#Regency coffee table

[martinworsterphotography]

Elegant Regency Burr Walnut Coffee Table

Add a touch of timeless elegance to your living room with this Regency Coffee Table in burr walnut. The exquisite grain pattern and classic design make it a standout piece that complements any sophisticated interior. Perfect for those who appreciate fine craftsmanship and antique furniture. Check it out at Canonbury Antiques!

Key Features

Material: Burr walnut with a stunning grain pattern

Design: Classic Regency style with elegant lines

Condition: Excellent

Dimensions: Perfect for a living room centerpiece

Buy Link: https://canonburyantiques.com/p/Regency-Coffee-Table-Burr-Walnut-1734756055/ For more details and to purchase, please visit Canonbury Antiques.

[thakefurniture]

Antique Coffee Table, antique tray on stand, low antique table, low butlers tray : Antiques UK - Georgian Furniture - Regency Furniture

[groundonesix]

Gallotti & Radice ‘Tris’ T35 Smoking Glass Nesting Tables

A stylish and elegant set of nesting tables designed by Pierangelo Gallotti for Gallotti & Radice, known as the ‘Tris’ T35 Italian Smoking Glass Nesting Tables. Crafted with tempered smoked glass, the tables offer a sleek and modern aesthetic, characteristic of 1970s Italian design. The chrome-fitted joint corners although have some patina add a polished and contemporary touch, seamlessly blending form and function making the still very relevant in any modern home.

The set includes three tables of descending sizes, designed to fit neatly into one another when not in use, saving space while maintaining their visual appeal. These versatile tables are ideal for contemporary interiors, functioning as side tables, coffee tables, or accent pieces. The combination of smoked glass and chrome creates a timeless and sophisticated look that exemplifies the craftsmanship and innovative spirit of Gallotti & Radice.

CREATOR: Pierangelo Gallotti for Gallotti & Radice 

PLACE OF ORIGIN: Italy

DATE OF MANUFACTURE: c. 1970s

PERIOD: 1970-1979

MATERIALS & TECHNIQUES: Smoked Tempered Glass, Chrome

CONDITION: Good original condition

WEAR: Wear consistent with age and use. Some scratches or fading on the frame or glass tops.

HEIGHT: 40cm | 15.8in

WIDTH: 49cm | 19.5in

DEPTH: 40.5cm | 16in

Request More Information

[rcgality]

Living Room - Music Room

Idea for a medium-sized living room in the contemporary loft style with a music area, beige walls, a standard fireplace, and a tile fireplace.

[yeoldecorprusarium]

Crashcraft's vintage sets in Cluedo colors

✿ This is for the sims 2 ✿

Here are recolors I made of various Cashcraft sets for use in Éclaire. I recolored only the objects I thought I'd like to use in my game, so not all of the sets are present in full.

Please also note that I wrote cluedo colors, and not woods. No way in hell I was going to handpaint all that to change the wood grain, sorry.

What's included?

✿ 6 objects from the Magnolia Hill Dining set (buffet, china cabinet, curio, hutch, mirror and sideboard);

✿ 6 objects from the Regency set (tea set, dining chair, cabinet, sideboard, china cabinet and armchair);

✿ 30 objects from the Vanity Fair sets (armchair, canopy, cash register (req. OFB), chaise, coffee table, curtain, desk chair, end table, footstool, handbag, hat, 3 lamps, mirror, parlor chair, perfume tray, round table, sewing basket, sewing clutter, cutting board, desk, screen, sewing shelf, worktable, sofa, tall cabinet and vanity);

✿ 7 objects from the Victorian set (chafing dish, chair, painting, sideboards, hutch and table);

✿ 5 objects from the Vintage Charm set (alarm clock, bed, books and 2 lamps).

DOWNLOAD (SFS)

Meshes, swatches and previews included, files compressed and clearly named.

✿ I renamed the meshes to remove any special characters, so check your download folder for duplicates manually if you already have Cashcraft's sets in your game.

Credits: Cashcraft, @cluedosims.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi~~

I kinda here for the 6k

I am a huge fan of you btw.. I loved Ur eached and every batfamily plus Clark Kent stories

So can I get a sweet arranged marriage turn into love with Bruce or clerk ( can't pick between them)

I leave most decision upto you as I trust you just make it fluffy

And congratulations on your 6k. You deserve it

Thanks and bye

.⋆｡What is a Marriage｡⋆.

Bruce Wayne x plus size reader

It is your wedding day, a joyous occasion for all, except you and your new husband

Warnings: regency!au, arranged marriage, misogyny, mention of drug rings, fluff WC: 909

6k Bingo Celebration

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

For as long as you could remember, you were taught that you would marry a lord and a rich one at that. While your brothers would marry to carry on your family’s name, you would be responsible for another family, another home and any children that your husband saw fit to give you. You would belong to a man that your father believed would be the most capable of giving the entire family a chance to climb the social ladder. 

Part of you was excited for your debut upon the marriage mart. You dreamed of the gorgeous balls and beautiful gowns you would wear to catch the eye of a gentleman who would spoil you rotten with love and affection. Your mother’s sisters constantly told you stories of magical evenings with their future husbands as they began to court. 

Yet only a few before your debut, those dreams were stomped out by your father’s announcement that you would be wed to a man you had never met in a week’s time. Shamefully, your escape attempts though childish, were unsuccessful and only served to have your last remaining privilege of choosing your own wedding dream taken away.

And so, here you were, sitting at someone else’s table, eating food picked out by a stranger as you sat next to your new husband whom you’ve already forgotten the name of. This was definitely not how you pictured your Wedding Breakfast, alone save for your husband and his butler, your father hadn’t even the decency to let your mother attend.

You sighed and picked up the newspaper your husband had abandoned a few minutes ago. Your husband’s blue eyes flicked over to you but you ignored him. The smudged ink of the headline drew your attention; ‘Masked Vigilante Exposes Drug Ring’. It made you scoff.

“Is there something the matter?” His deep voice cut through the silence of the dining room, aggravatingly sending a shiver down your spine. You refused to look at him.

“This vigilante, it seems he’s doing a better job at protecting Gotham than the police. A damn shame they’re incapable of doing their jobs properly.” You flicked to the next page, pretending to read as you gauged his reaction. Would your husband punish you for swearing and belittling other men as your father would have done? You were met only with the soft clink of silverware and the footsteps of his butler.

“More coffee Master Bruce?” 

“Yes, thank you Alfred.” Bruce (what a modern name) cleared his throat and you finally made eye contact with him. “Are you a fan of this vigilante?” His voice tilted up like your brothers’ did when they teased you. 

You twisted the heavy ring on your finger, your stomach tight as you waited for the inevitable cruel punchline of his joke. “He’s doing something to protect people. I think it’s noble.” His lips quirked up and you couldn’t help but remember the brief peck you had shared an hour ago, your first kiss.

“Do you?” A flash of anger burned in your stomach as heat crawled up your cheeks. 

“Don’t patronise me.” Suddenly, his expression dropped. You watched him stutter over his words as he scrambled to explain what he meant. Alfred chuckled under his breath while he took your full plate of eggs and instead replaced it with some fresh fruit pastries. 

“I didn’t- I wasn’t,” his broad shoulders dropped, “I’m sorry.” He almost looked like a sad puppy like this, his head lowered, eyes wide with a genuine remorse, his fluffy brown hair hanging down along his strong cheekbones. You almost felt bad about your outburst, almost. 

“What is it that you want from this marriage? Children? A wife to obey your every whim? Who turns a blind eye to your indiscretions?” You hissed but he didn’t flinch, only taking a deep breath before he stood and rounded the table. Instead of pulling out the empty chair next to you, he knelt beside you, his hands taking yours.

“I want a companion, that is all. I know you had no choice in this marriage, and for that I apologise, it is not how I wanted this to go. But I can give you independence and freedom just by giving you my name and my wallet. I only ask that you humour me with trips to the city together, the opera, anywhere, as long as society sees us together.” He twisted your ring back so the bright purple amethyst sat right against your knuckle once more.

“I can do whatever I want?” 

He reached up and gently cupped your cheek. “I am your servant. Ask me for anything, and it is yours.” Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you nuzzled into his foreign yet comforting touch.

“And what if I ask for your heart?” 

“Then it is yours.” He said with a smirk and you couldn’t help but believe him. And as he leaned over to press a gentle kiss to the back of your hand and then to your cheek, you wondered if this was what your mother’s sisters meant when they said that you would just know if he was the one.

Perhaps you could be more than a commodity to be sold. Maybe Bruce could be more than the man who bought you. You glanced at the headline again as another feeling stirred in your gut. Perhaps, there was more to life than what you had been told.

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[winterlico]

SEVEN DAYS WITH A DEMON — SJY

⋆.˚ pairing : demon!Jake x fem!reader | status : on going

Summary : You thought summoning a demon for seven days would be temporary. You were wrong.

⋆.˚ word count : 4.6k

Genre : Fantasy, Romance, Comedy, Light Angst, Fluff

⋆.˚ warnings : 18+ joke (implicitly), harsh words, making out, LOTS of teasing (buckle up)

⋆.˚ a/n : English is not my first language and this is the first time i uploaded a fanfic, i'm sorry if there is still a lot missing words. If you want to be tagged, comment here!

❛ feedback & reblogs appreciated! ❜

Night Three: A Glimpse of Humanity

Too comfortable.

You don’t know when it happened exactly—when his presence stopped feeling like an intrusion and started feeling… inevitable. Like the hum of a fridge in the background or the creak of the old floorboard by the door. He’s just there now, sprawling on your couch like it’s a throne, flipping through your books as if he has all the time in the world—which, technically, he does.

He’s even stopped asking permission for things, not that he ever really asked to begin with. He raids your fridge despite claiming that human food has no effect on him. He changes the position of your lamps, just slightly, so they shine at angles that bother you. He has an infuriating habit of claiming your favorite seat whenever you stand up, smirking like he’s won something.

And the worst part? You’re starting to expect him.

Tonight, he’s stretched across your couch, golden eyes lazily tracking the words of a book he’s holding one-handed, his long fingers drumming absentmindedly against the spine. His jacket is slung over the armrest. His feet—bare feet, why is he barefoot?—are propped up on your coffee table like this is his home.

It isn’t.

But some part of you doesn’t tell him to leave. Instead, you sigh and plop onto the couch beside him, shifting until you can steal a glimpse of the book in his hands.

You blink. “Pride and Prejudice?”

Jake hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t look up. “Figured I’d see what the fuss was about.”

You snort. Of all the things you’d expect a demon to read, classic Regency romance isn’t one of them. “And?”

He turns a page, slow and deliberate. There’s something contemplative about the way he reads, like he’s sifting through the words for something deeper than what’s written. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than usual, thoughtful in a way that makes something in your chest tighten.

“Humans are… strange,” he murmurs. “So fragile, yet so full of stubborn pride. So desperate for love, even when they don’t admit it.”

For a moment, you don’t know how to respond. The way he says it—like an observation made over lifetimes, like something he’s learned the hard way—makes your heart stutter.

Then, as if sensing the weight of his own words, Jake shifts, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. His golden eyes flick to you, amusement gleaming beneath something unreadable. “Besides,” he adds, “I think I’d make an excellent Mr. Darcy.”

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “Please. You’re more of a Wickham.”

Jake gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, angel. Truly, deeply wounded.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. It’s too easy to laugh around him, even when you don’t mean to.

You don’t realize, until much later, that this is the first night you stop seeing him as just a demon.

By the time you step into the shower, the apartment is finally quiet.

For the first time in three nights, there’s no smug remarks, no stolen seats, no golden-eyed menace lurking in your periphery. Just you, warm water, and a few precious minutes of peace.

The water is scalding, just the way you like it, cascading down your back in steady rivulets. Steam thickens the air, curling against your skin, wrapping around your limbs like a second layer. You let it burn, washing away the tension in your shoulders, the way your entire body still feels restless from dinner—no, from him.

From the way Jake had watched you eat, slow and amused, golden eyes too sharp, lips curling around every bite like he was savoring something else entirely.

You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the edge of the shower wall.

It’s fine.

It’s just Jake.

He’s annoying, intrusive, a walking, talking migraine in leather—but he’s not anything else.

Right?

You exhale sharply and turn off the water. The pipes groan as the rush slows to a trickle, the room dense with humidity. You don’t even bother wiping the fog from the mirror—just reach blindly for your towel, already mentally preparing to crawl into bed and pretend tonight never happened.

But then—

You see it. Your heart stops.

The mirror is still fogged up, steam clinging to the surface, but in the haze—there’s something written.

And it’s not your handwriting. The letters are messy, traced lazily with a fingertip, as if the writer hadn’t really tried to be neat. And yet, despite the casual scrawl, the words hit you square in the chest:

Miss me, angel?

Your blood turns to ice. Your stomach drops. Your breath catches, hitches, stutters. Because you are a rational adult, because you are absolutely not losing your mind over this—

You scream.

Not a dignified noise. Not a startled gasp. No—this is a full-bodied, soul-leaving-your-corpse, horror-movie shriek that rattles the walls.

From somewhere in the apartment, you hear laughter.

Deep, rumbling, thoroughly entertained laughter.

“JAKE!” you shriek, whipping open the bathroom door so fast it slams against the wall, still dripping wet, still barely processing reality.

And there he is.

Leaning against the hallway wall, arms lazily crossed, expression radiating smug amusement.

