#how can either of them ever be anything else?

[ja3yun]

On the Roof || S.JY

stranger!jake x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, oral (f.rec), cream pie, fingering, marking and biting, sex with a stranger, weirdly fluffy, petnames (princess, baby), mentions of bad relationships with parents, alcohol, comforting, do not have sex with strangers you meet on a roof, not proofread, anything else lmk! w.c: 9.7k synopsis: when you stumble across a boy on your apartment rooftop, you can't help but invite him to stay. a/n: hi! it's me. this is my first work back and honestly, it's not great but i just needed to get back in the swing of things so please be kind. I missed you guys a lot and the time away was exactly what i needed. thank you all for understanding, and i love you unconditionally!

The winter air tickles your senses as you push open the large, unfairly heavy door to your complex’s rooftop. It might be bitter, but it’s welcomed - your body creating unnecessary heat from both the walk up the three flights of stairs and the discomfort of your day. 

Your shift was hard, too hard. Considering it’s a brand new year, you had stupidly thought that people would be a lot nicer to public service workers, yet you were proven wrong. With countless patients’ loved ones screaming down the phone to you, doctors barking demands at you because they see you as lesser than them, and not to mention the one man who decided that spitting in your face was a rational reaction to you politely telling him that he can’t see his grandmother who was in the middle of an operation.

Safe to say, you’ve had better shifts as a hospital receptionist. 

But there was always one place you could count on to take a deep breath and reset. The rooftop. It’s quiet, overlooks the city, and helps you put into perspective that murder is not the answer to your life problems. But sometimes, God, you wish it was…

Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you make your way to the chairs you so perfectly placed underneath the solar-charged fairy lights, which hang half-arsed off the unused 1990 aerials. It’s not really how you would like to decorate the place, if you had it your way, you would have it looking reminiscent of the rooftop from Wish You, the same one you committed to memory as Lee Sang kissed In Soo for the first time. But since you’re not even supposed to have access to this part of the building, you’ll count the pathetic attempt at creating sanctuary as a win. 

The lights guide you to your seat when you see a figure hunched over, one hand holding a beer and the other holding his head. This is not what you were expecting to see. No one comes up here, not past 10pm anyway. There is one neighbour who occupies the premises when he needs a smoke without his wife knowing, but he works the night shift. So this person is new.

“Um,” you begin, clearing your throat ever so softly to alert them of your presence without giving them an acute heart attack. “Hi?”

Their head jolts up from their hand, eyes wide and face shocked. Clearly, they didn’t expect to have company tonight either. 

You focus on the figure in front of you – a boy, no older than yourself – scrutinising his features with a careful eye. As a woman, being vigilant around unfamiliar men has become second nature, an unfortunately ingrained habit of self-preservation you have mastered since before you can remember. So, your mind ticks through the usual checklist: is there a need to run? Are your shoulders getting that deep tingle that crawls up to your jaw? Is your gut making you want to vomit? None of those alarm bells ring. Instead, you’re met with something else entirely - uncertainty, maybe even sympathy.

The boy seems…fine, at least on the surface. No initial gut-wrenching unease claws at your insides. Emboldened by the absence of any red flags, you take another ginger step closer, studying him in detail.

His large, tired brown eyes peer out from behind thick-rimmed glasses, the weight of exhaustion evident. The glasses sit securely on his pretty thick nose. His lips, naturally full and a muted pink, are set in a neutral line, though the light could be softening their actual colour - it’s hard to tell beneath the hood’s shadow. Greasy, near-black hair clings to his forehead, unkempt but thick. 

His outfit doesn’t fare much better to be honest; a mishmash of layers that hints at desperation more than deliberation. Faded grey jeans hang loose and crinkled, clearly worn more than once without a wash. Over a white t-shirt sits a black hoodie, topped off with a jacket far too big for him, the kind of size that suggests it doesn’t belong to him at all. The entire image strikes you in a way that leaves concern pricking all over your chest.

Steeling yourself, you step closer again, your voice soft but firm. “Are you okay?” The question is sincere, meant to come across as a kind gesture - like when you let a cat sniff around your hand before you just go in for the pet. Your eyes meet his, offering as much warmth as you can muster. There’s something about the way he sits, cold and crumpled, that pulls at your humanity.

At first, his expression flickers, betraying something fragile beneath the surface. But it doesn’t last. In an instant, his jaw sets, and his shoulders square in a defensive shift. His cheeks hollow as his tongue presses against them, words unspoken but clearly brewing. The moment hangs in the air, heavy and awkward. 

It’s as if your simple question has poked at a bruise, tender and raw. You’ve touched something buried, and for reasons you can’t yet work out, his reaction irks you. Of all things to take issue with, why this? What on earth had he expected - for you not to ask a very valid question? Perhaps it’s the day you’ve had that’s caused the unnecessary offence on your behalf.

He averts his gaze, the connection between you severed. Instead, he tips back the beer bottle in his hand, his focus shifting to the cityscape below. The quiet glug of liquid slipping down his throat is the only response you get, and it grates against the care you offered.

A flicker of irritation sparks within you. Perhaps it’s the brush-off, or maybe it’s the contradiction in his actions. He’s sitting here in your space, looking like the embodiment of a cry for help, yet recoils at the smallest act of kindness. Still, you don’t back down. Instead, you shift your weight and tilt your head, keeping your tone neutral but unwavering.

“Fine, If you don’t want to talk, that’s sound,” you say, folding your arms against the cold. “But sitting out here, looking like the world’s chewed you up and spat you out…people are going to ask questions like ‘are you okay’ or ‘what’s the matter’. Just saying.” You huff out and follow his gaze to the city. People are having a much better day than you out there, and envy jabs at you.

For a moment, you think he’ll continue ignoring you; his shoulders remain tense, his grip on the bottle firm. But then he sighs, the sound long and weary, like air escaping a deflating balloon, one being pinched and controlled. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, a surprising Australian accent whistling through the wind.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, though the words lack conviction. His eyes remain fixed on the horizon, steadfastly avoiding yours.

“You’re a terrible liar,” you counter, letting a small, dry smile tug at your lips. “And you’re also not allowed up here.”

A tense silence follows, broken only by the chug of a train in the far distance. It’s not exactly comfortable, but neither is it unbearable. You find yourself wondering who he is and what’s brought him to this specific rooftop. 

“You can’t get up here unless you’re a tenant,” you blurt out, trying to get any morsel of information from him. You figure the quicker you find out what he’s doing here, the quicker you can find a solution for him to leave and then have your safe space back to yourself. You might have sympathy for him, clearly having a hard time of life, but so are you - and your comfort outweighs a total stranger who can’t even bother to look your way.

“Okay,” he says bored, sipping his beer again. 

“That’s your invitation to either tell me that you moved in recently, or, your queue to leave because you’re trespassing.” 

“Invitation declined.”

He is so rude, you think to yourself, though you wonder whether you should just call him out for it and at least gain some reaction for him. 

Instead, you park yourself in the seat next to him, huffing as you drop down. “Well I’m not leaving until you do,” you state matter-of-factly, attempting to not let his presence ruin your mood even further. You suppose, if he sits and shuts up, you can at least pretend he isn’t here invading your space.

Though technically, you’re invading his, but you get the idea.

The boy side-eyes you, a small, angry smirk etching onto his cold rosey face. “Yeah? Well, you’re gonna be here for a long fucking time.” He spits his words out, frustration laced within each syllable, though you can tell it’s not directed towards you. The boy is so far in his own head that you begin to realise that any discontentment he might have has less to do with you and your presence, and more to do with the reason he’s hibernating on your rooftop.

So, you sit back, and leave him be. To be honest, you’ve dealt with far worse and crabbier people today, in comparison, this boy is like rainbows and kittens.

Closing your eyes, you let the white noise of the night take over you, infiltrating all your tension and disdain towards the day, and settling you into a comfortable silence. The fairy lights above add a serene atmosphere that you crave after work, the faint lights providing some fake warmth. They were not easy to get up there, but a few falls and tangles later, you realised that all the scrapes and twirls were worth it.

The hooded boy beside you peaks over, finally taking you in as more than an inconvenience. He notices how you breathe in deep, exhaling with a sigh of relief and a cloud of warmth that combats the freezing air. 

It doesn’t take him a minute to realise that you’ve had a bad day too, and a pang of guilt hits him. He’s being unfair to you when you probably just want to relax under the night sky and here he is taking up space. 

He takes up too much space.

Reaching down at his feet, he picks up a bottle of beer from his case, the clinking not even disturbing your quest for serenity. He pokes your thigh with the bottom of the bottle, gaining your attention. When your eyes meet once again, there’s a sorrowful look on his face, the alcohol a form of apology for being an arsehole. It’s an apology you’ll gladly accept. 

“You look like you could use it,” he murmurs, offering a tight smile as he waits for you to take the brown glass bottle.

You wrap your hand around the base and lift it up in thanks. “I could use ten sambucas and a pint of tequila to wash them down,” you snort out a sarcastic chuckle, beginning to unscrew the cap. You need to thank whatever genius decided that bottle openers were too much hassle and gave people a much easier and more practical way to open a bottle of beer. You hope they’re having a good night.

The boy lets out a laugh, short but genuine, raising his own bottle to his lips. “That bad, huh?” he asks, voice muffled slightly by the glass.

“It gets like that,” you shrug, taking a long pull from the bottle, barely savouring the taste, routing around for the effects of calmness that it will bring rather than its pallet. “Comes with working in a hospital.”

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity momentarily overriding his gloom “Nurse?”

“Receptionist.” You correct him, hissing out as you absorb the alcohol. Beer is not your favourite taste, a Sex on the Beach is much more appealing, but you would down a tank of gasoline if it meant you could get rid of this stress.

He sucks in an empathetic breath, whistling low as he leans back against the seat. “Yeah, you need a gun, not alcohol.”

The comment catches you off guard, and for the first time in what feels like weeks, you laugh - really laugh. It bursts out of you, raw and unrestrained, carrying away the weight of the day. Life isn’t inherently awful, but it’s lonely sometimes. Working back shift in the hospital makes it hard to keep friends or any semblance of a social life. The most interaction you get that isn’t disgruntled patients or angry phone calls is on twitter with your online friends, but even then, it’s a rise-and-repeat conversation cycle of ‘for real’ and ‘same’ replies to posts you make about Jang Kyungho when no one is looking. 

Not exactly the deep human connection that people need.

So this, being able to laugh and have a bit of understanding for even a second, is comforting. It almost makes you feel bad for cursing the boy out in your head.

Smiling, you extend a hand to him, “Y/N.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second before taking it. “Jaeyun,” he replies, offering you a smile in return. It’s faint but sincere, a crack in the armour he’s wearing so tightly.

As he grips your hand in his, you feel the ice-coldness on his skin, a clear indicator that he has been up here for quite some time. Or at least out in the open air. It only makes you more intrigued - and with him being a little slither more open with you, you decide to take the nugget and run with it.

So you talk, and talk, and talk. It feels like forever but it’s actually only two hours. Not a lot is said, but you learn some things about him; hobbies, interests, friends, his favourite TV shows and Films. All surface-level stuff, yet it feels like you’re speaking to an old friend. He learns about you too - the same stuff, with added anecdotes about working in a hospital.

But there is one thing that you are dying to know.

“So,” you begin, twisting your patio chair to face him fully, the legs scraping along the asphalt of the roof. “You can guess I’m here after a bad shift…why are you here?” Your face is expectant, waiting for an answer while you drink your beer.

But Jaeyun’s face is overcome with a flash of rage, partly due to your question, but more the fact that your question made him think about the reason he is here. Though, as quickly as his face shows agitation, it dissipates just as fast. Instead, he opts for an obtuse response. “Just wanted to enjoy the view. That’s all.”

“Couldn’t do that from your own building, no?” you tease lightly, humour softening the prodding tone. But your persistence nudges too close to something real. “Oh... did your girlfriend kick you out?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, too sharp and intrusive.

Unfortunately, it’s a habit of yours to be so nosey that it comes off inconsiderate or produces ill-timed questions. In this instance, it’s both.

His grip tightens on the neck of the bottle. The knuckles whiten, the tension visible. For a moment, he studies the label, reading the same ingredients over and over as if they hold the secret to life's greatest mystery - what happened on that fishing trip in Gavin and Stacey.

“My parents did. Yeah.” His confession is sharp, devoid of emotion

Your stomach drops. “Oh...” It’s all you manage, guilt prickling at the edges of your thoughts. You’re so stupid for poking Y/N! You inwardly scold yourself. Obviously, this issue is so much bigger than you can process. Still, your mouth will continue to flap around. 

“Yep.” He pops the p with bitter precision, his tone teetering on the edge of sarcasm. “Apparently, I need to ‘get my act together.’” He says with accompanying quotation marks from his fingers.

“As in?”

“As in I need to be their perfect little boy and follow in my brother’s footsteps - be a lawyer.” The words fall flat, heavy with resentment.

Nodding along, the pieces form enough for you to make your own solid conclusions. “And I guess you don’t want that?”

“Fuck no.” Jaeyun scoffs out a bitter laugh. “I’m more likely to need a lawyer than be one.”

“Ohhh a bad boy huh?” you wiggle your brows, trying to interject some semblance of humour into the moment while sussing him out, to lighten his load even just a smidge. You can’t begin to imagine what his parents said or did to him once he rejected their concept of a perfect life, and you don’t really want him to dwell on it right now either.

He laughs despite himself, a quiet sound that momentarily lightens his expression. “Maybe.” It’s a noncommittal answer, but he seems content to let you spin your own version of events.

Honestly, he is not bad in any shape or form. But when he says he would need a lawyer rather than being one, he means that that career is so absurd that even a goody too shoes like him is more likely to get in trouble before he stands in a suit.

He just wants to live his life without this great expectation, without people demanding he ‘do better’ when he knows he is doing just fine; he’s in a great University, studying music and production, and has a decent part-time job at the record store, which isn’t loads of money, but enough for him to pay his mum and dad digs and still have a life outside their constraints. He’s doing fine, or so he believes.

But fine isn’t enough for his parents. Their love towards their own son is tied to the weight of their expectations, ones he can’t - or won’t - carry.

“So they just…kicked you out?” you ask carefully, noting the sorrow in his features as he turns the events of the past few months in his head. Sympathy creeps back into your chest, any lingering annoyance dissipating along with the last sips of your beer.

“Yeah,” he confirms, sighing and shrugging. “It’s fine.”

“Are you staying with friends or…” You don’t finish the question because you’re scared of the answer; the dishevelled clothes and hair are enough to semi-confirm.

Jaeyun looks up, his gaze catching the glimmer of the fairy lights, their soft glow reflected in his dark irises. “I was, until a few days ago. You can only couch-hop for so long before people start to feel like you’re intruding.”

