#i set too high of standards for myself

[mangobug]

If I had a nickel for every time i would randomly hop on ao3 in search of new alenoah content and I ran into a fic that made me think.. "did op see my post..?" I would have 2 nickels. Which isn't really that much nor is it that possible that people actually did take inspo from me but it makes me feel special to think any amount of people would.

Alenoah is so goddamn appealing to me for the same reason i like aleheather: they're both enemies/rivals with a tension. However, what makes alenoah so much more interesting to me is the fact that Noah just would not visibly care about, or outwardly acknowledge, Alejandro's advancements. When Alejandro flirts with the other contestants, he easily throws them off or (in Heather's case) pisses them off, turning them into putty in his two hands. When he attempts to throw Noah off, though, it doesn't (visibly) have an effect on him, and it bothers Alejandro because Alejandro always has the upper-hand, around both women and men. It makes Alejandro feel almost humiliated when Noah brushes him off or shoots back sarcastic comments in response to his flirting. Noah barely even bats an eye. But Alejandro can't bring himself to stop when he finds Noah as a person so interesting. Alejandro loves debating with Noah and adores his snark and intelligence, and this adoration drives him. He makes it a goal of his to somehow really fluster Noah or throw him off his game like he does with the other contestants, which has proven to be quite a difficult task. But Alejandro isn't a quitter.

In reality, Noah enjoys the playful and teasing banter just as much as Alejandro, even if he seems uninterested, because it's entertaining to be debating with someone of similar intelligence. Alejandro's flirting, though, does actually throw him off, just not in the same way it does to other people. Noah is entirely (and rightfully) convinced that Alejandro's flirting with him is just a part of his slimy, slippery, eel-y personality, and a sad attempt to rid of Noah in order to further himself in the competition. And Noah is nothing if not stubborn, so even if he feels his stomach twisting into a knot every time Alejandro compliments his brown eyes or his hooked nose or his impressive intelligence or his interesting personality or even the peaceful, curled position he sleeps in—Noah will always just nod his head and respond with a doubtful "sure" or a sarcastic "thanks, honey."

And if Alejandro were to hear about how Noah views his persistent advances, then he wouldn't deny it, because in the beginning that was about half of the truth. He did want to use this new challenge to knock a few opponents out, and if reaching his goal would not only prove to Alejandro that the cold-presenting bookworm had a heart that could be tamed but would also get him out of the way and push Alejandro one step closer to his imminent victory, then, well, that's a win-win for Alejandro. That isn't all the reason though because, against all of Alejandro's big ego, he does actually quite like Noah. This "like" didn't mean the same in the beginning as it did in the end. Because it didn't start with Alejandro wondering if Noah had had anything to eat that day or if Noah had any pets or what Noah's favorite book was, or even if Alejandro could borrow that book Noah was reading once he was done.

Against all of Alejandro's wishes and expectations, he finds that between the two of them, he is the one who has been getting flustered. And it is downright embarrassing, because Noah doesn't even do anything. Well, except for all of the things he usually does. He makes his sarcastic comments and argues with Alejandro just as he did before, but now the details are so much clearer. It's like every feature of Noah's has been enhanced, including his features that previously Alejandro would have considered flaws. His forehead was rather larger than average, but Alejandro has decided that it fit his face and personality and that it was only natural for a head to be big enough to store all the fascinating knowledge and wit that Noah had proven to have. And that pimple just below his right cheekbone, well, that is just time's beauty mark, a proof of growth and maturity that was one feature of many on his face that showed that he was very alive. He found an adorableness in the way Noah uncurled from his sleep and rubbed his eyes first thing after a long night of rest, and he felt a burning discomfort in the unmistakable image of Noah curling into Owen's nap for a makeshift pillow later that day. Alejandro felt electricity course throw his veins and his hands become shakey and clammy at every short lock between ivy and coffee irises. He felt his heart beat a thousand miles a minute each time he stood next to the other, and he would feel it speed up ten times fast at every sarcastic comment the other would make.

Alejandro found himself staring.

Alejandro finds himself studying his face, gauging his face for reactions whenever he makes a joke, and he finds himself way too excited when Noah cracks a smile at it. One time, Alejandro had made Noah laugh. Belly laugh. Gasping for breath laugh. A laugh so full of joy that Alejandro found himself smiling. Not from the contagiousness of Noah's laugh nor from the humor of the comment he had made about Duncan, which, truth be told, he couldn't recite on the spot even if he needed to because his memory had been wiped and replaced with this. Rather, he was satisfied that of all people, he could make Noah laugh like this (and Owen.. he supposes.) That night held for him some distasteful news, because how could Alejandro be the one melted into somebody else's palms?

Noah had noticed the sudden change in Alejandro's behavior, but it'd be a lie if he said he knew why it happened. And if anyone were to tell him why, he would deny it, because not only was it obviously not true, but he also didn't want it to be. The idea of someone as slimy, slippery, and eel-y as Alejandro even daring to approach him was for one, unfortunate, for two, terrible, and for three, impossible. But he couldn't help but ponder why this change had happened. Just why was Alejandro so... fidgety? He was running his hand through his hair what felt like every five minutes (Noah heard him curse under his breath once in spanish, likely at the realization of the inevitable accumulation of grease by the end of the day due to the excessive hand-to-root action), he kept unbuttoning and buttoning the top button of his shirt (Noah heard him mutter once, "is it too scandalous undone?"), and he wouldn't stop playing with his fingers, cracking and popping them, pulling and intertwining them—not that Noah was always watching his hands or anything, because he wasn't, but it was just such a drastic change to Alejandro's usually confident demeanor that you must be a fool to not notice it.

Alejandro did not notice—how could he be such a fool? Developing a crush on an opponent with a million dollars on the line? Pathetic.

The night following Noah's laughing fit, Alejandro found himself staring at Noah's sleeping form. Alejandro had noticed the way he usually sleeps, which would be creepy if Noah didn't have such a noticeable way of sleeping. He curled up to sleep, upright or on his side, and it was pretty cute. His eyes observed the way Noah was curled up against Owen's side, face resting into the other's fat. Ah, right. Owen. Alejandro felt a scowl creep up on his face when his eyes shifted to the blond's face—only to immediately divert his eyes, because Owen was already looking at him. He heard Owen laugh, which made his embarrassment double—embarrassment? I don't get embarrassed.

"Don't worry, Al." Gross. Al. "Noah doesn't know, so your secret is safe with me."

Alejandro blinked. He looked back at Owen, although reluctantly. "...Secret?"

Owen laughed again, and Alejandro was getting worried that he would wake Noah as he watched the smallest of them bounce against Owen. "You know, Al. Your cute little crush on Noah! He's smart and all, but he kind of sucks with love. You can take as much time as you want before you tell him. But between you and me, I think he likes you, too."

Alejandro's mind blanked. Crush? "Uh. My what."

Owen's face turned confused as well. "Oh... Do you not? Oops. Forget I said that about Noah."

Alejandro wished he could think of a decent response, but, what?

"Uh... No, I wouldn't say you're wrong. I just... didn't know myself."

"You—" Owen laughed again, this time making Noah groan in his sleep.

"Ugh... Owen. Stop, 'm trying to sleep." He said, not even opening his eyes.

"Sorry, buddy." Owen giggled, "Al's just pretty funny."

Alejandro glared at Owen, and the other shrugged.

"Sure." Noah groaned, adjusting his position before quickly falling back to sleep.

"Wow! How could you not know, Al? You're always looking at him and talking to him, 'n stuff. It's like Tyler and I aren't even there! And you're so nervous around him. I didn't know someone as cool and confident as you could get nervous around anyone. It makes me proud to know my little buddy could do that."

Alejandro nodded. "Hmm. You're right... Maybe that is the case."

It was a silent agreement between the two that it was their business and no one else's, an agreement that Alejandro wasn't too confident that Owen wouldn't break, but it was enough. Alejandro couldn't decide what was more shocking, an agreement between him and Owen, or the fact that he actually liked Noah in a more than just curious way. Looking back on what Owen said though, he thinks an Owen and Alejandro alliance is much more surprising.

[princema-k]

THE LIVING MUSEUM: CHAPTER 1

(interactive puzzle at the bottom!)

As luck would have it, the detective had a case that had just been given to her by the Chief Constable Barton (talk about a high order!) I watched as she leafed through the folders on her desk before slipping out a small stack of papers and bringing them over to me. Clearing her throat, Detective Layton ran over the details…

“At approximately 2:00pm, a fire alarm in the Natural History Museum sounded. Around 5 minutes later, visitors in the museum reported that they witnessed several exhibits, and I quote, ‘come to life before their eyes.’ There were visitors who told officials that the suits of armour on display had started to move and raise their weapons, visitors who reported that paintings on the walls started to melt and blink, and visitors who said that the dinosaur skeleton exhibits had opened their mouths and moved their heads. But the most damning of all seemed to be the Tyrannosaurus rex exhibit, who not just moved but assumed a lunging stance with its full body, as well as somehow roared.”

“Right, that’s odd. And?”

“Well, since the officials were only able to question the visitors outside of the museum due to everyone having been evacuated because of the fire alarm, naturally they went inside to check the exhibits themselves.”

“And they found…?”

“Nothing. They did a whole sweep of the area, but they found nothing out of place. All exhibits were in their normal places, the paintings were just fine, and everything was untouched.”

“Wow…”

“I assume the reason that Barton held onto what information they had on it and handed it to me was due to the witnesses. Despite the fact that the Yard found no obvious signs of tampering, everyone swears up and down the walls that the museum had seemingly come to life at that moment.”

“...That is a proper mystery. And these files are all we have on the matter?”

“Well, in a sense, yes. These are all the files we have,” Detective Layton muses as she taps the bottom of the stack on the coffee table. Then, getting up, she drops the stack back in their folder. “...Which is why I was thinking of heading over to the museum myself to do a bit of personal investigation.”

“As expected of the great Professor Layton,” I say cheekily as I stand and follow her to the front door, grabbing my jacket off the hanger in the process. The detective sighs lightly as she places her hat on her head, pulling the brim over her eyes in mock disappointment. “Please, Ms. Altava. It's just Detective.”

Now lifting the brim, she smiles brightly as she grabs her umbrella.

“So, Ms. Altava… let’s go investigate this living museum with our own two eyes, shall we?”

And with that, our adventure into the peculiar museum begi-

“Ah, but before that, I have here the directions to the museum written for me by Barton, and it seems to be a puzzle of some sort. As you’re now my assistant, why don’t you give it a shot? Think of it as a warm-up of things to come.”

…Right. She’s Layton’s daughter, after all. How could I have forgotten? …And are we sure they're not really related by blood…?

PUZZLE 1: Where's The Museum?

Take your time and think about the answer, or Flora (and the puzzle master) will be very disappointed in you...!

A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J (Need a hint?: 1 | 2 | 3)

(thanks to @justkillingthyme for beta reading, and several mutuals for puzzle testing!)

[utilitycaster]

Sort of a distant tangent off my post about Ashton, but I'm growing more and more suspicious of the fandom claim that there's no time for small RP moments in Campaign 3. I do think that it's been challenging to get deeper party bonding or serious conversations that aren't about the big philosophical questions they're facing, since those do take much more time; but then I think about Calamity, or Candela Obscura. I can genuinely give you at least a couple paragraphs about pretty much every relationship in the two Circles, or in the Ring of Brass. I can also point to no shortage of small moments between characters in the Mighty Nein Aeor or Vox Machina Vecna endgame episodes, which were all extremely plot-heavy and fast-paced, and D20 consistently nails character relationships in a fraction of the time.

I think it really does come down to, as Brennan Lee Mulligan always says, the character creation phase. Laying down a solid groundwork in which everyone has a detailed, rich backstory and sense of personality and relationship history (in the case of characters who knew each other prior to the start of the series) is absolutely crucial, and even in the case of characters who don't know each other before going in, a good amount of time spent in character creation ensures that it's easier for them to develop those interpersonal relationships on the fly. I know in actual play there's some degree of finding the character as you play, but there are games for which there is a very short runway, and I don't think it ever hurts to do more extensive character prep than the bare minimum. And if there are gaps, I think it also helps to go back and fill those in mid-way, away from the table - Travis clarifying Chetney's backstory being a great example that allowed the history of Chetney and Deanna to feel realized and full, despite only a few episodes.

I'll also be blunt: most of the time when people complain that there aren't moments because the plot keeps moving...they're mad about shipping. Which has always rung hollow to me. It was a common complaint in C2, that no time was taken for character relationships, despite them taking an entire half of an episode for the Beauyasha date and despite no shortage of moments for all three of the other couples (and plenty of platonic moments between friends). The issue was never a lack of time; it was that the characters they wanted to talk to each other didn't actually have the relationship in canon that the fans had dreamed up, and so, when the chips were down, they went to other people.