He’s been waiting for this. Waiting for you to see it. Waiting for your reaction.

“You took forever, angel,” he muses, golden eyes gleaming. “I was about to get bored.”

Your entire soul catches fire.

Your skin is still damp, heat curling at your cheeks—not just from rage but from embarrassment, from the realization that you are standing there, dripping wet, wearing nothing but a thin towel barely clinging to your dignity.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric. Your brain is a storm of white noise and homicidal intent. And before you can think—before logic and self-preservation can kick in—

You hurl your towel at his face with force.

There is a glorious, fleeting second where Jake’s smirk disappears entirely. His head jerks slightly as the towel slaps against him with a solid, wet thud, covering his face.

For one perfect, golden moment, the demon is stunned into silence.

Then—

Jake makes the most dramatic, unholy gasp you have ever heard in your life. A deep, theatrical inhale, as if you had mortally wounded him, as if you had banished him straight back to hell with nothing but damp terrycloth. He staggers back, catching the towel as it slides off his face, gripping it to his chest like a tragic widow in a melodrama.

“Angel,” he gasps, voice drenched in mock betrayal. “Did you just—did you just assault me?”

You don’t care that you are now standing stark naked in front of an actual demon—all you care about is killing him on sight.

“YOU—YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE!” you bellow, grabbing the nearest object (a shampoo bottle) and launching it at his head.

Jake dodges effortlessly, laughter bubbling in his throat. “Tsk, tsk, angel. Violence isn’t the answer.”

You snatch another bottle. “GET OUT!”

He grins, golden eyes glinting, zero fear in his expression. “You know, I thought you’d be embarrassed, but you’re really embracing the natural look—”

“JAKE.”

Jake raises both hands in surrender, still very much not sorry, but at least having the decency to step back. “Alright, alright,” he drawls, still holding your towel hostage.

And then—

He winks.

Winks.

And vanishes down the hall.

You stand there, naked, wet, humiliated, and shaking with rage, your pulse thundering in your ears. You turn back to the mirror, to the fading message scrawled across the glass.

Miss me, angel?

Your face burns.

With a frustrated scream, you slam the bathroom door shut, vowing—vowing—that if you don’t kill him tonight, you will find a way to exorcise his smug ass tomorrow.

Later, when you finally calm down—after threatening his existence and contemplating banishing him back to hell—you find him lounging in the kitchen, watching you cook like nothing happened.

You glare at him, still fuming, but Jake just smirks, propping his chin on his hand. “What’s the point of all this?” he muses, nodding toward the pot. “Humans put so much effort into eating when it gives them no real power.”

You roll your eyes. “Because food is good, Jake.”

He scoffs. “Not to me.”

That gives you an idea. You turn to face him fully, crossing your arms. “Then let’s change that.”

Jake raises a brow. “Oh?”

“I wish for you to taste food,” you say. “Like a human.”

He stares at you for a long moment, unreadable. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he snaps his fingers. “Fine,” he mutters. “Let’s get this over with.”

You don’t even give him a warning before shoving a spoonful of your homemade dish into his mouth.

Jake freezes.

Then—

A low, deep groan escapes him.

You hate how your stomach flips.

He grips the counter like he’s holding onto reality itself. His tongue flicks against his lower lip just a little too suggestively, and when he looks up, his gaze is dark.

Your brain short-circuits.

Later that night, you’re still flustered when you head to your bedroom. You open the door—only to find Jake lying on your bed. On your bed. Casually sprawled, arms behind his head, looking at you like he belongs there.

You grip the doorknob. “Get. Out.”

Jake smirks. “Why? There’s enough space for two.”

Your entire soul leaves your body. “Jake—”

“Relax, angel.” He rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. “I’ll behave. Unless you don’t want me to.”

You slam the door so fast.

Through the wood, you hear him laughing.

But when you wake up hours later, something feels off.

The apartment is quiet. No sarcastic remarks. No unnecessary Jake-ness.

And then—

“Miss me already?”

You yelp.

Jake materializes beside you, grinning. “That was cute.”

You slap his arm. “Don’t do that!”

He chuckles, warm and low. “Aw, come on, angel. Admit it. You’d be lonely without me.”

You scoff. “Please.”

But you don’t push him away when he sits beside you and you don’t stop him when he lingers.

Bonus scene

Jake was not thinking about it.

Not. Thinking. About. It.

He was definitely not lying on your couch at 4 AM, staring at the ceiling like a man haunted by his own choices. He was not replaying the way the towel had hit him in the face, the way it had smacked him with the full, unholy force of divine retribution before landing at his feet, damp and utterly incriminating.

He was not thinking about the look on your face when it happened—the sheer, unfiltered rage, the way your eyes had burned with the intensity of a thousand suns, the way your chest had risen and fallen in sharp, angry breaths as if you were holding back the urge to commit murder.

And he was certainly not thinking about what had happened after. About the way you had stood there, naked, furious, completely unbothered by your own lack of clothing in the face of pure rage.

Jake let out a slow, exhausted breath, dragging a hand down his face.

No.

This was fine.

This was just a game. It was nothing.

He had been around for centuries. He had seen things that would drive mortals to madness, had walked through battlefields soaked in blood, had watched empires rise and crumble to dust, had stood at the edge of existence and gazed into the void itself.

And yet—

Yet.

A single mortal woman had managed to short-circuit his entire being with a damp towel and the audacity to stand there, unbothered, as if she hadn’t just ruined him forever.

Jake exhaled sharply, sitting up, elbows on his knees, fingers threading through his already mussed-up hair.

The apartment was quiet now, save for the occasional hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of a car passing by on the street below.

It was too quiet. Too still. He didn’t like it.

For the past three nights, he had gotten used to your presence. Used to the chaotic energy you radiated, used to the way you sighed dramatically whenever he took your seat, used to the playful banter, the teasing, the unspoken game of seeing who could get under the other’s skin first.

And now?

Now you were hiding. For the first time, you had chosen to retreat instead of fight.

Jake tapped his fingers against his knee, his jaw tightening.

He didn't like that, either.

One Hour After the Towel Incident

Jake found himself outside your door.

Not lurking.

Just… existing. Near the door. Casually. Like it was the most normal thing in the world for him to just be there at 5 AM, standing in the hallway with his arms crossed, frowning at the closed door like it had personally offended him.

Because really, it had. You hadn’t come out. Not even once.

And that?

That was unnacceptable.

Jake knocked once, slow and deliberate, letting the sound echo through the quiet apartment.

Silence. A long, pointed silence.

Jake tilted his head, smirking. "So," he drawled, voice low, smooth, dangerous in the way that always got a reaction from you.

Still nothing. He grinned. "Are we just going to ignore that you threw a towel at my face?"

The silence that followed was so profoundly aggressive that Jake could practically hear the way you were grinding your teeth on the other side.

Oh, he was going to enjoy this. He leaned against the doorframe, lowering his voice just slightly, just enough to be infuriating. "You know, angel, if you wanted me naked too, you could’ve just asked."

The sound that came from inside your room was somewhere between a muffled shriek and a declaration of war.

Jake grinned.

Then—

Then he heard you aggressively burying yourself under your blankets.

He smirked. Oh, this was too easy.

"Goodnight, angel," he purred, voice filled with nothing but smug delight.

A pillow hit the door.

Jake laughed, low and satisfied, and pushed off the doorframe, retreating back into the living room, utterly pleased with himself.

But the moment he lay back down on the couch, his smirk faltered. Because now?

Now there was nothing else to distract him.

And that? That was a problem.

Three Hours After the Towel Incident

Jake had not moved. He was still on the couch, staring at the ceiling, his mind looping back to the same damn moment over and over again. He tried to rationalise it. Tried to tell himself that this was just his usual games, that he was amused, nothing more.

But that didn’t explain why he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It didn’t explain why his brain kept replaying every little detail—

The way the light had caught on the water droplets running down your skin.

The way your lips had parted slightly when you had gasped in rage.

The way your cheeks had flushed, not from embarrassment, but from fury.

The way you had stood there, unshaken, completely unbothered by your own state of undress, because all you had cared about in that moment was absolutely wrecking his shit.

Jake let out a low, irritated groan, dragging both hands down his face.

No.

This was not happening. He needed to fix this. He needed to get back in control, regain the upper hand.

Because this?

This was not normal.

He was not supposed to be lying awake at 5 AM, thinking about the way your shoulders had tensed when you’d stepped into the doorway, or the way your collarbone had looked with droplets of water catching in the dim light.

Fuck.

He was not doing this.

Tomorrow, Jake would fix this. He would go back to being the one in control. He would prove to himself that this was just another game.

Just another human. Just another silly, fleeting moment that meant absolutely nothing.

Jake leaned back, arms crossed, scowling at the ceiling.

Because deep down—deep in the part of himself he refused to acknowledge—

He knew he was lying.

The Fourth Morning

Jake did not sleep. Not even a little.

Not that he needed sleep, exactly, but there was a difference between choosing not to sleep and lying awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, replaying the same moment over and over again in his head like a damn cursed record.

This was the second one.

He had tried everything to shove the thoughts out of his head. Tried to focus on literally anything else. Tried to remind himself that this was just a game.

That you were just another human. That he was only here for his own entertainment, nothing more.

But the problem was—

The real, actual, devastating problem was—

Jake had always been a damn good liar.

And right now? He wasn’t buying his own bullshit. Because every time he tried to push the memory away, it clawed its way back.

The towel.

The look on your face.

The way you had just stood there, naked and furious, utterly unbothered.

And, most damning of all—

The way he had looked at you. The way he had felt something shift inside him, something that should have never, ever been there.

Jake ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly.

No.

No.

This was not happening.

7 AM – The Kitchen

By the time the sun started rising, Jake had abandoned all attempts at rational thought and decided that if he couldn’t stop thinking about it, he might as well pretend it never happened.

It was fine. Everything was fine.

All he had to do was act normal. Just play it cool. Just not think about how he had, against every ounce of logic in his body, spent the entire night awake because of you.

So, naturally, like a fully functioning and rational individual, Jake made himself comfortable in your kitchen, leaning against the counter, sipping a fresh cup of coffee like he hadn’t just gone through an entire existential crisis in the past six hours.

Totally normal. Totally fine.

He’s totally not waiting for you to wake up. And then he heard it. The sound of your door opening.

Jake froze.

For the first time since last night, he realized he had no actual plan for what to do when he saw you.

Shit. He couldn’t move. Didn’t even breathe.

Because there you were. Stepping into the kitchen, hair slightly tousled from sleep, wearing nothing but an oversized shirt that barely grazed the tops of your thighs.

The absolute worst part?

You were still drowsy. Still half-asleep, still blinking the exhaustion from your eyes, shoulders slumping slightly as you padded toward the fridge, completely unaware that Jake was standing right there, watching you.

Jake gripped his coffee cup like it was his last lifeline.

No.

No, no, no.

He was not doing this again. He was not getting caught off guard twice in less than twelve hours. He forced his gaze to the ceiling, then to the floor, then anywhere but directly at you, gripping the countertop so hard it nearly cracked under his fingers.

This is fine. This is fine.

Just say something. Just act normal.

Just—

"Morning, angel."

Fuck.

His voice came out lower than intended, rough around the edges, like he’d just woken up himself, which was absolutely not the case because he hadn’t slept a damn second.

You froze mid-step.

For a long, excruciating moment, you just stood there, one hand on the fridge door, staring at him like you had just remembered exactly what had happened last night.

Jake saw it all in real-time—

The split-second recognition. The way your entire body tensed. The way your grip on the fridge tightened ever so slightly. The slow, creeping flush that spread across your cheeks.

Oh.

Oh, this was interesting.

Jake felt a wicked smirk tug at his lips, leaning slightly against the counter, tilting his head as he watched your reaction unfold.

You were embarrassed.

After everything—after standing there, bare and unshaken, after throwing a towel at his face like a vengeful goddess, after screaming bloody murder through the apartment—

You were actually embarrassed now.

Fascinating and entirely unfair, because Jake was absolutely, definitely not thinking about how good you looked in that stupid oversized shirt.

You cleared your throat, eyes darting anywhere but at him, muttering a barely coherent, “Morning,” before grabbing a water bottle and immediately turning away like that would make him disappear.

Jake smirked. This was going to be fun.

"Sleep well?" he asked, taking a slow sip of coffee.

You visibly stiffened. A beat of silence. Then, voice tight, "Fine."

Jake raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? You sure? Because it seemed like you were up pretty late last night."

You nearly choked on your water.

Jake almost laughed.

You turned your head just enough to glare at him, lips pressing together into a thin line. "You talk too much," you grumbled.

And oh, he could work with that. Jake set his coffee down, stretching his arms in a way that was entirely unnecessary, voice dripping with casual smugness.

"Come on, angel," he said smoothly, "don't be shy. I mean, considering everything I saw last night—"

"I will throw this water bottle at your head."

Jake grinned.

There you were. And just like that, the tension cracked, dissolving into something sharp, playful, familiar. It was a game again.

The way it was supposed to be.

Jake chuckled, taking another slow sip of coffee, watching as you tried desperately to compose yourself, to pretend you weren’t still thinking about last night.

But he could tell.

Oh, he could tell.

And maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t the only one losing his mind.

Jake knew he was playing a dangerous game.

