#and haven't made it into a single one yet??

[kanmom51]

OT7 are back - 1 July 2025

It's been 3 years. Almost. Just. And they are back.

In JK's words:

FINALLY!!!!

Full subs aren't out yet. I'm not even sure if I'm going to do a full rundown on this one, but either way, there are a few things I would love to address at the moment.

First of all...

We will be getting a full comeback in Spring 2026!!

Album plus tour!!

And I love to pay attention to the little things they say, so I'm going to mention what I thought of it.

Spring 2026 Album and tour - they said it.

That's 9 months away.

And yet, they also mentioned 6 months.

So... it could be that in their minds they aren't connecting the dots and to them it feels like 6 months away, if you're thinking "well, it's summer, and there is Autumn and Winter to go until Spring", it could make sense?

But you know what else might make sense too?

That before that full comeback in Spring, they are planning to drop a single in 6 months time.

Give us a taste of BTS.

An entree (starter as my US followers would call it) - a first course before our full meal to come.

Who knows.

In any case it's something to look forward to.

Another little tidbit we got, and I have to say "thank you Tae" for this one, is that they will be working on their music in the US of A. Yes sir. Our boys will be spending a chunk of their time in the US. And it sounds like it's happening (at least starting) when Jin is still on tour. Talk about a music camp as well, maybe. You know that would make for amazing content, right? Living and working together again. Just putting it out there in case BH staff haven't thought of it already (which trust me, they did).

And if I'm mentioning them working in the USA, then why not mention that Hybe America has a new CEO, Isaac Lee. Congrats!! Someone that clearly will be helping the company's expansion into the South American market. A man who is openly gay !! No shame. No hiding. It's just "this is part of who I am". Would love that to be something out boys could wear with pride as well. Maybe. One day. Maybe moving business to the US is part of that strategy too. To be more open and free. A gal can hope...

Anyway, what we do know, for now, is that they will be working on ot7 music in the States, which will mean extended stays as well. It's not something we haven't talked about in the past. Them spending longer periods of time outside of SK for their work (not necessarily when on tour).

There were definitely some interesting moments during this super chaotic live, as per usual when it comes to ot7 lives.

I would like to touch on a few moments in the live. A few things I want to talk about, things I felt need mentioning.

I think I will start with a couple of somewhat negatives. Moments that have been running wild on my timeline, moments I have something to say about.

First one is this.

There is a reason I added the photo and not the gif.

I don't like taking edited moments out of context.

I've always said that.

And this one is exactly the same.

The gif or clip circulating, spreading like fire, is an edited version of the moment. And it's all about the "JK is jealous", "JK isn't used to sharing JM" narrative, which I'm sorry, but has grown so old at this point. The way people are talking you'd think that JK just served in the military with JM alone. A unit all to themselves. In the wilderness. No one around them but themselves. Kind of their lonely island dream of taking each other... Seriously? Ugh. The two were in the military, yes together, but most definitley not alone. We have not only our common sense to rely on here. We have pics and stories and autographs and we know they made friends and no, he didn't have JM all to his own. Far from it. Not only didn't he have him all to himself, he had to hold back with the PDA, they both did, we heard it from JM in their live. This wasn't about that. JK doesn't feel "threatened" by Tae. Seriously.

This here is the full moment:

You see what I see?

JK's reaction, the sitting back, the face...

There are two options here, neither are about Tae grabbing JM.

Either he saw something on screen that pissed him off (wouldn't be a first), I personally am leaning more towards this first one; or he's not loving the way JM is sort of kind of deprecating himself. Or in this case hiding his face (there was the whole discussion before that laughing at JM's hair and forehead and face), unhappy with how he looks.

And we know he isn't a fan of that either. JM talking himself down.

I think it's time to drop the whole JK jealous narrative. These two young men have one of the healthiest loving long term relationships I've seen. JK being openly jealous the way people seem to think he is is most certainly a toxic trait, one that some fans love for him to have, as it may add the necessary drama (for them to enjoy the pairing) to this beautiful strong, steady, domestic relationship. But I'm sorry, I just think it's wrong. It always has been. Yes, we've seen some instances when JK clearly was jealous (I've spoken about this a lot in my older posts - what I thought that jealousy might have been, mostly not about insecurity in the relationship and more about not being able to be open about it, claim JM openly), but those are few and far apart, especially in the later years.

I really do believe people are getting this one wrong. Had to mention that.

The second moment I wanted to address is the Yoongi hearing JM sing saga, lol.

I will be honest with you guys, I have no idea what that was about.

🤣🤣

No, seriously!!

There is the above translation.

And there is this one:

Oh, there are more. But I think you get the gist.

There are the Yoonminers, and Tkks to follow, that are celebrating it as idk what (seriously, if this was JM and Yoongi spending time together it's kind of not great that JM didn't even remember the moment and had to be reminded of it).

On the one hand, you have those that are saying it's clearly a joke. That it's a made up story (the Yoongi playing the guitar and JM singing at 3 am). JM not knowing about it happening a couple of days ago, to start with, kind of hints to that, doesn't it? Maybe?

I will be honest with you guys, I have no idea. Not sure either way. As in if this actually happened or not.

But either way, the way people were running with this JM and Yoongi hang out.

OMG.

And clinging like crazy to that word. "Romantic" in Korean. Like we haven't heard it before. Like when said in the Jikook context - the articles promoting AYS?! before it came out, JK mentioning it during AYS?! and Jikook's live after they were discharged - it was immediately shot down as "it's not that kind of context", but here, when it's about Yoonmin it is?

Well, this is the meaning of the word:

And there is this:

So yeah, even if this was an actual thing that happened, I'd say to Yoonminers to hold their horses with the whole "how romantic of them" shit they are going with.

These are times I really hate not knowing the language. 😭😭

Time to move on to the fun parts.

You know, the JK and JM finding it hard to keep their hands or other body parts off each other even though they are sat quite awkwardly apart.

And when I say other body parts I mean, back leaning on JK, even when he has a full ass back rest to lean on but you prefer to lean on your boyfriend's leg.

Or lay your head on thigh.

What better than an almost 2 minute compilation of the touchy feely couple?

cr./@calicocat13

And let's talk for a second about their hand shake. Because you know, they always have to give us at least one of those, right? The lingering hand shake, not letting go, JK's thumb there...

Also, what was that hand shake about exactly?

There is also this:

Spot the difference.

With all of that going on you'd almost think those two were a couple, wouldn't you?

WE also got to hear from the two and the others about the hours on end the two have been practicing their singing, their harmonizing. It's something we have heard in the past from them as well. But it's more than that. We get 2 people that are connected to the core. 2 people that need no words between them to know what the other is wanting/thinking/going to do. All it takes is a look and they know. It's not something new to us. We've explored this many times. How all it takes sometimes is for one to look at the other, no words needed, for them to understand each other. But we got it here too.

Like I said, I'm not going to get into every little moment, but I do want to add this before I go. It's sometimes hard to follow, because of the chaos and having to read the subtitles and figuring out who said what. But even with all of that it was hard not to notice that JK who has his way of disassociating at times, was, as usual, attentive to JM, and he also did his usual: "when it's about Minnie I have to nod in agreement or give an approving "aha" or add something very couplie to the conversation" thing.

Including when Minnie is talking about how comfy he feels to be in his bed now that he's home. Scratch that. Their bed. There, I've said it.

It's funny it ended up thatJM was the one asked directly how he's doing now? Hobi did try to throw in an open question for the discharged members, and Tae did chime in only to be called a liar by the other, lol. But JK and RM said nothing, and they all kind of moved on from that.

To sum it up in one word, that befits almost every single ot7 live:

CHAOTIC.

And yet, with all that chaos it's just one of the happy moments possible.

Happy chaos.

Seeing all 7 finally back together. Military service done and dusted.

Knowing there is a plan in place for a BTS comeback. Album. World tour. BTS ot7 content.

CANNOT WAIT!!!

[jollyhunter]

I'm so sorry, I'm late to the party! ...but I brought a cardboard sign? 😂

Congrats to this incredible milestone, Alex!!! 🎉 You deserve every single one of them and many many more. You're an amazing writer - whether it's writing for our cocky Ben and his dad skills, researching the 1940s to get Sam and Dean's slang right, or think of ways for cheeky Russell to smooth talk his way back in the game after he forgot about his wife's date - you nail them all! (And now we're adding Pedrito to the party? Well sign me the hell up!). Next to all that, you are a wonderful soul. You're always supportive, kind and how you manage to take your time to respond and react to every single thing is still beyond me (I bet you've got a clone somewhere, don't you 😂).

We haven't talked as much yet, but you're a lovely mutual who I'm grateful I got to meet on here! I remember our first interaction was in the SPN community, on a "tips for planning a series" post, and you were so nice and supportive! It was my first time asking a question in a community and your kindness helped me feel less insecure right away. Sometimes it's the small things that make you stay or leave - you were one of the people who made me stay. 🧡 Including your stories, such as "Against the Wind", which, funnily enough, I didn't even realize was yours until much later. And I've still got so many more I want to read!!

ALRIGHTY. Now - I know I'm late, but I hope I get to sneak an ask or two into your inbox before the 4th of July ends (it's the 5th here already, but the deadline's still ongoing somewhere right?). Oh and of course I'll try and join!

Expect me to swing by any time. 😏

I've never actually done this before...

Reaching follower milestones has never really been my main goal here. I hopped over from Ao3 to the Tumblrverse two years ago to share my stories and see if I could connect more with any potential readers. What I didn't know was how amazing SPN (and adjacent Jackles fandoms) would be over here...

How much fun I would have expressing myself, challenging myself to write new things and grow as a writer, and getting to vibe with my readers and other amazing writers.

I now consider some of those special people my friends, and they continue to make my day better every time we interact — whether it's hyping each other up and fangirling in each other's comments and reblog comments, or talking about everything and nothing in our DMs. That support has gotten me through some rough times in the past two years.

So "celebrating" this milestone of over 5,000 followers is really just me saying THANK YOU to everyone who's supported me by reading, commenting, and reblogging my work, helping me brainstorm, giving me inspiration, or just simply being my friend! 💜

⋆˙⟡ WAYS TO PARTICIPATE:

Because you guys know I'm extra af 😂, there are 3 sections to choose from:

⟡ Ask Me Stuff

⟡ Summer Writing Challenge!

⟡ Mini Fic Requests

Ask Me Stuff:

⟡ Let's revisit these EOY Artist/Writer questions. Ask me any of them!

⟡ Ask me anything you want to know about my storyverses: Break Me Down, Unravel Me, Lost On You, Midnight Espresso, Smoke Eater, The Honorable Choice, Every Second Counts, Take Me Home, or any others!

Summer Writing Challenge:

If you're feelin' frisky and wanna join this summer writing challenge of less than 5,000 words before September 1, here's how to play...

💗 Gif Check: I'll send you a gif depending on the character you choose from the list below. Write a story that matches the vibe or completes the "scene." Just shoot me an ask with the character you want to write about, and request a gif!

🎨 Color Prompt: You choose a character from the list below. I'll choose a color palette for you based on what I think your aesthetic is!

🎙️ Songfic: Give me a character + a decade and/or genre of music, and I'll give you a song to match!

**Guidelines:

Submissions with pairings can be Character x Reader, Character x OC, or Character x Character.

(Please no RPF or Wincest.)

Include tags, notes, warnings if necessary - including if it's 18+

Please use the "Keep Reading" break if it's over 500 words.

Max word count 5,000 (for your sanity lol). Minimum 500 words.

Tag @zepskies (me) somewhere in the post.

Include this tag - #Zepskies 5K - within your first 5 tags.

Send me an ask until July 30! Post your fic by September 1.

I will of course read and reblog with my thoughts on your amazing work! If you get a chance, please try to do the same for others who participate. At the end, I will compile a master rec list of each fic submitted. 💜

Mini Fic Requests:

Uno Reverse! 🔄 For these drabbles (1,000 words or less), I will only answer non-anonymous asks so I can verify if you're over 18. Please make sure your age is listed in your bio! 😉

Check out the "characters I currently write for" down below. My inbox will be open for these types of requests from June 27 - July 4 only!

💗 Gif Check: Pick a character from the list and send me a gif! I'll do my best to write you a drabble that matches the vibe.

🎨 Color Prompt: I've been getting a lot of inspo from color aesthetics and moodboards lately. Pick a character from the list and a color. Any color! I'll do my best to write a drabble with that color scheme in mind.

🎙️ Songfic: Most people who know me know that I get a lot of inspo from music. Pick a character from the list and send me a song you think I'd like! I'll do my best to write a drabble that fits the song.

☕️ Characters I currently write for:

(or would like to write for)

⟡ Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester - Supernatural ⟡ Soldier Boy - The Boys ⟡ Mark Meachum - Countdown ⟡ Beau Arlen - Big Sky ⟡ Russell Shaw - Tracker ⟡ Joel Miller - The Last of Us ⟡ Javier Peña - Narcos ⟡ Harry Castillo - The Materialists ⟡ Alec McDowell - Dark Angel ⟡ Jason Teague - Smallville ⟡ Boaz Priestly - 10 Inch Hero ⟡ CJ Braxton - Dawson’s Creek ⟡ Éomer, Aragorn, Haldir, Thranduil - Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit

THANK YOU!! (Part 1)

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @waynes-multiverse @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@wvffles @tofics @kazsrm67 @mostlymarvelgirl

@chevroletdean - Thank you for giving me the idea for the "color" prompts and the guidelines for the writing challenge with your 500 follower celebration!

@winchestergirl2 @lacilou @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @waywardxwords

@twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism @wayward-dreamer @waywardlatina

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@deanwinchesterswitch @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @jollyhunter @moodyquesadilla

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@siampie @spnbabe67 @talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word @redhoodieone

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005 @kmc1989 @foxyjwls007

[r0-boat]

Single dad! Solomon part 2

Solomon x child!reader(platonic)

Reader in this case is the child of Solomon whether it be his descendant That was orphaned and he came back to take care of them or his direct child from an unknown partner!

My eyes gaze around the penthouse, a Suite and the most luxurious hotel reserved only for the highest of Tartaros citizens. It is a place where I don't feel like I belong, though it is only temporary since the kings are holding their meeting in Tartaros in the conference room of this very hotel tomorrow.

My child has reached the age to tap into their magical abilities, and I should be elated! But...

"No! Please, child, this isn't for you!" I scream as I rip the knife out of their hand. They must have used their magic to pull it off the counter. Their magical power is... Terrifyingly strong. When I was their age, I could only lift my stuffed toy a few inches off the ground.

But this one... They still have yet to take their first steps, but they're strong enough to use telekinesis to lift things far heavier than a mere stuffed animal.

When I ripped the knife away from their grasping hands, they trembled and screamed as I scolded them. Their magical aura burst forth, exploding the nearby glass around them. My eyes went wide as I scooped them up. I immediately calmed them down before reaching for their pacifier.

"fuck... What am I going to do with you?"

I want to call upon Asmodeus... But I don't want to see that confident, annoying smirk on his face. Nor do I think my hips can handle another night with him.

My sweet baby finally calms as I bring them back to the little play zone I constructed. A soft blanket lay on the floor in a baby pen littered with toys and stuffed animals.

They babble an incoherent sentence as they reach for their stuffed snake, and I smile and respond, "Oh yes, I know! Snakey is excited to see you, too!" My snake familiar, curled up on the other side of the couch, watches with interest and slight horror as they watch my baby grabs and shakes the snake plushie.