He holds no malice towards his friends, no bitterness in his tone, and honestly, his best friend Sunghoon said he could stay for as long as it took him to save up for an apartment of his own. But he doesn’t want to take advantage of his kindness, the boy already doing more for him than most would have. Even Jay, his other friend, offered to loan him the money for the first month's rent on a flat uptown. 

But Jaeyun’s pride wouldn’t allow him to take advantage of their kindness. He would manage on his own, no matter how hard it got.

Seeing the pity in your eyes, he waves his hand to brush off your concern. “It’s fine, I’ve scraped up enough money to get rent now. I just need to find a place,” he smiles softly, appreciative of your sympathy even if he doesn’t want it. “I’ll be fine. I’m going looking tomorrow.”

There’s a sense of relief that his words bring you. Although his predicament isn’t ideal right now, it looks like it could be on the turnaround, and for that, you’re thankful.

“If it’s only for one night, do you want my couch?” The offer spills out before you can stop it, surprising even yourself.

Jaeyun laughs heartedly, eyebrows knitting in disbelief and amusement. “You’re fucking stupid.”

“Huh?!” you exclaim in shock. It’s not really the response you were expecting. A yes? Sure. A no? Absolutely. But an insult to punctuate your act of kindness was a curveball.

Sitting up straight, he places his beer on the ground, an amused smile softening his features. “I’m a random man you’ve known for a couple of hours. I could do anything to you in your own home, and you don’t seem the slightest bit worried about that.”

Okay, maybe he has a massive point. You don’t know him and he could literally attack you at any moment. And considering earlier you had to assess him before approaching, it shows that you do have the common sense not to let him stay with you.

But he poses no threat, none whatsoever. He’s just a boy in a fucked up situation, and your kind heart can’t see him freeze; god knows how many nights he’s been out. He’s already reminiscent of Jack Dawson turning into a block of iced body parts.

“Well, you won’t right?” You throw the question back to him. “I mean, to be honest, I’ve let men in my bed for a lot less than a tiny conversation and a beer.” 

As soon as the words tumble out of your mouth, your cheeks flush to match his cold ones, neck tingling in embarrassment. You’ve just confessed that your standards are abysmally low - you’ve slept with men who didn’t even have the decency to buy you a drink nevermind learn your name.

Jaeyun stifles a laugh, rubbing at his eye. “For your pride, I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” The smile on his face is so beautiful that you’re caught off guard a little. Now you wish he was one of the men you let roll around on top of you for a compliment and a ride home.

His expression shifts, returning to a more serious note, though the smile lingers. “Seriously, Y/N. Thank you for the offer, but I only have” - he glances at his watch - “six hours before sunrise anyway.”

“Seriously, it’s no trouble-”

“I’m serious too,” he interrupts gently, slouching back into his seat. “You should go in. It’s cold, and after the day you’ve had, you need sleep.”

“I-”

“Y/N.” His tone is firm but not unkind. “I’m fine. Go. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

His refusal stings in a strange way, the rejection of your kindness more personal than it should feel. But you know better than to argue with someone so resolute. It never ends well. So, with a resigned nod, you down the last of your beer and stand.

“Okay,” you reply, setting the empty bottle aside. “I’m in 4A if you change your mind. I can grab some blankets? Pillows?”

Jaeyun places a hand over his heart, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Thank you, Y/N. Truly. But I promise I’ll survive.”

And so, you leave him there, your heart tugging at you to insist, to argue, to make him take shelter in your tiny flat. But your feet keep moving, respecting his wishes.

As you reach the door, you glance back one last time, the words caught in your throat. You just hope he’ll be okay.

_____

The rain lashes, jolting you awake. It’s not the pretty white noise rain that you enjoy, it sounds like hundreds of tiny little pebbles being pelted at your window. Strange. It was forecast as clear skies until at least Tuesday. 

You blink groggily, groaning at the interruption. You can’t have been asleep for more than two hours - if that. Begrudged, you turn your back to the outside, shielding yourself from the rain that cannot attack you. Yet, an unsettling feeling stews in the bottom of your stomach, the kind that makes your heart beat faster and your mouth gain moisture.

It’s not uncommon for you to have random spouts of anxiety, all your life you’ve suffered from it, but this isn’t your typical ‘my brain is going to bring up that one time I peed myself in primary 2 and had to be sent home’ anxiety. This is something more.

Fuck.

Jaeyun.

The thought hits you like a bolt of lightning and your body moves before your mind can catch up. You fling off your pastel pink duvet, slide your feet into your beloved fuzzy slippers, and throw on a housecoat to cover your half-naked form. If you had the right mindset and not half asleep and half in panic, you would have grabbed a rain jacket and some trainers instead.

Thought, without thinking about your own state, the chilly air cuts at your skin as you make your way to the roof. The rain, now mixed with hail, pelts down hard, each sting enhancing your concern. Your eyes roam around near the seated area, one of your hands shielding your eyes from the brutal hailstones, each one nipping your hand in anger. 

"Jaeyun?" you shout, your voice cutting through the storm, only to be drowned out by the constant rain. You get closer to the seats and see nothing. Panic overwhelms you, hot and stifling. "Are you still here?"

As you spin around, your eyes finally land on him. He’s slumped up against the rooftop enclosure which acts as a headboard to an uncomfortable concrete bed. His jacket and hoodie are doing as much to protect him as a candyfloss blanket, each soaked through and clinging to his skin. How can he sleep like this? It makes you wonder if he lied about just how long he had stopped couch-crashing and living out in the open.

Quickly, you drop to your knees beside him, ignoring the puddle that entrenchs your legs, and place your hand on his shoulder as you shake him awake. “Jaeyun?” you bellow, loud enough for him to startle awake and instantly put a guard up.

“Huh?” he mumbles, voice thick with confusion.

“Come on, I’m not leaving you up here,” you inform. This time, it isn’t a question but a demand. You have too much compassion to willingly leave him up here any longer.

Jaeyun’s eyes squint through his water-splattered glasses as he takes in your figure. “Y/N? What the fuck are you doing? You’re soaked,” he states the obvious, yet oblivious to his own state. “Go back inside.”

“Not without you,” you fire back. “Grab your things.”

“But-”

“Either that or I stay up here with you,” you cut him off, voice firm though only kindness shines through.

You can see the conflict in his face, his concern for your drenched state outweighing his stubbornness. He sighs, defeated, and finally nods. “Fine.”

If there is one thing Jaeyun hates to be is a burden, but it seems no matter what happens, he will inconvenience you in some way - might as well choose the drier option.

Standing upright, you extend a hand, offering him some help up, but he refuses. Instead, he grabs the duffle beside him and clumsily gets up, following you down and into your apartment.

As soon as he walks into the warmth, his bones leap with excitement and his shoulders relax in contentment. You flick on the lights which allows him a better view of your personal space. And it is exactly how he imagined it.

Your walls are covered in art and photos of you and your friends, lyric posters from bands he has never even heard of, and a shrine to TO1 in the corner. It’s cosy, lived in, and he feels a massive pang of envy. 

“You can use my shower,” you say while subconsciously tidying up, removing the cups and wine glasses that have piled on the coffee table. “Luckily for you, I like wearing guy’s clothes on my period so I’ll see what I can find to fit you.”

“Seriously, Y/N. I’ll just, dry off with a towel or something, No Stress.” He doesn’t like the fuss but he can’t deny he doesn’t feel a little fuzzy as you make space for him. 

Scoffing, you turn around with a perplexed look on your face. “A towel? Jaeyun, you’re soaked to the bone. You need a shower and then you can have a towel, okay?” 

A grateful grin adorns the boy’s face as he takes his shoes off. “Okay. Thank you, Y/N. Seriously.” Jaeyun nods, clutching his damp duffle as he trudges towards the bathroom. 

You point out the way, adding a quick, “Towels are on the rack, and there’s shampoo, soap, and more in there. Just use whatever you need, okay?” 

With another muttered thank you, he waddles to your bathroom, suddenly enthralled with how the night has panned out. It’s been a while since he had a decent shower, and the ones in the Uni’s lockeroom are made more for a quick wash down than a deep cleanse.

As he disappears into the bathroom, you let out a sigh, glancing around your apartment. It isn’t a mess by your standards, but you suddenly feel self-conscious about the clutter. Usually, when people are up, it’s those who are either only making their way to your bedroom or those who do not care and have known you long enough to understand that you like a bit of mess.

A messy home is a home loved.

The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom, and you take the moment to rummage through your wardrobe. You pull out a pair of joggies and an oversized hoodie that has seen you coming every cycle for the past three years. You can’t get much more comfort than these. They’ll be a bit loose on his slim frame, but they’re warm and dry.

Speaking of which, you glance down at your own rain-soaked state, grimacing. The slippers squelch faintly with each step, and the damp housecoat clings unpleasantly to your skin. Without hesitation, you pull out a baggy t-shirt and some old pyjama shorts, slipping into them after quickly drying off your hair with a towel that’s close by. It’s not inherently clean, but it serves its purpose, so that’s good for now.

Satisfied, you place the clothes Jaeyun will borrow on the sofa before heading to the kitchen. The kettle hums to life as the storm outside continues its symphony, the hail getting more dangerous and cutthroat. A hot cup of tea feels like just the thing to chase away the chill, after all, there’s little problems in life that a good cuppa can’t fix.

Just as you reach for the tea bags, the creak of the bathroom door pulls your attention.

Jaeyun steps out, his damp hair falling messily over his forehead, droplets of water glistening on his skin. A towel sits promiscuously low on his hips, and despite yourself, your gaze trails downward. The delicate silver chain around his neck catches the light, the cross pendant resting at eye level with his pretty brown nipples. Your eyes wander further, taking in the faint definition of his toned abs, the subtle dip hinting at a v-line. And his cock is outlined perfectly to give you an idea of his size and width but you can tell it still doesn’t do him justice. 

You realise with a jolt that your mouth is slightly open, and the train of your thoughts is taking a decidedly inappropriate detour. Heat rushes to your cheeks as your mind conjures up scenarios you’d never admit aloud. A pang of guilt follows swiftly - this boy has been through hell, and he’s come to you for solace, not to be gawked at.

“Sorry,” Jaeyun says, breaking the spell. His voice is soft, a mix of embarrassment and strange pride, as he catches your lingering stare. “I’ll get dressed. I just…didn’t know where the clothes were.”

“Oh!” You clear your throat and nod toward the sofa, purposefully keeping your gaze above his shoulders. “Yep, just there. Help yourself. I think they’ll fit.”

As he moves to retrieve the clothes, you busy yourself with literally anything else - studying the ceiling, adjusting the kettle, anything to avoid the moment and stop trying to catch glimpses of his cock. 

You don’t hear the rustling of clothes though, instead, you just hear yourself breathing, which piques your interest. Why isn’t he changing?

Subtly, your eyes glance over to him and then you see it, the look on his face as he stares at the clothes. You’ve had that look before too, the one that comes with the mixed feelings of disbelief, shame, sadness, hope, and every other conflicting emotion that arises when you’re down and out.

“Thanks,” he whispers, “For all of this.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, taking a few small steps forward. But Jaeyun shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“No, really,” he insists. “I…I don’t think I’ve met someone as kind as you in a long time.” His voice breaks on the last word, and he quickly looks away, ashamed of the vulnerability slipping through. 

He has his friends, they are kind and generous much like yourself, but being kicked out of his own family has also shown him the darkest parts of humanity, the ones that he doesn’t let others know that he’s experienced. Truthfully, he’s just a scared boy who needs his family. 

The admission punches through your chest, leaving no room for hesitation. You glide over to him as your arms wrap gently around his shoulders. 

If a cuppa can fix most things, a hug can fix them all.

At first, he stiffens, unsure how to respond, but then he relaxes, his head lowering slightly against you.

“It’s okay,” you murmur softly. “You’re going to be okay. Maybe not right now, but soon.”

Jaeyun’s arms tentatively come up to return the embrace, and for a moment, the storm outside fades into irrelevance. His eyes close and for a change, he believes that it will be fine. This moment isn’t going to last forever, once the morning blooms, he’ll be out of your life and trying to get back on his feet, but he’s thankful for the reassurance and hope right now.

Pulling back slightly, his arms still lingering around you. His eyes, uncertain and yearning, flicker between your face and your lips. Then, without a second thought, he leans in and presses his lips to yours - a fleeting, hesitant kiss that seems to catch even him off guard. 

His lips retract from yours as he draws back, his face flushed with embarrassment and horror. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. Why the fuck would he kiss you without consent when you’ve been so kind towards him? He thinks. His hand twitches at his side, as though unsure whether to retreat or reach out again. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Would it make you feel better?” you interrupt gently, your voice soft but steady.

His brows furrow, confusion flickering across his features. “What?”

“Would it make you feel better?” you repeat, tilting your head slightly. There’s no judgment in your tone, no hesitation. “To kiss me?”

“Really, no, it’s okay-”

This time, you close the distance, your lips capturing his before he can finish the sentence. It’s slow, deliberate, a kiss that tells him you’re here for him despite still being strangers. His initial surprise melts into something deeper, something warmer, as he responds cautiously at first, then with more certainty.

It actually is making him feel better, the human connection, it’s nature's balm.

So he follows your lead, his arms tightening around your waist, holding you impossibly close as his hands splay over your back, covering most of the surface. The way his plump lips move against yours is magnetic, sucking and pulling you into his world. You’ve been kissed more times than you can count - shamelessly to say - but his mouth feels a little different; a little less icky than the others and a lot more like they’re meant to be on yours.

With that feeling charging your bloodstream, your hands fly up to his damp hair, craving to have him on each of your senses. You can’t get enough of him, his taste of beer from the numerous bottles he downed on the roof, the touch of his silky locks that are in need of a haircut, his scent of your strawberry milk body wash mixing in with his own musk, how he sounds when he growls into your mouth, showcasing that he’s just as desperate as you are for this. 

You need him…

Swiftly, your hands trail from his head, down his neck, your nails lightly scratching down his collarbones until you reach the veins just above where you were unabashedly looking not 10 minutes ago. 

Jaeyun pushes your ass against the sofa, bucking up into you, hips deliciously working to place your hand on his cock. God, it feels beautiful, even with the fluffy barrier. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moans deeply into your mouth, passing the need from himself into you. Your hand grips his covered shaft as you palm him teasingly. “Don’t do this if you don’t want to.” 

Honestly, he doesn’t want to say anything that will make this stop, his body pulsing with the desire to have you wrapped around him. But he also believes in consent, and while you both might be horny-induced 22-year-olds, you’re also strangers. 

Shaking your head adamantly, you grip his dick harder, smiling at the whimper it draws from him. “I want this, Jaeyun.”