It takes two seconds to say something like "I hold their hand", even in the middle of plot-heavy adventuring. If someone doesn't say it, it's rarely the GM rushing them; it's the player either choosing not to do so, or not remembering to do so, and either of those is quite revealing regarding how the player feels about that relationship and where it stands in their priorities.

[raplinesmoon]

i think the thing that no one tells you about being forced into being a high achieving child/teen is how much it comes to fuck you over later in life when you can’t do anything without holding yourself to an insane level of perfectionism and then you realize it’s basically leeched all the fun out of any hobbies you created for yourself and left you with a shell of a personality

[iron-niffler]

fuck calculus :)

[what-even-is-thiss]

The reason people don’t want to work is that it’s just normal for them to be in bad work environments.

My issue with working at Walmart wasn’t the work itself I was doing. It was the circumstances around it. The concrete floor, lack of places to sit, having to put up with asshole customers, not getting time off for injuries, and bad pay.

If I had been given shock pads to stand on or a few chairs to rest on sometimes, if they paid me a livable amount of money and I was allowed to yell back at asshole customers, if they had given me any amount of training, I would happily work part time folding clothes all day and telling people where the swimsuit section is.

I’m a creative type. I’m a writer. I’m pretty smart, even. But if I could make a living folding shirts and listening to podcasts in one ear and helping people find the scented candles for 30 hours a week? I would. Leaves some mental space free for me to brainstorm. Lets me catch up on my reading with audiobooks.

But instead I was treated so badly by upper management and customers that I’m like legitimately a little frightened whenever I step into a Walmart now. And I only worked there for three months a few years ago.

I’m a good lower level worker. When I’m treated well. I like finishing tasks. I like being helpful. I like having some time to talk to coworkers and some time alone with my thoughts. I’m a frickin team player. And that’s how I was at my first job. I was treated well by my supervisor. I was trained. They were patient with me. I was so good at being low on the totem pole at that job because I was valued and felt like I was being listened to. I was able to sit still when there was nothing left to do which made it feel less bad when we were on a time crunch. I didn’t mind working hard at that job because it was fun even though I was doing all the low level stuff that the supervisors didn’t want do.

But at Walmart I was like that for all of two days. Then I figured out that nobody appreciated my work and if I worked in my normal people pleasing manner I’d kill myself because their standards were high and the rewards for meeting them were low.

So I slowed down. I started avoiding customers. I started taking a lot longer to get to my breaks and to come back from them. I became worse at my job because no matter how good I was at it there would be no reward, no appreciation, and I’d just be pushed further beyond my limits.

My only level of happiness from that job came from the people who were working with me. The old ladies and my department manager who made sure I wasn’t overextending myself. The one other young man working in the clothing department who always got sent with me to unload the heavy stuff and commiserated with me about the shoulder injuries, the hurting feet we were too young to have.

But none of that was enough to make me stay. We were constantly understaffed. I was constantly abused by customers and not able to do a thing about it. I was not paid much at all. So as soon as I had enough saved up for what I was trying to do and my last semester of college was about to start I handed in my two weeks.

I would have found a way to stay if I liked that job. If I liked that job I would’ve pushed myself to my mental limits to finish college and keep that job at the same time. Heck that job could’ve been a rest from college. A place to get away from it. But I hate that job so I got out as soon as I could.

I want to work. I want enough money to live sort of comfortably. I want to have some tasks to do to give my creativity a rest. I want to be a part of something. But the way that modern corporate run work environments are set up does not give me any of the things I actually want out of a job. And I think that’s the same for millions of people right now. A lot of people would happily spend their lives as a waitress or an Uber driver or a warehouse worker or a farmhand or any other “low skill” job you can possibly think of. But with the way the world works right now those jobs are absolutely miserable. It doesn’t have to be that way. I know because I’ve had a fulfilling part time minimum wage job that I looked forward to going to every week. A job where I was listened to and allowed to sit when I needed to. I miss that job. Especially now since I’ve realized that’s not the standard. It should be. People should look forward to going to work or at the very least not get mild ptsd whenever they set foot into a Walmart.

[idontmindifuforgetme]

as a 21 year old i feel like i really need to drill it into myself that social media fomo is not real and i will not be missing out on anything by not checking my phone immediately. like literally nothing is important enough or worthy enough. i am not missing out. i can get to it when i get to it and i would be just fine.

i think i really need to learn how to cold quit things... one habit i have that really bothers me is checking my phone first thing in the morning bc it's "just for 5 minutes" "just to see if anyone sent me anything important" no bitch literally nothing on your phone requires you to check your phone first thing when you open your eyes!!! stop it

[wondercloud]

the funniest thing happened. i wanted to write "perfection was never the goal" as a self-reminder but the marker's ink ran out before i even get to write the word "was". i'm not even kidding.

so now i'm stuck with perfection.

how ironically poetic.

[amynchan]

Beginning to realize that "I don't hold people to a standard I'm not willing to reach myself" may not be as comforting as I intend. 0.o

[shopwitchvamp]

I mean this gently but I have to say somethin' here- I've been getting so much "make your skirts cheaper" "I love this but why are they soooo expensive" etc lately and like look, I know a lot of this is because times are hard.. (otherwise why would I be hearing this more & more this year when prices haven't changed compared to last year) but I just wanna say that one of the only ways I could lower prices (if I was ruthless and didn't care) would be to cut sizing options. Like idk how to word what I'm trying to say, but just know when you shout stuff like this at other brands & they decide they need to find a way to cut costs to lower prices, being size inclusive is gonna be one of the first things to go. I have no plans to do this myself, but for example, a D Size Skater costs me almost twice as much (talking about only the direct from the manu cost, there are other factors too such as that they weigh more so that adds more shipping costs as well) as an A Size Skater. Say I cut D Size altogether.. and many companies would have by now while also not even lowering the price.. I could increase my profit margins significantly right away. Now lets say I cut both C and D and become a shop that only offers the standard range of SM-XL. Wow! Suddenly profits are up so much!! Or maybe going not full corporate greed, I could handle lowering skater prices by like $10 (random number not based on real math idk what things would actually work out to because I'm not gonna do it). But now no one over a size XL can order from me. I fear none of what I'm trying to get across is getting across but I just mean to say, in order to offer what I offer, the prices need to be what they are. They aren't set arbitrarily high & lowering them would mean needing to make choices that I will not make (becoming less size inclusive or making my business unsustainable in the sense that it would not survive long).

[naomiarai]

シ ───── 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 !

┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐

in which you get high with your boyfriend.

└─── °∘❉∘° ───┘

⪩⪨ PAIRING : boyfriend!sunghoon × fem!reader

⪩⪨ GENRE : smut, pwop, established relationship.

⪩⪨ WC : 1.8k (1793)

⪩⪨ WARNINGS : unprotected sex, dom!hoon, sub! reader, marking, teasing, riding, spitting, super messy, pet names (baby, doll, pretty), creampie, use of weed/marijuana, getting high, high sex. lmk if i missed anything !!

⪩⪨ AUTHOR’S NOTE : not proofread !! a lil request from my beloved josie, @pprodsuga don’t kill me if it didn’t reach your standard... not too proud of it myself but i tried my best 4 u. reblogs and feedback appreciated!

The clock strikes two am as you swing open the door for your boyfriend. You had asked him to come over, unable to sleep and preferring his company to a string of text messages.

“Hi, baby” Sunghoon mutters as he steps inside, his hands naturally finding their way to your waist. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt, carrying a bag that promises relaxation for the both of you. Despite the late hour and the knowledge that you really shouldn’t be doing this, you shamelessly let your eyes wander over him.

Sunghoon smirks as he follows your gaze, clearly noticing your appraisal. “Didn't know you were this confident, pretty” he teases, his voice a low murmur as you close the door and bolt it shut.

You throw him a playful glare, retorting, “Learned from the best” You can’t help but think of all the times Sunghoon has blatantly checked you out, often accompanied by the click of his tongue in approval.

As you walk into the living room, his hand rests comfortably on the small of your back, sending shivers down your spine. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a table lamp casting a warm, intimate light. You both sink into the plush sofa, the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the faint aroma of your home.

Sunghoon sets his bag on the coffee table, revealing a small stash of marijuana and a couple of pre-rolled joints. He raises an eyebrow at you, silently asking for your permission. With a sigh, you nod, knowing that despite the hour, this is exactly what you both need to unwind.

He lights a joint, taking a slow drag before passing it to you. The smoke curls lazily in the air, and you take a tentative puff, the familiar sensation instantly soothing your nerves. Sunghoon watches you with a lazy grin, his eyes half-lidded with contentment as you hand it back to him.

“C’mere, doll” he says, the palm of his hand patting his thigh in an inviting gesture. His eyes twinkle with a mix of mischief and warmth. You give him a suspicious look, eyebrows raised, but the hint of a smile plays on your lips. After a moment’s hesitation, you comply, moving over to seat yourself straddling him. The motion is slow, almost teasing, as you settle onto his lap.

He laughs at the face you made, a deep, rumbling sound that resonates through his chest. His hand comes up, tapping your ass lightly as you get comfortable. There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes, matched by the playful curve of his lips.

“Not going to stick a knife down your throat” he tells you, his voice laced with playful accusation. The way he looks at you, though, is anything but threatening; it’s tender and teasing all at once.

You roll your eyes at him, reaching over to take the joint from his fingers. Before he can say anything more, you push it back between his lips, urging him to take a drag. He complies, taking a deep puff and then exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. His eyes never leave yours, locked in a steady, almost hypnotic gaze.

“Fuck the knife, Hoon” you murmur, your voice slightly fuzzy from the effects of the smoke. “You’re rock hard” The words slip out, bold and unfiltered, as you feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you.

He puffs out another cloud of smoke, his eyes darkening with desire. “Can’t help it when you’re around” he replies, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone. His hands slide up your sides, fingers trailing over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

You lean in closer, your breath mingling with his, the scent of the joint and something distinctly him filling your senses. “What are you going to do about it?” you challenge, your lips brushing against his as you speak.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “Oh, you have no idea” he murmurs before capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His hands roam your body, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until you’re both lost in the intensity of the moment. You feel the taste of the joint through the kiss as he pushes his tongue into your mouth; getting messy really quick.

As you both pull away from the kiss, Sunghoon picks up the joint again, taking a slow drag. His eyes lock onto yours, filled with a mix of desire and amusement. He tilts his head back, letting out a plume of smoke that swirls lazily in the dim light. You lean in, pressing your lips to his neck, starting to suck gently at first, then more insistently. Your hips begin to move, grinding against his clothed erection, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You can feel the slickness of your arousal soaking through your panties, the sensation making you bolder.

Sunghoon groans at the feeling, a deep, guttural sound that sends a shiver down your spine. Encouraged, you grind faster, your movements becoming more urgent. One of his hands rests on your hip, guiding your movements, while the other trails up your back, fingers splayed wide as if he wants to feel every inch of you. He pulls you away from his now marked neck, his eyes dark and intense as they meet yours. You look slightly fucked out, eyes droopy and hazy, lips parted as you pant softly.

He brings the joint to your lips, and you take a drag, the smoke filling your lungs and adding to the heady mix of sensations. As you release the smoke, your hands come up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. “Eager, aren’t you, baby?” he asks, his voice saccharine sweet, dripping with condescension and desire.

You release the smoke from your mouth, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. “All your fault!” you retort, your voice a sultry purr as you grind harder against him. The pleasurable pressure building inside you is almost unbearable, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you.

Sunghoon’s grip on your hip tightens, and he lets out a low growl. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his free hand sliding down to cup your ass, squeezing firmly. He pulls you against him, his own hips beginning to move in rhythm with yours. The friction between your bodies is electric, each grind bringing you closer to the edge.

You lean in, capturing his lips in a heated kiss, your tongues tangling as your hips continue their dance. His hands are everywhere, roaming over your body, stoking the fire inside you. You break the kiss, gasping for air, and he takes the opportunity to trail his lips down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging lightly as he nips at your collarbone, the sharp sensation sending jolts of pleasure through you. “Please” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing.

He looks up at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Please what?” he teases, his hand slipping under your shirt to trace patterns on your skin.

“Please, I need more, can’t just fucking cum in my shorts” you breathe out, your desperation evident in your voice.

Sunghoon’s eyes darken, and he lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah? Then why don’t we remove them? Wan’ my dick don’t you? Dirty girl” he rasps, hands roaming around your body, exploring and teasing until he finds the hem of your t-shirt, swiftly taking it off you. You shiver as the cold air hits your skin, top half only left in a baby blue bra.

Sunghoon lets you get up for a second, as you immediately pull down your shorts and drenched panties, the wetness trickling down your thighs. Sunghoon watches you while pulling down his sweatpants, boxers leaving him completely bare.

You stare at his hard dick without a second thought, mind high and mouth watering at the sight.

