared, her tone laced with warmth and hope. She adored Joel, practically worshipping the ground he walked on, often reminiscing about the vibrant young man he had once been.

Who could deny anything to an elderly person, especially one as cherished as her? He was strong, physically imposing, but not strong enough to resist her wishes.

The reunion was going as well as it could, given the circumstances. After all, it was a strange kind of delight, seeing his best friend for the first time in decades. Joel thought they’d do what friends do—sit back, drink, smoke, and trade stories about the good old days. 

Then you walked into the room, absolutely gorgeous and with a smile that was all teeth, and you reached out to shake Joel’s hand as you introduced yourself. The contrast hit him instantly—your skin was satin-like against his, smooth where his was rough and calloused from years of handling concrete and steel. A subtle heat bloomed where your fingers touched, the chill of the rings on your hand sending a shiver through him, as if his senses had sharpened in that brief instant.

You pulled away, taking a step back, your eyes flicking between him and your dad. Joel’s arm fell back to his side, his hand forming a tight fist, the bite of his nails embedded into his palm to keep him grounded. But he couldn’t stop himself from scrutinizing you—every detail of your face, the curve of your smile, the effortless way you carried yourself. Your beauty was at fault, not him. You were completely out of reach, yet close enough to marvel at. He was no more than a man, bound to notice the charm of a pretty girl like you.

That you happened to be the daughter of his best friend—that was just a cruel stroke of fate. 

“Oh, sweetie. I’m glad you got to meet Joel at last!” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, an arm draping across Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. “He’s that friend from school I’ve been telling you about.”

Stephen looked so at ease, so utterly pleased, that Joel could only swallow back the lump in his throat. What kind of sick joke was this? What could he have possibly done to deserve this twist of the knife?

With a soft laugh, you folded your hands behind your back, tilting your head to the right. “My father wouldn’t shut up about you,” you said, light and melodic, drawing him in like a lure. Joel found himself adrift in the sweet cadence of your voice, entranced by the delicate chain glinting at your throat, resting just above the neckline of your shirt, the v-cut hinting at a world of temptation.

He blinked owlishly, fighting the images clawing behind his eyelids. “Well, he’s a good man, your father,” Joel managed, his smile strained. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was a blaring alarm in his head, warning him to get a fucking grip. He knew himself well enough to read the signs, the underlying meaning beneath these nerves, the quickened pulse, the quiet, undeniable urge to reach out and feel you.

He was gone already. He fancied you, and his mind raced with thoughts he knew he had no right to entertain. He imagined what you’d taste like, the way you might sound if he were between your legs, encouraging you to gasp his name. Yet, he was aware that these fantasies were as treacherous as they were forbidden, even more with you standing right in front of him. And your father, just inches away.

From the kitchen, someone called out to Stephen, and with a weary sigh, he unhooked himself from Joel’s shoulder. “Coming!” he shouted back, already angling himself toward the door. He glanced back at the two of you, half-smiling while rubbing his temples. “I forgot how exhausting it is to host a family birthday party. I’ll be right back. You two go ahead and chat without me.”

Fuck, no, Joel thought to himself. Don’t leave me here. Where the hell are you going?

Joel resorted to remaining silent, choosing instead to take a long sip of his beer to avoid the occasion of sin. He refused to look in your direction, fixing his gaze on anything that didn’t involve your bare legs—the same legs he’d just been eyeing in those damn denim shorts, which exquisitely hugged your thighs. But, then again, he shouldn’t even be noticing that.

As he peered down at the carpet, he couldn’t ignore the movement of your shoes as you stepped closer. He observed your fingers playing idly with the frayed edges of your shorts, your body inching nearer, and he braced himself in anticipation of whatever you might say next. When his eyes landed on yours, he was met with an aura of expectancy, a cocky smirk pulling at your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with effort. Letting your hand linger beside your face, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him through your lashes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and there was no mistaking it—you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to push him off balance, to see how far he’d bend before snapping? Was this just a game for you, a bit of mischief to spice up a family gathering? The idea irritated him, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the thrill woven into the discomfort. A quarter of his mind itched to play along, but the rest of him screamed to find the nearest exit.

“Y’can just call me Joel. No needa be so formal,” he mumbled, lifting the beer bottle to his lips once again, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.

“But I like Mr. Miller better.”

His mind conjured all those images of fire and damnation, of being dragged to some dark, smoldering pit. Rotting in hell, he could already see himself within the flames. Tugging at the collar of his flannel, now too tight and hot, he gave a rough, clearing cough. “M’gonna—go find your dad.”

He was glad you didn’t try to approach him in public again. For a few hours, he felt something close to tranquillity—not fully, though, as he could still hear echoes of your voice in the silences. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch you orbiting near him, lurking in his peripheral vision, even though you sat at a different table.

Later in the night, he wandered upstairs in search of the bathroom, instead stumbling upon your father’s childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he took the liberty to enter it, a familiar scent filling the room. He ran his fingers over the walls, still papered with posters he recognized well. It was as if time had paused there—everything remained as it had the last time he’d been in this very room. The framed portraits, the worn bedspread, and Stephen’s desk, scattered with foreign bills under a layer of glass, each one a memento from the different countries he had visited.

It was only a matter of time before you found him, a light knock on the open door drawing his attention. Joel turned on his heels, catching sight of you, acknowledging your presence with a slight bow of his head. You ambled toward him, curiosity alight in your steps, twisting the chain of your necklace, a restless gesture that betrayed the energy simmering beneath your calm exterior.

He scratched the back of his head, offering a half-hearted smile. “This isn’t the bathroom, right?” he joked, attempting a casual tone. The joke was a weak one, admittedly, but you laughed anyway, a nonchalant sound that showed the gleam of your teeth.

“No, I don’t think it is,” you replied, sliding onto the edge of the desk with an effortless ease. “What brought you here?”

“Birthday parties can be a bit overwhelmin', dontcha think?” 

“Totally.”

And then you went back to watching him, your eyes tracing his features with an almost stubborn intensity. 

“You gonna stop doin' that?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant, though they didn't make you flinch.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Lookin' at me all doe-eyed.” His voice didn’t waver, but he advanced in your direction. His knees nearly brushed against yours, the weathered denim grazing your bare skin, and only then did a flicker of uncertainty soften your confident stance. “Whatever it is you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. So quit tryin’.”

You drew in a slow breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “You sure about that?” Before he had the time to react, you were standing inches from him, your chest pressing against his, just close enough for him to feel the soft weight of your breasts. “Should I pretend, then, that I haven’t noticed you’ve been half-hard all night?”

Joel's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting almost painfully. His fists flexed by his sides, his entire body feeling heavier, muscles pulled taut by some invisible thread. "Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” You hooked a finger inside his belt loop, tugging him that much closer. Your breath, fresh and minty, mingled with the faint scent of your perfume, and he inhaled both, heady on the mix. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”

There was only so much patience a man like him could summon, and you were a thorn in his flesh, determined and unyielding. He leaned in, voice gruff as he uttered three words that made your brows knit together. “Close the door.” You stayed frozen, lips parting in surprise. “Did y’hear me? M’not into exhibitionism. Close. The. Door.”

You did as he asked, obliging, stepping back to close the door before returning to your place. Without warning, he turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the cool glass of the desk, a sharp chill that made you yelp. His hand settled firmly on your back, guiding you down until your chest was flush against the surface as well. In one swift motion, your shorts were gone, followed by your soaked panties, a damp spot where your arousal had begun to seep through.

He slipped his fingers inside you first, his hand covering your mouth to stifle the needy whimpers escaping your lips. The roughness of his beard grazed your cheek as he hovered over you, his breath hot in your ear as he spoke. “Bein’ too fuckin’ loud, doll.” Matching the rhythm of the slow drag of his fingers, his hips pressed forward, grinding against the curve of your ass, each movement making his mouth go dry. “Y’want this cock that bad?” He nipped at your throat, and you, against his sweaty palm, mumbled what could have only been a muffled Yes. “Then I need y’to keep real quiet for me, alright?”

His jeans and boxers hung around his knees, his cock leaking and throbbing at the tip. Joel realized what true desperation felt like, dangerously close to busting his load at any given moment before even getting the chance to be fully inside you. On top of the desk, your body trembled, and you reached back, pulling your top higher up to bare more of yourself to him. He unclasped your bra with one hand, while his other guided him to your entrance, his lips pressing reverently against your spine as he pushed inside, savoring the heat of your walls wrapping around him for the first time. It certainly didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty-six years of life.

It had been short, and harsh, and fast. Borderline animalistic, what experts would label as a quick fuck. The moment he breached your entrance, you begged for more, fucking yourself back onto him until his thighs met your skin. You acted as if possessed by a greater entity, diabolic, though Joel didn’t mind it. He relished it, welcomed it. But he couldn’t let you take the reins. He asserted his dominance, snapping his hips forward with a force that drew moans from the depths of your lungs. He was the one in control, driving himself deeper and deeper within you. Suffice it to say you seemed to love it, if the sounds he elicited from you were anything to go by.

It was what you wanted, what you needed. One way or another, he’d caught onto what those lingering glances throughout the party had signified. Every glance you’d thrown his way had been leading to this—a silent promise that whatever was happening had been destined to be the night’s climax.

You bit down on his palm as you reached your peak, tightening around him, and perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the knowledge that he’d need far more time to become well acquainted with your body, that had him chasing after you. Holding back until you came had been a feat, pulling out seconds prior to his release, stroking his length once before painting your skin with his seed. A low, primal groan escaped him as he slid his length between your cheeks, prolonging his high, each heated pulse marking you in a way that felt undeniably his.

As he regained his composure, he watched you swirl your thumb along your lower back, collecting a trace of his release, and bringing it to your lips to have a taste of him. You softly laughed when he cursed under his breath, turning your face lazily to the side. “Damn minx y’are,” he rasped, closing the gap between your mouths, his claiming yours in an urgent kiss. Your mewls faded beneath the insistent press of his mouth as he sought to suppress the strange pull in his guts, reluctant to confront the unfamiliar sensations churning within him.

Things wrapped up quickly after that. You both returned to your places, resuming the roles you’d stepped out of briefly: Joel had been in the bathroom; you had been on the phone with a friend. When he reappeared downstairs minutes after you, no one thought twice about his slightly damp hair.

For the remainder of the party, the two of you exchanged no further words. The time for him to leave came, and he offered only a nod of his head across the packed living room. It was a farewell only Joel would give, a subtle acknowledgment that left you wondering about its meaning. There were no explanations, no parting words.

The next time he saw your father, the mere thought of seeing you again terrified him. If it’d happened once, then the temptation would still remain undiminished, strong enough to awaken the lust and the longing veiled in silence. But you weren’t there anymore—back in New York, focused on finishing your semester at college. The surprise must have been evident on Joel’s face, a bewilderment that prompted Stephen to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember I told you she hasn’t graduated yet?”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember now,” he said, wishing to convince both your father and himself.

You were out of the picture, no longer around. Yet, the two of you now shared a secret. You still do, to this day. He’s no stranger to the notion that some things never seem to change. After all, he’s a creature of habit—same breakfast every morning, same brand of bread he’s been buying for years. Like all his other preferences, he’s come to realize he likes his women a certain way. And though he hates to admit it, you fit the bill perfectly.

Betty, Stephen’s mother, was turning eighty-five tonight. A seat with Joel’s name was saved at the big table; they wanted him there, his best friend and his best friend’s mother. How nice it was to actually feel wanted. He liked that feeling. Still, he’d had to bite his tongue when your father mentioned you’d be there, too. You had graduated at long last, with your birthday having been just a couple of weeks ago.

“Can’t believe she’s twenty-five already,” Stephen muttered with a chuckle, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Sitting beside him, Joel gripped the arm of his chair, sinking his nails into it. “Me neither, man.”

His choices had led him to this moment. The clinking of glasses rings in his ears, blending with laughter and the rich aroma of food that fills the air. None of it manages to distract him. He can't help but track you down, eyes scanning the room, relentless in their pursuit of yours. The need to see you goes beyond any shred of restraint he might have faked to have. Joel can’t muster the decorum to feign indifference—God, not when you’re near, when the pull toward you feels like gravity itself. He’s keenly, almost painfully aware, that he’s not even pretending to be indifferent, his interest etched plainly in the way his gaze persists, refusing to pull away.

It’s his first time seeing you in a year. A lot can change in that span of time. He can’t help but be amazed, because you look just the same as you did back then. Only your hair’s a touch shorter. He wonders if it’s even noticeable, or if he’s just spent so long memorizing your features that he’s losing his sanity. He bets it’s the latter.

A light pressure on his shoulder makes Joel jump, breaking down his reverie. He turns quickly, eyes widening. "Betty," he exhales, patting his chest with a smile, eyebrows lifted. "Jeez. Y’scared me."

“Y’alright, Joely? Y’look a bit pale.” The older woman reaches up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a gentle familiarity. Through her lens, he’s still young. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fever, though.”

"That’s ‘cause I’m not sick." Joel takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How’s everythin’ goin’ so far? Got all these people together just t’celebrate ya’."

"It’s a wonderful night, sweetheart. So happy y’found the time t’be here," she replies, pinching his cheek in that affectionate way that earns her a quiet laugh from him. Her eyes then catch sight of a familiar figure. "Oh, look who's here. If it isn’t my beautiful granddaughter."

He stops smiling. In fact, he thinks he even stops breathing for a second as you intrude yourself into the scene, settling yourself beside your grandmother, flashing him a knowing grin. “I was getting kind of bored with the little ones.” 

“Y’know Joel, right, dear?”

“Yes.” A pause, a beat you draw out between breaths. “Yes, I do.”

Betty leans his way, her warm hand still on him. “Have y’heard the latest news? This young lady just graduated.”

“Stephen told me,” he answers, looking up at you with a reserved nod. “Congrats, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

There’s that damn name again. Were he alone with you, he’d laugh in your face, but he can’t. Under the scrutiny of family and friends, he knows he’s cornered. Joel’s starting to believe you think you’re untouchable, that there are no consequences to your actions. You might look the same, maybe a little older, but that teasing, provocative spark in your eye hasn’t changed a bit.

“Always so polite, my child,” Betty says, cupping your cheek with a light pinch, a grandmotherly gesture perfected over the years which she seems to repeat often. “Any boyfriends back in New York?”

This would, without a doubt, be the perfect moment for him to excuse himself and stand up—a conversation he’d rather not be privy to. But with you positioned right in front of him, escape isn’t an option. “Still single, grandma,” you respond unfazed, as if you know exactly what you’re doing. “No one to worry about. Better like this, anyway.”

“But what’s the problem? There aren’t any boys y’like?”

He doesn’t even know what makes him say it—some impulse, some hidden tension surfacing—but he jumps in, his voice carrying a slight, sardonic edge. “Boys are more foolish than ever these days, Betty. Surely y’wouldn’t want her to settle for the first idiot who crosses her path.”

Betty clutches his arm, shaking her head in feigned shock. “Oh, not at all! It’s all about waitin’ for the right person. There’s no rush, for either of you. You’re still on your own, Joely?”

Time to drink again. He drains the last drops of alcohol remaining in his glass, feeling your eyes on him, intense and searing, and then he clears his throat, swallowing down the words he’d rather say. “Affirmative.”

“Well,” she sighs contentedly, patting each of your hands as though binding you both with some invisible thread. “Just means y’two have to wait a bit longer, right? Time has its way.” She chuckles, eyes soft with memory, turning to you. “Darlin’, this man here was quite the heartbreaker in his day. He and your dad would find all kinds of trouble with the ladies!”

“How so?” You cross your arms, playfully tilting your chin up. “Joel Miller, the charmer of the town?”

“Guess I’ve been known t’make a fool of myself,” he shoots back, silently cursing the moment he missed his chance to slip away. “Stephen got more fans than I did, though.”

“I did what?” Joel feels an elbow nudging his back, and there’s his friend, grinning in his usual easy way.

Joel's luck in life had been more bruised than blessed, a string of hardships that seemed amplified compared to what most people experienced. Being drawn in by you—in which category did that fall? Good luck or bad? He couldn't decide. Every glance and delicate smile you aimed his way stirred something reckless within him. Was it pure thrill, or a warning?

He laughs every time Stephen cracks a joke, but he’s barely listening, his mind half-tethered to the present. It’s like he’s watching himself from afar, observing his reactions as if he were an outsider. He isn’t stoned or drunk, just acutely mindful of your presence. He catches himself peeking up at you from where he sits, jaw tight, his brow creased. You meet his gaze with a slight squint, a polite look that hides something far more dangerous.

Boys are more foolish than ever these days. He’s sure of that much. They’re young, untested. But what about him? He’s no model of virtue, either. He’s made his share of mistakes, left good women behind—women who were willing to love him in spite of his flaws. They’d seen through the layers he wore like armor, and yet, in the end, he couldn’t hold on to any of them. He carried the ghosts of every past life, fragments of who he’d been and what he’d left behind, and he knew those shadows weren’t for everyone.

A thought pierces through him, sharp and sobering: what would Sarah think? His lovely daughter, grown and settled into her own life, would likely be mortified to know her father’s infatuation with a twenty-something. The weight of that realization sinks into his chest, and that seems to be his last straw.

He can’t possibly take it anymore. Rising from his chair, he mutters something to Stephen about needing fresh air and makes his way to the backyard door, exhaling deeply and gripping his car keys. The cool night air hits him, stepping outside, a temporary relief as he heads toward his truck.

Just as he’s about to open the door, he hears your voice. You call his name, your tone soft but distinct. He doesn’t turn, only lets out a long, weary sigh. “What?”

“Where are you going?” You stop a few steps behind him, watching the way his shoulders visibly tense. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” He faces you, almost snapping his neck in his rush to look at you. “Why would I be—I’m not mad at ya’.”

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you leaving so early?” 

He scrubs a hand over his nape, fingers pressing into the tension gathered there. “Would y’like me t’break it down for ya’, how messed up this is?” His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet yours. “I’m riskin’ the only real friendship I’ve had here for… for somethin’ that I can’t even wrap my head ‘round. This isn’t okay, no matter which way I look at it.”

In that moment, it’s as if reality pulls you under. The mask of subtle, practiced arrogance falls apart, scattering in fragments around you. He watches, waiting for you to gather them up, to hide behind that composed veneer again. But you don’t move. You leave the pieces where they lie. Instead, you confront his gaze, unguarded, and ask, “Do you regret what happened between us?”

Another question. You seem to be full of them. They just keep coming, one after the other, as if you already had them prepared. I don’t, he thinks to himself, but would it do you any good if you knew it? “Don’ start with those mental games.”

“Then come back inside.”

“I know myself well enough to know what’s gonna happen if I do that, darlin’.”

Neither of you breaks the silence that’s settled between you, thick as the night air. You slip your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders slightly hunched, head hanging. Once again, like all those times before, he’s struck by how young you are compared to him. The difference stretches between you like a chasm, bridged only by these stolen moments. The weight of his years presses down on him, the choices he’s made—the mistakes and the half-hearted attempts to mend them. He’s got decades on you, three of them to be precise.

Joel never thought of himself as an ever-lasting free spirit, the kind of man who clings to youth or pretends to be something he’s not. Right now, with you here, he feels reckless, like a boy again. Stupid, impulsive, like the foolish young men he used to shake his head at—the very ones he’d warned your grandmother about.

“You left without even saying goodbye last time,” you mumble, low but clear, as you scuff the toe of your shoe against the grass. “And now you’re doing it again.”

He inhales sharply, clenching his keys, feeling the edges of the brass biting into his palm. For a moment, he thinks the sharpness will give him something to hold onto, but he knows the sting is nothing more than a weak anchor. “You’re a smart girl. Don’ need me to spell this out.”

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I get it.”

“Then why do you keep pushing?” His pent-up exasperation slips through despite himself, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, the way your forehead barely puckers as his words hit harder than intended.

Even as you look away, a trace of that hurt fading, you stand firm. You shake your head after a beat, seemingly trying to brush off your doubts and confusion. Joel can’t decipher if you’re feigning innocence—if you are, he thinks, you could be one hell of an actress. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see how far this can go.”

You take a small step forward, testing the waters. Your feet move cautiously, not aiming to scare him off. Each step draws you nearer until there’s only a whisper of space between you, close enough for him to catch your scent, and he has to force himself to peer down to meet your eyes. They hold a quiet intensity: pleading, wide and earnest, already trained on him. Gleaming like two lone stars cutting through a moonless, empty sky. 

It baffles him, the question forming unbidden in his mind. He goes even further, can’t help but wonder: why him? What is it that you see in him? What makes you keep coming back for more? You’ve already had a taste, a story you could tuck away, a secret to be shared with your friends someday around a campfire. So why, he would like to know, are you still here, seeking something from a man like him?