“I suppose, men have been in your bed for a lot less, right?” he chuckles into your mouth. And while it could come across as an insult to some -  that he’s essentially throwing back your own slut-shaming dialogue from earlier -  you feel no degradation or malice behind his words. You can tell he’s playful, under all the dreary circumstances. He’s a boy who has light and laughter built into his DNA. 

Maybe it’s delusion, maybe it’s a soul connection, or maybe it’s the fact that you need to bounce on his cock within the next five minutes or you’ll perish that’s clouding your judgment. 

Either one, you let it slide.

So, playfully, you slap his chest and break the kiss. “Keep talking and you won’t get the chance to see my bedroom.”

“That’s okay, I can fuck you here,” he replies quick-witted, suddenly hoisting you up on the back of the couch, the wood and material digging into your ass not uncomfortably. 

You laugh and so does he, looking into each other’s eyes, and it all feels so right. 

Bringing your hand up to his face, you push his hair off of his forehead and reveal his eyes - the light from your living room dancing in his pupils, much like how they had been on the rooftop, but this time, there is an abundance of happiness that adds to the shine. 

“You’re so pretty,” you confess, that no-filter brain coming into full effect once again. Granted, a much better consequence of it. 

A faint, rose blush crawls across the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his nose, a bashful grin on his mouth. “Thank you. Personally, I think you’re prettier so…”

“Guess we can be pretty together, huh?”

“Pretty good together you mean?” 

Another laugh jumps out of you and you cup both his cheeks, the warmth of them comforting and worth cherishing. You peck his nose. “I should have known a pretty boy like you would be a charmer.”

He shrugs, kissing your nose back, not bothering to rebut. Instead, his hands guide your legs to wrap around him, hands finding your ass, and he lifts you up. You can’t ignore his cock now semi-hard pressing into you as he bounces you into a comfortable position.

Securing yourself, you circle your arms across his shoulders and kiss him once again, letting him lead you down your hallway, anticipation and greed passing through your breaths and tongues. 

“Which one?” he pants out, squeezing your ass as he does so.

“This one on the right,” you point half-arsed, too lost in the moment to give it a full thought. 

Awkwardly due to your wriggling body, Jaeyun opens the door, trying to view a path to which he can reach your bed without falling over your clutter. Shoes and more lay abandoned over your carpet, creating an obstacle, but one he refuses to lose. 

Jaeyun finally reaches your queen-sized bed and gently places you down, his cock pressing into you even more. 

It’s only then that he realises that along the way from your living room to your bedroom, his towel has fallen down, leaving his exposed cock rubbing against the fabric of shorts. “Jesus fucking christ.”

You look at him and see the pleasure on his face, biting his lips as his eyebrows knit together, rubbing against you again. It makes you giggle, you don’t know why, but he just brings it out of you.

The sound from your lips draws his attention back. “What?” he breathes out heavily, cock thumping with need as he humps you again.

“Maybe you should be inside of me while you thrust - kinda how this whole sex thing works,” you playfully jab, biting your lips together to stop from laughing. But he laughs for you, resting his forehead on your chest and shaking his head in amusement.

“Shut up, I’m just excited.”

“I can see that, yeah.”

It’s easy with him, you’re noticing, like you’ve somehow been in a relationship for years and you’ve just come home from a couples date with your married friends, two bottles of red wine consumed, and adoration palpable in the air. You have two dogs, maybe three if you can get your way, and you are the annoying pair that people hate to hang out with because your love for one another never dwindled, not even after all those years.

Maybe you shouldn’t be fantasising about a life with this random man you met on a roof, but that’s where your brain immediately goes each time you banter or giggle with one another.

He’s different.

Jaeyun stands up, letting you see his cock as he pumps it gently, getting it to full mass. The fact that it’s standing at 5 inches already and still growing causes an ache in your stomach. Fuck, it’s going to feel so good inside of you, your walls are already leaking out for it, staining your pyjama shorts. 

His hands grip your shorts and peel them off, hurriedly throwing them on the floor, only adding to the chaos. Your legs instinctively spread and the juices from your excitement gleam in the moonlight, looking like a ripe fruit just ready to be devoured.

And devoured it will be.

Hoisting you down, Jaeyun positions you at the end of the bed until your ass is almost hanging off, kneeling down between your thighs. Not exactly how you thought the turn of events was going, but you are the furthest from mad at it.

“You look so fucking delicious, Y/N.” Jaeyun’s comment makes you feel exposed but not in a bad way, yet, you still want to hide from him. As your legs try to close, he places his large hands on your thighs, shaking his head. “No, princess, the only way you're shutting your legs right now is if you’re clamping my head between them.”

“Jaeyun…” you whine, both at the petname and his breath ghosting over your hardened clit, making it weep again - much to Jaeyun’s delight.

“I know, princess. You need it, huh?” Jaeyun whispers, kissing up your inner thigh and around the area you crave him most. 

The heat in the room is electric, any cold you both felt from the rain now disappeared from your bones and replaced with scorching intensity. Your hips follow the blow of his breath in search of connection but he simply places a chaste kiss on your clit before pulling away, a smirk on his face as he sees you whimper and squeak.

“You make the prettiest noises when you’re desperate, Y/N,” he gloats, though it’s prideful and not arrogant. He means it, and that’s why he keeps teasing you softly, puckering at your folds and giving you just enough to have you humping the air and arching into him.

“I’m never letting you use my shower again,” you laugh in discontentment, your arm flying across your face as you hide in the comfort of your bicep. 

Jaeyun huffs a laugh, echoing your own amusement before he speaks. “I know, I’m being so mean considering you’ve been so kind, huh? You’re just so cute when you’re like this.”

“I’m about to become a bitch if you don’t do something,” you warn lightly, peaking down to look at him under your arm.

“Well, I better get to it then right?”

And with that, his thick tongue stripes up your folds, gathering and savouring your wetness. Your back arches off the bed and pushes just enough onto him that his nose catches your clit. “Fuck!” you bellow. 

The tip of his tongue searches for your nub, and once it hits the spot and your hands fly to his hair, his lips suction around it, almost making out with it. 

He’s not real you think to yourself. You can’t help the jealousy that rises inside of you as your brain works overtime to imagine just how many girls he has had to go down on for him to be this good at eating you out. If there was ever such a thing as a pussy eating contest, you know he would win hands down because he’s already got you chanting his name, punctuated by profanities. 

“Right there, Jaeyun…fuck…” 

His pride swells and he grows more confident, tongue flicking quickly over your button as he drools over your cunt. It’s safe to say that Jaeyun loves pussy. If he could have it morning, noon, and night, and elevensies, he would without hesitation. Especially yours. The taste of your tang and sweetness is enough to put him in a frenzy, long forgetting about his aching cock and focusing solely on drinking you up.  

He humps the air though, as he always does, resembling a dog in heat as he slabbers and grunts into your cunt. He nibbles at your clit and soothes it with his wet muscle, a smile plastered on his face with each movement - your noises urging him on.

He brings his middle and ring finger to your pulsating hole as it clenches around nothing, deciding to give you some more relief. As he plunges in, you scream out in joy, an open-mouthed smile on your face as coherent words get lost in your throat. You clearly don’t get eaten out as often as you deserve, and that just spurs Jaeyun on more to be the best you’ve ever had.

“So wet for me, princess. Taste so fucking good I want to be here for hours.”

And while that sounds nice in theory, you need him inside of you now. His fingers, thick and beautiful, are nice for now, but that 6-inch, throbbing cock is calling your name. So, you pull him away much to your pussy’s weeping plea for him to keep going, his mouth covered in your slick which is perhaps the most beautiful sight you have ever seen -  and you’ve seen the Northern Lights on a crisp autumn morning. 

His fingers never stop though, just curling inside of you slowly, beckoning your climax still. “What’s wrong?” he asks, concern weaving in his tone.

Sitting up on your elbows, you smile and pant, trying to maintain a steady voice while the tip of his fingers presses against your soft spot inside, jaw slacking each time he holds it for a little longer. “I need your cock so back, Jaeyun. I’m so serious.” The words are desperate and real, shamelessly desperate. 

“You sure you don’t want to cum right now? I can do it.” It’s not like he can’t make you cum over and over again anyway. 

Shaking your head, you sit up, hunching over to cup his face. “Please. I really need you to fuck me.”

A primal desire flickers past Jaeyun’s eyes and a quick nod tells you that he needs it too. His cock jumping for joy at the thought of being enveloped in your tight cunt. So, he withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, pulling on a show as his tongue weaves through his digits, wide eyes looking up at you with sheer longing. It stirs something inside of you, something that suddenly makes you want to grow a cock and have him choke on it. 

But you quickly shake those thoughts, pulling him up by his hair and kissing him deeply. His tongue now tastes of you and you are so glad you love sweet juices and decided that for the past three weeks, cranberry spritz has been your favourite. 

Jaeyun makes quick hands of stripping you of your t-shirt, leaving you both naked and clawing at one another. 

“You got condoms?” he asks between kisses, trailing down your neck as his hands grip your hips so tightly that the skin turns white. 

But you don’t want that. You want to feel him. Raw and unfiltered. Is it stupid? Of course, it is. But some would say letting him inside your home never mind inside your body is already wreckless, so, what’s another reckless abandonment on your list tonight?

“No. No condom, please,” you mumble against his hair as you kiss the top of his head, your conditioner filling your senses.

Jaeyun freezes his mouth and darts up, eyes seeking yours to make sure he heard you right. “Huh?”

“No condom. I’m on the pill,” you stroke his cheek tenderly, “Please, Jaeyun. Do this with me just once, yeah?”

For some reason, that ‘just once’ pangs in the boy’s chest and he hates the feeling more than anything. He doesn’t want this to be once, he wants this to be again, and again, and then some more. Jaeyun isn’t one to believe in fate but considering he chose your flat complex rooftop out of all the others in the city, and it decided to pour down - even though it’s been dry for the past two weeks - which led to you coming to get him and practically drag him into your home; he would say that doesn’t happen by chance. 

Although, instead of getting in his head, he agrees, lust overpowering his responsibility to be safe. “I want it too, so fucking badly,” he leans down, rubbing his leaking cock on your slit, mouth moving to your ear. “I can’t wait to cum inside you, fill you up and make you suck me in.”

Does he know where this confidence came from? Perhaps it was the way you whispered into the air his name over and over again how good you felt while he ate your pretty little cunt, or maybe it's the fact that if this is your only time under him, he will damn make sure you’re thinking about him for the rest of your life.

The heels of your feet move with his ass as he gyrates his hips, allowing his cock to snag on your clit and elicit a hiss from both of you. Your lips messily leave open-mouth kisses over any skin that you can reach; his neck, cheek, lips, forehead, all of it, the feeling of his glistening skin on your lips addicting.

“Please, Jaeyun. Fuck me. Right. Now.”

Your pleading snaps him into full throttle, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance, his bell expanding and contracting as he slips inside of you. Your groans of pleasure harmonise in the winter night, both your bodies connecting fully as he bottoms out slowly, balls meeting your ass as he pushes in to the hilt.

“Holy shit,” he whispers, burying his face in your neck, and you lock him in there, fisting his hair and bucking your hips for friction. He fills you up so good you wonder why humans are born empty and not with a permanent cock up their pussy. 

You never want him to leave.

“Move, Yunnie, please.” The tone of your voice doesn’t carry much conviction but portrays your desperation for him. The nickname falling off your cock-drunk tongue much to his happiness. If anyone ever calls him Yunnie again, and it overtakes the way you whimper it out, he will commit murder. Only you can call him that, call him whatever you want, call him by his name, ever again.

Obeying your wishes, he begins to pull back his hips and move them painfully slow back into you, feeling each bump of your walls and how they meld perfectly with the veins of his fat cock. 

While he loves savouring the moment of you taking him in, feeling how your hole adapts to his girth and length, creating way just for him. “Faster, Yunnie. God, please.”

“Asking God to help get what you want is crazy considering it’s me you should be begging,” he chuckles, never increasing his pace. 

“Shut up, please,” you whine out, grabbing his ass and trying to physically move him to speed up.  

“You can ask me to shut up but not beg me to move faster?” he tuts, going even slower, “C’mon, princess. Ask me nicely.”

You want to slap him, a dry laugh coming from your throat as you fight between your pride - telling you never to do as a man says - and your need for him to start jackhammering into you. 

Well, you suppose you can let your pride have a night off for a chance.

“Jaeyun, please, move faster. I’m begging you. Fuck me faster and harder.”

Those sweet yet filthy words send Jaeyun into orbit, and he grants your prayers. With his hands pushing down your hips, he begins to thrust with ferocity, the tip of his cock not punching into your cervix. It’s much more delicious than you ever could have imagined, the way he snaps into your cunt with no restraint, your pussy taking a beating in the best way possible. 

This is heaven.

“Yes, Jaeyun! Yes! Don’t fucking stop, please.” 

And stop he does not. In fact, he lifts your legs over his shoulders and folds you in half, the new angle somehow reaching so deep you can feel him poking your stomach. You have never felt this good in your life. A cock has never made your brain turn to mush or made your hands literally peel the skin from your partner’s back before, yet here you are, chanting incoherent words into his ear and clawing up his shoulder blades.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good, princess. Taking my cock so well.” Jaeyun breathes into your neck, nipping at your skin and he marks you right back. His praise makes you smile, kissing all over his face in appreciation for the pleasure he is giving you right now. “Such a good girl, Y/N.”

You could cum that minute, and he feels how you clench around him, sucking him in further, making him tip his head back and move even faster. He wants you to cum together, and with how good your pussy feels, he isn’t far from it.

“You sure you want me to cum inside?” he asks again, trying to gauge whether you could have changed your mind. But you grip his hair and stare into his eyes. 

“If you don’t, I’ll kick you out back into the rain.”

Jaeyun laughs. Hard. Your threat is meaningless because you clearly would never leave him out there again to drown in the winter hail, but it does get your point across. You don’t just want his cum, you need it. And luckily for you, he is happy to oblige. 

So, with your consent, he works on getting you both to the edge, his right hand coming down to your clit and rubbing it in smooth circles, a juxtaposition to his harsh thrusts. And you begin to see stars, constellations, as you arch your back and wriggle under him. The coil in your tummy burns with the insatiable pull. 

“I’m cumming! Yunnie, I’m cumming,” you warn, happiness filtering the air as you buck your hips and match the rhythm of his shaft penetrating you. “Cum with me. Please, baby.”

Baby

His balls tighten at the petname and groans loudly. “Call me that again.”

“Baby, cum inside me,” you repeat within a moan, forcing your eyes open to lock onto his. “Cum with me.”

And just like that, with the final clench of your walls around him, he spurts his white seed inside of you, a primal roar escaping his lips as each rope coats your canal. You cum with him, his name falling from your lips over and over again as you chant out in hymn. 