“God you’re so wet” he whispers, eyes closed shut as he pulls you down onto to his cock, red tip entering your wet folds. You let out a loud, choked moan as he enters you inch by inch, until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. The feeling of the weed you just smoked mixing in with the sudden burst of pleasure only drove you insane.

“Open,” Sunghoon commands, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. He grips your chin firmly, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he forces your mouth open. You comply immediately, eyes widening as he spits inside, the warm liquid landing on your tongue. At the same moment, he thrusts upward, his cock driving deep into you, hitting spots that make your body shudder.

“Swallow” he orders, his eyes locked onto yours, a predatory gleam in his gaze. You obey, the taste mingling with the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, seeking stability as he pounds into you from below, each thrust a powerful jolt that seems to rearrange your insides.

Sunghoon's grip tightens as his hands slide down to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh. He spreads you open, giving himself better access as he pulls you down onto his cock, meeting each upward thrust with a force that has you seeing stars. The combination of his rough handling and the relentless pace he sets leaves you breathless, lost in the intoxicating blend of pleasure and submission.

His rhythm is relentless, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Your moans and gasps mix with his grunts, creating arousing noises. Sunghoon’s control over you is absolute, his dominance only breaking you apart further.

As he continues to thrust into you, his movements grow more urgent, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through you. He lets go to your hips as he lets you set the pace now, bouncing on his cock endlessly.

“Don’t stop” he growls, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, too consumed by the pleasure to form coherent words.

“So good!—fuck! hoon, gonna c-cum” you moan out with a loud shriek as you squirt all over over, covering his dick thighs in complete white. You halt your hips but Sunghoon still fucks up into you, his hands spreading your cum all over your ass cheeks.

You’re completely out of it, dazed until he shoots his orgasm up your cunt again, which only resulted in it leaking out. “Shit—!, god pretty, you okay?” he checks up on you, even though he’s panting and breathing heavily, your bodies pressed close together.

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you nod with a smile, kissing his neck. He smiles back at you, holding you even tighter as you both lay still. Until you have to clean up that is.

[malusokay]

2023 reset guide

Glow up

2023 vision board. Visualize your dream 2023 and write down your goals!

Daily Hot girl walks. No excuses, babes; let's get moving!

Reflecting on 2022. Look back at what you've accomplished and what you could have done differently.

Make a Bucketlist. Write down places you want to visit and things you want to do.

Extended self-care. Take some time to yourself to recover from the stressful holidays and get back on track. <3

Buy a good SPF. Do some research and find something that works for you!

Start Investing in yourself. Money, time, and energy. Put yourself first!

Annual check-ups. Make a dentist appointment, go to the optometrist etc...

Buy a Silk pillowcase. Protect your skin and hair!

Set clear boundaries. And make sure that people respect them!

Less screen time. Self-explanatory.

Manicure, lash lift, haircut. High maintenance to be low maintenance! ;)

Wellness

Daily vitamins. Visit a doctor to discuss which ones you should be taking for the best results.

Morning stretches. Wake up your body and drink some water!

Skin/hair care. It's time to find products that actually work for you.

Reading more literature. Set yourself a daily reading goal.

Planned grocery lists. Make a grocery list that aligns with your dietary needs and goals to make shopping less stressful. <3

Less coffee. Especially if you struggle with anxiety!!

More greens and protein. Let's give our body what it needs.

Journaling. Truly helps with overthinking!!

8 hours of sleep. Beauty sleep. <3

Cooking for yourself. Such a cute form of daily self-care.

Yoga. Or just any low-impact exercises in general.

Deep cleaning

Organizing your closet. Only keep things that make you feel beautiful.

Budgeting. Check your bank account and plan ahead.

Clean your hairbrushes. Trust me...

Donating clothes. Donate the items that you don't wear anymore.

Clean your make-up brushes. The first step to clear skin!!

Fresh sheets. Wash your pillows too.

Charge your electronics. IPad, Mac, Camera etc...

Get rid of expired make-up and skincare. Step 2 to clear skin, lol.

Declutter stationary. No need to keep dried-out pens.

Delete old emails. I currently have 1840...

Delete unnecessary apps. Anything you don't need.

Clean your camera roll. Making some space for new memories! :)

Cut out toxic people. <3

Mindset

Pretty, smart, kind, and prioritising myself.

Positive affirmations!!

Your daily habits play a huge role in your mood/life. Be mindful, and take care of yourself.

It's okay to outgrow people!!

Decide what kind of life you actually want and start saying no to everything that won't get you there.

"I'm attracting opportunities that align with my dream life."

A girl who will do big things can't let small things bother her.

Honestly, reinvent yourself over and over again until you are satisfied with who you are.

Do you want to be comfortable, or do you want to grow?

"Am I doing this for me, or am I performing for others?"

very high standards. VERY HIGH STANDARDS.

Be obsessed with yourself.

2022 has been such a life-changing year for me, not only personally but also regarding my social media! As I already said on Twitter, I'm incredibly grateful for this little community that has formed this year, and I'm excited for all the things that lay ahead of us! I wish everyone a successful 2023 with many beautiful moments and lots of growth!!

✩‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧✩

[colleendoran]

How Do I Do Stuff

The question was phrased a little strangely, and I don't want to embarrass the person by posting exactly what was said, but I'll answer it and hope this clears everything up.

I do almost all of my drawing by hand. No, I don't trace in Photoshop. Not a judgment on those who do, but I come from a generation of artists who did not use Poser programs or other digital tools. We learned to draw using a technique called the Sight Size method. I know a lot of people assume everyone - including the old masters - traced everything using optical tools, but while it is true some people did, it is just as true that most didn't, and you can draw with great accuracy if you learned how to draw the old fashioned way.

Sight Size breaks everything down into its barest components of geometric shapes and you build from there. Once you learn it, you never forget, and it applies to everything you will ever draw.

I learned it using a set of Famous Artist Course books my mom had since she was a kid, and they are still the gold standard. They're often on ebay. If I were you, I'd buy them.

I actually find using figure reference really annoying because I like exaggerations and modifications from reality in my final work.

This page from Neil Gaiman's Chivalry was drawn and painted without figure reference of any kind.

I don't know why people assume I trace all the time. If you were to try to use photographs to replicate these figures, you would find they are slightly off. There is no tracing here.

This is not to say I never use reference. This page, for example, was referenced from a photo of my mother. Isn't she pretty.

But this page of Sir Galaad was drawn and painted without reference.

He's pretty, too.

If he were real, I'm sure a lot of people would be very happy about it. But he's not. And had I reference, the art would have gone a lot faster. I had a time trying to nail this face that is very alive in my head but doesn't really exist.

Back in the ancient days, all cartoonists had to learn to draw and paint extemporaneously because reference was limited and digital tools didn't exist. While some high end artists had photography studios and professional models with costume and sets on hand, small fry like me were limited to what was in the house or available at my small local library, which was no bigger than a few rooms of my current house.

Artists kept extensive "morgue files" or "swipe files" which were collected from magazine clippings and photographs so we would have as much of what we might need on hand for quick reference. These ephemera collections could get unwieldy. I have thousands of photographs I've simply never sorted. I finally dumped most of my files this past year.

Have I ever traced anything? Of course, especially if I have to re-use a shot or setting over and over. Making extra work for myself is just silly. It's my job to make pictures, not to perform magical feats, like copying one shot after another over and over without making a mistake.

However, for almost 15 years of my career, I refused to copy or trace anything, and did not even own a lightbox. On the one hand, that forced me to learn to carefully examine what I saw. On the other hand, it was a stupid hill on which many deadlines died.

Only after I realized many professional artists had lightboxes and overhead projectors did I finally break down and get one.

The one thing I use my lightbox for more than anything is for tracing my thumbnail sketches to the final drawing paper. Instead of trying to capture the liveliness of the original sketch by copying what I see - only bigger - I blow the thumbnail up to the size I want the final art to be, then I trace over the thumbnail using a lightbox onto the final drawing paper.

Here's a look at thumbnails from the graphic novel Neil Gaiman's Snow, Glass, Apples.

I enlarged these on my computer to fit onto 11"x14" paper, and traced the thumbs before finishing the art which was drawn in pen and ink and colored in Photoshop.

While I obviously made some changes, the essence of the thumbs is there in the final work. Tracing my thumbs retains some of the looseness of the original sketches, which is often lost otherwise.

So, there is a valid purpose to tracing at times, though in my opinion, too much tracing can weaken drawing ability, substitute for developing skills, and make the work kind of stiff.

If you want to, I'm not your judge. But it's weird to me that people think I must be faking my skills in some way.

Ironically, the word cartoon comes from the Italian word cartone, which is a large heavy sheet of paper - also, the origin of the word carton.

Preparatory sketches were made on this paper which was then transferred to the final work surface via either tracing or by stamping little holes in the paper through which dust was sprinkled, recreating the contours of the drawing for the artist to follow.

So the origin of the word cartoon comes from a process often used...for tracing.

[meikadonnelly]

|| nikki sixx ||

smut.

phone sex is never as good as the real thing.

nikkisixx x fem!reader

❗️warnings : smut, dirty talk, masturbation, unprotected sex, pulling out method (don’t do this), p in v, oral sex (m receiving), handjob (kind of?), fingering. let me know if there are any more please!!!

a/n: sorry for being inactive. i’ve been working on this for way too long. this is my first smut and idk why but i really threw myself in the deep end by making almost the whole thing this type of fic. please don’t be too harsh but i appreciate any feedback!!

“Hi baby,” Nikki whispers into the phone as you sit on the couch in your house, which you usually share with Nikki, alone. He’d called you about five minutes ago, from the random hotel in Washington that the band manager had booked, his show done, and his body aching to hear your voice.

He was due to get back in a few days, but he’d already been away for so long, that those last days were going to be misery. You’ve both been so deprived of each other’s touch that now it’s almost in reach, it doesn’t feel real.

“I miss you,” you whine softy.

“I’ll be back in a few days baby,” he says, his voice a little croaky from back to back shows.

“I know, but I still miss you,” you say. “And your touch.” You hear him chuckle quietly.

“Yeah?” he asks and you give a small mhm in response. “Well you’ll have my touch in a few days, okay?”

You huff and he chuckles again.

“Sounds like someone’s horny,” he teases.

“That’s what happens when you set the standards so high that my fingers barely do anything,” you say nonchalantly. There’s a few seconds of silence. “Nikki?”

“Yeah sorry, my brain just short-circuited and your words went straight to my dick.”

You giggle. “Well isn’t that unfortunate.”

You hear him sigh, his breath a little shaky. “You’re gonna be the death of me baby.”

“Sounds like you’re the horny one now,” you say, a teasing tone playing on your voice.

“Yeah,” he says with a slight chuckle. “I’ve been horny for weeks now.”

“My poor baby,” you tease. “Haven’t even had time to do it yourself?”

He stays quiet for a moment as his lips curl into a smirk. “Who says I’m not doing that right now?”

You raise an eyebrow and you swear he can see you because he chuckles. “You think I haven’t done that before? Jacked off while I was on the phone to you?” he asks.

“I would have heard you if you’d done that,” you say skeptically.

“Not if I know what I’m doing,” he replies. You stay silent for a second before he speaks again. “You want proof baby?” he asks.

“How can you prove that?”

“Just listen.”

You hear some rustling and movement for a few seconds before a quiet, somewhat familiar sound starts.

Slap, slap, slap.

Your eyes widen a little before another few seconds of rustling comes through the phone again.

“Believe me now?” he asks lowly. You find yourself pressing your legs together as he speaks.

“I don’t know what to say, but one thing I do know is that you doing that,” you pause for a second. “Is really fucking hot.”

He chuckles again. “Well if you keep talking like that, you won’t be able to listen for long,” he says which sparks an idea in your mind.

“Talking like what?” you ask innocently.

“Don’t be a tease,” he says which makes you smile.

“I’m just telling the truth,” you say. “I can’t help it if I keep picturing my boyfriend jacking off pretending it’s me.”

He takes a shallow breath.

“But don’t worry baby, you’ll have me and my tight little pussy all to yourself in a few days,” you say softly. You hear him take another breath, this time through his clenched teeth.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“I even bought some new lingerie for you,” you tell him. “You wanna know what colour it is?”

“Tell me,” he says between breaths.

“It’s red,” you say. “Just like the lipgloss I bought.”

He groans quietly. Red’s his favourite colour. And lingerie is his favourite type of clothing.

“I made sure to get one that doesn’t stain,” you add.

“Yeah? And why’s that?” he asks.

“I’d hate to stain you with it,” you say kindly. “Especially your dick.”

He groans again. “Holy shit,” he mumbles. “Gonna fuck you s’ good when I get home.”

You hum quietly. “You always do baby.”

“Gonna be up all night,” he says.

“Mhm, gonna make me feel good?”

“Fuck yeah baby.”

You can hear his heavy breathing and small groans as he keeps going.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“You getting closer baby?” you ask. “You gonna come?”

