#regal T Shirts

[boldeteech]

"Regal Glow - Christmas Peacock"- Exclusive T-Shirt for Boys, Girls, Men & Women Racerback Tank Top

[camscendants]

Me waiting for the “new shirts we’re all getting” my manager told me about to come in so I can finally have a legit shirt instead of the uncomfortably tight t shirt they gave me:

[terminator-product-art]

[luxurychristmaspudding]

summary: after a night out dancing and a lift home turns into something more, you learn something about your dad's buddy. joel miller fucks.

pairing: young!joel miller x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. it's smut, y'all. everything you've come to expect. respectable age gap (10 years ish), tiny bit of spanking, one (1) gentle pussy slap, lil bit of daddy kink, joel miller eats it from the back (oral (f&m)), edging, unprotected piv (do better), creampie, feelings, joel miller's whore mouth.

reader has hair and wears dresses, no other descriptions or name.

wc: 7.2k

an: for @schnarfer. my favourite hot priest, i worship in your church <3

Joel went out looking for trouble that night.

Hair curling at the nape of his neck, a beer sweltering in his hand as beads of sweat carved their way down the strong line of his back. T-shirt sticking to his skin, tension wound tight in his shoulders, thick in every muscle, every strand of sinew after work. 

Revelling in the feeling of how the weight of the day lifted the more he drank, the more he relaxed, feeling his smile get wider the more he loosened up in the crowded bar. Freshly thirty five, another year in hand. Tommy buying the shots, introducing him to every new face that walked into the steaming, heavy swell of wood and linoleum, every stranger who leant against the tacky bar, every pretty girl who flicked their hair and batted their eyelashes. 

He’s laughing - held flung back, chest heaving - harder than he has in a long time. Dancing in a way so unlike how he dances with Sarah in the kitchen, welcoming the heavy, slow grind of hips against his own, breathless against a sweet smelling neck. It’s hot and it’s loud on this Friday night in Austin, and he loves it.

Not quite basking in the attention of being the birthday boy, but shouldering the stream of conversation that Tommy directs his way nonetheless. Cheeks flushed pink as he’s hauled up on to the bar top, clumsy, unsure where to look as the bartender encourages him to stand in full view of the crowd. The whole bar, oscillating with colour and light and sound, roaring into a raucous chorus of happy birthday, beckoned by the chime of the bell by the till.

The spectacle of it all makes him look to the ceiling before dropping his chin to his chest, makes him laugh again, watching these people, many strangers, cheer and sing for him. 

He holds his beer to his chest through the first part of the song, cheeks tight with a smile. His eyes swivel to the corner of the dancefloor on the downturn of Joel… catching the flicker and flare of a pair he recognises, scanning your face on the refrain - happy birthday - heart dropping confusingly low in his chest, the world taking a sticky beat as his blood halts and begins to rush again - to you.

He’s not seen you here before. Much more used to seeing you coming and going from your father’s house - bright smile, wicked eyes. Moved back home after spending some time out west when you’d finished your Masters program, always happy to chat for a little longer if you were where he was. Interesting and interested - he’s been regaled by tales of you from your father - the man who’s been overseeing safety on Joel’s latest job site - and listened to more directly from you, lip caught between his teeth as he bit back amusement at the things you didn’t want your dad to know.

Your father is a good man. Kind, supportive. So proud of you in the way he talks that Joel’s taking blueprints for raising Sarah. And you - you. Joel tries to think of you in ways he thinks of other colleagues or acquaintances. Smart, creative, perceptive. Patient, generous with your time and energy when entertaining neighbours at cookouts. Any other thoughts creep in in the dead of night, and he’s quick to try and forget them by morning.

But this - you here, now - is entirely different. It could be the buzz of the tequila in his system, could be the hot blood in his veins, could be the giddy little flash of that smile you shoot him as you clap and whoop with the rest of the crowd, but his feet are itching to find you once he half hops, half clambers down off the bar, accepting claps on the back and other sentiments as he searches for you again.

But you’re gone.

Disappeared, into thin air. Like he imagined you in the first place.

He cranes his neck a little, twisting his head from side to side as if trying to loosen another tight muscle, trying to tamp down the damp disappointment he feels. 

Trying to remember how he tries to forget.

‘Happy birthday, cowboy,’ the words are breathless, squeezed through a smile.

The grin that creeps across his face is slow and wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he turns to face you.

‘Evenin’, darlin’,’ is his reply. Deep, coy, any idea of hiding his thoughts gone, buried. It’s his birthday, and you’re here. You and your sparkling eyes.

‘You gonna let me buy you a drink, or have you got a queue of ladies lining up to do that already?’

He laughs, and you feel the sound glimmer down your body, lighting every synapse, every receptor. You track his gaze as it drifts down your body and back up, spine straightening at his appraisal. 

Delicious thighs beneath the hem of your skirt, soft swell of your breasts above your neckline. 

‘Your daddy know you’re here?’ He asks, delighting in the way you scoff. 

‘My daddy knows I’m out tonight,’ you say, licking your teeth, eyes dropping to his mouth, ‘And he don’t care much about it. I’m a big girl, Joel. I can handle myself.’

They’re big words for someone around ten years his junior, but he doesn’t doubt it. He’s heard your bartending stories, about your debates with fratboys. Something about your confidence, your self-assuredness licks a tongue of flame up his back. He bites his cheek.

‘Best buy me that drink, then.’

He went looking for trouble that night. 

And Jesus, he found it. 

Found it on the dancefloor, your soft body grinding against his. The heat and the sweat, how you moved your hips with his, how you’d giggled when he’d turned you around, pulling you flush against him. Your hands grasping for him, clutching at his thigh as you pressed firmly against the bulge growing at your backside, head tipped back, bliss etched across your face as you felt each other.

Found it in his truck when he dragged you outside under the pretence of giving you a lift home, found it when he rucked your skirt up on the backseat, when he pulled the top of your dress down. Inches of skin he had banished fantasies about to the back of his mind, revealed to him in the dim light of the parking lot. The sweat gleaming on your sternum, shining on your clavicles, your neck. He wishes, now, that he had taken more time to tell you how beautiful you looked, how smart you are, how funny, that first time, but the two of you had been too caught up in seeing, feeling, as much as possible. 

His knees had protested as he crammed himself onto the floor, wanting to be between those thighs, wanting to taste you. Pressing, gliding his fingers against your pussy over your underwear, watching you keen and beg, hands twisting tight in the material of your dress, then his shirt collar, then his hair. 

And that first swipe of his tongue when he’d pulled your underwear to the side, that first, most base knowledge of you. The sweet and sour, your smell, the way you became pliant, willing to have your thighs pushed up towards your chest. Quickly obsessed with the way you looked down at him, jaw slack, pupils blown, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Quickly obsessed with the way your pussy looked, puffy, needy, the way it leaked and clenched before him as he leant back to spit on it, how your head hit the headrest with a soft thump.

Too obsessed, everything about that night feeling too good as he lowered you down onto him, as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder to stop himself from coming too early, watching you bounce on his cock, listening to the way you moaned and panted and whimpered his name. The wet sounds of you fucking, the way he held you still, big hands on your waist as he bucked up into you. The way your noises, your breathing stuttered as he thrusted harder, as he dropped you lower. The fogged windows, low bass from the bar, how you clenched and fluttered around him as he wrung two orgasms from your pretty body before spilling himself inside you.

He’s been finding trouble ever since.

Finding reasons to help you grab drinks, bring out nibbles at your dad’s Halloween party. Finding excuses to have you backed up against the tool bench in the garage instead, his hips between yours, soft lips against chapped or your hand tight against your mouth to make sure nobody would find you. Heading back out into the garden with his cock still swollen, tucked into his black slacks, feeling your slick around its base still, your fake blood smeared on his dog collar, watching as you pressed your thighs together in your seat, knowing you could still feel him trickling out of you. He could hear your teasing through the glint in your eye - some priest you are, father.