Finally a moment of peace as my child begins to settle down and sleep. I let out a sigh as I practically collapse on the devilishly comfortable couch

My head whips around as I hear a knock at the door 'strange? Housekeeping already came by with lunch... ' I'm mutter to myself.

As soon as I open the door Seven chatty and bickering devils barge into the penthouse room. And in an instant my quiet evening was disrupted.

"M-my friends... What are you doing here?" I say with a little less enthusiasm in my voice.

Are you almost choked on my spit as Satan snarls "TIME TO SACRIFICE YOUR CHILD." Leviathan smacks him over the back of the head Satan lets out a growl whipping back to fight back, Beelzebub wheezes.

"Are we not allowed to see the baby human?" Mammon smiles walking in like he owns the place... Because he does.

'baby... human this place isn't a zoo... ' I sigh pinching the bridge of his nose.

I felt my body tense as I watch my less than child safe friends stalk closer to my baby's playpen

(minus Belphegor who is sleeping on the couch and Beelzebub who is lounging next to him playing with the nearest item he picked up.)

It took everything in me to calm my parental instinct screaming at me to rush over to scoop up my child and cradle them protectively against my chest. Especially now as they finally stir from there short-lived nap. I pray to my old friend that they don't wake up grumpy which apparently they haven't heard my calls, for as soon as my sweet babe wakes up You begin to fuss.

"noisy thing aren't they?" Belphegor said propping up his head with his hand.

"probably because of the loud ass Chihuahua currently in the room with us... " Leviathan hissed before his hand reached over the pin to gently interact with you. You made a disapproving noise and smacked his hand away.

Levi with a empty defeated look in his face frozen place holding up his hand inspecting it with a blank look. I swore I never heard Satan life as hard as he did I tried to hold myself back from laughing too.

"It hasn't been that long since I've seen it And it's already grown larger." Lucifer states which I remove the plastic gate with a smile and explain "Oh yes my friend, human children grow quickly. However these years of development are quite important!"

Asmodeus who has been surprisingly and uncharacteristically quiet is now playing with the baby's hands with a tranquil look on his face he picks up the pacifier and gives it to you which you eagerly take. Out of the seven I trust Asmodeus the most so I am not too worried as I continue explaining to Lucifer "I'm expecting for them too take their first steps soon... I'm trying to teach them their first words but I don't think they're interested in listening to me..." I let out a half-hearted chuckle.

Finally Asmodeus does speak up "does that mean I still have time to get this sweet little thing to call me Dada instead?"

"Don't even think about it..." I said firmly, glaring at him. One day... One day, I'll get the courage to punch that man for trying to steal my child.

Lucifer has more to say, and I respond with every question occasionally looking back to the devils interacting with my baby.

Beelzebub has finally moved from the couch trying to play with you with the baby toys and enjoying some of them himself.

Mammon is on that strange screen device talking to himself about more things to spoil you with. As he pulls you into his lap.

Asmodeus is completely enamored, your hand reaches out to touch his hair which he let's you. Satan tries to get your attention with a little noise maker in front of you.

Levi looks on his face sour it looks like he's trying to plan something to steal your attention. I watch as his eyes go wide as he finally things of something. He picks up your snake blush as he gets onto the floor using his hand to puppeteer it making it move and wiggle even making little hissing sounds.

Your face lights up as you squeal and giggle more babbling. Leviathan looks like the happiest devil in the world as he continues what he's doing. The annoyed look on Asmodeus's face was purely priceless. As Satan follows suit... Though a little more violent as he tries to fight the snake with the object in his hand.

I will never forgive that man if he teaches my child to start hitting people.

I only turn my eyes away for a minute as Lucifer gives me advice on how to baby prove certain items after I told him about your budding magical abilities.

When I look back I see that the kings have set up a little puppet stage. You're seated on the blanket floor as you watch The Kings using Your stuffed animals is puppets talking in silly little voices. Of course devil's being... Well devils immediately start puppeteering topics a little too eh... Advanced for a baby to understand.

At least they're not talking about anything sexual or too violent.... Though however I did catch Beelzebub saying "I'll beat you up! This is what you get for Fu-ah! I mean... Stealing my wife!"

I appreciate the effort...

Suddenly All the kings that weren't Lucifer were making the stuffed animals move and talking in silly voices trying to get your attention. Of course Levi who had your beloved snake plushie was getting more attention than the other Kings. Which started an argument... As Leviathan stood up with Your snake plushie gripped in his hand as he got into the argument You reached out your little hands grasping for your plushie. When I started to walk over my eyes went wide.

It was in slow motion when I saw your hand press against your blanket and your feet pushing on the ground. One Foot stepping clumsily in front of the other You grabbed on too Leviathan's shirt for support tugging it as you reach for your stuffy.

Asmodeus was... Pissed. Knowing that he wasn't the one who made you take your first steps I'm sure that my holes will have to hear about it later. But then when you opened your mouth my heart stopped

"Aaaah! Bitch!" You yelled.

My soul left my body as the entire penthouse was silent for the longest 5 seconds I've ever experienced.

I don't think my soul came back as the entire room erupted with uncontrolled laughter.

"THEY CALLED YOU A BITCH! HAHAHA THAT'S THE FUNNIEST SHIT I'VE EVER WITNESSED! "

"NOT THE BABY CALLING YOU A BITCH LEVI!

"They must really not like you huh~? Oh too bad...~"

"I wonder where they heard that word from."

"I've never been so proud!"

And thus the kings were banned from seeing my child for 4 months...

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Why You So Obsessed with Me? p8

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Carlos x reader based on the song: Obsessed– Mariah Carey, if you haven't read part 7 here it is:)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

The water was still dripping from the ends of your hair when you stepped out of the hotel bathroom. The white towel wrapped around you felt warm and soft, but not half as warm as the feeling that bloomed in your chest the moment you saw Carlos.

He was sitting at the edge of the bed, his shirt clinging to him, damp curls falling over his forehead, his phone forgotten beside him. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, just watching the door.

Waiting for you.

His gaze slid slowly down your figure, lazy and deliberate. His mouth twitched upward, but it wasn’t quite a smile. More like hunger barely hidden.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to act unaffected. “What?”

“You looked beautiful in my garage,” he said simply.

You scoffed. “Covered in engine fumes and panic?”

Carlos stood. Took slow steps until he was in front of you, fingers reaching up to brush a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“Exactly,” he whispered. “You fit in there. Just like I knew you would.”

You laughed under your breath, a little nervous, a little breathless. “You really surprised me today. I didn’t think you had that much focus left in you after… all this.”

“All this?” He leaned in, lips brushing just beneath your jaw. “You mean you?”

You flushed.

“You were terrifying on track,” you admitted softly, trying to deflect. “But impressive.”

He lifted his eyes to yours, something darker creeping into his expression. “You want to know a secret?”

You nodded.

“I drove harder today,” he murmured, lips near your cheek, “because I knew you were watching. I wanted every person in that paddock — every single one, to see who I was. And know they could never be enough for you.”

Your breath caught.

He reached down, tugged the edge of the towel just slightly so it shifted across your collarbone.

“I know how they look at you. The engineers. The journalists. Even that guy this morning—”

“Carlos,” you warned gently.

But he wasn’t hearing it. His voice dropped an octave. “They don’t understand you. They don’t see what I do.”

You swallowed. “And what’s that?”

“That you’re mine.” Soft. Inevitable. Final.

He wasn’t even asking for confirmation. He meant it.

“Still not how that works,” you whispered, trying to pretend your knees didn’t feel weak.

He smiled — but it wasn’t teasing this time. It was sharper. “Then why are you here, preciosa?”

You opened your mouth and closed it again.

Because the truth was — you didn’t know anymore. Or maybe… you did. And that terrified you.

His fingers slid gently along your arm, up to your shoulder, grazing skin. “I don’t need you to say it. I just need you to stay.”

And when he leaned in to kiss you again, slower this time, possessive and claiming, you didn’t stop him.

You let him take what he’d been quietly chasing for weeks. And maybe, for the first time, you wanted to be caught.

His lips moved over yours like a secret, slow, measured, but undeniably his. The kind of kiss that burned hot but held back, just enough to drive you mad.

Carlos wasn’t rushing. He was savoring.

One hand curled around the back of your neck, the other resting possessively on your hip, fingers pressing lightly through the towel like he was already imagining it gone. But he didn’t try to take more. He didn’t even push you backward. He just kissed you like he’d been waiting forever to do it right.

And it made your head spin.

Your hands found the hem of his undershirt, fingers brushing over the taut skin of his stomach, and he shivered — just once — like he’d short-circuited. But then he pulled back.

Just a few centimeters. Enough to meet your gaze.

“You’re not ready,” he said quietly, though his voice was rough with restraint. “Not yet.”

You blinked, dazed, lips parted. “And if I was?”

His jaw clenched. His thumb dragged slowly over your bottom lip like he was memorizing the feel of it. “Then I’d still wait until you said it.”

That silence between you crackled with tension. But also something else. Something new.

Trust.

You nodded, chest rising and falling. “Okay.”

Carlos stepped back, breathing uneven. “You should rest.”

“I thought you weren't tired.”

“I'm not.” His eyes flicked to the towel again, almost painfully. “But if I stay near you right now, I’m going to change my mind.”

You smirked — a little drunk on the power of it. “So go.”

And he did.

But not before pressing one last kiss to your cheek and whispering, “Sueña conmigo.” (Dream of me.)

You were already dreaming — even awake.

Carlos’ POV — Later That Night

He couldn’t sleep.

Not from the race. Not from the interviews. Not even from the adrenaline still thrumming in his veins.

It was her.

The way she looked up at him after the kiss. The way her breath caught in her throat like he’d stolen it. The way she didn’t pull away. He could still feel the shape of her mouth against his. The way she leaned into him without even thinking.

She wanted him. She just didn’t know what to do with that want yet.

Carlos lay in bed, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He had offered to get her her own suite — but she hadn’t protested when he only booked one with connecting doors.

She trusted him. That was new. Precious.

And fuck, it made everything worse. Because now that he’d tasted her, now that she’d stopped fighting him with words and started answering with silence and submission, he was obsessed on a new level.

He had her attention. Now he needed her devotion.

He could be patient. He had been. But one day she would stop pretending she didn’t need him like he needed her. And when that happened… he’d never let her go.

Your POV — Same Night

You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The kiss. The way Carlos touched you like he was afraid he’d break something sacred. How he stopped, even when you were so close to not wanting him to.

Most guys would’ve taken what they could. Carlos didn’t. He walked away.

And that… that messed with your head.

Because for the first time, it wasn’t just about his obsession. It wasn’t just the texts, the flowers, the surprise visits, the possessiveness that always made your heart beat a little too fast.

It was respect.

And now you were the one lying in bed — still in your towel, staring at the ceiling, wondering when exactly the hunter became the one haunting your thoughts.

You weren’t his. Not officially. But when you closed your eyes, all you could feel was his breath on your lips, whispering “Sueña conmigo.”

And you did.

@sumbellling, @hhhs7, @omgsuperstarg, @as4ka, @iamdedsthingz, @urmomsgirlfriend1

[irrevocablecondition]

okay hi guys !! some changes have been made to Everything so we're outlining it all here:

All of my marauders fics on AO3 have been deleted, I will link the EPUBs here later and I am okay with them being shared around!

one single thread of gold was not, and will not be, completed. that being said! i do know how it ends and every little detail, so if you have any questions whatsoever or just want to know more about it, feel free to drop by my ask box !! i'd love to yap about those little guys with you <33 we only got just about to the halfway point and there was o much yet to happen so i'm here to fill whatever hole is left by it being deleted (and also i want to say thank you for the support on it <33 it means the world)

The podcast has been rebranded! named so by my lovely lil friend beth, The Marauders Yap is now Fandolitics (awaiting a new icon :3)

It'll be the same concept of discussing fandom material and engagement, but without the marauders focus! And hopefully more regular updates moving forward <3

The previous episodes will remain up :)

My fic rec sheet - yes, the one I haven't updated since November lol - is being taken offline tonight (00:00 UK time) so if there are any fics on there that you have your eyes on for later, make sure to go through and bookmark them all now!

My linktree is under refurbishment as well and I will link that again once it is completed! You can still find the google drive of Palestinian families to support in the "etc." part of my pinned masterlist post!

and i think that's everything !! mwah i love you all i hope you're okie <3

[hikarry]

Crowley loves Monty Python

He had always loved their work for far too many reasons

A group of blokes with clever jokes and silly ideas in a pure show of what was good in good old British humour - not that he was British himself, obviously.

Even Aziraphale enjoyed the group quite a bit, even though it took some convincing to have the angel watching any of Monty Python's works for the first time (nothing a box of 6 custard tarts wouldn't fix)

However

There was one single work of the British comedy group Crowley watched once, yes, but only once. Not because it triggered him - the whole ordeal the men were joking about had happened centuries ago and, of course, he wasn't over it completely yet, but he could laugh at parts of it

No

The problem was Aziraphale

Satan curse that Tuesday in 1970 when he had sat the angel down so they could watch the newest episode of Monty Python's Flying Circus - no other than season 2 episode 2 - because, when Aziraphale noticed Crowley chuckling at the scene at first and then further inspected to make sure his somewhat sensitive demon would be okay with such...plans brewing on his mind. Aziraphale adopted a rather pesky habit of murmuring under his breath the quote whenever the minimal requirements for such a phrase to make sense were met

Which quote, you ask? Sit down, sweetheart. Lemme turn on the TV for ya. Popcorn?

For almost 28 years Crowley couldn't do the smallest thing such as swipe his finger on the cream of a cake and bringing it to his mouth to just have a little taste - after he made absolutely sure Aziraphale was nowhere near the backroom -, just for said angel to pop up behing him like a bad animaniacs conterpart and whisper 'Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.'

With the whole anti-Christ ordeal afterwards and...the circunstances of 2023 that shall not be named, some of their silly inside jokes had to make space for more serious matters, and, to the benefit of that little vein on Crowley's forehead that twitched every time Aziraphale pulled a Python on him, that joke was gave up on by the angel or, at the very least, forgotten

However - because not even a now absolutely and tremendously retired demon could have nice things - it was somewhen during a Halloween party Crowley himself convinced Aziraphale on throwing in their abode in the South Downs, with all their humans and non-humans friends reunited, that he heard just the most tiny comment between Anathema, Muriel and Charlotte - a nice girl who worked in the town's bakery and whom Crowley had made friends with through the years, much due to the absurd amount of money he spent there buying all types of little treats for his angel.

The three little permanent nuisances (affectionate) in his life were talking animatedly over a bottle of gin (cocoa for Muriel. Little bird had been experimenting the last few years. Good for them) when Chalotte snorted into her glass before she murmured: "You actually find that humorous? Anathema, sweet thing, no offence, but American humour is the bottom of the bottom. I shouldn't be surprised that boyfriend of yours haven't shown you true British-ness. You don't know British culture until-'"And she started enumerating on her fingers. "You have watched or been annoyed by someone watching Doctor Who and getting very unhealthy obsessed with 9th, 10th, 11th or 12th. Fought an American over the superior 'The Office'. Either love the royalty or despise it like the plague. And you, at least, watching a full season of Monty Python."

At first, Crowley just kind of nodded to himself at the statement, agreeing silently. Personally, he would have added a few more criteria, that was all. But then his eyes focused towards the general direction he was already looking at - the kitchen, where Aziraphale was sipping some wine as he chatted with some gals he had made friends with at the rec center - and Crowley felt his blood freeze when Aziraphale's head snapped up and away from his focus on...was it Bea? Crowley could never tell. This town had far too many blonds to keep count. Anyway: Aziraphale's eyes found Crowley's, even though the shades, and Crowley saw the moment the old forgotten silly memory returned, Aziraphale's blue eyes sharpening the way they always did when the angel was plotting either something very stupid or very cleaver, and it took all his might not to down the whiskey he was slowly sipping right there and then.