“I like you,” you blurt out, fingers drifting to skim over the worn fabric of his flannel, almost hesitantly. That tentative gesture sparks something raw in him, a low rumble of desire that feels like it’s been lying dormant for too long. Heat pulses through him, hot blood racing through his veins, awakening every nerve, each beat of his heart more insistent than the last one. “I think you like me, too.”

“You’re insufferable,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts. He closes his eyes, half hoping you’ll disappear, that he’ll find some reason, any reason, to call this off. Though when he opens them, you’re still there, waiting, unshaken. “I wish I knew how to stop this. How to walk away.”

“That’s not what you want.”

“We don’ always get what we want, kid. You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He means it as a warning, but even he hears the way his voice falters, his defenses crumbling in the face of your unflinching state.

You let out a slow sigh, your arms falling to your sides, eyes roaming over his features as if you’re memorizing every line. Your focus dips to his mouth. “Maybe,” you murmur, and he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. “But some things are worth fighting for. And sometimes, those who don’t give up… get the best in the end.”

With a gentleness that stuns him, you lean in, bringing your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. You pull away, and he helplessly notices the way your lips part, how your breath hitches, and for a split second, the guilt becomes palpable, the significance of wanting a woman he knows he shouldn’t. You stand there, chest rising and falling, skin tingling, a faint trail of goosebumps visible where your neckline meets your chest. 

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another compromise he won’t keep.

From where you remain frozen, he’s certain you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs every possible outcome. “It’s gonna happen, isn’t it?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and before you can react, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and turning you toward the car door. The cool metal pressing against your back startles a gasp out of you, but the suddenness only heightens everything—the heat of his body, the toughness of his hold. 

He doesn’t waste time with words, having always been a man of action. His hand cradles your face, inspecting your features to later crush his mouth against yours. Your tongue finds his without hesitation, seeking him out, hungry and unrestrained. He savors your eagerness, the way your hands roam over him, clutching at his shirt, tugging him closer by the belt until your lower halves are pressed tightly. The taste of beer and mint clings to your lips, and a husky groan rumbles from him as your fingers find their place in the longer strands at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer. 

He could lose himself in this, the simple, electric thrill of kissing you, how you fit so perfectly against him. Hours could slip by, and he wouldn’t mind, but then reality pulls him back; it’s too exposed here, right outside his truck where anyone could stumble upon you. “Get in the car,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, fumbling to unlock the door. It takes him three tries, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth of your laughter beside him as you tease him.

Once inside, his mouth finds yours again, this time more urgently, his hand pressing against your back, tracing the line of your spine through the clothes. “Tell me y’want this,” he breathes, his kisses trailing down your throat, latching onto the tender skin there. “C’mon, baby. Tell me y’want it. Tell me y’want me.”

A soft, breathy sound escapes you as his mouth fixates on that sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your hips instinctively, craving contact in search of relief, and he shifts you onto his lap, guiding your thighs to settle over his. Desperately working to undo the buttons of his shirt, yearning to uncover him, you pant against his cheek. “J-Jesus Christ, I need you. Please, touch me. Anything will do. Just—”

He’s silently grateful for your choice of a dress tonight. It makes things easier for him, and he gets right to it, bunching the fabric around your waist, hands roaming over the soft skin of your hips before moving his fingers lower, tracing teasing lines over your clothed center. He can’t fully make out the murmured words you breathe into his ear, but your voice drives him like a lighthouse guides a sinking ship, and he adjusts his movements, pressing with more intention. The only sounds filling the car are his ragged breaths and your gasping moans, and he holds you close to his chest, cooing softly as you start to rock into his hand, asking for more. 

His fingers find their rhythm, circling your clit in deliberate flicks. Joel watches as you unravel, trembling in his arms, a hint of drool spreading over his shoulder from your parted lips on his skin. His grip tightens as he tugs your underwear down your legs, grinning when you kick them impatiently to the floor of the car. Now, as he strokes his digits up and down your folds, you turn to putty on his lap. In another world, he’d have you laid out in his bed, enjoying each inch of your body. But here, in the cramped, dim backseat, he keeps the lights off. He knows it’s reckless, yet that barely slows him down. His cock throbs at the very risk of getting caught, at the edge he’s walking just to have you like this.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked, aren’t ya’?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, at least not in any coherent way. He sinks his middle finger into your bare heat, searching your face in the dark, contemplating the fluttering of your lashes. His hand weaves into your hair, a firm tug guiding your gaze to his. Your head tips back, a moan spilling from your lips at the new sensation, rolling your hips into his palm with earnestness. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, huh? If this is how you’re grippin’ my fingers, I can’t imagine what that cunt’s gonna feel like wrapped ‘round me.”

Studies suggest that in those final, fleeting moments of life, memories flood the human mind—a last journey through a person’s years before crossing over. If he were to die after tonight, he knows your face would be there, etched into his last breath. He can almost picture it: struggling for air, teetering on the edge, with that reddish, towering figure of mortality looming over him. But even then, he’d find solace in the thought of you, thrown into oblivion. You’d grant him a last-minute reprieve, easing the ache. You’d be the one who’d hold back the shadows. This constitutes the apex of his life, and he knows he should be worried, yet intellectual dominance doesn’t stand much of a chance when confronting the heart of a man. Not when that heart, so long starved of its pulse, has finally found someone worth remembering.

He makes space for himself, thrusting his long fingers into you until he’s got your slick coating his palm. One hand settles firmly at the small of your back, guiding your movements, while he feels his collected composure faltering. You mouth at the rough stubble along his jawline when you start to get close, breathless whimpers clouding his thoughts. “Joel,” you call out to him, as if that alone would make wonders. “Oh, fuck. Please, I waited a whole year. I need to come.”

A whole year. You were his once a year, and he was yours, a bittersweet ritual bound by time. He never would’ve thought this party could bring him such pleasure, though he can’t pretend he’s against it. Last time, he hadn’t taken the chance to pull you under and make you fall apart as many times as he’d wanted. He’s intent on making up for that missed opportunity, determined to make you enjoy every moment.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, and a sharp laugh nearly escapes him at your reaction. You reach instinctively, grabbing for his hand, trying to guide him back to where he belongs between your legs. But he’s already moving, maneuvering you down until you’re lying on your back, fully under his command. He lowers himself, replacing his fingers with the warm insistence of his mouth. The sound that escapes your lips as his mouth presses against your center is nothing short of a scream—a wild cry that fills the space around you. He’s grateful he parked far from the other guests, because that sound would turn more than a few heads. 

Joel laps at your arousal as if it's the fountain of youth, the very essence of everything pure and precious in the world. He presses down on your thighs until they rest on either side of him, unclamping your legs from around his head. The suppleness of your skin feels divine under his fingertips, and he brushes his thumbs over your trembling form, coaxing you into calmness, to let him have his way with you at his own pace. It's an absurd paradox—aiming to soothe you while his mouth continues its fervent worship, tracing intricate patterns against your most sensitive flesh. His beard, streaked with gray and freshly trimmed, glistens with your slick, and Joel smolders with all-consuming passion.

When his friends had told him to go out more, maybe find someone to date, he's certain they didn't mean this. The smart choice (scratch that: the correct one) would have been to pursue a woman his own age. But fuck it—he's spent a lifetime doing what's right. Every road he might've taken would've led him here, to this moment, with you. Part of him believes he must still have something left, some spark of appeal. To have a pretty little thing like you, so eager, so willing, offering yourself to him? He has to have something. His knees ache from where he kneels on the unforgiving surface, but the burn is inconsequential, and he’ll endure anything to be what you need.

Joel trails his hand up your body, over the curve of your breast, before gently groping it, his palm covering yours in a shared grip. He runs the tip of his tongue along your folds, his saliva mingling with your wetness, aquiline nose grazing your sensitive bud. “You’re tellin’ me you’re this tight ‘cause you’ve been savin’ yourself for me? You do know what t’say t’make a man happy.” He spreads you open slowly, his gaze lingering on the way your cunt glistens, a sense of satisfaction rippling through him. You remain silent, your breath shallow. “Still with me, sugar?”

“It’s just that—I’m so close.” You bite back a moan, nails digging into the soft leather of the seat. Joel hums in response, his lips closing around your clit. Agitation flickers across your face as you try to grind your hips against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

The pressure is gone as he notices your thighs quivering again, his movements halting immediately.

“No, Joel. Please—”

“You’ll come when I tell ya’.”

He’s having the time of his life. Damn right he is.

He suddenly realizes he's still dressed from head to toes, the heat building in his body becoming too much to ignore. With a frustrated grunt, he undoes his belt, yanking the metal zipper down, longing to rid himself of the constricting denim. A strangled noise escapes him as you suck on his neck, fisting his base, giving him a few purposeful tugs.

“Now, you’re gonna ride me,” he murmurs, making a pause to shrug his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor of the car, “and you’re gonna like it. Don’ want you t’hold back this time, understood?”

His back ends up against one of the fogged-up windows. The air is thick with the apparent scent of sex—a phrase he’d only ever heard in movies, but now, it’s undeniably real. Joel holds his cock, aligning the tip with your entrance as his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. A deep groan escapes him, vibrating over your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. The sensation intensifies when your wet interior welcomes him, velvet walls molding to his size. Your brows scrunch together at the stretch, a choked whimper catching in your throat. As your hips sink fully, your ass flush against his thighs, your body clenches around him, that abrupt tightness drawing a stuttering gasp from him.

“For God’s sake,” he exhales, the words rough as his forehead bumps into yours. His hand splays over your ribcage, fingers curling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re—killin’ me here.”

“I can feel you everywhere,” you huff, your arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding your breath. He takes the moment to capture your nipple between his swollen lips, leaving a shiny trail of spit in his wake. You lift yourself, the motion teasing, before sinking back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. “Can feel you in my stomach.”

When you begin to move, Joel loses track of everything else. Time seems to stretch, bending and reshaping itself each time his tip finds some hidden place inside you. He’s fifty-six years old, yet in this moment, his soul feels infinite. Invincible. He brings his hand to your lips, thumb grazing over them before slipping inside. Your warm tongue envelopes it, and when you start to suck dutifully, muffling your moans, his body jerks in response. His eyes drift to your glistening chest, where a sheen of sweat makes your skin glow in the dim light. You’re the most captivating woman he’s ever seen, and he knows he’ll never look at anyone the same again. He can’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the way your body merges with his, the way you undulate your hips on top of him.

You move back and forth, and he drives into you, filling you to the brim with every calculated thrust. He thrusts upward, stealing the air from your lungs, the sharp motion making you sputter as your body struggles to keep up with his.

“That’s it.” His voice is a husky growl as he wraps his arms tightly around your back, your chests sticking together with sweat. His pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more insistent. “Takin’ it like a good girl. You feel exquisite, baby. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“So big inside me,” you pant, your own pace faltering as you surrender to Joel’s unforgiving tempo. His hooded eyes flicker to yours, catching the way your pupils have swallowed up your irises, dark and blown wide with desire. A shiver runs through him as your fingers dig into his shoulders, your grip leaving faint crescents in his skin. “Missed your cock so much, Mr. Miller.”

Fuck, not that shit. If it’s possible, he grows impossibly harder. He pounds into you with renewed intensity this time, his singular goal to leave you speechless, boneless, completely undone. He wants you limp and shuddering, with nothing left to give. “Enough of that.” His hands find their place on the soft globes of your ass, molding and squeezing until the pressure has you mewling, the sweet sound shooting straight through him. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “Responsive everywhere, honey. Have any idea how much fun I’m gonna have with ya’?”

Who would’ve believed him back then? It proves this isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime fluke. It happened before, and now it’s happening again. He might as well surrender to it—accept his fate and move through the motions like a man resigned to what’s already written.

There’s a moment when your moans sharpen, turning high-pitched and dazed, and the way you constrict him sends his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a guttural noise tearing from his chest. His movements still, clutching your waist to pin you in place, denying you the chance to move, to bounce on him.

Then you break. A sob wracks your body, tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down your cheeks. They gather, fusing together as they slide along your throat and pool in the hollow of your jaw before disappearing lower. “Asshole,” you hiss, the word fragile as you push your face into the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.

“Sorry? Couldn’t catch that.” He makes sure to keep you securely tucked under his chin, tilting his lower half upward. “If you want me t’stop, just say the world and I will.”

He’s messing with you, plain and simple. He doesn’t actually expect you to take his words at face value. But you do, grinding down harder, impaling yourself further on the length of his cock, and your arousal trickles down, slicking the coarse hair of his thighs.  “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” Slotting your mouth over his, you attempt to move, chasing any sort of friction against your clit. Sadly, pleasure doesn’t come on its own—it’s Joel who can make you feel good, and he’s not obliging. His hand seizes your hair in a rough grasp, tugging sharply. Eyes fluttering shut, you hunch forward, submitting to the sharp edge of his control.

“What an impatient little thing y’are.” Joel grabs your thighs and turns you over, your back pressed against the leather seat. The brusque shift pulls him out of you, the cool air a cruel tease before he taps his head against your swollen folds, then fills you again in one powerful thrust, kissing your cervix in the process. A deep moan rips from your lungs, deep and guttural, as your legs tremble uncontrollably on either side of him. Your ankles dig into his back, fervent to keep him close. His balls rest heavy against your skin, full and aching for release. “Gonna give ya’ what y’want, okay? You’ve been on your best behavior,” he mumbles with his lips stuck to your forehead. “That’s a good girl. Think she deserves to come after all.”

Only then does he find his rhythm again, ramming into your drooling hole. For the third time tonight, he’s captivated by how you teeter on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. He has you eating out of his hand, taking all that he offers, and you do so willingly. He knows he could ask you for anything, and in exchange for an orgasm coaxed by him, you'd comply without thinking twice. In many ways, he’s not so different. He gathers some of your saliva, using it to moisten his fingers before slipping them between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he continues to hit your bundle of nerves. Where his stamina comes from, he has no clue, though he’s determined to keep pushing.

Your face becomes a living poem, each cry of yours adding to its verse. Your head nearly reaches the door, but he cradles it with his arm, ensuring you don’t hurt yourself. “Close,” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes from falling shut. “Joel, please. Let me—”

“Give it to me, darlin’.” Another thrust, another moan. “Drench me, c’mon. That’s what y’want, isn’t it? To come all over this cock?”

The way he’s worked you up has its rewards, leading to a release that feels like an eruption. You bite down on his shoulder, your cries growing louder, chanting his name without pause. It loses all meaning after being chanted so many times, but the way you say it still has an undeniable weight. He doesn’t mind it one bit, not when he’s finishing right after you plead him to fill you. His jaw hangs open as ropes of his seed spill inside you, and he sags against your frame, giving short thrusts to push his cum deeper into your warmth, your pussy milking him dry.

“Oh, God…” he groans, fumbling with one of your breasts, holding onto something for dear life. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Don’t pull out yet,” you say, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Stay a little longer.”

Too personal. Too intimate—dangerous in his books. Normally, he'd tuck himself back into his briefs, drive the woman he’s slept with home, and that would be the end of it. No happy endings in his story. So he’s surprised when he supports his weight on his forearms, claiming your lips in a voracious encounter of tongues and teeth. He caresses your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, and you sigh contentedly.

The two of you lapse into a heavy silence after that. He clears his throat, and says: “I should’ve asked you for your number that one time.” In the heat of the act, he’s being too honest. Regret will come knocking on his door once his excitement fades. His eyes bore into yours, dubious. “M’sorry for that.”

“Well, you could ask me for it now,” you admit from beneath him, and Joel pulls away for a moment, trying to gauge if you’re serious. He doesn’t think you’re joking. “To make up for lost time.”

This must be the onset of something else. He can't quite put it into words, but he feels it in his chest, in every place where your skin merges with his. He's no fortune teller, and there's no way for him to know where this path will take him, whether it leads to ruin or salvation. Though in this moment, he doesn't care—not now, at least.

At last, Joel blindly reaches for the pocket of his jeans with one arm. “How long are you stayin’ in Austin?”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[dropsnectar]

Courting a Queen: Bee Hybrid × Reader Part Two

Hey! So a lot of you wanted the Bee smut, so, here it is! I'm still new to writing smut so please be kind. Also, in @bunnis-monsters universe of Bee Hybrids, its mentioned that they have different types of Honey that have different properties and effects, so I wanted to play with that a little. Also just a reminder that I headcannon that the queen scouting drones are a bit more intelligent than other bee hybrids,, as this works better to lure in a queen! Hope you enjoy!

Everything had happened so quickly, you didn't know quite what to do or think. 

You'd just been talking and having fun with a few Bee Hybrids, now suddenly suddenly you were in their hive, they were calling you Queen, and it was getting really hard to talk your way out of this when you had so many tongues on your skin--

“Y-You guys I can't become your… oh God um… there's no way I can become a queen!” You tried your best to gently pull yourself out of their grasp, but the little nibbles Haven was doing on your ear were way too distracting. Elias answered you.

“We know you'd be great. Please dont be mean to yourself.” He pouted at you with big eyes as he worked on pulling down your black leggings. He carefully lifted your thighs as he did so and you noticed that his skin, while smooth and soft, also had a sort of firmness to it that human skin didn't. It made your core burn. 

“Are we doing something wrong? Please tell us my Queen, we only want to make you feel good.” Another hand was slowly exploring up your shirt. You looked over at Ray, the black haired hybrid who was staring at you with the biggest, mooniest eyes, like he was a dog begging for a treat. He trailed his hands up and down your belly, his hands were more beelike than the others, and the foreigners of it gave you goosebumps. 

Stop it! You can't become Queen! You'd never leave this place!

“I can't do this.” You finally managed, pulling away from Haven and Ray's grasp.

“I have a home. And a job and…”

And not much else. Your parents weren't the kindest, and you only ever saw your friends once every two months. If they remembered you that was.

Elias gently took one of your hands in his. “This can be your home! We would feed you and do whatever you want! You'll never be lonely again. Please. We've been so long without a Queen and…” His antennas drooped. So Did Haven and Rays, their exuberant wings going quiet.

“ We will die soon. Without a Queen our hive will grow weak, and other hives will fight us for our home territory.” Ray leaned his head gently on my shoulder, a whine escaping his chest.

Haven started to tear up. At least, he seemed to cry. “ We need you. We will never stop loving you, and you would never want for anything, please let us keep you.”

Your heart grew heavy. You didn't know much about bees, but you were aware that Queens were super important for the health of the hive. You had only known them for a day, but you couldn't bear the thought of them dying. They were so incredibly sweet after all.

Maybe I could try it for a little bit. I mean, being a Queen couldn't be so bad. You reasoned. And if it becomes too much, I could maybe help them find a new one. Or run away in the night, maybe.

“I'll… give it a try.” 

The three of them were in the air at once, pulling on your limbs and jumping up and down. Haven got up and did what seemed like a little happy dance, Elias joining in. While Ray continues to hold onto you and nuzzle you in large excited motions. You watched the two dancing and clapped happily. They buzzed loudly, seeming pleased with your smile and sudden lifted mood. They could feel your affection for them in the air and it bode well.

At that time, the bee-man that Elias had pulled aside earlier knocked on the door, before buzzing in with a cup of something sweet. Well, the whole place smelled sweet, but you noticed steam coming up from the cup. You tilted your head in confusion.

“He added some warm water to help you get it down easier! Your human after all, so thick things may be hard to drink, right?” Elias smiled and handed you the warm little cup. It smelled… well. Like honey. But their was a little heat to it. Maybe cinnamon? Nutmeg?

“Its super special, just for you!” Haven volunteered, as he settled back down to his place on your back left. He busied himself with rubbing your shoulder, then kissing the back of your head sweetly. 

All of this attention was making your cheeks rosy. To busy yourself you took an experimental sip of the warm honey. It went easily from your tongue down your throat. Expecting the taste of normal honey, you were surprised by the variety of notes. Still sweet, it indeed had a hefty… spice to it? Like it had been salted and mixed with a little chilli pepper. The heat of it spread from your throat, through your head and your body, making you shiver.

It was a feeling similar to hot chocolate on a long day out in the snow. Delighted, you slurped it down greedily. Ray laughed and the other two hybrids seemed very pleased. They watched you drink the whole cup, pride and their ever present excitement alight on every feature. 

You gave the cup back to Elias and smiled dreamily. You finally felt relaxed enough and tried to lie back on the couch, instead ending up in Ray and Havens arms. 

“That was really good.” You almost whispered. You were still warm from drink, and a haziness had softly draped itself over your brain. Soft. Warm. 

 Probably tired from a long day, you thought with a giggle. What a silly day it had been. What a silly situation.