Driving you home from the bar after a night of dancing around each other, after glances were snuck whenever they could be - over his brother’s shoulder, between your friends’ laughter. The crackle of electricity in the truck cab as the warm air threaded itself between you, your sparkling eyes, devious little laugh. 

Walking you to your door, keeping you safe, don't wanna disappoint your old man. 

Jamming his foot between the wood and the frame to come in when you told him he wasn’t home. 

The mornings when Sarah’s waking up, still sugar-high after a sleepover, in a house the other side of town. The mornings he’s awake first, drinking coffee at his kitchen table when you hop down the stairs in his t-shirt from the night before, sleep-stained and perfect. The mornings that start with you in his lap, with kisses pressed to temples, lips, necks, his wide palms snaking under the material, fiending warm skin, finding it, cradling it. The firm weight of your breasts in his palms, the pebbling of your nipples beneath his thumbs. The soft rock of your hips against his hardening length, his fingers reaching to pull your panties to the side, finding you soaked like that first night. How you whine and huff against his shoulder as he sinks one, two, three digits into you, as he twists them, pumps them, as he uses his thumb to toy with your clit. The wet patch you leave, darkening the grey tenting below you, the outline of him something you want to press your face against, nuzzle, mouth at until he’s begging this time. 

Mornings when he takes you apart deftly, until you hover above him, pulling his hard, leaking cock over the top of his sweatpants, savouring that delicious stretch around him, the way he thickens out at the base, the way the wiry hair there catches on your clit. When you can enjoy the way he holds you there afterwards, talking about your days ahead, nibbling at your ear as his cum slips from you along with his softening cock. 

All these moments, and they’re never enough.

Because despite how often they happen, how often he might be able to hold you, kiss you - you make Joel Miller feel like a fucking teenager. 

It’s been years since he’s woken up to the cooling evidence of a wet dream in his boxers. He’s having them nightly now in his thirties; sick and tired of waking up wet and aching and sticky, sick and tired of wishing it was you, not his hand, helping to solve the problem.

He wants you here so much more often than he does. The tip of his tongue on the evenings you call, sunlight fading through the window, orange on his sheets. He wonders, as you talk, what it would look like painted onto your skin. 

He wants Sarah to actually know how he feels about the woman who babysits her every so often, wants Tommy to understand the reason why he turns up smiling to the site every day. And he wants your father to know his daughter has found someone who’ll treat her right, who’ll hold her hand through the bad days and give her all he can to make her smile.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wonders whether you have, too. 

Whether you’d confess to your father the crush you have on the contractor, ask if he could put in a good word for you. There isn’t much between you - it would only take some careful wording, an evening where he can present the flowers he’s been dying to give you at your door.

He’s sure your father wouldn’t mind.

But this secret, the sneaking around - he can’t deny the thrill of it. Stolen touches, kisses, whispers in the moonlight. Quiet jokes between the two of you, the looks exchanged around others, the show of you putting your hand on his shoulder - can I get you anything else, Mr Miller?

You’ve only come close to being found out once. Just the once. By Tommy - who else could it have been? 

Tommy, who couldn't hide his delight when he found the underwear you’d left behind in Joel's truck one morning, wheezing with laughter as Joel stuffed your soft, cotton panties into his back pocket. His cheeks aflame, he swore under his breath that he’d kill his little brother if he ever flicked a woman’s underwear at him like that again instead of doing the right thing - kicking them under the seat and pretending he hadn’t seen anything. 

Between gasping breaths, Tommy had managed to make a good point. At least it wasn't Sarah who’d found them.

You gonna tell me who the lucky lady is, big brother?

He didn’t. Not yet.

It’s been so unbearably hot all day.

Too hot to work in the open air, and though Joel’s not grateful for the heat, he is grateful for the chance to stay at home. A chance to catch up on chores while Sarah basks in the AC at school, a chance to work his way through bills and invoices, fighting to keep his head clear of any thought of you and what you might be up to in weather like this.

He keeps his eyes carefully trained on numbers, figures, dates, unaware of the clock, unaware of the calls he’s missing. Only catches himself daydreaming when the lines start to blur.

He makes it to just past lunchtime when he hears a car pull up in the driveway. He knows the rattle of that engine, the heave of noise it makes as it turns off.

He stands from the table, blood racing in his chest.

‘God- motherfuckin’ shit,'

Joel lets the front door hang open behind him, folding his arms across his heart as you try and jam your wing mirror back in place.

‘You kiss your grandma with that mouth?’

You grin, flipping him off as you slam the door closed. The mirror sticks.

‘Yeah. Suck your dick with it, too,’

His lips quirk, watching as you stand with your hip against the front of your car, a box in one hand, the other shielding your eyes from the sun. Staring at each other, a little game you play. You watch his smirk grow, feeling the trickle of sweat down your spine.

‘There a reason why you’re here?’

You roll your eyes, like it should be obvious. And it is obvious, but -

‘Freezer’s fucked,’ you huff, and Joel raises an eyebrow. ‘Can I put them in yours?’

You hold the box up to him.

‘Popsicles?’ Joel frowns. You roll your eyes at him.

‘Please, Joel. They’re literally the only thing keeping me sane,’

He scratches at his jaw, pretending to contemplate.

‘I dunno, darlin’,’ he says, ‘The only thing? Surely that AC of yours is doin’ a fine job,'

You scoff at him, folding your own arms. 

‘That old piece a’ shit ain’t doin’ nothin’ and you know it,’

He chuckles, letting his arms drift to his sides.

‘Guess I can take care of ‘em for ya. Anythin’ else?’

You bite your lip, eyes glinting in the sun.

‘Can I come in?’ you ask. A slow, smug smile grows across Joel’s lips.

‘'N do what, exactly?’

You pout at him, fluttering your eyelashes. His cock twitches.

‘Just wanna swim in the pool. Promise I won’t do nothin’ else, Mr Miller,’

‘Nothin’ else, baby?’ He says, lowly.

You shake your head, eyes wide. Picture of false innocence.

‘Nothin’ else,'

If there are two things Joel has come to know about you in the last year, it’s that you’re a great fuck, and a bad liar.

He steps back into the open door behind him, grinning as you skip past him into the hallway. He watches, snicking the catch and lock as you make your way into the kitchen, swinging open the refrigerator door, finding a spot for your iced treats. He follows, leaning against the doorframe, watching as you stand in the cold air flowing from the appliance for a moment, your eyes closed.

He’s looking at your legs when you turn to speak to him, snapping to meet your gaze as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. That ship sailed long ago. You grin at him.

‘Whatcha been doin’?’

He exhales, stepping closer.

‘Workin’,’

You hum, meeting him beside the kitchen table, surveying the stacks of paper.

‘Not too hard?’

‘Hard to, when I'm thinkin’ ‘bout you,’

You grin, twisting to look at him.

‘You sweet on me, Miller?’

He shrugs.

‘Bout time you noticed,’

His hands find your waist as yours make their way up his chest, his shoulders, winding around his neck.

‘I had my suspicions,’ you whisper, before pressing your lips to his. He smiles into it, parting his lips to invite you in, rocking you back and forth in his arms.

‘Missed you,’ you breathe, and he hums in response.

‘Missed you too, baby,’

You’re salty sweet; warm scent of your skin, your sun lotion, your perfume, your sweat. When he’s satisfied, done licking lazily into your mouth, exploring the taste of your lips, he moves to your neck. Laving kisses there, biting, sucking, nibbling as you sigh against him. He bites harder, earning a particularly needy whimper, hands moving to knead the flesh of your ass through your dress.