“M’ so close,” he replies.

“Wish I could do it for you,” you say. “My hand full of your big cock.”

He swears again, his hand speeding up.

“Can’t wait to fill that dirty little mouth,” he groans. “Fuck.”

You smile at that for a second before speaking again.

“I forgot to tell you what else I got,” you say.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“Got my first tattoo,” you say and he sighs shakily.

“Oh yeah baby? Where?” he mutters.

“It’s a surprise, but don’t worry, it’s easy to see when your head’s between my legs,” you say, and with that, he groans loudly as he reaches his high.

“Shit shit shit,” he mutters. You stay quiet, waiting for him to speak again. “That’s gotta be the quickest I’ve blown my load,” he says which makes you laugh. “Gotta clean this shit off my hand now.”

The day finally comes where Nikki gets to come home, and holy shit you’re excited.

He’d told you to stay home and wait for him rather than try and fight the crowd of fans that knew Motley Crue would be arriving, so you took the opportunity to prepare for when he walks through the door.

You’d taken a shower earlier that morning and shaved every part of your body that hair wasn’t wanted, leaving your skin soft and smooth.

You’d slipped into the red lingerie that you mentioned to him over the phone, and changed into some ‘quick and easy to take off’ clothes, that still showed off some of his favourite things.

Your ass.

Your tits.

And of course, your neck.

Your neck had been bare for too long, and no doubt, Nikki would agree and have to do something about it.

You made sure to fill the fridge with everything he loves, and ingredients to cook him an endless amount of food, because despite the absolute filth that came out of both you and Nikki’s mouths over the phone the other night, he’s still your sweet, loving boyfriend who you love to look after.

You’d also tidied up the place, not that it was a mess while he was gone, but just making it look as warm and inviting as he missed while he was gone.

After spending the day doing those things, you’re now sitting on the couch, flicking through a magazine while the soft radio that sits above the fireplace plays one of the many old vinyls that Nikki has in his stash.

While quite focused on a page in your magazine, you don’t hear Nikki outside the front door that you’d left unlocked for him. As you flip the page, the door swings open slowly and he steps into the house holding his travel bag. You turn your head to see him which makes a smile appear on your face as you stand up, the magazine being dropped on the floor.

“Nikki!” you yell as you run up to him. He drops the bag and manages to close the door behind him before opening his arms, stumbling back a little when he catches you. His face immediately finds its usual place in the crook of your neck, as his arms wrap around you tightly.

“Fuck I missed you,” he mumbles against your skin.

“I missed you too,” you respond quietly, closing your eyes. You both stand there for what feels like eternity before he kisses your cheek and pulls back to let your eyes meet. His hands stay firmly on your waist while your hands rest on his shoulders.

“How was the flight?” you ask.

“I slept for most of it but yeah it was good,” he replies and you nod.

“Are you hungry? I can make you something,” you say, glancing towards the kitchen before his fingers grab your chin, pulling your attention back.

Before you can even think, he pulls you towards him and meets your lips with his. You kiss him back, the familiar feeling engulfing your mind as your hands slide from his shoulders to the back of his neck so you can bring him closer.

His hands move from your waist and chin, down to your ass where they slide into the back pockets of your tight denim shorts, which makes you pull back to take a breath. His eyes open to reveal a familiar look that you know all too well.

“You been thinking about this since that night?” you ask softly.

“I’d be worried if I wasn’t,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. “Bet you have too.”

You shrug. “I would never,” you say, smiling through your obvious lie. He shakes his head.

“Don’t try to deny it, I know you’ve been imagining it,” he says.

“You know, I’ve been having a bit of trouble picturing it, maybe you should give a demonstration,” you say, a smug look on your face. He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh really?”

“I mean, if you don’t want to, that’s okay,” you say, slowly pulling back to walk away, but his hands in your back pockets stop you.

“I’ll gladly show you baby,” he says as he pulls his hands out and spins you around, pressing you back against the cool oak door. He dips his head into your neck where he presses a few soft kisses until finally sucking a small red hickey under your jaw, just like you expected he would.

You let out a small sigh as your eyes flutter shut, your hands just under his shirt on his sides. He presses his body further into you, pinning you against the door further while he continues to kiss your soft skin.

His warm kisses continue along your neck and jaw until he finally returns to your lips, where he tastes the sweet cherry gloss you had mentioned over the phone. You feel his tongue swipe along your bottom lip and just like that, his tongue tangles with yours.

His hands trail down from your waist to the back of your thighs, where he taps gently. You respond quickly by jumping up and wrapping your arms around his neck, and legs around his waist before he walks to the bedroom, never breaking the kiss.

Once you two get into the bedroom, he sits down in the end of the bed, letting you straddle his lap. As you continue kissing him sloppily, you feel him grow beneath you, which makes a small moan escape your mouth.

“You miss my cock that much baby?” Nikki teases, the words muffled against your lips.

“You were the one who jacked off on the phone,” you say back in between kisses.

“Barely did anything,” he mumbles. “Had to do it again an hour later.”

“You poor thing,” you tease before he flips you onto your back and crawls over you.

“Gonna try to tell me you didn’t fuck yourself while I was gone?” he says, leaning down to kiss your neck again.

“What makes you say I couldn’t have done nothing while you were gone?” you question, your head flopped back on the bed and your eyes closed. He stays quiet but moves to unbutton your shorts and push his hand inside.

You gasp quietly as he feels you through your panties.

“The fact that you’re this worked up from making out makes me think you’ve been needy the whole time,” he says. “You would have at least tried to do something about it and touch yourself once baby.”

He pulls his hand back out and continues kissing your neck.

“Cocky asshole,” you mutter which makes him pull back to look down at you.

“What was that?” he asks with a smirk which you soon return.

“Just saying how I don’t really have a reason for needing to walk tomorrow,” you say softly. He pauses for a second, the smirk faltering slightly which sends a wave of amusement through you. After a second, he snaps out of his daze and sits up on his knees above you to pull his black shirt over his head.

Your eyes shift from his face to his chest, and then down his stomach where you spot your favourite small, dark trail of hair underneath his belly button that disappears into his jeans. Your stomach flips and your eyes flick back to his for a second before you sit up and slide out from under him.

You get up off the bed and he watches you, a curious look on his face as he turns around and sits on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his elbows to look up at you.

Slowly, you grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, revealing the top half of the red lingerie set you’ve been waiting to show him. Between the strategically placed pieces of small material and the lace that holds them together, Nikki’s eyes don’t leave you, a small smirk on his lips.

Your fingers trail down your sides to the already undone denim jeans, and you tug them over the curve of your hips before letting them fall to your feet, letting the second half of the set display itself.

Just like the bralette, the panties certainly lack the material to be deemed ‘appropriate’, but appropriate was definitely not on your mind when you went shopping. The panties are plain and simple, just like a bikini bottom, only the material is thin and softer, and there’s a lacey garter over the top which includes thin straps down and around your thighs.

You step out of the shorts and walk slowly towards Nikki. He watches and studies every part of your body as you get closer before sitting up a little and reaching one hand out to fiddle with the material on your thigh. You put a hand on his shoulder and lean down to kiss him softly, feeling his lips lock onto yours straight away.

You eventually pull away from him and slowly kneel down on the floor, all while holding eye contact. You slide your hands up his thighs and find the button of his black denim jeans, letting it pop open before pulling down the fly.

He sucks in a breath when you finally pull his boxers down enough to let him spring free, sending a wave of relief through his body now that the restraint is gone. You bite your bottom lip at the sight of his thick cock. The one you imagined nearly every day when he was gone.

You wrap one hand around the base and your other hand rests on his leg, steadying you as you lean in to kiss his tip. You press a few soft kisses there before sticking your tongue out to kitten lick him, which earns you an almost silent groan.

You smile to yourself at the sound before leaning down to lick a stripe from where your hand is, along the vein that runs on the underside of his dick, to the head, where you finally take him in your mouth.

His hips buck ever so slightly and he grabs a fistful of your hair, stopping you from continuing. You look up at him, confused.

“What’s our safe word baby?” he asks softly. Neither of you had ever had to use the safe word you put in place, but anytime it was mentioned, you both knew shit was gonna be good, so you can’t help but feel the excitement that swirls in your stomach.

“Whiskey,” you answer, and he smiles, letting his grip loosen enough for you to wrap your lips around him again.

You start bobbing your head slowly and his head flops back as he groans. It doesn’t take long before he’s guiding your head back and forth, letting his cock slide to your throat, making you gag.

You take a few deep breaths through your nose as tears prick in the corners of your eyes, but you don’t stop. You pump your hand along the bottom of his shaft in rhythm with your mouth while your other hand reaches up to grab his balls gently, squeezing and massaging them just like you know he loves.

“Fuck,” he groans over and over again, his hips bucking as he fucks your throat, causing his dick to slide further inside your mouth, making you moan. The moan vibrates against him and you can tell he’s close. He’s no ‘one pump chump’ by any means, but 2 months without his girl can sure weaken him, which is proven when you feel warm liquid running down your throat.

His head flops back as you swallow everything he gives you, all while never stopping your hand from sliding up and down.

Eventually his dick slides out of your mouth and he sits up to look down at you, still on your knees.

“Open,” he says, grabbing your chin. You do as he says and open your mouth, letting him see the emptiness as proof that you swallowed everything. He smiles and runs his thumb just under your lip, wiping off a small bit of the salty mess that you missed, and he pushes it into your mouth, letting you lick it clean.

Once he pulls his hand back, he speaks, his voice deeper than usual. “Lay down on the bed for me baby.”

Just like before, you follow his order and crawl onto the bed. You lay down on your back and he finds his way on top of you again, his dick grazing your stomach as he holds himself up by his hands either side of your head.

“I really like this outfit,” he mumbles as he leans down to kiss your neck.

“I thought you might,” you reply breathily as he kisses up your neck towards your ear, where he pauses.

“Now what about that tattoo?” he whispers into your ear, making goosebumps appear.

“You’ll have to find it,” you whisper back.

“Hm, any clues?” he asks quietly before nipping at your neck again.

“Lower,” is all you say but it’s enough for him to know the general area of the ink. He starts kissing down your neck to your collarbone and then your chest. You tangle your fingers in his hair which earns a quiet grunt as he continues leaving hot, open mouth kisses down your stomach, until he reaches the waistline of your garter.

He skips over it, letting his lips find their way to the soft material of your panties as his fingers release the clips on your thighs, leaving him the option to take anything off. He glances up at you for a second before sitting on his knees and tugging at the edge of your panties, pulling them as well as the garter off of you slowly.

You watch as his eyes spot the small patch of ink on your hip bone. He studies it for a second and you feel a small bundle of nerves form in your stomach, telling you that maybe it wasn’t a good idea.

“Do you like it?” you ask quietly, feeling extremely exposed to him, and not even because your panties are off.

His eyes snap back to yours and he chuckles. “Do I like it? Baby, it’s perfect,” he says. You were never really brave enough to go get a tattoo, but you’d finally done it, and it was worth every second.

His eyes trail back to the small tattoo which reads:

N.S.

“Wanted to show you how much I love you,” you say, and he smiles.

“I love you too baby,” he replies. “Gonna make that tattoo worth your while.”

Before you can speak, his head is between your legs, kissing the inside of your thighs softly. He keeps his eyes on you and his lips on your skin, watching your reaction as he runs his finger through your folds, making you whimper quietly.

He smiles again the skin of your thigh at your reaction and then does it again before finding your clit and circling his thumb over it gently which makes your hips buck into his hand.

He gives your leg one more kiss before crawling over you again and letting his lips find yours. As his tongue pushes into your mouth, his middle finger and ring finger slide through your folds again, feeling the wetness you’ve created.

You moan softly into his mouth when you feel the tip of his middle finger tease your entrance, and he takes that sound as a cue to slide his thick finger in fully with a quiet squelch. You pull away from his mouth to gasp quietly at the familiar, but amazing feeling that you’d tried to create on your own, but it was never the same.

He looks down at you as he starts to pump his finger in and out of your aching core, using your expressions to guide him.

“That feel good baby?” he asks lowly, already knowing the answer.

You nod. “More,” you say softly, needing to feel fuller, despite the thickness of his current finger. He smirks at your request but doesn’t say anything before pushing his ring finger into you, making you whimpering once again.

“Fuck,” you mutter in between moans, your hands holding onto his shoulders as you pull him back down to kiss you. You’ve just started and you’re already feeling the knot form in your stomach. His fingers never falter from their quick pace, which shows that he hasn’t forgotten how you need it over the past 2 months.

“C’mon baby, I know you’re already close,” he says as he pulls back from your lips. He’s right, because just like him, two months of horniness can sure weigh down on a person. “Need to see you come all over my fingers before you can have my cock,” he tells you. Asshole.