So much for retirement

Good luck with dropping a teaspoon on the floor after that one, old boy

[todaslocas]

Ok, we need to talk about Ramb

This is something that's been brewing in my head for a while and I need to get it out there ASAP, I learned my lesson last time (last time being when I predicted Carol or Dess would be the Knight but said nothing about it online because I assumed we wouldn't even be seeing them until Chapter 5. If you think I'm making this up, I also predicted Carol would be a more likely candidate of the 2. I can admit my mistakes).

So... Ramb. This guy was teased all the way back in the first Spamton Sweepstakes. His name is even the link to the Green Room teaser we see on the website, deltarune.com/ramb/

And then when we got the new pages a month or so before release, we got another page that links from this one, deltarune.com/romb/ which ultimately leads you here:

The name of that page is "No one will shed a tear for him." Going into the chapter, whoever "Ramb" was, they were clearly going to be a pretty big deal. But then we go through the chapter, and...

Yeah. He was a lot less important than he was set up to be.

Or was he?

See, people started noticing weird things about him. For one thing, he brings up freedom quite a bit.

He makes this weird comment midway through the chapter:

He's also the person to introduce you to the secret, more open original version of the board games, which ultimately grants you the shadow mantle from this funky lookin fella:

Plus there's the name of the Romb page, "No one will shed a tear for him," which we now know is associated with Ramb. The figure 8 movement of the link around the screen matches how this guy moves in his boss fight, and the ultimate message about needing the mantle to get the crystal is foreshadowing this exact fight.

The fandom came to one conclusion: Not only was Ramb the one we fought for the shadow mantle, he was the original secret boss of Chapter 3. We escaped Tenna too early for the Knight to be able to give him the crystal.

(Page name: "YOU'RE EARLY!")

I'll tell you, this blew me away when I first heard about it. It made the entire Knight fight make total sense, it's why they had a shadow crystal on them, why they don't fit any of the previous secret boss criteria when even Gerson fits them; the freedom talk, the theme, even the theme of being discarded, as dead remains are usually either burnt and scattered or buried.

So this begs the question: why did Toby do this? Why go through all this trouble to set up a character who ultimately doesn't have all that much impact on the story, who's basically a side character in their own quest?

Here I'm gonna start referencing The Device Theory by Mollystars. If you haven't seen it yet, go watch it if you have 10 hours to spare. Even after these previous chapters it still holds up pretty well and is still the single best theory I've seen on the game yet.

In this theory, Molly proposes that Toby's statement of "There's something more important than reaching the end" isn't just about connecting to the world and the characters or some other metaphorical message. There's something in the middle of the game we need to do to be able to see what this game is really trying to do, possibly by using an item or some piece of knowledge gained in Chapter 7. And, well, we're here! Chapter 4 is the middle of the game, where is it? What are we missing?

Is there... any indication that we are missing something?

YES.

(Playthrough footage from Shirrako)

Key phrase being "By the time we got here." Ralsei saying "Our fate is already decided" isn't just about the prophecy, getting to this point in the story, the point where Susie sees how the prophecy is going to end, is the point of no return. At this point, their fates are truly sealed.

This is when Molly's theory became back to me. This is the point in the story where we're supposed to change things. Maybe Susie isn't supposed to see the end of the prophecy, maybe she wasn't supposed to shatter it, I don't know. Whatever it was, it's too late.

Let's go back to Ramb, starting with one of the newer pages on the website, Deltarune.com/chapter5/

Initially I wasn't super convinced by Molly's theory about what the sizes of the chapter numbers indicate. I mean, clearly whether or not they're visible corresponds to whether or not they have a weird route, but Molly proposes that the size represents how much you're able to veer the story off course. What else could you do to veer the story off course except go through a weird route?

But then the chapter came out, and it still didn't really make sense to me. Sure, there are allusions to the weird route and even the Undertale genocide route. But how does that correspond to the size of the chapter numbers? Is it how much the weird route is referenced? How much of a role it plays with the secret bosses? I still had no idea. But thinking about it now, I can't help but think of Ramb, as well as the name of the page. "back."

I don't think Ramb was just made by Toby as a red herring or the way we get the shadow mantle. After all, Seam says it may be impossible to defeat the next secret boss without it, but...

People like Super3559 are actually insane. It's clearly possible.

I think Ramb will play a much more important role later on, and whatever that is, we will need the shadow mantle. Eram was just a warmup. My prediction is that in order to change the story, in order to have true freedom over our fate, for whatever reason, we will need to fight Ramb.

[ronsenthal]

So uh... Life has been weird lately

Hi guys, it's been a long time since I was active here, some of you already noticed that I was running on a queue for some time and then went blank out of nowhere.

I think I should somehow give you some updates about everything going on? It's not like I feel pressured to share or owe anyone details about my personal life, but this is for the people who cares about me, for the people I built friendships with, mutualships (I totally made this term up) and for my fellow creators who keep being amazing providing wonderfull edits and keep tagging me to share their amazing creations.

So, where do I begin?

As some of you might already know I have a really really strong history with my grandparents, I literally owe my life and the person who I became to my grandfather and my late grandmother (I miss her everyday btw).

Well, you might already noticed where this is going, but about my grandad: he basically didn't had to but he decided to carry the burden to raise a child (me) that didn't even carry his blood (that's another chapter, a long one) and for all of my life we have this really amazing friendship and bond that goes beyong anything explainable by earthly things (??)

So.... we cut to this year where he had been mildly ill for a time, I tried my best and put the effort to take his old ass (affectionate) to a doctor. Being an old man, stubborn and proud he refused for a long time, I was threatening to tie him up and kidnap him to the nearest hospital till he finally accepted to go. Turns out his stomach pains and his sudden weight loss was due to a bowel cancer developing and growing in silence (not so silent now when I think back about it) for almost a decade.

He already had an emergency surgery, is back at home and slowly and grumpingly recovering (istg he is a NIGHTMARE to give the medicine on time, worse than a toddler), the next step if for him to get a bit stronger and healthier so we can start his chemo and give cancer the ultimate fuck off

Thankfully we have free healthcare system here in Brazil (it's called Sistema Único de Saúde or simply SUS), obviously it's not perfect and has it's flaws, but besides some really specific medicine I had to get for him, it didn't cost us a single penny!!! So yaaay we are not broken or on the streets with giant debts!!!

Jokes aside, I trully appreciate all the effort the medical staff put up with and after spending lots and lots of time in the hospital I admire all of them even more. We both had an amazing team supporting us from social services, to physical and mental therapy, to nutritionists giving us delicious and healty meals daily. At some poing I was even "kidnapped" by a giant blue bear (the hospital mascot named Turim), who took me to talk to a therapist because they tought I was sad and tired??? HOW COOL IS THAT???

Anyway, after being taken care, loved by and protected under his wing for 20+ years now is time for me to give him the support he needs right now.

I don't know how, when or even IF I'll keep this blog? I haven't decided yet, but I'll keep trying my best to come around here from time to time, leave some shitty edits for you guys.

Thank you to everyone who reached out to know if I was abducted (I kinda was).

Viva o SUS!

Lots of love

Jessica

[louismygf]

just recently watched this is us with my college friends

[bluetimeombre]

۶ৎ Mess of a man.

| Joel didn’t know why he’d let his little brother convince him a night at the bar was what he needed. But he might need to listen to him more. Smut!

[this is pure FILTH. I don’t know what came over me, I need this out my system and I need Joel in mine STAT. If you’re a minor pls don’t interact, this is not a safe space.]

Warnings; language, drinking, age gap (Joel is in his late forties, reader is 21) masturbation reference, daddy, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral (both receiving), over stimulation, come eating?let me know if I’ve missed anything

"Still haven't gotten your dick wet, huh?" was Tommy's way of greeting his brother.

Joel grumbled something, propping his foot on the coffee table in front of him. "Get lost, Tommy."

He'd thought that with his daughter, Sarah, at summer camp he'd get six weeks of peace, get work done, maybe take his daughter somewhere nice when she got back. But he forgot he had a brother and he forgot how annoying he was.

Sure, six weeks without his kid was a perfect and maybe a once-in-a-lifetime to get his dick 'wet' as Tommy put it. But he'd been out the game for years, out of practise. He wouldn't know how or who to approach.

"C'mon, what kind of brother would I be if I let you mope around alone in the house," he said, whacking Joel on the shoulder.

"A good one." Joel took a swing of his beer, watching the sport without knowing what team was doing what.

Tommy turned off the tv and snatched away Joel's beer, getting him up from the sofa. "There's a bar I know where everyone looking to get fucked goes, c'mon."

Joel decided he didn't want to know how his brother knew this place but as Tommy was already grabbing his truck keys and heading out the door. He'd be damned if he let Tommy drive his truck.

Yeah... that was why he was going...

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The bar was already loud when he and Tommy got there and ordered their beers. Joel would have one, maybe another if he was here long enough but then he'd go home and... see to himself if he had to.

It would have been nice to have something for the evening. It had been a long time and his own fist wasn't enough. He had a pick if he needed, he guessed. He wasn't immune to all the single middle aged mom's around him that would talk to him on the school drop off, invite him to one of their garden parties. Even some with rings on their fingers always lingered too long when shaking his hand or asking for some 'construction' advice.

But none of them did anything for him.

Tommy patted his brother on the back as he winked at the lady behind the bar. "See anything you like, yet?"

They'd been there... what? Ten minutes.

Then yes, he saw something he liked and his jaw almost dropped.

Tommy spotted the way he stilled and followed his gaze. "Holy shit."

You were with three girls- your friends, Joel assumed- and a guy hanging onto you, an arm draped around your hips. You were nursing a drink, laughing with your friends, tongue darting out to the straw of your cocktail.

Joel was done. He knew it immediately.

You were only twenty-one, young and beautiful and worse, Sarah's baby-sitter. Sure, his daughter was fourteen but on the late nights he had to work he didn't like to leave her alone.

Enter you. Good grades, polite, always called him Mr Miller like it wasn't the hottest thing. You stayed every night Joel needed to work, you cooked for Sarah, even ensured there was left overs for Joel and Tommy sometimes.

You'd tidy when he never asked, you never drank the beers he left for you. You were perfect.

And Joel knew, the first day you'd baby-sat his daughter over a year ago he'd made a mistake. He knew it when he watched you walk down his porch, when he started offering you lifts home and wishing you'd accept, when he had a wet dream like a horny teenager and it was you under him.

This was some cruel joke.

As if you could hear his thoughts your eyes caught over the noise of the bar. There was shock registering first and then you were dismissing your group to walk over to the Millers.

Joel gulped when he spotted what you were wearing. A tight high collared shirt, your hair pinned and the shortest skirt with heels.

Like a present to be un-wrapped...

"If it isn't the Miller brothers," you grinned.

"Hey darlin'," Tommy greeted first, reaching up to give you a small hug.

Joel's jaw clenched as you hugged him back. But Tommy was respectful, hands staying high on your body. Better than Joel would do.

You pulled away and smiled at Joel. "Mr Miller."

He nodded, taking a swig of his beer as he watched your tongue dart out in search for the straw. Fuck.

Tommy held a hand on your back. "I gotta take a leak, keep him company would you."

Joel didn't know what kind of game his little brother was playing.

"Of course," you smiled, sliding into the seat Tommy had vacated. "Don't I strive to look after the Millers."

Tommy chuckled and winked at Joel as he disappeared into the crowd.

"Hi there," he drawled.

You smiled. Maybe it was the lighting, or the alcohol, but your eyes were darker than he'd ever noticed. "Hey. Didn't expect to see you here tonight."

"Sarah's at camp," he said. He was painfully aware you knew. You hadn't been around in two weeks because he'd had no reason to ask you. Well, no appropriate reason.

"She enjoying it?" you threw a leg over yours, grazing his leg as you did.

"Think so," he said, "what about you, huh? Enjoyin' your freedom?"

You chuckle. "You know I love working for you, Mr Miller."

"Joel," he corrected you. He took a swing of his beer, watching you watch him.

"Jo-el," you draw out his name.

Something in Joel stirred, his pants couldn't be growing tighter, right? Thank god for the dim lighting.

He cleared his throat. "So this is where the kids hang out these days, huh?"

"I dunno about kids?" you said, leaning your body over slightly. "Am I a kid?"

Joel let his eyes wander down. The expanse of your legs, the skirt riding up your thighs and the way your chest rose and fell with your breath. Then slowly, he trailed back up your body. "I guess not."

Of all those times he'd watched you from the porch, you'd always looked back at him at least once, maybe twice to give a little wave as he leaned on the door. Or when you'd started accepting his lifts home and would always linger in his seat when he turned the engine off, the two of you leaning over the console and chattering a bit longer. Or when it came to staying to watch a game with him when Sarah had gone to bed when he knew you hated sport.

Of all those times he'd never let his mind wander as much as it was not.

"Tommy dragged me out," said Joel, taking more of his beer.

"He dragged you?" you chuckled. "You didn't want to come?"

"I'm glad I did," he said.

You take a longer sip of your drink, nodding. "I'm glad you did too."

Joel watched you a second as you tilted your head, a small tilt to your head. "You wanna another drink?" he asked. He wasn't even sure how much you'd had already. Was all this new look and attitude the cocktails talking?

"I should be good," you muse.

Joel decided in that moment he'd either spend the rest of the night in your company, or go home alone. "Your friends not missing you?" he didn't even want to look back at your friends maybe waiting for you. Or that guy watching you.

You also didn't care to look back. "Let them."

Joel smirked as he brought his bottle to his lips. "Atta girl."

He heard your intake of breath and felt satisfied. Your leg kicked off your other one and had grazed his, going down and down and he was sure you weren't doing this on accident. Not anymore.

"You can't say things like that," you chuckle, shuffling in your seat.

God, your thighs were pressing together tightly. Such a pretty sight...

You leaned over in your seat. "Do you know how many women would kill to hear you say that to them?"

"Well, i'm saying it to you, ain't I?"

You look at him through your lashes and Joel's legs widen to accommodate for the rising need in his crotch. It was wrong. It was so wrong. It was crossing a line. "I think I'll take that drink, if you're still offering?"

Joel nods and waved someone over to get you the same. The two of you talked a little more as you waited, your drink sliding over moments later.

"It must get lonely," you said, fingers dancing around the condensation of the glass. "That house all alone."

It seemed both of you had forgot about Tommy at that point.

The game being played between the two of you suddenly seemed real to Joel. "You tryin' to get an invite over?"

"Maybe."

You didn't miss a beat.

Joel looked at you. People were piling into the bar, music was being played but all he could focus on was you.

Your hand darted out, your fingers grazing his knee.

He looked down at his knee, where you touched him. Could you make out the dent in his jeans. "You know, i'm old enough to be your father."

"So should I start calling you daddy?"

He chocked on his beer. He managed to finish it, smirking to himself. "You got a mouth on you."

"You started it looking at me like that."

Joel rested against the bar. "I'm your employer."

You shrug. "And i'm not at work."

Joel looked around the bar and found his brother making out with a woman at the furthest end. He was sorted. "Why do you hang out here, huh kid?" if what Tommy told him was true he wasn't sure he could handle the idea of you coming here, looking out for someone that wasn't him.

You shrug. "It's a good bar, good drinks, good company usually."