‘Joel,’ you murmur, ‘You’ll leave a mark,’

He hums, trailing kisses up your neck to the space behind your ear, along your jaw, before finally meeting your lips again.

‘Don’t care.’

He’s grasping your hips to turn you so you’re pressed against the table, your back to his firm chest. You can’t help the gasp, the giggle that floats from you as he tugs you closer, as you feel the heft of him pressed into the small of your back. You shift your hips, brushing against him, slow and purposeful.

Joel groans - a long, drawn out, hungry sound. He pulls your hips tighter to him, moving against you just the same before his hands slide up to your breasts, holding the weight of each in his palms, squeezing and rolling a nipple between his thumb and finger. You tip your head back against his shoulder, and he hums approvingly as you begin to grind against him in earnest. He pauses only for a moment to pull your straps from your shoulders and work your dress down to expose your tits, and then he’s on you again. Teasing and stroking and pinching, your hand gripping his forearms as you huff and whimper, caged between him and the table. You moan his name, bleeding every once of want you feel into it, hoping he can hear just by the sound of your voice how wet you are for him.  

‘Dreamt about ya last night,’ he rasps in your ear, and you flash him a dazzling, breathless smile.

‘Oh yeah? ‘N what’d ya dream about, cowboy?’

You whine as he crowds you, leaning down to suck another bruise into the junction between your neck and shoulders, whiskers bristling against your skin, hands hot and heavy everywhere they can find purchase.

‘Much rather show you,’ he rumbles.

You nip your bottom lip between your teeth, shooting him a wicked look over your shoulder. His eyes crinkle, and as he spins you to face him again, he moves to pinch your jaw, just rough enough to curb your inevitable wise ass response. He watches as your eyes glaze a little, soft slump of your shoulders as he gives your head a little shake. His cock is achingly hard.

‘Upstairs. Now,’

As soon as he backs away from you, you’re sprinting towards the stairs with a shriek. Joel is close behind, and you can feel the heat of him, enough to set your heart galloping in your chest. Something primal urging space between you, something base wishing there was none.

You clatter through his bedroom door, whirling to face him - bare chest heaving, lips curled. He pauses in the doorway - so tall and broad, so imposing - shoulders straining against his t-shirt, curls frayed from your hands. He steps in, swings the door shut behind him, and then he’s closing the space easily - one, two, three - gathering you in his arms until you’re on tiptoes, pawing at the flesh of your ass through your sundress. Obsessed with it. You on him, him on you.

He needs this like air.

His breath is hot against your lips, mouth needy and wet as you open yourself to him. He licks into your mouth, kissing you like it’s something you need to take from him, like there’s something you need to understand through the action alone. He fiddles with the flimsy material of your half-removed sundress, pulling at it a little.

‘Take this off,’ he growls, nipping at your lips. 

You step back from him as you push it past your hips, the fabric pooling to the floor in seconds, leaving you in your panties. He bites his lip, murmuring a fuck before stripping himself of his t-shirt. Glorious tan chest, slightly lighter than his strong arms, shoulders seeming even broader, smattering of hair that leads down past his navel, his smooth belly, the constellations of freckles that join beneath your fingertips.

You busy your fingers with his belt as he cups your face once more, pressing kisses to your hairline, your forehead, your cheekbones. You’re giggling, trying to see what you’re doing through the blur of his face and hands, but then his palms are moving lower, groping at your breasts again, swiping his thumbs against your taught nipples, groaning against your mouth as you dip your hand past his unfastened belt and fly, into his boxers to cup his silken skin.

‘How’d that dream go again?’

Joel smiles against your mouth, giving a harsh twist to each peaked bud before beginning to push his jeans further down.

‘Kneel,’ he commands.

You drop to your knees in one swift motion, biting your lip at him as he whips his belt from its loops and throws it to the corner of the room. Your eager fingers curl under the waistband of his jeans, inching them and his underwear down. 

‘Don’t know how you’re wearing jeans in this weather -’

‘Cos I knew you’d be here some point to take ‘em off me,’

You smirk, blinking up at him through your eyelashes.

‘Who, me? I don’t know what kind of girl you take me for, daddy, but…’ You’re chewing your cheek to try and temper your look of amusement, but Joel gives in immediately. Goofy smile, all teeth, eyes crinkling at the edges. He cups your jaw as you wrap your hand around his base, pulling him out of his underwear, soft black material barely holding him in. 

His body moves with the first pump of your tight fist, the swirl of your thumb when you reach the head, spreading the pearl of precum beading there as he hisses. Thick and pulsing in your hand, velvety smooth, you trace its lines, veins with a delicate finger, press a kiss to his tip. Joel’s nostrils flare.

‘So pretty,’ you murmur, and that smirk tugs at his lips again.

‘I say you could touch it?’

You roll your eyes, quirking your head at him.

‘Didn’t think you had to,’ you shrug, ‘Kinda comes with the territory of tellin’ me to get on my knees -’

He scoffs.

‘Alright, smart ass,’ tangling his fingers in your hair, ‘Make me proud.’

You smile broadly, before inching closer, moving your mouth with your hand to chase down his length. You always know how to shut him up, and right now, the sight, the sound, the feel of you taking him all on the first try makes him fucking dizzy.

Hot and wet, the ridges of the roof of your mouth like satin around his cock, jumping as it hits the back of your throat and further, twitching again as you hum around him, opening your eyes - doe-like, watering already, the pinch in your brows telling him what you need to hear.

‘Good girl,’ he groans, ‘Good fucking girl,’

It’s the encouragement you need, moaning again as you pull back to the tip, taking him back in again as you bring one hand up to scratch at his thigh, the other moving from his length to his balls, cupping them softly, squeezing, rolling, and he’s on fucking fire. If there was ever a chance he was going to hell before, he’s sure the way you make him feel will send him there regardless.

You’re taking it slow, steady, making him feel every inch of your mouth as you moan and breathe, so intense that he can feel his tip heating - a kind of overstimulation - as he lets little moans slip more freely from his lips. Sighs and mutterings, breathless praise, wrecked groans as you start to move faster, jaw falling open. A steady stream of salt on your tongue, the taste making you keen for him, press your nose to the skin above his cock, making you forget anything outside the taste of him in your mouth. The hand on his thigh moving to work his length as you pay special attention to his head, your hips bucking unconsciously. His stomach jumps, lungs heaving as he massages your crown, as you kitten lick and swirl your tongue down the vein on the underside, rewarded with a sharp, wanton gasp as you pull back to slap him against your tongue. 

You watch as his pink tip flushes a darker shade, as it dribbles even more, feeling him jerk in your hand. Spellbound, slack-jawed at the way you take him, at the way you want him, like the taste and the pressure is never enough. How you always need more, more, more, and he’s getting closer, closer, closer -

He pulls you off with a deep, guttural groan - missing your mouth the minute it’s gone, resisting the temptation to shove himself back past your lips and come down your throat. 

You gaze up at him, pouting, straining against the hand in your hair. 

‘What? Didn’t I make you proud, cowboy?’

He tightens his grip, tips your head further to meet his gaze.

‘Bed,’ he commands, relinquishing his hold, ridding himself of his remaining clothes as you do yours, clambering up onto his bed, settling yourself on your knees again, wiggling side to side, your wide eyes rapt, wired. Chin wet, chest heaving, fingers twitching in your lap, he makes his decision almost instantly. Steps forwards, fingers brushing against the inside of your knee. Your legs part automatically, and he follows the contour of soft skin in the inside of your thighs right to the very top, no grace in the way he swipes his fingers through your folds, collecting the wetness there. And there’s so much of it, so much you feel proud of the way his eyes darken when he feels it.