He speeds up his fingers ever so slightly and dips his head down into your neck, sucking on your very obvious pulse point, which makes the knot in your stomach tighten further and further before finally, it snaps.

You feel your body shudder and you hold your breath as you finish on Nikki’s fingers, which still pump in and out of you through your high. As you let out the breath, a moan follows it, but it’s cut off by Nikki’s lips.

He finally pulls his fingers out of you and rubs them against your clit gently until you reach down and grab his wrist, halting his movement which makes him look at you.

“Want your cock,” you mutter, the tone of your voice almost begging. He smiles a little and takes a deep breath.

“Yeah baby? You want me to fuck this little pussy of yours?” he says and you nod. “How do you want it baby?” he asks.

You think for a second as you continue to hold onto his wrist. “Lay down,” you say and he chuckles.

“You wanna be on top this time?” he asks and you agree. He gives you a quick kiss before rolling over onto his back with his head against the headboard of the bed and pulling his jeans and boxers off completely.

You sit up and turn around to look at him. Your eyes trail down to his, once again, hard dick and back up to his face again, where he’s smirking again.

“What?” you ask, a little embarrassed, and he shakes his head.

“Nothing, just like watching your face when you look at my dick,” he says smugly and you roll your eyes playfully at his cockiness before crawling over to him.

You sit and straddle his lap, feeling his cock against your heat as his hands find their place on your hips. You pull off the bralette and throw it somewhere to find later, his eyes dropping to your tits. You put your hands on his chest, which push them together, and look down at him for a second before leaning down to kiss him, causing his dick to rub against you, making you moan into his mouth.

He lets you pull back and then he moves one hand from your waist, down to the base of his cock as you sit up on your knees. He drags his tip through your folds a few times before guiding it to your entrance and looking up at you. You meet his eyes and take a breath before slowly starting to lower yourself onto him.

You close your eyes and bite your bottom lip to muffle to moan the comes out of your mouth when you feel his cock stretch you out, but you keep going until you feel yourself sit back down on him. Once you do, you let out the breath you were holding and open your eyes to look down at Nikki, who’s also letting out a shaky breath.

It’s been so long since you’ve felt him and honestly, his size shocks your body more than you thought. You sit there, not moving and Nikki feels an ounce of worry fill him.

“You okay baby?” he asks softly to which you nod.

“Just need a second,” you reply, and you swear you see his ego grow instantly as he smiles.

After a moment, you slowly raise yourself up a little and then let yourself back down onto him, feeling his cock drag inside of you. He holds onto your hips as you do it again, this time, raising a little higher.

You moan quietly as you set a steady rhythm, letting your head flop back as his cock slides in and out of your pussy.

“Fuck,” Nikki mutters as he looks up at you riding him, a sight he’ll always remember. He brings one hand up to your tit, squeezing it as his thumb runs over your hardened nipple, adding more pleasure to your already growing amount.

He soon puts that hand back on your hip to hold onto you as he thrusts his hips up into you, matching your pace which makes you moan loudly as his cock hits deeper than before.

You lean forward to hold yourself above him by your hands on his chest as you continue lifting your hips and slamming them back down onto his, creating a slapping sound that fills the room. You lean over enough that he sits up and takes one of your nipples into your mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive area.

Moans continue to spill out of your mouth while his cock fills you up perfectly and his lets go of your nipple to look up at you.

“So fucking perfect,” he mutters. “Missed you so much.”

You try to respond but it just comes out in a string of whimpers. You want to keep going but you can feel your legs starting to ache and your body growing weaker as your movements slow down. You let your head hang and you close your eyes.

“You getting tired baby?” Nikki asks and you lift your head again to nod. Nikki puts his arm around your waist and pulls you down to lay on him. “I’ll do the rest,” he mutters before flipping you over so that he’s on top, his cock slipping out of you which makes you whimper.

He looks down at you when he hears your whimper and leans down to kiss you. You kiss him back immediately until he moves to kiss your neck. “Gonna fuck you so good,” he mumbles against your skin.

“Please,” you whine and he lifts his head to meet your eyes.

“Please what?” he asks, a small smile on his face. You feel yourself wanting to roll your eyes at his teasing but you know it’ll only make him drag it on longer.

“I need you Nikki,” you say and his smile grows a little.

“Don’t worry baby, you’ll have me,” he says before leaning down and kissing your neck a few times again. He then reaches down and grabs his cock, looking between your bodies as he guides it to your pussy.

Without another thought, he pushes into you with a quiet groan. You moan and your head flops back onto the pillow as he starts rocking back and forth into you. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging gently, which earns a groan from him.

You wrap your legs up and around his waist which allows him to push further into you, hitting a deeper spot than ever. Your moans get louder and one of your hands slides down to his back, your nails scratching his skin.

As he keeps going, you notice him look down to where you two are connected right now. You follow his gaze and watch as his dick slides in and out of you, the sight turning you on even more. He looks up again and sees you watching which makes him smirk. You meet his eyes which are dark and almost dangerous, and hold eye contact with him for a second before he kisses you roughly.

You moan into his mouth as he keeps thrusting into you, feeling that knot form in your stomach again.

“Nikki I’m gonna-” he cuts you off with his lips again.

“You gonna come for me baby?” he asks you lowly.

“Yes…fuck,” you moan and he reaches down to rub your clit with his fingers.

“Say my name when you come baby, wanna hear you say my name,” he tells you and you nod.

“Please, don’t stop,” you beg.

“Come for me baby, c’mon,” he says, his fingers circling quicker. You feel the knot tightening further and he leans down to suck on your tit, to help push you over the edge, which it does.

Your vision goes blurry and you moan his name loudly as you fall over the edge. He feels you clench around him and he feels himself get close to coming undone too. He fucks you through your high until you relax and he slows down, his thrusts becoming less consistent. He pulls out of you and pumps himself a few times, making him finish, the white spurts landing on your stomach as he groans.

Once he comes down from his climax, he looks down at you and you reach up to pull him down to kiss you. He kisses you softly for a few seconds before looking at you.

“I love you,” he says quietly and you smile.

“I love you too Nikki,” you reply with a smile.

“I’m gonna get you cleaned up okay?” he says before standing up and walking to the ensuite, taking his boxers with him. You hear the tap turn on for a few seconds and then he appears again, wearing the underwear.

He stops at the large dresser that you both share and grabs you some underwear and one of his shirts before walking over to you. He crawls over to you and wipes the mess off your stomach with the damp cloth he took from the bathroom, folding it up afterwards.

He passes you the shirt and you slip it on while he guides the plain black underwear over your feet, sliding them up your legs. “Lift your hips for me,” he says softly, and you do, allowing him to finish covering you up.

He stands up again and grabs the folded up cloth, throwing it into the laundry basket next to the dresser. You watch him with a smile on your face and when he turns around, he notices it.

“What?” he asks with a chuckle. You shake your head and open your arms, ready for him to lay on you, like he always does, especially after sex.

“You’re such a big softy when you’re looking after me,” you say and he shakes his head with a smile as he lays down on you.

“Only the best for my girl,” he says as he buries his face in your neck. You run your fingers through his hair and notice the red scratch marks on his back from your nails.

“Sorry about the scratches,” you say softly and he looks up at you, his chin resting on your chest.

“The more the better,” he says and you laugh before giving him a quick kiss.

“I missed you,” you say as he nuzzles his face in your neck again.

“I missed you too baby.”

[arabellasleopardcoat]

You wouldn’t believe the things I have done for her (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon lives a dangerous life. You wish you could find a way to protect him, but you are too afraid of guns. Lucky you, Daemon has a plan.

A/N: Do not try this at home. Requested by the lovely @avalyaaa I am sorry it took me so long, but I wanted to give your request the attention it deserved.

Warnings: Smut. Mafia! Daemon. Gun kink. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH: GUN KINK. Slight degradation.

You sit quietly in the back of the car. In the front seat sits Harwin, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He is bored. You can tell by the way he keeps fiddling with things. Changing the radio station, messing with the AC.

Harwin probably misses his old work. It’s not like Daemon needs a bodyguard or a driver. You know it’s more for your protection than his. And while Harwin is no stranger to guarding people who don’t need his protection, you bet the fact that Rhaenyra was fucking him made the prospect much more agreeable.

The AC gets turned off again. You would scold him for it, were it not for the fact you are deadly bored yourself. Daemon’s quick meeting has turned into an hour long one, and you have been instructed to not step out of the car. The only entertainment you have is your phone, and you can only scroll through so many TikToks before wanting to claw your own eyes out.

Instead of continuing to refresh your For you page, you turn your attention back to obsessing over your conversation with Daemon. The shame from your stupidity makes your cheeks heat up.

“I don’t trust them.” Daemon had said, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He often avoided kissing you in the lips whenever you were close to his associates. As if not kissing you could trick them into thinking you were not relevant and convince them not to target you. “They are…. Not the most respectful with women.”

“You don’t trust me, you mean. To handle myself.” And by the Seven, it had even sounded bratty to your ears. You had not meant it like that at all. You had only wanted him to stop using that shitty excuse.

There were women who attended these meetings. You knew it. Hell, you had even met them. And these weren’t sex workers or strippers. These were women who held high positions in the organization. Rhaenyra, who was going to inherit it one day. Mysaria, who ran an informant network. Even Alicent pitched in from time to time. You were tired of being lied to. Sometimes, you craved the more normal boyfriend experience.

“I trust you. I don’t trust them.” Daemon had chuckled at your pout, and given you a pat in the head. “Behave.”

It had felt so dismissive. So humiliating. As if you were a child and not an actual grown woman. You hated arguing with Daemon. There was something about his tone, or his attitude, you were not sure which, that made him sound forever condescending.

You supposed inherited wealth was like that. The Targaryens had been running their schemes for nearly six generations by now. They were royalty by modern standards, even when you didn’t know about their more shady dealings.

It was no use, being upset over it. Daemon was too set in his ways to change. You needed to find a way around your problem, instead of charging right into it. But nothing comes to you at this moment, so you unlock your phone and continue your scrolling.

You save a few recipes you want to try, and like some pet videos. You are thinking of asking Daemon to adopt a puppy. A small breed would suit your apartment better, but you know Daemon. He will probably want the most intimidating dog he can get his hands on. A big, scary doberman could be something you could get behind. You had been feeling unsafe as of late.

A sudden, loud noise makes you jerk on your seat. You start to ask Harwin what’s wrong, but you don’t manage to even form the words. It's happening too fast.

“Get on your knees and do not get up until I say!” Harwin shouts. You do not need further explanations, understanding something is really wrong. You fall into the floor of the car with such haste that your phone is sent flying under the seat.

“…. Whisk the butter and the sugar…” You try to reach for it, but the space is too cramped, and suddenly the car is moving, throwing the phone around. Your knees throb from dropping yourself from the seat too hard, and you try to focus on that and not the way your heart feels like it’s in your throat. A gunshot, you realize. A gunshot. You should be used to them by now, but you still feel afraid.

Harwin drives fast and efficiently. It’s two full blocks before he orders you to get up again. You do so, legs shaking. There is a wet feeling on your knee. Blood. You had scrapped it when you threw yourself on the ground.

“What happened?” You ask him, smoothing your clothes down. Now that your panic isn’t as intense, you feel a pang of guilt. Daemon. Seven Hells, you had left him back there. “Daemon?”

Despite knowing that Harwin’s orders are first and foremost getting you out of danger, you can’t help but feel guilty. You had not even thought to worry about him. He is probably fine, considering the place was filled with Targaryens. He is also more than capable of handling himself. But to be so blinded by your fear that you did not even think of him…

“I got no fucking clue.” He asks, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “I’ll call Daemon, alright?”

“Yeah.” You say, quietly. You grab the seat’s edge and squeeze, as if you could will Daemon to your side by frustration alone. Harwin dials.

“Yeah, we are fine.” Harwin says, smiling at you through the mirror. You know he wouldn’t be so casual if something bad had happened, and so, you give him a thumbs up. Your guilt eases a bit, being replaced by relief. “She is fine, just a bit shaken up.” And he rolls his eyes because Daemon can be a bit overbearing.

“Just trouble with an errand guy.” Harwin explains, once the call is over. “He should be here soon.”

But despite how casual they made it sound, you couldn’t shake the fear and guilt away. It stayed on your mind, nestled like a worm, curling around your brain and threatening to choke it. When the night comes, and Daemon sleeps peacefully by your side, you still think of it. Of how you could die, and he could too. And there wouldn’t be a thing to be done.

You sit up on your side of the bed, letting the sheet pool around your waist. You hug your knees to your chest. The night is chilly, and the blackout curtains Daemon insists on having to ensure the room is pitch black. It only serves to disquiet you further.

There is a gun on Daemon’s nightstand. Should there be one in yours? His work is dangerous enough to warrant it. Enough to warrant you having a bodyguard, why not a weapon of your own?