"Usually?" he teased, his hands on his thighs. "You know, Tommy told me some filthy things around this place."

You lick your lips, holding back amusement. "Really?" you stand to your feet, leaning on the bar closer to him. You slot perfectly between his thighs.

His hand danced close to your hip but didn't touch you. Not yet. "People come here for one thing."

"Enlighten me, Joel."

His name from your lips made his brain fuzzy, effecting him more than any beer. But he couldn't do it, god, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Of the counter. Of how good you'd look bent over the counter, tight skirt bunched up at your hips.

But the words failed with him.

It was like you could tell, like you knew every move of his and every twitch.

You take one more sip of your drink before sliding it over the counter.

Joel watched as you got to your feet and worry rose on him. Worry he'd lose all he wanted.

"I'm going around the back, i'm going to be there for two minutes before I call an uber to go home. See you."

You meant it to. He watched you walk off, only briefly waving to your friends as you wove in and out of the people.

You were giving him two minutes to fuck over his life.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You waited, and waited for what you thought was two minutes. Truth be told you didn’t have a watch and lingering around the back of the bar probably wasn’t the greatest idea.

You could tap your foot and wait, rethinking your words and actions and hope that every time the door swung open, it would be your boss.

Joel fucking Miller. What game were you playing? More to the point, what was he doing?

Looking at you like that, carelessly letting his eyes wander as he imagined everything he wanted to do to you? You weren’t immune to his looks, his touches that lasted too long and the way he always watched you walk up to your front door, the engine only roaring once you were safe inside.

But now it seemed- faced with the ultimatum of fucking you or leaving you as nothing but his daughter’s babysitter- he was choosing the latter.

You’d really thought your lonely nights with only toys and fingers for company may have been rectified.

As you push yourself off the wall you really thought-

A sudden strong and rough hand grabbed your wrist and turned you back until you were against the wall and until lips were on yours.

You knew the scent, knew the strength of the body as Joel Miller pressed himself against you, groaning and licking into your lips.

You hands are in his hair, tugging at the curls of black and grey as you let him feel all your body, his arms caging you in and hand dragging down and down and-

"That was three minutes, sweet girl," Joel’s beard scratched your neck as he dragged his lips over your pulse.

You hold back a moan. The music in the bar was loud and the only people coming this way were the ones looking for a quick piss. Still you wanted nobody to stop this. "Wanted to give you a chance."

He nodded into your neck, biting the skin and winning a gasp from you. Joel tilted his head back, searching your gaze that only saw him. "Tell me you want this."

You nod. "I want it."

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb dragging down your bottom lip. He watched, entranced. "You’d let me down anything, wouldn’t you?" He whispered, looking as if he wasn’t all there. That some part of his mind was already fucking you against the wall.

You lower your head until you can reach the pad of his thumb, kissing the tip. "I want it."

"Oh, fuck baby," he groaned, pushing the pad of his thumb further into your mouth. Promises of things to come. "You’re gonna kill me sweet girl."

Your hand ran down his stomach until it meant the tightness of his pants and running up and down until you could feel the press of his length in your palm.

Joel indulged for a minute. His thumb in the warmth of his mouth while your other hand rubbed him right. Then he snapped back into reality as the door banged on the wall.

Not there.

Against himself, he took his thumb from you and grabbed your wrist, alerting you.

"I need your word that if we do this, Sarah doesn’t find out," he said sternly.

You chuckled. "Well I’m hardly gonna tell her I screwed her dad, am I?"

"Hey," he held one finger in front of your face, defying your smirk. "Your word, little miss, or I can drop you off home and you can watch while I take care of the problem you created."

You gulped. Maybe for a moment you forgot it was Mr Miller you were affronted with. Quickly, you nodded your head.

"Good girl," he surged forward and sucked on the bottom of your lip, his hips digging into yours. He groaned as you ground on him, nails digging into his biceps. "Feel wha’ you do to me, huh? You know how many times I’ve had to fuck my own fist and think of you?"

You practically melt at his words, leaning back into the wall. "Joel… please."

"Please what? Huh?" he taunted, rutting his clothed hips into your own, biting down on his lip as you threw your head back, moaning at the sensation. "C'mon, tell me what you want. Be a good girl and say it."

"I want you to fuck me," you whispered.

Joel scoffed. He left his hips against yours. He tutted. "I'm an old man, darlin', you're gonna have to speak up."

"Fuck me!" you all but screamed, desperation turning you into a mess.

Joel grabbed your hand and started to drag you from the alleyway, searching around as if his daughter might pop up out of nowhere.

You couldn't care less, didn't think about the group of friends you were leaving, or the guy that wanted you. Your hand circled over Joel's stomached t shirt, nails scratching as you leant into his side, lips marking up his neck.

"Fuck, baby," Joel groaned as he searched in his pocket for his keys. You joined the search, your fingers searching all around the dent in his jeans. "Fucking desperate, aren't you, huh?"

"Can't wait, Joel," you whisper in his ear, lips brushing, shivers running down his spine as you squeezed his crotch. "Please baby."

Joel grunted. He was practically shaking with the need to fuck you, to feel you against him. To have his hands wander all over you and memorise the way you moaned under him. There was so much more he wanted. Wanted to have you scream, wanted your neck bruised with his love and his back to carry the scratches from you.

He just needed.

"Fuck," he couldn't believe he was being so reckless. Couldn't believe that with a kiss and a grope you had rendered him a horny teenager. "Get in the back, babygirl."

He held open the door and practically pushed you in, climbing over you.

You jumped into his lap as soon as the door slammed shut and Joel chucked his keys somewhere to the front. Your lips worked against his, claiming it as yours and invading an unknown territory. You moaned as his tongue ran against yours and sucked it into his own mouth.

His hands were warm and large as they gripped your ass harshly, a soft slap echoing around his truck.

"You gonna let me slide my fingers into your pussy, baby?" he asked against your lips.

You moaned.

"Hey!" he grabbed your chin, pulling you back to stare at him. Your lips were already red and swollen. "You gotta talk to me baby. You want my fingers? Say yes."

"Yes please," you say, catching your breath. Your chest felt heavy, your pussy throbbing. "Please, want your fingers."

Joel smirked, finger tips brushing under the band of your skirt. "So polite."

The space at the back of his truck was small and cramped but he'd be lying if he hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about you in the back of his truck, cock stuffed down your throat or his face buried in your thighs.

All those times he'd taken you back, it had never been as innocent as he would let on.

But having you in his lap, begging for it, practically drooling with just his words, he had a feeling you weren't as innocent as you'd always made out to be.

Joel let the elastic of your skirt slap into place, causing you to jolt into him. As you jolted, he used the leverage of your hips to pull your skirt up and feel under you. "Jesus baby- you're soaked."

His finger slid up the cloth of your panties, collecting the dampness and smearing it.

You gasp as he presses into your pussy, pushing the cloth into you. "Joel please, I asked so nice."

"You did, sweet girl, you did," he nodded, watching as your eyes squeezed shut. "Hey- eyes on me baby, right here." He gently slapped the under part of your chin to get you to look at him as he easily hooked your panties to the side and sunk a finger in.

You hum out a moan, head tilted back.

Joel found the crevice of your neck, dragging his beard against the soft skin and relishing in the red that bloomed. "You like it? You like my fingers inside your heat? God, you're so warm."

"Like it," you nod, eyes shutting again.

Joel groaned low in his throat as he grabbed your chin and forced your forehead against his. "You keep your eyes on me, you understand me. Or i'll drop you off home. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr Miller."

"Oh-" Joel sunk his ring finger in until he was knuckle deep. "You're so good for me."

You tighten around the feel of his fingers. He's barely curling them and already you're squirming at the sound of your own slick.

"Ride my fingers, babygirl, gowan' now."

Obediently you started to move, riding his hand. His rough palm moved with you. His mouth remained open in a small 'o' as you wither against him, moaning.

Joel couldn't help the filth that spilled from his mouth. But with every clench you gave around his fingers, you didn't seem to mind.

"So good for me... such a good girl,"

"Dirty too, riding me in the back of the truck you and Sarah ride in."

"Fuck, i've dreamt of this, you look so good with my fingers stuffed inside of you."

At his encouragement you grip his shoulders, moving faster until your skirt is ridging up your hips and the little wisps of your hair are sticking to your forehead from sweat.

His thumb pressed down on your puffy and begging clit.

"Shit- ah- fuck!"

Joel's hips involuntarily bucked up to yours. "You wanna cum, sweet girl?"

You bite down on your lip, nodding and looking at where his forearm- taunt and veiny- disappeared under you.

Joel rested his head next to yours, kissing the sweat at your neck. "Tough baby, you're so dirty. Dirty girls have to do a lot of waiting till they get their reward."

Slowly, he retracts his fingers.

"Look at all this mess," he tutted, looking at how his fingers glistened with your need. He pats your hips, "up."

You fall onto the seat next to him, legs spread and head resting back on the car door.

You watch as Joel lifts his hips, un-buckling his belt as he starts to pull off his boxers and jeans. Your foot danced over to his lap but he impatiently pushes it away.

"You want to cum, don't you?" he asked, sending you a dark look. His hand grabs your ankle as you nod and kisses the bare skin above your heel. "Then behave."

The hand that you had just been riding wrapped around his cock and brought it out.

Your mouth opened as you stared at the beauty of the thing. He was big, bigger than you'd seen and bigger than you'd dare dreamed. He shone with pre-cum and your arousal as he spread what was on his fingers. His hand worked himself up and down as he relaxed back in his seat.

He looked over at you. "Eyes up here, baby."

Your gaze flicked up to him. "So pretty, Joel."

He chuckled and tugged himself. "Always knew you'd like it. God, you've no idea the things i've dreamt."

"Tell me. Please."

Joel leaned his head back, moving up and down his length slowly as he re-called every filthy dream his mind conjured. "Your hands wrapping around me. Your mouth being so warm and wet as you fuckin' choke on it. God, bet your throat's not used to a man's cock, huh? Only used to boys, ain't that right?"

He opened his eyes, peeking at you.

You'd dared closer to him, leaning over. You nodded.

"Bet that kid in there was hoping you'd give him a chance," he went on, his other hand coming up and thumb and forefinger tugging at your chin. "He didn't stand a chance as soon as you saw me, did he?"

You shake your head, shuffling closer into his side.

He jerked your head toward him. "Answer me."

"Only want you, Joel," you tell him.

You lick your lips, eyes darting from him to his leaking cock. The tip was red, begging for attention. "Can I- Can I please?"

Joel stroked back your hair. "Go on then, baby. Have a play." He stretched his arms along the back of the truck and watched to see you move.

But Joel quickly realised you didn't come around to play.

You'd always seemed so innocent- so un-knowing- when you looked after Sarah, when you helped him clean down the kitchen, when he'd offer you lifts back or to stay over you'd always blush and lower your head.

You were lowering it now, throwing your hair back over your shoulder and holding the base of him.

First, you touch him with your lips lightly and he smiles, daring not to think this might be the only time he lets you touch him like this. Your lips are so pretty and pink, swollen and wet from kissing him as you drag them along the sides.

Then you pepper kisses along the skin and start moving your hand around the base.

"You really gonna tease me?"

"Wanna take my time," you mumble into his though, kissing the skin.

Next, your hand cups his balls that were heavy with need. He wasn't exaggerating, it had been years since his last good fuck and no amount of jerking himself off to the thought of you could satisfy him. As your fingers played with his balls, rolling them around and giving them warmth and attention they craved, you made out with the tip of his cock.

You collected his pre-cum with your lips and tongue while still fondling him.

He could feel his shirt stick to him, his chest rising and falling quicker. Shittin-fuck. How was he supposed to last if this was what you were giving him?

"Easy, baby, easy," he eased you, stroking back your hair.

He knew you heard cause you were smirking then opening your mouth and taking him deep, almost all the way in one.

Joel groaned and grabbed the door. "Shit-ah-"

He didn't care if he wasn't far from the bar. Didn't care if anyone tried to get a look in through the fogging up windows. He didn't care if Tommy came by and applauded him for getting his dick wet. All he cared for was the feel of your wet mouth all the way down him, spit drooling down his cock.

You were doing so well and he wanted you to know.

"You wanna take me deep, huh?" he grunted, clutching onto your hair and holding you down. You gagged around him. He chuckled. "I'm not even all the way in there. You got room for more?"

You dragged your mouth up, taking a deep breath and nodding. You wiped your mouth from the mess you made and went in again.

This time, you took him again and again, deeper, bobbing him in your throat until he was a grunting and groaning mess. His hips moved of their own accord, shoving himself in even when there was nowhere else to go.

But the sounds of gagging, of his balls slapping against his own thighs as he moved, of the moans coming out of you were enough to almost having him finishing in your mouth. Almost.

He wanted to, boy did he, but he wouldn't, not until your cunt had swallowed him.

Joel pulled you up, letting you release him with a pop. "Want to be inside, need to be inside."

The truck wasn't the best place but it was the only place he had for you. He wished he could give you a bed, give your hours to welcome him, but Joel needed like he'd never needed. He imagined this is what starvation was, having your treat dangled in front of you.

And you were moving with him, lying down on the back seats, legs accommodating him as he slid in between you.

Joel gently pulled down your panties and stuffed them in the back of his pocket. If he was gonna have to jerk himself off to thoughts of you again, having your soaked panties was the least he deserved.

He glanced down at your swollen pussy and salivated.

Your hand trailed down, circling your clit as you moaned at the time he was taking.

Joel grabbed your wrist, bringing it up to his mouth and nipped at the skin. "Only I get to touch, yeah, babygirl?"

"Yes," you answered, breathless.

Joel loomed over you, bringing the tip of his leaking cock to smear himself over your folds. "Tommy told me somethin' real interestin'. Ask me what?"

"I don't- I don't care about Tommy, right now," you grab his shoulders, trying to pull him forward.

"He tol' me-" Joel strained, his lips brushing yours. It wasn't just your torture he wad delivering. It was his own. "He said people go to that bar to get fucked. Is that why you were there?"

For a moment you seemed shocked to hear it. Then the palm of your hand held his cheek, running over the stubble.

"Worked, didn't it?" you teased.

Joel sunk into you with ease. "Yeah."

He hid his face in your neck as you arched your back into him. 'Take it, take it,' he spoke into your skin, tattooing the words there.

"Joel-" you gasped, holding onto his back. "Fuck!"

"You're ok, baby. You're ok, babygirl," his breath was short. He needed to feel you more, the half way in wasn't enough. "Fuck, you grip me so well."

You gasp, holding him in you. "Need-need more."

"I dunno baby, you think you got it?" he teased.

"Yes, yes."

"What have I said about speaking up?"

You groan, throwing your head back on the seat. "Fuck me, please Joel!"

With a grunt loud enough to be heard outside, Joel sunk further into you. 'Shit, yeah.... fuck,' spilled from his lips as he slowly took himself out of you before sinking in all the way again.

"You feel me?" asked Joel. He held himself up over you because he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna watch you fall apart on his dick.

"Feel it, feel you everywhere," you mumble.

You really did. You felt the soft seats of his truck, smelt him everywhere. The smell of old cologne, cigarettes (though you were sure he didn't smoke) and new wood. It wasn't just his cock sinking into you but his voice as he mumbled filthy things in your ear. His hand dragged down your face, gripping your neck. Not tight enough to cut airways but tight enough to make you squeeze him.

He stuttered, "sh-shit. If you do that again I won't last," he told you. "And I want you to come first."

"Then fuck me Joel," you said, looking up at him.