Elias set the cup down on a table towards the door and floated toward you, a hungry look in his eye. Ray had decided to lap at your jaw now, making you shiver, again marveling at the strange texture his tongue had. Almost like a cat but smoother? Somehow? It felt good. 

The room was filled with pleasant buzzing and purring, as several pairs of hands started working your skin. Haven was now exploring the inside of your shirt, pulling excitedly at your bra. He felt around for a little bit, trying to find the latch. You noticed, through a big mirror by the door that his tongue was sticking out the whole time. You giggled. So cute.

A sudden nip to your inner thigh made you jolt. Elias had made his place between your thighs again and had started licking and nipping to getting your attention. He pouted at you until you gave him full eye contact.

“I'll get to breed you first, since I found you.” Elias said in the most innocent tone you almost didn't comprehend it. Until he was licking at your clothed cunt with his long black tongue. You whined a bit, in surprise and pleasure. It felt good. 

Haven must have figured out your bra because suddenly you felt fingers on your chest now. They moved around haphazardly, watching your face for a reaction. When one found your nipple you bit your lip and pried your gaze away from Elias for an instant. Havens face lit up in a smile.

“ Can I take this off, my Queen?” He asked in his delicate textured voice. You nodded and lifted your arms for them. A sudden jolt pulled your gaze back down to Elias, who was pouting at you. He had pulled your underwear aside and had started licking fervently between your lips. Those big, adoring eyes did as much to you as his tongue and you moaned out.

You were suddenly ablaze now, your core dripping and needy. It was sudden, and your hazy mind tried to work out how they'd got you gushing so fast. They were obviously new at this, reaching around trying to find your best spots, but you needed more. 

“T-take them off, please.” You begged Elias quietly, as your breath was quite ragged. Elias complied happily. You opened your legs wider for him, and he was able to push your lips apart farther so he could get a look at you. Enchanted, he took a finger and drew circles around you, noting when and where you would flinch, and jerk your hips. After experimenting a bit more he decided to suck on your most sensitive place: Your clit.

You howled out as he sucked and licked you, the texture of his tongue so different from anything you'd felt before. 

Haven and Ray were buzzing so loudly as the licked you, groping your sweet tummy, and sucking where they could. Ray had decided on sucking and when you sang for him, he started trilling with glee. Seeing this, Haven did the same. Their hands continued to roam.

The sucking of your tits and the attention on your clit were getting you close. The pressure in your stomach was mounting, and when Elias had decided to move two of his delicate fingers into your entrance you came hard around him, full body quaking. Drool pooled down your face as you gasped, stars filling your vision. 

“ Such a good Queen, coming for us so well.” Praised Ray, before he went back to assaulting your nipple with his tongue. Haven giggled and buzzed in agreement.

When you came down from your high, you were surprised to find yourself still wanting, wriggling, your skin so sensitive and desperate for more touch that you bucked yourself back into Elias’ face. The confusion persisted and you were about to ask a question when Elias answered.

“Don't worry, Our Love, we made sure you'd feel good enough to take all of us. Our honey truly is special. You won't feel any pain, we promise!”

The honey'd been… an aphrodisiac?

Something about that should have bothered you but all you could think about was having something inside you. Of wanting more of their touch, more more more-

You chocked as Haven started rubbing your clit, the sweet pressure bringing you some relief. Elias was taking his human clothing off now, revealing his lower half. His cock was long. Long, but super pretty and pink. You licked your lips as he lined it up with your wet entrance. His big, clear eyes stared at you with such devotion it bordered on worship, before he plunged himself within your needy walls.

You cried out, and it was like a wave of pleasure crashed through the room, as everyone sighed. He started slow, working himself further and further inside you as he went. The stretch and rhythm felt so good, you tried to work in time with him. His length was slick and warm and being so close to him only made your affection grow. You couldn't help it.

Ray and Haven were moaning in your ear. They were still sucking your tits, but were humping whatever bit of you they could, desperate and needy.

You wanted to help them but each stroke Elias was working in you felt so good your mind couldn't think properly. You stayed like that for a while, Elias hitting your best spots, sending you closer and closer to your limit, before he seemed to come, hard, a guttural sound leaving his throat. 

But instead of feeling hot, wet cum, you felt something push against your walls. A ridge was forming inside of you, pushing up through his member. The stretch was delicious and you keened as another traced its way up your walls. A sudden soft wetness, and a heaviness was felt at the innermost part of you. You'd never felt anything like it before and your walls twitched around it. An egg.

Your mind raced back to an earlier comment. You'd completely forgotten about the eggs. But your mind was so gone all you could do was whine at the tightness, as another was laid in you, and you came again, another wave of pleasure racking your mind and body. 

It went on like this, him laying one after the other, bringing you closer and closer to the edge again. You could tell Elias was getting utterly spent, his rocking movements slowing, the erratic flaps of his wings getting more labored. Drool continued to pool out of his mouth. His heavy meaningful gaze was now glassy and tired. You wanted to hold him. 

When the last egg was laid within you, Ray took his place in a flash. As Elias took his spot on your right, lazily sucking on your collarbone, Ray pushed himself in fully in one go. His dick was thicker, and not as long as Elias’, but it felt amazing around the eggs. 

“My turn. You'll take my clutch so well, I know it.” He reassured, rubbing his thumb like limbs on your hips as he slowly rutted into you. He was whispering praises about your beauty and how well you were doing the whole time. The stretch of his dick felt so good as he fucked the eggs further into you, adding his own. He was quicker than Elias to lay though. His eggs were much bigger, making you sputter a bit as you took them. It seemed that Bee-men came continuously as they laid their spawn, because he was a glassy eyed, babbling mess the whole time he pushed more into you. 

Haven took the longest time to lay, despite fucking you the fastest and hardest of the three. He giggled, so happy and pussydrunk the whole time. 

“My Queen, it feels so good. Am I making you feel good?”

“So good,” you confirmed through shaggy breaths.  “So good. My good boy.” You could feel a shock throughout the room and Haven smiled so big through his sweaty curls, that you couldn't help but return it. His hips rocked into you faster now, though he was still careful of your eggs.

The other two pouted, making crying vibrating sounds. “My good boys.” You corrected. “Doing so well.” you were so close to cumming again it was hard to think, but you reached both hands up to caress them both. Consoled, they clung to you even tighter, as if that was possible, whispering praises back. You were such a good queen, taking so many eggs. So good and sweet. 

Their words brought you over the edge at the same time Haven let out a loud trilling sound. He collapsed forward onto your lap, licking at your now extended belly. You both shook, riding out your high.

The room smelled of sweat, and their saccharine aroma. You realized you'd become a bit addicted to the scent, nuzzling closer into the soft fur of your new family. 

You lay there for a time, letting your bee-men fuss over you. They wiped the sweat from your body and cooed at your stomach, at how adorable you were being so full, and taking so many eggs. 

“Our lovely Queen. Did so well for you first mating.” Elias had glowed with pride for you, then  nuzzled into your neck in that way of his. “The rest of the hive is just going to love you. But for now, rest.” He petted soft loving strokes down your forehead. The motion was soothing, and you closed your eyes, letting sleep consume you.

Before you completely lost consciousness, you heard a worried Haven whisper, “I hope she makes us her attendants. It'd be such a shame to only see her when its our turn to mate.” You felt some nodding onto your shoulder and buzzing of agreement. You'd have to remember to ask them about it when you awoke.

Hey guys! Was this too long? Would love some constructive feedback about what you'd like to see more of! Thank you for reading!

Masterlist

[somedudenamedanthony]

Oh the good old days of 2016. Back when every day for a solid month my mom would tell me not to download a challenge app about blue whales because a pedophile was going to force me to kill myself...

[sirfrogsworth]

Smartphone cameras are NOT getting worse. (See below for phone photography tips)

I've now seen 3 pro photographers reviewing the iPhone 16 and complaining the cameras are "worse" and blaming Apple for not including revolutionary new camera technology.

And I suppose this is partly Apple's fault. Their marketing and hype machine always goes overboard. But also, that's just how marketing works. Samsung has a "200 megapixel" sensor and Sony has a "Zeiss" lens. And I think it is unrealistic to expect smartphone companies to say "This product has entered the iterative phase and each new model will only be marginally improved over the last one."

Smartphones (from any brand) have become an appliance. You don't buy a new model of microwave every year. And you don't expect every new model of microwave to have new revolutionary technology. And that is pretty much the expectation you should have with most computer hardware from here on out.

And in some ways, that is a good thing. That means the design of the phone has pretty much been perfected and it will last you a long time if you take care of it. You will not be left behind and your phone will be able to handle any new software for most of its lifespan.

So, is Apple getting lazy or is there a reason their hardware is stagnating?

It seems that neither money nor marketing can change the laws of physics.

They cannot make transistors much smaller. Phones and computers are about as fast as current hardware designs can make them (unless there is a shocking scientific breakthrough). From here on out, heavy compute tasks that are beyond your phone or computer will be done in the cloud on giant computer clusters. Thankfully computers and phones seem to be plenty fast for the majority of tasks we ask of them.

I remember Katrina telling me her new computer didn't seem any faster. And I explained the computing tasks she does regularly were not really affected by the increased power and speed of her new computer. If something took 0.1 seconds before and now it takes 0.05 seconds, that is twice as fast. An increase in speed that looks fantastic in advertisements. But it is hard for our brains to perceive. She just didn't do anything on her computer that took it long enough for her to notice. But having a faster and more powerful computer/phone will increase its lifespan and resale value, so it is still prudent to get the best things you can afford at time of purchase.

And I'm afraid smartphone cameras are hitting their own hardware limitations. They can't make the sensors much larger to get better depth of field and low light performance. And cramming in more megapixels doesn't actually add much more detail, if any.

It's physics.

Again.

You cannot get any more performance out of a small plastic lens. Why do you think pro photographers haul around 10 pound lenses still?

There is a formula for detail that never seems to be explained in any camera marketing.

Here is the simplified version...

Detail = Sensor x Lens

Let's say 1 is perfection. You have a sensor that performs at 0.5 and a lens that performs at 0.2.

The total detail will be 0.1.

But in the new model you increase the performance of the sensor to 0.8. WOW! That's so close to 1!

The total detail will be... 0.16.

Now let's imagine we've discovered a magic, physics-defying tiny plastic lens that performs at 0.8 as well.

The total detail jumps to 0.64!

But we all get sucked into a wormhole because we violated the laws of the universe.

Even if you were to design a near perfect (perfect is impossible) sensor that scores 0.99.

Without that magic plastic lens... 0.198

This is why I put Samsung's "200 megapixel" sensors in quotes. Because when paired with the same tiny plastic lens, there isn't much improvement. And that's why a 12 megapixel DSLR from 10 years ago with a giant honking lens can still capture more detail.

Most of the quality from smartphone cameras comes from the computational software processing. Phones actually take many photos at once and combine them to get you a decent image.

While that is still improving a little bit each generation, those improvements are stagnating as well. Until image processing can do a better job of inventing more detail realistically, smartphones are going to have to obey the laws of physics.

So... why are photographers saying the iPhone cameras are worse?

First, the ultra wide angle lens looks softer in low light.

And if you zoom between 1x and 5x, the images look less detailed.

But neither of those things make the cameras *worse*. In fact, the cameras are better for the most part. It's just that Apple decided to compromise on one aspect to improve another. Probably due to market research telling them most people prioritize certain things over others when taking photos.

They increased the resolution of the ultra wide angle sensor to match the detail of the main sensor, but that seems to have lowered the low light performance of the ultra wide. So in good light, you will see an improvement in sharpness. But they could not increase the sensor size to compensate and smaller pixels can have trouble with dim conditions. They probably discovered that people mostly use that lens in good light and they would appreciate the bump in detail more.

But pro photographers often photograph in more challenging lighting conditions because you can capture a more artistic shot. I don't think I could have gotten this shot on a smartphone.

But photo normies are just taking pics of their kids doing weird kid shit.

They aren't really trying to push the limits of their ultra wide angle lenses.

And they increased the zoom of the telephoto lens to 5x from 3x because most people never used the 3x. So images at 5x look great now, but unfortunately if you use anything between 1x and 5x, your image will be *digitally* zoomed. Which is never as good as optical zoom. They basically crop the photo, zoom in, and add sharpening.

So they prioritized people having longer reach and more zoom at the expense of that middle zoom range. Every camera system makes tradeoffs and compromises.

And I hate that I always feel like I am defending Apple, because they do have misleading and dishonest marketing regarding a lot of aspects of their tech. But hating on Apple gets more clicks so content creators also make misleading and dishonest claims.

And so we are just surrounded in a circle of hyperbole from all sides.

Now, if you know these limitations, you can change your approach to photographing stuff to keep them from being an issue. You can reap the benefits without dealing with the new compromises.

Here are some tips to help owners of the new iPhone, but also everyone else too.

Smartphone Photography Tips

Whenever possible, try to use the main 1x camera at only 1x zoom. This has the largest sensor with the most detail and works best in the lowest light. Only use the ultra wide or telephoto if you cannot get the photo otherwise. If you aren't sure you have enough light for ultra wide, take the photo, and then as a safety, take two photos with the main camera side by side and stitch them later with a pano app.

"Zoom with your feet" and don't use "in-between" zooms. Let's say your lenses do 0.5x, 1x, and 5x zoom. Even though you have the option to use other zooms, like 2x or 3x, that is going to compromise your picture quality. It is essentially going to crop your photo and enlarge it, which causes a loss of detail. If fact, if you use 4.5x instead of 5x, your picture will probably look like trash. You are always going to get better results if you can move closer or step back so that you are using the native focal length of your chosen lens. For example, let's say you are taking a photo and you judge the best framing to be at 4x. But you still have 10 feet of space behind you. If you back up and then zoom in to 5x, the phone will switch to that lens and you will get a much clearer picture.

Rule of thumb...

1 to 3x... try to move closer.

4 to 5x... try to move back.

If you hit a wall and end up at 4.5x, you might see if you have a panorama mode and try that instead. Switch to your 5x and do the pano. Or you can take two photos and then stitch them together with software later on. (Stitching panos with an app later will give better quality than pano mode, especially in low light.)

Low light needs stability. Get some sort of stabilizing device for low light photos. Either a phone case that lets you stand up the phone on its own or a mini tripod.

This thing folds to the size of a credit card.

Your phone will detect when it is stable and not being handheld. It will then automatically extend its shutter speed allowing it to drink in more light and give you a better picture.

Tripods are photography magic and will improve your low light photos quite a bit. Motion blur of moving subjects can still be an issue, but photos of a cityscape or landscape will look great.

For selfies, shoot a little bit wide and then crop in. This goes a little contrary to my earlier advice saying cropping lowers detail, but this is specifically for shooting a face. The 0.5x and 1x lenses on smartphone cameras are fairly wide angle. This can cause unflattering proportions with human faces. Wide angle lenses exaggerate distance. Near things look very near and far things look very far. To a wide angle lens, the tip of your nose looks like it is super close but your ears seem like they are a mile away. And that's why you may look a bit "alien" in your selfies.

People's natural instinct is to "fill the frame" with a face. The outer edges of a wide angle lens are more distorted than the very center. So try to keep faces away from the edges of the frame.

And one other trick you can do for selfies and pictures of faces is step back a few feet. Sometimes this is hard, especially with selfies, as your arm is only so long... but if you can take your face photos from just a little bit farther back, you will almost entirely eliminate unflattering distortion. In some cases, just stretching out your arm as far as it will go is enough.

Then you just crop the image with the framing you originally wanted, and your facial proportions will look great.

An example...

Here the distortion is bad because I am not in the center and the lens is too close to my face. The lens thinks my nose is really close and my ears are in Canada.

But when the lens is farther back the edge distortion is less prevalent and my nose and ears (relative to the lens) seem roughly the same distance away. So my proportions look great, but I don't quite have the framing I want.

But with a little cropping...

For social media there is still plenty of resolution to crop in. Cropping isn't bad, it's just always better to use it as a last resort or in a special circumstance like this. I get roughly the same framing as in my wide angle shot, but I don't look like I'm behind a door's peephole trying to sell you the Good News.

I wish they made a "mini" selfie stick that only extended a foot or so. With the main camera that is usually all people need to undo any wide angle issues. I have one of those mini tripods and that works well, but there is no activation button so I have to do a timer. Mirrors work great to help you get some selfie distance.

In any case, all cameras have limitations and compromises. Clickbait titles saying something is WORSE THAN THE OLD ONE are frustrating and wrong.

And people upgrading phones every year are silly. All current name brand smartphones have promised at least 5 years of software updates. I think Google and Samsung are offering 7 years on some models. And Apple has always just let you use your phone until it literally will not work with new software. Which has worked out to 8 years in some cases (with a battery swap).

Phones are now appliances. For now, hardware will improve 10 to 15% from generation to generation until physics breaks. So if you want a 50% improvement, wait 5 years and you'll think your new phone is awesome. If you upgrade every year, it is going to be difficult to see the change.

I hope to be starting a little course on smartphone photography in the near future. All modern phones are capable of taking amazing pictures. And as long as you understand their limitations you can mitigate or avoid them. And that is what I plan to teach.

[really-fanny-longbottom]

okay sooooo

i had this little thought right

okay so maybe like reader has been a part of the inner circle for a looooong time like since the batboys were kids and they've all been friends forever, naturaly azriel has been in love with her since then, and a few years ago he realised they were mates (she doesn't know)

this one time she walks into the townhouse in just a bra and trousers, casually just walking in drinking coffee while the rhys and cass are just flabbergasted (cass being cass is eyeing the goods real hard because shes always been hot and he knows it) rhys is smirking and all (hes no less honestly)

then az walks in and hes just like what the fuck, she tries to explain smth happened to her shirt on the way and hes just grumbling and takes off his own shirt and is like put this own (cass is naturally making comments that make az's blood boil)

then you can choose where that goes from there

lmfaoooo im so sorry i couldn't get this idea out of my head

its okayyyy if you can't write it!!!

hi! sorry it took me so long to post but i've been really busy with university and only now have i had some free time.

anyway, here it is! thank you so much for this request, i loved writing it!

i hope you like it! 🫶🏻

my hero

summary: a small but very happy incident.

warnings: none

pairings: azriel x reader

words: 2.2k

tick 

tack

tick 

tack 

"ugh," a heavy groan escaped your lips at the sound of the clock. you seated slightly, your head pounding without mercy. 

as you looked at the window, your eyes fought against the early sunlight, before adjusting and finally allowing you to fully open them.

it took you a few seconds to remember your surroundings, and to be honest, to remember anything. 

the confusion didn't last long when all the memories from last night hit you all at once. 

you had gone out for the night with morrigan. you went to rita's for a girls night.

a night with a lot of drinking and dancing and singing and drinking again — mysterious headache solved.

you looked down on you, seeing the shiny short black dress you had chosen for last night specifically. 

you passed your hands through your messy hair and took a glance at your bedroom, absorbing the chaos that a very drunk you had caused.

how could just a person cause such a mess?

tick 

tack

tick

tack

"ugh!" a loud annoyed groan left your lips again

at the sound of the clock that kept attacking your brain. 

before you could think twice, you turned and reached out to punch the clock, causing it to fall to the ground.

you lowered yourself on the bed sheets with an arm over your head.

this was going to be a very long day.

and that's when it you.

your eyes and two seconds later, your legs were fighting against the bed sheets. 

after losing that battle, you ended up falling to the ground with a loud noise. 

a small 'huff' came out of your mouth before getting up and running to the clock as quickly as possible to check the time. 

10:07 am

"oh, shit."

you were late for your internship at the clinic.

"oh, shit."

you quickly begin to look for clean clothes at the same time you try to get rid of your dress. 

you manage to find something that looked relatively clean and put it on, your heart racing as you tried to get your hair to not look like a complete mess.

when you finished putting your hair in a more presentable state, you hurried to put on your shoes, but when you noticed the time again, you only managed to put on a sock before grabbing the first pair of shoes in sight and running out of your room. 

as you run for the stairs, you didn't have time to react before a body collided with yours and spilled coffee all over your t-shirt.

the hot contents against your skin forced you to let out a small scream and dropped the shoes to the floor as you struggled to pull the fabric of your t-shirt away from your body. 

"shit, shit, shit!" you cursed at the same time you blew on your t-shirt.

great, as if your day wasn't already going badly. 

"sorry," a small voice said.

you met your attacker's gaze as you looked up to see a beautiful female with green eyes and brown hair — morrigan's friend. 

right, you had forgotten that she had come home with the two of you — with mor. 

the female looked mortified as you stared at her annoyed. when you saw her opening her mouth to say something, you quickly stopped her.