You weren’t going to let him die. Nor were you going to leave him behind, like today. This was the twenty-first century, not the Middle Ages. You were tired of cowering back and acting the damsel in distress. If someone is going to try to hurt the man you love, you sure will fight back.

Daemon was yours. As much as you were his, and so, it wasn’t fair that only he protected you. You needed to be able to have his back, or at least, not be a distraction in a fight.

Your decision is not just something you can communicate to Daemon, though. He is not going to like it. You know him. Daemon is a bit old-fashioned like that. He likes gender roles a little too much for it. He is your protector and provider, and you are supposed to just be sweet and warm. The thought of you using a gun will probably cause him a heart attack.

And the thing is, Daemon doesn’t just style himself your protector. He does an outstanding job of it. He has managed to keep you away from the nastier side of his business. Never have you seen a dead body, or any of his associates beyond his family. So if you hope to achieve this, you need to be smart about it.

You decide you will tell him first thing in the morning when he is barely awake. He will be more susceptible that way. And happy with your plan, you finally manage to catch a few hours of sleep.

The next morning, you get started making breakfast with only one thing in mind. Convincing Daemon. You are barefoot, wearing only one of his shirts. It’s basic manipulation, and he will probably able to tell, but you hope it will soften him to your cause.

It’s when you are scrambling the eggs that he emerges, lured by the smell of fried bacon and a fresh pot of tea. Daemon wraps himself around you, still warm with sleep.

“Morning, love.” His voice is still a bit hoarse with sleep. He nuzzles your neck and hums, pleased. “Couldn’t I convince you to come back to bed?”

You laugh.

“Not really. The eggs are almost done.” You take the pan off the stove, letting it cool. “I would like to learn how to shoot.”

Daemon stiffens. You can feel him pull back from you. It’s not a physical thing, his arms remain wrapped around your waist, but his voice becomes colder and meaner. He is fully awake now.

“And why, in the Seven Hells, would you need to learn?”

“To feel safer.” You answer, keeping your tone steady.

“Do you not feel safe already? I could hire you another bodyguard.” Daemon hugs you slightly tighter. You lean into the counter a little bit, and sigh. Then, you detangle yourself from him.

“I don’t want a bodyguard. I need to learn how to shoot.” You state again, calmly. You turn to look at him. He looks more annoyed than angry.

“Sweetheart. You know that is not the best idea.” Daemon pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Why not?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“You are sensitive. You cry when animals die in movies.” He complains, stepping a bit closer to you. Daemon pours you a cup of tea and plates the eggs. “Go sit. I’ll wrap this up.”

You give him a sullen look but obey, watching him cut and toast the bread just in the way you like. You sit by the kitchen’s island, watching him work. Daemon is only wearing his underwear. You don’t think he owns something that resembles pajamas. Targaryens always run hot, or so they say.

Disappointing yourself, you let yourself be distracted by the view. You watch the muscles on his back shift and move as he finishes breakfast for you. You are mesmerized by the elegance of his every movement.

He is delicious, you think to yourself. You want to climb him like a tree. Despite the slight age difference, Daemon is more handsome than other men you have met. He is a bit vain, sure, but his efforts are worth it.

It’s only after he sits next to you that you remember what you were doing. You blame it on the lack of sleep.

“So?”

“You are my woman. It’s my duty to protect you. I’ll keep you safe.” Daemon rubs your shoulders, comfortingly. His voice sounds apologetic, a denial despite the soft tone he is using. “You know I keep you well away from danger.”

And he does. Not only Harwin and him have talked protocols, but Daemon has also ensured you would be protected even in the event of his death or imprisonment. You have numerous properties to your name, a few fake passports and three hidden bank accounts in different tax havens. None of which would be taken away if the two of you break up, Daemon has clearly stated. He loves you enough to want you to be protected even if you don’t love him anymore.

“I don’t like being powerless.”

“I seem to remember you do.” He squeezes your thigh, playfully. Your breath shifts despite yourself. You cover it by taking a sip of your tea and leveling a faux glare at him.

“I know.” Daemon kisses your nose. “I like that you don’t know how to shoot. That you are clean from this world.”

“It won’t sully me.” You argue because it’s a silly thing to think. It’s not like you are going to start shooting people or running illegal gambling rings. You just want to be able to defend yourself if something happens. And perhaps Daemon. If he doesn't feel too emasculated, this ridiculous man of yours.

“If I wanted a woman who knew how to shoot I would still be with Rhaenyra.” He complains.

“Plenty of women know how. I am not…” You rub at your eyes, tiredly. You want him to understand nothing is going to change between the two of you. “I do not want to go to your stupid meetings or meet your associates for dinner. I just want to know how to defend myself if something happens.”

“And I am saying you don’t need to because nothing is going to happen.” Daemon’s voice turns firmer. Now you can tell he is beginning to get angry, so you reach for his hand and squeeze.

“But if it does? If one night we wake up and there is a gun to our faces? Then what? Do I just let you die for me?” You allow your voice to break in the last part, letting him truly see your anguish. It is a fear of you that has lived on too long. You need this. You need to be able to defend both of you if something happens.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

It gets you to the firing range. Daemon takes you there in the middle of the week, hoping to inconvenience the least amount of people with him booking the entire place.

Your first impression of it is that it’s nothing like in the movies. There are neat little booths with circular targets instead of human shaped ones. You had expected only utilitarian decoration, harsh white lighting and white walls. Instead, the place looks well maintained and expensive. You should have expected so, considering this is Daemon you are talking about.

“Your first lesson…” Daemon says, eyeing you distrustfully. You stare right back at him. “Will be on safety.”

He takes two bulletproof vests out of a hanger, as well two pairs of earmuffs.

“These are protection gear, meant to be used each time you are practicing. And hopefully…” Daemon passes the bulletproof vest over your head. You let him do so, lifting your arms when he instructs you. The vest is heavier than you expect, and more solid too. It feels like what you wear when you are getting an x-ray. “You will use the vest too if you ever fire a gun outside here.”

“And not the earmuffs?”

“You should wear them to protect your ears, especially if you are firing many rounds. But you never see people wearing these because they are heavy-duty protection. In a real fight, you wouldn’t be able to hear your surroundings. Gunshots are pretty loud. So are gunfights.”

“Is that why you are losing your hearing?” You sass, with a grin. “I thought it was just your old age.”

“Oh, shut up. Little brat.” Daemon smacks your ass, playful. It doesn’t even hurt, but you jump and squeal in faux outrage. He laughs at your antics, and it does make you feel better about forcing him to teach you this.

“Should we do the whole…?” You gesture vaguely, trying to reference the classical movie or book montage where the female lead and the love interest stand very close, under the excuse to fix her posture. Daemon shakes his head.

“What is even that?” You would call him an old man for missing your reference, but you know he is sensitive about his age. Besides, you are not a great mime either. “No. You are going to stand with your legs and shoulders the same width apart and a proper posture. No slouching!”

“You know, not all of us grew up with a tutor chasing us and screaming for proper posture.” You grumble, but comply with his orders.

“Perhaps if you had, you wouldn’t need all those Pilates and Yoga classes you so enjoy.” Daemon argues right back. He circles you and pushes a bit at your hips. You try to loosen them. “Perhaps my cards would not explode then.”

“Shut up. It’s not like you don’t reap the benefits.”

Your good humor disappears when Daemon places a gun on the counter in front of you. You go quiet, suddenly unsure of your choice. He shows you how to charge it and how to put the safety on and off. You pay him all of your attention, feeling a bit numb. Most of the details about it fly over your head, despite your attempts to memorize them.

“Alright. I think you are ready for your first try.” Daemon says, handing you the gun. You grab it with trembling hands. You adjust your stance and ensure the muzzle is pointing down, and that you are not gesturing wildly with it. He puts your earmuffs on, and then his.

The world around you feels muffled. You swear you can hear your heartbeat, with how silent everything is. The gun in your hands is throwing you off. It looks odd. These can’t be your hands. You feel like you are not actually there, but watching the scene unfold from outside, watching someone else about to shoot.

Daemon adjusts your grip with his hands, casual about his proximity to the loaded weapon. You stiffen as soon as you feel him approach you, worried about accidentally shooting him.

“Come on.” He mouths, impatiently. You lift the gun, take the safety off, and aim. You pull the trigger, and it is with an awful noise and jerk, that you fire for the first time. The shot goes wide, hitting the wall next to the target.

Daemon taps your shoulder and gestures for you to go again. He watches your every move. His expression betrays nothing. If you are going at it the wrong way, you wouldn't be able to tell.

You repeat the motion, flinching at the noise. Even with the earmuffs it’s loud. It reminds you of that day in the alley, and makes your stomach clench. Daemon signals for you to put the gun down, and you do so, glad that it’s over. You can’t believe you thought you could actually do this. You feel so stupid. He was right, you are too soft.

Daemon can probably tell you are getting too in your head. He removes your earmuffs and pulls you in for a hug. The vests make it awkward, but you feel comforted by his solidness next to you.

“You did great, sweetheart.” He lies, and kisses your temple. You feel so disappointed you could cry. A laugh bubbles out of you, a bit hysterical.

Daemon tsks. He reaches for the gun and deftly discharges it.

“Come on.” He says, kissing your cheek. “I know what your problem is.”

“Yeah?” You ask him, a bit doubtful. You don’t want to feel any sort of hope, just in case that he is mistaken. Giving up so easily might be childish, yet you had not expected this to be so hard. After all, like half the people that Daemon knew could do it.

“You have to learn to love the gun.” He places it back on your hand and steps up behind you. It seems like you are doing the movie thing after all. He kicks your legs a bit, encouraging you to shift your stance.

“Love the gun?”

“You keep looking at it like it’s a weapon of mass destruction.” Daemon laughs, and mouths along your nape. You shiver. It’s an almost Pavlovian reaction by now. When Daemon’s voice gets all low and husky, and he holds you like that, your body knows it’s time for sex. It’s very inappropriate. But conditioned as you are, you can’t stop the throb of arousal between your thighs. “Stop looking like you are horrified by it.”

He fixes your grip around the gun. He steadies your hand.

“Shoot.”

You obey, pulling the trigger. The gun clicks, but nothing happens. It’s unloaded.

“Good.” Daemon says, and lightly bites your shoulder. “Again.”

You repeat the motion. He has you do it over and over again, until you no longer flinch when pulling the trigger. When you are fully desensitized to the sound, Daemon takes the gun from you.

“Great job.” He says, placing the gun right on your face. “Now kiss it.”

“Excuse me?” You stare at Daemon, sure that he must be joking. Kissing the gun? No way. But one look at his face, at the amused curve of his lips, and the mischievous glint in his eyes, tell you that he is serious.

“You heard me.” Daemon chuckles, a bit darkly. You understand then that this is both for his amusement and a punishment. He gets off on humiliating others, that you know. And he had not liked that you had forced him into giving you shooting lessons. He now intends to bring you down a few pegs. “Kiss the barrel.”

You scrunch up your face. You got your pride, too. Despite knowing that submitting to his whims is easy and will probably pacify him for a while, you can’t help but resist. Your whole body rebels at the idea of accepting such an obvious power play.

“Come on, don’t be like that. You owe me.” Daemon tilts your head up, placing a finger under your chin. He makes a show of cooing over your pout, before leaning in to kiss you.

“I don’t!” You move your head away, denying him. It’s a bit cruel, and it makes him frown, which you consider a win.

“You so do. I didn’t want to teach you, you know. At least give me good jerk off material.” He pouts at you, and you can’t help but smile a little. He is ridiculous.

It is part of why you love him. Daemon is young in spirit, if not in body, and he makes you feel younger too. Giddy and willing to do silly things. Silly things like leaning in and kissing the barrel of a gun.

The metal is cold under your lips, hard and unyielding. Daemon makes a pleased noise and pulls you in for a kiss. You can feel him smile against your mouth, before trying to deepen it. Playfully, you nip at him, until it is him who yields and opens up for you.

It is then that he presses the cold barrel against your nape. The feeling of the gun against your skin makes you tense and jerk, giving him once again the upper hand. With the control of the kiss back in his hands, he pulls you closer.

You feel yourself slowly starting to become aroused. One of Daemon’s hands finds your hip, squeezing the flesh there. His gesture is both possessive and greedy. Something swoops in your belly, dark and demanding. You want all his attention on you, you want him all for you.

Making out with Daemon is a full-bodied experience. It shouldn’t surprise you, then, that he starts to gently run the muzzle of the gun down your neck. At first, you don’t notice, too caught up on how close both of you are. Your chest is flush against his, and the feeling of his body against yours makes you whimper, before you realize what game is he playing.

“Daemon.” You warn, annoyed. He gives you a shit eating grin.

“I am just getting the two of you better acquainted. My best girls.” Daemon leans in and kisses behind your ear. He takes his time, making out with the shell of it. He is cautious to do all the right things to make you tremble against him. Yet, you can’t seem to forget about the gun, running down your sternum, between your breasts.