Joel looked down to where he disappeared into you. You were already rocking your hips into his, desperate for something- anything. His hand pushed back some of your hair as he stared at you with something more than need. Desire. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Wasn't it? Wasn't it everything you wanted since he first laid a hand on your shoulder and led you into his home, welcoming you to his life. "Yes."

His thumb dragged out your bottom lip before his lips were smashing onto yours, wet and sloppy as his thrusts increased.

He moved his hips in and out rapidly, giving you no more time to adjust. It wasn't long before he had to release your lips to breathe.

"Ah- shit!" you yelled.

"That's it baby, be as loud as you like. Let the whole fucking street know who's fucking you," he panted. His hands were at your neck, holding the both of you steady.

"Joel!"

"Shit! You feel so good!"

Joel tugged down your top, not in the mood to care if it rips. It's not like he was letting you back in that bar. He pulled out your tits and latched onto them like a child, nipping at the nipple.

Your hand winds itself in his hair, pulling at the roots and throwing your body into his. You could feel his cock stretch you, the pain mixing delightfully with the pleasure. With every thrust he tipped you closer and closer onto the ledge and as his warm, wet mouth sucked on your nipple, the other hand squeezing and playing with the other, you knew it would be the best orgasm of your life.

"I'm gonna, arg-"

Joel licked around your nipple. "Not yet."

"Joel!"

"Hold it!"

He pushed himself up, holding onto the back of the seats as he used the position to put a foot on the ground and fuck into you harder.

The windows were steamed, your bodies slick with sweat.

The truck was fucking shaking at how hard he was moving you.

You threw a hand out behind you to hold onto the door, bracing yourself as you rocked your body into his.

Joel threw his head back, his neck stretching you and tempting you. "Best fucking pussy out there. And I've been wasting you as a babysitter."

"Yours," you mumble. He hadn't even asked and you were giving him the promise.

His lips tilted into a lobsided smirk as he leaned closer to you. "You mine, huh? All mine? My girl, my pussy?"

"Yes," you nod.

For a minute you can only hear your breaths with the sound of his hips slapping into yours.

Joel's fingers dig into your thighs and bring your leg up to wrap around his waist. "Mine," he all but growled into your chest, nipping at the skin. "Show me. Show me you're mine. Cum."

He thrusted into you hard, his thumb holding your stomach down and playing with your clit until you were coming all over his cock. 'That's it baby... all over me.... there's a good girl.... keep coming,'

Joel fucked you throughout. He had his own finish to reach but watching you fall apart, your mouth open in a silent gasp as your fingers claw into his shoulders.

He cupped your chin, smiling down at you. "You gonna help an old man out?"

You were in no state to, coming down from your highest high.

Joel cupped your ass and lifted you from the seats that were slowly soaking in both of yours juices. "Ah-" he yelled out at the new angle he was reaching, his balls heavy hitting your pussy. "Yeah- there- just there baby."

"Joel!" you yell. "S'to much."

"No it's not," he shook his head. His eyes were screwed up as sweat rolled down his cheeks. "You can take it. You know you can."

Your pussy was throbbing, squeezing him so intensely you didn't know how he was still moving.

You bit down on your lip as you watched him concentrating hard. You test the waters, wrapping your legs around his waist until your entire lower body was in his weight.

"Fuck!" Joel's jaw clenched as he looked down at you, his fingertips digging into the skin of your soft thighs until he was sure bruises would be there for only him to see. "I'm gonna... shit- Where you want it?"

"Inside, please," you mewl.

Joel looked at you, danger in his eyes. "No, baby, we can't."

You nod and squeeze his hips. "I'm on the pill."

The words were heaven to his ears.

You squeeze around him and Joel yelled out, falling atop you as he spilled out inside of you.

"Take it! Take it! Fucking let me- let me in!" he yelled, hips stuttering as he fell into you. One of your legs remained around him but the other he let drop, holding it weakly.

You were sure you were still coming down from your high as his hips stuttered on yours. You could feel every drop of him smear on your pussy and leak out.

Then Joel's fingers danced around the space his cock was softening in you, pushing it all back in.

His brows rose as he looked down, a shaking laugh coming out. "I-"

You didn't want to hear the words that came after. The regret. The 'we shouldn't have' or 'think about Sarah'. You just wanted this moment of feeling held and cared for by Joel to last a little longer.

Your lips move against his slowly, tasting the salt of sweat from the both of you on there.

He didn't push you away, he just held his lips close to yours, in small and attentive brushes. "How do you feel?" he whispered, pulling back enough to look around your eyes.

"Good," you nod, "real fucking good."

Joel chuckled and looked down. Slowly, as not to hurt you, he pulled out.

You moaned at the sudden emptiness in you, lying there to catch your breath and so you didn't have to prepare for regret in his face.

But it seemed regret was the last thing on Joel's mind.

He had no idea what kind of animal was possessing him or just how far his need went. But when he fell back against the door, listening out to the low drum from the bar, he saw your swollen cunt. Red and white. Red from how hard he'd fucked you and white from the mixture of you and him.

Something growled inside of him- maybe it was him- but before either of you understood what was happening, Joel lunged back in and spread your thigs, diving in.

You lurched up onto your elbows, looking down at him. You could see the top of his hair, his eyes closed and you could feel his nose moving around you and nudging you. "Joel, what are you- holy-"

Joel hummed into your pussy. It was heaven on his tongue, dripping into him. So sweet and all you. He'd never felt closer to a person before. Never felt such a need. He was slobbering like a damn dog over your pussy.

"What the fuck have you done to me, huh," he'd pulled back only enough so you could understand his words.

Neither of you were sure if he was talking to you or what laid between your legs.

He opened up your pussy and went in, tongue fucking into you. He was caught between wanting to push his spill back into you and eating you out till you were dry.

"Joel!" you screamed, voice breaking. "You-you can't-"

"I fucking can," he snarled. His face was being pushed into your cunt as he shook it, smearing both of you all over him.

There was nothing you could say or do before your legs trembled and you came all over his beard and lips. You didn't know what to do, whether to push him off you or pull you closer.

Joel held your hips into his mouth and groaned as he took in everything you gave him.

Every flick of his tongue had you shaking. Every time he gripped your thighs you made a noise of pleasure.

Hours might have passed since he first discovered heaven between your thighs before he pulled himself out.

His face was wet with you. It was sinful and like nothing you could ever imagine. "Look at what you've fucking done to me."

You'd made an absolute mess.

[ysaefinn]

There's overprotective, and there's Suguru Geto.

"Ah- you'll hurt your eyes, baby, let me handle it"

You're just about to start dicing your onion when Suguru comes up from behind you –fully enveloping you in his warmth– and gently rests his palm on the back of your clenched hand before prying the knife away.

"And this" He runs one long finger along the edge of the blade, from heel to tip "is too sharp for you"

..That damn tone.

Suguru only speaks to you this way when he's about to succumb to the voices, the ones that tell him to scoop you up to hold you in his palm forever, to lock you inside his rib cage and keep you warm, to hold you in his arms and never loosen his grip. You know your faith is set when he begins to rub his cheek against yours, a mother lioness and her little cub.

Smothering.

You have reason to believe that Suguru seriously considers baby proofing the house in its entirety.

"Suguru..." Your disappointed expression only gives him more fuel and now he's audibly cooing at you. How precious, the tiny little baby kitten in his palm, pouting so sweetly, how do you have the nerve to go around being so adorable and still act all inconvenienced and fed up when he finally gets his hands on you?

Suguru doesn't think it adds up, so he takes things into his own hands.

"I'll handle the rest, you should take a rest, baby"

He'll handle the rest? Seriously??

"Suguru, I haven't even started anything yet" you whine, and he runs a hand through your hair before pulling you against his chest.

Bastard, he knows what he's doing.

Your world shifted the day Suguru learned that his chest can also double as a tranquilizer.

Like a moth to a flame, ice in a fernace, you melt into him, every single time without fail.

Your tense figure immediately relaxes, the rumbling laughter that runs through his chest feels like a declaration of victory. You know that you have once again lost.

"There you go.." comes an almost taunting coo "isn't this so much better? I like you best this way" And it really, really is, it feels amazing, it feels wonderful being fussed over this much, cared for like this, coddled like a fragile little thing.

"I got here just in time. What if you got hurt, hm? I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if my baby was harmed when I could have been there to stop it" the whispering voice of a siren, how you managed to stand your ground this long is a mystery to you, Suguru is a force to be reckoned with.

So you put up with it, and let him have his fun, let him play the role of the sweet doting overprotective husband, because like this, everyone wins and everyone is happy, he gets to care for you, you get to be cared for, perfect.

Aren't you both just a match made in heaven?

[pianocat939]

Yandere Player 230 (Thanos) Headcanons

(Since at the time of this post I finished episode 5, I'll only include the first 2 games, but I'll probably finish the season in like a day or two, so I'll probably write a part 2 later)

All my headcanons of Squid Game from here on out are the players trying to keep MC from being killed. For non-players, I'll think of something else.

Part 2

Tw: aggressive behaviour (slight violence), [Murder is probably gonna be the next part]

Probably notices you because one: you pretty. Especially when 196 dies right away. Before the game even starts though, he's already trying to flirt. He tries so hard to glorify himself so that maybe you'd be interested in him.

I say 100% what would pull him in even more is if the reaction from you turns out to be either: "No thanks" or "???". Like you're just trying to get the money. This Thanos dude is weird.

As soon as the first game starts and player 196 dies, he immediately focuses all of his attention on you. Other than winning the game of course.

Let's you lose your footing and start to fall when the doll the turns around. But just in the perfect moment, he hugs you from behind, keeping you pressed against him. He snickers, staring at you.

"Senorita, don't die yet. I haven't you made you obsess over me."

You know how high this mf is. He will try to get you to gallop with him lmao. He be like "Yippeee"

As you make the finish line. He pulls your cheek, laughing like a psycho.

"You're so cute. Don't worry. Thanos will destroy the evil with his infinity stones."

During voting, he tries to convince you to vote blue. He wants you on his team. He wants to keep playing this hellhole of a game with you. He's a psycho, he knows that.

If you don't, he'll just be clingy af and stick to you as much as possible. He literally doesn't give a single fuck what everyone else thinks. He just wants you to acknowledge him and maybe show interest.

During meal time, he probably tries to feed you or get you to feed him. He probably pokes you with the spoon until you eat.

"Come onnnn, you need to eat if you wanna survive with me, yeah?"

During sleep time, istg 10000% he will try to get into your bed when you're asleep. He doesn't care if it wakes you up. He just wants to see your reaction. He would try to convince you to sleep beside him too. He doesn't really care if it's cramped or not.

He definitely will offer his pills to you. Nothing's better than making sure you're not panicked and getting yourself killed.

During game 2, he'll pull you into his team along with Namgyu. He'll let you pick whatever game you're good at. He'll definitely make sure you're next to him. Preferably on the edge so you're only connected to him.

"You stay next to me. You're good at 딱지 No?"

During the 2nd voting, he'll be much more aggressive with trying to get you to continue the game. If you choose no, he'll be much more pissy and follow you everywhere. If you choose yes, you'll just feed into his interest with you. He'll hug you or hold your arm.

During the 2nd night, he'll just pull you to his mattress and not let you leave. He's surprisingly very perceptive. He won't hesitate to squeeze your arm a little tighter to make sure you stay.

"Don't leave little mouse. Wouldn't want to get stabbed to shreds by someone, right?"

He likes showing off his raps to you. He doesn't care if someone thinks he's stupid or weird.

"It's Thanos yeah? Wouldn't wanna kill yourself yeah?"

—————————————————————————

I'm sorry if my grammar is literally all over the place. If you couldn't tell, I am down bad for Thanos (and his actor being T.O.P. doesn't help).

- Celina

[simpforboys]

Frat!Rafe teaching his sweet tutor how to kiss before her date…

warnings: kissing, suggestive(?)

"Hold on - you're telling me you've never kissed anyone?"

You nervously shake your head, chewing on your bottom lip.

You've been tutoring Rafe in statistics for about three weeks now. It's been going okay, mostly him flirting with you and you shyly laughing, thinking he's just messing around.

But now that you told the popular frat boy you have a date tonight with some Braden Langford, Rafe is curious to know what else you have or haven't done.

He's laying on your twin xl bed, making himself comfortable in your dorm room. You sit across from him in a crisscross, stats textbook on your lap with papers and a graphing calculator next to your thigh.

"Are you making fun of me?" You mumbled anxiously, starting to pick at your fingernails.

Rafe was the first boy to ever be in your room, technically the only person you've ever had in your room since you lived in a single and didn't really have other friends.

"No, baby. 'M jus' surprised," he murmured in disbelief.

It's quiet for a moment before he speaks up, something off in his alluring blue eyes. "Ya said you're goin' on a date t'night?"

You nod, doe-y eyes meeting his.

"He might try t'kiss ya, y'know," Rafe warns, trying to hide the jealousy building in his chest at the thought of his girl tutor going out with another guy.

You remain silent for a moment, blinking at the tall boy on your small bed. But then before your brain could process it, you were blurting out the request.

"Teach me?"

He looks at you for a moment, completely stunned, but also a small smirk curled onto his lips. You quickly tried to backtrack.

"I jus' mean that you kiss girls a lot and you have sex all the time and I don't know anybody else and --"

"Baby, shhh," he cuts off your rambling, the smirk now bigger.

"I'll teach ya how t'kiss, sweet girl. But y'gotta listen t'everythin' I say, mkay?"

You nod, face hot as he grabs the textbook off of your lap. You were already nervous enough as it is about going on your first date, now Rafe Cameron is going to teach you how to kiss?

"’M gonna put my hands ‘ere, kay?” He tells you softly, big hands moving to hold your hips.

“Eyes. Want those pretty eyes on me, pretty girl.” He commands firmly yet gently, not wanting to startle you.

Your eyes flicker down to his, heart pounding in your chest. Butterflies filled your tummy as you stared at him, subconsciously licking your lips.

He lets out a small hum, leaning in slightly to brush his lips against yours. “Lemme take the lead, yeah? Jus’ follow me.”

He gently presses his lips to yours. You instinctively flinch at the new contact, but eventually your eyes flutter shut as you melt against Rafe.

His hands grip your hips a bit better, helping you onto his lap. He moved his lips with yours, fitting together perfectly as he swiped his tongue over your bottom one.

You gasped into his mouth, causing him to slip his tongue in and slide it perfectly against yours. Your own hands move off of your lap, but stay in the air, not knowing what to do.

He takes your hands and guides them onto his shoulders, pulling back so you can both pant together.

“Good girl, baby… doin’ s’good.” He murmurs breathily, before capturing your swollen lips with his again.

As the kisses went on, you continued to melt against him, your body burning from his addictive nature.

Your hands slid down his chest, fingertips gently squeezing in to feel his pecs as you sat perfectly on his lap and made out with your tutee.

Eventually, though, you had to pull away because your lungs were burning with the need for air.

His eyes flutter open against yours again, staring at each other as he rests his forehead against your own.

“Y’okay?” He asks softly.

You nod, breathless and mind a little fuzzy that your first kiss was that good, the type of good that’s only seen in those romance movies.

“Good.”

[timmydraker]

PART 2 OF CLONE BABY

Bruce: You need to tell the rest of the family, but mostly Dick.

Tim: why...?

Bruce, remembering how mad Dick got when he didn't tell him about Jason or literally any other kid: just trust me, it's not worth it

Tim: but I haven't told Kon yet *biggest pouty face ever made*

Bruce: Tim, he's still dead... isn't he?

Tim: I mean... for now.