Knew it from the moment you walked into the kitchen, all sleep-tousled hair and half-lidded eyes, wearing an oversized shirt that shouldn’t be doing as much damage as it was.

Knew it from the way his body reacted before his brain could catch up, every muscle tensing like he was bracing for impact.

And impact it was.

Because despite his best efforts—despite the hours he’d spent convincing himself that last night meant nothing, that the image of you standing in that doorway, bare and furious, was already fading from his mind—

It wasn’t.

It was burned into him now.

And judging by the way you refused to look directly at him, the way your hands gripped the water bottle like it was your last lifeline, the way your shoulders were tense, like you were forcing yourself to act normal—

Jake wasn’t the only one suffering.

Interesting.

And, perhaps, a little dangerous. Because if you were feeling it too, if you were struggling just as much as he was—

Then this was no longer a game he was in control of.

And he should stop.

He should dial it back.

He should let it go.

He should—

"Considering everything I saw last night—"

Oh.

Oh, he was a fucking idiot.

Because the second those words left his mouth, the second you whipped your head around to glare at him, face heating, grip tightening on the water bottle like you were actually considering launching it at his skull—

Jake felt something sharp and electric pulse through him, something hot, something dangerous, something that felt a little too much like desire.

Shit.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Just stood there, glaring, breathing just a little too fast, as if you were trying to decide whether murder was worth the consequences.

That was fun and dangerous. He liked you like this.

Angry. Flustered. Teetering on the edge of something you didn’t want to acknowledge. And maybe—just maybe—he wanted to push you over it.

You exhaled sharply, slamming the water bottle down on the counter before turning fully toward him, arms crossed, jaw tight.

"You," you said, voice slow, dangerous, "are an absolute menace."

Jake grinned.

"That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, angel."

Your eyes narrowed.

Jake tilted his head, studying you.

You were trying so hard to act normal. Trying to pretend that last night hadn’t shaken you. Trying to convince yourself that this was still just an annoying little game.

But he could see through it.

He could see the way your weight shifted slightly, the way you kept your arms crossed like a shield, the way your breathing had changed—

You were flustered, not just in an annoyed way.

Oh.

Oh, this was something else.

Something new. Something infinitely more dangerous.

Jake’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second—so fast he almost didn’t catch it himself. Because if this wasn’t just a game anymore—

If you were actually looking at him differently now—

Fuck.

He should stop.

He should walk away. He should say something sarcastic and move on and pretend none of this was happening.

But then, you did something you shouldn’t have done.

Something reckless.

You took a step closer. Just one step.

Barefoot, arms still crossed, face still defiantly unreadable—

But closer.

And Jake?

Jake forgot how to breathe. It wasn’t even that close. Not really. There was still space.

But for some reason, it felt like too much.

Like if he reached out, he could touch you.

Like if he leaned forward, his breath would mingle with yours.

Like if he let himself, just for a second—

No.

Absolutely not.

This was dangerous.

"You’re staring."

Jake blinked.

You were watching him now, closely. And oh, that was bad. Because you had never looked at him like this before.

Not with frustration.

Not with exasperation.

Not with that unspoken question burning in the space between you.

Jake had been in too many situations like this not to recognize what was happening.

The tension.

The way the air felt thick, the way his chest felt tight, the way he could hear your breathing a little too well. It was the kind of moment that only ever ended one way.

Jake was not going to let that happen.

Not today. Not when he had already let it go too far. So instead, he did what he always did when he was on the edge of something irreversible.

He broke it.

Jake let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back against the counter with a mock-disappointed shake of his head.

"You know, angel," he said, voice lazy, cocky, unbothered— "if you wanted to get close to me, you could’ve just said so."

And just like that—

The spell was shattered. You rolled your eyes so hard it looked painful. Jake smirked, relief and something unnameable settling in his chest.

This was better.

You scoffed, shaking your head as you grabbed your water bottle. "I hate you."

Jake grinned. "You love me."

And just as you turned to leave, just as the air began to settle, just as he thought he had gotten away with it—

You hesitated. Paused. Didn’t turn around.

But your voice—when you finally spoke—

Was quiet.

"Not everything’s a joke, Jake."

And then you were gone.

Jake stood there, staring at the space where you had been, coffee cup still in his hand, something cold settling in his chest.

Because for the first time since this started—

He wasn’t sure which one of you was playing the game anymore.

back to the list ⋆˚࿔

taglist : @firstclassjaylee @tya0 @limerenceisserenity

If you want to be tagged, comment here!

[elixirfromthestars]

WELCOME TO MY CAFE! ˖°.₊˚☕⊹♡

I miss interacting with fellow writers and readers, so I decided to host my own little writing challenge ♡ Between juggling grad school prep and an internship, I wanted to do something to keep me connected to this lovely community, so welcome everyone to my cozy little cafe :) 

The writing challenge starts today and closes on September 29th (National Coffee Day). I will be reading + reblogging every fic. The masterlist will be posted at the end. (if you see this anytime later or can’t make the deadline do not fret, if anything below inspires you, you are welcome to write and tag me and I will add your submission to the masterlist♡)

Below are the rules, prompts, and guidelines ♡

who you can write for: all marvel characters are welcome / any fictional sebastian stan or chris evans characters are welcome too (any characters they’ve portrayed based on real life people will not be accepted though!!) (please keep it to x reader fics only!!)

some general guidelines: Below I’ve provided a number of different prompts and songs for inspiration ♡ Anyone can use them and mix and match however you’d like!! If you use any please let me know somewhere in the post! If none of them below inspire you, to stay within theme please include either a cafe or coffee somewhere in the fic :) 18+ fics are welcome, just please add warnings! Any length of fics are welcome, but if it’s over 500 words please add the “keep reading” option. If you write something as part of a bigger series please write your submission as a standalone ♡

˖°.₊˚☕⊹♡ This is a sweet and cozy little cafe, but of course, there is always a possibility of rain. If anything below inspires an angsty fic, then by all means go ahead and write it! Your submission does not have to include fluff! 

what is not accepted: no dark fics, anything involving minors, incest, rape, noncon/dubcon 

how to enter: please tag me and use #elixirscafe when you post ♡ i’ll leave a like to let you know I saw it and reblog it once I read it :) if i haven’t responded to your post send me an inbox or dm please and thank you! 

Happy writing! My inbox is always open for any questions or comments!! ♡  

What table are you sitting at? 

♡ Coffeeshop AU 

♡ Soulmate AU 

♡ Bakery AU 

♡ Regency Era AU 

♡ Western AU

♡ Neighbor AU 

♡ Pen Pal AU

♡ Small Town AU 

♡ Royal AU

♡ College AU

Would you like a sweet treat?

🍩 ༄ؘ “No, I’m not letting you go. It’s too early to get out of bed.” 

🍰 ༄ؘ Saying I love you for the first time.

🍪 ༄ؘ “ Would it be alright if I borrowed your sweater? It smells like you.” 

🍫 ༄ؘ  “ You...you learned how to cook my favorite meal?”

🧁 ༄ؘ “ I’m not going to get sick, you baby. Just let me hold you.” 

🥧 ༄ؘ  “ What else do I need when I have my whole world in my arms?”

🍮 ༄ؘ “ I’m only doing it because you’re cute.” 

🥯 ༄ؘ “ Could you hold my hand?” 

🥞 ༄ؘ “ I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” 

🍞 ༄ؘ “ I like hearing your heart beating when I put my head on your chest.” 

🍯  ༄ؘ “ Why don’t you tell me what I can do to make your day better?” 

🥐 ༄ؘ “ I’ve tried to forbid myself from falling in love, but now I can’t help it.”

Do you like the music in the cafe? Which song should I play next?

˖°.₊˚☕⊹♡ Feel free to use the lyrics below, the entire feel of the song, or any other lyrics in the song! The playlist is below in case you want to go through and listen to the songs while you write ♡

Apple Cider “ And I don’t even like you that much. Wait, I do, fuck. Call me at midnight. Let’s give this a try.” Beabadoobee

Apple Juice “ Don’t let goodbyes come too easy. Love me, just let me know that you need me.” Jessie Reyez

Apple Pie “I found you under an April sky, and you feel like city life, apple pie baked just right. Home is wherever you are tonight.” Lizzy McAlpine

August “ And I can see us twisted in bedsheets. August slipped away like a bottle of wine.’Cause you were never mine.” Taylor Swift

Bubble Gum “ Sorry I didn’t kiss you, but it’s obvious I wanted to.” Clairo

Caramel “ Love like a landslide, I kiss you goodnight. It used to be easy.” 5SOS

Cardigan “And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone's bed. You put me on and said I was your favorite.” Taylor Swift

Chai Tea “ I love sippin’ chai tea, with you across from me. I love hearing your voice, talkin ‘bout nothing.” Audrey

Champagne Problems “ You had a speech, you’re speechless. Love slipped beyond your reaches, and I couldn’t give a reason.” Taylor Swift

Chocolate “ I need more time off with you to turn you on. And I want to wake up without the alarm. A thousand eyes on me constantly, but I just want you.” Ziggy Alberts

Cinnamon “ It’s a slow cinnamon summer. Your spell is pulling me under. Rowing in a wooded hollow. Showing me the moves to follow.” Jome

Coffee Breath “ Make me fantasize,'bout you baby. And you smell so sweet, like fresh-picked daisies.” Sofia Mills 

Coffee Cup “ So we’re swapping our cups, and after a while, we’re swapping a glance. And I can think nothing better than starting the year with a drop of romance.” Anthony Lazaro

Espresso “ Now he’s thinkin’ ‘bout me every night, oh. Is it that sweet? I guess so. Say you can’t sleep, baby, I know. That’s that me espresso.” Sabrina Carpenter

Grapejuice “ I was on my way to buy some flowers for you. Thought that we could hide away in a corner of the heath. There’s never been someone who’s so perfect for me.” Harry Styles

Honey + Tea “Girls like flowers, clever poetry. That old adage doesn't work on me, but conversation and a cup of tea. Boy, you had me at philosophy.” Mōzi

Milk & Honey “ So come meet me in the garden, where the angels sing. We’re mixing up milk and honey, soft lips divine. Slow cherry and lay me down, oh, she’s coming to set me free.” Jessarae

Pancakes for Dinner “ I’ll try to hide the way I feel, but I’ll just wanna shout. What do I have to lose right now?” Lizzy McAlpine

Thin Mints “ If you let me lova ya like I wanna, write you all the poems like Whitman. You can take my Thin Mints, if you let me love ya like I wanna.” Evan Crommett

Too Sweet “ I think I’ll take my whiskey neat. My coffee black and my bed at three. You’re too sweet for me.” Hozier

playlist for the songs above can be found here: 🧸

to my lovely mutuals, please don’t feel pressured to participate or share, just thought I’d share this with you all ♡  

@peteyprecious616 ♡ @malum-forev ♡ @rosepetalsinwinter ♡ @inkedreverie ♡ @nickfowlerrr ♡ @missraion ♡ @pocolottie​ ♡ @sweetiebarnes ♡

[itsharleystuff]

↳ II. 𝘍𝘐𝘓𝘓 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘝𝘖𝘐𝘋

Read part one here.

— 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dbf!Joel Miller x afab!fem reader (no outbreak au).

— 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.6k (once again, I’m sorry)

— 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after your steamy encounter with Joel during your homecoming party, things between you have been stagnant. Although, fate seems to be on your side when both Sarah and your dad have to leave town for a short while.

— 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+ content (minors dni!), sex, p in v sex, Joel hits it from behind, blowjobs, some teasing, a bit of spanking, pet names (darling, sweetheart, honey), unprotected sex (pls do not attempt), cum eating, taking nsfw photos, Joel tries to be dom but fails, age gap (reader is twenty four, Joel is late forties), reader is kind of a brat, fluff and feelings (yes, this is a warning), alcohol consumption, brief mention of family death. Barely edited, sorryyy. No use of y/n.

—A/N: this can be read as a stand-alone but I suggest reading the previous part for a better understanding. Btw, there’s a couple of Easter eggs from the game in this! Also— I tried making a moodboard and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’ll probably stick to gifs in the future, lol.

“I like Indiana Jones," you babble, taking a sip from your coffee without looking at anyone in specific. "I was twelve and in love with Harrison Ford..."

"Okay, so that's one movie we're definitely not going to watch." Sarah chimes in, lazily chewing on her scrambled eggs. "How do you feel about Robert Pattinson?"

"That depends," you reply, moving your head side to side in a contemplative manner, "are we talking twilight or Harry Potter?"

You hear your dad snort on the other side of the table and see Joel chuckling beside him. Sarah crosses both arms over her chest and raises a brow at them. “What's so funny?"

"Nothing," your dad clears his throat and side-eyes his friend. "Just thought you two were a bit old for those crappy vampire movies. Maybe watch-"

"Forgive me, but I don't think it's a good idea to take recommendations from either of you," you cut him off, leaning back on your chair. "You're both obsessed with die hard, think The Godfather is incredibly complex and in your spare time watch construction programs. We'll be fine on our own."

"Touché..."

It's been three weeks since your homecoming party, and ever since then it has become a habit to have breakfast together every weekend. Today, Saturday, it was the Miller's turn to cook, which consequently had you and your father sitting at their table. As of now, you and Sarah were discussing your movie night, which had to be postponed due to her road-trip to San Antonio— apparently, she and her friend Ellie were going to visit some college campuses there.