“Squeeze it, princess. Take it all like you want.” He validates you without ridicule, a grin of glee etching onto his face as his body shakes with the euphoria he feels. You were right, cumming inside of you is much better than a condom.

After a while, both your hearts begin to slow down and his body collapses onto yours. His lips lazily kiss your sweaty skin on the top of your breast, your fingers threading through his now dry hair, the only wetness coming from persperation. Its intimate, despite the newness of the situation, and you can’t help but plaster a smile on your face.

It feels so right.

And you’re not the only one who believes so.

Jaeyun gathers some strength to lean on his arm, cupping your face as he strokes your cheek. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” His voice is wavering due to exhaustion, but it’s overshadowed by sincerity. 

Placing your hand over his, you titter slightly, the sound making Jaeyun’s stomach knot and cock pulse inside you once again. “You mean having sex or staying in my house and abusing my shower privileges?”

“Both.” He murmurs earnestly, pinching your cheek. “I also want you to abuse my shower…when I get one.” The last part of that sentence falters slightly, his voice dipping as if suddenly comping back into his reality.

But you won’t let him dwell in it. Instead, you reach up to kiss him gently, lips expressing the reassurance you worry your words might not. And it seems to do the trick because, in an instant, he’s kissing you back with passion, taking each swipe of your tongue against his as confirmation that you want to have this again and see where it goes. 

It could lead to nothing but it could lead to everything.

And he needs to find out.

[jack-bytez-genuine-corner]

It also ignores the need vs want aspect. The calculator allowed for people to do infinitely more complex problems faster, which is a thing that's a need, as in it literally lead to inventions that saved lives and enabled other technologies, good and bad to occur. It was also a step up from the abacus, which is in and of itself another marvel entirely. No one NEEDS art to be made faster as that, in and of itself, ignores the point of the humanities. There is no benefit to generative AI in the way it is currently being sold which is massively wasteful and a giant gimmick, this is why even the Apple AI commercials are embarrassed to present it's "Uses" cause it ignores the central point of not just the creative process but why you even prep for meetings or create gifts for people or use the written word to communicate. If you fundamentally don't understand, any moment you remember is likely a direct result from the human element, whether it be the lack of it or from it, like a cookie from your grandma quite literally tastes differently cause of your attachment to your grandma, just like how an insult from a friend will hurt worse than a stranger. You may WANT to write a letter instantly or create a gift instantly but without that human element you won't feel anything from it nor will anyone else.

Companies obviously want generative AI cause they only see the human element as costing money while ignoring that they wouldn't exist without the human element, and this means Gen AI is treated as the next big thing like NFTs or Crypto when in reality, just like those two, it's all smoke and mirrors with any beneficial aspect either already existing and are used or being too niche to ever be sellable for it's cost. Which is sad cause the tech behind the AI could be used to make accurate translations which can serve anyone in a foreign place in daily life. The same tech could be detecting things like cancer faster and with higher accuracy than a doctor, not replacing the doctor but enabling more effective screenings, lowering human error.

Generative AI will likely get itself sued into oblivion, but even before then it'll be treated like Web3 is now: An interesting oddity that will be abandoned once corporations, who are run by short term profit fetishization, run a single bad quarter and the house of cards collapses. Funnily enough it's those who are pushing generative AI the hardest that will get it killed cause, as a result of AI slop, it's become massively hated and viewed as an intrusive figure in every site and application it exists. The generative AI profiles Facebook touted recently? From 2024 if they still have a profile at all and they don't actually post at all, with many of them deactivated cause of errors and cost. Summaries by Gemini? Making people look for alternatives to Chrome and Google as a whole cause it not only gives unwanted insight (That is typically wrong anyways) but it is increasing the enshittification of a product that just fucking worked and no longer just fucking works. That AI "Artist" who sold whatever for a gazillion dollars? Nobody but the rich who fundamentally do not understand anyone but themselves doesn't care.

The calculator saved lives just like the abacus. Generative AI solely exists for a literal handful, a small village of ultrarich morons to gamble on cause they THINK if they JUST gut the human element it'll just work but they are so blinded by greed they can't even see a single step forward and the obvious issues that it displays. Just like when Wallstreet celebrated Trump's return and are hyped up on Musk and other venture capitalists being in his colon, they clearly have never opened a single history book and seen what happens, inevitably, when people blinded by greed get burned by their greed. Gen AI is a symptom of our rot economy, and I really don't think they paid attention to what happens when you break societal contracts for gold.

It's really telling that the Apple AI ads are ashamed of the product it's selling while the people funding it somehow don't see it. Never seen calculators boast about how secretive and sly they are, almost like when a thing is good it has lots of brag about.

'People are panicking about AI tools the same way they did when the calculator was invented, stop worrying' cannot stress enough the calculator did not forcibly pervade every aspect of our lives, has such a low error rate it's a statistical anomaly when it does happen, isn't built on mass plagiarism, and does not obliterate the fucking environment when you use it. Be so fucking serious right now

[authorbriannarae13]

Mind of Mine // i just want to watch you take it off - joel miller

Joel Miller x female! reader

read on AO3 here.

summary; "You got 'nother one, sugar?"

Joel knows exactly how to get you wetter than ever. or this is the work you get when the author listens to the song 'TiO' off of the album 'Mind Of Mine' on repeat. for five hours.

warnings; smut (MDNI); unprotected p in v; oral (f receiving); mostly soft!joel; actually all soft!joel, so much praise

word count; 1.3k (it's my first joel fic, ok?)

-

You’re swaying to the music while Joel’s behind you, cooking as always.

He usually ignores you – not because you’re necessarily a distraction – but instead, because giving you the attention you crave doesn’t end well. For either of you. Last time he gave you attention, your wrists were secured to the headboard as he fucked your brains out, giving you too many orgasms to count and forgetting about the food.

Oops.

You live to be a tease, though.

It excites you too much to stop.

Mainly because it lets him plan how he’s going to punish you. Or praise you.

Whichever he’s in the mood for.

Based on his current mood – which is subject to change – he’s most definitely going to praise you.

And after the day you’ve had, it’s definitely what you need. Working for a publishing house can be stressful. And today was one of those days.

Good thing Joel loves to make you feel light – weightless, actually.

Not to mention how safe you feel. And when you feel safe, the softer side comes out.

Like all relationships, you just need to feel safe to show it.

“Darlin’,” his rough, Southern drawl interrupts your music, and you turn it off.

“Yes?” you ask, teasingly. Trying to rile him up.

But you never succeed. He knows you too well for that.

Turning away and holding a hand out, he murmurs a simple, “C’mere.”

So, you take it, letting him drag you and lift you up – right into his arms. Bridal style, of course.

You groan as your thighs clench, trying to hide your soaked cunt.

“Poor baby,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead.

“Fuck off,” you mutter while he carries you to the bedroom. Since he insists, he needs his fill of you before he can think about anything else – or dessert, as he likes to call it.

He kicks the door open and lays you down, playing with the hem of your skirt.

Your hips buck into his touch. He’s teasing you – you realize.

“Joel,” you moan as he hooks his fingers into your waistband, pulling your skirt down, and revealing the soaked black lace covering your cunt.

He pulls the lace aside, running his fingers against your swollen pussy, and he groans deep in his throat. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, pretty girl.”

Your brain goes blank as his index and middle finger both sink inside you, curling towards your g-spot.

“Fuck, sir.”

“N’ne of that sir shit tonight, baby.” He grabs your ankles, placing them on his shoulders as he sinks to his knees and licks a stripe up to your swollen - and aching - clit.

Your head falls back as your eyes roll into the back out your head. “Fuckk.”

You’re so close. If he would just curl his fingers against your g-spot just one more time, you’d be there.

He lets out a gruff chuckle that reverberates though your body as his other hand finds you shirt, pushing it up to find your nipple, pinching it.

That sends you over the edge. “Fuck, Joel,” you moan as the orgasm hits, crashing you into waves with each one more intense than the one before it.

His tongue doesn’t stop lapping at your clit even as you try to buck him off. “I can’t. I can’t- “

He cuts you off before you can repeat it again, “You can and will give me ‘nother one, sweetheart.”

“Fuck,” you groan as he pulls his fingers out, thrusting them back in while your back arches.

In. Out. In. Out. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

His fingers thrust faster as your thighs start to wrap around his head, trying to keep him there.

The second orgasm is faster than the first. You let out a silent scream as the waves rush into you for the second time in less than ten minutes.

“Good – fuck – good fuckin’ girl,” he groans, his tongue still swirling around your clit as the waves subside.

The strength from earlier leaves you almost immediately, making your legs fall. You’re boneless, but you also know he fucks you regardless of just how boneless you feel.

“You got ‘nother one for me, sugar?”

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you and brings them up to your mouth, “Taste yourself.”

You happily oblige, opening your mouth to take his fingers and tasting your cum mixed with his skin in a fucked up symphony.

His groan reverberates off the walls as you suck on his fingers – the same way you always have his cock. That’s when he starts to pull your panties down your legs, giving him better access.

Since that’s what this is all about, of course. And better access usually means better orgasms.

Speak of the devil – that shit must hurt. He looks painfully hard.

He interrupts your staring. “You like what you see?”

You slowly start to nod, but he slowly pulls his hand away, fingers leaving with a pop.

He leans down towards you, as you lean up and play with the hem of his shirt before you decide to pull it off.

Next is his belt as you hurry and rip it off, trying to get to his jeans.

“Woah,” he lets out a low chuckle, “’u’re a feisty one tonight, aren’t ya, beautiful?”

“No,” you whine as he starts to stop your frantic hands. “Just need you,”

“Where ya need me?”

“You know where,” you sass with everything you can muster.

“Need to hear ya say it, baby.”

“Fuck,” you moan as his jeans lightly graze your cunt. “Need you in me – fuck – now.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, pulling his jeans and boxers down – as fast as he can. “’U’re g’nna be the death of me, pretty girl.”

“I – fuck –“ His thrust cuts you off as he bottoms out. “I live to please.”

“So I can tell,” is the hiss you get back while he waits for you to adjust.

“Move already,” you whine before you can stop yourself. “Break me for all I – fuck –care.”

He slowly finds the pace you’re accustomed to – hard and fast.

“Look at ‘cha. You’re takin’ me so well.”

Your cunt clenches around him as he continues. “Aw, does my good girl need to be reminded of how good she feels?”

“You-“ you start, “you keep doing that and I’ll finish faster than I ever have.”

“Good girl,” he purrs. “Is that a promise?”

“B-better be,” you stutter as his thumb finds your clit. Again.

“Fuck.” Your head falls back again. Everything is sensitive.

You’re not even expecting the orgasm when it washes over you.

“Good – fuck. You’re such a good girl f’r me, sugar,” he praises, not taking his thumb away.

“Fuck.” It’s somewhere between a moan and groan. “Fuck, everything’s so sensitive.” Now that’s definitely a groan.

He ignores you, continuing his praise. “Fuck. Good girl. God, Good fuckin’ girl.”

You softly whine as he slowly speeds his pace up, trying to find his own orgasm.

After more futile moans, whimpers, and whatever else he can pull out of you.

“Fuck, you’re g’nna make me cum so fuckin’ fast, pretty girl. Goddamn-“ And that’s when you feel his orgasm crash into him – violent and unforgiving.

The orgasm lasts so long that neither one of you can keep up with how much time has passed. It isn’t until he flips you two over, so you’re on top and he’s not crushing you, that you know it’s done.

“Fuck,” you softly laugh, pressing your ear to his chest and listening to his heartbeat as he holds you tightly. You kiss his chest while he hums.

“Poor baby,” he murmurs kissing your forehead, “u’re all fucked out, aren’t ya?”

“Maybe,” you tease while he gives you a look.

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.”

Eventually, after Joel made sure you were okay in every aspect, you two make your way back into the kitchen, attempting to get your appetite back after all that.

You’re standing behind him with your head laying on his back when you murmur, “I love you forever and always, baby.”

You can hear the soft smile in his voice when he says, “I love you more than anything else, darlin’.”

[urno1luv]

your sana works are soooo… so good 😵‍💫😵‍💫

could you do possessive sana jealous fucking r after finding out one of the other members may have a little crush on r? ><

here it is ♡ hope u like it!!

tags: possessive/obsessive behaviour, cunnilingus (😝), fingering, dubcon? thinly veiled threats towards tzuyu/nayeon (😔)

_________________________________________

The atmosphere in the dorm felt different tonight, tense and charged. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it until Sana walked into the kitchen where you were grabbing a late-night snack. Her expression was anything but her usual bubbly self—her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes sharper than you’d ever seen them.

“Hey,” you greeted, trying to keep the mood light. “Want some ramen?”

She ignored your offer, leaning against the counter with crossed arms. “I heard something interesting today,” she began, her tone measured but laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You tilted your head. “Oh? What was it?”

Sana took a step closer, her presence almost suffocating in the small space. “Tzuyu has a crush on you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Tzuyu? She’s just being sweet. It’s nothing serious.”

Her jaw tightened at your response, and she placed her hands on either side of you, effectively trapping you between her and the counter. “It’s serious to me,” she said, her voice dropping to a low whisper.

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden proximity. “Sana, it’s really not a big deal. I didn’t even know about it until now.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” she said, her eyes boring into yours. “You don’t see how people look at you. How they want you.” Her voice wavered slightly, but the possessiveness was unmistakable.

She leaned in closer, her lips just a breath away from yours. “But they don’t get to have you. You’re mine.”

Your heart raced at her words, the intensity in her eyes pinning you in place. “Sana…”

“I mean it,” she continued, her voice softening but no less firm. “I don’t care who it is. No one gets to take you away from me.”

You reached up to gently cup her face, your thumb brushing against her cheek. “You don’t have to worry about that. You’re the only one I want, Sana.”

Her eyes searched yours for any trace of doubt, and when she found none, she finally relaxed—only for a moment. Then, a sharper glint returned to her gaze, and her grip on your waist tightened, as she led you to her room.

“Good,” she murmured, her tone dipping into something darker, more dangerous. “Because I’m not just saying this, you know. I mean it. You’re mine. And I’ll make sure everyone—everyone—knows it.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of her words settle over you like a heavy blanket. “Sana, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” she interrupted, her voice firmer now. “I’ve seen the way they look at you. And now that I know someone in our group thinks they can take what’s mine?” She shook her head, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. “I don’t think so.”

Her hands slid up your sides, slow and deliberate, until they rested just under your jaw. She tilted your face up to meet her eyes, her thumbs brushing over your skin as if to stake her claim even further.

“I don’t care if it’s Tzuyu, Nayeon, or anyone else,” she said, her voice dropping to a near-growl. “If they think they can compete with me, they’ll find out just how far I’m willing to go to keep you.”