Bruce:

Tim: FINE. Give her back to me then.

Bruce: ... five more minutes?

*Later:*

Dick: Hey guys, what was so important I had to get here so quick? Is everyone okay? Did someone... y'know?

Bruce: Opposite, actually.

Tim: I had a baby

Dick: you fucking what.

Tim: I had baby.

Tim: lil bubba

Tim: I made it myself :)

Tim, holding up his baby girl: see!

Dick, rapidly going through several emotions at once before letting out such a high pitched squeal that Clark Kent breaks a mug out of shock: A BABY!!!

Tim: a baby!

Bruce: a baby...

Damian, who had come out of his room as soon as he saw that Dick had gotten to the house via his trackers: a baby?

Tim: not for you, go away

Bruce: Tim.

Tim: what? She may have been a scientific miscalculation but she is mine and I will not risk her being stabbed by your miscalculation baby.

Damian: what did you just call me?!

Tim: you heard me!

The baby stirring and whining:

Tim: shhh, it's okay little one. Did Damian's shouting upset you? That's very mean of him, isn't it? It's okay, it's okay

Dick: omg im an uncle

Tim: yes you are!

Dick: and who's the mother?

Tim: 1 am.

Dick: oh... okay, then who's the dad?

Tim, in all seriousness: Kon.

Dick, naturally assuming Kon came back to life like people do all the time: oh, he's back?

Bruce, making a silencing motion:

Tim, trying not to cry: not yet...

Damian: I am confused, why does Drake have a child?

Bruce: he was trying to clone his dead best friend and accidentally mixed his DNA with one of the subjects and made a clone hybrid baby.

Dick: more like dead situationship but okay

Damian: oh, like my brother but an acciden

Bruce: your WHAT?

Tim: yeah! But she's going to grow up like a normal human/kryptonian clone baby and not in like a week.

Damian: very well, I will craft some training weapons for her so she can at least have a chance fitting into this family.

Tim: no the fuck you will not Tim: I mean fudge

Damian: she will also grow up without a father apparently.

Tim: oh like Slade is a better option? And also, so did you???

Damian: beside the point. This baby will be too much like its parents, you are better to let someone else raise her so she won't be a blubbering fool.

Tim: BLUBBERING FOOL?!

Dick: hold on, go back-

Bruce: so l don't have a second blood son?

Damian: and anyway, you can hardly be a n when you practically weren't raised at all, 1 other hand was raised by an exceptional woman-

Damian: and anyway, you can hardly be a mother when you practically weren't raised at all, I on the other hand was raised by an exceptional woman-

Tim: oh HELL no

Tim: first of all, my parents have nothing to do with how I myself will parent! I will be everything in wanted to have and I will not let my baby girl feel unloved for a single second of her life, thank you very much.

Tim: secondly, you're saying that Taliah is a good role model for parenting? When was the last time you spoke to her that didn't involve her using your or Bruce for your granddaddy? Huh?

Damian: ...

Tim: that's what I thought.

Bruce: maybe we should calm-

Tim: and anyway, now that I'm a mother I understand a lot more and I'm not letting you raise my kid because you are a kid, Damian. I know your almost fifteen but that doesn't change the fact that you have Child Developmental Syndrome as well as severe CPTSD and deserve to be carefree and not hold as many responsibilities as some people, *glares at Bruce* seem to think is okay!

Tim: so, no, you can't take my baby but you can be in her life because while I still kind of hate you and think you should suffer for trying to kill me and cutting my line, I can truely see now that you are a baby yourself.

Tim: now, who is going to help me pick out a paint for the nursery l'm making at my apartment?

Damian: ...

Bruce: ...

Dick, who has been slowly inching forward to try hold the baby: ...

Damian, still seething but also a little... honoured?: may I suggest the colour China Rose?

It will go well with the rest of your apartment.

Tim, smiling happily and rocking his baby: good idea!

Tim: Dick, you can hold her while I find Alfred.

Dick: oh thank god, gimme, gimme, gimme, oh hi baby!!! Oh, just look at those chubby wittle cheekies~! Aren't you the most precious wittle thing? Yes you are! You are! Awww!!

Bruce: I forgot to ask, do you have a name?

Tim: oh yeah... that's a thing

Dick and Bruce, integrally: *He is not going to be able to do this alone.*

ーーーーー

QUESTION: what should the baby be called?????

Also wonder how long it will take to end up on

TikTok lol

[differenteagletragedy]

Part Five of Simon Riley x Single Mother <3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

It doesn't take long for a routine to be established. Simon stops by, at least for a little bit, most days. He brings something from the neighborhood bakery by for breakfast, or helps you fix dinner, and naturally there is still the occasional park playdate.

"We need to take it slow," you'd told him that night in the kitchen, when the two of you had kissed until your lips were pink and swollen from his attention. "I don't want Charlie to get confused."

And that was fine by him -- still is. The beauty of it all is that he doesn't just care for you, but for your children, too, and if you think moving slow is best, then that's just what you'll do. He's got all the time in the world.

Except, of course, until he doesn't.

It's been a few weeks of this, and just when he's starting to feel like he could actually be lucky enough for this to be the rest of this life, he gets the call. Another mission, a longer one this time from the outset.

He's got to tell you, and he's got to leave you. The thought tears him up inside. He pictures this beautiful little life he's just started carving out for himself passing by without him, and the darker parts of his mind picture you realizing that maybe you're better off without a man who can only take care of you parttime.

You try your best to ease those notions. You've gotten pretty good at reading him, and you can see the self doubt etched in his face soon after he gives you the news of his impending departure. You give him sweet kisses and hold him, whispering to him about how you'll miss him, and he wants so badly to believe it.

It's Charlie, the night before he's off, that really calms his nerves.

After dinner, Simon sits beside you on the couch while you hold Emma, and he tries to convince himself that when he comes back, things will be just like this. Charlie had run off to his room, and when he comes back, he climbs onto the couch, kneeling beside him with his little hand on his shoulder.

"All right, Charlie?" he asks.

Without a word, the boy reaches out his other hand, and in it he holds a beaded bracelet. Obviously homemade, it's mostly made of black beads, with some yellow and pink ones scattered in with no real pattern.

He glances at you, and you smile at him, so he takes the bracelet, and looks at it closer, not quite understanding the presentation.

"It's nice," he tells Charlie. "You make it?"

Charlie nods. "It's for you."'

Simon is not a crier in the least -- he's experienced all sorts of pain, physical and emotional, spiritual even, without shedding a tear. But this ... he clears his throat, focusing again on the bracelet and not the darling little boy who gave it to him or his beautiful mother who, every day, he grows more and more certain is the love of his life.

"For me?" he finally says, fighting to keep his voice even. "For what?"

"For when you go," Charlie answers. "So you don't forget about us."

There are no words to describe how outrageous he thinks the idea is, so instead he presses on.

"You pick the colors?"

"Yeah," Charlie answers, leaning over to poke at the bracelet. "Black because that's your favorite color, yellow because it's my favorite color and pink because Mum and Emma are girls."

Simon nods, and slips the bracelet on. He thanks the child, who wraps his arms tightly around his neck before climbing off the couch and heading back to his room.

"He loves you," you tell him with a smile, and he knows you can see how affected his is by the gift.

"Yeah?" Simon asks. "And what about his mum?"

You lean in, carefully as to not disturb the baby, and he meets you the rest of the way. You haven't slept together yet, figuratively or literally, and you've been insistent on taking things slow, but he can't help it. He wants to know where he stands, if you're feeling the same way he is.

Your kiss is soft, and you linger, long enough for him to bring his hand to your cheek to hold you in place just a little longer. When you pull back, you give him another small smile.

"His mother happens to be extremely fond of you."

Simon ends up being gone just shy of two months, and it's miserable, being away from you for so long. He keeps the bracelet safe in a pocket on his vest, toying with it in his downtime. It feels like a tether, something that keeps him focused. Something that will pull him home.

When he does get back to town, he slings his bag over his shoulder and walks out of the train station. He plans to drop his things off at his apartment before giving you a call, seeing if you're free, but when he gets to the juncture where he can either continue on towards his building or turn and trek the few extra blocks to your house, it's barely a decision he registers.

He's heading towards you.

There's a brief moment of hesitation after he unlatches the gate and climbs up the steps of your porch. Doubts creep in -- thoughts that tell him that he's been gone for longer than you were together, that you're not expecting him ... maybe that you don't want him anymore.

But Charlie's bracelet, on his wrist now, makes him remember just how good it felt, being a part of your life, and the memory is enough for him to knock.

All the doubts leave him, a rush of wonderful certainty hitting as soon as you open the door, because in your eyes, he sees it -- you missed him too. You take him into your arms, pulling him down to kiss his face, the sound of your happy, surprised laughter like music to his ears, and he's home now. He knows it more than he's ever known anything.

Simon holds you tightly in his arms, kissing you too, his lips landing on your head and your temple, anywhere he can reach, and then there's another, much smaller set of arms around him, and he looks down to see Charlie hugging his legs.

"You came back," he says, his voice muffled.

"Always will."

PART SIX - PART SEVEN - PART EIGHT - PART NINE

[joelsrose]

Dark Matter

i haven't written reed before but here we go! i hope yall enjoy xx

warnings: fingering, age gap? (reader is mid 20's), cheating (sorry sue), power-dynamic, semi-public

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

You walked into the lab the same way you always did—quietly, carefully, your notebook hugged to your chest like a shield, pages dog-eared and smudged with graphite, filled with half-solved equations, theoretical scribbles, and tiny margin doodles of molecules and stars.

The click of your heeled boots echoed off the cold, polished floor, a sound that somehow felt too loud in the stillness of the room. The air inside was always a little too cold, like the whole space was suspended in a vacuum—untouched by the warmth of human hands—but you liked it that way. It made you feel sharp, focused. Like anything could happen here. Like everything already had.

It had been exactly seven days since you started your internship under Mr. Richards—or Reed, as he’d insisted you call him on the very first day, his tone polite but firm, eyes flickering to yours with something unreadable when you stammered out “Dr. Richards” instead. The man was brilliant. Obviously. He was also deeply intimidating in the way only truly intelligent people could be—effortlessly so, like he didn’t notice the way the rest of the world bent around his mind.

He wasn’t cruel, not at all, but there was something about him that made your pulse skip whenever he turned to you with a question, something about the way he spoke in low, thoughtful tones, his hands always busy with some piece of machinery or scribbling formulas on the glass board like his thoughts couldn’t be contained by paper.

You’d been selected from a pool of thousands—won the LUMINA International Science Initiative, a fellowship that granted a single spot, once a year, to shadow one of the world’s leading innovators.

You never expected to get it. You’d submitted your proposal last-minute, half-convinced it was too ambitious, too naive. But something about it must’ve caught their attention—maybe your hypothesis on temporal field distortions, maybe the way you phrased it like a love letter to curiosity itself. Either way, it landed you here, standing just inside the threshold of the Baxter Building’s most secured lab, wearing your best skirt and your favorite boots, heart thudding in your chest like a metronome gone mad.

You adjusted your grip on your notebook and cleared your throat softly, the sound swallowed by the lab’s cavernous quiet. “Morning,” you offered, voice smaller than you meant, eyes sweeping the room for him—half-hoping he wasn’t here yet, half-hoping he was.

From behind one of the massive monitors, you heard the gentle clink of metal, followed by a low voice.

“You’re early.”

You turned and there he was, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collarbone peeking where his lab coat had come undone. His hair was tousled, like he’d been up for hours already, running his hands through it between equations. There was graphite smudged on his wrist, and a faint streak of oil down one thumb, and somehow that made him look even more untouchable. He glanced over his shoulder at you, then down at your notebook.

“More scribbles?” he asked, one corner of his mouth lifting—not quite a smile, but close enough to make your chest flutter.

You nodded, holding it out. “A few questions from last night. I kept thinking about the energy dispersion curve in the 5-D field model, and—well. It didn’t make sense that it plateaued. Not at those values.”

He took the notebook, flipping through the pages like he was reading a novel written in his own handwriting, then looked up at you with a sliver of something warmer in his gaze.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I think you might be the first person to ever challenge that curve. Everyone else just accepted it.”

You blinked. “Oh. I—didn’t mean to be... disrespectful or anything.”

“You weren’t.” He looked back at the page, his brow furrowing like he was genuinely considering your notes. “You’re just... asking the right questions.”

And the way he said that—asking the right questions—it made your cheeks heat, made your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag like you were suddenly fifteen again, flustered and awkward and unsure of what to say next, even though you were here because you belonged here, even though you were brilliant in your own quiet way.

He glanced at you again, slower this time, eyes scanning your face like he was watching a theory unfold in real time, and said, “Let’s run it. See if you’re right.” Just like that, like it was nothing, like it didn’t mean the world.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

Hours passed, though you barely noticed them. What started as a single equation quickly unraveled into an entire evening of hypotheses and recalibrations, the two of you moving around each other in this strange, quiet rhythm—typing, adjusting, scribbling, calculating, retrying, failing, fixing, retrying again.

The room had fallen into that kind of sacred stillness where every noise felt sharper—the whir of machines, the scratch of pencils, the occasional creak of the stool beneath you. Every time a result came back wrong, you’d lean in beside him and try again. Every time it came back right, your shoulders would touch, just barely, and you’d both say nothing.

And then it happened again—casual, effortless—Reed stretched.

This time, to grab his phone from across the room without moving from his chair, his arm extending impossibly far and elegant, fingers curling around the device with that same practiced ease, like it was just another part of his body responding to his mind. You watched it happen with that same quiet awe you always did, eyes following the length of his arm as it retracted, as he settled back into himself like it hadn’t been strange at all, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t even the stretch itself, not really—it was the nonchalance, the way he didn’t even think about it. But you did. You thought about it too much.

You were still thinking about it when he glanced at his screen, a quiet frown flickering across his face.

“It’s eight already,” he murmured, thumbing through a text. “We’ve been here all day.”

You blinked, surprised by the time, and then watched as his expression shifted—something soft and faintly guilty tugging at the edge of his mouth as he read whatever had been sent to him.

“Sue made dinner,” he said after a beat, sighing, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand like he hadn’t sat down for a proper meal in days. “Guess I should…”

He trailed off as he stood, the chair sliding back with a scrape, and something in your chest twisted—tight and unexpected. Not sharp enough to hurt, but deep enough to notice.

You weren’t sure if it was jealousy, exactly, but there was something inside you that ached a little at the thought of him leaving. At the thought of him sitting across from someone else, in a warm apartment somewhere above the city, eating food someone else had made for him, laughing over things that had nothing to do with lab results or radiation curves or the way your hands always trembled just slightly when he got too close.

You didn’t realize you were staring until he glanced back at you with one brow arched, curious, amused, his coat slung half over his arm and a faint smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

“Something wrong?” he asked, voice low and too steady, like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it.

“No,” you said quickly, too quickly, the word tripping over itself on your tongue. “No, nothing.”

He looked at you for a long second, long enough that your skin prickled under the weight of it, his eyes steady and a little too knowing, like he could see past your flustered expression and straight into the chaos of your thoughts. Then—he chuckled, soft and brief, like the sound had slipped out before he could stop it, low and warm and close enough to make your pulse stutter.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly, not in disapproval, but something more bemused—like he found you endlessly curious and had all the time in the world to figure you out.

You ducked your head, the heat rising in your cheeks again, blooming in a flush that you tried to suppress with a tight little smile, your fingers worrying the corner of your notebook as though it could ground you, steady you, hide the fact that your heart was now pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears.