It's also been three weeks since that little, hot encounter you and Joel had in your kitchen. And, contrary to your better judgement, both of you were more than eager to spend some extra time alone. Things since then had been uneasy, specially when being surrounded by others; always worried that someone might notice those stolen looks you'd share or sense the palpable tension that rose when you would stand too close to each other.

You try not to think about it. Except when you do. A swirl of memories would come flooding your mind in the most inappropriate moments, creating that heat that made you remember exactly how his fingers felt inside you, his tongue between your folds, the sloppy kisses and that feral, hungry look in his eyes while eating you out, touching you like you were the most precious thing on earth.

"How about pride and prejudice?" the girl wonders, standing up to clean her dishes and snapping you back to reality.

"Shit, I love period dramas!" your dad shoots you a reproachful glare at your language, but you chose to ignore it. "As a matter of fact, most of my designs are inspired by the Victorian and regency eras."

"Oh, yeah," Sarah recalls, "I remember I read about it in one of your blogs. Dad showed it to me, by the way..." Joel clears his throat loudly, making her giggle.

Although she had mentioned it before, it was still kind of weird that he acknowledged your work. At first you thought it was merely because he wanted to connect with you somehow, but lately he'd been asking if he could see your new sketches and would let you borrow some old magazines he had around the house. Your best friend, Sophie, mentioned he might've been trying to show his interest in you subconsciously. And she was that one psychic friend who believed in zodiac signs and angel numbers, so you decided to believe her.

In that moment, your dad receives an incoming call on his cellphone; he excuses himself and heads to the living room. Your eyes lock with Joel's, and the fact that he was uninhibitedly staring back at you drew a smug smile on your face.

"Are you interested in fashion, Mr. Miller?" he sulks out a dry 'no', but you could see him fidget with his watch nervously. "Pity. I thought maybe you could model some of my male designs."

Sarah genuinely cracks up at your comment, slapping one hand on the table. "You want dad to pose for you? Seriously?"

"Why not? I brought my Polaroid camera, I can get some very nice shots." You were partially joking, but deep down you just wanted to see how he'd react.

"I mean, I know dad's got his charm with women, or so they keep saying-"

"No way anyone says that," he rambles.

"But the idea of him modeling is probably the funniest thing I've ever heard."

The fact was that you didn't want to take pictures of him so anyone else could see them. You wanted them exclusively for yourself. A couple of naughty Polaroids to keep around for whenever you were aching for him —which has been nearly every fucking night since your arrival—.

"It was a silly idea," you finally agree, shrugging. Joel stands to take his things to the sink. "Do you really have to leave for the weekend? You're like, my only friend here."

"Uh, about that..." she leans in towards you and you can practically smell a scheme on her. "Would you be mad if I gave your number to someone?"

You can quite literally feel the man standing behind you tense up. "Huh?"

"Yeah, like... To a guy." She moves in her place, but there's still no answer from you. "He's my English teacher. His name is Will and he's super smart, young, really funny and very handsome, I might add. I believe he can be your new male model." Sarah adds that last bit with a grin.

When you turn your head to see Joel, there was a deep scowl etching on his face, his body remaining still as a stone.

"I don't know... As friends, maybe." You weren't sure why, but the idea of meeting anyone new didn't really sound appealing.

She opened her mouth to say something but before she could actually do so, your dad walked in again. He appeared upset, gesturing nonsense and muttering impassively.

"What's wrong?" your tone comes out concerned.

"I have a meeting in Boston," he sighed, resting a hand on your shoulder apologetically. "Apparently it's urgent and I have to catch the next flight if I want to be there by nightfall."

"Oh, don't worry," you smile at him warmly. "I understand. Besides, I'm an adult. I can manage a weekend by myself."

He nods, still seemingly aloof. "I know but- I just wanted to spend some more time with you."

And of course you wanted that too, but saying it out loud could literally bring him to quit his job. He was always very extreme when it came down to you.

"What time d’you leave?" his friend asks him.

"Half past four. Why?"

"I can drop Sarah off at Ellie's and then drive you to the airport, if you'd like." Such a caring friend, Joel Miller. So selfless. Helping your dad out, attending his daughter's every special need...

"Yeah, thanks a lot, man. Take care of my little girl while I'm away."

You see his eyes gleam with a mix of unknown emotions, "Will do."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The last few days had been no less than torment for Joel. Each moment that went by in which he didn't get a chance to be near you had him losing his mind. Badly. And it wasn't necessarily a physical thing— not always, at least.

Every morning, he would wake up and go to work, knowing for certain that when he comes back home he'll find you hanging around with Sarah or sitting out on your porch with a sketching notebook on your lap.

He liked to guess what you'd be doing.

Would you be playing board games with his daughter? Watching a movie or baking desserts? Maybe you were thrift shopping with your dad or simply going to the mall. And later on, when he finally gets to see you again, you'd tell him all about it.

Joel also liked to imagine what kind of clothes you'd be wearing. One thing he noticed is that you never stick to one particular style or aesthetic. One day you could be wearing pastel sundresses with ribbons in your hair; the next one could be long, black skirts paired with basic tank tops and multiple necklaces, or even something more extravagant, depending on your mood.

Seeing you was an experience— one that he could never get tired of. It's like every time he sets his eyes on you there's a certain color palette that changes constantly, or the feeling of gathering all your favorite songs into one playlist and then hitting the shuffle button. He never knows what to expect. Hence why he had given up on trying to relate you to the silly things around; like seasons, animals, artists or foods. Instead, he started associating you with feelings.

You were creative, unique and incredibly fearless. In a way, you made him feel uneasy, excited, thrilled, confident and many more emotions at the same time. If he had to describe you in one word, he'd say evoking.

Oh, how you pestered his brain.

He hated how much he thought about you, and how little guilt he felt from it.

Right now he was sitting on the drivers seat of his truck, waiting at the airport's parking lot. You asked him if you could walk your dad to his corresponding gate and he agreed. The downside: it had started to rain, probably not too bad for your dad's flight to be delayed but enough for your clothes to get soaked on your way back.

"Shit, I'm sorry," you muttered, shutting the passenger's door behind you. “The seats are gonna get all wet..."

"Here," Joel takes off his jacket to place it over your shoulders.

It feels warm and it smells like him, "Thanks."

He starts the car without saying anything else, keeping his eyes glued to the road. You, on the other hand, could not stop staring at him. Now that no one else was around, there was no shame in admiring his side profile, the way his muscles flexed and his hands grasped the wheel. There was something inherently attractive about men driving, but- Jesus... This image had your mind roaming around dark places.

Suddenly, realization sinks in— you're alone.

Alone with him.

"I, uh..." he taps the wheel with his thumb, still avoiding your gaze. "I wanted to take you out for dinner. The weather kinda ruined it."

The corners of your mouth hitch up in a silly smile. "Too bad. I really didn't want to be alone tonight."

Joel hums, appearing somewhat distraught. In reality, he was fighting for his life. The clothes you chose to wear today were not fitted for the rain; denim mini-skirt, high pair of boots and a white top that complimented your upper body. He tried not to look at the raindrops rolling down your thighs or note how transparent your shirt has become, forcing himself to stare at your hands and the many rings that decorated your fingers, seeing there the one he gifted you.

"How about you come over to my place?" you suggest, trying to catch his attention. "I'll need a shower and a change of clothes but... Maybe we can do something afterwards."

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, still avoiding your gaze, "Like what?"

This time your voice goes lower, a smirk spreads across your face and something in your eyes flickers; a darker, sensual spark.

"Oh, you know..." your hand carefully comes to rest on his knee. His thigh tenses but he doesn't say or do anything to push you away. "Whatever you want."

He swallows hard, feeling the pads of your fingers run circles on his leg, your nails mildly scratching over the jeans in a way that raises goosebumps on his skin and eases his nerves.

"I've got a better idea," he says, keeping his tone calm —barely—. "Why don't you come to my house instead?"

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, "Sure, but- what about my clothes?"

And then he smiles cockily, as if this had been his plan all along, "Wear mine."

Well, there was absolutely no way you were going to turn him down. With a bit more boldness, you slide your hand a few inches up his inner thigh, still rubbing soothing patterns. His jaw clenched, but remained silent and apparently unbothered.

"Joel?" his name rolled off your tongue sweetly, in a way only you knew how to. He uttered a 'hm?' in retort. "Did you miss me?"

"I've seen you nearly every day," he answers playfully.

You laugh, stopping your movements and simply resting your palm there. "So... No?"

"Didn't say that, darlin'." The truck suddenly stops at a red light as he exhales heavily, giving in to you at last. "But I'll let you guess."

A push and pull game, like a cat chasing a mouse. Your smirk widens. "I don't think so. Not as much as I have."

His eyes scan your body from head to toe, the way you sit with your legs slightly parted, back laying flat against the seat and face turned towards him with heated cheeks and low gaze. Unexpectedly, your hand draws back from his lap as you start looking through your purse and a frown forms on his face, baffled by the loss of contact.

"Which is why..." you take the Polaroid camera out and see a whole shift in his eyes, like he's about to burst in laughter. "I brought this."

"No," despite his categorical denial, you still held the object up.

"You have a green light," he curses under his breath and you hold back a chuckle. "Just let me have one, please."

He sighs in defeat, "Why'd you want that?"

The rain had started to settle down but the air was still pretty cold, all that could be heard besides your own voices being the drops that crashed against the car.

"Cause you're handsome," he rolls his eyes sarcastically. "And I like you."

Hell, you were always so straightforward. It made his heart jump inside his chest, wondering if it was gonna burst out.

"You won't like me as much once you meet that Will dude," Joel prattles through gritted teeth, remembering his daughter's suggestion from earlier.

"The guy Sarah mentioned?" your brows furrow subtly. "Why? What's up with him?"

He yanks his head to the side, glancing over at you for a second, "Nothin'. Just thinkin' out loud." In spite of your puzzled expression, he decides to grant your wish. "I'll let ya' take it. But only if I get one in return."

Your lips purse in a smile, "As many as you like, Miller."

He doesn't say anything in response, but his grin doesn’t fade either and you managed to capture it on paper. The image slowly started to become visible and your first thought was how well it captured the whole 'Joel Miller' essence. It was a simple photo of him driving with one hand on the wheel and the other arm thrown lazily over the backseat. That denim shirt hugged his arms exquisitely, the rolled-up sleeves adding to his appeal. He was looking at you when it was taken, so you could see more than half his face— and the way he was grinning, you couldn't help but think he appeared so much younger when he did that. The entire thing felt so much like him: snuggly, blue, genuine and you absolutely loved it.

"There," you show it to him as he started to pull over. "Isn't it nice?"

"Just keep it to yourself, aight?" the man grumbles.

"F'course," with a spark of joy, you slide the photo inside your wallet. "Wouldn't want anyone else peeking at that gorgeous smile of yours. That's a treasure of my own."

"Shut up-" he rumbled, turning his face the other way and opening the door, seemingly flustered. And out of all the amazing things you've accomplished in your life, making this rugged looking man blush was probably your greatest pride.

When he helps you out of the car, holding your hand firmly and cleaving to your waist; you wanted nothing more than to kiss him under the pouring rain, wildly and unhinged, just like last time. But this particular spot possibly had too many curious eyes of which you were unaware of. He obviously doesn't need to guide you through his house, since you already know nearly every corner of it, except for one. His bedroom. And apparently, that's the precise location he's taking you to.

"Please excuse the mess," he says, placing one hand on the door handle, "I haven't had a woman in here for ages, so I'm afraid I probably won't live up to your expectations."

"Joel," you snort, "it's been a decade and a half since you last dated anyone. Trust me, my expectations are pretty low."

He scowls, squinting both eyes. "You didn't have to say it like that..."

It's honestly better than you thought. His bed is nicely done, brown bedsheets striking as warm and welcoming; the walls were painted a pretty, light shade of blue that matched the grayish curtains on the left. The drawers in front of his windows had a bunch of stuff scattered on top of them: a CD player along with a few music discs, some papers, a cap and a pair of reading glasses, batteries, one screwdriver and a framed picture of him and Sarah at the beach. Meanwhile, the nightstand simply had one lamp and an alarm-clock on it. Over the bed's headboard were one poster of a music festival, the image of a landscape and an advert of what you guessed must've been a club, that read 'tacos and beer" on it. The door to the bathroom was on the right.

Messy, yet tidy at the same time. Very Joel-like.

"No way..." you murmur, eyeing the guitar beside his bed. "All this time I thought it was a myth."

"What?" he asks from behind you.

"Dad told me you used to serenade girls back in college and that you wanted to become a singer." A giggle escapes your lips, unable to contain it. "I remember saying he was surely making it up, but..."

"I didn't- I mean..." he clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck and feeling his chest swell with your laughter. "Oh, shut up!"

"Make me." The lingering, mischievous smile on your face made his heart pound and blood rush. "Come on, Miller. Shut me up, I dare you."

His eyes darken, but you don't falter for a second. He doesn't move a muscle, solely watching as you took off his jacket and threw it to the bed.

"You dare me?" his voice goes drops an octave, following your every move closely. "That's rather bold of you, sweetheart."

"Mhm," without breaking eye contact, you start taking off your boots. "And yet you're doing nothing about it."

Joel starts walking towards you slowly, holding your gaze intently. Your hair was damp and your clothes were still wet; it didn't really matter that the air was chilly cause you still felt warm all over. He soon invades your space, cupping your chin in his big hand and lifting your head upwards.