You shivered, unsure if it was from her words or the way her touch sent sparks through your skin. “Sana…”

Her lips finally met yours, urgent and unyielding, cutting off whatever protest you might have had. When she pulled back, her smirk was unmistakable, her confidence radiating off her in waves. She sat you down, rather forcefully, onto her bed.

“Let them try,” she said softly, her voice dripping with finality. “They’ll learn soon enough. You belong to me.”

She leaned forward, pushing you down, the bed creaking with the sudden move. In the dim light, you can only see her eyes glinting, her tongue licking her lips in a slow pace, letting you drink in all the details. Her kisses trailed down, lower and lower, her mouth pressing hot kisses against your soft skin. A whimper escaped you, and you could feel your egotistical girlfriend smirking into your belly, her slender fingers unbuckling the belt on your jeans.

Soon enough, her tongue pressed against your cunt, eliciting a small moan from you. She licked long stripes for a few seconds before plunging deep into you, fucking you with her tongue. You were a hot mess, a thin sheen of sweat covering you, face flushed red from her actions.

She got up and positioned you so you were sitting on her lap, her arm snakes around your waist, her fingers entering you, and you whined into her neck, ready feeling stuffed. Sana only kisses your head, not responding to your pleas to slow down, her wrist already dripping from your slick. "Sana, sto-... stop.. mm.." She narrowed her eyes, only for her to tighten her grip on you, her fingers curling as she fucks you. You stifle your sobbing and moaning, not wanting to stop her but at the same time feeling overwhelmed.

"My love, you're mine. Let me make sure you remember that."

[timmydraker]

Tim who isn’t actually a very ‘good’ person.

He’s not a bigot or against minorities, nor does he do anything to violate someone’s right or beliefs, but he can just be… a prick?

Like he isn’t a victim of Damian most of the time because he’s antagonistic towards a literally child, assassin or not. He’s not a total dick, but he doesn’t really show much empathy towards Damian for a while and with his hatred of the League I wouldn’t be surprised if part of that was prejudice against Damian. (Especially if it’s one of the universe where Taliah drugged Bruce, he could maybe even blame Damian for that subconsciously.)

He’s also a womaniser, given he’s one who respects woman’s right and works to support them (unless it’s 1990 Tim, which is a whole other can of worms.) He has partners coming in and out and sure part of that is commitment issues and having to lie to partners about either identity, but often it just seems like he’s having fun and nothing else. If he explains this to his partner at the time, good for them, but it doesn’t really seem like that at times.

He’d also bordering on the line between cocky in a self assured way and cocky in an overconfident asshole way. He’s smart, not get me wrong, but there are people smarter than him and while he could out smart some big names, sometimes he bites off more than he can chew.

Same goes with his own contingency plans, I get the feeling he makes just… a few too many. I get why he does, what I think is a bit off about this is how he seemingly doesn’t see anything wrong at all with making plans to terminate his friends and seems to be lacking remorse for it even if he wouldn’t want to actively do it.

Tim’s loose morals are a bit different as there are many heroes and instances in which I’m like, yeah fair enough I wouldn’t save that guy either. Plus, the reason he became Robin was because Bruce was harming innocent people, not Two Face or Riddler.

He’s far more the comic made trope of a ‘Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist’ than Brucie had ever really been.

He’s actually a bit arrogant and actually acts like a playboy, not as a persona but for real. Even Tony Stark has been portrayed to be playing up his character where I feel like Tim doesn’t as much.

He’s genuinely a sneaky little shit, arrogant and cocky and too smart for his own good.

Man’s body count is double digits and neither of those numbers are under 5, and that’s not even the amount of people he’s blown up.

[hero-israel]

How very Christian of you.

No, really. This is indistinguishable from the faith - the eager faith - for the Rapture to come and uncreate the modern world so no one will need to actually deal with its problems and disappointments anymore. You see this in apocalypse prepper communities - the sense of giddy anticipation for a fresh start in the New Year One.

"What would Israel do without Western support?" In its most serious battles it had none. In 1948 they had no allies and were armed only with surplus smuggled out of Czechoslovakia. The UK trained and equipped and sent soldiers to Transjordan, not Israel. During the Six Day War, America had Israel under total arms embargo and France refused to deliver weapons Israel had already paid for. Israel had ceded Sinai back to Egypt in 1957 under a U.N. promise to protect them if Egypt ever invaded, and then when Egypt began its invasion and naval blockade, there was no help of any kind.

With that total isolation and comparative weakness, Israel still BTFO organized enemy alliances - several times. What precisely is the "weight of the neighbors," mostly 3rd- and 4th-world failed states, that is supposedly going to hit Israel in this day and age? Jordan, one of the world's fakest and flimsiest countries, relies on Israel for water and security. Egypt is not going to do anything to jeopardize its considerable U.S. financial support negotiated at Camp David. Who else, the Holy Roman Empire - er, excuse me, "Syria", another defunct name from the past? Iran is a threat, but by no means a passive one, and if a shooting war is what you are counting on to make Israel go away, you don't get to pretend to disapprove of Hitler. Sorry, I didn't make the rules.

You can rest assured that Israel has long been examining the possibility that America might dissolve like the USSR did. They have been cultivating close relationships with India and the Pacific "tiger economies." In general, most countries are not fond of Islamic terrorism and are much more interested in military technology and healthcare, and Israel can offer them that. Even IF America did cut some strings, it isn't the 1950s anymore - Israel can build its own indigenous (lol) military assets, look up the IAI Lavi jet program and what forced its suspension. You can't get much more globally isolated and BDS'ed than Cuba and North Korea have been for several generations now, and they seem to be enduring it. After they both collapse, let's re-examine Israel's prospects.

P.S. - there is no genocide, apartheid, or colonialism either, but that's just campus chant doggerel, I wanted to mostly address the new material.

why are jews skeptical of antizionism? a guide for gentiles

I'd be ok with the notion Israel wasn't needed if y'all could be trusted not to fuck it up when Jews needed somewhere to flee. But last time (to put it politely) you fucked it up real bad, and six million Jews died.

Fundamentally, antizionism is asking Jews to put our lives in the hands of the same people who saw us screaming for help, who knew that death awaited us, and did all of nothing. Nada. Nil.

(As demonstrated by the recent Amsterdam pogrom, Israel is totally ok and often proactive in flying Jews out. Around the same time as Palestinians were being exiled, Jews from all over the Arab world were being driven out in similar numbers. The reason you don't hear about that refugee crisis? Israel accepted them, without complaint or delay or objection, just urgency.)

Pardon us for being a bit skeptical of your assertions that it won't happen again when a constant theme throughout our history has been it happening again.

This is a slightly modified form of an older, longer, post's tags/tldr.

[honourablejester]

I was watching a video on top battlefield moments from science fiction, and I was delighted to see included the moment from the Babylon 5 episode ‘Severed Dreams’ where Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari shows up to the Battle of Babylon 5 to invite the enemy Earth Alliance ships to run the fuck away. Because yes. That moment is always a correct choice.

“This is Ambassador Delenn, of the Minbari. Babylon 5 is under our protection. Withdraw, or be destroyed.”

“Negative! We have authority here. Do not force us to engage your ships!”

“Why not? Only one human captain has ever survived battle with a Minbari fleet. He is behind me. You are in front of me. If you value your lives, be somewhere else.”

Followed by the EA ships proving that they did, indeed, value their lives. Heh.

With no context whatsoever, this moment is still boss as hell. One lady shows up with three cruisers and a dinky little White Star warship, and she makes the opposing side, which two seconds ago had the station and all its exhausted defenders dead to rights, literally run away. She says go and they do. Immediately, no questions asked. And she implies why, she implies that Minbari are people humans just don’t want to fight, but if you don’t have context, it might not be clear to you the scale of what she’s talking about.

Which is that, fifteen years ago, Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari, in her fury and grief over what she saw as the murder of her mentor, cast the deciding vote that lead to the Earth-Minbari war, which is a nice thing to call what was essentially a genocidal religious crusade on behalf of the Minbari to completely annihilate the human race. And they damn near succeeded. She regretted her decision almost immediately, but by the time she managed to halt what she’d started, it was during the Battle of the Line. The final annihilation of Earth itself. Earth, humanity, fought them for every inch of space in between, but they lost every single fight. All the way to Earth. No one, except Sheridan, the man behind her, survived battle with the Minbari. And Sheridan, it has to be said, basically cheated, to almost war crime levels, by using a distress call to lure a Minbari ship into a nuclear minefield. That was the only victory humanity eked out. The Minbari just steamrolled them, an implacable tide of annihilation that literally nothing they had could stop. The Earth-Minbari War was not stopped by anything humanity did, it was stopped by Delenn herself showing the Council of Nine that humans had Minbari souls (aka that humans and Minbari could reincarnate as each other, making them in religious terms the same species), granting the Council a religious ground to halt the war. Humanity was, essentially, annihilated by Delenn’s fury, and saved by her compassion, and there was nothing they could do to influence either of them.

That, in this moment, is what just appeared on this battlefield. Embodied in this woman. A fifteen year shadow of the end of their race. The Battle of the Line is etched in every human memory in this setting, the moment when they evacuated their homeworld, evacuated Earth, while every fighting ship they possessed died in orbit trying to delay, not stop, just delay, the implacable tide of the Minbari onslaught.

When Delenn shows up and, in cold, quiet fury, says ‘withdraw or be destroyed’, she fucking means it, and there is not a single human being in this galaxy (or, to be fair, anyone else either) who doesn’t believe her. The Minbari have proved it. You can piss off anyone else in the galaxy you like, you can fight gods, but you do not, ever, piss off the Minbari. Especially not this Minbari.

Because she’s learned since then. She has seen the horrors of war, she has felt the almost incomprehensible stain of blood on her hands, she has fought to stop what she started and realised how infinitely more difficult it is, and she has learned. So if she goes to war now, it is with full knowledge of the cost and the consequence. If you tip her over that line, woe betide you. Because it means she’s decided that your death is worth whatever she can’t stop in the aftermath, and if your death is worth that much, then there’s nothing in this galaxy that will prevent it.

God, but Delenn was such an absolute tour de force of a character. This quiet, gentle, soft-spoken woman whose fury had destroyed races and whose compassion had saved the galaxy. She’s not even warrior caste, she’s religious caste. She’s not, technically speaking, a fighter. But hers is the voice that starts and ends wars, and she has never once flinched from personally standing in the face of annihilation to do so.

If she told you to stop being silly and go home before something bad happened, I promise you, you would listen too. Heh.

(Also yes, I’m aware I’ve posted pretty much exactly this several times before, but literally every time I rewatch that scene it brings this wave of giddy awe and wild ferociousness back. Literally. It’s a scene that makes you want to fist-fight god, and a scene that makes you think you could maybe win too. If Delenn is behind you, then even if you don’t win, you will mess them the fuck up in the process. She’s inspiring that way. Heh).

[liketwoswansinbalance]

What would you do if you knew you couldn't fall??

Did you mean "fail?" Unless you meant literally falling, I will answer as if you wrote "fail." You can correct me if that is the wrong interpretation, and I could answer the question again.

Assign first-class experts to solve the world's problems... so I wouldn't have to do it all—assuming the technicality is that I start the projects, then they probably would not fail. Would that loophole work? (Realistically, if it didn't work, I don't think I'd actually be altruistic enough to do all that...) Would I have to see the projects through to completion? That's quite a lot of work. But doing this would likely mean I will probably have a clean conscience for the rest of my life, ideally, because, I know I should if I had the power to do so.

In relation to #1, even if this is non-necessary, also assign people to figure out if there's life on other planets. I just want to know. Don't need to contact whatever is out there—I don't want anything to go wrong. I'd just want to possibly spy on them for a little while. The problem is: spying is unethical, so I'd have to convince myself that I'm either doing it for cautionary reasons or as a longitudinal, naturalistic "study." This could be a pandora's jar, so I might take it off the list.

Cure stupidity and herd mentality. (Curing all physical ailments is built into no. 1 already.) Or better yet, get someone else to do it. (At the same time, we could argue that these qualities are part of being human or flawed, and that we shouldn't tamper with our human-ness. In which case, just no. Also, we would lose part of our former connection to literature, pre-cure. For instance, we would no longer comprehend the meaning of the trope: "love causes poor judgment." So, would it be worth it? Even if the world were terraformed and otherwise reshaped in more metaphorical ways to be "perfect," I think we would still manage to invent new problems because it's what we've always done as a species. Thus, there needs to be a reasonable stopping point. And, I'm not sure what that point is, meaning several other items on this list might have to be struck out.)

Have the world's politicians be... better somehow? Ensure they are sane and moral, that they trust science, are scientifically-literate... I feel, perhaps, like we might get better results if we chose science-fiction writers, particularly those who've managed to predict our present and know how to do social commentary. They seem to be aware of and actually care about the state of humanity. (I'm not really well-informed enough to make any decisions, but I know well enough that the world needs people of varied knowledge and skillsets to continue on. So, I'm not completely, intentionally trying to valorize only what I'm interested in. I'm just biased like any other human being is.)

Delegate everything I don't like doing to competent people (like cooking), and reap the benefits of the exact outcomes I'd want every time. If they were successful, I'd never have a problem with dust and no one would ever move my stacks of books and paper, which often collect dust.

Turn myself immortal and gain eternal youth. (This should probably be item no. 1 on the list, actually, to account for how long the first few tasks could potentially take.) Then use those means on others who would want it done. If it's someone I don't like, I could still let them become immortal, and would just tell them after this favor not to cross paths with me again. I would also try to convince anyone I want to keep around to stay.

No. 6 would attract too much publicity. I'd need a way to continue being relatively anonymous, except for what I would selectively want to be recognized for. (If I couldn't fail at it, I'd love to become the next "Shakespeare" or some kind of literary giant... and maybe then have the world forget about me... and be rediscovered and reinterpreted by future generations who use my original and/or revolutionary works as required reading in their syllabi. That'd be striking and cool. I'm not sure how I would stop suffering from belatedness though.)

Find a way to never sleep, never eat, never exercise, and not experience cognitive decline. I would only do the ones I like doing.

Find a way to resurrect people from the dead. (I already know this has too much margin for catastrophe, so there would have to be restrictions on what can and cannot be done. At the same time, I am also aware this would violate nature, so it might have to be removed from the list. Who am I to decree the rules?)

I haven't addressed religion yet. I'd have to find some way to alleviate my guilt, but that's more of a temporary fix and not a real solution. I'd have to find some way to remain a mostly good or at least harmless person, assuming I'm mostly one now. If there's no reason for anyone, any force, or anything to object to my existence, I would hope I would be allowed to continue on with my plans.

If there were some way to affirm what I think my personal beliefs are, that would be great. At the same time, that defeats the point of faith, and so, I'm not sure what to do about this dilemma.

Learn everything I want to learn now that I have infinite time to learn it (and infinite time to procrastinate).