‘What’s this, baby?’ He coos, repeating the motion as you whimper, as your shoulders hunch and your chin tips down. He lifts it with a finger and thumb, before cupping your face. You nuzzle into the touch, eyes hungry. ‘Oh, pretty girl,’ he murmurs, smiling again, ‘This happen while you were down on your knees sucking daddy’s cock?’

You snort softly, forehead knocking against his as he crowds closer.

‘Fucker-’ you start, but it’s cut off by your gasp as he easily slips in two thick fingers. He tuts.

‘Try again,’

‘Yes,’ you whisper, ‘Fuck yes, it did,’

He kisses your nose, pumping the digits slowly.

‘Gonna have to do something about that then, aren’t we?’

‘Please,’ you breathe, and he removes his fingers, slipping them into his mouth with another groan, tasting you - fuck. 

‘Hands and knees, baby,’ he says roughly, and you obey.

He pushes you forward so your chest is pressed into the sheets, nipples catching on the fabric, sweat soaking, cooling against the bed. Your breath catches in your throat - good girl, like this - and he’s pulling your hips up towards him, gripping the flesh at the backs of your thighs to spread you. Your knees slide, pliant with the need that scorches through you, and you press your cheek into the duvet, trying to angle your head so you can watch him watching you. 

And fuck, is he watching you. Eyes blown, lips bitten, a depraved intensity settling in the way his jaw flexes. You bunch your hands into fists on the cotton, shuddering as his palms run over your curves - hips, waist, hips, ass, thighs - before they stop, parting you for him again. You can’t help the way you present yourself to him, the way your hips tilt when air meets your bare cunt.

‘Atta girl,’ he mumbles, ‘Look at all that. You makin’ a mess f’me, baby? This pretty little pussy achin’ for what I wanna give her?’

You muffle your response, so fucking desperate, against his sheets, clutching the material tighter. He swipes both his thumbs through your folds, tracing the seam of your cunt, spreading the slick there to shine against your skin, teasing one digit at the entrance of your hole, the other inching its way - agonisingly - towards your clit. You throb, and he watches a bead of slick dribble down your folds, grinding himself against the bed as his cock jumps.

‘Is she, baby?’

You gasp, turning your head to him again. His eyes meet yours, dark, burning.

‘Yes,’ you half-moan, half-sob.

He hums in response, before turning back to your spread cunt. The thumb making its way towards your clit disappears, and you scrunch your brows together in disapproval, mouth working around a strangled please- before the sensation is replaced by his warm breath, then his firm tongue as he licks you from your clit to your hole. 

The cry that forces its way past your lips is strangled, choked, stuck in your throat as you clench around nothing at the contact.

‘Oh, fuck -’

And he chuckles against you, at the way your legs almost give out, wrapping his strong arms around your thighs in an effort to hold you upright. You squeeze your eyes closed as he licks further - Joel, fuck - seeking your clit again, pulling it between his lips, dragging his face against you, like he needs it, like he can’t be apart from you.

He sucks a little harsher, and at the very same time, you feel the tip of his nose edge against your cunt. You moan, a fractured sound, and he pulls you towards him again, pressing the curve of it further inside, moving his tongue in circles. You’re seeing fucking stars.

Breath shuddering out of you in high pitched gasps, toes curling against the pressure that builds so quickly already in your gut, unable to move, to find any relief as he mouths at you - ravenous, cramming his face, his fucking nose, as far into you as he can, slurping and sucking, letting his teeth graze you gently when you try to protest - too much, close Joel, ‘m close, fuck -

He pulls back just as suddenly as he came near, swatting your ass quickly, once, twice, before leaning back in. You barely have time to register the sting, how it flares goosebumps up your back, what it means, drunk on the feel of his mouth on you. He begins the same onslaught, sucking, licking, groaning at your taste before the knot tightens again.

‘Yes, please, Joel, please -’

But he’s gone again, that same firm hand landing on your backside as he pushes himself up, loosening his arms from their vice grip on your thighs. 

‘Not yet,’ he rasps, ‘Not yet, gonna come on my cock, yeah? Get it nice and wet, show me how much you like it?’

You rock your forehead against his mattress, waves of pleasure rolling through you, cunt fluttering, still so exposed to him. You take too long to answer, moaning loudly as he taps his palm against your soaked folds. You jolt, hips moving instinctively, finding nothing. You shudder a breath.

‘Yes, wanna come on your cock, I need it daddy. Need you inside me, need you to fuck me, need to come, Joel, please -’

He pulls you by the hips to the edge of the bed again, one palm kneading the flesh there, the other sliding three fingers through your arousal, bringing the wetness to his cock, slicking himself up. You raise yourself up on your elbows, looking back at him, and Joel's heart almost gives out. That perfect little pout, the sweat dripping down your forehead, the bead of it that travels down the valley of your spine, shining against your skin. Every inch of you so perfect, glossy in the heat, his. The patch he loves so much at the bottom of your back, just before the swell of your ass, even better, impossibly, from this angle. 

He holds you still with the grip on your hip as he nudges the tip of his cock against your entrance, and your breath stills in your lungs. That first press, the pressure, the beginning of the stretch, the way you contract around the promise of it, waiting, waiting -

Waiting.

Joel smiles, though you can’t see it. His body pulled taught, barely resisting the urge to push himself further into you. 

‘Go on, pretty girl,’ he says, ‘Wanna see you fuck yourself on it. Show me how bad you need it,’

You hear his breath catch the moment you begin to slide down, and then the room is silent, save for the buzzing of his fans and the sticky sound of you pulling him inside. When you reach his base, nestling against the hair there, you both let out an honest, drawn out groan of relief. You’re so full of him, the stretch welcome, pressing against a sweet spot deep inside you, just enough to leave you breathless. You can feel him pulse in time with your heartbeat, feel yourself grow wetter, begin to drip down your thighs as you breathe heavily, as his grip grows firmer, as his fingers slide to the crease between your thighs and your stomach.

‘Move, baby,’ he pleads, sounding just as wrecked as you feel.

So you do. Slow, methodical, so you can feel all of him. Every inch, every vein that makes you clench around him, that makes him groan low in his throat. You know he wants it faster, that this time he wants more, but you’re too busy indulging yourself, focused on the drag of him against your walls, showing him how he takes care of you, making sure he watches how he fills you, how well you take him. 

When the pressure begins to grow, when he coos at you a little more, you move with more force, fucking yourself back, your noises coming louder, higher pitched, while his grow lower, as he babbles to you more and more. 

‘Fuck, look at you, baby. Look at you. Take me so good, take me so deep. Perfect pussy, made f’me, ain’t she? So pretty baby, so pretty the way you stretch, feel so good, so good, darlin’, fuck -’

He’s almost too caught up in the way your ass recoils against his thighs, the way your pussy moulds itself to him, that he misses the tell tale signs of you about to come. The way you gasp, the way you tighten and throb, the way you fist the sheets around you, the way your body begins to lock up -

‘No. Not yet,’ he grits out, pulling his hips back, pulse pounding in his ears as he watches your body try to chase his before he grips you again, turning you onto your back.

You’re sobbing around your plea - please Joel, been so good, just wanna come around you, please baby - but he’s steadfast.

He wants to see your face when you let go. Wants to watch your eyes roll, wants to watch you arch, wants to see the way your stomach lurches -

You scrabble for him, slurring your words, so fucked out - please Joel please, please baby, god, I just need - as he arranges your legs so your knees are bent, so your pretty little pussy is exposed completely to him - need you, please fuck me - before he swipes his thumb against your clit again, just to hear your broken whine, the hiccuped sigh, the way your body twitches, so close.