"Well, you're awfully quiet now, aren't ya'?" his hot breath fanned across your cheeks, the gap between your faces being basically invisible.

"I'm just waiting for you to start singing some random song by Alabama or Johnny Cash," you scoff. "Like a good ol' Texan ma-"

He doesn't let you finish the sentence, abruptly crashing his lips into your own. Joel isn't delicate about it and the fervor with which he kisses you makes your body stumble a few steps backwards. Your shoulders hit the wall and he pins you against it as your mouths find a way to mold perfectly, at a much nicer pace than last time. You throw your hands around his neck and let your fingers tangle in the curls around his nape, tasting the fresh mint on his lips. His hands rest on your hips, chests pressed together as the temperature kept rising with each second that went on.

You part your lips in order to grant him deeper access, feeling his tongue slide past your teeth and meeting your own in an ardent, heated way. It was perfect, until he broke apart, looking down at you with an asserted confidence.

"You really know nothing 'bout country music," he says in between shaky breaths, beaming. "S'that what you wanted?"

"Yes," you manage to say.

"Then say 'thank you'," Joel indicates petulantly, stroking your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. "Go on, don't be such a brat."

You blink twice, your brain still buzzing with the sensation of mouth on you, barely capable of processing anything else. "But I want more..."

"You'll take what I give you."

Shit, when he said it like that- "Thank you."

"That's my girl," he straightened his back, opening the door next to you. "Now, get your pretty ass in the shower before you catch a cold, 'kay?" You roll your eyes and hear him chuckle. "There's clean towers under the sink. You can take some clothes from my drawers, or Sarah's if you feel like it. I don't think she'll mind."

"Understood." He can tell you're annoyed, which he finds funny.

"Don't be mad at me, angel." Joel tugs a strand of hair behind your ear. "Promise I'll make it up to you."

You nod distractedly, lost in the cocky spark on his eyes. "I'm not mad. Just hoping you fuck me real good if you're making me wait for it."

Your words almost make him choke on his own saliva. "Sweetheart, you're making it real hard for me to be a gentleman."

It makes your ego boost, in a sense. "I'll be quick. Can you get something for dinner, though? I'm starving."

"Shit, darlin', pick a struggle," he mocks as you enter the bathroom, "are you horny or hungry?"

"Oh, you jerk!"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

6:15 pm.

You take a quick glance at Joel's alarm clock once you come out of the shower. It's been little more than an hour since your dad's plane took off. You hope the rain hadn’t made his flight any difficult, cause the weather turned out to be quite a blessing for you.

The cozy feeling of a nice, warm shower after being soaked under the rain was starting to settle in your bones, making your limbs relax. Then you realize, you smell like Joel. The scent of his soap, his shampoo, even his laundry detergent, is all over you. It's intoxicating in the most fantastic way possible, making your insides burn with a thrill of excitement. You took one on his flannels, —dark green with red stripes— and decided to wear it without anything besides your underwear. It was pretty big anyway, and covered just the necessary areas.

You slid your socks back on when all of the sudden you hear the faint sound of music from the floor beneath. Curious, you walk towards the noise, finding out Joel was in the kitchen, crouched down in front of the opened fridge. The CD player that you saw earlier on his room was now on the table, playing a melody that you recognized almost immediately.

"I like this song," you say, leaning against the wall. "That's Billy Idol, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he recalls, taking out a medium sized plastic box from the fridge. "Tommy made that mix. There's plenty of hits from past decades. I think you'll enjoy it."

The man finally turns around to face you and his face fails to hide his surprise. The way his prying eyes sweep your body in detail, taking his time particularly on your bare thighs, almost made you feel self-conscious if it weren't for that shadow of desire that crossed his eyes and the way his nostrils flared from a contained breath.

"How is he, by the way?" you ask, still on the subject. "Haven't seen him in a while."

"Who?" he clearly forgot what he had just said.

"Your brother," you call to mind, "how is he?"

Joel sets the box down on the table and drifts his gaze back to your face. "Fine, I guess. Last time we spoke he said he'd go to Dallas." He takes two glasses from the pantry and what it looks like a bottle of wine. "I-uh... There isn't any real food in here besides those strawberries and chocolates that this guy brought for Sarah. Should I order something?"

You shake your head and walk over to him, "This will do. Won't she get mad if we eat them, though?"

"Don't think so," he replies, pouring the red liquid into the glasses. "I'll blame you if she does."

"Oh, okay-" you cock an eyebrow at him and hold back a giggle. "Thought you didn't like wine."

"It's a fancy drink," he explains, "s'only for special occasions."

"Oh?" you take a sip from it, eyes boring into his. "And what's tonight's?"

Joel smiles conceitedly, jutting his chin out. "I've got you all to myself."

You snort, feeling the heat soar across your cheeks. He takes the snack box and with a sly gesture asks you to follow him into the living room, the melodic sound of the eighties tune turning to background noise as you do. The only lights on are the ones in the kitchen and the lamps beside the couch, shining a perfect light on his features.

"Come here," he calls, the leather squealing under his weight when he sat down. You set the glass down on the coffee table in front of the tv, going to sit next to him. "No, sweetheart," he grabs your waist and pulls you closer to him. "I meant here."

His legs part slightly, making room for you to sit on his lap. Your smile broadened toward a soft chuckle, settling yourself on his thigh. Joel immediately gets his hands on you, one on your lower back and the other merely resting on your upper leg.

"So, who's this mystery man that's been giving gifts to your darling daughter?" he scoffs in response, reaching for a chocolate from the box.

"Honestly? No fuckin' clue." You hum in surprise, drinking from your wine. "She never involves with them, thank god, and once they meet me they never come by again."

"I see,” you muse, “you're the overprotective type," you bite on a strawberry next.

"I wouldn't say it like that..." he sees the sarcastic glimpse on your expression and holds back laughter. "It's a dad reflex, I can't control it."

"Right, sounds convincing."

You stretch your arm behind the couch, setting your elbow and laying the side of your face on your palm. His face is very close to yours but all you do is simply stare at each other; Joel's big brown eyes glimmer with infatuation. “Can I ask you a question, sweetheart?" he asks lowly. "Somethin' more serious."

You wince in confusion, but still nod, "Sure."

He inhales sharply, taking a couple of seconds to actually say what he meant to. “Why are you here?" your frown deepens at his words. "I mean- Texas. I know you said you wanted to make up for the lost time with your old man, but... I feel like there's something else you're not saying."

It takes a minute for you to really sink in on his question. You nearly gulp down the alcohol before setting the glass down, avoiding his ardent gaze.

"Honestly?" you sigh, "There's so much to unpack that I don't even know where to start."

"Try." Although he didn't sound harsh, the effort he was asking you to put in wasn't something of your liking.

"Well, first of all," you meditate, clearing your throat, "the city didn't feel like home since my mom passed. It made me realize how much I missed here." He nods comprehensively, caressing the exposed skin of your thigh in a reassuring manner. "And then there's this- fear. Yeah, I guess it is fear... I've managed to accomplish so much in such short time that it actually fucking scares me to go any further and see that-" you stop, sighing and shaking your head. "That I've reached my limit."

For a moment, there's just silence floating between you, all that could be heard were the rain and a song by tears for fears.

"Darlin', look at me," he asks softly but you can't bring yourself to do it, embarrassed by your confession. "Please, let me see those pretty eyes of yours."

And it's practically impossible for you to deny him anything. Specially when he asks so nicely, when his hand grabs the side of your face so gently— you give in, just like that.

"You're afraid to succeed because you don't know what to do with yourself afterwards. Is that it?" You nod faintly. "Can I speak frankly?"

"I have a feeling you will anyway-"

"Yeah. A bit of tough love, but you need’a hear it." Joel strokes your cheek sweetly and you get shivers from the affection in the action. "Sweetheart, I know what you're going through. Shit feels like it's either moving too fast or not moving at all. And I know how scary that is. Trust me, there's still plenty of time for you."

You square your eyes to his, "Sure, bet you were frightened when you were twenty four."

"Terrified," he spoke truthfully. "Everyone I knew was getting married, moving out or working their asses off."

"And you?" he grunts, taking a strawberry from the box. "What were you doing?" Joel eats the fruit patiently, simply staring at you silently. "Come ooon, don't play hard to get."

"Gotta promise you won't laugh."

It's a tricky business for someone who makes fun of everything, and yet you simply reply: "I swear."

"Fine," he rasps out in fake annoyance. "I used to make my own guitars and- sell 'em sometimes. I'd also teach guitar lessons and horseback riding."

Your eyes widen in surprise and something flutters in your stomach. "Shit, that's actually pretty cool!"

He groans, rolling his eyes at the same time, "I told you not to make fun of me."

"No, no- I mean it." You shuffle on his lap, resting a hand on his chest. "And you sound passionate about it... Why'd you stop?"

The man shrugs his shoulders, tightening his grip on your waist. "It went well for a couple years but I eventually had to get something more solid. More so after Sarah was born." He takes a deep breath in, the smell of his own shampoo on your hair hitting his nostrils and catching him off-guard.

"You should teach me," you suggest with a smug grin. "I always wanted to learn."

"What, guitar or horseback riding?" he wonders, suddenly nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck.

"Guitar. I'm pretty good at riding, if you must know." You feel him chuckle against your body, his facial hair scratching your sensitive skin.

"We'll see 'bout that," his voice comes out husky as he starts kissing along your jawline.

Joel's common sense jumped out the window long ago, but the string of self control that kept him sane all this time couldn't bear the weight of you wriggling on top of him, semi-naked and with his scent all over you. Something primal took over him, a glimpse of possessiveness that he didn't believe himself capable of feeling towards you specifically. He wanted you to wear that flannel around town so people would look at you and know who it belonged to; whose bed you've been visiting. He wanted you to smell of his cologne so other men would know that you weren't free for them.

Your fingers run through his soft curls, messing his hair while he grabs the back of your thighs and manhandles you onto straddling his lap. He nips and licks over all your vulnerable areas, making your breathing start to labour. How could he possibly know this well the easiest ways to have you so desperate this quick? Leaning into his touch, yearning for him even with the smallest action? He wasn't aware of the answer himself, he just knew.

Joel instinctively throws his head back when you tug at his hair and seize the opportunity to duck down and lay a sweet kiss on his forehead. His hands coast up your thighs, splaying his fingers on your ass to squeeze the flesh. You hold back a giggle, kissing the curve of his nose before catching his soft, soft lips on yours.

He slides an arm around your waist, pressing his palm between your shoulder blades to keep you as close as possible. You feel your nipples harden when his tongue ran along your bottom lip— tauntingly slow, until you allowed him full access to your mouth, letting him taste the sweet mixture of wine and strawberries on your tongue. But his vehemence didn't make you any less eager, kissing him back with just as much passion and vigor, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip and mildly pulling at it with minor strength.

The action ignites a fire within him, seeing you on top, feeling your fingers roam around his cheekbones and along his jawline like you knew just how much fucking power you had over him... It was a new sensation, a new kind of desire he didn't recognize at first.

Joel's lips were swollen and his own excitement was starting to feel evident underneath you, which created a blunt ache between your legs. He usually appeared so big and mean, with those broad shoulders and permanent scowl on his face. Now, though... He seemed like he'd let you do just about anything with him, to him— it didn't really matter as long as you kept staring at him like that; through heavy lids, eyes sparkling with a profound, desperate need that spoke without words, saying 'only you get to see this side of me'.

You start grinding your hips against his, rubbing your clothed core above his growing boner in small, calculated circles as you shore yourself up with a hand to his chest. He merely admired you from his position, letting you have your way with him; all the while his gaze reflected patience, like he could take over the situation any second but enjoyed watching you lead.

"Joel," you call his name, leaning forward to kiss his chin, moving your lips all the way down his throat and feeling the nice scratch of his beard. Your hands grab the collar of his shirt as you come up to whisper in his ear: "Stay still."

Panting, he narrows his eyes in confusion, "What?" Though you don't give him enough time to figure out your words, getting back on your feet and parting his legs further with a light thump of your knee.

He observes your every move quietly, amused by your confidence and determination when you drop to your knees in front of him. Joel's cocky expression doesn't sway, not even when you drag your nails across his inner thigh, inching closer towards his very visible hard on. However, his body betrays him, selling a whole different story. His muscles tense, his jaw clenches and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"Stop being such a fucking tease," he hissed, refusing to place his hands on you.

"Or what?" you drawl, coming to rest your palm on his crotch. A simple, feathery touch that made his pulse accelerate.

"You'll regret it," he warns grimly.

"S'that so?" you start to unbuckle his belt, way too slow for his liking, tugging down the zipper of his jeans. "I think I can handle it."

He smirked, his hand slithers to the back of your scalp and forces you to lock eyes with him. "Don't test your luck, sweetheart."

You pout mockingly, doing exactly the opposite of what he was saying while dragging down the fabric just enough to free his cock. Your new found courage falters for a second, finally seeing him in all his size and girth. He was, by all means, a big one, the amount of precome oozing on the tip telling you just how much he loved being teased, despite whatever words came out of his mouth. The mere sight of it sent a new heated wave of slick between your thighs.

Joel mimicked your expression scornfully, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone, "Too big for ya'?"

"None of that," you wrap your hand around the base, not really applying any pressure; though the sole warmth of your touch was enough to give him goosebumps, "we'll make it fit."