The muzzle gets caught against your clothes. Daemon uses it to push one of the sleeves of your top a little aside, to be able to lavish the skin there with kisses. You only feel the metal against your skin for a second, but it makes you think about how it would feel against your naked skin. Would the cold make your hairs stand up on edge, and your nipples pebble? Or would it warm up to your temperature?

The thought makes your breath hitch, and your panties even wetter.

“There is no one here.” You say, quietly. “If you were to take off my shirt…”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Daemon grins, encouraging you to lean against the counter of the firing range. “You devious little thing.”

He drops to his knees in front of you, carefully taking your clothing off. You watch him move between your legs, helping you widen your stance. Daemon kisses a path from your ankles towards your knees, mouthing along as if having the finest of banquets. His kisses feel scorching against your skin, and you can’t help but jut your hips slightly, trying to command him into touching you.

Daemon smiles at you, cheekily. He then bites your inner thighs, scratching just enough to make you arch in pleasure-pain. When you are just about to hike one of your legs over his shoulder, he sucks your clit inside his mouth, and it’s then that you feel it. The cold barrel of the gun, pressing along your inner thighs.

You moan. Daemon laughs.

“You little whore.” It sounds fond. He eats you out without any finesse, slurping noisily. The thought of anyone else being able to overhear this makes you embarrassed, so you try to keep quiet. Your eyes close, hands squeezing around the edge of the counter.

Daemon is not trying to bring you any pleasure. His movements and touches are too methodical for it. He presses a finger inside your hole, then another. Then it is scissoring them and shushing you with soft licks to your clit when you complain at the slight sting.

Any pleasure you get out of it is incidental. Instead, Daemon is getting you ready for something. And this time, you know it’s not his cock. The thought fills you with dread and arousement in equal parts. How will it feel? Metal doesn’t give the same way flesh does. But the thought of having a gun, Daemon's, inside you, makes your hips jerk.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” He pulls away, reappearing from between your legs. “Fuck. I don’t know if I want to see your face or your greedy little hole when I put it inside.”

You look at him. His hair is sticking up in all directions, but his smile is absolutely ferocious.

“My face. Just in case…” You reach for his shoulder and squeeze, gently. Despite how arousing you think the whole thing is, you are still hesitant. Sometimes, things don’t feel as you imagine they would. You don’t want this to be disappointing.

Daemon seems to understand, despite the fact that you don’t verbalize it.

“I’ll talk you through it.” He says, kindly. He then spreads your folds a little and presses the tip of the gun against your hole.

You yelp. Your grip on his shoulder turns punishing. It feels pleasant, as penetration often does, but there is a foreign quality to it as well. The gun is wide, and metal doesn’t give as flesh does. You feel as if you are rooted tp the spot by it, being impaled with each inch Daemon presses inside you.

“You are doing so well. Good girl. My little girl.” He presses a kiss to your stomach. He keeps rubbing at your clit until you relax around the barrel. It’s only then that he attempts to fuck you with it. You clench at his shoulders, overwhelmed, and moan.

It’s confusing. The ridges of it feel good, catching against your hole. The metal slowly starts to warm up, not feeling as strange as before. Daemon keeps steadily sucking your clit.

The pleasure builds. So does your need. You start to move your hips along with his thrusting, trying your best to reach your orgasm. So of course, Daemon pulls away from your clit.

“You are taking it so well.” Daemon praises, voice husky with desire. “Your pussy swallows the gun right up.”

You moan, almost without realizing. You are so close it itches. But moving your hips up and down isn’t enough. You need more.

“Daemon, please.” You beg, near tears. Never before have you been this frustrated.

“Who would have known? You are such a hungry little whore.” Daemon smirks. The crudeness of his words makes you gasp. You feel smaller than you have ever felt, yet somehow, it makes you feel deliciously dirty. He is not wrong. It’s embarrassing, how you are humping the gun he holds, but you can’t stop. “You don’t think, you are so desperate you would fuck anything. Do anything, just to fill your greedy holes.”

“Please. Fuck.” You sob. Daemon licks his thumb and starts rubbing your poor, abused clit. He keeps fucking you with the gun, building you up and up, towards the orgasm you so desperately crave. You come with a scream so loud, you thank he has booked the whole place for only yourselves.

Turns out, you don’t hate guns as much as you thought.

[rafesapologist]

the boy is mine ─ rafe cameron; chapter one

summary: you were an erudite kook with her life ahead of her, very highly sought after by almost every man from figure 8 all the way to the cut. but you only wanted rafe cameron, and just in the typical nature of getting everything you wanted, you were going to have him.

warnings: none in this chapter

author's note: as always if you'd like to be on the taglist for this series at anytime, please let me know! also, there will be some made up characters in this story for plot purposes.

"There's no way I would go to Midsummers with that freak," your derisive laughter erupted through the library before you halted to take a sip of your tepid iced coffee as its coldness faded, "I'd show up alone before I embarrassed myself like that."

"C'mon, he isn't that bad, y/n. I think he's actually pretty cute if you ask me," your friend, Sadie, nudged you teasingly, wiggling her eyebrows comically.

"You're forgetting the part where he's a Pogue, Sadie. I do have some self respect, you know."

Sadie rolled her eyes, her smile still teasing but with a hint of exasperation. "Sometimes you care too much about what other people think, you know that?"

You sighed, swirling the last bits of melted ice in your cup. "It's not just about what people think. It's about standards, Sadie. I've worked too hard to get where I am to throw it all away over some fling with a guy from the Cut."

Sadie leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "Maybe it's not about throwing anything away. Maybe it's about seeing people for who they are, not where they come from."

You opened your mouth to retort, but the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch period. The library's chatter died down as students gathered their things, heading off to their next classes. You and Sadie stood up, collecting your bags and discarded coffee cups. As you walked out into the bustling hallway, you couldn't shake the thought of him—the Pogue in question. John B Routledge. There was something about him that got under your skin, and not just in an annoying way. He was different, and that intrigued you, even if you'd never admit it out loud.

"Are you going to the bonfire tonight?" Sadie asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You shrugged. "Maybe. Depends if I finish my essay for English. You?"

"Of course I am, you should come! Live a little, y/n," Sadie insisted, her enthusiasm infectious.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. "We'll see," you said noncommittally, but you both knew that Sadie had a way of persuading you into things you normally wouldn't consider.

As you parted ways, heading to your respective classes, you couldn't help but glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to see him there, with that easy grin and messy hair. You shook your head, pushing the thought away.

After school, you found yourself back in the quiet sanctuary of your room, trying to focus on your English essay. The sun was setting outside, casting a warm golden glow through your window. You sighed, tapping your pen against your notebook. The words on the page blurred as your mind wandered back to the day's conversation.

"Live a little."

Sadie's words echoed in your mind, but you couldn't shake the nagging doubt. You had always prided yourself on maintaining high standards—standards that didn't include dating someone like John B. He was charming, sure, but he was also a Pogue, and the class divide in your town wasn't something you took lightly. It wasn't just about status; it was about everything you had worked for, everything you stood for.

You leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. Your parents had always taught you the importance of striving for more, of associating with people who could elevate your standing. Dating a Pogue, especially one as infamous as John B, seemed like a step backward.

But then there was the memory of his smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, and the infectious laughter that seemed to make the world a little brighter. There was an undeniable attraction, a pull that you couldn't quite explain. You shook your head, reminding yourself why it was important to stick to your standards.

"I do have some self-respect, you know."

You muttered the words to yourself, trying to reaffirm your decision. But as the evening wore on, you couldn't help but feel a little trapped by your own expectations.

Just as you were about to dive back into your essay, your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. It was a message from Sadie: "Bonfire starts at 8! You better be there!"

You stared at the text for a moment, biting your lip. Maybe, just maybe, Sadie was right. Maybe it was time to let go of some of those rigid standards and see where the night took you. You asked yourself, what was the harm in one night of fun?

With a sigh, you closed your laptop and headed to your closet, rifling through your clothes for something suitable to wear. As you pulled out a casual baby blue sundress, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. "Live a little," you muttered to your reflection, echoing Sadie's words.

By the time you arrived at the bonfire, the beach was already alive with music, laughter, and the warm glow of the flames. The salty breeze played with your hair as you made your way across the sand, the sounds of waves crashing mingling with the chatter of your peers. You spotted Sadie almost immediately, her bright smile and waving hand a beacon in the crowd.

"Y/n! You made it!" she cheered, pulling you into a hug that smelled of sunscreen and coconut.

"Yeah, yeah," you laughed. "I'm here. Now what?"

"Now we have fun," Sadie declared, handing you a drink that sparkled under the string lights hung haphazardly between the palm trees. She led you toward the fire where the heat radiated warmly against the cool night air.

You found yourself standing at the fire, gazing at its burning flames as you felt the stares of everyone around you, right on you. The heat from the fire radiated against your skin, a stark contrast to the cool night air. You took sips of your drink hazardously, knowing that at the end of the day, you still had to keep yourself composed in front of everyone.

The laughter and chatter around you seemed distant, almost like a background hum to your own thoughts. You could feel the weight of expectations pressing down on you, a constant reminder of the standards you had set for yourself. You had always been the one who held it all together, the one who never faltered.

As you took another sip, the drink's coldness a fleeting relief, you glanced around the bonfire. Your peers were engrossed in their conversations, but every so often, you caught a pair of eyes flicking in your direction, a whisper exchanged. It was as if they were all waiting to see what you would do next, how you would handle stepping out of your carefully curated box.

Suddenly, snapping you out of your gaze was the sound of a familiar voice approaching with a kind "hello." You snapped your head in the direction of the voice, before realizing it was none other than Sarah Cameron. You met her early in the school year when she joined Honors Society with you and Sadie. The three of you clicked pretty quickly, but you never saw her much outside of school.

Sarah grinned, her eyes sparkling in the firelight. "I could say the same about you. I didn't think I'd ever see the y/n at a party like this."

You laughed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement. "Yeah, it's not exactly my usual scene."

Sarah's smile widened. "Well, I think it's great. Sometimes it's good to shake things up a bit. How are you liking it so far?"

You glanced around, feeling the cool breeze and the warm sand under your feet. The sound of distant laughter and music playing flooded your ears, giving you a rush of adrenaline as the alcohol you had been drinking took its effect. "It's surprisingly kind of fun," you admitted, "I don't mind it so far."

As Sarah began to respond to you, she was suddenly cut off as she was spun into the air by a figure behind her. Your eyes widened as you watched the boy kiss her before gently setting her back down onto the sand.

A look of amusement draped across your face as you smirked at her, your eyes flickering between the two of them. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend, Sarah!" Sadie joked, teasing her lightheartedly. "It's nice to meet you, I'm Sadie."

Topper grinned, extending a hand to Sadie. "Nice to meet you too, Sadie."

"I'm y/n," you spoke up after Sadie finished. Topper's eyes snapped over to you as he greeted you back with a genuine smile.

"It's nice to meet you guys. I never get to meet many of Sarah's friends; sometimes I wonder if they think I'm not real or something." He chuckled, taking a swig of his Michelob Ultra.

"Well, now we know you're not just a myth," you said with a grin. "It's nice to finally meet you, Topper."

Sarah giggled in response to your joke, which also earned a head shake from Topper. "I like to leave people guessing," Sarah shrugged, her eyes sparkling mischievously.

Topper laughed, wrapping an arm around Sarah's shoulders and pulling her close. "Keeps things interesting, right?"

You smiled at their playful banter, feeling the warmth of their affection for each other. "Definitely keeps things interesting."

Sadie leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "So, how did you two meet?"

"She's actually my best friend's sister, so we sort of just met because of him," Topper admitted with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "I didn't know you had a brother, Sarah?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued as you took another sip of your drink, the cold liquid sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Sarah sighed, her gaze flickering over to Topper with a mixture of annoyance and affection. "Unfortunately, I do. He's my older brother, Rafe."

You tilted your head, observing Sarah's words carefully. There was a hint of something in her tone—disdain, maybe even a touch of resentment—but you didn't want to probe further. Whatever the dynamic between Sarah and Rafe, it seemed like a topic best left untouched for now. You nodded in response, deciding to steer the conversation in a lighter direction.

"Is he hot?" Sadie spoke up, her curiosity piqued as she glanced between you and Sarah.

Sarah's eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden question. She shot Sadie a look of mock indignation before bursting into laughter. "Seriously, Sadie? That's your first question?"

Sadie shrugged, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Hey, I'm just trying to get the full picture here."

Sarah rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in her expression that belied her exasperation. "He's very cocky if that answers your question," she said, her tone tinged with amusement.

Sadie grinned, clearly enjoying the playful banter. "Well, I can work with cocky. Confidence is sexy, after all."

You laughed, shaking your head at Sadie's unabashed flirtation. "You're incorrigible, Sadie."