He pauses, holds your thighs wide open before him, towering above you. You reach to skate a hand up his tan belly, fingers scraping through the hair there, the muscled lines leading down to his cock, enjoying the thrum of his heart beating through his skin before he knocks it aside, pursing his lips and spitting straight onto where you are connected.

It turns you half-feral, rearing up towards him as he speaks.

‘There we go, baby. This what we need,’

The first thrust in takes your breath away. 

And he doesn’t give you any chance to get it back.

He sets a punishing pace, feeding you his cock with dogged precision, consumed by how you look spread beneath him, with how puffy and slick and shiny your pussy is, how it splits around him. 

Thick heft of him sawing in and out, the way you clutch at him, sucking him back in, tighter and tighter each time, like your body is already missing him. So wet slick is smeared around your thighs, soaking Joel’s lap, leaking down into the cleft of your ass. He kisses you, slow and deep, gasping and panting against your lips. Guttural moans from him, needy little whimpers from you, the sloppy sound of pleasure. 

He breaks away from you when the kisses are splintered by gasps of air, fixing his mouth to your neck, inhaling deeply there, pressing his lips to your shoulder, lower, the top of your breast, your sternum, before closing them around your nipple. You keen as he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive bud, hands flying from his flexing forearms to his hair, scratching his scalp, moaning his name, chanting it - Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel.

He sucks harder, tongue working around the flesh before he does the same to your other breast, fingers slipping down over the damp skin of your belly towards your sex, seeking that last nudge you need to send you flying over the edge.

Tighter, wetter, arching to meet his mouth as you gasp and plead - gonna come Joel, gonna come, please can I come, please, please -

You barely register his nod against your chest, barely hear him gasp ‘Give it to me baby, good girl, that’s it,’ before the flood overwhelms you, clawing through your body, ripping through you like flame. Your body tenses, jerks, hips stuttering against him, pussy throbbing as you cry out, pleasure flushing through you all the way to the top of your head. Aftershocks flare like fireworks behind your eyelids, hips moving frantically with his to chase the very end of your orgasm.

Joel watches, chest hot, stomach tightening with that tell tale taughtness - oh, shit baby, yeah, s'that good? - before his own eyes squeeze shut, his body faltering, pushing all the way up against your cervix as he pulses inside you, filling you with warmth, spilling himself until it begins to leak between your thighs.

He gives a couple of softer thrusts before he groans again, hearing you whimper, ears ringing, pulling out just to watch himself drip out of you. The sight makes him greedy, makes him press it back into you even as you hiss in protest, too sensitive. He looks up just as you crack an eye open, an arm swinging across your forehead.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ you mumble, a smile growing before he breathes a shy laugh at the ceiling. He loves the sound of your giggle as you watch him.

He crawls back up your body, ignoring how the heat begins to creep back in, become formidable again. He presses kisses to your collarbones, your neck, your cheeks, and you thread your spare hand back through his hair, enjoying the way it looks, mussed by you.

His sweaty forehead presses against your sternum, laving affectionate, wet kisses there as you come down from your highs, panting in the warm air of the room. 

You continue to card your fingers through his damp curls, staring up at the ceiling fan as it whirs and spins above you. Your eyes flutter closed, content.

‘You’ll have to get Sarah from school soon,’

He grunts in acknowledgement, nuzzling into your ribcage, licking at the salty skin before nipping it between his teeth. You giggle, body lurching away slightly before it’s fixed in place by his wide palms at your hips. ‘And I have to be home before four,’

He groans, pressing a kiss to the underside of your breast.

‘Come over for dinner,’ he murmurs, ‘Tell your dad we're hangin’ out, gettin’ to know each other. I’ll grill some stuff. You bring some more of those popsicles,’ 

You snort at him, huffing something about how nothing will get grilled if you’re watchin’ me suck on a popsicle, even as your chest and cheeks heat, before he slumps on top of you, plush lips crushing against yours in a searing kiss, tongue licking into your mouth, setting you ablaze again beneath him. You moan as he moves to your neck, sucking and biting and bruising.

‘Come,’ he groans into your skin, ‘Promise you’ll come. I'll make it worth your while,’

You offer him a breathy laugh, a sure at the double entendre with sparkling eyes. Your back arches, hands gripping his biceps as he languidly moves lower, taking your nipple in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the raw bud, grazing it with his teeth before sucking gently.

‘Joel -’ you gasp, clenching your thighs together as you wriggle beneath him, meeting his warm brown eyes as he looks up at you through his eyelashes. ‘We need to -’

He cuts you off with a sharp nip at the puckered flesh. He turns his head to the side, checks the watch he’s still wearing, and fixes you with a dark, hungry look.

‘Reckon there’s time to go again.’

[arcanefeelings]

this is so self-indulgent, but thinking about ur boyfriend who takes care of you when you're drunk.

like, you've been out club hopping with some friends, drinking and dancing the night away. your drinks are settled in your stomach, lined with water and some food, though when you stumble back home you do feel a bit hungry.

you step out of the cab, cheeks warm from all the alcohol as the cool night air caresses your exposed skin. the cute top and jeans you'd worn tonight had been a smart choice, shielding you from the cold while allowing some ventilation. there's a faint smile on your lips as you pay the driver, thanking him and making your way to the elevator, pressing the buttons and getting on purely based on muscle memory.

as the elevator goes up, your eyes focus on the overhead lights, a little dazed and zoned out, before they flick to the hallway when the doors open with a ding. you smile again, putting one foot in front of the other and making your way to the front door of your shared apartment.

you ring the doorbell, knowing full well your lover was awake and waiting for you. a moment passes, not too long, and then the door swings open, his gentle smile ever present as you exclaim his name softly.

"baby!" you say in a sing-song whisper, throwing your arms around his neck, careful not to put all your weight on him, but he couldn't care less. he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close so you were fully against him, his gaze softening as his murmurs back.

"hey, sweets. d'ya have fun?"

"i did," you giggle softly, his foot kicking the door closed as he sweeps you up, carrying you to the bathroom. your soft voice continues, regaling your drunken stories of the night as he sets you down on the counter, taking the bag off your shoulder and setting it aside. he makes quick work of your nightly routine, efficiently taking your makeup off with a wipe and then holding your brush up.

you smile, going quiet after opening your mouth, letting him brush your teeth. when you're done, he helps you out of your clothes and into his t-shirt, wiping up your sweat with a damp cloth, and then picking you up off the counter again.

your arms go around his neck again, your words flowing again with a slight slur and a soft rasp, getting sleepier now as you rest your head against him. he gently lays you down on the bed with a smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead and a promise to be back in a minute. and then he's gone, clearing up quickly and coming back just as fast, slipping under the covers and wrapping his arms around you. he pulls you close, your head on his chest as he brushes your hair back, whispering softly.

"I'm glad you had fun, lovie," he says, "time to sleep now."

you giggle softly. "okay. love you," you whisper.

"love you too sweetheart," his voice replies through the dark, "g'night."

"night, baby." and his hand brushes through your hair, lulling you to sleep.

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓈𝒽 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: After an unexpected rescue mission in the rain, you and Crowe find yourselves back in your cozy apartment with a rescued kitten snuggled up and safe. The night takes a gentle turn toward intimacy as the shared warmth of your bond grows deeper.

Amidst horror movies and stolen glances, quiet affection blossoms into something undeniable. Will Crowe finally let his walls crumble and allow you closer, or will he keep you at arm’s length?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's (@fantasia-kitt) intentions. Spoilers From Day 1 and Day 2 The Kid At The Back. (More like Inspo lines)

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: Gender Neutral! Reader, Cuddling, Pillow talk, Fluff then Smut, Making out, Heavy Touching, Neck kisses, dry-humping, moaning, praise (receiving, and giving), Some hair pulling, and oral sex (giving).