Consume all the media I want to consume and also never miss new installments or works of art because I wouldn't be outlived by creators.

Become some kind of successful writer. I mentioned this before, but to specify: maybe a novelist or maybe an academic critic—why not both?! Sky's the limit!

Eventually, if I could never fail, I might wonder about whether anything could ever be a challenge or worth doing anymore. (Doubt that will happen since I have a fear of failure anyway—and being cured of it would be a wonderful reality to live in!)

And so, I could want to die eventually. (Again, highly doubt that will happen.)

In case: It's not my top priority, but: study philosophy, so I don't become corrupt, apathetic, or suicidal since I know things can happen to the human psyche after too long.

If no. 1 didn't happen, and humans were faced with climate change as well as other problems, then I would want to die before the planet were barren and ruined, so I wouldn't have to live under dystopian conditions.

Some of the above might not happen because I may procrastinate too much. That would suggest that the revised item no. 1 should be: conquer procrastination once and for all, and only then proceed in a rough order.

[darkness-falls-tarot]

What type of person is Joseph Quinn attracted to? What type of people does he attract? Does he ever want to settle down and what is his love language?

All readings are alleged and for entertainment purposes only; please take each reading with a grain of salt.

What type of personality is Joe drawn to: king of pentacles, 4 of swords reversed, 2 of cups - Joe seems to be drawn towards older people who can be a bit more authoritative in a way. He seems to like those who know what they want and don’t let anything stand between them. But he’s also one to like those who know their limitations and what they are capable of; never ones to push themselves too far to get something they know their worth but won’t sacrifice themselves to get anything. And lastly Joe is drawn to a loving person; someone that he feels this soul connection to. He craves to be loved and cared for by his partner; they show him that they are happy to have him as theirs and he wants to know he can be loved.

Oracle card: not enough - I’ve drawn this card a dozen times for Joe and I feel it’s most representative of how he feels with himself and who he wants; he’s not good enough for them. The type of person Joe would love to be with is so intimidating to Joe that he’s feeling insecure and like he is wasting his time pursuing it. So he just doesn’t try; he will either settle for less than what he wants or deserves or just doesn’t date period.

What type of person is drawn towards Joe: ace of swords pentacles, 9 of pentacles reversed, queen of swords reversed - Joe seems to get the type of people who are like “yeah sure whatever” without caring who they have or they’re using him for their own personal gain. This could be for attention now that he’s in the spotlight or it could be to make someone else jealous. With that Queen of swords in reverse I get the sense he always gets some toxic person who makes those views he has of himself even harder to shake. These people will date him but they don’t really love him.

Oracle card: blowing kiss, camera - with these two and the above cards as they are placed I feel like Joe wants that love and affection he had from a previous relationship he had with someone but now it’s all just in his mind. He’s thinking of that and maybe he’s drawing people who pick up on that and he sees something that his former partner had in this new potential relationship. It starts off like they’re obsessed and drawn to him but then it’s a distant memory and he’s lost again.

What is Joe looking for in a relationship: 6 of pentacles, 2 of swords reversed, the moon - I think Joe wants to just have someone who can give him the love or attention he’s looking for and that’s caused some confusion within him about what a relationship should be. These confusing ideas may also mean Joe is not really wanting anything serious in a relationship right now because he doesn’t feel sure of himself and isn’t ready to be in a relationship that will lead to something more than just a couple dates or something.

Oracle card: teddy bear - Joe wants to be loved; like a bear Joe wants someone to hug him and be there when he needs them. I’m getting a feeling that Joe can be quite clingy when he’s in love with someone and loves to snuggle or just wrap up in them because they make him feel safe. That’s what a teddy bear does for a child and that’s what Joe wants; to feel safe in love again.

Does Joe have any plans to settle down one day: 3 of cups, the hanged man reversed, the sun, no - Joe definitely wants his own family. He’s loves the idea of that and it’s something he’s always wanted but right now he’s not feeling like he can do that or that he will be able to have a family; but with that no card it says this blew up in his face. I’m feeling Joe may have wanted a family with someone very specific and things didn’t work out; he still loves the idea but he thinks he’s too messed up and no one wants a family with him.

Oracle card: coffee cup - for having a family Joe is thinking about it but right now he’s just trying to enjoy his life he has and do things he can before trying that again. He’s a 30 year old guy who is new to the fame and is getting his feet wet.

What is Joe’s love language: gift giving, quality time, physical touch - Joe will spoil whoever he loves by making sure they have all they need and he can be there with them whenever he is able to. He doesn’t like to be away from those he loves and craves their presence with him as much as he can have it. He also is a very physical guy; like holding hands with them, hugging them, kisses and cuddling. (Personally the 5 love languages all seem to suit him in some way so it’s up for grabs what his primary one is)

[sl-walker]

Booster's Queer af

Something I wrote on Reddit on a thread asking 'what's your DC hot take??', because if you're gonna kick a hornet's nest, kick it with your best steel-toed boots and then smile:

Booster's queer. That man hasn't come across as straight-- ever. Like even when I started reading DC in 2003, he came across as queer to me, pretty much from his inception. Seriously. He comes across like someone closeted and decidedly not-straight who just stays in the closet initially because it was a very bad time to be anything other than heterosexual when he landed in the past and later because it's habit and expected of him. I don't think he's gay, I think he probably leans pretty pansexual or maybe even demisexual, but any which way, you'll never convince me he's not at least a little bit queer. He's had one in-universe romance that hasn't been retconned (Firehawk) in his entire time existing and one that was a joke and maybe not even real canon (Gladys). After almost four decades. His thing with Firehawk lasted, I think, like less than a year, too. I'm pretty sure you can count his on-panel kisses on one hand, but not more than two. He's never had a 'morning after' scene. The one seriously emotionally intimate relationship he has is with another guy. When he does flirt or attempt to, it comes off as being awkward and a bit desperate and a bit like a man who is kinda using it as cover. And like-- that really makes way more sense for him than anything otherwise. I'd sincerely hope by the 25th century that we'd stop giving a damn who loves or wants whomever else based on gender presentation. It also makes for a pretty compelling tale, a guy getting dropped into the middle of the AIDS epidemic learning a very quick and ugly lesson about what happens to queer folk in this time period. I dunno how hot a take this is, though, because at least some people up top agree (he's canonically hooked up with Ted in Teen Titans Go! and like-- any time Tom Taylor writes them, he all but says it aloud), but if TPTB were brave, they'd finally confirm it mainline. Like you don't even have to ship him with Ted (though that's my preference), just confirm he's queer. Here's my essay. What's my grade? LOL!

--

Since it's relevant, tho, here's a few pieces I wrote from a long email back and forth (since us old people still do that) with another very long-time fan of his a couple weeks ago:

But anyway, to me, he acts about like how a kid who got dropped into the 80s during the height of the AIDS panic and rampant homophobia and the wholesale death of gay men might, especially if he were queer himself. I'd probably try to straight-wash myself, too, in his boots. (I remember that time period, if distantly. I didn't realize I was queer myself until I was well into my 20s, despite falling in very desperate and intense love with another girl when I was 12. I do remember being in high school when a boy was murdered for being queer by being tortured and left tied to a fence to die, though. It was that kind of world back then for people like us. In some places, it still is.) Still, where Booster fails at any hetero romance (oh god does he), he's so devoted to Ted that a big part of his second solo was dedicated to him either trying to save the man or actively mourning him. It's heartbreaking and amazing and really actually quite good stuff, from a literary POV. Whether DC meant it or not, somehow they managed to write one of the greatest love stories I've ever seen in a comic across most of twenty years, no kidding, and I've read a lot across a lot of companies, even back when I was a twelve year old girl and ridiculed for it. And not just a great queer love story, it's a great love story period. A person can make a credible argument for it being a one-sided -- romantic and therefore non-platonic -- love, but it's pretty hard to argue it's not a very intense one regardless.

And

I guess what I'm trying to say is: This is another read on him. And I think also a very valid one. He's one hell of an amazing character, I wish DC had handled him half as well post-Flashpoint than they did pre-Flashpoint, and I don't think a queer reading of him detracts anything from how amazing he is. If anything, I think it makes the older stuff several shades deeper (and so, so relatable, god), and I think if they decided to write him as explicitly queer now, not too many people would actually be all that surprised. With or without Ted. I can't really identify with Alan Scott, love him though I do, even though I can acknowledge that a generation of gay men likely could quite strongly. But I can identify with Booster Gold, who grew up poor and wrecked his future in part for love of family, who clawed his way out of poverty and fell back into it, who has brilliant and shining moments of courage and heart, and moments where he lands on his face, who was tough enough to survive a lot of shit but devastatingly vulnerable to exploitation, and who looks like a fellow queer kid who might've fallen for his best friend, but was surrounded by homophobia and hate and terror and buried that part of himself because the alternative might have been getting beaten and left tied to a fence to die.

[cielosafeplace]

going out with 141 partying would be something like this...

(Short as your ex's dick) 💋

Imagine you're going out partying with the guys from 141 but they're just your friends (for now) you went to their house, where the 4 of them live because they're polyamorous boyfriends and you were already ready so they let you occupy their guest bed to wait for them but you fall asleep in the most tender way these men could have ever seen. With your feet off the bed so as not to get it dirty, your hair against the pillow and a little saliva touching your lipstick and makeup. Johnny is the first to see you, he walks into the room yelling something about how in Scotland they drink a lot and blah blah until he looks at the bed and sees you there almost curled up with your hand under the pillow and the other with your phone in your hand, he carefully calls Kyle who was passing by the hall cursing because Johnny stole his belt, as soon as he entered the room he was speechless. Simon was already ready when he found Kyle and Johnny watching something very calm and quiet as soon as he saw you he felt like he could bite you until you ripped off your flesh because of the aggressive tenderness you caused him and John was already going to scold them all because they are missing and he joined the group of observers but he decided to intervene..

- Honey ...- John spoke very softly, to which you moved coming out of your nap - Honey can you hear me? -

- Hey cap, oh I'm sorry I fell asleep - You stretched and your shiny crop top rose revealing your abdomen

- Bonnie if you don't feel energetic we can stay here - Johnny approached when he realized that continuing to look at your ass in those shorts was wrong - We can order food if you want

- I'm fine I just relaxed too much, are you ready? - you sat on the bed with John's arms still on either side of your legs, when you sat down you stayed close to his face but you didn't give it any importance

This little approach left the three boys stunned, because something as simple as that could leave them so stupid and horny. Definitely everyone thought they were degenerates

- no no, look at my makeup, my hair, I'm not going to waste this outfit, come on - you put your hand on John's chest so he would get up.

Without anything else to say and obeying your word everyone left, John drove the entire trip there and back, Johnny and you being the most affected by the alcohol filled with jokes and shameless flirting towards Kyle and Simon. You ended up asleep in the boys' bed after accidentally kissing John when he was helping you with your makeup and changing clothes. A party with your friends at a random club, who would say that a few weeks later they would ask you to join their polyamorous relationship.

[passionwillow]

Could you do a Fluff Alphabet for Street? Thanks🫶🏻

I'm sorry this took so long!! Here you go sweet anon. ❤️

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

This man is SO affectionate. He's touchy, handsy, loves to sit and listen to you chat about your day, and sharing his with yours. Dinners, presents, acts of service and physical touch are all ways he loves to show affection.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

As a friend, Street would go to the ends of the earth for you. Anything you needed or wanted, he's there to help. A shoulder to cry on, someone to ask for advice, he's there. You probably would have met him through mutual friends, and he was drawn to you instantly.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

This man is a cuddle bug. Arms around you, head on yours, buried under the covers with him and sharing body heat. He loves to have a hand on you at all times.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He would love to settle down eventually. It isn't anything he's in a rush for but he definitely wants to settle with you. He wouldn't mind at all cooking and cleaning, he loves the normalcy, the domestic feel. Being a father, parenting with you? A dream.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If he didn't want to be with you anymore, he isn't going to hide things. He'll be honest and open, that you deserve better. But he also isn't going to give up without a fight, unless there's nothing more that can be done.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

If he loves you and knows you're his "one", he's all in. A ring, a wedding, building a home with you. That's his goal. He won't rush it, but he certainly won't hold back on home much he needs you.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Literally a big soft bear. He won't ever hurt you, not in anyway if he can help it. Soft kisses, big hugs, hands caressing you. He hates fighting, you won't see him ever raise his voice at you.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

HE ADORES HUGGING YOU. Literally would sit there with his arms around you 24/7 if he can help it. He loves feeling your body against his, your scent and warmth evading his senses.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It might be a bit fast, but if he knows he loves you he won't be able to hold back those words for long. He'd probably let it slip without a second thought, just saying it in passing. But when he realizes it came out of his mouth and you said it back so fast, he's ready to jump and scream it to the world.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

This is a tough one. I feel like if he saw you with someone else before he asked you out, he'd be a little upset. But when he has you in his arms, he knows you're his and vice versa, I don't think he'd be too jealous.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

The slowest, most sensual kisses. Hands cupping your face, body pressed to yours, his tongue tracing and teasing your bottom lip. He loves kissing your cheeks and nose, your forehead. He loves it when you kiss his cheek.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He's an expert at kids, for never having them. He knows how to talk to them, get them to open up and communicate. And he loves them!

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

He loves making you breakfast and curling up in bed with you, watching TV or talking before he has to go to work. He needs to take that time to have one on one moments before his shifts.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Either you or him making dinner, sitting and making time to discuss how each other's days went, if something upsetting happened and one of you needs to talk about it. If not talking about work, you guys have so much in common you'd be discussing. Or sometimes just sitting in silence, comforted by one another.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Street is an open, honest person. It would take some time to talk about his past, but he wouldn't be shy about it by any means. It's life, it happened, it is what it is. Plus, it's made him who he is.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

It takes a lot to rile him up or upset him. He's a very steady person, and it would take a lot other get him to snap and grow impatient with you.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He is a sucker for details. You mention a favorite food, color, music, TV show, whatever, he's sticking it in a corner of his mind. If he sees something that reminds him of you that the knows you'd love, he's on it.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The moment he meant you. He knew you were something special, something amazing, and he wasn't going to give up until you were his.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He's protective over everyone close to him, you more so than anyone else. Someone looks at you wrong, someone's giving you the creeps, he's on it and making himself a barrier.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He tries his best. Sometimes he gets busy and can't be there when he wants, but he remembers the important things and is always going all out for it.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Not asking for help. He doesn't like to bother you with issues, so sometimes he tries to handle things on his own. When he finally opens up, he's apologizing for it sincerely.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He works out for his job, of course, but otherwise he doesn't care too much. He just wants to make sure he's healthy for the job.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Absolutely. You're his whole world, and if he doesn't have you he feels lost.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

He loves watching old movies with you and going all out. Popcorn, candy, etc.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Rudeness. He doesn't like it when people are just nasty and rude for no reason.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Sleeps like a baby when he's with you. Your warmth, smell, it makes him drowsy.