Then his voice came again, low and coaxing, that soft velvet drawl of someone deeply used to being the smartest man in the room—“Come on,” he said, “what’s going on in that brilliant mind?��

And you should’ve lied. You should’ve laughed it off, said something safe, something neutral, something clever and unassuming and appropriately scientific. But your brain had been wandering all week—had been drifting there over and over again, uninvited, unwelcome, inappropriate, gnawing at the edges of your curiosity in the quiet moments between experiments.

You’d tried not to think about it, tried not to let your gaze linger when he stretched, tried not to imagine what else could stretch, how far, how much, how deeply.

And somehow—somehow—it slipped out of your mouth before your brain had a chance to intercept it, just a whisper of a thought spoken aloud, soft and breathless and too curious to be innocent.

“Does everything stretch?”

The silence that followed was instant and absolute.

You heard it in the way the machines kept humming but your breath caught.

You felt it in the way Reed’s eyes snapped to yours, too quickly, like he wasn’t expecting that.

And you saw it—oh, you saw it—in the way he froze, the way the lines at the corners of his mouth shifted, lips parting slightly like he was about to speak but couldn’t quite remember how.

Your eyes widened almost immediately, your whole body locking in mortified horror, hands flying up to your face as if that could undo what you’d just said, as if that could pull the words back into your throat and shove them into the void where they belonged.

“Oh my God—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that, I swear—I swear, it was just—I was talking about your arm, I mean your body—not your—oh God, not your body body, I meant your abilities, like biologically—scientifically—I’m so sorry—”

You were rambling now, barely breathing between the words, voice growing higher and faster with every sentence, and he was still just looking at you, still absolutely silent, like you’d short-circuited him and he was trying not to let it show. His expression hadn’t changed much—but his eyes were different now, darker maybe, or maybe just sharper, like a wire had pulled taut somewhere beneath his usually-calm exterior.

Then—finally—he blinked.

And his mouth twitched.

Not a smirk. Not quite. But close. Very, very close.

“Everything?” he echoed softly, voice rough around the edges like it had dropped an octave without permission.

You wanted to melt through the floor.

“Forget I said anything,” you mumbled, practically squeaked, your hands halfway up your face now, notebook clutched uselessly against your chest like a shield made of paper and shame.

But he didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease. He just looked at you for another long moment, like he was tucking the question away in some private drawer of his mind, like he was considering it—you—carefully.

And then he said, his voice quiet and unreadable. “Some things stretch more than others.”

He said it with the same offhand ease he might’ve used to mention the weather or the results of an equation, as if the words weren’t heavy with meaning, as if they didn’t land like a struck tuning fork in the center of your chest and hum there, low and electric. And then—just like that—he glanced at the time again, slipped his phone into the inside pocket of his coat, his fingers moving with quiet efficiency, and looked toward the door without even a flicker of hesitation in his expression.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, voice smooth and calm, like it had all been nothing—your question, his answer, the unbearable silence that followed—like he hadn’t just reduced you to a trembling, wide-eyed mess with five words and a look you couldn’t quite decipher.

And then he turned and walked out, his footsteps steady and unhurried, as though the entire moment hadn’t happened, as though he hadn’t noticed the way your breath had caught or your lips had parted slightly or the way your fingers had curled around your notebook like you were holding onto it for dear life. The door eased shut behind him with a soft, final click, and the silence that followed felt far too loud, as if the air itself had been holding its breath and now didn’t know what to do with the tension left behind.

You stood there for a moment, completely still, eyes fixed on the door like he might come back—might say something, might clarify or laugh or admit that yes, that had been what you thought it was, that you weren’t imagining the way his gaze had sharpened, the subtle shift in his voice, the pause before he’d answered like he was trying to decide how honest he wanted to be.

But the door stayed shut. The lab was quiet. And your face was burning.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

The next morning, you thought about quitting.

No—worse—you thought about being removed, escorted out of the lab with quiet, professional shame, the faculty committee shaking their heads at the girl who couldn’t keep her thoughts scientific. You’d spent the entire night twisted in sheets and mortification, staring at the ceiling of your tiny dorm room with cheeks that wouldn’t stop burning and hands that kept curling into fists against your pillow, your mind looping the same sentence over and over like a taunt.

Does everything stretch?

It had sounded so much worse in hindsight. In your head, it was a purely biological question—curiosity, theoretical, relevant. But the moment it left your lips, soft and shy and tilted with unintended suggestion, you’d felt the way it landed. The way his eyes had flickered. The way his voice had dropped just a hair lower. The way he’d looked at you after.

And then he walked out like it was nothing.

Which somehow made it worse.

So when you walked into the lab that morning, notebook clutched to your chest like a shield, heart crawling up the back of your throat with every step, you were fully prepared for disaster—for tension, awkwardness, maybe even polite dismissal. But he was already there, of course he was—leaning over one of the central consoles with his sleeves rolled, hair still rumpled from sleep, lips pursed slightly in thought as he ran through some new readout, a mug half-full of black coffee resting near his elbow.

And when he glanced up at you?

Everything was... fine.

He offered you a brief, familiar nod, the same one he always did, and then gestured to a screen without so much as a hint of discomfort, as if the night before had been a dream, as if you hadn’t asked the most humiliating question of your life and then spiraled into a dimension of shame he probably discovered himself.

You blinked, stunned by the ease of it, by the way he moved through the morning without even a trace of tension, without a single flinch. It was—professional. Cordial. Kind.

And strangely, that grounded you.

The day unfolded slowly, then steadily—small victories, clarified hypotheses, new data sets—and your body slowly began to relax into the rhythm you’d started to love, the silent teamwork of minds that trusted each other. And even though he hadn’t said anything beyond the work, even though the stretch of time passed with nothing but research and updates, you caught yourself looking again—watching the way his hands moved, the way he’d lean into the screen, the way he thought so deeply with his whole body, and the way you were beginning to understand him in ways that had nothing to do with science.

It wasn’t until late afternoon, when the sun outside had dipped low enough to cast long gold shadows across the lab floor, that he finally spoke without referencing an equation.

“Sue was asking about you,” he said casually, eyes still on his screen, voice calm as if he didn’t know he’d just sent your stomach tumbling.

You blinked, startled. “Oh?”

He nodded once, the motion subtle. “Think I’ve been talking too much about how smart you are.”

Your breath caught in your throat and then returned all at once in a rush of heat to your face. You looked away, your lips parting slightly as your blush bloomed across your cheeks, creeping down your neck, the words lingering like sunlight on your skin.

“She wants to meet you,” he continued, finally glancing over at you with that steady, unreadable gaze that always made you feel a little exposed, a little unsteady.

“Really?” you asked, blinking up at him, your voice too soft, too unsure. “I—I mean, I’d be honored.”

He chuckled, quiet and amused, and God, it made your heart stutter.

“Tonight?” he asked, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Your lips parted again. “Tonight?” you echoed, because your brain was clearly still catching up.

He tilted his head, expression flickering with something close to amusement. “Unless you’re busy,” he said smoothly. “Or unless you were planning on camping out here all night again, trying to crack the wavefield inversion curve without sleeping or eating—because that does sound like you.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, the sound escaping like a sigh, soft and a little breathless, and he smiled—genuine and rare, the kind that made your knees feel unsteady and your chest warm.

You shook your head, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly too shy to meet his eyes. “No,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not busy.”

“Good,” he said, his smile deepening just slightly. “I’ll see you for dinner then.”

And with that, he turned back to his screen, the moment slipping away like mist, but the warmth of it stayed, curling low and steady in your chest.

You were going to dinner. With Reed Richards. And Sue Storm.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

The Baxter Building stood tall and impossible in the heart of the city, its sleek, glinting frame catching the last of the golden evening light like it had been plucked from some distant future and set gently down in Manhattan.

The security in the lobby had let you through without question, as if they’d been expecting you, as if your name already belonged in the same breath as Reed Richards and Sue Storm, and that thought alone made your stomach twist with something between awe and panic as you stepped into the elevator.

It was silent inside—sterile and smooth, the walls a brushed metal that reflected the softest version of your silhouette back at you, almost dreamlike. You stared at your reflection for a moment, adjusting the bottle of wine you held with both hands, the paper bag crinkling slightly beneath your fingertips.

You’d picked it up on the way here after spending a full thirty minutes in the wine shop pretending to know what pairs with intellectual dinner parties hosted by superheroes. You smoothed the front of your dress—a soft, modest thing that you’d chosen carefully, something that felt like you, but maybe a little prettier, a little more delicate than usual, your lips painted just faintly, enough to make you feel like you were trying without looking like you were trying.

You exhaled slowly, barely noticing the way the elevator glided up without a sound, your heartbeat louder than anything around you. Your thoughts raced, of course they did—what if it was too much? What if you shouldn’t have come? What if he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded, that subtle curve of his voice when he said see you at dinner, the glint in his eye, the way his attention had lingered for just a moment too long?

The elevator chimed softly.

The doors opened.

And then— There he was.

Reed stood just inside the threshold, one hand braced casually on the edge of the doorway, the other slipping his phone into his back pocket like he’d only just finished checking something, his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, collarbone peeking slightly where his top button had been left undone, no tie, no lab coat—just a simple, perfectly tailored shirt that made your brain stutter for half a beat.

His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d run his fingers through it absentmindedly more than once, and there was a tiny streak of ink or maybe graphite on his knuckle that hadn’t been washed off completely.

It was Reed, but not the version of him you’d grown used to seeing in the lab, not the hyper-focused, brilliant blur of intellect you worked beside every day—this Reed looked like he’d been waiting. For you.

His eyes moved over you slowly—once, all the way down and back up again, not rushed, not obvious, but deliberate enough that you felt it everywhere, like heat pressing into the skin of your chest and the backs of your knees, your fingers tightening instinctively around the bottle you were holding.

He didn’t say anything at first, just quirked the corner of his mouth into something halfway between a smirk and a smile, soft but amused, his gaze still lingering just a little too long.

“You clean up well,” he said finally, voice lower than usual, not teasing exactly—more like he was confessing something he hadn’t meant to say aloud.

Your mouth parted slightly, but your voice caught, and when you finally managed to speak, it came out soft and a little breathless. “I—brought wine.”

He glanced down at the bottle, then back at you, his smile deepening just enough to make your heart skip. “Dangerously overqualified,” he murmured, stepping back to let you in. “Smart and thoughtful. Sue’s going to love you.”

You stepped past him into the apartment, the warmth of the space wrapping around you instantly, the scent of dinner and city lights and him curling at the edge of your senses, and even as you tried to focus on your breathing, on your posture, on not tripping in your kitten heels, you could still feel the echo of his eyes on your skin, like he hadn’t really stopped looking.

The apartment unfolded around you like a page in some impossibly curated design magazine, only softer, warmer, more lived-in than anything artificial—clean, modern lines met rich textures, brushed steel softened by warm walnut floors and deep navy accents that glowed golden under the cascade of low, amber-hued lighting.

One entire wall was glass, and beyond it, the Manhattan skyline burned softly against the horizon, city lights just starting to glitter like distant stars, and even the air inside smelled expensive and comforting—like slow-cooked herbs and something faintly sweet.

You were still catching your breath, still clutching the wine like a lifeline, when you heard a voice float in from down the hall—clear, warm, and unmistakably female.

“There she is.”

Sue Storm walked into view like she had been sculpted from light itself—tall and impossibly graceful, wrapped in soft neutral fabrics that draped just right, her golden hair falling in loose waves that framed her face perfectly, her eyes a crystalline blue that held a kind of sharpness you immediately respected.

She was breathtaking, in that way women are when they know who they are, and the moment she looked at you, her whole expression softened with something kind and curious and real.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said with a small smile, her voice smooth like honey stirred into tea, her gaze never once breaking from yours.

“Hi,” you breathed, the word escaping before you could shape it into anything more eloquent. “It’s such an honor to meet you.”

She waved you off with a flick of her manicured fingers, as if the formality embarrassed her. “Please,” she said with a light laugh, stepping closer. “The way my husband talks about you? I’m the one who’s honored.”

And you blushed so hard you felt it in your ears, your whole body warming beneath the soft light, fingers tightening just slightly around the neck of the bottle as you dipped your head in modest disbelief, not quite sure if you should laugh or hide.

Reed, who had stepped away to adjust the music or maybe just give you a moment, said nothing, but you felt the weight of his glance again—the quiet satisfaction in the corners of his mouth like this was exactly what he wanted: you here, now, nervous but luminous, admired and welcomed.

“Come in,” Sue insisted gently, her hand brushing your arm in a way that grounded you immediately. “Dinner’s almost ready. I made way too much food—he said you don’t eat much, but I never trust him when he says that. He’s never once finished a plate himself.”

You smiled, heart still beating a little too fast, and followed her deeper into the space, the sound of your shoes soft against the hardwood, the city glowing quietly beyond the windows as if watching you take your first steps into something bigger than an internship—something warmer, more dangerous, and far more personal.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

Dinner was lovely—elegant but warm, the kind of meal that felt intimate without trying, served at a long polished table that glowed honey-gold under the overhead lights, the city sparkling just beyond the glass like a living mural.

You sat across from them, Reed to your left, Sue across from you, and despite the tight coil of nerves you’d carried into the evening, it was… comfortable.

Sue had a way of making you feel like you belonged, like you weren’t just a guest in the home of two of the most brilliant minds on the planet, but someone worth sitting at their table, someone they genuinely wanted to know.

You found yourself watching them more than you meant to—Sue leaning toward him with quiet laughter, Reed murmuring something back without looking up from his wine glass, the two of them moving in the kind of rhythm that only came from years of intimacy and quiet understanding. And still, as you watched them, something bloomed low and warm in your stomach—not jealousy, exactly, but a kind of quiet ache, a fascination that hummed beneath your skin, a longing that had less to do with their relationship and more to do with him.

You were still chasing the thread of that thought when Sue turned to you again, eyes bright with interest.

“So,” she said, “how did you get interested in all of this?”

You blinked, startled out of your reverie, and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear with a shy smile. “Well,” you began softly, glancing down at your plate before meeting her gaze again, “ever since I was a kid, I just… I always wanted to understand how the world worked. The math, the movement, the rules. I remember watching the stars and thinking—that’s what I want to learn. That’s what I want to be part of.”

Sue offered you a warm smile, nodding in that gentle, encouraging way that made you feel like your words mattered, like they weren’t small or naïve or too eager. “Well,” she said, “it’s always nice seeing young people interested in this kind of work—especially a fellow…” she paused, grinning as she reached for her glass, “…girl genius.”

You laughed softly, cheeks warm, about to reply with something awkward and grateful and probably too modest—when it happened.

You felt it.

Unmistakable.

A hand. Large, warm, and undeniably real, sliding gently across your thigh under the table.

Your heart stopped. Your breath caught somewhere high in your chest, your eyes flickering toward Reed so quickly you barely caught Sue sipping her wine across from you. But he didn’t look at you—not exactly. His gaze remained calm and forward, his profile composed and entirely unreadable as he took a slow sip of his wine and then glanced up at Sue, his hand still resting firmly on your leg.

“She’s brilliant,” he said casually, his voice smooth and even, like he was commenting on the weather, like he wasn’t currently touching you from across the table while sitting next to his wife.

You sat frozen, pulse thundering in your ears, body rigid but electrified, your fingers tightening ever so slightly around the stem of your glass as you tried to focus, to breathe, to not move.

“She corrected me the other day about a flux equation I wrote in ’04,” he continued, eyes finally drifting to meet yours—and holding there, steady and direct, a silent dare written behind his calm expression. “She was right, too.”