"don't," you raised your hand at her, you didn't have time for this, "just. . .just go."

you pointed at morrigan's bedroom, whose door was slightly open. the female followed your direction, shrinking a little as she passed through you.

"idiot!" you cursed quietly. 

you looked at your bedroom and considered your options: the chances that you may find a new clean t-shirt in the middle of that mess, were very low and you were already late.

so you gave up and made your way down the stairs, starting to unbutton your shirt before completely taking it off, leaving you in your black lacy bra, and entering the kitchen.

rhysand and cassian who had been enjoying a late breakfast found themselves speechless upon your entrance. 

their gazes followed you as you moved to the sink and started working on removing the stain.

the males shared a gaze between them, identical smirks forming on both of their faces.

"good morning, y/n." rhysand greeted you as he took a sip of his tea cup.

you jumped startled, your eyes found theirs immediately, "gods, i didn't see you there."

rhysand's smirk grew wider. "oh, we know."

"did you get mugged?" cassian asked as he took in your figure.

you were barefoot with only one sock and shirtless.

"what?" you asked confused. 

cassian's eyes roam over your body.

"oh, no, morrigan's friend though it was a good idea to spill her coffee over me. freaking idiot," you murmured the last part, still focused on the task in hand.

cassian let out a snort "well, i'll make sure to thank her personally for this amazing view."

you rolled your eyes at his comment "oh, shut up, cassian. we grew up together, we've all seen each other naked at one point."

rhys smirked and grew before adding "sure, but we were either kids or teenagers at those times." 

cassian glanced at his brother, amusement all over his features "maybe we should go back to those times."

with another roll of your eyes, you tried to suppress a smile at your friend's comment while trying to get rid of the stain.

as on cue, the shadowsinger entered the kitchen to join his brothers for breakfast.

instead, he was surprised with a view of you shirtless — his shirtless mate.

the very reason, rhys and cassian had begun to tease you in the first place. 

what made this whole situation much funnier — the fact that you weren't aware of this detail. 

and things had just become a lot more interesting now with azriel in the room. 

his eyes widened at the sight of you but when he turned to find his brothers, his eyes darkened and a low growl was released.

"nice of you to join us, brother," cassian said casually as he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

he can practically feel the heat coming off of azriel, like smoke coming out of his ears.

"what's wrong, az?" rhys asked him, knowing exactly what was going on but seeing azriel riled up was too funny to miss it.

at the sound of their voices, you looked up and your eyes found a pair of hazel ones.

"oh, hi, azriel." you greeted him with your sweet smile — the one he liked so much.

the shadowsinger found himself melting at your words, at the way you said his name. 

his eyes instantly softed, a small blush coming to his cheeks and a goofy smile on his lips, "h-hi, y/n." 

you gave him a warm smile before going back to your task.

azriel regained his composure at the sound of his brothers' muffled laughter. 

he sighed and rolled his eyes at their behavior, he hadn't catched a break from them since he revealed the mating bond on one drunken night.

cassian elbowed rhys gently in the ribs to get his attention, when his eyes found his, the general gestured with his head to the shadowsinger. 

"hey, az" cassian tried to contain his urge to laugh, he knew what was about to happen. 

"what?" azriel managed to say, his eyes still on your figure.

"we were just talking. . ." cassian started, his voice teasing "about going back to those times when we were teenagers." 

azriel face scrunched in confusion, he shot his brother a look. 

"you know," cassian continued, his peripheral vision caught rhys trying to control himself  "those times where we didn't care about being naked in front of each other." 

both rhys and cassian snorted at the sight of azriel's face turning red.

"what?!" the male let out a little too loud then he had intended.

rhys proceeded, "yeah, you know. when we didn't care so much about formalities. don't you agree, y/n?" 

you rolled your eyes again at rhys comment, "i think you two have too much free time" you chuckled, "cauldron has mercy on the poor females that will ended up as your mates."

"hey!" both cassian and rhys protested.

azriel smiled at your comment, but it fell when he observed both of his brothers eyes roaming over your body, grins splattered on their features.

azriel moved to the edge of the table, placing his hands on the surface of it before giving them a glare and clenching his jaw.

"stop looking at her like that before i break your faces" he threatened through gritted teeth. 

cassian and rhys were quick to lift their arms in surrender, both muttering a small "yes, sir." 

azriel rolled his eyes in annoyance. his attention was caught when he heard you cursed quietly. 

he sent one last warning look to the two males before moving to stand behind you.

he was so close, that all it took was another step of his for your back to be pressed against his chest.

azriel would love to know the feeling of that sensation, but he remained where he was.

he peeked through your shoulder and saw that you couldn't get rid of the annoying coffee stain. 

"gods, madja is going to kill me for being late." 

without a second thought, azriel took a step back.

"here," he told you.

you turned to find him taking off his own shirt.

your eyes roamed his body — his sun-kissed skin, his muscles, his illyrian tattoos. 

you loved those tattoos. 

"put it on," he extended his hand to you, holding out his shirt.

"oh, that's not necessary, az. i-"

"it's okay, y/n. i- i want you too. by the way, why don't you go get your shoes and i'll take you to the clinic? it's quicker that way and you don't have to walk." 

your face softened, "really? you would do that?" 

the corner of his lips lifted for a small smile, only you to make him feel this way.

"of course." 

you grabbed his shirt, "ugh, thank you, az."

you put it on and azriel tried to not let the sight of your small feature into his too big of a shirt to affect him, but he failed when his heart skipped a beat.

you moved forward and grabbed his cheeks, kissing him on the left one.

caught off guard, azriel tried to hide the fact that his skin had heated up under your touch. 

a new blush came to decorate his cheeks. 

"hm. . .i-" the male couldn't find his words with the sound of his heart roaming in his ears. 

"you're my hero, az" you gave a big smile before making your way to the stairs to collect your shoes. 

azriel stood there in the middle of the kitchen with a hand making it's way to his face to touch the place you kissed him.

cassian and rhys burst out laughing, not being able to remain composed of their brother in love. 

cassian got up from his seat and walked towards his brother, clasping a hand on his back.

"behold of the big bad scary shadow-," cassian leaned over in laughter, "shadowsinger" he managed to complete. 

rhys appeared on his other side, "oh, brother. only if your enemies could see you now, they would think how big of a fool they are."  

azriel clenched his jaw again, and when he turned to answer them, he was stopped by a honey-sweet voice.

"i'm ready," you told him from the entrance.

once again, the shadowsinger was left completely disarmed.

a goofy smile reappeared on his face. 

he didn't even spare a glance at his brothers before making his way to you, "let's go then."

cassian and rhys were left in the kitchen laughing to themselves.

•••

the trip to the clinic was quick.

azriel landed softly on the ground, keeping a hand on your waist and another on your back to make sure you were stable.

you took a step forward before turning to him.

"thank you again, az. you literally just saved my morning." 

and there it was that goofy smile again.

"oh, it's nothing really. my pleasure." 

you let out a small giggle. you reached forward, surrounding his neck with one of your arms and gave him a kiss on the cheek again.

azriel's heart raced and his voice caught in his throat. 

you took a step back "you're my hero, azriel. what would i do without you?" 

you caressed his cheek with the back of your hand before giving him one last smile and moving towards the clinic.

"hm, i-" was all the male managed to say while watching you entering the clinic with his shirt.

he watched as you grabbed the door, and turned to him to wave goodbye. 

azriel returned the gesture. it was at that moment that he realized how much power you had over him.

he didn't push away that feeling, in fact he embraced it.

it was about time to let the walls he had built so long ago disappear. 

and you were the right person for that.

azriel made a decision at that moment.

at the end of the day, he would come pick you up and ask you out on a date.

he would buy you flowers, tell you how he felt and take you to dinner.

he just hoped you felt the same way.

and that you said yes.

general taglist: @emryb @fantasyandshit @azrielover @shadowsingercassia @littlelou22 @brieflyclassymortal @lilah-asteria @meul-a @lure-of-writing @pruvii @olive-main @mybestfriendmademe @anuttellaa @mrsjna @lively-potter @avajustreads @talesofadragon @circe143 @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @dark-chaos-314 @tequilya @scoliobean @saltedcoffeescotch @charlotteintumbleland @agirlwithwifiandalaptop @987coley

*if you asked to be tagged and you weren't, it's because I couldn't find your blog.

the beautiful dividers belong to @cafekitsune

[audisive]

♪ SAD GIRL. pretty when you cry alternative

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: another bad day calls for another solution. simon knows best, after all.

tags: smut, mentions of crying, comfort, self-indulgent, dumbification ??, dirty talk, a sprinkle of breeding, unedited filth

      You're not entirely sure how you got here.

You know why; you'd been stressing your precious head off for the whole week. These past few days seem to be worse than the past ones that had you crying your eyes out in Simon's arms. University has taken its toll on you, and your work is anything but helpful. You don't even have time to cry now! At some point, you barely even had time to spend with your beloved boyfriend, so he took matters into his own capable hands.

Still, you don't know how. You try to remember, but it's hard to think when Simon's even harder dick is stretching out your – in his words – pretty little cunt once more. It's no use trying to work your brain, he claims, not when your shoulders are slumped, your head is leaning on him, and he's rubbing his thick cock against the walls of your pussy just right.

Really, you tried to deal with your stress in a more appropriate way, but you knew it was futile. You admitted defeat when you felt his hands slip from your waist to your hips, when his lips found your neck, when his cold fingers played with your clit and when he'd eased you down on his cock with praises and whispers.

It's just not your fault that he knows the right buttons to push, and he seems to love turning your brain off. What's going on in that brain 'f yours, lovie? C'mon, 'nough of that. Leave it all t'me. If he had it his way, he'd have you drop out of that awful university you always complain about. Please let him provide for you.

"Y'don' even have t' do anything, baby," he grunts in your ear lowly, hot breath hitting your skin. So you don't. You pant against him like a pathetic thing, but you're so far gone in the pleasure that you just can't bring yourself to be a little shy about your state of mind, or rather, the lack of it.

"Such a good fuckin'–" he moans out loud when you clench around him a little too hard without warning, "girl. That's m'girl, tha's it."

You moan his name back, the only thing you can think of. Whining when his thrusts become rougher and harder, he coos, "I know, I know. Almost there, baby, I got'cha."

His pants aren't even all the way down. Shameless bastard! He opted to slide them down his muscular thighs to let the noticeable bulge slip out of its enclosure. His hands have long since shoved themselves under your clothes, not bothering to take them off either. It makes you feel icky, desperate, and utterly pathetic, but the way his cold skin freezes the surface of your bare hips while he moves you up and down on his leaky cock is enough to take your mind off of it.

You're a bit too loud for your own liking, and Simon's dirty talk isn't helping. He laces the lewd sounds of your bedroom with his own groans and grunts that your neighbors are sure to hear and complain about. And when he finds that spot of yours, he pounds you into the mattress like your lives depend on it. You'll just have to ignore the weird looks and glares they give you when you step out of your house.

Oh, but what can you do? You're at his mercy; all you can bring yourself to do is whine and moan for him, but don't worry, he'll take it as a reward for taking such good care of his pretty baby. He's hell-bent on finding ways to comfort you. If he can't fix you with sweet pecks and warm cuddles, he'll fix you up real good with sloppy kisses and his leaky cock. :3 

You'll be a good girl and not complain when he cums in you, right?

    divider by @cafekitsune !

[insertdisc5]

✨ The In Stars and Time Spoiler Q&A ✨

it's time. MASSIVE IN STARS AND TIME SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT. IT'S GONNA BE SO LONG. LET'S GO

I hope you are aware of The Secret Final Boss because I'm also gonna spoil the crab out of that. If you haven't,

1. Did you know the events for interacting with your souvenirs are randomized for some of them, and also change depending on how far you are in the game.

2. Did you know there's a way to show souvenirs to a certain character.

3. Did you know you can go back to Dormont during the Epilogue.

Figure that out, and come back here! Or watch a let's play online. You can also do that.

I will also try to adopt a ~mysterious cool voice with no exclamation points~ for Effect. Come with me on this journey.

Now. Questions time!

✨ Will you ever make a sequel to ISAT, or make a game in the same universe?

Nah. This was always intended to be The Story. This is your turn to imagine things now.

✨ But so what happened to the Country? What was its name? What about the wishes? What about the colors? What did Siffrin say as an openphrase to open the door to the King's room? What about--

I will not answer those. It's your turn.

✨ BUT THE COUNTRY AND THE COLORS AND THE WISHES

Ok fine. Here are some facts that I alluded to in-game, that I am confirming now.

-The Country disappearing and the events that made colors go away are not related.

-The colors disappeared a loooong time ago, which is why knowing they even existed is a relatively new find.

-A wish made everyone forget the Country.

I will ALSO say that ISAT's map operates on Final Fantasy/General Fantasy rules (i.e. in-universe locations are based off of real ones when it comes to culture, but are not one to one parallels, especially for geography), so no, the Country isn't based on the UK oh my god please do not say that to me again or im deleting ISAT out of your computers and putting legos at the foot of your bed. It's based on another place. You can figure it out, I believe in you.

✨ But why won't you give more info on what happened :(

Can you imagine if I did answer. Wouldn't that be a bummer, whatever my answer was. Sometimes things need to stay a mystery. And also, I don't want to answer <3

✨ Does the world Loop came from still exist after they left? Or is this a get mystery'd situation?

There is only One Timeline and it's the timeline that goes from the prologue to ISAT. Every timeline that gets rewound does not exist anymore, and that includes the prologue's timeline.

✨ What's the deal with Siffrin's dream at the start?

It's Siffrin's dream, but that doesn't mean our Siffrin is the main star.

✨ Is [specific missable game moment] canon?

Every moment that you personally experience in the game is canon.

✨ Is there a reason Siffrin remembers their name but the King doesn't?

What makes you think Siffrin does?

✨ At the very very end of the game, if you look out the window behind the Head Housemaiden, Sif mentions seeing an island in the distance. Is that his country?

It is. It's always been there, for the whole game. You can see it in the distance, too.

✨ Who was the King, before?

He was just a guy!

✨ With the King left remembering in the end, does that in any way change the redaction effect for other people in the world going forward?

That's a fun idea. Maybe!

✨ One thing that never really clicked for me is: Is the sweet smell Time Craft or Wish Craft? Or is the sweet smell TIme Craft and specifically the burnt sugar smell is Wish Craft? Other way around? Does this question even matter since without Wish Craft you can't attain Time Craft in the first place? (To me, yes.)

Wish Craft smells sweet. Time Craft doesn't have a smell per se, but it does do something.

✨ Does Mirabelle retain her immunity to being frozen in time after the events of the game or does it go away after the Head Housemaiden is saved? Or does it persist for a while and eventually fade away?

I imagine the immunity slowly faded away. But no one's left to do Time Craft, so it's a moot point anyway.

✨ How was Odile able to stop Siffrin from looping back during the fight against Siffrin?

In the Discord channel I stated that it's because "she's just that cool", but really, she does have access to some skills that heighten the efficacity of Rock/Paper/Scissors attacks, so it's not too much of a stretch to imagine she could lower the efficacity of Time Craft as well. In this last loop, while listening to Loop and observing, she could figure out Siffrin was looping way earlier than she could in even the Sus Quest, so she made plans. She is Very Smart <3

✨ Will you ever share everyone's full names?

That's artbook content <3

✨ In the ending, what happened to Siffrin's hat?

Flew away. It's gone now.

✨ Looking back at the original comics, and seeing how comic!sif has both eyes at the start of their loops, but in ending sequences is shown with his eye patch...did you ever consider making that concept of sif losing their eye a part of the main loop in either of your games? and if so, was there any reason why you decided against it?

Early on, I did think about making that whole event an event that happens during the loops, but quickly let that go since 1. it would be a pain to write and code (two different sets of Siffrin portraits!) and 2. if it happened, the player might want to look for a way to NOT make that happen and so 3. it would be a pain to write and code

✨ How was Siffrin's homelife before?

Pretty good!

✨ How old were Nille and Bonnie when they ran away? How old was Sif when their home got zapped?

Both were teens.

✨ How old IS everyone?

Siffrin is mid-late 20s. Mirabelle and Isabeau are early-mid 20s, with Isabeau being slightly older. Bonnie is a preteen. Odile is Too Old For This. Petronille, Bonnie's sister, is late teens-early 20s. You can ignore whatever I said in the prologue's artbook, whoever wrote this was Wrong!!!!!!!!!!

✨ Regarding the book that talks about someone who crafted a copy of themself using wish craft: is that meant to imply someone we know is the author (and/or the copy), or is it not directly related to any of em? or is it a "who knows ;)" situation where we can just speculate and theorize either way?

Please check the book again during Act 5! This applies to most items/map events by the way, like the pendant. You can check those during Act 5 and 6 for some fun new dialogue!

✨ Why are Siffrin's clothes so warm looking?

The Country got cold at night.

✨ What's up with Siffrin's pins?

They're made out of a special material. And also, they make Siffrin look cool <3

✨ I want to know the story behind Loop’s different eye shades!

They're blind in one eye. Also, fun foreshadowing <3

✨ What determines whether someone is paper/rock/scissors craft? Is it assigned naturally at birth or something else (and how do you find out)? Does it make you more inclined to use that specific craft or is anyone generally free to use whatever craft they want?

Astrology rules, It Just Is A Thing. Being Rock Type means it is way easier for you to do Rock Craft, but that doesn't mean you can't learn other types of craft, although it's way harder. Doing Craft of your type is instinct, doing Craft of another type would take some time and resarch.

✨What crimes has Odile committed before. I need to know.

Odile just smiles.

✨ Why did the King specifically target the House of Dormont?

I had a reason in mind, but adding it to the game would've added a layer of Explanation that really didn't need to be there. It's just a nice House.

✨ Who was Odile's hatecrush...

Dunno. It's your turn.

✨ What is loop's body situation. like is the surface of their "skin" solid? they did poke siffrin that one time, and we know they aren't cold, but...

I have some idea. But it's your turn!

✨ Would Sif still have looped if they hadn't made the wish he made in the beginning? As in, would Vaugarde's combined wish have made him loop until managing to beat the King?

No. But without time powers, you can imagine what would've happened next.

✨ During the Loop Hangout, how did the rest of the team make it all the way to The King? What about during Act 5?

During the Loop Hangout: with difficulty. During Act 5: Loop was there to guide them.

✨ Is Loop: 1. Actually comfortable with both he and they, but only gave the one pronoun to emphasize the distance? 2. Only using they/them because a large life event led to a shift in identity/ how they'd like to be perceived? or 3. time lops stole he from they they :(

Mostly that first one. But all three of those reasons have a bit of truth to them.

✨ Who cooked crab in the House of Change???

This is a very funny question! I've never thought about it. It's your turn.

✨ What are the Orbs that open the gate? Did the King create the Gate or was it there before?

(did not think about the orbs or the gate beyond "plot that proves there was a journey before") Stop Asking Questions,,,, It's your turn,,,,,,

✨ Bonnie's dialogue is *extremely* accurate to how overexcited kids talk, which is really rare to see. Was that something that took a lot of effort to achieve, or did it come naturally to you?

Thank you <3 I'm just that good. Really, Bonnie is an adult with no filter, and less general knowledge. I'm very glad I managed to write Bonnie well, especially since. I haven't talked to a kid. Since I was one myself

✨ The Spoilery Concept Art. Blease

oh yeah. here have it all. this is what I gave Mimi to do the animated trailer!

✨ So. What's everyone's favorite shade.

FINALLY the question. Plus I can say shade names now. White = darkless, Black = lightless. Light and Dark is like light grey/ dark grey. Oh my god I'm checking my notes and I wrote a small event I never used about hair dye colors like "midnight dark", "tomato grey", "snow light" past me that's so fucking funny

Anyway, Siffrin loves darkless, Mirabelle is more of a light shade lover, Isabeau loves that lightless (BECAUSE ITS FASHIONABLE OK), Odile likes darker shades, and Bonnie also loves that lightless (BECAUSE ITS AS DARK AS MY SOUL OK)

✨ Are there any bugs you found during developments that you've made into features?

Two! The first one was the ability to ask Loop to just silently hang out during Act 4. I messed up the code and the game softlocked there, with Siffrin and Loop sitting there silently. I thought it was very sweet. They deserve a little quiet time.

The second was in Act 5 - the House map had a lot of issues with the Act 5 map bringing you back to the normal House map. So one of the testers got brought to the normal House map and didn't notice, and interacted with the Mirror on Floor 3, and it gave them the normal interaction with everyone seeing the mirror and taking a picture, and when they went to look at the picture in their inventory, it gave them the actual Act 5 picture. A little bit after they realized the game bugged out, and told me about it, and begged me to keep that in because they were very unsettled by it. So here it is! Beforehand, it was just Siffrin silently taking a picture, so I'm glad I changed it.