"That's my girl."

With a chuckle, you lower your head to kiss the inside of his thigh, the pads of your fingers softly grazing the veins on his length. His whole body shudders, leaking onto your hand and letting out a subtle gasp as you spread kisses all along his shaft. Your eyes peer into his soul when you gently place your lips to the slit, tasting the salty precome as he calls your name in what resembles a desperate plea. In a swift move, you finally take the tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and deciding to put an end to his suffering. He mutters a gruff 'fuck' when you attempt to take him farther, pumping what you couldn't yet fit and snaking your free hand under the hem of his denim shirt to caress the soft skin of his belly.

"Shit, darlin'-" you feel the heaviness of his palm simply resting on the back of your head, not pushing or forcing you in any way, but allowing you to adapt to his size. "The only way to get ya' to stop talking is with a mouth full of cock, ain't it?"

You hum in response and the sensation is completely enrapturing for Joel, his callused fingers tangle in your hair to ground him as he releases a shaky breath. It's a huge challenge to focus on anything else but him; your mind whirring with a familiar dizziness while you bob your head up and down his shaft, intoxicated by the taste of him, the smell of him and every sound that escapes his lips, making your clit throb with need and your arousal pool in your panties, uncomfortably sticking to your skin.

For Joel, it's overwhelming.

He's never really been the noisy type during sex but heck— you were doing it for him. He's a panting mess above you, his hips buck ever so slightly in tandem with your mouth, trying not to lose it entirely. Your spit drools down his dick and the way your dark, dilated pupils sparkle with lust as you hollow your cheeks around him pulls a groan deep from his throat.

"That's it, you can take it," he coaxes when your nose nudges his pubic bone, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. "Good fuckin' girl, just like that..."

Enticed with the praise, you keep repeating the motion, sliding one hand to hold his hipbone for support and feeling his burning skin under your touch whilst the other plays with his balls to aid his pleasure. The obscene slick sounds mix in the air with his hoarse cursing, the rain and the faint music of kings of leon, sex on fire.

He looks so good from this angle, chest rising and falling with heavy, irregular breaths, head thrown back and both hands on you, keeping you angled for his cock. Drops of precum roll on your tongue as you keep changing the pace at which your head moves, tears welling in your eyes and jaw going slack. Shit, you're aching for him so bad that the only thing you can think of to relieve the need is squeeze your thighs together in order to create some friction. And it works, the action eliciting a moan from you that makes him fucking whimper your name.

"Bet your cunt's drippin' just from sucking my dick," he muffles a laugh that turns halfway into a sigh when you pay special attention to the ruddy, sensitive tip. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum-"

You can tell he is by the way his cock twitches in your mouth; his spine straightens at the heat gathering between his legs and he tries to pull you off against your will, uttering a warning that you chose to ignore. Joel's lips part in a throaty groan when he reaches his high, feeling the outline of your fingers digging harshly on his hip, your hand rubbing his length and your tongue lapping at his slit, taking in every single drop of his release until he's spent, right before pressing a soft kiss to it that makes him shiver. And hell— contrary to others, he tasted good; warm and thick, coating your senses.

His heart beats aggressively against his ribs and he loosens his grip on your hair, allowing you to get back on your feet while resting your hands on his waist. Although his eyes are barely open, he can quite literally feel your smile when you chastely kiss his lips. He chuckles breathlessly as you sit beside him, tugging himself back in his pants.

"We're not done yet," he says, grabbing the back of your knee and promptly engulfing your leg around his waist, maneuvering your body so that your back rests against the couch and he's crouched down, caged in the middle of your thighs. "I said I'd make it up to you and I will."

"Well, you've certainly got some stamina in you, old man," you poke fun at him, raising a hand to move those rebellious curls away from his eyes.

Joel smiles, caressing your cheek affectionately. "Always got somethin' to say, don't ya'?"

"Oh, Mr. Miller," you coo, enveloping your arms around his neck, "we both know just how much you love to hear me talk."

"Mhm," he leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth, "yes, I reckon you're right."

His big hand covers nearly half of your face as he holds you still, crashing your lips together. He kisses you deeply, vigorously, in a way that makes you wonder if you could possibly drown in a person's essence. His other palm slides between your bodies to start undoing the buttons of the flannel —his flannel— you were wearing. You can't help but whine when he draws back, watching you from above.

"Joel-" blood rushes through your ears and can feel your cheeks warm up as he takes in the sight of you, his fingers coasting down your throat and to the valley of your breasts, licking his lips when he sees your hardened nipples.

"You're fuckin' beautiful," he speaks freely, without holding back emotion, and it makes your heart skip a beat. "Such a sweet, sweet girl I can't get enough of."

"Then take a picture," you purr, "it'll last longer."

He stares at you through a measuring squint, a lighthearted smile forming on his face. "Since you insist." It takes a moment for you to realize what he means, until you finally recall that there's actually a camera inside your purse; one that he reaches for. "If I remember correctly... You said I could take as many as I like."

You lightly squeeze his waist with your thighs, feeling your whole body burn with anticipation. "I did say that..."

"Let's just pray your dad won't find these hanging around," he ponders, turning your face slightly to the side. "He'll have my head."

"And that would be terrible..."

He takes the Polaroid with one hand, the other coming to grope your breast as he backs off for a better angle, ultimately deciding to wrap his fingers loosely around your neck instead, purely holding you there. You glance at the lens, making your best "fuck me" eyes added to a cheeky smile, hearing him curse under his breath prior to snapping the picture.

"You've got the prettiest fucking tits I've even seen, sweetheart," he snarls, laying a palm flat over your lower abdomen while he waited for the photo.

"Has anyone ever told you you've got such a marvelous way with words?" he suppressed a laugh, safeguarding the picture on the back pocket of his jeans.

"Just a few women." Before you can even begin to act annoyed, he sets the camera aside and leans down to kiss your collarbones, the pad of his thumb kneading circles around your sensitive nipple. "Look at you, honey," he murmurs, "you're so easy to please... Or is it just because of me?"

You're panting, your back arching in response to his constant ministrations, every inch of your skin blushing under his attention. "I think it's-" you're cut off by the sudden need to swallow when he sucks a mark on the vulnerable skin between your breasts, "you."

His body vibrates with a laugh and you feel his hand palm your clothed sex, dragging his tongue over your delicate nipple, gently nibbling at it. You screw your eyes shut and let a single, fluttery moan slide past your lips when his thumb nudges your clit.

"So wet just from giving head?" Joel shakes his head in fake disapproval. "Who knew you were such a horny little thing?"

You are holding onto his bicep for dear life, fearing you might collapse into oblivion if you part from his body. His index glides across your slit over the drenched cotton fabric, making you squirm beneath him.

"You- you tasted good," you babble, mind all over the place. 

"Yeah?" his chest swells with pride, "you should taste yourself, angel," his mouth travels across your abdomen, "sweetest thing I've ever had."

It's pointless trying to conjure a response, you're simply too far gone by now. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and buries his head between your thighs, flattening his tongue against the bundle of nerves. You whimper, running your fingers through his locks and bucking your hips to meet his face.

"Please," you blurt out, "Joel, please..."

"What, sweetheart?" he asks, moving the underwear aside to directly touch your clit, fondling it as he watched your slick coat his fingers. "What do you want?" But you can't conceive an answer, all that could come out of your mouth were those pathetic, desperate moans. "Use your words."

With his free hand he plays with your nipple, grabbing your breast with his entire hand. "I want you."

He tauntingly moves his fingers around your seam, refusing to go any further. "Say it again."

"I want you, Joel."

Cocky bastard.

He licks his fingers clean and starts getting off the couch, leaving you with a confused, dumbfounded expression that nearly makes him crack up.

"You didn't really believe I'd be fucking you on the couch, did ya'?" he teases, but all you can muster up is a barely audible 'oh'. "Come on, let's take this to my room. And don't forget to bring that camera of yours."

Mind still dazing, you obey his instructions, following him silently upstairs as he undoes the buttons of his shirt. For a second, he glances back at you, gifting a soft, reassuring grin before extending his arm to grab your fingers, holding your hand in a pure, intimate touch.

And just for that moment, you forget that he's actually your dad's oldest friend, that he's Sarah's father or any other thought of the sort. He's just Joel. Joel Miller, the only man that has managed to make you feel butterflies in the pit of your stomach, or that made you blush with merely a few compliments.

"Ask me to kiss you," he urges, taking the camera from your hands and carefully placing it on his bedside table, his eyesight fixed on you.

"Kiss me," you don't ask, you downright beg.

He does, though it's not like the previous times. He's tender, almost languid about it. His hands are on your bare hips while yours cup his cheeks; Joel's fingers reach to remove the flannel from your shoulders and moves his lips to the newly exposed skin, murmuring constant admirations. You feel your lungs clench and a tingly sensation on your lower belly.

"I'll take care of you, darlin'." You let the shirt slide down your arms and fall to the floor. "Gonna show you what you've been missin' out on by fooling around with those stupid boys." His words go straight to your core as he takes a step back to sit on the edge of his bed. "Take them off," he gestures to the last piece of clothing on your body.

You compel to his wish, stripping under his prying eyes while he lazily gets rid of his boots. His lips twitch in a smile when he sees the glistening mess he's made of you, promptly dragging you on top of him. Your hands lay flat on his exposed chest shortly before he switches positions, readjusting you on the middle of the bed.

"Joel, please just-" you whine when he keeps playing with your entrance, stretching you with his fingers. Your skin scorches with desire, knees weak from the growing heat on your lower body.

"Stop nagging, sweetheart," he grits through his own lust, his gaze impossibly dark. "I wouldn't want to hurt you."

"Joel, I'm too worked up, I-" you gasp when he curls his fingers inside you, hitting that particular spot that made your toes curl. "Fuck..."

"Come on, baby." He ducks down to kiss the skin behind your ear and his beard tickles nicely. "It's just the two of us now, feel free to be as loud as you need to."

His pants are undone and hanging loosely on his hips, the image being so blatantly erotic that only managed to get you more aroused as you fumble to get rid of his shirt. He chuckles at your eagerness, shrugging it out of the way and haphazardly kicking off his jeans and underwear altogether, discarding them on the floor with the rest of the clothes.

You take a second to revel on his naked figure, his tanned skin, broad shoulders and sturdy chest, the marked collarbones and every noticeable mole. His hair is messy from your fingers, a thin layer of sweat sticks some curls to his temples as his wild, hungry eyes bask in the view of your sopping pussy when he parts your shaky legs further. But the moment of appreciation is brief, both of you being edged and spurred on.

He maneuvers a hand to your lower back and aligns your hips with his, watching the way your hole drips for him, wetting his bedsheets. You're a panting mess beneath him, lightly scratching his shoulder-blades and biting on your bottom lip, looking up at him doe-eyed and all splayed out for him to take. Joel wants to tell you just how badly he's longed for this— how he's been yearning to have you so achingly bad. But right now, feelings overrun his thoughts, especially after hearing his name spilling from your lips, begging for him to take you.

"Relax, darlin'." Joel teases your slit with the head of his cock, rubbing it along your sex and coating it with your slick. Your head tilts backwards, dipping on his pillows, small whines keep spilling from your mouth. "I won't go easy on you."

"Great, cause I don't want you to-" your slurred words get muffled by the sudden feeling of intrusion as he finally buries himself in your cunt, letting out a filthy, guttural groan.

You close your eyes, feeling lightheaded and staggered from the way he was filling you up so nicely, the stretch being a tad painful at first, but the kind of pain that could only ever feel good. Then your whole body quivers from head to toe.

"That's it, you can take it," he mutters, peppering kisses to your chin and collarbones as he bottoms out. "Fuck, you feel divine-" The tight, warm grip you welcome him with resembles nothing he's ever had before. This is new, this is you.

You bear down on his cock, enveloping your legs around his waist and lifting your hips to encourage him. He holds you down with a firm grip around your neck, starting to set a pace with his hips as he draws out and then back in slowly, roughly, making your back arch. Your erect nipples brush against his strong chest and create a delightful friction that has you moaning louder than you could've expected. You're amazed by the way he thrusts into you, somehow mindful to hit every right spot inside you —needless to say that it was something that others could hardly manage before—, his pubic hair tickles the skin below your belly button, sending shivers down your spine that prompt you to drag your nails down his back.

"Look," he indicates, despite your inability to even think straight. "Look," he repeats harshly, using the hand that was on your hips to tilt your head downwards, forcing you to stare at where your bodies connected. It was obscene, the wet noises of your pussy and skin clapping against skin sounding purely pornographic. "Look at the mess you're making."

"Joel, I-" you can't form sentences properly, all your attention being focused on how good he's making you feel. "I'm so close, for god's sake..."

"Lemme help with that," he speaks breathlessly, pining your leg over the crook of his elbow to make his thrusts deeper, more precise. You cry out in bliss, feeling the heat expanding from your stomach to your legs. "Yeah, you're close, I can fuckin' feel it- fuck..."

Your walls flutter around him, squeezing his dick just right. He knows he's in too deep when you call out his name like it's the only word you can remember, when he wallows in the glorious view of your pretty face contorted in pleasure. He looses the grip on your neck and strokes your lower lip with his thumb, prodding you to keep eye contact as your orgasm washes over you. It's electrifying, a feverish kind of sensation that gratifies every nerve on your body.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder, overcame by the intense feeling of euphoria that your body was providing. You realize in that moment that the reason why Joel could fill that void so easily was because he kept prioritizing you above him. Your pleasure was his, too.