Sue laughed, clearly delighted. “Good. God knows someone needs to keep you in check.”

You could barely hear her. Could barely focus on anything except the heat of Reed’s hand, the way it pressed gently into the top of your thigh, just enough to let you know it was real, just enough to make your stomach twist with something hot and shivery and shamefully thrilling.

And then—his hand moved.

Not in that subtle, polite way you might’ve been able to ignore or convince yourself had been some kind of misunderstanding, not a graze or a twitch or something incidental—but deliberate, slow, intentional, his palm sliding higher, slipping beneath the hem of your dress in a single fluid motion that felt so impossibly confident it made your entire body lock up at once.

The heat of his skin against your thigh stole the breath from your lungs, and when his fingers skimmed the delicate edge of your underwear, just barely brushing the fabric, you felt your heart climb straight into your throat and stay there.

You almost choked on your wine.

The glass halted halfway to your lips, your hands trembling just enough for the crystal to click against your teeth, and you let out a strange, stifled sound—half gasp, half cough—your eyes wide, your posture going ramrod straight as you struggled to swallow the panic and arousal crawling up your spine in tandem.

“You alright?” Sue asked gently, glancing up from her plate with concern etched between her brows, the picture of warmth and kindness and everything undeserving of what was happening beneath her dinner table.

“Yes,” you stammered, too quickly, the syllable snapping out of your mouth like it had been fired from a slingshot, your cheeks flushed a deep, telltale red as you nodded a little too hard. “I’m fine. Just—went down the wrong way.”

Across from you, Reed glanced up from his glass at the sound of your voice, his expression calm—no, worse than calm—amused, like he was enjoying watching you fall apart in real time, like he was studying the way you squirmed and flushed and fidgeted with quiet, academic satisfaction. His fingers moved—barely a shift, just enough to press the pad of his thumb along the inside of your thigh, skimming the thin lace of your panties with a featherlight drag that made your vision blur for a moment, your teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek to stop a sound from escaping.

Sue kept talking, mercifully, unaware of the silent war happening beneath the table, and you tried to nod along, tried to pretend you were still following the story she was telling about something at the foundation gala last week, but Reed’s hand was still moving—so slowly, so wickedly gentle, fingers drifting along the edge of the fabric like he was memorizing it, teasing it, learning every soft line of you with nothing more than a ghost of touch and that insufferable, unreadable look in his eyes.

You were blushing so fiercely now you were sure it had reached your chest, heat blooming down your neck like a fever, your knees squeezing together reflexively beneath the table as your breathing turned shallow, chest rising and falling in a way that did not feel casual anymore.

“Are you hot, honey?” Sue asked suddenly, concern returning to her voice, her eyes flickering to your cheeks. “A house full of so-called geniuses and we still haven’t figured out how to fix the aircon properly. I’ll be back—I’ll check the thermostat.”

And before you could answer—before you could find any response at all—she stood, placing her napkin neatly beside her plate and disappearing down the hall with a rustle of fabric and the click of her heels.

The door hadn’t even shut all the way before Reed finally spoke, low and calm and just for you, his fingers still resting against the soft, soaked curve of you beneath your panties.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, voice a dark, honey-dipped whisper that sent shivers straight through your bones. “Don’t stop now.”

“Reed—” you stammered, your voice cracking under the strain of your own name trembling on your lips, barely more than a whisper, a breath caught halfway between panic and disbelief, your thighs squeezing together out of instinct, out of desperation, out of need you didn’t yet know how to name. “What are you—”

He didn’t lean in.

He didn’t move closer.

He didn’t even blink.

He simply sat there, on the opposite side of the table, one elbow resting near his wine glass, the other arm subtly stretched beneath the surface like a quiet secret unraveling in the dark, and his voice, when it came, was soft and low and steady.

“Tell me to stop.”

And as he said it—calm, impossible, infuriatingly composed—you felt it: the cool air against your skin, your panties slipping down your thighs with a slow, torturous grace, peeled away by a hand that wasn’t even near you, stretched from across the table, precise and gentle and unspeakably brazen. The fabric caught just slightly at your knees before his fingers nudged it past, and you sat there frozen, wide-eyed, red-faced, with your dress pooled neatly over your lap and nothing beneath it now but heat and humiliation and the thundering pulse between your legs.

“Reed—” you breathed again, barely able to shape the word, and his gaze met yours in that maddening, quiet way—no urgency, no shame, only that still, measured calm that made your insides tremble, as if he was watching a reaction unfold under glass.

And then—

Sue's heels clicked softly on the polished floor as she entered the room again, moving with that effortless, elegant grace as she crossed behind you and returned to her seat.

“That should fix it,” she said lightly as she sat, her smile warm and unbothered, her tone casual as if nothing had changed in the few moments she’d been gone.

You turned toward her, your face flaming, your smile shaky and paper-thin as you tried to find your voice again, tried to stitch together whatever pieces of yourself hadn’t yet dissolved under Reed’s hand, which now rested high on your bare thigh like it belonged there.

“Thank you,” you managed softly, the words nearly catching on the breath that refused to sit still in your chest, and somehow, impossibly, you held her gaze.

And across from you, Reed Richards—calm, brilliant, monstrous in his control—simply took another sip of wine.

You tried to focus, truly you did—on Sue, on her words, on the soft clinking of silverware and the gentle thrum of jazz somewhere in the background—but all of it became nothing more than a blur of light and noise the moment his fingers moved again, slow and purposeful, the stretch of his arm impossibly seamless beneath the table, as if he could command every tendon, every muscle, with surgical precision.

He didn’t even shift in his seat, didn’t look down, didn’t so much as twitch, and yet—you felt him, truly felt him now, his fingers slipping between your thighs with exquisite control, brushing over your bare, trembling core with a deliberate slowness that made you forget how to hold your breath steady.

And then—he pushed.

Just one finger at first, and it was too much, because it was him, because it was stretched impossibly long and thick, curling up with inhuman ease, reaching deeper than anyone had ever dared, pressing into you like he already knew exactly where to go, what you needed, like he’d studied your anatomy and had all the answers memorized.

Your thighs tightened automatically, knees trembling under the weight of holding in a sound you very nearly let out, and your hands clenched into your lap, the wine glass beside you forgotten, your whole body alight with the unbearable tension of being touched like this—open, pulsing, absolutely undone—and doing nothing about it.

And then—

“Why don’t you explain to Sue what we went over the other day,” Reed said smoothly, as if he hadn’t just buried his finger inside you under the dinner table, as if he wasn’t slowly crooking it up to find that sweet, aching spot that made your stomach twist and your eyes nearly flutter shut.

You froze.

“What?” you whispered, blinking at him.

He offered a slight tilt of his head, his eyes resting on yours with a look of calm expectation—amusement, even—and then shifted his gaze to Sue, who was looking at you with the kindest, most open smile, entirely oblivious.

“The resonance collapse formula,” Reed said helpfully, voice steady. “She corrected one of my assumptions about it earlier this week. She’s sharper than she lets on.”

He curled his finger again.

And it took everything in you not to cry out.

You blinked rapidly, your lips parting around a breath that wasn’t quite a word, trying to remember the theory, the math, the basic principles of language, but all you could feel was the stretch inside you, the thick, gentle press of him moving in slow, unrelenting circles, coaxing you open without haste, without apology, without shame.

“I—” you started, your voice embarrassingly thin, “we—uh, we talked about—about the resonance curve failing at the threshold of—”

He added a second finger.

Your breath caught so hard you coughed, the burn of it tight in your chest, and you reached for your water like it might ground you, like the coolness of the glass could balance out the unbearable heat pulsing between your legs.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Sue asked again, concerned.

You forced a smile, shaking your head quickly, eyes wet with the effort to look normal, to act normal, when Reed’s fingers were pushing deeper now, stretching you in a way that was obscene, careful, perfect, and somehow managing to keep the rhythm slow and steady, barely moving, just enough to make you drip helplessly onto his knuckles under the table while you tried to describe a physics principle with your body unraveling second by second.

“I’m okay,” you managed to whisper, voice too soft, too high.

Reed’s thumb brushed upward. You jolted. He smiled—just slightly.

“You were saying?” he asked gently.

You wanted to cry. Or scream. Or crawl under the table and never come out.

Instead, you looked up, cheeks flushed, throat tight, and murmured, “We adjusted the decay rate curve based on the harmonic threshold failing beyond point-six-three, and—and recalibrated the control conditions to reflect a more dynamic waveform—”

His fingers pressed up, deep, and you gasped—but you made it sound like awe, like wonder.

Sue beamed at you. “That’s amazing.”

You blinked, barely nodding, and Reed—still untouched himself, still seated like a man entirely at ease—just gave you the faintest smile across the table, like he was proud of you. Like you had passed some unspeakable test.

You weren’t sure when it changed—when Reed’s fingers, once so slow and exploratory, shifted their rhythm, no longer teasing but deliberate, their movement suddenly quickening beneath the tablecloth, each stroke firmer, deeper, more precise, curling up into that one devastating place inside you with the kind of methodical expertise that only a man like him could possess.

His thumb pressed again and again against your swollen clit in quiet, unrelenting circles, and it was obscene, unbelievably obscene, because he was still sitting across from you, back straight, shoulders calm, expression thoughtful and polite as Sue continued her story—talking about an ambassador, or a charity gala, or maybe a speech she gave—and you couldn’t hear a single word of it.

Because you were about to come.

Right there. At their dinner table.

Your thighs were trembling beneath the fabric of your dress, your body pulled taut like a string about to snap, nerves alight and burning in every limb, and you could feel it rising, fast and hot, building in your belly like a storm, spreading up through your spine with every practiced motion of his hand—stretched from across the table, long and dexterous and hidden beneath the soft, quiet clink of silverware.

You were soaked, dripping, pulsing around his fingers, and he knew. Of course he knew. He could feel every flutter, every desperate little squeeze your body gave him, and when he looked at you—really looked at you—his eyes burned with a satisfaction so soft it felt like praise.

You tried to hold it back. God, you tried. Your nails dug into the fabric of your skirt, your breathing shallow and uneven, your lashes fluttering as you ducked your head and bit into the back of your hand, trying to hide the sound, trying to bury the moan that threatened to rip itself from your throat. You were right on the edge, hovering there, helpless, when—

DING!

The sound of the oven’s timer rang out sharply through the kitchen, perfectly, cruelly timed—at the exact second you broke apart, your body shuddering around his fingers as the climax hit you so hard and fast you saw stars behind your eyes. You muffled the moan with your hand, trembling violently in your chair as you faked a cough so sharp it made Sue look up, concerned, just as she was standing to go check the dessert.

“Poor thing,” she said sweetly, already halfway out of the room, completely unaware of what had just happened right beneath her nose. “Let me go grab the cobbler—Reed, didn’t I tell you to turn on the vent fan for the oven? It smells like caramelized sugar in here.”

You barely managed to nod, your breath still stuttering in your chest, the taste of your own bitten-down moan lingering in your mouth like smoke, your vision wet and dizzy as you tried to collect yourself—but it was impossible, completely impossible, because Reed was still watching you, still calm, still composed, still seated like nothing had happened at all, as though his fingers hadn’t just coaxed your orgasm from you with the kind of precision that only a man with endless patience and supernatural reach could possess.

And then—he moved.

His hand, the one he had just pulled back from beneath your dress, rose slowly from beneath the table, casual, unhurried, and with the sort of smooth detachment that made your blood run hot all over again. You watched—helpless, horrified, entranced—as he brought his fingers to his mouth, his expression unreadable but his gaze never leaving yours, and then—

He licked them.

Just the tips. Just a quiet, deliberate motion—his tongue flicking out to drag across the pads of his fingers with unbearable slowness, like a man tasting something rare and sacred, like someone who savored knowledge, savored reactions, savored you—and your breath caught so hard it made your throat ache, your hands clenched in your lap, body still trembling beneath the table.

And that was the exact moment Sue walked back in.

The tray in her hands held a golden, bubbling dish still steaming at the edges, a pitcher of vanilla sauce tucked beside it, and she moved with the same easy grace she always had, placing the dish gently in the center of the table as the scent of caramelized fruit and butter filled the space.

“Was the sauce that good?” she asked with a light laugh, glancing over just in time to see her husband finishing his little motion, his fingers slipping from his mouth like it was nothing at all. “You just licked your fingers like you hadn’t eaten in days.”

Your entire body tensed.

Reed—calm, collected, horrifyingly composed—didn’t blink. He didn’t flinch. He simply tilted his head toward her, then turned back to you, his eyes locking with yours across the table, his gaze heavy with meaning, with memory, with the weight of what he’d just done to you, and said, without a flicker of shame—

“Delicious.”

Your stomach dropped. Your cheeks flamed. You looked away instantly, your eyes darting toward your lap, toward your empty plate, toward anywhere that wasn’t him, your skin hot and crawling with mortification, your thighs pressed tight together under the table, still slick and tender and sensitive as hell, and now—now you had to eat dessert.

With him. With her. With the taste of your orgasm still on his mouth.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

You said your goodbyes to Sue as sweetly and shakily as you could manage, your voice still thin and breathless from the quiet ruin Reed had left you in, the remnants of your orgasm still echoing in your body like a pulse you couldn’t calm, and still—still—you smiled, you nodded, you played the part of the polite, well-mannered girl who had not just come in silence at the dinner table. Sue hugged you lightly at the door, warm and soft and lovely, thanking you for coming and saying how nice it was to meet you, her words kind and sincere, her smile so genuine it made you ache.

“We’ll have to do this again,” she said gently, her voice carrying no suspicion, no awareness, only the comfort of a woman who’d welcomed you into her home and truly meant it.

“It was an honor,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a whisper, eyes lowered, fingers nervously wrapped around the strap of your bag, heart pounding loud and unrelenting in your chest.

Reed appeared behind you then, as if summoned by the rhythm of your exit, and without saying anything, without asking, he moved to walk you out, his hand resting lightly at the small of your back—a simple gesture, one that should’ve been harmless, innocent, but that felt anything but, especially after what those fingers had just done to you beneath a tablecloth in the dim golden light of a family dining room.

The door clicked shut behind the two of you, and the hallway beyond was quiet, cool, and still, a soft hum from the city beyond the glass, but the silence between you buzzed with something thicker, darker, more intimate than you could bear. He said nothing at first, only walked beside you with slow, unhurried steps, like the moment hadn’t already been branded into both your bodies, like he hadn’t watched you fall apart with your hand over your mouth while his wife got dessert.

At the door to the elevator, he stopped, and you turned toward him, still too flustered to meet his eyes, still trying to hold yourself together with trembling fingers and shallow breaths, your lashes lowered as you whispered, “Thank you for… dinner.”

His response came after a pause, his voice smooth, impossibly steady. “You were perfect.”

You froze—eyes flicking up, breath catching—and found him watching you with that same calm, unreadable expression, but there was something beneath it now, something warmer and darker and dangerous, the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth that made your knees weaken all over again.

“Good girl,” he added softly, low enough that only you could hear it, and the elevator doors opened behind you with a soft ding, cool air spilling out into the hallway like a breeze that didn’t belong.

You stepped inside on trembling legs, unsure if you remembered how to breathe, and as the doors began to close, you looked back—just once—and there he was, standing exactly as he had before, his hands in his pockets, head tilted ever so slightly, still watching you, like you were a puzzle he couldn’t wait to take apart again.

And when the doors shut fully, sealing you into silence, your hand finally flew to your chest.

Because you had just survived dinner. Barely. And you weren’t sure you’d ever be the same again.

☄︎₊˚⊹☆

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