She shrugged, flashing you a playful wink. "Just keeping things interesting."

"Wait," Sadie paused, her hand reaching out to gently halt you and Sarah, her eyes alight with curiosity. You and Sarah turned to face her, the flames of the bonfire casting dancing shadows on the sand around you.

"Does that mean he's here, too? You know, since his best friend is here and all," Sadie asked, her gaze flickering towards Topper, who was lounging nearby, a relaxed grin playing on his lips as he watched the conversation unfold.

"Yeah, he's here, somewhere," Topper replied with a casual shrug, taking another sip of his drink, the condensation leaving tiny droplets on the bottle's surface.

The mention of Rafe's presence sent a ripple of tension through the group, a silent acknowledgment of the complicated dynamics at play. You exchanged a meaningful glance with Sarah, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension flickering in your eyes, the crackling of the fire providing a soothing backdrop to the unfolding drama.

"There's no way you're trying to make a move on my brother right now," Sarah joked, a playful scoff escaping her lips as she glanced at Sadie, her eyes dancing with amusement.

Sadie shrugged, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she took a gulp of her drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass. "Well, you've intrigued me, so now I wanna see what he looks like."

"I mean, I can go find him if you want," Topper suggested, joining in on the banter with a playful grin.

"Top, no I—" Sarah began, but Sadie cut her off, her excitement palpable as she interjected, "Please!"

Topper chuckled at Sadie's enthusiasm, pushing himself up from his lounging position with a dramatic sigh. "Alright, alright. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

As Topper wandered off into the crowd in search of Rafe, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building in the air. What would Rafe be like in person, away from how Sarah spoke of him? It was a question that lingered on the edge of your mind, waiting to be answered.

As you waited for Topper to return, the crackling of the bonfire seemed to grow louder, the flames casting flickering shadows on the sand. The night was alive with possibility, and you couldn't help but wonder what other surprises it had in store.

"I can't believe this is happening," Sarah groaned, her voice tinged with resignation as she rubbed her temples, a sense of dread creeping over her at the situation that was waiting to unfold.

"Oh, come on, Sarah, we were gonna meet him sooner or later!" Sadie nudged at her, a playful glint in her eyes as she teased her friend.

"I was hoping to keep him as far away from my friends as possible, actually," Sarah admitted with a rueful smile, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she resigned herself to the inevitable encounter.

Surprisingly, as the anticipation grew, you couldn't help but feel nervous yourself. Excitement fluttered in your stomach like a flurry of butterflies as you waited to see the mystery that was Rafe Cameron, Sarah's brother. You wondered if he was the typical older brother type—overly cocky and thinking he was better than his siblings, maybe even a little overbearing. You weren't entirely sure what to expect or even what he might look like, and all you could do was wait.

The crackling of the bonfire seemed to grow louder, the flames casting dancing shadows on the sand as the night stretched on. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, the anticipation building with every heartbeat.

Finally, you spotted Topper making his way back through the crowd, a familiar figure trailing behind him. Your heart skipped a beat as Rafe came into view, his confident stride and piercing blue eyes immediately capturing your attention. He was taller than you had imagined, his presence commanding and magnetic as he approached.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, Rafe was standing before you, a cocky grin playing on his lips as he looked you over. "I heard there was a party going on over here," he said, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine.

You felt a rush of adrenaline as Rafe's gaze locked onto yours, his presence filling the space between you with an undeniable intensity. Despite the nervous flutter in your stomach, you couldn't help but be captivated by his confidence and charm.

"There's definitely a party," Sadie chimed in, a mischievous smirk plastered on her face as she stepped forward, extending her hand towards Rafe. "I'm Sadie, by the way."

Rafe's gaze shifted to Sadie, his cocky grin widening as he took her hand, giving it a firm shake. "Rafe," he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with charm. "Nice to meet you, Sadie."

You could tell Sadie was entirely encapsulated by him as she stared up at Rafe like he was a Renaissance painting of some sort. Her eyes sparkled with admiration, and you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself at her unabashed gawking, which you assumed didn't go unnoticed by Rafe.

As you stood in the circle with the group, quietly observing the interaction, you took a small sip of your drink, trying to mask your amusement. Much to your dismay, Rafe's eyes ventured away from Sadie and landed on you, making you the center of attention in the moment.

"And you are?" Rafe's voice was smooth and confident as he directed his attention towards you, his piercing gaze locking onto yours.

You silently gulped at his question, feeling a rush of nerves coursing through you as you took in a deep breath before responding, "I'm y/n. One of Sarah's friends."

As you spoke, you tried to maintain a calm and composed demeanor, but you couldn't shake the feeling of being under Rafe's intense scrutiny. It was as if he could see right through you, peeling back the layers to uncover the truth beneath. Despite your best efforts to remain unaffected, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull of his presence, drawing you in with every passing moment.

He nodded, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he subtly looked you up and down, a gesture that didn't escape your notice. Heat rushed to your cheeks, leaving you feeling flustered, though you couldn't tell if it was the liquor or the way Rafe was eyeing you that caused it.

"I haven't met any of Sarah's friends, seeing how she's always stuck up Topper's ass," he joked dryly before taking a swig of his beer, his smirk lingering on his lips.

Sarah scoffed and rolled her eyes at him, clearly not amused by his comment. "I don't introduce you to them because you'd probably try to sleep with them," she retorted, her tone laced with sarcasm and exasperation.

You couldn't help but chuckle nervously at the siblings' bickering, feeling a mix of amusement and discomfort as you found yourself caught in the middle of their dynamic. The tension between them was palpable, but the only thing you felt you could do to ease your own nerves was to continue taking sips of your drink and observe the conversation unfolding.

Luckily for you, Sadie spoke up again, her voice breaking through the awkward tension like a ray of sunshine. "How old are you, Rafe?" she asked, her curiosity evident in her tone.

"I'm 19," Rafe replied, turning his attention back to Sadie with a casual shrug.

"So you're in college?" Sadie pressed on, her curiosity piqued.

Rafe shrugged nonchalantly, a hint of indifference in his demeanor. "Eh, not yet. Didn't feel like going from 12 years of school straight to more school," he explained, his tone casual as he took another sip of his beer.

"Yeah, I get it, I wouldn't want to either," Sadie replied, her tone casual as she shrugged, but you couldn't help but give her a puzzled look. Sadie was an honors student, just like you. Her entire life seemed dedicated to keeping good grades and maintaining perfect attendance at school, and all she ever talked about was wanting to get into Yale. You could see right through her act, realizing she was only dumbing herself down to appear more interesting to Rafe, which made you cringe.

"Oh, so you're taking a gap year?" Rafe asked, his tone curious as he looked at Sadie.

You chuckled in response, shaking your head as you looked down at your drink, feeling a mix of amusement and discomfort at the situation. "Yeah, I'm sure Yale will accept that," you mumbled under your breath, unable to hide your skepticism.

Rafe's eyes shot over at you, confusion evident on his face at your remark. "Well… I don't know what I'm doing yet, okay?" Sadie replied defensively, shooting you a glare with wide eyes, silently pleading with you not to embarrass her in front of Rafe.

"I take it that you're one of those honors students," Rafe implied, his gaze shifting between you and Sadie as he sipped his beer, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Sadie laughed nervously, swaying slightly as she tried to keep her composure. "Yeah, but it's not a big deal. It's not like I make it my whole personality," she replied, her words slightly slurred from the alcohol.

"Sadie, all you talk about is wanting to get into Yale," you interjected, unable to hold back your frustration any longer, feeling annoyed at her facade and wanting nothing more than to call her bluff.

Sadie's eyes widened in alarm as she shot you a pleading look, silently urging you to drop the subject. But it was too late—the truth was out in the open, hanging in the air like a heavy cloud.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting between you and Sadie with renewed interest. "Yale, huh? That's ambitious," he remarked, his tone neutral as he took another sip of his beer.

Sadie laughed nervously again, her movements slightly jerky as she rubbed her arms uncomfortably, nodding at Rafe. "Yeah, it's just something my parents have always wanted for me, I guess," she admitted, her gaze falling to the floor as she shifted uneasily under Rafe's neutral demeanor.

Rafe's gaze lingered on Sadie for a moment before turning to you, his expression unreadable. "What about you? What do you plan on doing?" he asked, his tone casual but his eyes searching. You blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the sudden question. Glancing around to make sure he was actually speaking to you, you felt a wave of shock wash over you.

"Uh, well..." you stammered, feeling the weight of Rafe's gaze bearing down on you. "I'm going to Princeton in the fall." As the words left your lips, you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at the realization that you had finally vocalized your plans for the future. It was a decision that had taken months of careful consideration and countless hours of deliberation, but now that it was out in the open, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you.

Rafe's eyebrows shot up in surprise, a flicker of intrigue dancing in his eyes as he regarded you with renewed interest. "Princeton, huh?" he remarked, his tone neutral but his expression curious.

You nodded, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you met Rafe's gaze head-on. "Yeah, it's been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember," you admitted, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of finally pursuing your goals.

Rafe nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the group. "Well, congratulations," he said, his tone genuine as he raised his beer in a silent toast. "Here's to chasing your dreams."

You watched intently as Rafe raised his beer to toast you, a hint of curiosity flickering in your eyes as you observed his casual demeanor. There was something intriguing about him, a magnetic charm that drew you in despite your reservations. You couldn't help but wonder if he was putting on a show or if he was always like that—confident, carefree, and unapologetically himself.

As Rafe tilted his head back to chug the remnants of his beer, you found yourself studying him intently, trying to decipher the enigma that was Rafe Cameron. His easygoing mannerisms and effortless charm seemed to mask a complexity that you couldn't quite put your finger on, leaving you feeling both intrigued and apprehensive in equal measure.

Once he was done chugging his beer, Rafe nonchalantly tossed the empty bottle across the sand into a nearby trash can before sparking up a conversation with Topper. You couldn't help but admire his ease and confidence, wondering if you would ever be able to exude that same level of self-assurance.

Beside you, you could feel Sadie's embarrassment radiating off her in waves, and you couldn't help but feel partially guilty and at fault for it. But deep down, you knew that you couldn't stand when people dumbed themselves down for attention, even if it meant putting your friendship on the line. Sure, Sadie was your best friend, but that gave you all the more reason to keep her in check and hold her accountable for her actions.

As you stood there with your drink in hand, you found yourself once again trying to figure Rafe out. His presence seemed to fill the space around him, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You couldn't help but admire the way the firelight danced across his tanned skin, accentuating the sharp angles of his jawline and the intensity of his sparkling blue eyes. It was as if he had a magnetic pull, leaving you feeling captivated and entranced in his presence.

The sound of his low-pitched voice sent shivers down your spine, each word resonating deep within you as though you could listen to him talk for hours on end. There was an air of mystery surrounding him, a sense of danger that only served to heighten your fascination with him. He was somewhat intimidating, but that only made him all the more attractive to you.

Despite the unease you felt at being drawn to someone like Rafe, you couldn't deny the butterflies that fluttered in the pit of your stomach whenever he was near. There was something about him that ignited a fire within you, a desire to know more, to experience more of him in any way you could.

Just as you began to mull over your thoughts, an idea sparked in your mind like a sudden burst of fireworks, causing you to perk up with newfound enthusiasm. "Hey, Sarah, why don't we make plans soon? We never get to see each other outside of school," you suggested, a glimmer of excitement twinkling in your eyes.

Sarah's face lit up at your proposal, her expression mirroring your own excitement. "Yeah, sure! That sounds like a great idea," she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "Why don't you come over tomorrow, and we can go swim at my place?"

Your heart raced with anticipation as you considered her offer. It was the perfect opportunity to spend quality time together and perhaps even devise a plan to encounter Rafe again. "That sounds amazing!" you replied eagerly, a devious smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Sarah beamed in response, her excitement palpable as she nodded enthusiastically. "Great! How about around 5? That should give us plenty of time to have some fun," she suggested, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

You nodded eagerly, unable to contain your excitement at the prospect of what tomorrow might bring. "Sounds perfect. I'll be there," you exclaimed, already counting down the minutes until your rendezvous with Sarah.

As the conversation around you continued its lively cadence, you found your gaze drawn back to Rafe like a moth to a flame, his presence casting a magnetic allure that was impossible to ignore. Amidst the laughter and chatter, your mind wandered to the possibilities that lay ahead now that you were growing closer to Sarah. Each glance in Rafe's direction ignited a spark of anticipation within you, like the gentle flutter of a butterfly's wings in the pit of your stomach.

Lost in reverie, you allowed yourself to drift into a realm of daydreams, where the boundaries of reality blurred and the realm of possibility expanded infinitely. In this ethereal landscape, you envisioned a tapestry of adventures unfolding before you, each more enchanting than the last. The mere thought of what could transpire filled you with a sense of exhilaration, like the rush of wind through autumn leaves or the soft whisper of waves lapping against the shore.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

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