"Jesus Christ, Joel-" you mewl when he abruptly pulls out, “… Worth the wait.”

He laughs shakily, kissing your lips shortly. "Turn around, sweetheart. I want to fuck you from behind."

With a buzzing dizziness, you follow his instruction. God, right now you'd do just about anything if he asked you to. You notice movement from his part and patiently wait with your butt up in the air for him to stuff you again; instead, you hear the familiar clicking sound of the Polaroid camera.

"You fucker," you chuckle, "did you just take a picture of my ass?"

"Couldn't help myself," he groans, caressing the soft flesh before lightly slapping it. "You look too damn gorgeous." The hit on your skin burns nicely and you can't hold back the gasp that escapes your lips.

"Shit- do that again..."

You can practically hear his smile when he talks, "You into that?" he repeats the action with a little more force and the pain sends a shock of pure pleasure between your legs, your own fluids dripping down your thighs. "F'course you are, I should've guessed with that attitude of yours."

He plays with your swollen pussy, enjoying your tiny moans and the way your legs tremble as you fist the sheets underneath you, burying your face on his pillow when he spanks you again— this time so hard that it probably left a mark. But before the sting washes away he takes the opportunity to enter you in one swift move, holding your hips steady and trailing his fingers along your spine.

"That's my sweet girl," he praises a midst, starting to grind his cock inside you. "Taking me like you were made for it."

This is way more intense, the angle allowing him to hit deeper, harsher. His gruff moans become more frequent as he speeds up his pace, letting you know just how good you were making him feel. The sensation was purely fantastic, melting every thought away and just leaving Joel Miller to fill you in every sense of the word. His hands are never still, roaming your responsive areas, caressing the most sensitive and always taking care of your aching clit.

You might cry from the overwhelming ecstasy— the way his tip constantly hits the depths of your cunt with each relentless thrust has you seeing stars. Joel gets a thrill from the way you can't seem to get enough of him either, throwing your hips back to meet his unwavering pace, clawing at the pillows and moaning helplessly, pushing him close to his climax.

"Joel, it's too much..." you mumble. "Please, I can't-"

He hunches over you, kissing your nape to ease the overpowering sensations, "Yes, you can. You're a big girl, you can take it." And then your vision goes blurry, all you're able to hear being his disjointed, lewd moans; all you can feel is his hard, hot body flushed to yours, his cock twitching inside you and the wetness of your own body. "That's it, give me another one, baby- fuuuck..."

The buildup is so strong you nearly collapse, feeling yourself tremble as he chases his orgasm, fucking you through yours. His fingers reach your bundle of nerves and apply barely any pressure, which has you coming undone in seconds, absolutely soaking his dick and the sheets beneath you, chanting his name like a prayer. A string of curses falls from his lips as he pulls out and quickly manhandles your fucked out self to lay on your back. He exhales sharply through his nose, spilling his load all over your stomach without even touching himself.

You both stay there for a while, catching your breath and looking intently at each other’s eyes before he rolls over, going limp beside you. You stare blankly at de ceiling, suddenly feeling aggressively aware of your sticky skin covered in sweat and cum, the numbness on your lower body that will surely feel sore in the morning and all the marks he's left dispersed on you. You feel satisfied, fulfilled even. Joy bubbles up your chest and comes out in form of a giggle, one you're unable to hold back.

"What?" he asks, turning his face towards you with a half-smile.

"I don't know, I just..." you shake your head, still laughing. "I don't know."

He chortles in disbelief, holding out a hand to take some tissues from the bedside drawer and going to swipe his mess off your tummy and inner thighs. "Shit, I think I might’ve just fucked the sense out of ya'."

Joel sets himself between your parted legs, laying the weight of his upper body on top of you, resting his chin on your chest, eyes boring into yours. He looks so young like this, despite the greying hair and the small wrinkles, his beautiful brown orbs sparkle ever so brightly under your attentive gaze.

"What will your dad say when he returns and finds out his only daughter has completely lost her mind?" he jokes, cradling you in his big arms.

"Come on," you roll your eyes playfully, "we both know that if I had been in my right mind since the beginning, I probably wouldn't be in your bed right now." He doesn't reply, but his smile doesn't fade either. Joel nuzzles his face on the crook of your neck, kissing your pulse zone briefly before closing his eyes. You run your fingers through his hair, softly massaging his scalp in utter silence.

The wind was howling outside, rustling the tree branches, but at least it wasn't raining anymore. You can feel Joel's heart beating against your ribs, his deep breaths fanning across your shoulder and his unique scent all around you, on you. In spite of the cold air, your naked bodies are warm enough to stay comfortably in this position, at least for a while— however, there's something deep inside you that doesn't want this moment to end.

"Hey," you call him lowly and he hums in response, "can we order pizza?"

He nods faintly, "Anything you want, honey."

Anything.

If only.

"I'll call," you say. "Any specific requests?"

"As long as there isn't any pineapple on it, we're fine." You glance down at him, almost appalled.

"You don't like pineapple on pizza?"

"No. That's disgusting, come on."

"Oh, grow up!" he opens his mouth to retort, but when he sees your dismayed expression he can merely bark a laugh that you get infected with.

"Order whatever you want," he whispers in your ear. "But you'll have to promise something."

"What's that?" you raise an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Say you'll stay," he murmurs, slightly hesitant. "Stay here and spend the night with me."

The proposal takes you by surprise, so much that you actually stopped breathing. You ponder wether if you could or you should; because, at the end, what would a night really mean? What could possibly change?

Nothing, right?

Besides, no one had to know.

(...)

A few moments later you're downstairs looking for your phone, wearing nothing other than his green flannel. Joel decided to take a shower while you ordered the food and you chose to walk around the house, paying attention to the little details you hadn't quite noticed before.

Now that you see it, there are plenty of horse images here and there. Very Texan of Joel, you can't deny. Lots of pictures of Sarah growing up, some of him and Tommy and a good deal with your dad. None of his ex-wife. In fact, there's no proof that she even existed. You decide not too think too hard about it, since it was none of your business after all.

You pour yourself a glass of water and wander your eyes across the amount of pills he usually takes. Anxiety pills, painkillers, vitamins. What could possibly be troubling this middle-aged man so bad? Again, you decide to turn a blind eye and simply pick up the phone, expecting a message from your dad to tell you he arrived in Boston well and safe. Instead, you find that your direct messages in social media have new requests. Curious, you open them to see what the fuzz was about.

Hi!

This is Will

I don't know if Sarah mentioned me...

I'm her English teacher, haha

I hope you don't find this creepy, your profile popped up in my 'people you may know' section and since Sarah said she wanted to introduce us, I thought I might just say hi 😉

Honestly, with everything that went down you had nearly forgotten about Sarah's 'you should hang out with people your age' speech. And now that you were stalking his profile, he appeared to be maybe a couple years older than you— handsome in a boyish, intelectual way, if that made sense. Apparently, he studied in New York too, and lived in Queens.

Hi!

Yeah, I reckon she did

What's up, Queens? :)

You don't really expect a reply, not giving much thought to anything in the moment. Though, an involuntary smile twitches your lips when there's a quick message that reads "Not much, Brooklyn" and the writing bubble underneath.

After all, having a friend in Austin wouldn't hurt.

[myfearless-love]

Down the Primrose Path (Chapter 10/? - "requiem for restraint")

Chapters: 10/? — "requiem for restraint"

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Relationship: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan

Characters: Emma Swan, Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Geppetto | Marco (Once Upon a Time), Alice Jones | Tilly, Elsa (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags: Captain Swan - Freeform, Captain Swan Regency, There Was Only One Bed. Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Duke Killian Jones, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Scarred Killian Jones, Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Emma Swan

Summary:

Desperate times demand bold actions, and Emma Swan is about to pull off the ultimate gamble: faking an engagement to the elusive Duke of Hookshire to rescue her family from financial ruin. Her plan seems foolproof—until Killian Jones, London's most reclusive and mysterious nobleman, learns of his sudden engagement.

Once a celebrated figure of society, a tragedy drove Killian into self-imposed exile. Now, intrigued by the daring woman claiming to be his fiancée, he steps back into the spotlight, determined to turn the tables.

In a game where hearts are on the line, can a fabricated love affair turn real, or will the truth shatter more than just their reputations?

If you like, buy me a coffee :)

READ HERE: AO3

Preview:

As always, a huge thanks to my wonderful beta, @xarandomdreamx, for correcting my mistakes and encouraging me with her thoughtful comments ❤️

Tagging some folks who might be interested:

@anmylica @elfiola @zaharadessert @gingerchangeling @undercaffinatednightmare

@jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @mie779

@winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @rylieblu @ultraluckycatnd

@eddisfargo @booksteaandtoomuchtv @laianely @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke

@beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainswan-kellie @veryverynotgoodwrites @lfh1226-linda

@snowbellewells @caught-in-the-filter @shady-swan-jones @bluewildcatfanatic @fairytalepetzkle

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list)

[burningvelvet]

On November 8th 1820, Claire Clairmont wrote some satirical stories in her journal about Lord Byron and Percy Shelley—they were written as ideas for caricatures (the Regency era term for what we would now call editorial cartoons or comic strips):

Wednesday, November 8th.

Caricature for Albé. He, sitting writing poetry, the words “Oh! faithless Woman” round the room, hearts are strewed, inscribed, “We died for love of you.” Another—he catching a lady by her waist, his face turned towards her, his other hand extended holding a club stick in the act of giving a blow to a man who is escaping. From his mouth,

“The maid I love, the man I hate

I'll kiss her lips and break his Pate.”

Three more to be called Lord Byron's Morning, Noon and Night. The first: he looking at the sky, a sun brightly shining—saying: "Come, I feel quite bold and cheerful—there is no God.”

The second towards evening, a grey tint spread over the face of Nature, the sun behind a cloud—a shower of rain falling—a dinner table in the distance covered with a profusion of dishes, he (with a Wallup) says—“What a change I feel in me after dinner; where we see design we suppose a designer; I'll be a Deist—I am a Deist."

The third—evening—candles just lighted, all dark without the windows (a cup of green tea on the table): and trees agitated much by wind beating against the panes, also thunder and lightning. He says

"God bless me, suppose there should be a God—it is as well to stand in his good graces. I'll say my prayers to-night, and write to Murray to put in a touch concerning the blowing of the last Trump."

Pistols are on the table, also daggers—bullets—Turkish scymitars . . .

Another to be called “Lord Byron's receipt for writing pathetic History.” He sitting drinking spirits, playing with his white mustachios. His mistress, the Fornaria, opposite him drinking coffee. Fumes coming from her mouth, over which is written "garlich;" these, curling, direct themselves towards his English footman who is just then entering the room and he is knocked backward. Lord B. is writing, he says.

"Imprimis, to be a great pathetic poet. First prepare a small colony, then dispatch the Mother, by worrying and cruelty, to her grave; afterwards to neglect and ill-treat the children—to have as many and as dirty mistresses as can be found; from their embraces to catch horrible diseases, thus a tolerable quantity of discontent and remorse being prepared, give it vent on paper, and to remember particularly to rail against learned women. This is my infallible receipt by which I have made so much money."

The last his death. He dead extended on his bed, covered all but his breast, which many wigged doctors are cutting open to find out (as one may be saying) what was the extraordinary disease of which this great man died—His heart laid bare, they find an immense capital “I” grown on its surface—and which has begun to pierce the breast—They are all astonishment. One says, “a new disease.” Another. “I never had a case of this kind before.” A third what medicines would have been proper, the fourth holding up his finger (A desert island.)

Caricature for poor dear S. He looking very sweet and smiling. A little Jesus Christ playing about the room. He says:

“Then grasping a small knife and looking mild

I will quietly murder that little child.”

Another. Himself and God Almighty. He says:

"If you please God Almighty, I had rather be damned with Plato and Lord Bacon than go to Heaven with Paley and Malthus." God Almighty: “It shall be as you please, pray don't stand upon ceremony."

Shelley's three aversions: God Almighty, Lord Chancellor, and didactic Poetry . . .

Sources: The Journals of Claire Clairmont edited by Marion Kingston Stocking, Harvard, 1968, Archive.org. “The Lord Byron / John Polidori relationship and the foundation of the early nineteenth-century literary vampire” by Matthew Beresford, University of Hertfordshire June 2019. Byron: A Biography by Marchand, Vol. II, 1957.

[artsybridgerton]

Hello there! I read that you wanted to write a Benedict Bridgerton x reader so I want to request that for you :)

you can write anything but I wanted that they meet for pure case and that reader is a really cheerful, happy and clumsy person lol

idk if regency/modern, feel comfortable to choose!

thank you in anticipation and have a good day/night! 💟

Hi @shoyooss! Thank you for the request! So I tried my best but i think it came out a little cringy.

Could be the fact that i couldn't think of how a cheerful/happy person is, probably cause i've never been that myself but hey, i gave it a shot :D

I hope you like it even a little and i apologize for everything you will read on my blog :D

Thanks for trusting me tho <3

with love, Essy<3

p.s. the pigeon part is actually based on true events in yours truly's life :)

_______________________________________________

warnings: my mediocre writing lol

modern au

Pieces of paper

You’ve been looking for a job with no luck but recently you started working in this bar as a waitress, with no experience at all. You may or may not have lied on your resumé with having years of experience.