✨ Did you ever have emotional difficulty writing the more sensitive parts of the script, like Siffrin’s intrusive/negative thoughts, for one reason or another? Moreover, did you worry the script may be darker than your initial vision for it anticipated?

Not really. The Mirabelle and Odile hangout scenes were the hardest scenes by far because I really wanted to get them right, but everything else was about the same amount of difficulty. And actually, I wanted to go a little bit darker for the script, but I was worried it was going to be too dark... When it comes to the dagger event, I had a whole tangent about Siffrin thinking about the best way to strike, so to speak, but I deleted it because it was getting A Little Too Detailed. T rating come back to me

✨ For the questions you WON'T answer, did you have your own answers while making the game? Or were they left blank?

Some of them I do, some of them I don't!

✨ I loved this game and I want to replay it but I don't want Siffrin to go through everything again!

Here's a little fun fact I decided: if you hit the credits, you helped a Siffrin escape. If you start a new game, you are creating a new Siffrin that you can emotionally tortu-IIIIIIII MEAN, a new Siffrin that you can help. Do not worry about your Siffrins they are fine

✨ A lot of those answers ended up being "It's your turn", huh.

Yea <3 The answers to some of those questions ARE there if you look. Some just aren't. But you can imagine whatever you want. It's your turn! I finished the game! I'm done working! It's your turn!!!

✨ I loved ISAT and it made me feel so many feelings!

Thank you so much. I'm sorry if you sent a message or ask and I didn't answer it. I read every single one and cherish it! Thank you for playing and thank you for writing me a message!!!!! When I get a little down I look at all of those and I feel better. Thank you. I'm sorry I can't answer them all.

✨ What will you work on next?

I have a project I'm currently in the preproduction stages of. I don't want to talk about it until I feel like I have some stuff to show. Plus I still have to make the ISAT artbook and some other stuff, so it won't be for a while. Nonetheless, I hope you will enjoy it!!!

[perseidlion]

Streaming in Kaos

Well, it happened. I can't say that I'm surprised that KAOS has been cancelled by Netflix. I am a little surprised at the speed at which it was axed. Only a month after it aired, and it's already gone.

That has me wondering if the decision to cancel was made before the show even aired. We have to remember that marketing is the biggest cost after production. If the Netflix brass looked at the show and either decided (through audience testing, AI stuff or just their own biases) that it wasn't going to be a Stranger Things-level hit, they probably chose at that moment to slash its marketing budget.

That meant there was pretty much no way that KAOS was ever going to hit the metrics Netflix required of it to get a season 2.

What makes me so angry about this (other than the survival of a show relying on peoples' biases or AI) is that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you decide before a show is ever going to air that it won't be a success, then it probably won't be. If you rely on metrics and algorithms and AI to analyze art, you will never let something surprise you. You'll never let it grow. You'll never nurture the cult hits of the future or the next franchise.

Netflix desperately needs people behind the scenes that believe in stories and potential over metrics. Nothing except the same old predictable dreck is ever going to be allowed to survive if you don't believe in the stories you're telling.

The networks and streamers have a huge problem on their hands. They need big hits and to build the franchises of the future to sustain their current model (which is horribly broken.) But people have franchise fatigue and aren't showing up for known IPs like they used to. The fact that Marvel content is definitely not a sure thing anymore is a huge canary in the coal mine for franchise fatigue. People aren't just tired of Marvel, they're tired of the existing worlds both on the big screen and the small one. Audiences are hungry for something new.

It is telling that the most successful Marvel properties of the last few years have been the ones that do something different. Marvel is smart to finally pull out The X-Men because that is a breath of fresh air and something people are hungry to see more of.

There's pretty much no one behind the scenes (except for maybe AMC building The Immortal Universe) that is committing to really taking the time to build these new worlds. Marvel built the MCU by playing the long game. That paid dividends for a solid decade even if it's dropping off now. That empire was built not with nostalgia for existing IP (don't forget the MCU was built with B and C tier heroes) but with patience. Marvel itself seems to have forgotten this in recent years.

Aside from that, I think people really want stories that aren't connected to a billion other things. That takes commitment on the part of the audience to follow and to get attached to. People WANT three to five excellent seasons of a show that tells its own story and isn't leaving threads out there for a dozen spinoffs. We're craving tight storytelling.

KAOS could have been that. Dead Boy Detectives could have been that. So could Our Flag Means Death, Lockwood and Co, Shadow and Bone, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, Willow, and a dozen other shows with great potential or were excellent out of the gate.

If you look at past metrics, you only learn what people used to like, not what they want now. People are notoriously bad about articulating what they want, but boy do they know it when they see it. Networks have to go back to having a dozen moderate successes instead of constantly churning through one-season shows that get axed and pissing off the people who did like it in a hamfisted attempt to stumble on the next big thing.

The networks desperately need to go back to believing in their shows. Instead, they keep cutting them off at the knees before they ever get a chance because some algorithm told them the numbers weren't there.

[familyvideostevie]

steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

__

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[temis-de-leon]

He has a nightmare where he rejected you

Characters: Solomon and Simeon (x gn!reader, separately)

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Main Masterlist

CW: spoilers for Simeon's character development in the OG game (I haven't played NB yet).

A/N: brace yourselves for Simeon's part because I still can't write him.

.

Solomon – He will inevitably lose you

From all the things he thought he would miss when he reached immortality, being able to remember his exact age wasn’t one of them; and yet, there was the regret.

He tells himself is not that deep; that reaching the thousands is already an impressive achievement, but lying to himself has its limits.

Maybe, if he hadn’t been so occupied tracking demons of interest and travelling the realms in search of knowledge, he would’ve had the time to keep score and be aware of just how long he had been roaming amongst the rest of his kind.

Maybe, if those who cared for him stayed longer than their perishable bodies allowed, someone would’ve been there to remind him.

And there were only so many burials he could attend before finally throwing the towel and accepting the emotional safety of solely seeking the company of immortals like him.

But then, centuries later, the human exchange program happens and you make him feel like reuniting with an old friend, even if you’ve never met before.

So he listens to experience.

So he remembers all those funerals he’d attended in the past; all those faces lost to time and inevitable death.

You’re way too enticing to ignore and of course, there’s the need to protect the fellow human surrounded by demons (never mind he acts like one too), but he knows how to stay occupied and at a distance, keeping his feelings at bay.

Casual friendship is the limit he willingly stops at.

He knows that if he allows himself to accept and reciprocate your love, the only important number in his life wouldn’t be his age anymore, but the day he’d inevitably lose you forever.

Tears pooled in his eyes as a violent coughing fit made him bend over, lungs pushing themselves up his throat in an attempt to escape from the stench and the toxic effects of the room’s atmosphere.

Ventilation.

He needed to open the windows.

It was like a cloud had entered his laboratory; a dense, humid fog that barely covered the furniture and crushed against the walls like a rot-smelling milky tide.

Still, Solomon wasn’t sure whether his tears were caused by the abnormal air around him or that unpleasant nightmare he just had.

Although he tried not to think about it, especially the heartbroken expression on your face, the scene did nothing more but repeat in his mind. His words and reasoning carried some logic, yet he couldn’t imagine a universe where that would’ve ever happened.

He enjoyed risks and danger but had never been masochist enough to deny himself of your company; on the contrary, the sole idea of spending time with you was usually a strong motivation to finish his work quickly and make some free time in his schedule, so rejecting being your lover was the strangest and unlikeliest idea he could’ve ever had.

Making that damn potion sure was another one.

Ironically, it was supposed to be a gift for you to use with him as a bonding couple activity, a concoction he had been experimenting on for days to use as introspection into your relationship. His original intention was to glimpse into your possible futures and even your alternative pasts, to see which other ways you had fallen in love with each other; not to witness a rejection.

Had that happened, then? In another timeline? Or had that nightmare been a fragment of his sad imagination?

Thankfully, the air inside the laboratory started to purify the moment he opened the window. He felt his thoughts return to rational and realistic as the fresh breeze of the Devildom night hit him right in his face. The fog, icy and moist, slithered around him and past the window into the darkness, dissipating and completely disappearing from his line of sight. However, behind him, the potion was still bubbling and rattling the cauldron, threatening to throw it to the ground.

Was it the measurements? The temperature of the fire? The direction of the stirring?

Trial and error; success didn’t come one’s way by dumb luck.

With a flick of the wrist and a sour scowl, he magically extinguished the overworked flames and threw the dangerous mixture down the drain.

It would be better to leave his experiment alone for a few more days, though. Perhaps even a week. That would be enough time for him to forget the dreadful nightmare, or at least try to do so. Until then, he’d leave the windows open, hoping the scattered fog didn’t affect any unsuspecting creature on the street, and close the laboratory under lock and key.

Solomon would buy you flowers and sweets and each good thing you deserved in life until the day came when he could give you something better.

Trial and error.

Simeon – The consequences could be fatal

You see.

He lived through the cautionary tale, a horrific incident that affected everyone involved, so he is painfully aware of how any potential intimacy between you two could end.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be like that, of course, but he knows that if he gets to love you, he’ll take risks and chances. Everything you could ever need, Simeon would give you, and not even the pearly gates of the Celestial Realm would be enough to stop him.

Lillith’s treason against their home in favour of her human lover would repeat in his hands if the situation required it.

His love runs deep and he knows so from the very first moment he sees you.

Although, at first, there isn’t anything extraordinary about your friendship.

He still appreciates it. It’s a carefree arrangement, for lack of a better word, light and kind in nature, and it helps him ease into the Devildom in a way he didn’t think existed.

You hang out sometimes, mostly because of Luke and his strong angelic need to protect your pure human soul, and you study together every once in a while, but your shared time isn’t enough to spark the flames of romantic attraction.

It’s easier to let you go when you have seven demanding demons trailing behind you like lost puppies; an amusing sight and a welcomed one.

And still, you choose him.

Why?

Is it his gentle demeanour? Or the determination shining underneath? Is it because he’s so different from the brothers, who show no remorse in admitting their darkest desires regarding their love for you?

He feels forced to reject you and he does as such, basking in the reassurance that you’ll both keep your friendship intact.

Don’t be mistaken; he loves you as well, but he doesn’t feel like that love belongs to the angel he used to be.

It was a melodic sound what woke him up, a tune he recognized as a warning coming from his new laptop.

Frowning and groaning in discomfort, Simeon brushed his hair away from his forehead and tried to rub off the imprints left on his skin by the keyboard. The document in front of him was full of random letters and numbers, no wonder a product of his unconsciously moving head, and a message on the screen asked for his authorization to carry out some type of order.

He didn’t quite fully understand what it asked, so, as per your usual requests, he closed the laptop and kept it inside his backpack.

Now at least he had a reason to visit you.

Not like he needed one, but the brothers, especially Lucifer, tended to leave you both alone more frequently if there was.

Thinking about them made the nightmare reappear and remain fresh in his mind, but somehow, surprisingly, it didn’t bother him as much as It should’ve. While the aspect of rejecting you hurt his heart in a special way, he knew he ultimately didn’t do it and chose the better option; but it was everything else what was stopping him from forgetting about it before leaving to see you.

He was changing, wasn’t he? It wasn’t your fault, you were merely an adding factor, but the truth was undeniable.

No longer the angel he used to be and neither a human, there were parts of himself he couldn’t keep ignoring. The darkness within that could compete with a demon’s, Lord Diavolo’s inability to read him as fast as he would anyone else and his willingness to bend the rules he had been taught should you ever need him to.

Lillith’s presence is blurry in his memories after so many years, but he would never be able to fully forget her; how could he ever do that? She fell in love and risked what she had and what she was to preserve it, although it ended in tragedy.

And still, he understood her.

Solomon’s and Luke’s voices reached him from the living room, bringing him back to reality. Besides his slow breathing and an unclosed faucet, the bathroom was otherwise silent. Droplets of water ran down his face like tears, but his eyes were dry and hardened by his thoughts. His reflection in the mirror seemed tired and he dreaded how his actual appearance might look. You would ask about it, no doubt, but what would he answer? He didn’t even know the full truth himself.

Glimpses of self-reflection and fragments of a realistic nightmare weren’t enough to dissipate your worries, so it’d be better for everyone if he kept hiding, at least for the moment.

Sweet actions and sweet words shielded by the honest love he felt for you.

The truth would come out eventually, but, until then, let the nightmares remain a mere fragment of his world-renowned imagination.

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @books-and-catears

[wileys-russo]

mary earps, out shopping, “remind me why i agreed to have those two idiots as my other children?” (lessi and tooney)

part of the a date to remember universe m.earps II we don't know them

"do they really have to come?" mary groaned as she pulled up out front, sighing heavily as you nodded. "we've been away for nearly two weeks. they probably missed you!" you teased pinching her cheek as she mocked you under her breath.

"i missed aunty lessi and aunty tooney!" delilah piped up from the back, swinging her legs with a cheshire like grin plastered on her face. "so did I tiny. mama did too, she just thinks she's too cool to admit it." you patted your wifes shoulder who rolled her eyes.

"did you tell them we're here? we're going to be late!" mary checked her watch with a huff as you quirked an eye in amusement. "can't be late to do the shopping mama." delilah beat you to it with a giggle as you looked back proudly.

"watch it kid or you'll lose your trolley privileges." mary warned fixing your daughter with a look through the rear view mirror. "so dramatic mary!" delilah parroted your own words from this morning as you slapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

though before the goalkeeper could say anything back there was knocks at her window and she jumped a half foot in the air, scowling at the smirking brunette who winked and climbed into the car.

"where's alessia? for god sakes!" mary groaned head thumping back against her headrest. "for god sakes!" delilah mocked doing the same thing as her head thumped against the back of her car seat and she only giggled as mary shot her a dirty look.

"we're still in the parrot phase." you explained to ella who nodded in understanding, a flash of blonde hair hurrying down the driveway and diving into the car. "sorry! couldn't find my other sock." alessia huffed wrestling on her shoe as mary rolled her eyes.

"see? i told you we could go away for two years and these idiots wouldn't change." mary mumbled under her breath as you squeezed her knee, the taller girl huffing and leaning across to kiss your cheek in a silent apology starting the car back up.

with the other two in the car now the time flew past as delilah caught them up on the adventures of your last two weeks away in mallorca on holiday, both girls listening attentively with oo's of wonder.

"hello children." you finally greeted them both with a hug and a smile as you arrived to the grocery store, jumping out of the car as mary ignored them both and unclipped delilah.

"whats up marys ass this mornin? she got blue balls or somethin?" ella whispered with a wink as alessia shoved her with a dissaproving shake of her head. "something like that." you chuckled, marys plans of a romantic night together now you weren't sharing a room with your daughter ruined by the daughter in question refusing to sleep in her own bed and you not making her.

"we can stop the co-sleeping tomorrow. come on baby, family cuddles!" you denied marys request to remove delilah who was already fast asleep curled into your side, your wife sighing heavily but knowing this wasn't something worth arguing.

but a restless night with little feet kicking into her ribs every ten minutes or a tiny hand smacking her cheek and wriggling around meant it was one without much sleep, meaning a very grumpy mary this morning.

"mary. baby come on, your nose is so long its almost hitting the ground." you poked at your wifes side as alessia and ella hurried off ahead, swinging delilah between them.

"only things on the list!" mary called warning the trio as alessia gave a thumbs up, handing the piece of paper to your daughter who was now happily sat in a trolley, the three of them disappearing into the aisles.

"come on earps, give us a smile." you jostled your wife as she grabbed a trolley for your own list. "not in the mood." the goalkeeper warned but made no move to let go as you slipped your hand into hers.

"well, maybe later you can get in the mood." you smiled suggestively, the taller girl looking down at you with a frown. "i didn't invite ella and less just for a catch up. if we buy them lunch and butter them up a little, i'm sure they'd love to take delilah for a sleepover tonight." you quirked an eyebrow, grinning as mary's face lit up.

"my god woman, you're a genius." mary grabbed your face, kissing all over it as you laughed. "yeah yeah tell me something i don't know. i'm offended you seem so surprised!" you poked her accusingly before starting off toward the fruit and vegetables, having given delilah all the 'fun' food knowing she'd whinge about the healthier things.

"mary!" you hissed as her hand caught your ass, your complaints swallowed by the kiss she stole with a charming smile. "it slipped." she winked, reaching over your head to grab a punnet of strawberries.

you were both almost done with your part of the list when you heard a horrendously loud crash the aisle over and winced, sharing a knowing look.

"please tell me that isn't ours." you mumbled, the pair of you slowly heading toward the source of the noise. "i can tell you but you can't get mad at me for lying." mary sighed at the sight which met you, a bright red alessia apologizing profusely to a store employee as ella wiped off delilah who was coated in flower, her own body caked with white as well.

you met alessia's eyes over the employee's shoulder, feeling mary slip her hand back into yours.

"remind me why i agreed to have those two idiots as my other children? "pretend we don't know them?" "darling you read my mind."

"oi you two get back here!"

[woso-dreamzzz]

Periods

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You find the period products

It's quiet in the house.

It's to blissful silence that Magda wakes up to.

She'd taken a quick nap in the rays of the midday sun, legs aching slightly from playing a full ninety yesterday.

But it's silent when Magda finally wakes up. She stretches for a moment before contemplating if she could fit in another nap before dinner.

The silence is comforting and it's almost enough to lull her to sleep again.

Almost...

Because suddenly, Magda's brain catches up with her ears and she realises it's silent in a house where there's an under five living.

Pernille had gone out earlier to grab things from the bakery so Magda had captured you in her arms for a midday nap.

But you're not in them now.

Magda doesn't want to think about how long it's been since you'd escaped her.

She takes the stairs two at a time, ears straining for any evidence that you're still in the house.

There's a clatter in the bathroom and Magda wrenches the door open.

She freezes, a bubble of laughter being shocked out of her.

"Hi, Morsa!" You chirp, lifting your head for a second before ducking it back down again.

Magda gapes, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

"I...Princesse?"

"Morsa!" You say back," Hello!"

You don't look at her again as you methodically open up the snaitiary pads that she keeps in the sink cabinet.

"What...What have you got there?"

"Found big stickers!" You reply as you stick the sticky side of the pad onto the floor.

You've covered yourself in them. One on each cheek and another on your forehead.

You're methodically place more pads on the floor.

"They're fuzzy!" You exclaim happily, running your little fingers over the non squishy side.

"Princesse..."

"And there's fuzzy things with strings!"

You pick up a box of tampons and shake it.

Honestly, Magda thinks it's kind of impressive that you've able to open the tampon packaging to fish one out to show her. It'[s only in the back of her mind though because she can feel her eye twitching.

"Princesse," She says again, forcing a smile on her face," You can't play with these."

You frown. "Why?"

"Because..." Magda's mind races as she thinks of an excuse. "Because they're for big girls."

You give her a look. "I'm a big girl. You say I'm a big girl all the time."

Magda's winces. That's true. "Well...they're for adult big girls and you're not an adult yet, are you?"

You think for a moment before nodding, head bobbing up and down. "Okay," You say," I leave your fuzzy stickers and strings alone. You can play with them."

Magda gently pulls the pads off your face, kissing each bit of skin she uncovers. "Thank you, princesse."

The incident is done by the time Pernille gets home and it's so insignificant that Magda doesn't even remember to mention it to Pernille.

So Pernille is very blindsided by it all one day at lunch when you dig around your practice bag looking for the 'present' you bought for Jessie.

Pernille shrugs at the questioning look Jessie sends her. She's as much in the dark as Jessie is.

"Found them!" You say triumphantly.

Pernille's mouth hangs open as you present Jessie with a pad and tampon. You take it a step further when you unwrap the the pad, stick it on Jessie's wrist and pull down the wings to keep it secure.

"It's fuzzy!" You tell Jessie, who can do nothing but stare in shock," So you can stroke it when you feel sad! And! And! This is fuzzy too!" You pull the tampon out of its packaging and Jessie's mouth hangs open further. "You can swing it around by the string!"

You demonstrate, grinning triumphantly just as Pernille comes to her senses.

"Princesse," She says, still reeling from the fact that you had somehow broken into the period products without anyone noticing," Where did you get those?"

You shrug. "At home. I tried to play with them but Morsa said they're for adult big girls and I'm only a kid big girl. But Jessie's an adult big girl! And I think Jessie deserves presents because she's my favourite!"

"That's nice..." Pernille says," And Jessie's very grateful but maybe we should stop handing these out."

You frown. "Why?"

"Well..." Pernille takes a moment to think of an excuse. "Because we don't want Jessie's gift to be any less special. It won't be as special if you keep handing them out."

You think it over for a moment before it makes sense and you nod. "Okay. Just presents for Jessie."