I hope you all enjoyed my little creation! I’m definitely diving deeper into the Tkatb fandom—it’s just too much fun and full of mysteries to explore. With winter break here, I might even write more in the future. Also, Crowe deserves some love! There’s so little fanfiction about him that I couldn’t resist writing this!

The rain fell in relentless sheets, hammering against the pavement and turning the city into a glittering mosaic of slick streets and refracted light. You and Crowe barely made it back to your apartment, soaked to the bone, arms laden with grocery bags. Crowe cradled something against his chest—a tiny, drenched kitten trembling within the warmth of his vest.  

“Here,” he said, his deep voice resonating with a softness that caught you off guard. There was a tender urgency in his tone as he carefully shifted the kitten into your hands. “This little one needs warmth.”  

You nodded without hesitation, setting the groceries down with a thud and immediately rifling through your closet. Old t-shirts, a scarf you hadn’t worn in years—it all piled into a makeshift nest inside an empty shoebox. As you worked, Crowe watched in quiet approval, his tall frame silhouetted in the warm light of your apartment.  

The kitten let out a faint meow, curling into the soft fabric as though it had found sanctuary. Crowe crouched beside the box, his dark brown hair still damp and half-undone from the rain. Strands clung stubbornly to his sharp jawline, which he brushed aside with a graceful flick of his fingers.  

“You’re soaked,” you said, gesturing toward his clinging black button-up, which outlined his broad shoulders and hinted at the strong, lean frame beneath. “Go shower before you catch a cold.” He hesitated, his deep blue eyes flicking to yours, searching for something unspoken. Then, with a small nod, he rose and disappeared toward the bathroom.  

When it was finally your turn, the hot water felt like heaven on your chilled skin. Steam wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, but it did little to chase away the vivid image of Crowe—his quiet care for the kitten, the rain tracing the contours of his face, the almost regal grace in his movements. He was magnetic, the kind of person you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much you tried.  

When you emerged, bundled in an oversized hoodie and fleece shorts, Crowe was already seated on your couch. He’d traded his drenched clothes for a gray sweatshirt and sweatpants you’d lent him. The casual attire softened his presence in a way that caught you off guard. His long hair, now untied and damp, framed his face with unintentional elegance, every strand catching the glow of the lamp behind him.  

The plan was to watch a movie—something simple, a classic slasher with predictable jump scares. But your attention refused to cooperate. As the ominous soundtrack droned on, your eyes kept drifting to him. His profile was serene, his gaze distant yet intensely thoughtful. He shifted slightly, and you became acutely aware of the small space between you.  

“Hey,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was low, and intimate, as if the question wasn’t meant to be shared with the world. “If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”  

You blinked, startled by the question and the way his attention focused solely on you. “Another one of your trivia questions, Crowe?” you teased, trying to mask the nervous flutter in your chest. Stretching your arms casually, you laughed lightly, but he didn’t respond in kind.  

Instead, he leaned closer, the air between you charged with something unspoken. His breath brushed your cheek, sending an involuntary shiver through you.  

“Wh-why don’t you answer first?” you stammered, the words barely audible.  

He chuckled a low, warm sound that made your skin prickle. Then, to your surprise, he rested his head on your shoulder, the weight of him both grounding and electrifying. Before you could muster a response, he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Your breath hitched, and you prayed he couldn’t hear the erratic drumming of your heart.  

“Dodging the question, huh?” he murmured, his voice tinged with amusement but carrying an undercurrent of something more profound.  

“Well…” He paused as if searching for the right words. “If I could have anything in this world… I’d want more time. More time to be with you. More time to spend like this.” His voice softened, tinged with a vulnerability that caught you off guard.

“Kind of selfish, huh?”  His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, and your chest tightened at the sight. His gaze was downcast, his usual confidence replaced by something raw and unguarded. Though he smiled faintly, it didn’t reach his eyes.  

At that moment, you didn’t know whether he was speaking to you or himself, but the desperation in his expression was unmistakable. And it left you breathless.  

“You’re staring,” Crowe murmured, his lips curving into a faint, teasing smirk. Your cheeks burned, the heat spreading up your neck as you realized how obvious you’d been. “Your hair’s long,” You blurted out, instantly regretting the flat, unpolished observation. Your hands fidgeted in your lap, betraying the nervousness.  

Crowe raised a brow, his fingers lazily trailing up to brush through the loose strands grazing his collarbone. The motion was unhurried, almost calculated. “Is that a bad thing?” he asked, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity but mostly playful provocation.  

“No! No, it’s…” You stumbled over your words, your voice dropping to a softer register as your gaze lingered on his hair, the rich brown strands catching the light. “It’s nice,” They finally said, the admission almost shy.  

Crowe chuckled, a low, velvety sound that sent a flutter through your chest. “Just nice, huh?” he said, his amusement laced with challenge. His gaze swept over your face, reading your every reaction as if it were a game he’d already mastered. “Not beautiful? Stunning? Majestic like a warrior’s mane after a victorious battle?”  

You rolled your eyes, trying to play off the embarrassment. “I wouldn’t go that far…” You mumbled, your voice barely audible as they looked away.  

He laughed again, the sound brighter this time, the sight of his smile drawing your attention back to him. You were captivated, the world narrowing to just Crowe at that moment. His movements were subtle but deliberate as he leaned closer, the distance between them shrinking.

His voice dipped to a low murmur that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “But what if I said I want you to go that far?”  

As he spoke, his hand moved, fingers brushing just barely against the edge of yours where they rested in your lap. The contact was featherlight, yet it sparked like static electricity, sending a straight jolt. You froze, your breath hitching, the heat in your cheeks now rivaling the pounding in your chest. Crowe’s eyes, gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, locked onto yours.  

“Can I…?” Your voice wavered, your hand hovering uncertainly in the air between them.  

Crowe tilted his head slightly, his intrigue evident in the slow curl of his lips. “What is it you want to do, hm?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. His steady gaze never left yours, his stillness almost daring you to close the distance.  

You hesitated, your hand trembling as it lingered in the space between them. Your heart raced, your breathing shallow as they searched his face for any sign of hesitation. Instead, his expression softened, and with a slow, almost imperceptible nod, he gave his silent permission.  

Your fingertips brushed against his hair, hesitant at first. The strands were softer than they’d imagined, slipping between your fingers like silk. You exhaled a shaky breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding. “I just… wanted to feel it,” they murmured, your voice a quiet admission.  

Crowe’s eyes closed briefly as if savoring the light touch. A subtle shiver ran through him, but the smile tugging at his lips was unmistakable. When he opened his eyes again, they were locked onto yours, their intensity making your pulse quicken. "Satisfied?" he asked softly, though the teasing glint in his eyes suggested he already knew the answer.  

"Is it as majestic as I described it?" Crowe’s voice carried a blend of playful mischief and genuine curiosity, his dark eyes twinkling as he watched you.  

Your hand continued its gentle motion, fingers gliding through the soft strands of his hair, your touch almost reverent. The faint blush creeping across your cheeks betrayed you otherwise calm demeanor. You tried to focus on the rhythmic motion of your hand, but the sensation—his hair softer than you’d expected—was strangely grounding and intoxicating all at once.  

Your breath hitched as you felt the weight of his gaze on you, an intensity that seemed to see more than you were ready to reveal. Still, his playful tone softened the tension, coaxing you to respond. "It’s... softer than I expected," You admitted, your voice barely louder than the whisper of the rain against the windows.  

Crowe’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Smoother, you say?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a sultry murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. He leaned in, ever so slightly, his breath ghosting across your cheek.  

"Just how soft did you expect it to be, hm?" Your heart stuttered; senses heightened, catching the faintest details—the warmth radiating from him, the subtle scent of his cologne—close to blueberries mixed with something uniquely Crowe.  