[otomiyaa]

Round Three

Kabru & Laios

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @wertzunge! I wanted to surprise you with something and hope you'll like this fic of a fandom + pairing that just deserve more tickle content 🤭🎉

Summary: [SEQUEL to "Tickle Fight"] - It has been a while since Kabru's tickle fight with Laios, but for some reason Kabru can't stop thinking about it and it's bothering him! (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 1.6K

Time. Meditation. Slapping Laios in the face.

It all didn't work. Plenty of time had passed, but the memory did not even get a little blurry. Not one bit! Meditation to control his thoughts: didn't work. On the contrary - during meditating he ended up thinking even more of it.

Slapping Laios in the face seemed like a good outcome - as in, maybe it would make a perfect new memory. It could make him think of slapping him, instead of that. cursed. tickle. fight. everytime!!!

That didn't work either. Kabru quickly apologized and asked Laios to slap him back, but he did not do such a thing and made him feel guilty for even trying it. But aaah, he wasn't sure what else to do!

Kabru was sweating, just from reliving the memory and from all the thoughts it activated. He kept thinking about it and he wasn't sure why. It bothered him.

Laios hadn't tickled him ever since. The others wouldn't let him. It wasn't even that Kabru never wanted it to happen again. But it crossed his mind a little too much and it made him feel uneasy.

It was unhealthy to battle monsters while thinking of getting tickled by Laios. It was conflicting to feel some sort of disappointment whenever Marcille or Rin would jump to his defense as soon as Laios looked like he'd want to tickle Kabru again, to which Laios would cry out "I wasn't doing anything!" with his hands raised.

And it was even worse how he felt when Laios would tickle Chilchuck while everyone cheered him on. Kabru never wanted to admit it, but at this point it was driving him crazy to finally come to the conclusion: he wanted another tickle fight with Laios.

Just to see how he would do if eh, if he was better prepared. A third round. Yes. A real tickle fight.

Round 1 wasn't really a fair one. Laios pounced on Kabru and just wrecked him completely. Kabru didn't even have a chance to fight back. Round 2 wasn't fair either. Sure Kabru got that lovely revenge on him, but it was only thanks to Marcille and Rin who held Laios down.

He knew he still wasn't strong enough to handle Laios, but after all this time it was still on his mind multiple times a day. He wanted to try it!

"Can I have that?" Kabru was pulled out of his thoughts and looked at Laios who pointed at Kabru's unfinished... whatever monster dinner Senshi had brewed them. It wasn't necessarily bad but... Kabru sighed and gave it to him.

"One day you'll get used to it. So, so yummy," Laios said while he munched on Kabru's leftovers. Kabru stared at him in realization.

"Where.... Where are the others?" he asked. Looking around, Kabru thought it was very clear that it was just him and Laios here at their campsite.

"There's some water nearby where Senshi wanted to do the dishes. Everyone went to help him, but I think they just wanted to take a bath and a swim or something. No one likes doing the dishes that much. They asked if you were joining but you didn't respond," Laios explained while he kept eating.

Kabru sighed. See? This was what his awful chain of thoughts was doing to him. He would've loved a cold splash of water in his face. Instead he was here, alone with Laios and... He blinked. Alone.

"Laios?" he asked. He started speaking faster than planned and wasn't even sure how to handle this yet, but if he wanted that tickle fight, this was his chance now that they were finally alone.

"Yes?" Laios just finished the last of Kabru's food and looked at him. Kabru immediately felt himself blush.

"U-uh I was thinking... The other day...." Oof this wasn't going well. The tickle fight had already been some time ago.

"I mean... You remember o-our..." Say it. Say it, say it! Kabru closed his eyes and breathed out.

"Our tickle fight..." he finally mumbled shyly. Laios immediately grinned.

"Of course I do! That was fun."

Kabru eyed him shyly and continued: "Well, I thought it wasn't really a fair one. I mean, I'm not used to it so at first I kind of panicked."

"That was cute," Laios responded, making Kabru explode already.

"A-and then, well, I couldn't really fight back. The others helped me get my revenge in round 2, but it wasn't a real tickle fight," Kabru explained. He already regretted bringing this up, but Laios looked so pleased to hear it.

"You mean you want to try again? We can do it now!" he said cheerfully, and yes, that was something to be happy about, but Kabru immediately squeaked and brought his hands up to stop Laios from pouncing on him again.

"H-hold on wait! We have to establish some rules!" he cried before he was doomed to laugh himself to death again. This time there was no one to save him.

"Oh, sure. What rules?" Laios sat back and waited.

Kabru swallowed and hesitated for a moment. "We should have a safeword. In case it's getting too much."

"Sure! Let's pick 'dog', nice and short. What else?"

Well, that was random, but sure. "We count to three, before we start," Kabru suggested.

Laios nodded. "I can do that. Do we start on three, or after three?"

"On three. The first one to make the other call out the safeword wins the tickle fight," Kabru said.

"Alright! That's all? Let's do it." Laios got up and stood in position with his hands ready, almost looking as if he was going to wrestle. Kabru copied his stance and took a breath. He was not going to run this time. He knew how ticklish Laios actually was. He should be able to handle it, at least in a more dignified way than last time.

"One..." Laios started, and Kabru's heart started racing.

"Two......" Kabru already tingled in anticipation.

"THREE!" Both of them attacked the other. Laios immediately managed to grab both Kabru's sides, but Kabru wrapped his arms around Laios and started to tickle his ribs while caging him in.

Hilariously, both of their laughter was instantly heard as they tickled each other. Now that was a better start at least.

"I wohohon't lohohose!" Kabru laughed while he dug his fingers into Laios' ribs.

"O-ohoh y-you behehet!" Laios' excitement didn't scare Kabru this time. It riled him up.

He clawed at Laios' sides and ribs and tried to keep himself up while receiving some pretty bad tickles himself. Laios was attacking the exact same spot, and one of them was bound to give in to their weakness sooner than the other. Kabru didn't want it to be him.

But of course Laios wasn't Laios if he still wasn't champion at tickle fights while Kabru was a newbie in the field. The moment Laios' fingers buried themselves under Kabru's arms, Kabru found himself shake with more hysterical laughter and his legs started to lose strength. Oh no, the moment he'd be down, he would be done for.

"Dohohon't you dahahare! Not thehehere!" Kabru tried to tickle Laios' armpits too, but before he could try that, he did end up sliding to the ground. Well, he tried.

"Victory's gonna be mine!" Laios exclaimed, and he pinned Kabru down and started that merciless tickle attack on him again.

It made a difference that Kabru knew he was in control - if he'd call out the safeword, he would simply lose. But he didn't want to surrender yet. Not without trying a little more.

"I'll gehehet you bahahack!" Kabru threatened while Laios tickled his underarms as if his life depended on it. Getting tickled there made it harder to lift his arms to reach for any tickle spot on Laios, and even though he could brush his fingers against his tummy and make him laugh just slightly, Kabru ended up collapsing completely.

Laios got inspired by his attempt and switched to tickling Kabru's tummy, using all ten fingers to wiggle all over the ticklish area. Kabru squealed, shrieked and flailed helplessly.

"LAHAha-Lahahaios ahaha wahahait! Nohoho!" Kabru laughed.

Eep, Laios was really relentless. He was strong, skilled, and excited, and if he had a tail, it would totally be wagging now.

Kabru didn't see any other chances. He couldn't win this. He knew it before he even tried, but it was still a good feeling that he had a fair attempt.

"AHAHa-ahahalright Laahahaios! Dohohog!" Kabru cackled. To his surprise, Laios immediately stopped as soon as the safeword was said. Kabru would've expected the need to repeat it a few more times at least, but Laios stopped tickling him and threw his arms up.

"Hurray! I win," he cheered. Kabru caught his breath and watched him fondly. Maybe it was because he wasn't wrecked as much as last time, because he had definitely made Laios laugh too, or because no one was here to see this, but he didn't feel embarrassed at all for losing.

"Are you okay? I hope I didn't overdo it." Ah, he really did learn from last time. Kabru giggled.

"I'm fine. N-next time.... Next time I'll win for sure," he said. Laios looked very happy to hear there would be a next time, and he nodded.

"Of course! You're getting better at it. If you want, I can give you some tips."

It was crazy to get tips from the person Kabru actually wanted to defeat in a tickle fight, but he chuckled and nodded.

"I'm all ears. But let's save it for next time," he said, pointing in the distance. The others were coming back and waved at them.

"Look what we fouuuund!" They were carrying something that excited Laios so much he got up and ran towards them. Kabru watched him go with a smile. Finally, that tickle fight was no longer bothering him.

[azumasoroshi]

some of yall gotta lock tf in cuz i was reading a fic today where the author marked their fic as completed when it wasn’t and so the first chapter ended on a hella cliffhanger

and one of the comments was like “omg this is so good is there gonna be a part 2??? cuz that is an illegal cliffhanger” and the author was like “omg yes thank you there’ll be a part 2!! i only marked it as completed because people avoid unfinished fics”

like. should you not mark unfinished fics as completed? yeah no dont do that. should yall motherfuckers ALSO be reading unfinished fics so that this isn’t a problem? YEAHHHHH MAYBE

i fucking LOVE reading unfinished fics cuz that means i get to write comments about how much i loved the latest chapter without irrationally worrying that something i say will be disproven in the next already existing chapter LMFAO like it’s fun!!! all you gotta do is:

write a short summary of what happened in your bookmarks and note down what chapter it’s on out of how many, eg. gojo gets hit with suguru coffee blast meet cute 1/?

if it’s really short atm eg. <2k words 1 chapter, just put like some random word eg. explosion 1/? and you can just relive the experience blindly again when you come back to enjoy it. have fun with this one by the way, ive done some really obscure ass words/memes where i dont know what the hell they have to do with the story when i come back to it and then i read it again and im like OHHH I GET IT NOW. and sometimes i never understand what past me had in mind when writing it which is really funny it’s like a time capsule

^pro tip you can also do this for fics that are finished. literally anything. have FUN with your BOOKMARKS they’re so easily customizable and if you get self conscious you can always just make them private lol

subscribe OR just periodically scroll through your bookmarks OR mark it for later OR use original tags to mark it as unfinished or like. literally anything idfk

if you feel like being a real chad and leaving a comment it’s super easy too you can just be like omg love x scene that happened in this chapter it was so angsty/cute/crazy/unexpected/insert adjective and i loved it/im rolling on the floor/im dying/im in the ambulance, cant wait for next chapter xoxo heart emoji like it’s THAAAT easy. said by someone with dogshit social anxiety and a tendency to overthink every action ive ever made, IT’S THAT EASY!!

and like. boom. that’s it. you get new content from fics you love delivered straight to your door!! hello??? even if they never update again are you really gonna mourn the loss of like 10 seconds of your time. cmon you’re already on ao3 for hours at a time like. lock INNNNNNN

me personally i get so much fuckin shit in my emails that i can’t turn off notifs for. so when i get a notification that some fic i dont even remember updated i get hyped as SHIT because finally some good fucking FOOD!! even if i dont remember it right now i must’ve liked it enough to subscribe to it and i know my taste better than anyone else so it must be good shit lmfao…and if it’s a fic i REMEMBER then it’s like YEAHHHHH BABY. do you even comprehend how many times ive checked my phone at the bus stop and gotten a notif from either a fic or author i’ve subscribed to and just. instantly start grinning like a maniac because YESSSSSSS

can personally attest that this has happened multiple times from ao3 user hollow_lime_green (Hanatamago) and many other authors. do ittt. brighten up your day. pspspspsp do itttttttttt

[sunnysidesevenup]

Moonlight Song: Chapter 1

“Hurry, henchman! I’m hungry!”

Yuichi sighs, readjusting his grip on his bag. Grim is tugging at his clothes, impatient as always, and honestly he just wants to skip dinner and go take a nap. Not that his silly dorm companion would ever allow something as heinous as skipping a meal. Maybe he can convince Grim to go by himself…?

Unlikely.

“I’m coming, just hold on a minute.” He says, Grim rushing ahead of him. He attempts to hurry after his dorm mate, but instead collides near instantly with someone coming around the corner. Both Yuichi and whoever he slammed into hit the floor, and Grim immediately appears near them.

“Hey! Watch where you’re—MWAH?! IT’S THE POMEFIORE LEECH TWIN!” Grim instantly cuts his scolding off the minute he sees the guy on the floor glaring at the two of them, and ducks behind Yuichi.

“Don’t compare me to the Leeches, we look nothing alike.” Arlo immediately scolds. “And we’re not related at all, this is why you’re failing your tests, isn’t it?”

“Wha… how does he know that…”

Yuichi deigns not to reveal to Grim that it’s probably just a reasonable guess.

Instead, he decides to defuse the oncoming fight, considering the Pomefiore second year has seemed to recover from his fall but is now looking more and more annoyed. He brushes off his clothes, standing back up. “Sorry for knocking you over, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He says.

Arlo looks him over, and then nods, seeming to find him genuine. “Sure. I wasn’t paying attention, either. Keep your… cat under control, though.”

“I’m not a cat!” Grim immediately yells, indignant.

“What are you, then? I see a cat.”

“Get your eyes checked!”

“Oh?” The mer tilts his head, tone lowering threateningly. “Do you think something is truly wrong with my vision? I’m not in the mood, so spit it out if you do.” His tone makes it very, very apparent that Grim should stop talking, so Yuichi, once again, is on damage control.

He scoops the cat back up into his arms, “He really doesn’t—sorry again.”

Arlo’s glare doesn’t fade. Instead, he just crosses his arms, staring at them with a piercing look and not saying anything.

“Uh…. We’ll get going, then?” Yuu says, attempting to leave before anything else happens.

“Do either of you sing?” The mer asks suddenly.

“What?! Why’re ya asking something like that, all of a sudden?” Grim questions, receiving another tilt of the head from the mer.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter… You’re not doing anything right now, are you? Great.” The shorter guy then darts forward, grabbing Yuichi by the arm and pulling him along down the hallway.

“No, no! Henchman, fight back! I want dinner!” Grim protests, struggling in his arms. A glare from the mer quickly stops the squirming, but not the complaining.

It’s not like Yuichi could pull away even if he wanted to. The guy is much stronger than he looks, and honestly kind of scary. He’d much rather just get whatever he wants over with and then return to his dorm.

Hopefully there’s food, wherever they’re going. He can’t put up with Grim’s whining for that long.

Arlo pulls them along all the way to the courtyard, and then over to a bench where, to Yuichi’s surprise, the Pomefiore housewarden is sitting. He’s scrolling on his phone, but looks up as they approach, raising an eyebrow.