"Good girl," Pernille says, a soft kiss being pressed to your crown," Now Jessie's going to hide her gifts so no one feels jealous."

Your head bobs up and down. "Okay! Good plan!"

[thepixelelf]

and the universe said,

07 - "bro, chill"

genres/tags: soulmate au, idol au, comedy, romance, dumbassery relationship(s): ot13 x reader chapter warnings: coarse language. kithing. a liiitle svt on svt violence note: ik it's been a long time please be nice to me <3 (this isn't edited... I'll take a look at it when I have the time)

When soulmates are suddenly thrust upon the world, you are one in a million who wishes they weren’t – and that’s before you meet the person (people?!) making your life much harder than it needs to be. And before someone asks you to sign an NDA.

series masterlist

prev ⭒ chapter seven (4.0k) ⭒ next

“Where are they?” Myungjun asks as soon as Jihoon and Junhui enter the room they agreed upon.

Junhui braces both of his arms on the back of a chair. “What do you mean?”

“Your soulmate—” Cutting himself off with a sigh, Myungjun pinches the bridge of his nose and answers his own question. “You didn’t bring them.”

Yejung, who was sitting at a table with her laptop, shuts it with a frown. “Why not?”

Junhui shrugs. “I’m just here because Jihoon dragged me out.” He shifts between looking at the three other people in the room. “You guys know I just met my soulmate, right? I don’t like not having them here with me, either.”

“Well then why didn’t you—”

“They don’t know.” Jihoon cuts off Myungjun’s words, then pulls out a chair and drops himself in it. He stares at a random spot on the table. When he doesn’t elaborate any further, Yejung sends a furtive glance Myungjun’s way.

“Don’t know…” She leans her forearms on the table and scoots her chair closer. “...what? That you’re their soulmate? That there’s more than one of you? That you’re famous?”

Junhui snorts. “All of the above?”

At Junhui's quip and Jihoon's continued silence, Myungjun raises a cynical brow.

"You didn't tell them?" Yejung asks, softly shocked. "Why?"

Junhui's eyes skirt to Jihoon; he's unwilling to share his own reasons, though he doesn't quite understand this about himself, either.

Jihoon sighs. "I don't know. It's complicated. Things happened too fast the first time we—"

"The first time?" Myungjun echoes. "So you've been with them multiple times."

“Don’t say it like that.” Jihoon almost pouts, but the facial expression just makes him look angry. “Look. I ran into them when the vocal team was on the way to that radio show. We’d stopped by a cafe and there wasn’t much time and I was so out of my mind that I—” He cuts himself off. “It doesn’t matter. I got their number, and then they left. I asked to meet today and we did. Jun was already there for…” With his arms crossed, Jihoon looks over at Junhui, remembering that he still doesn’t really know what Junhui was doing at the same cafe you apparently frequent. Is this the same cat cafe Junhui is always talking about? “…some reason. Then someone started singing, and they told us their soulmate is stupid and annoying because their mark…”

“It’s not like ours,” Junhui finishes for Jihoon, though this only deepens the confusion written on Yejung and Myungjun’s faces.

“If it's not like yours, then how do you know they're your—”

“It's them, Hyung.” Jihoon can't help noticing the hopelessness in his own voice. It's you. He knows it's you.

But you don't know it's them— him.

And he's not sure you want to know.

“Their mark, like, grows,” Junhui explains. “Ours just stay on our hands, but when one of us sings, the notes go all over their arms and neck. Maybe other places — I don’t know — but they obviously don’t think it’s either of us since we weren’t singing when their mark did its thing.”

“So…” Myungjun crosses his arms and taps his finger on his bicep. “They don't like their mark.”

Junhui doesn't nod right away, but he does eventually.

Myungjun turns to Jihoon. “And you think that means they don't like you.”

Groaning and rubbing his hands over his face, Jihoon doesn't dignify that with a response. “Even if they did like their mark, it’s an insane situation. Thirteen soulmates? They’re gonna run for the hills when they find out.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Yejung says, to which Jihoon gives her a dry look and Junhui’s eyes light up. She clears her throat. “We just need to find a way to calmly inform them of the situation — preferably in a safe, comfortable environment.”

Myungjun recognizes a Yejung Game Plan brewing when he sees it. “Basically, what she’s saying is…”

“Let me talk to them.” Yejung opens her laptop again and begins typing away. “We just need to go about this in a calm, logical manner.” She gives a little nonchalant wave of her hand. “This’ll be easier than a design meeting.”

⭒

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, arms crossed, legs too, as you stare down at the shiny black credit card lying there between you and Heejun. His position mirrors yours, head tilted while he studies the card.

“It could be fake,” you say. Your knee bounces up and down, up and down.

Heejun lifts his head to give you a look. “Why would it be fake?”

“He said he doesn’t believe in banks.”

“It doesn’t look fake.” Heejun reaches out and takes the card, flipping it over in his fingers to read the back. “Looks like any other credit card. We should test it.”

You frown. “How?”

“Uh,” Heejun speaks like the answer is obvious. “Buy something?”

Okay, it is obvious, but the idea doesn’t sit too well with you. “Isn’t that stealing?”

“He gave you the card.”

“Yeah, but the police don’t know that,” you argue. “If I got charged for fraud, it would be his word against mine— no one would believe coffee guy just handed me his black card.”

Without moving his head, Heejun glances up from the card to look at you. "Why would he lie?"

"Um, because he already has? Who knows— maybe this card is connected to illicit activities and he planted it on me to implicate me."

“Which he would do because…?”

You throw your hands up in the air, then let them drop emphatically at your side. “I don’t know! Why did he do any of what he did?”

He raises a brow. “Because he’s a weirdo who likes you?”

“Okay but have you ever given your credit card to a person you’ve only met twice?”

Heejun’s shoulders rise in a shrug. “I’ve wanted to.”

“Seriously?” You can’t imagine your friend going that gaga over a crush, but then again, there was that girl in fourth grade whom he gave all his choco pies to. Heejun loves choco pies.

“Mine would decline though. It wouldn’t exactly impress.”

You lightly shove his shoulder. “Oh come on, it wouldn’t decline.”

“It would if they went over the limit. People only give people their credit cards for expensive stuff. You know that, right?”

The black card gleams up at you, almost tauntingly.

“Expensive stuff like what?”

He shrugs again. “Like a car?”

“You’ve been watching too many CEO dramas.” You exhale and place both hands on the floor with a pointed slam. Standing, you pick the credit card up and brush imaginary dirt off your pants.

“You won’t be so sarcastic when Park Seojoon tells you to keep that thing.”

You roll your eyes as you toss the card into the same trinket dish you keep your keys and other miscellaneous things in. “Isn’t that guy like six foot?”

“So was Huijun,” he counters.

“So are you. Is that all it takes to be a CEO nowadays?” you joke, pulling out your phone. “Height?”

Heejun scoffs, then frames his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “That and my devilish good looks.”

“Please.” You tap on a notification from an unknown number. “If that were true, you’d be the one handing out black…cards…”

At the way you trail off, Heejun furrows his brow and walks over to you. “What’s up? Did you fall for another online scam?”

Not this again. “Okay, first of all, that was not a scam, and I did not fall for it—”

“You didn’t fall for a not scam?”

“Shut up. What do you think this means?” You turn your phone towards him, and he takes it from your unsteady hand.

He reads aloud. “‘Hello, this is Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment.’ Did you apply there?”

“No,” you say, then shake your head and wave your hand. “I mean. I don’t know. Maybe. I applied to like five hundred places. But this isn’t that. Keep reading.”

Heejun takes a breath and starts reading like he’s holding a new edict. “‘It has come to my attention that you are in possession of one of my coworker’s bank cards.’ Oooooh, you’re in trouble.” He drags out the last syllable. “‘Please meet me at…’ whatever building, numbers numbers numbers… ‘so I can retrieve it. Please reply to this number for more information, and thank you for your time.’ Hm.”

“What do you think… am I getting arrested?”

Lowering your phone, Heejun gives you a seriously? look over it. “The cops are texting criminals now?”

“So you agree I’m a criminal.”

“You get annoying when you’re nervous, you know that?” When you roll your eyes, Heejun mirrors the expression and pokes your forehead long enough that he pushes you backward. “Look bub, you wanted to give the stupid thing back without using it, and now the opportunity has been handed right to you.” He waves your phone in the air like evidence. “The only question is why coffee guy didn’t just text you himself.”

You cross your arms. “Maybe he doesn’t like me as much as you thought.”

“One more self-deprecating comment out of you and I’m posting those pictures from your twentieth birthday.”

A gasp wrenches from your throat. “You wouldn’t!”

⭒

Joshua Hong doesn’t think he has that many unread messages on his phone.

He looks down.

Oof. 682.

Well, it’s not his worst.

Notifications fly by at the top of his screen.

[vernon] where is this guy

[chan] hyung this is important!!

[wonwoo] when have we known that guy to answer anything

[soonyoung] someone text yejung!!

It’s probably not that important, whoever they’re talking about. His members are likely just freaking out over this whole soulmate thing again.

Joshua lifts his hand and stares at his weird, natural — supernatural — tattoo. He still can’t bring himself to believe it.

Soulmates? Really? In this economy? This isn’t Tumblr.

At least… Joshua looks around the dance practice room… He’s pretty sure this isn’t Tumblr.

His phone rings, which is weird since he always has it on silent. Sliding the answer button, he brings the phone up to his ear. “Yejung?”

“Where are you?”

“The practice room,” Joshua answers plainly. “Isn’t this where we’re supposed to be today?”

Yejung sighs on the other end of the line. “I said in the group chat that we were dealing with soulmate stuff. Upstairs.”

Ah, so that’s what has everyone in a tizzy. “Alright, okay. Where am I going?”

“Room eight-thirteen—” He hangs up and starts to pack his things before Yejung can say, “Wait, no, nine-thirteen. We'll start when you arrive. Joshua? Hello?”

⭒

You check your phone for what must be upwards of the fifth time.

Yup, Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment definitely told you to meet her in room 813, and yet here you are. In room 813. Alone.

You shift on the leather couch. It’s a lounge-like room you’re in. You don’t really understand the purpose of such a room in an entertainment company, but whatever. You’re only here to return something you never should’ve had in the first place.

Although…

You turn the card over in your hand, watching the way the fancy lighting bounces off of it.

Why would Jihoon give it to you if he was just going to get it back like this?

Also, now that you really think about it, Jihoon did say something weird when he left yesterday with Huijun. Something about not letting “the rest” scare you off. Whatever that means.

The rest of what?

Or… whom?

You know Jihoon must work for the company in some capacity. The fact that both he and Huijun were wearing masks makes you think they could be artists…

Oh. Duh. Why didn’t you think of this earlier?

Switching apps, you tap the search bar and start typing. Just as you’re done with the last character of Jihoon HYBE, the door you entered through opens. You hastily slip your phone into your back pocket as you stand to greet the person coming in.

“Hello, you must be…” Your eyes scan over his face. He’s… delicate looking, until you move your gaze downwards a little, and his broad shoulders and thick arms are decidedly not delicate looking. “…Shin Yejung?”

You tilt your head. With no mask on the lower half of his face, he seems familiar. Now this guy must be an idol — you probably saw him on the walls when you were making your way through this maze of a building. 

He just raises a brow. “Who are you?”

“Oh, uh…” You stay standing in front of the couch as he approaches you, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m just here to return this.” Lifting the black card up, you hold it out between you and the man. “It’s Jihoon’s.”

“Jihoon’s?” he echoes, then moves to take the card from you, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. 

You both see it at the same time.

His mark, five black lines, clear as day.

Yours, peeking out from where your sleeve is pulled halfway up your hand.

You look up from your not-really-joined hands, then look down again.

No fucking way. 

“Twinkle twinkle, little—” The notes, whatever they are, dance across his mark.

No fucking way. 

You meet his eyes. “...Songbird?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. A few too many seconds.

Then, “So it’s you.”

“Holy—!”

At the same time as you try to jerk away, he attempts to turn your hand over and get a better look. Neither plan really works out. You stumble backwards, and with your hand in his, he gets pulled down with you onto the couch. His free hand shoots out to keep himself from slamming into you, but, persistent as the universe is, your faces end up very freaking close to each other anyway. Warmth from his knee on the couch cushion next to your thigh seeps through your clothing.

He doesn’t move. You don’t either.

For some reason, you feel stuck in place. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but… you just feel like you should be exactly where you are.

You’re almost too close to make real eye contact, so you just watch the way his eyes study yours.

“Songbird?” you whisper, though you have no idea what you’re trying to ask.

He stops analyzing you and finally looks at you. “Yeah?”

“…Are you leaning towards me on purpose?”

His lips (since when were you looking at those?) curl down at the corners. “Are you?”

Slowly, like your mind is trying to catch up to your body, you shake your head. “No…”

He drifts closer. Or you do. Or you both do.

Or something.

Your lips brush over his, and you feel just as much as you hear him whisper. “Then neither am I.”

In the span of a second, his free hand moves from the back of the couch to cradle your jaw, his thumb grazing gently just under your ear. He kisses you, lips moving over yours in a way you’ve felt before, but also in a way you’ve never felt before.

It’s strange.

Not bad strange, but strange in the way that it feels like you’ve just put the last of the groceries in the fridge. It’s like folding that final piece of laundry. Like coming home to the bed you made when you left in the morning.

It’s… satisfactory?

But that’s not the word people normally use when they think of putting their tongue in someone else’s mouth, right?

You’re running out of breath, but Songbird is insistent, and so are his lips, which you find yourself unable to get enough of. He pulls back for half a breath, registers your kiss me again or so help me facial expression, and dives right back in. He’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and you’re soulmates and…

Wait.

Soulmates?

“Wait,” you say, though it comes out more like, “Mmaem” Climbing both your hands up his — whoa — strong arms, you cup his cheeks in preparation to push him away, but he seems to like your touch. He covers the back of one of your hands with his warm palm, and he hums in a way that is not PG-13.

The sound has you melting, unfortunately.

Not for long though.

He’s ripped from you just as quickly as he fell onto you, pulled back by some guy with fluffy black hair, cozy attire head to toe, and… shit, a you’re in trouble glare the likes of which you’ve never seen before. He’s not even looking at you, yet you feel scolded.

“Yah!” he yells at your soulmate, who’s now on the floor. Then, after glancing at you for half a second and apparently finding zero more words to say, he shouts at him again. “Yah!”

Your soulmate opens his mouth, but then he turns to look at the now-open door, which leads you to do the same. A mob of prettyboys stands just outside, some with their jaws dropped and some looking like murder just got legalized and they’re on the prowl.

Someone’s despondent voice shouts, “Hyung!”

You feel like hiding under a blanket. Before your flight instinct kicks in, though, you recognize two familiar faces. “Jihoon?” His eyes meet yours when you say his name. “Huijun?”

One of the many boys among those you don't recognize echoes, “Huijun?” while sending him a weird look.

Someone pushes through the crowd — more like slinks through, occasionally nudging one of the other guys out of the way. His eyes stay firmly on you as he approaches, but you find no fear rising despite that. For some unknown reason, even as this completely unfamiliar man strides over to you with a frankly alarming amount of eye contact, you feel… safe.

Or at least, something close to it.

He kneels in front of where you're still seated on the leather couch, hand resting mere centimetres from leg. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice slightly nasal, but so, so gentle. 

“Uhh…” Self conscious, you wipe at the corner of your mouth with your sleeve. You spot your soulmate catch you doing so, and a look of hurt crosses his face. His own reaction, though, seems to startle him, and his hand rises to gently prod his shiny bottom lip with one of his fingers. He looks confused.

Well, that makes two of you.

Taking in the man right in front of you — pretty, lithe, concerned for you despite his unfamiliarity — you fail to answer his question. “Are… you Shin Yejung?”

He lets out a laugh, relieved, maybe, that you're not not okay. “Jeonghan,” he says simply.

You nod. “Jeonghan.”

At your voice echoing his name, the man’s eyes light up. “Yes?”

“Oh, uh…” You weren’t trying to call on him for anything, but as you study his gaze, you find yourself lost in his confident ease. Something in his eyes says that he knew this would happen.

Maybe not this, exactly — your soulmate has found a spot on the floor and has not stopped staring at it, while the rest of the strangers are still watching you — but taking up the same space as you, facing you, smiling at you with a soft quirk at the corners of his lips.

“Ugh!” A woman’s exasperated voice makes you look up at the crowd by the door. “Get— out of the way, you… ugh—” She breaks through, pushing aside a tall guy who looks like he’s about to cry. “—you men!”

Stumbling to her feet, she rights herself and brushes her bangs out of her face with a huff. “Now, what is—” She spots your soulmate still on his ass and mutters something you’re pretty sure can’t be aired on any broadcasting network. “...my life.”

Your eyes meet hers as she takes another breath. “Please tell me you’re Shin Yejung.”

“Yes, we spoke over the phone.”

“Thank god.” Shaking off all the weird feelings you’d accumulated in the last — what? Two minutes? — you stand from the couch and sidestep Jeonghan. The black card fell at some point during that lapse of judgement (aka kiss), so you swipe it up off the floor and hold it out to her with no preamble. “I swear I’m not a stalker fan or anything. And I didn’t use it, so…”

You glance over at Jihoon, whose expression gives off an oncoming panic. Is he scared to see you? Why? Huijun looks just fine, happy even, with you here. You can practically hear the ‘hello’ he wants to say out loud.

You clear your throat. “Anyway, um. I didn’t mean to, uh…” As you nervously cross your arms, you nod towards your soulmate. “I’m his— I mean, we are… sorry. This is… I wasn’t exactly expecting to find the person who’s…”

Maybe you shouldn’t say you’ve been annoyed by your soulmate since you got your stupid mark. At least not while he’s in the room.

“That’s actually what I brought you here to talk about,” Shin Yejung tells you, a bit like a doctor who’s about to deliver the bad news first. She doesn’t even take the card from you. “Would you like to take a seat?”

You scrunch your eyes shut for a second with a little shake of your head, trying to manual reset your brain because clearly it’s still muddled. “Sorry, what? You want to talk about…?”

The mob of men in the room get hidden from your vision as Yejung strategically places herself between them and you. “Soulmates,” she says.

You look down at the black card, then back up at her again. “Soulmates.”

“Yes. Your soulmates. I was hoping to talk to you alone first.” She sends a pointed look at the men behind her. “But it’s not exactly easy to get these guys to lis—”

“Sorry.” You wave a hand in the air to get her to stop, unable to comprehend any of her words after— “Did you say my soulmates? As in… mates, multiple? Mates with an S at the end? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

Remaining calm while your mind spins, Yejung nods. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

“Know what is a lot to take in?”

Yejung opens her mouth to answer, but a voice blurts out behind her, “We’re your soulmates!”

Maybe you haven’t known him long enough or talked to him that many times, but you recognize Jihoon’s voice, and something in your gut suddenly grows sharp. Not painful, but begging for you to feel it. Yejung shifts so your field of view is once again filled by men too pretty to be all in the same room. Jihoon’s standing there, fists clenched at his sides, out of breath for no discernable reason other than…

We’re your soulmates.

Seeing your hesitation, Jihoon huffs and tears a bandaid you never really noticed off the back of his right hand. Even before he completes the motion, you know what must be under the bandage. He holds his hand up, though, and the evidence is very near damning.

Next to him, Huijun smiles and lifts his arm, pointing to his own five lines with his opposite hand. 

Most of the guys behind them show you the same thing. Five lines on the smooth backs of their hands, near the base of the thumb. Dear lord, you don’t even know how many of them there are.

The angry one who pulled the man off of you earlier, at least, just looks lost, like he once had control and now has none. Relatable.

You stumble back a bit. Instinctively, you say, “Songbird?”

Though quite a few of the men seem to perk up at the nickname, only the one you already gave the moniker to truly reacts. Your soulmate — god, one of your soulmates? — looks up at you from the floor and answers, “Yeah?” before realizing he’s even doing it.

“Never mind,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “Ms Shin?”

“Yes?” She steps closer, a worried look on her face.

Jeonghan, too, moves toward you with a similar look on his face.

You try to take a steady breath and fail. “I think I’ll take that seat now.”

Swaying backward, your body falls onto the leather couch. 

You hear approximately ten panicked shouts as you go down.

prev ⭒ chapter seven (4.0k) ⭒ next

new chapters for atus are not on a schedule nor guaranteed. there is no taglist. thank you for reading!