Your fingers trembled as they brushed the strands of his hair framing his face, the silky texture tantalizing against your skin. Crowe’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, savoring your touch. "Does it bother you to keep it this long?" You ventured, voice tentative, almost fragile in the intimacy of the moment.  

He opened his eyes, meeting yours with a softness "No," he murmured. "But sometimes... it gets in the way while I’m running errands around the building.”  

You felt the corners of your lips curve slightly, a tiny, conspiratorial smile. "You always be working and take care of everyone else… even me.” You mentioned, your voice quiet yet firm. "Let someone take care of you for once."  

Your words seemed to catch him off guard. His gaze darkened—not with anger but with a vulnerability so raw it made his breath hitch. Slowly, his hand reached up, fingers roughened by life’s demands, brushing against your cheek with a tenderness they hadn’t expected.  

"I’m not used to that," he admitted, the words heavy with unspoken meaning. His eyes searched yours, as though seeking assurance. "I don’t... usually let myself be taken care of."  

The weight of his confession settled between them. You found yourself unable to look away. Your free hand came to rest on his shoulder, the fabric of his shirt soft beneath your fingers. You traced idle patterns there, feeling the heat of his skin just beneath the surface, grounding yourself in his presence.  

"Why not?" You asked softly, your voice like a gentle breeze coaxing the truth from him.  

Crowe’s gaze flickered down, watching the slow, deliberate movements of your fingers as though they held answers he didn’t yet have. He hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly in thought. "I’m... not sure," he confessed, his tone contemplative. "I guess I’ve always been the one to look after others. It’s just what I know."  

His honesty hung between them like an unspoken promise, and for a moment, time seemed to pause. You let the silence stretch, your hand still tracing circles on his shoulder. Slowly, deliberately, you leaned in just enough for your forehead to graze his, your voice a whisper that barely bridged the gap.  

"Then maybe it’s time you let someone teach you."  

Crowe’s eyes flicked back to yours, locking onto your gaze. There was a flicker of surprise and uncertainty in his expression as if the very idea of someone wanting to take care of him, let alone you, was an entirely foreign concept. And yet, it carried a strange allure, something that stirred deep within him. He didn’t speak at first, his silence hanging between them like an unspoken question. 

Finally, he gave a small, tentative nod.  

“You… want to?” he asked, his voice tinged with both wonder and disbelief. His brow furrowed, his cheeks warming with an unmistakable blush. “You’d want to… take care of me?” His voice softened further, almost shy. “Like how? What… what are you gonna do?”  

You tilted your head, lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. His earnestness, the vulnerability in his question, made your heartache most sweetly. You let the moment linger, the air thick with unspoken emotions, as if to let him absorb the gravity of his trust in you.  

Your hand, which had been resting lightly on his shoulder, began to move in slow, deliberate strokes. Your fingertips brushed across the fabric of his shirt before traveling to the base of his neck, where they lingered, tracing slow, deliberate circles against his skin. The heat of your touch sent a shiver down his spine, his breath catching in his throat as his body instinctively leaned into the sensation.  

“How about…” You murmured, your voice was soft and soothing, almost like a lullaby. “…you let me decide that?”  

Crowe swallowed hard, his mind racing with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue. The thought of relinquishing control was daunting, almost terrifying. And yet, the softness in your voice, the gentleness of your touch, coaxed something in him to let go. He hesitated only for a moment before nodding again, this time with a hint of more certainty.  

“All right,” he said quietly, his voice laced with surrender. “I… I’ll let you decide.”  

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, at the quiet admission that he was willing to trust you in a way that seemed so out of character for him. Crowe, the ever-composed, always-in-control student council leader, allowing himself to be cared for—it was a rare, precious moment.  

You adjusted your position slightly, your movements are fluid and intentional. Your hand on his neck urged him to lean back against the couch as you shifted closer. “Relax,” You whispered, encouraging yet firm. Your other hand came up to gently push him back, just enough for him to rest more comfortably.  

His eyes darted to yours, seeking reassurance, before he finally allowed himself to recline. His shoulders sagged slightly as the tension began to flow away. You shifted beside him, your thigh brushing against his as they leaned in closer, your presence grounding him.  

“Close your eyes,” You instructed.

He obeyed, his lashes fluttering shut. The world around him faded into darkness, leaving only the sensation of your touch and the faint rustle of fabric as you adjusted yourself once more. Your fingers continued their soothing motion at the nape of his neck, and he felt your legs shift as you moved deliberately.  

Before he could fully register the change, your thigh slid over his lap, your weight settling as you straddled him. The closeness, the intimacy of your position, sent a rush of warmth flooding through him. He inhaled sharply, his hands instinctively moving to rest at your sides, though his touch remained hesitant, unsure.  

You leaned in, breath warm against his cheek, lips hovering just near his ear. “Just let me take care of you,” You murmured, your voice low and soft, a seductive blend of promise and reassurance.  

Crowe exhaled shakily, his body betraying his need to resist, yet failing. He could feel himself yielding, the last threads of hesitation unraveling in your presence.  

Your lips brushed against his ear, a fleeting caress that sent shivers cascading down his spine. You shifted, pressing your body closer as you straddled him fully, their closeness intoxicating. He could feel your heat, your heartbeat steady against his, as you moved with deliberate intention. Your fingers trailed gently along his jawline, your touch light as air but carrying an electrifying weight.  

"Let go," You whispered again. 

Crowe’s hands, which had been gripping your sides in an instinctive bid for control, faltered. They trembled slightly before slipping away entirely, falling to rest in his lap as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensations they was awakening. “I…” he began, his voice thick and strained, but the words caught in his throat.  

“Please?” You asked, tilting your head as your lips found the curve of his neck. You pressed the faintest kiss there, your warm breath fanning across his skin. Slowly, deliberately, you began your descent, lips tracing the line of his neck with tender persistence. You paused just long enough to let him feel every lingering kiss, every fleeting brush of your mouth, before moving lower.  

The tension in his body craved and flowed with every touch. He tensed as your lips found the hollow at the base of his neck, then relaxed again as they pressed a kiss just above his collarbone. You smiled against his skin, sensing the shiver that coursed through him.  

Your hands moved in tandem with your lips, sliding from his jaw to the nape of his neck, your fingers threading gently through his hair. “Just feel,” They murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as they continued your path, leaving a trail of soft, heated kisses along his chest.  

Crowe’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your movements. Every kiss, every touch, seemed to peel away another layer of his guarded composure, leaving him bare and vulnerable before you. He closed his eyes tightly, surrendering completely to the unfamiliar yet exhilarating flood of sensations.  

You paused for a moment, lips hovering just over his sternum. You looked up at him, a soft hum of satisfaction escaping as you took in his expression—the furrow of his brows, the slight parting of his lips, the way his head tilted back just slightly. He was yours at this moment, completely and utterly.

"You’re doing so well," You whispered against his skin, pressing another kiss to his chest. "Just keep letting go." 

His fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants, knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. It was the only anchor he could find as he surrendered to the sensations flooding him, a steady burn that spread through his chest and pooled in his lower stomach. His breaths came in shallow bursts, and his body quaked under the unfamiliar weight of letting go, of yielding control.

Every nerve was alive, hyper-attuned to your touch, and the soothing cadence of your voice was like a salve for the storm within him.  

He clenched his jaw, trying to steady himself. When your lips brushed the hollow of his throat, a tremor passed through him, sharp and undeniable. His hand twitched, releasing its grip on his sweatpants, fingers ghosting over the edge of your shoulder as if seeking permission to hold onto yours instead. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and finally managed to whisper your name.  

“Please…” His voice cracked, barely audible, but the sound carried a rawness that struck you. “…Wait a sec.” You paused, lips hovering just above his skin, breath warm against his neck.