“I found more people.” Arlo says, and the expression on Vil’s face sours.

“Grim and Yuu are not good candidates for a singing competition, Arlo. Go find someone else.” He tells his lowerclassman flatly.

“For a what?” Yuichi asks with mild panic. He’s ignored.

Arlo crosses his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. “I don’t need people to be good at it, I just need them to be distracting.”

“Then why did you ask me, exactly?”

“You’d get upset if I didn’t invite you!“

“Wait, wait, hold on!” Yuichi interrupts, finally getting a word in between the two boy’s arguing, although he regrets it a bit when two duel glares turn onto him. “What’s going on? Singing competition?”

Vil turns back to his dorm member. “You need to stop dragging people around with no explanation.”

Arlo shrugs. “It’s fine. They’re not busy.”

“Did you ask?”

He doesn’t respond, instead turning to Yuichi. “There’s a festival going on in my hometown, and I got signed up for a competition. I don’t want to participate, so I’m taking other people along with me. You’ll help out, right?” The question is less a question and more of a threat, from the low way he says it.

“…Can’t you just, uh, drop out?”

Arlo gets a pinched, complicated expression on his face. “I could, but then my siblings would call me a coward. Do I look like a coward to you?”

“…er, no?” Yuichi answers hesitantly.

“Exactly. But now I need more people… three or four, maybe…” He muses to himself, and then grimaces. “I don’t want to ask anyone else.”

“I, myself, would like to find good singers.” Vil tells him, offering no room for argument. “You might be content with this, but I’m not. You shouldn’t have told me about it if you weren’t intending to do your best. Frankly, I’m considering teaching you a lesson.”

“Who says I won’t do my best? I’m not worried about myself, but how other people perform isn’t my business.”

“As your housewarden, I don’t appreciate your attitude.”

“I’d love for you to attempt to teach me manners, then—“

“OKAY! Okay. Let’s just…” Yuichi raises a palm to his head, sighing. Why, why, is he always the one playing mediator? He’s not good at that! How did this happen to him?! “So, from what I’m hearing, we need a few more people, and they should at least be decent singers, and should have time to leave campus last minute…?”

Vil nods. “Correct.”

“How are we going to get anyone like that?” He asks, already committed to helping. Not like he would be able to get out of this now, anyways.

“Why, I think I can help with that!” A deep voice says from behind them.

[noirsdoll]

-> in sickness and in health

pairing: james x nurse!reader

words: 2.8k

tags: rape, abuse, mentioned snuff, cheating, forced orgasm, james is a perv, this is almost straight porn

notes: nurse!reader trope and title is overdone but idc. nothing else to say other than i need this man and i want him to beat the shit out of me!! yay!!

inspired by magdalene by rimqueen!!

read it on ao3

Is her sickness contagious?

It’s the first question James asks when he receives the diagnosis. A selfish one, he knows that the second it leaves his mouth. He whispers it to the nurse outside Mary’s hospital room, who looks at him with nothing but scorn.

Of course, it isn’t. Why would it be? He has no reason not to touch and hold Mary. His Mary. The sickness hasn’t taken her. It won’t, not ever. James can’t bear to see her go.

James stays sedentary by Mary’s beside as the days stretch on. He watches the light in her eyes fade, the lines of her face grow hallowed. He watches her wither, emotionally tied to every wax and wane in her condition. The push and pull loosens the assuredness of his empathy, he starts to rot alongside her.

He trudges through life, Mary’s well-being rooted to the forefront of his mind. He pours everything into her, his love, his worry, his savings. James just wants her to get better, so things can go back to normal.

A year passes, and then a second, and then James becomes tired. Exhaustion weighs down every limb, it takes energy to look in Mary’s eyes. He knows it shouldn’t, he shouldn’t force himself to meet his lover’s gaze, but they haven’t been lovers, not since Mary started to corrode.

It’s always the same questions— Mary sprinkles them through every visit to keep James on his toes. A call and response of sorts, to see if he’s still an obedient dog.

A sordid comment on the nurse’s outfit as she leaves is the first one. Mary turns to James, trying to provoke him, to see if James will defend her. James just slumps further into his chair and nods along to what she says, eyes glazing over the foggy windows.

Fog, always fog, never rain or sunshine. James has nothing to distract himself from his lethargy. His eyes drag along the shallow planes of Mary’s body, barely disguised by her thin cardigan and cotton dress.

Mary sits against the headboard, her lips curl into a frown. “Stop looking at me like that, James,” she says. Her tone betrays her exasperation.

James straightens up. “I’m sorry, honey. I spaced out.”

She looks away, sighing. The sleeves of her cardigan are frayed at the edges where she picks at the fuzzy yarn. “You don’t have to be here if you hate it so much.” Mary bites down on her bottom lip. “You think I’m ugly, don’t you?”

The second question, each time Mary asks it with more disdain. James won’t tell her the truth, because he doesn’t know it. His Mary is somewhere in there, buried deep in her sallow chest. But there’s something else there too, something that poisons her sweetness, dilutes her. Fear.

“No, no, I don’t think you’re ugly.” And I don’t think you’re pretty either.

At his next visit to the hospital, James approaches you at the front desk. He clears his throat, peering over at you as you scribble something in a log.

“We’re busy, Sir. Just a moment.” You glance up at him once, then twice. Your eyes linger for a second, and something shifts in your expression, James can’t place it. “Anything I can help you with?” You smile, sweet and saccharine.

James clears his throat again, staring down at the counter. “My wife got moved to a new room. Do you have the number?”

After a few more questions, you find her name in the log. You decide to escort him personally, James follows you down the wooden halls. He ignores every timed swing of your hips in that nurse’s outfit that is much too short to be practical.

You glance over your shoulder at him, your eyes cloying. “How long have you two been married?”

“We’re high school sweethearts,” he answers, short and clipped.

The visit goes with its usual hitches, James ends up learning more about you. You’re coquettish, got a thing for married men, something about wanting what you can’t have. It’s not like he went looking for this information. There’s barely any gossip at the care home, so anything will spread like wildfire.

You’ve gotten chewed out by your boss about it, but there’s no definitive proof. So far you’ve done nothing but maybe look at someone in a provocative sorta way, they don’t have anything concrete to get you. Not like they want to. You’re proficient, good at your job despite it all.

Plausible deniability. He could learn a thing or two from you. You’re something fresh, intriguing. James finds himself dipping out of Mary’s room for the washroom and instead looking for you. You’re like a ghost, only around when he can’t talk to you alone.

He’s not sure why he wants that, or what would happen if he finally got it. That would require self reflection, James is much better with acting on urges.

So he settles for your glances across the room, the way you brush shoulders when you pass him in the hall. He stares down the neck of your uniform as you give Mary her pills— her eyes are closed so she can’t berate him.

Maybe you’re aware of him, maybe you aren’t. But he knows you know him and he knows what you are. James turns the thought of you over in his head, smoothing over the divots and imperfections till you become this monolith of escape, more idea than person.

Then time passes. Mary withers into herself, the light in her eyes turns to ash. She no longer speaks more than a few words, there’s something glassy in her stare. It’s like she’s already dead, like she’s preparing for the role. James was so used to the yelling, he even stopped flinching at it, but now Mary is just there. Nothing but the echo of all the words she flung so that James could feel an inkling of her misery.

(James did, he always did. Every decline in her condition broke him until there was nothing left to break, until he needed something to instill even just neutrality within him again.)

That’s why he trails after you into the wing that’s been closed for renovation. God knows why you’re here, he follows you anyways. You pull a lighter from your dainty little pocket, followed by a cigarette— the ones that aren’t even that good, more about making your hands look pretty.

Oh, and you are pretty. The silhouette of a pin-up girl, leaned against the wall, the only visible parts of you are what hits the light. You raise one leg up to plant your heel, and James swears he sees the hint of a garter belt wrapped around the fat of your thigh. He salivates.

You’re on your smoke break and James is just watching from around the corner. The heady smoke from your cigarette travels through the narrow halls, it covers up that nice perfume of yours. You dispose of your cigarette by stamping it out on the hardwood floor, smearing the tobacco with your shiny pumps. That perfect image of you starts to crack.

James rounds the corner and walks up to you, his palms are sweating. You turn to the sound of his footsteps— there’s not much else to sense in the dim hallway.

“Mr. Sunderland! It’s good to see you. This area is for staff only.” You push yourself off the wall, tugging down your dress and trying to maintain that aura of professionalism. Not like you really can after what he’s seen. Is the lace of your garter belt rough or soft? Does it blend into your plush thigh? James could only dream of touching you.

“Hmm, seems I got lost.” James wonders if your mascara runs. He wants to see it run. Are you pretty when you cry? “You smoke?”

“You noticed?” You laugh, more to displace your evident tension. “Yeah, it’s more of a nerves thing than anything.”

“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about.”

“I’ve got a lot on my plate. You’d be surprised.” You smile. “Mary’s been doing well, if you’ve been wondering. No decline in her condition.”

“I’m glad.” He doesn’t care, not really.

“Must be hard, having to watch your wife fade away like that. I noticed you stopped bringing her flowers.” Something sparkles in your gaze, James wants to rip it out of you.

“She doesn’t like it when I do.” I’m not a corpse, stop bringing flowers all the damn time! You wanna see me dead? Kill me then!

“Yeah, Mary doesn’t seem to like a lot of the things you do. The staff hears a lot of it. Walls are thin, y’know.” You look away, towards the window that’s taped over with builder’s paper. Some of the moonlight makes it through. “Makes you wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

You pause for a moment, letting your eyes drag down, letting him see. “What life would've been like if things were different.” You turn to leave. “See you around, James—!”

He grabs your arm, tugging you back against the wall. You yelp, he slaps a hand over your mouth. This is all or nothing, he only has one chance to get what he wants. “Don’t make a sound, alright?”

You say something, but it’s all muffled into the back of his hand. James starts to pop the buttons of your pretty little uniform and fuck, you’re shaking like a leaf. Your eyes water, you look like a picture. Nothing but smooth, creamy skin, he presses his lips to your pulse to feel your heartbeat.

Your bra unclasps at the front, your tits sit just as pretty as you do. They feel just as soft as he imagined and he gropes them just the way he’s been wanting to. Your skin is so full of life, it gives when he presses. You’re not a bag of bones that bruises at the tiniest thing.

He finishes taking off your dress and he laughs to himself. What kind of slut wears lingerie to work? You don’t need a garter belt to hold up your stockings or those sheer panties. Maybe you do fuck married men during working hours. Must mean you’re a pro.

James wants to put his mouth on your pussy. He swore Mary’s always tasted off from the medications she was on. That was either placebo or an excuse to get out of bed— it’s been so long that James doesn’t remember which it is.

He’d kiss you too, but you just smoked and James hates the smell of cigarettes, the taste even more so. He gets to his knees, grabbing handfuls of your thighs, spreading you open.

You’re free to speak now, you could scream for help, but all you can do is quietly cry and watch him. Seems you do want it. James pulls your underwear to the side, his nose bumping your clit as he sinks his tongue into you.

The noise you let out is anything but quiet, you squirm but there’s nowhere to go with how tight his grip is. Your hips shift forward, you grind the meat of your pussy along his face. You taste good, the way pretty cunts like yours should taste— shaved and smooth, with fat lips that he spreads open with his tongue.

Once you start dripping down your thighs, James stands back up, one hand over the bulge that’s straining against his pants. He got hard the moment you started crying. Blackened tears are running down your face, you do cry pretty.

“Shh,” he wipes the tears from your face, smudging your mascara further. “I’m not going to hurt you.” James would tack on your name, but he doesn’t know it.

That seems to relax you, just a bit. He pulls his cock out, pressing the tip to your leaking pussy. James slips a couple times, but he finally pushes up into you in a way that has your nails digging into the wall and your face screwing up with pain.

James splits you open, much too big to feel good, bigger than you were ready for. He’s rusty and not too sure about how to make this good for you, he’s more concerned with the fact he’s stuffed himself in you and he finally gets to fuck something other than his hand.

He pulls out just to spin you around, squishing your tits against the wall and slapping a free hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs. Then he pushes back in and your back arches so far you fold in half.

Your ass ripples with each thrust into you, you start to like it. Saliva drools from the hand that’s covering your mouth, dripping syrupy strings onto the floor. You’re a cockslut, aren’t you? He spreads your ass to see how your cunt pulls him in, gaped all pretty around him.

You look over your shoulder at him, your gaze is one part fear and another part arousal. Your moans transform to a squeak when he wraps his other hand around your throat, leaving your mouth free to gasp out choked moans.

James can feel your pulse thrumming against his palm. You’re real, virtuous and idealistic, a creation that he carved out of his brain matter as a form of escapism. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder to feel your flesh, buried up to the hilt in your pretty walls.

Everything is so pretty about you, fat tits, fat pussy, the way you choke is pretty too. It was so hard to remain faithful to Mary when you were right there, a siren beckoning him off the deep end, knowingly or not, it doesn’t matter. It was a compulsion more than a choice, the urge to rape you clawed up his throat until all he could think about was your fat tears dripping down your face and your blood on his cock.

He digs his fingers into the column of your throat, he wants to see you bruise, he wants to see you bleed. Something murderous grows in him, it scares him but he can’t bring himself to stop. All he can think about is smashing your head against the wall till you stain the stucco pink, because everything is pretty about you, even your blood.

Your nails drag against the walls, splitting and cracking as you try to speak through his grip. Every squeeze of your throat pulls you tighter around him. James can’t take it, his hand slips between you and the wall and rubs harsh circles on your clit.

You shake your head, your tears are running clear now. He slaps your clit and you yelp, hips drawing back, pressing yourself deeper against him. You don’t get to say no, he needs this, you have to let him have this, he has nothing else.

Each time the head of his cock jams into your cervix results in a trembling whine from you. You squeeze him like you’re trying to take his dick clean off, he’s going to cum soon. And it’ll be your fault.

So he makes you cum, rubbing your clit with such intensity that it’s the only thing you can do, shoved up against a wall. And you moan and you sob and you plead no, but it’s too late and James is already fucking your cum back into you.

When James cums he makes sure it hurts. It’s your fault for tempting him, for fucking you while Mary’s waiting for him on her sick bed. He presses so hard against your cervix he almost pushes through, you let out a noise of pain that is halfway between a scream and a sob.

And then he pulls out of you, tucking away his dick and getting a good view of the aftermath.

You collapse in a heap on the floor. The creampie he gave you leaks out of your pussy onto the floor with streaks of red. You curl in on yourself, trying to pull your trembling thighs together. But you can’t. James has reduced you, he has broken you.

—

James watches you finish off your cigarette and wishes he was the one being stamped out into the floor. That fantasy of having you would never happen. As much as he dreams about it, he could never cheat on Mary. He’ll have to employ different tactics.