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

you know what's delicious? yn who started wearing flavored lip balm/lip tint because of suguru — so that every time suguru ate a curse, he could just easily pull the man into a kiss to get rid of the disgusting taste suguru hates so much ((bonus points if yn also pops in a candy/sweet/chocolate in his mouth before feeding it to suguru through a kiss — anything to help suguru forget the taste of curses)) yeah... just... suguruyn for the win man 😋🫶

((even more bonus points when satoru finds out later and he gets all jelly because 1. he doesn't know the lip balm/lip tint can come with a flavor so he felt blindsided and of course, he humphs and puffs because of it and 2. he wanted a chocolatey sweetness kissies too!!!! and of course lastly, 3. he felt left out because he never knows that suguruyn always makes out every single time suguru ate a curse so he's all pouty about it — ask him to join in next time!!!))

❝ He's just like candy, he's so sweet ❞

polycule (Satoru x r! x Suguru)) | alternate universes (Suguru is not a cult-reader), fluff, NSFW | vers. bottom. reader (AMAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 3.6k

warnings: foodplay, threesomes, pouty satoru & smug suguru, semi-public sex, d/s dynamics

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

author's note: in this au, they slayed the links that made me lose my mind (thank you @xuxitheii for making me squeal and kick my feet): geto suguru : gojo satoru : gojo satoru being a big baby

Curses. Ugly as sin and tastes just as foul. Suguru remembers the first time he discovered he could devour them; how awful it felt as it went down his throat, bulging out and staying there — blocking his airway as he struggled to find it in himself to swallow.

The way his teeth ached. His throat convulsed and his instincts forced it back up but his fingers blocked it from doing so. It warbled in the back of his mouth, begging to be let out and 7-year-old Suguru just knew he couldn’t bear for it to disturb him again. He couldn’t handle it speaking nonsensically into his ear, slinking under his bed or even staring right at him as it grinned so wide Suguru swore he could see his reflection in its yellow, wicked-sharp, teeth.

The pills his parents (his poor, non-sorcerer, parents) had given him to help with his “hallucinations” made him feel as though a thick fog was obscuring his brain. His thoughts faded and his movement groggy, his emotions caged while his body still felt the anxious tremors that ran through him when he saw them.

The curses made him feel like he was constantly in a deep pit of despair. Everything wrong in the world, the depravity and impulses of humanity that manifested into these grotesque creatures in the palm of his hands made his nose sting, till this day, as an 18-year-old; it made his eyes well with tears.

Suguru can't describe it in a way people could understand. But if asked, he’d used the viscera of a vomit rag being forced down your throat.

But the strong protect the weak. While your lips protect them from his ire. This one goes down with a loud gulp, his fingers blocking his lips as he tosses his head back. The worst is almost over, the aftertaste will linger but not for long. Because then, he feels your weight on his chest and Suguru is pliant as you gently pry his fingers away.

“You did a good job, baby.” Suguru flutters his eyes open and he can’t help the way his lips twitch eagerly. Your lips are glossier than usual, he can smell the cherry flavour on them. His hands wrap themselves around your waist. It’s a firm grip.

Mine, he says without speaking, mine — all mine.

He pulls and a huff of air escapes you in a series of chuckles. “I know we haven’t been out in a while, but did you miss me that much, Su-Su?” Suguru frowns at your jest. It’s rare for him to pout. That role is often delegated to your boyfriend, Satoru. So this must truly upset him.

Because, yes, he did.

You’d been called overseas to complete a mission. It was the norm for sorcerers considering the population of sorcerers in Japan; outsourcing they called it. Your curse technique was needed for this mission and truly, it didn’t take long but Suguru had done solo missions and he missed you.

Three solo missions. Three disgusting, dog-shit, vomit-stained rags, down his throat. Three days without you by his side.

He hated it.

“Don’t ask a silly question like that ever again,” he mumbles. Silly. The way he scolds you always makes you smile. Never crass or rude — his voice reminds you of the symphony of leaves singing with the wind as they danced and speckled light onto the forest floors and cool water bubbling over rocks.

“Why? Why can’t I ask silly questions?” You tease, placing your elbows on his shoulder and hanging your hands behind him. Purposefully lax despite the coquettish smile on your face.

“You already know the answer.” He speaks with such sincerity. Every word is heavy with nothing but candour and adoration. It makes your eyes soften and Suguru squeezes you closer.

“I do?” He nods at your words, the tip of his nose brushing over yours and his tan skin so flushed on the apples of his cheeks.

“Kiss me like you miss me, baby.”

Suguru’s lips land on yours like a feather. Supple as always he begins it with a long-lasting peck. Pouty lip against pouty lip. His hands climb up your back and he presses between your shoulder blades to somehow hold you closer; his jaw opens and yours does the same. There it is — that heaven that’s your mouth. Suguru groans and you feel his tongue sneaking in, devouring you like a starved man.

The cherry flavour on your lips, the sweetness of the candy you let melt on your tongue, the way your fingers grip his hair, the way he can feel your breath on his cheek as you try to breathe. He wishes that the two of you never needed air. Suguru wants nothing more than to kiss you forever and ever and ever —

“Hey!”

You part with a gasp, cheeks warm and lips almost bruised as the line of spit between the two of you breaks. At the mouth of the alleyway was your boyfriend; Gojo Satoru.

His arms are crossed and he taps his foot in a cartoonish fashion. Despite that, both of you know that the frown on his face is very much real. “What gives? I exorcised the other curses and I came back to the two of you making out. So unfair!”

Suguru parts with a sigh, rolling his eyes to the side and pouting his lips to the side as he muttered about Satoru having FOMO. It makes you giggle and he smiles when you lean forward to place your face right under his jaw.

“S’toru, you’re being a baby. Suguru did a lot of work and I was just thanking him.” Satoru unfolds his arms and flaps them around in protest.

“I did work too!”

And it has begun — Satoru’s famous little tantrums. Oh, he could go for a full hour if he was really worked up but there is a saving grace in him having them. He closes his eyes when he’s yappering. Suguru is listening to his huffy boyfriend but then you kiss his chin and he tilts his face down to look at you.

“Hm?” your teeth brush over his lower lips, then plant firmly on his. “Baby?” he smiles in the lip-locking and you whine about it because his lips should not stretch into that handsome smile, they should be pursed outward and part to let you in.

He tastes chocolate on your tongue. The creaminess of the chocolate makes him groan along with the citrusy notes. That combined with the fruitiness of the cherry tint on your lips makes the taste of the curses he’d ingested (exorcised) all but disappear. Your hands climb to the lobe of his ears and his breath hitches when your fingers trail the curve of it, he protests a bit as you undo his bun; then you whisper his name and Suguru tightens his grip on your waist.

“Hey!”

Satoru is whining again but this time he’s closer. Close enough for Suguru to grab a fistful of Satoru’s white button-up and pull him in. As his face turns you giggle, wiping away some smeared gloss as you watch Satoru turn red from Suguru’s heated kiss.

Satoru groans with his eyebrows twitching. Listless in his attempt to remain angry at Suguru. He pounds his fist against Suguru’s shoulder and attempts to crane his neck away. When he turns, he gasps as you steal his breath.

Satoru’s graceful legs tumble over themselves as his boyfriends press him to the rough wall of the alleyway. There’s a constant hum of an A/C machine and the noises from the pipes keep the intimate noises between the three of you contained. Suguru’s blunt nails drag onto the faded plastered-on advertisements — yours grip onto the bars of the window that had been covered up by old newspapers.

Satoru’s grip onto the front of both of your shirts. His glasses go askew as he struggles to keep up with his boyfriends. Suguru misses Satoru so much. He’d been away too, the Higher Ups sending him overseas at the same time as you and Shoko had to deal with a depressed Suguru for those 3 days.

“Mah, Satoru,” you drag your lips to Satoru’s sensitive neck. His hands don’t seem to know what to do with themselves. It grips and pushes and stutters. “I always give Suguru special kisses after a job well done, you’ve just always been too busy to notice.”

“S’not fair,” Satoru retorts with no real venom in his words. “I deserve special kisses too, don’t I?” Suguru chuckles, forcing Satoru to look his way and shut him up. Satoru glares over the rim of his crooked glasses as Suguru’s thumb presses down on his canines.

“What a jealous brat.”

“Can’t even handle a little teasing.”

Satoru would heavily disagree with that. A little teasing? You called being pushed to a wall, groped, kissed, and bitten by your handsome and powerful boyfriends a little teasing?

Satoru was a sign of change, his birth instantly tipped the scales of the sorcerer world, but he was still human!

Suguru grins that irritatingly pleased grin when Satoru’s protests die out thanks to your hands slipping down his pants. “Oh shit,” he hisses. His speech is odd with Suguru’s thumb in his mouth, casually inspecting it. But you laugh anyway.

“You know, since he has been away too, maybe he does deserve a bit of sugar from you, (Y/N).” You glance at Suguru, your cock chubbing up in your pants as he pointedly motions his gaze to the ground. You kneel in front of Satoru and drool slips down his chin as his pupils chase after you. Suguru chuckles, wiping it away and wiping it off on Satoru’s shirt — to which he hears no complaint. Suguru stands behind you, bending at his waist to peer down. It’s unfair how pretty he is from any angle. The Gods took their time making him. Of that, you are certain.

“Ready, sweetheart?” you nod, opening your saccharine-sweet mouth; Suguru pats your cheek as praise and undoes Satoru’s pants for you. His cock springs out, nearly bumping into your nose as it strains and twitches in the open air. When Suguru holds it, Satoru grunts and raises his hips. Fucking into his fist like a dog in heat. Suguru regards this with a shake of his head and guides Satoru to your mouth. You form a fist around your thumb, looking up at Satoru through your lashes as you wrap your lips around him.

Suguru straightens his composure. He takes in the sight.

Satoru and you know better than to be handsy. The pale-haired man grabs onto the bars of the window behind him, breathing through his nose as the toe of his shoes dig into the floors. You slip your eyelids close and languish in the taste of Satoru’s cock — breathing through your nose as well as you bob your head.

Fuck, Suguru missed this. He really did. He could get off on this alone. Just watched as both of you enjoyed the other. His darling boyfriends, who so obediently listen to his whims even if he didn’t say it out loud.

Who could ask for more?

Suguru strokes over your eyebrow and barely stifles a laugh when you tilt your head so Satoru’s tip pokes your cheeks.

“Good boy. My sweet boy.”

His voice alone makes you want to give in to whatever it is he asks of you — it’s insane how much power and sway he has. Your charming Suguru.

Satoru moans, swiftly reaching out and gripping onto the collar of Suguru’s top. They kiss. Fighting for dominance because Satoru needs to be pushed into submission. He relishes being put in his place — smacked around a little.

You could pinpoint this kink originating from his frivolous childhood and naturally talented self needing some sort of edge to sink down into a more fuzzy headspace.

Or perhaps Satoru was just a brat and he trusted his lovers enough to relinquish that control. Both theories worked.

Suguru grunts as Satoru tugs at his hair, the pleasant tinge of pain making his dick strain against his loose pants. You spot it from the corner of your eyes, an obscene slurping sound coming from you as you attempt to not make this blowjob too messy. An impossible task, really. But a worthy effort.

“Your lips taste like cherry, why?” Satoru’s question catches Suguru off-guard. He expected Satoru’s usual quips and huffiness. He indulges.

“(Y/N) wore cherry-flavoured lipgloss.”

The proof is in the coloured streaks on his dick. You feel it twitch on your tongue and pull away, your hot breath on his cockhead making precum leak out of his blushing tip. You rest it on your velvet tongue, unabashedly pouting to kiss the tip and then taking him inside again. Those slightly shimmery streaks made Satoru grit his teeth.

“I didn’t know those came in flavours,” Satoru moans. “How come you don’t wear that for me too?”

“Because it’s for me, you little shithead,” Suguru growls lowly. Their foreheads touch as he tightens his grip on Satoru’s neck, the pressure making Satoru’s eyelids flutter for a second. “It’s my prize for exorcising curses.”

“You jealous?” you wonder out loud. The answer was clear but there was a rush to make Satoru admit it.

“Yes, I am!” He curses for a moment as you descend further down to lick at his balls, looking up at him still as if this conversation was taking place over a dinner table and not in an alleyway with society just a few meters away. As if his dick wasn't on your face while you feel his balls tightening up on your tongue.

Seriously, if somebody peered down long enough they would most definitely catch sight of the three of you here.

“I just – just...fuck, I missed the two of you too. It’s completely unfair you’ve been keeping this from me too! I’ll never forgive you.”

Suguru grabs the back of your neck and pulls you backward. His large hands effectively push your head down further and further until your nose is at the neat patch of pubic hair Satoru has. You relax your throat and jaw, eyes watering while you brace your hands on Satoru’s thighs.

“So why didn’t you just tell us that, darling?" Suguru purrs. "Instead, you chose to be a brat and stomp around. You’re better than that, Satoru. Aren’t you? Hm?”

You gag but Suguru holds you in place. His hand barely has any real strength behind it. If you jerked backward, he would not hold you in place. No, no. Suguru’s power comes from the lack of strength he needs to exhibit. His dominance is in the ease Suguru commands it.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You needed him inside of you.

“Screw you, Suguru,” Satoru chokes out.

He pulls you off. You cough, spit staining your chin as you smile loosely at them. Suguru then pulls you onto your feet, pushes you to the wall, and undoes your pants. You bite down on your lower lip, staring at Satoru as you brace your hands onto the wall just next to him. Satoru watches on, trying to keep himself strong by pretending he isn’t affected by the sight before him.

Suguru gathers spit in his mouth but pauses as he feels the candy wrapper in your pockets. The chocolate brand makes his brows raise. It’s expensive. No doubt Satoru’s influence had rubbed off on you. Only one company in the world made this chocolate, its pink colour is a dead giveaway. No wonder your cherry-flavoured gloss tasted so strong, it was complimented nicely by the leftover taste of this ruby chocolate.

He lets your pants pool around your ankles while he takes a bite. It wasn’t disgustingly soft, but your body heat made it melt quickly on his tongue. He spreads your ass apart and spits a thick glob of his spit and pink chocolate. The sensation sends shivers up your back and you arch your back further, unsure about the new sensation.

“Suguru, that was expensive — ngh!”

Your eyes widen as he presses his cock inside. You were thankful for your morning romp with them. It loosened you up enough that Suguru’s impatience didn’t cause pain and only mild discomfort — he reaches forward to jerk your cock off to ebb it away and you moan out his name.

“Shh, shh, not so loud. We’re still outside, baby.”

Satoru groans, reaching to toss his glasses away as he turns his back to the entrance and gives you his full attention. He’s craving touch. To taste or to mark you up. To do anything, really. He is goddamn hypnotized by the way Suguru’s dick thrusts in and out of you. Suguru gives you a good fucking for too short of a time — pounding into you like a jackhammer and making you nearly bite your tongue off in an attempt to keep quiet before he pulls out.

Your knees buckle, thighs twitching as you try to keep yourself upright. Satoru’s knees thud onto the floor and he greedily laps at Suguru’s cock, moaning at the creamy taste. The same flavour leaks out of you while you catch your breath. The mouth of the alleyway is quiet but there are still the faint noises of the city just there. A few big strides away. But there. It excites you. You imagine it’s exciting your equally perverted boyfriends too.

"Satoru," Suguru groans at the sight of him. You peel yourself from the wall. Shoulders thudding onto the hard surface while your pants drop to your ankles. Shakily, you use your feet to push it all the way off, eyes trained on Satoru savouring the flavour of Suguru and the ruby chocolate. He pulls away with a breathy 'pwah!' and strokes Suguru's creamy dick.

You're tempted to join Satoru. Just sharing Suguru's cock, kissing Satoru with his cockhead between your lips. Fuck, just the thought has your dick slapping lightly against your navel. Suguru plants a hand near your head, turning his head to kiss you while the other is tugging on the roots of Satoru's head. a

"Both of my boys are being so obedient," he says after a deliciously deep groan of Satoru's name. "We missed you," you reply in a whiny whisper.

"Missed you so much, S'guru..."

Satoru moans, pulling away as he catches his breath and shares a heated gaze.

"Fuck, I missed you so badly. Missed this dick too," Satoru turns to your crotch and kisses the underside of your dick. It makes your breath hitch, hips jerking forward. The wetness of your precum smears on Satoru's cheek a bit but he doesn't even mind. Nor does he seem to notice.

"These cocks are the only ones that make me this hungry."

Suguru glances at the alleyway. You're not loud enough to draw attention. Still, better safe than sorry.

"Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure." You throw your head back to laugh. A veil was meant to conceal, protect those outside of it, and maintain secrecy. To use it so improperly.

The three of you were truly perverted.

"What's got you all giggly?" Suguru speaks against your lips. Tilting your chin upwards then squeezing the sides of your neck just to relish in the way you bare your neck to him.

"You used a veil," Satoru speaks for you. He raises, ignoring Suguru's pointed glance in favour of unbuttoning your shirt and kissing down your chest. His lips are sticky, smears of pink tainting you but you find it hard to care. "He's laughing because he thinks we're perverts."

"What are you? A mind reader now, Satoru?" You huff.

"I might as well be, huh?" Satoru smirks. He's so handsome that it makes your chest hurt sometimes. You're against the wall, exits blocked by Suguru and Satoru and you wouldn't have it any other way. "You know, I missed you too. It's been weeks — "

"Three days," Suguru and you corrected.

"Weeks. And this morning wasn't enough. We did such a good job, those wrinkle bags can't complain if we just so happened to work overtime, right?"

Ijichi can't stop his cheek from heating up. It's painfully, painfully, obvious why the three of you took your time for this mission. He had waited in the car for the first hour, then occupied himself with some coffee at a nearby cafe but by the third hour, Ijichi almost called Principal Yaga.

Three Special Grade Sorcerers took that long to exorcise an abandoned building. Surely, something must have happened!

Yet, seeing you sleeping on Suguru's lap with your legs across Satoru's lap confirms the real reason why it took the three of you that long.

Satoru has a weighted eye mask, head tossed back as he recuperates. This gives Ijichi a clear sight of his marked-up neck. Your shirt is wrinkled, hitched up from the bend of your waist, and giving him the whispers of handmarks. Suguru met his gaze from the rearview and Ijichi whispered out an apology.

"No, please. We're sorry for keeping you waiting." Suguru is brushing your bangs back, gently wiping down some residual stickiness on your cheeks with wet wipes (that Ijichi had made a point to stock up on in the car after earlier missions involving you three).

"No, I understand," he says with a shaky voice. Sighing a little he laughed awkwardly from the driver's seat.

"You must've been missing them a lot for those three days they've been gone, Mr Geto."

Suguru's expression softens, leaning one shoulder down when Satoru leans to place his head on his shoulders.

"It's hard not to. I love them."

[a-very-tired-jew]

Columbia University's Joint Anti-Israel Groups Go Mask Off

Hey, remember how Columbia University had students in encampments protesting for months? Remember how their SJP, BDS movement, and associated groups endorsed terrorism, violence, and "resistance by any means"?

I remember. Well their joint SJP and BDS group called CU Apartheid Divest just posted something to their Instagram that shows it has never been about Palestine or Palestinians.

Fig. 1. CU Apartheid Divest group, made of SJP, BDS, and other groups openly admits that they are anti-Western Civilization

Read that again.

"We are Westerners fighting for the total eradication of Western civilization."

That's a wild statement to make.

So what are they posting about suddenly that has them revealing their intent for their actions since October?

Bangladesh.

The CU Activists are attempting to liken October 7th attack by Hamas with the Bangladesh student protests. Bangladesh had a quota based employment system that students were protesting, the government responded violently, and everything escalated from there due to years of government corruption, violence, and economic turmoil. This was a protest turned revolution within a country by its own people. This was not a government run by a recognized terrorist group attacking another country, killing civilians, and taking them hostage.

However, the differences and reasons between Hamas's actions and the actions of the students in Bangladesh do not matter to the anti-Zionist Activist.

We've seen this repeatedly from these activists that they will try to liken their movement and/or attach it to other conflicts around the world. Many of these conflicts differ greatly from the Israel/Hamas war as they are internal issues with internal actors being involved.

Bangladesh is students protesting against their government.

Sudan is going through a civil war between various factions.

The Congo has been experiencing decades long violence as various militias fight each other for control.

Yet I've see anti-Israel protestors tag their posts with Free Bangladesh, Free Congo, Free Sudan even though these conflicts differ in origin and parties involved.

If you continue through the IG post you'll see very little information as to the cause of the protest/revolution in Bangladesh and continued attempts to coopt the actions for their movement.

Fig. 2. CU Apartheid Divest group tries to liken its student movements to the student protests in Bangladesh and calls to escalate.

I can't help but think that the CU student activists yearn to be oppressed in a way that would allow them to respond like revolutions and protests around the world. The way they speak and write exudes a yearning for violence. In Fig. 2. they detail the actions taken by students against an authoritarian government that has actively shot and killed protestors. Whereas here in the USA the students were forcibly removed from campuses, experienced some police violence, were arrested, and then released. No curfews with a shoot on sight policy were imposed here in the USA in response to college campus protests.