It was a busy morning and you were told to stay outside of the bar to welcome in the customers other than that you were also in charge of keeping the pigeons away from the people eating and the plates that were yet to be taken inside to be washed.

As you were fighting off the pigeons your coworker came to you.  “Hey, when you’re done with that, help this man with his order ok?”

“No problem!” You smiled at her as you quickly ran inside leaving the customers fend for themselves. “At Least they didn’t poop on me!” you thought to yourself.

Taking a tray you approached the counter to bring the order to the customer: a cappuccino, a glass of orange juice and avocado on toast. As you turned around to accidentally bump into a tall man spilling the customer’s coffee on him.

He yelped slightly. “Wow, that coffee was hot!”

“I am so sorry sir, I didn’t see you!” You reach for your rag wanting to try and clean the stain on his shirt but by doing so you accidentally let go of the tray you were holding with both hands making everything fall on his feet. 

“Great heavens!” you immediately crouch to clean up. “Sir I will personally hand wash your clothes if you let me, I'm deeply sorry!”

“It’s fine miss” He smiled and also crouched to help you clean. 

“Well you could always say it’s a fashion statement!” You say trying to make the situation less awkward. At that he chuckled a little. “Really sir, let me at least offer you some coffee, i mean it! The whole breakfast perhaps? Lunch? Is dinner more of your liking?”

“Well that escalated quickly, I might just assume you want to ask me out” He joked and slightly moved closer to you while you were looking down putting the food back on the tray.

“Wou-would you want me to?” Panic-flirting was an ability you developed recently but now you directly head-butted him when you looked back up to him so he lost his balance.

“Sir! I didn’t mean to do that! Would you like an ambulance?” You panicked.

You help him back up. Only now you got a good look at his face and thought he was actually very handsome.

He let out a laugh in confusion. “Miss, really everything is fine, don’t worry” He cleaned himself off. 

“I’m y/n, this is my number, i will gladly pay whatever damage i caused to your person sir” you say as you write down your contact on a piece of paper. 

“Benedict” He offered you his hand to shake. 

You shaked his hand, keeping eye contact, almost mesmerized by his eyes.

“Miss, I'm still waiting for my order!” The other customer yelled.

“Oh shit right!” You were woken up from the trance and went back to the counter to retake the order.

In the meantime, Benedict ordered a cup of tea and sat down to enjoy it.

Some time has passed and you were now cleaning up the tables.

As you passed near Benedict’s table he stopped you and handed you a piece of paper. “My number.” You look at him confused. “You still have to offer me a meal, dinner? was it?” He winked. 

You couldn’t help but smile at him as you accepted the paper.

[groundonesix]

Maitland-Smith Tessellated Marble Dining Table

A stunning dining table from American design powerhouses Maitland-Smith, imported from a Texan ranch and originating from the late 1970s.

This piece consists of tessellated Emperador marble rectangles, placed together to create a dazzling and distinct pattern of rich browns, whites, and golds. Brass inlay strips complete this traditional base table. The whole table is sculpted in acrylic giving it this shape and laying all the little marbles pieces on top. A very thoughtful decision as this technique makes it more manageable in weight and stronger in time, unlike a solid piece of marble which would snap overtime.

This is a fantastic example of American design as it looked towards the excess of the 1980s. Still a very modern and also a classic piece that is easy to combine with many styles of dining chairs and rooms. This table sits comfortably six people but it can also sit eight as you can see in the picture.

Maitland-Smith began life in the seventies, the brainchild of London antiques dealer Paul Maitland-Smith. For years they have carved a reputation as an artisanal, innovative furniture makers, and their pieces are today highly sought-after.

This dining table is part of a set, which includes a coffee table, and two exquisite chairs. Please enquire for more information about these.

This dining table comes in two pieces, the base and the table top that fits on top easily, no tools needed.

Please contact us for international shipping quotes.

CREATOR: Maitland-Smith

PLACE OF ORIGIN: USA

DATE OF MANUFACTURE: c. 1970's

PERIOD: 1975 - 1985

MATERIALS & TECHNIQUES: Emperador marble, Brass Inlay, Acrylic

CONDITION: Good original condition.

WEAR: Wear consistent with age and use. Minor scuffs on the base, as can be seen in the photos. Nothing too distracting. Overall very good condition for its age.

HEIGHT: 73cm | 28.5in

WIDTH: 183cm | 72in

DEPTH: 112cm | 40in

Request more information

[snowbellewells]

Tag 9 People you want to get to know better

{I wasn't tagged, just thought this looked like fun when it crossed my dash this morning. Hope you don't mind if I've tagged you!}

Last Song: "Come Be My River" - Josh Baldwin

Favourite Colour: Yellow (followed by green)

Last film/show: The Nanny (is it weird to admit I have the whole series on dvd?)

Sweet/savoury/spicy: Savory (salty, tangy, love all of that!)

Last thing I googled: Are the Bridgerton iced coffee and creamer flavors still available?

Last Book: Cards on the Table by Agatha Christie

Relationship status: single

Current Obsession(s): Agatha Christie, still OuaT and CS, this one unfinished vampire Killian/Emma/Graham love triangle mystery romance ff (I NEED to know how it ends!!), Regency romances, Georgia research for upcoming girls' trip

tags: @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @xarandomdreamx @jennjenn615 @belovedcreation @beckettj @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @jrob64

[dangerpronebuddie]

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night 26/?

43. Wrapping your legs around your lover's body as they lift you

Summary:

He looked way too good to be sitting around Buck's apartment. He was wearing that tan flannel with the sleeves rolled up that always made Buck a little bit insane, and ripped jeans. The one pair Eddie owned that exposed just enough skin to make Buck feel like a lovesick regency woman in need of a fainting couch or a fan.

(inspired by this gorgeous fanart by @demonmojo )

(read below!)

Buck tossed his keys on the table and sighed. Another dead end date. He was this close to just giving up. No one he went out with compared to-

"Hey, Buck."

Buck jumped in surprise and looked at the source of the greeting. Eddie sat on Buck's kitchen counter, a beer beside him and a soft smile on his face.

He looked way too good to be sitting around Buck's apartment. He was wearing that tan flannel with the sleeves rolled up that always made Buck a little bit insane, and ripped jeans. The one pair Eddie owned that exposed just enough skin to make Buck feel like a lovesick regency woman in need of a fainting couch or a fan.

"Uh, hey," Buck smiled. "Didn't know you'd be here." Eddie texted him an hour ago saying his date ended early, and Buck replied his did as well. He couldn’t expect it to last when all he talked about the whole time was either Eddie or Chris.

"Neither did I, honestly," Eddie shrugged. "But then you said your date was awful too, and well... Thought maybe we could be miserable together."

A pang of jealousy struck Buck by surprise. Eddie went out on a date with a dispatcher Linda set him up with, and he went out looking absolutely gorgeous, in Buck's favorite outfit. Buck always wondered how it would feel to slide his fingers beneath the rips on those jeans. Tonight was no exception.

The thing that really caught Buck's attention, though, was the fact that Eddie looked far from miserable. If Buck wasn't mistaken, he looked... hopeful?

His soft smile and even softer eyes made Buck just a little brave. He crossed to the counter, fitting himself right between Eddie's spread thighs, and fisted a hand in his shirt to pull him into a searing kiss.

Eddie responded immediately, his warm, callused palms cupping Buck's face as he returned the kiss. Buck splayed his palm on Eddie's ribs in an attempt to get closer. Sitting on the counter gave Eddie a height advantage Buck wasn't used to, and he found himself leaning further into Eddie to deepen the kiss. Eddie's thumbs pressed on Buck's chin, coaxing him into opening his mouth wider, welcoming his tongue.

Eddie pulled away all too soon and looked into Buck's eyes, his coffee brown irises shining in the warm light. "What was that for?" he asked breathlessly, his thumbs swiping across Buck's cheek bones.

"I don't want to be miserable together. I want us to be happy together," Buck said softly. "I only went out tonight to try to get over you, but Eds... there's no getting over the love of your life. I spent the entire night talking about you and Chris, and the more I did, the more I wished I was with you." He brushed their noses together and smiled. "What do you say?"

Eddie's breath hitched in his throat. His soft smile grew into a beautiful beam, so wide his eyes crinkled. "Deal."

Buck leaned in and kissed him, the taste of happiness on his tongue intoxicating.

Eddie ripped away from him, like it took every ounce of willpower to do so. He tried to lean in again, but Eddie held him in place. "I love you, Evan."

"I love you, too, Eddie. So much," Buck grinned before surging forward and capturing Eddie's lips in a bruising kiss. Eddie hooked his arm around Buck's shoulders as Buck teased the seam of his lips open. Buck trailed his hands down to Eddie's thighs, doing exactly as he'd envisioned and sliding his fingers into the rip near Eddie's inner thigh.

Eddie made a soft noise and tangled his fingers in Buck's curls. Buck pulled him to the edge of the counter and danced his fingers further up Eddie's thighs.

"You really have a thing for the jeans, huh?" Eddie smirked against his lips.

Buck trailed kisses down the column of his throat. "Maybe." he murmured. Eddie wrapped his legs around Buck, locking his ankles and pulling him closer. "Hang on," Buck said in a husky whisper. He lifted Eddie into his arms and carried him towards the stairs.

"Don't you dare drop me," Eddie said as he moved to Buck's neck.

"You know I wouldn't," Buck said, holding him a little tighter.

"I know you wouldn't," Eddie said softly.

[crotchety-old-emu]

OLITDP chapter 24 references

as i mentioned in my author's notes of the chapter, there's a few references that i would like to share with those who are interested in them. you don't need to know about them to understand what's going on in the story, obviously, but perhaps it's nice to have some visual aids to go with some of the things that are happening.

if you haven't read the latest chapter yet, and you want to remain spoiler free, it's best to skip this post (or perhaps come back to it later). you can find chapter 24 of our love is these days' piano here!

so here's a short list of things that might be interesting - but definitely not necessary - to know about chapter 24:

penelope's dress at the trowbridge ball is a silvery sea green. the one i had in mind was kind of like this one, from the season three behind the scenes pics. nicola looks stunning in green, especially with the red hair. i found beatrice knight's regency color compendium, a stunning overview of all the fashionable colours of fabric in the regency era, with some fantastic descriptions of how they were made and when they were worn. the willow/sea green colour shown on this page is exactly the hue i was picturing while writing.

lady trowbridge's decorations: i spent days and days researching how lady trowbridge might showcase her wealth and peculiar tastes during this ball, but honestly, i didn't find much info about ballroom decorations and i didn't want to make up things that definitely could not have happened. so i settled on things that i was already fairly certain of were pretty decadent for the era: pineapples and ice cream. after reading up on ice cream in regency times through several sources, i came across the website of ivan day, who is a food historian and has worked on some bbc regency costume dramas. he had a very insightful youtube video on how ice cream was made in those days. in it, he makes one of the ice cream pineapples i mention in the story. ivan day's actual website is under construction, but i found a photo of moulded ice groups, as they were presented in regency times, on another page which was taken from his. it includes ice cream shaped like a swan (which may have been parmesan flavoured, which apparently was a popular ice cream flavour back then).

another food decoration that both eloise and penelope mention is a flummery solomon's temple. i found out about these through watching the bbc documentary pride and prejudice - having a ball, which talks about accurate representation of balls during regency times on television. the part of the doc i'm linking to is the part where ivan day reveals a solomon's temple and explains that this would be a staple on all upper-class tables in those days. the white bits, if i'm not mistaken, are milk-flavoured, the brown is chocolate and/or coffee, the pink is coloured with cochineal.

he also has a page on solomon's temples on his blog, which has a very amusing short clip of how exactly these jellies moved. if you watch it (highly recommend), i'm sure you'll understand why eloise would think it was a good thing to comment on. ivan day himself describes it as:

Because it is made of flummery, which is a kind of opaque milk jelly, the central obelisk wobbles and cavorts in a most entertaining manner, while the four little cones shake, rattle and roll in a very naughty way.

the dance: i must have watched at least fifty different dances that were popular at the time - shoutout to regencydances.org, which not only has a very extensive list of dances, but also a youtube channel and animations showing what the dances would have looked like. i based penelope and anthony's dance on the northdown waltz - which granted, only became a thing from 1820 onwards, so it's technically an anachronism for them to be dancing it. it simply was the only dance that best fit with how i wanted the scene to go. you can find an instruction video on the northdown waltz here. anthony, in this case, would be the red rectangle, penelope the green ellipsis. here's a clip of actual people performing the dance, so you can kind of imagine what it would have looked like. i always knew anthony's confession would happen during a dance, my main inspiration for that was this scene from becoming jane. if you've seen the film, you undoubtedly know exactly which scene i'm talking about without even clicking the link. i remember that when i first saw this part of the film, i stopped breathing for a minute, because it was just such an intense moment, which was exactly what i wanted for anthony's big moment.

there you go, some insight into the tiny things mentioned in the latest chapter that you might perhaps enjoy knowing more about. hope at least some of you found it interesting!

also, i want to mention: i am not a historian, i don't claim that my fic is historically accurate, not in the very least. i try to stick to period-appropriate things, which i do as much research for as i can. but some mistakes will have slipped in there, i am very much aware. so if this is a particular pet peeve for some of the history buffs among you, i apologise.