Fig. 3. CU Apartheid Divest classifies this as an Intifada and likens it to Hamas's attack.

Notice in Fig. 3. that they're trying to call the actions in Bangladesh an Intifada. Not an intifada, but an Intifada which is a proper noun with its own connotation. I know I may be a stickler here, but if I see that word capitalized then I know it's referencing the First and Second Intifadas, and I know that these student groups have been calling for a Third one under the guise of "Global Intifada". They also say that Westerners need to escalate and are "obligated" to do so.

Fig. 4. CU Apartheid Divest uses tankie terminology, refers to Bangladeshis as martyrs, and calls this part of the Global Intifada.

The terminology in Fig. 4. also shows how much the Free Palestine student movement in the USA is not actually about Palestine, Palestinians, or any other movement it tries to attach itself to. These are tankies as indicated by the use of "comrades" and they are wholly opposed to Western Civilization. They genuinely state that their movement should violently escalate here in the USA and that they should be prepared for "sacrifices". This language when coupled with the use of Intifada is alarming as it appears that these student activists are preparing to follow in the footsteps of the Second Intifada, or at the very least calling for others to do so.

These students, whom call themselves the Militants of Hind's Hall (seen in the IG post, but not pictured here), are coopting, or attempting to coopt, movements and conflicts from around the world for their own ideals. As these are students in the USA who are arguably experiencing the least amount of oppression when compared to these other conflicts, and are actively attending Ivy League or R1 universities, it can only be assumed that they're yearning to live out their Glorious Revolution fantasy.

I am under no illusion that I understand their reasoning. Are things perfect here in the USA? Of course not, but when compared to the countries that these student protestors are attaching themselves to, we are leaps and bounds better. And if you disagree, then I have to ask, when was the last time we had a curfew with a shoot on sight policy?

Anyone attempting to call this movement and group "peaceful" is naive. They've been telling you for months that they're not peaceful, that their goals are not peaceful, and that the only peace they want is after they commit violence.

The IG link for reference

[itneverendshere]

erase all of my memories without you - rafe cameron.

part 2 of can't remember anything before you.

pairing: rafe cameron x thornton!reader; brother's best friend! trope or best friend's sister! trope ; fem!reader.

“rafe, i told you, no hickeys!”

“can you blame me?” he has that mischievous gleam in his eyes, like he's testing just how far he can push your boundaries. “you’re just so pretty, baby.”

you roll your eyes, trying to maintain a serious tone despite the playful grin pulling at your lips. “shut up.” 

being with rafe cameron was not on your yearly plans, but every single day, you thank your lucky stars for finally doing something right. he's a total game-changer, your personal slice of heaven. 

who would have thought the universe had that kind of surprise up its sleeve? 

he leans in closer, breath warm against your ear, arms wrapped securely around your waist, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. "i should visit more often if that’s how you’re going to greet me each time.”

you can't help but lean back into his embrace, savoring every moment of closeness.

"you should." you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers gently tracing circles on his hand. “wouldn't mind that at all."

you’d been together ever since that fateful night in your garden, months ago. 

sneaking around had its thrills, especially with your brother always lurking nearby, but nothing compared to the challenge of a long-distance relationship. late-night calls, stolen moments of intimacy over video chats, and endless messages are your lifelines. 

so when rafe finally stepped through the door of your new york apartment last night, after weeks apart, it was no surprise that you couldn't help but pounce on him, eager to make up for lost time. his slutty grey sweatpants, his choice of comfortable for a flight, were imprinted into your brain. 

“so, so pretty." he murmurs, lips brushing against your earlobe, “y'know i can't resist leaving my mark on you."

you playfully swat at him, a grin spreading across your face despite your half-hearted protest, “topper would kill you."

rafe snorts, the sound traveling through your body as he presses a kiss to your temple, “he can try.”

you can't help but feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of keeping your relationship with rafe under wraps. it’s not like you don’t want to make it official, god, you do. but you’ve spent the last four months having him all to yourself, you don’t want other people to butt in and ruin everything with their unsolicited opinions. 

being with him feels right. he's your rock, your constant in a world that's always changing. 

“can we go back to bed now?” rafe’s warm breath tickles your ear as he speaks, his voice laced with a hint of grogginess, sleep still clouding his brain, “it’s fucking freezing.”

you chuckle quietly at his sleepy request, the sound mixing with the gentle hum of the heater as it struggles to combat the winter chill.

“course." you murmur, unwrapping yourself from his arms to press a tender kiss to his cheek, "let's get you warmed up."

his fingers don’t let you move an inch away, circling your wrist to pull you closer against his chest again, big cheeky smile on his face as he looks down at you. “you gonna warm me up, peach?”

"i might." you reply with a sly smirk, trailing a finger down his shirtless chest. "but you might have to work for it a little."

rafe's eyes widen with mock surprise. "is that so?" he asks, his voice low and husky as he pulls you closer. “well, lucky for you, i’m up for a challenge."

you’d never felt butterflies in your tummy until you started dating this man. he has you wrapped around his fingers, and you don’t want out. it physically hurts you to even think about a time when you didn’t have rafe like this.

you can't imagine being anywhere else but here, wrapped in his embrace.

with a playful giggle, you give him a knowing look. "’m counting on it," you murmur, as you pull him closer. you stand on your barefoot tiptoes, arms lacing around his neck. “really missed you.”

rafe's arms tighten around you as he pulls you impossibly close, his warmth enveloping you like a cozy blanket. his gaze softens, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter even faster.

 “missed you too, more than you know." he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours as he leans in to press a docile kiss to your lips.

“always thinking about my girl.” 

as his lips meet yours, a wave of warmth washes over you, melting away any lingering traces of cold or distance. fuck, you’re in love with him and if he keeps kissing you like this, you might confess earlier. you’re way in over your head.

you sigh contentedly against his lips, savoring the feeling of being so close to him after being apart for so long. his touch, his scent, his presence—all of it feels like home to you. breaking the kiss reluctantly, you rest your forehead against his.

“stop staring at me like that peach.” he scolds, but there’s no bite to his tone as his fingertips brush your cheek lightly. “gonna end up buying this fucking building if you keep that up.”

you smile again, that’s all you seem to do around him anyway, as his beautiful eyes sweep up from your lips to meet your own. “rafe cameron living in new york? i’d pay to see that.”

rafe chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and sending pleasant vibrations through your body. his fingers trace lazy patterns along your cheek, his touch sweet and affectionate.

“you'd pay to see it, huh?" he teases, a playful glint in his face as he leans in closer to you, his breath warm against your skin. “’m that good of an investment?”

you can't help but laugh at his playful banter, shaking your head. you love that you get to see this side of him, how soft he is with you, only you.

“you’re alright cameron.”

"jus’ alright?" he feigns offense, his hand moving to rest over his heart in an exaggerated manner. "take it back.”

“nop.”

rafe lets out a dramatic sigh, pretending to be wounded. "no?” 

you can't help but giggle at his theatrics, finding it endearing how he always manages to lighten the mood.

"you big baby." you tease, poking him playfully in the side.

“oh, i’ll show you big.”

before you can even wrap your brain around his innuendo, you’re being thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. he does it so effortlessly you almost swoon. 

you squeal in surprise, the sudden movement catching you off guard. "rafe, what the fuck?" you laugh, squirming slightly as he carries you effortlessly across the room. “what are you doing—hey!”

his palm smacks against one of your cheeks, covered by nothing except a pair of his ralph lauren boxers. “taking you to bed, where you belong.”

you play along, pretending to protest even as you secretly enjoy the attention. 

"and what if i don't want to go to bed?" you retort, trying to sound defiant.

rafe stops in his tracks, his grip tightening around your legs. "oh, trust me, peach," he says, his tone turning serious for a moment, "you definitely want to go to bed."

“hmm, not sure.”

“it’s okay brat, you’ll be sure soon enough." he teases, deep voice making you want to do the most immoral things on every single surface of your apartment.

a repeat of last night. 

you play along, feigning uncertainty as he deposits you gently onto the queen-sized bed, his stare burning with desire as he hovers over you, thick arms caging you in. one of your hands wraps around his bicep, nails grazing the skin as you glance up at him, head tilted to the side.

rafe’s eyes instantly move to your neck as your hair slips behind, tongue poking out to wet his lips, "i don't know, baby, might have to convince me."

he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "consider it my pleasure." he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours in a tantalizingly gentle kiss.

you feel a shiver run down your back as rafe's lips meet yours, his kiss sending a surge of electricity through your body. you’ll never get used to this. his touch is both tender and assertive, his lips moving against yours with a practiced finesse that leaves you breathless. 

it's like every nerve in your being wakes up, responding eagerly to his touch.

as he deepens the kiss, his hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your waist and hips with a possessive urgency, with a sense of familiarity as if committing every curve to memory. his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss even further, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before delving into your mouth in a hungry, desperate kiss. you melt against him, surrendering. 

you feel a surge of heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, your breath catching in your throat as he explores you with a hunger that leaves you trembling.

“better than alright?” he mumbles against your lips and you find yourself unable to resist the pull of his touch, arching against him in silent invitation. his lips trail a path of fire along your jawline and down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake, “lost your voice, huh?”

he’s so addicted to sucking harshly on your skin, nibbling it playfully to drag out and elicit the sweetest sounds from your mouth. a melodic moan escapes your parted lips.

“you’re such an asshole.”

“there she is.” rafe's husky chuckle fills the air, sending pleasant vibrations through your body as he continues to pepper kisses along your neck, each one igniting a fiery trail of craving in its wake. “’m your asshole though.”

“not if you keep teasing.” 

his lips pause their trail, hovering just above your skin as he looks up at you, one of his brows raised, "teasing?”

before you can protest his lips are on yours again, hungry and demanding. his hands roam over your body with a newfound urgency, tracing every corner and eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips. he has the audacity to hush you when he pins you harder with his hips, clothed cock rubbing perfectly against you. 

your nails can’t help but dig into his shoulders, pulling at the skin. the way he's moving against you makes you feel like getting on your knees and letting him do whatever he wants to you, for however long he wishes to.

but then, your stupid intercom is buzzing.

you both freeze, caught in the throes of passion interrupted. rafe drops his head on your shoulder, groaning. 

"seriously?" he mutters, his voice tinged with frustration as he rolls off you, giving you space to sit up.

“it’s probably breakfast.” you’re smoothing out your rumpled clothes— if you can call an oversized tee and boxers an outfit.

rafe lets out an exaggerated sigh, flopping back onto the bed, “’m so hard it hurts.” he whines, throwing an arm over his face.

“you’ll be fine.”

“can’t even see you right now, might cum in my sweats.” he mutters, his voice muffled by the fabric of your pillows.

you stifle a laugh, shaking your head at his melodramatic response.

"you're ridiculous." you tease, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

rafe peeks out from under his arm, giving you a glare, his bottom lip jutting out in a comically exaggerated pout. “and you're making me harder, stop touching me and go get the door.”

you lean in to press a quick kiss to his cheek, feet planted on the ground as you attempt to get up, but he’s quick to pull you down again. his beefy arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back on top of him.

“rafe.”

“gimme a kiss before you go.”

“though you didn’t want me to touch you.” you tease, leaning down to press a short kiss to his lips. it's meant to be quick, just a peck, but his hand snakes up to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. settling on your lower lip, he draws it into his mouth, sucking lightly, pushing you even closer. he runs his hands along your sides, one stopping just below your covered breasts—

“the door,” you manage to stutter out between kisses, “behave.”

when he finally pulls away, both your lips are slightly swollen, red and you’re both breathless.

 "there," you say as you push yourself off the bed once more. but this time, rafe lets you go without protest, admiring you with a lazy smile as you make your way to the door. 

when you moved back to new york three months ago, you chose to do it independently. while your parents owned at least three penthouses in the city, you needed something smaller. what was the point in living alone in such big apartments? you’d be miserable and alone most of the time.

you chose a smaller studio, fancy enough to be your type, but cozy enough to make you feel at home, even though you were miles away. 

as you reach the door, you glance back to see rafe still lounging in your bed, arms crossed lazily behind his head. you shake your own, turn back, and open the door.

your heart immediately falls through your ass.

“topper?!”

he ignores you, pushing you aside to enter as he focuses on removing the thick scarf around his neck, struggling to get it off as he rants.

“about damn time, you know how long i was outside?! swear to god i hate this city, it’s freezing for no reason and—is that rafe fucking cameron on your bed?!”

you freeze in place, feeling a knot form in your stomach as you watch topper's reaction unfold. rafe, ever the cool customer, sits up in bed, a smirk playing at his lips as he meets your brother’s incredulous gaze head-on. you can feel a headache forming in the back of your head. 

"hey, top." rafe geets, his tone casual as if he's just encountered an old friend. which he has because that’s his best friend. "long time no see?"

topper's eyes narrow as he takes in the sight of rafe lounging on your bed, “okay, okay. what the fuck is going on?”

he's going to freak out on you.

you clear your throat, trying to find the right words to explain the situation, “he’s visiting.”

top nods, not leaving his best friend out of his sight, “clearly! why are you in my sister’s bed, cameron?”

“was i supposed to sleep on the floor?” rafe replies, tone nonchalantly as he shrugs casually.

you’re going to kill him.

topper's jaw clenches as he shoots rafe a glare, clearly unimpressed by his answer. "you know damn well what i mean." he says, his voice menacing, so different from what you're used to.

rafe's smirk only widens, “relax, man," he says, his tone dripping with casual indifference. "we were just hanging out."

and about to have sex, but your brother doesn’t need all the details. 

topper's expression darkens further at your boyfriend’s flippant attitude, and you can practically feel the terrible outcome. 

"in her bed?" he asks, his voice dangerously low.

you step forward, hoping to defuse the situation before it escalates any further.

 "topper, it's not what you think," you begin, but your brother holds up a hand to silence you.

“and why are you wearing his clothes?”

you glance down at your choice of outfit, flustered, you try to come up with a plausible explanation, “uh—well—it's a funny story, i-i'm out of clothes actually, who knew doing your laundry took so much work?”

his attention flickers between you and rafe, suspicion evident in his expression. you can practically see the gears turning in his head.

"out of clothes?" he repeats, his tone incredulous. "and you decided to borrow his?"

you shift uncomfortably under his scrutinization, trying to come up with a better explanation, but you can’t. “yeah?”

he squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s in pain, “please tell me my sister isn’t fucking my best friend.”

you swallow hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you, but rafe speaks before you can conjure the words. 

“your sister isn’t fucking your best friend, happy?” 

you shoot rafe a warning look, silently pleading for him to play along and not make the situation worse.

you step forward, again. “topper, please, it's not what you think,” you say, your voice tinged with desperation. “rafe just came to visit, that's all.”

topper's stare softens as he contemplates, but his expression remains guarded. “and you didn't think to tell me?”

you bite your lip, feeling guilty for keeping your relationship with rafe a secret from your brother. “i wanted to, i just... didn't know how.”

rafe interjects, his tone more serious now. “top, i know this probably looks bad—”

“it looks really bad,” topper interrupts, his frustration evident.

“but nothing's happened,” rafe continues, ignoring the interruption. “we're just friends.”

but your brother is still inspecting you. and it’s only when his eyes descend to your neck, you realize what he’s looking at.

“is that why she got at least three hickeys on her neck?”

you feel a flush rise to your cheeks as topper's accusation hangs heavy in the air. you stare nervously at rafe, hoping he'll come up with a believable explanation, but he just shrugs nonchalantly, as if the hickeys are no big deal. 

“they’re not hickeys, i burned myself with my curling iron.”

“yeah and i’m fucking adriana lima on my spare time.”

“okay?” you quickly turn your head back to the wall because you think you're about to puke up everything you just ingested.

"oh fuck, not you." top groans in frustration, seeing where rafe googly looks are directed, “not you two! you can't be serious?! that's my sister, dude; come on!" 

rafe finally stands up from your bed, his tone is firm, his expression serious as he steps closer to your brother, his hands held out in a placating gesture. “it’s not like that.”

topper glances back and forth between you two, focusing on the blush of your cheeks and the adoration in rafe’s face now that you are looking back at him. a sick, knowing feeling had been building inside of him since he walked through the door. 

“i can’t fucking believe this.” 

“it’s not like that,” rafe repeats, walking to your side, hating the way your eyes are starting to water. he keeps his hand on your arm, thumb brushing circles over your cold skin, “we’re together. and watch your fucking tone when you speak to her.”

“don’t tell me how to speak to my sister!"

rafe's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. despite that, his hand remains steady on your arm, offering you a silent anchor of support. you feel a knot tighten in your stomach as you testify the tension between the two most important men in your life escalates.

"guys, please," you interject, your voice trembling, "this isn't helping anything."

“you’re in love with her, cameron?”

topper’s question makes you want to dig a hole in the middle of your studio and run.

what the hell?!

he can’t just barge in and make everything a mess. this is what you were afraid of, people meddling with your relationship. you and rafe haven’t discussed it yet. yeah it’s clear you’re in love with him, but you want to be the one to tell him and vice versa. you don’t want him to feel pressured to do it.

rafe's hand tightens on your arm, anchoring himself with the feeling of you beneath his fingertips. his eyes search yours for guidance. you can see the conflict in his expression.

he doesn’t shy away from the question, and his gaze never leaves yours. he traces every line of your face, “yeah, i am.”

the words hang in the air, a declaration that changes everything and nothing all at once. then time stops. your stomach turns unhelpfully, and you feel your skin turn clammy. 

from the corner of your eye, you see the shock register on your brother’s face before he can hide it. strangely, he seems to understand now, perhaps more than you realized he would. for a moment, there's silence in the room, the weight of rafe's confession settling over all of you. but then topper lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging with the weight of understanding.

"okay," he says, his voice softer now, lacking the edge of anger from before. "okay."

you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, feeling a sense of relief flood through you. despite the uncertainty of what comes next. 

rafe's hand finds yours, intertwining his fingers with yours in a silent gesture of solidarity. you squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch grounding you. 

"thank you," you say to topper, your voice barely above a whisper but brimmed with gratitude.

he nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "just... take care of each other, okay?"

“can you leave now?” rafe all but interrupts the sentimental exchange, “kinda need to properly confess.”

topper raises an eyebrow at his abrupt request, clearly caught off guard by the bluntness. but after a second of hesitation, he nods, pushing himself off the wall where he's been leaning.

"yeah, sure," he says, giving you a meaningful look before turning to leave. "just... be careful, both of you. i’ll stop by later for dinner."

you offer him a small smile in return, feeling a shit ton of emotions swirling inside you as you watch him go. once he's out of sight, you let out a sigh, the tension in the room finally dissipating.

rafe releases your hand, moving to close the door behind topper before returning to your side. his expression is softer now, focused solely on you. 

"you okay?" he asks, his voice soft as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

you nod, offering him a shaky smile. "yeah, think so. that was... unexpected."

rafe pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he never wants to let you go. 

"m’ sorry peach," he murmurs against your hair, his voice filled with regret. "didn't mean to drop that bomb on ya like that."

you sink into his embrace, finding comfort in the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart. "t's okay," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you nuzzle into his chest. "just wish it had been different."

he presses a kiss to the top of your head, arms tightening around you protectively. "i know," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves.

then, as if a floodgate has opened within you, the words spill from your lips, raw and unfiltered. "i’m in love with you too, rafe."

his arms around you tighten, as if to reassure himself that your words are real. 

"i love you," he murmurs against your hair, "more than anything."

you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “you’re gonna make me cry.”

he pulls back slowly, cupping your face in his hands and wiping away the tears that have started to fall. "hey now, no tears, baby. only happy ones, yeah?"

you nod, sniffling but managing a watery smile. "yeah, happy tears. because i love you, rafe cameron."

he smiles back, a gentleness in him you've never seen before. 

"and i love you, more than anything in this world."

you can't help but lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palms against your cheeks. his stare is full of tenderness, his thumb gently brushing away the last traces of tears.

"you're everything, y’know that?" he murmurs, his voice overflowing with sincerity.

you nod, feeling a lump forming in your throat at the depth of his words. "yeah, i do. and so are you.”

he leans in closer, lips capturing yours in a sweet kiss. he moves against you with a gentle fervor, his hands cradling your face as if you're the most precious thing in the world to him. and in that moment, you know without a doubt that you are and as you pull away, breathless yet content, you rest your forehead against his, savoring the closeness and the warmth that surrounds you.

"i love you," you whisper.

"i love you too, always," rafe replies, his voice a gentle caress against your skin.