A flicker of something gentle crossed your expression as you sensed the vulnerability emanating from him—the way his chest heaved, the fine tremor in his frame, and the palpable tension that coiled beneath your touch.  

"Yes...?" You murmured, tilting your head slightly to catch his gaze. Your eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and playfulness. He inhaled shakily, trying to form the words. His heart pounded against his ribs as though it sought an escape. "I can't…" he started, his voice rough, words tumbling out before he could stop them. "We can't… everything feels… intense."  

Your lips curved into a soft smile, a hand coming to rest over his chest, where his heartbeat thundered against your palm. "I know," They said, your voice like a quiet melody. Your lips brushed the pulse point in his neck, featherlight and deliberate. "It's a lot, isn't it? But you’re doing so well."  

He stiffened beneath you, his hands finally rising to hold your arms, steadying you but also grounding himself. "That’s not my point," he rasped, voice breaking slightly. He pulled back just enough to see your face. "I have loved you since the day I met you. I need to know how you feel—before we…" His breath caught, his gaze searching yours. "Before we go any further. I don’t want this to be… casual."  

The air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken emotions. You froze, his confession ringing in your ears. For a heartbeat, you didn’t move, your thoughts whirling. But then, warmth spread through your chest, melting the tension that had momentarily gripped you. Slowly, your hands rose to cradle his face, thumbs brushing gently against his cheekbones.  

"I…" You began, voice soft but trembling. "I feel the same. I have for so long, but I was scared. Scared to lose you, scared to ruin this… us."  

Relief washed over him, his hands falling to your waist as he let your words settle. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. "I never wanted to risk us either," he admitted. "But I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I couldn’t keep pretending."  

Your lips parted, a shaky laugh escaping as you leaned your forehead against his. "No wonder you kept finding excuses to spend more time with me," You teased, your voice low, tinged with affection. Your fingers trailed down to rest on his chest, "You can be selfish with me, Crowe. I’m yours, you know that. I’ve always been yours."  

His lips curled into a tender smile, the vulnerability in your voice and the weight of your words filling him with a kind of courage he hadn’t known he possessed. He tightened his hold on you slightly as if afraid you might vanish if he didn’t. "I’m yours too," he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. "And I don’t just want time with you. I want everything. All of you."  

Your breath hitched as his thumb traced along your jawline, his touch delicate yet firm, leaving trails of warmth. His other hand slid from your waist to your back, holding you securely. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze locked onto yours.  

"May I?" he asked, his voice low, almost reverent.  

You felt the question in your core, chest tightening and loosening all at once. Your body leaned into him instinctively, every fiber of you being answering before your voice could. When you finally spoke, words were a whisper against his lips. "Yes. Please."  

Crowe moved slowly, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that belied the intensity coursing through him. The kiss deepened naturally, a shared hunger and longing driving them closer. Your hands tangled in his hair, your body pressing against his.

Crowe’s lips were soft but insistent, moving against yours with a purpose that left no room for doubt. His hand on your waist tightened, drawing you closer until the inner part of your thighs brushed against his lower abdomen. The heat of his body was a sharp contrast to the cool dampness still clinging to the air. 

Your fingers, still tangled in his hair, instinctively tugged, earning a low, almost inaudible groan from him. The sound sent a shiver through you, making your heart race even faster. Encouraged, you deepened the kiss, your lips parting slightly to invite him in. His response was immediate, a soft flick of his tongue against yours that left you dizzy.  

Crowe pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his own. His breaths are heavy, matching yours, and you beheld his red face and hair messier than before. His eyes, those piercing deep blue eyes, searched yours for any hesitation.  

“Am I going too fast?” he asked, his voice husky and lower than usual.  

You shook your head, barely able to form words. “No… it’s perfect.”   

At that, his lips quirked into a small smile—rare and heart-stopping. “Is this a dream? I hope not. If I’m in a dream, please tell the sleeping me to never wake up. I want to live in this dream forever.” His free hand slid to the small of your back, guiding you effortlessly deeper into his lap. The movement was fluid like he’d imagined this a hundred times before.

“Will this convince you it’s not a dream?” You lean closer to his face and place a peck on his cheek. “Mmm.. maybe. But I think this would convince me.” He captures your lips swiftly. He pries your mouth open by pushing in his tongue, exploring you further, and muffing your moans with his intense kiss. 

You gasp, now feeling one hand slip beneath your hoodie, splaying across the bare skin of your lower back. The other tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss further. His lips left yours briefly, trailing along your jaw and down the column of your neck to nibble at the soft flesh. 

“Now people will… know you’re mine.” You gasped when his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot, and he chuckled softly against your skin. “You sound so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. The rhythm of his heart beneath your palm was as erratic as your own, a reassuring sign that he wasn’t as composed as he seemed. 

“Crowe,” you whispered, barely able to hear your voice over the pounding in your ears. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, his expression raw and unguarded.

“Please say my real name,” he murmured, his tone almost pleading.  

“Jericho,” you corrected, savoring the way his name felt on your lips. He let out a shaky exhale, his hands tightening their grip on you. His lips found yours again, this time rougher, more desperate.

His hips shifted beneath you, and the friction drew a soft moan from your throat. “Do you have any idea,” he breathed between kisses, “how long I’ve wanted this?”  

The heat between them was undeniable, the air practically crackling with energy. Every touch and every movement seemed to amplify the heady rush of desire rushing through their veins.

When his hips rocked against your own, another soft gasp escaped your lips, the friction so new, so sweet. Jericho presses himself against you, feeling the bulge within the confinements of his pants.

You gripped his shoulders tighter, steadying yourself as your thoughts became hazy with each press of his lips to your skin, proceeding to attack your neck with nibbles, determined to leave multiple marks instead of one. 

Your voice, already breathless, managed a shaky reply, "No, but I... I'm sure it's half as long as I've wanted you." Suddenly, he pulled you closer, his hips rocking gently against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each movement brought a gasp or a groan to your lips, the friction between you growing more heated with every second. 

“Please let me make you wonderful,” Jericho murmured against your neck, his voice low and soft… all of it was a delicious yet torturous sensory overload.

And at his murmured plea, your breath caught in your throat, snapping your consciousness back. Your fingers tightened on his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Jericho," They managed your voice a ragged breath. “I’m the one supposed to make you feel good.”

Jericho pulled back slightly, enough to meet your gaze, "You... already make me feel good," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Just being here with you... it makes me feel more alive than anything else." His eyes filled with love, desire, and lust. “Would you let me?” He begged, “I promise to make you feel great. I want you to feel amazing.”

His words were spoken with such sincere conviction and lust. The raw honesty in them, the way he looked at you… You couldn't help yours; your fingers left his shoulders to gently cup his face. “I don't just mean at this moment," They said softly, your thumb brushing over his cheek. "I mean... I want to make you feel good in every way possible. I want..."  

You faltered, unsure how much you dared to say aloud. Instead, you shifted, sliding off his lap and onto your knees before him. The movement was fluid yet intentional, your gaze never leaving his as you knelt at his feet, 

Jericho swallowed, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight of you at his feet. It was a sight he had never imagined before, yet now it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. "What... what are you doing?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

You could see the surprise, the hint of confusion mixed with a heady sort of excitement in his eyes as they knelt before him. The position was submissive, yes, but it gave you a unique sort of control over the situation.  

Your hands, now free, rose to rest on his thighs, your fingers tracing small circles on the inner fabric of his sweatpants. Your voice was soft and firm 

"I'm taking care of you," They said quietly. "So just... lean back and relax." Your hand slithers to the base of his sweatpants.

Jericho let out a low, shaky breath as your fingers brushed his skin, the fleeting touch electrifying. Shivers coursed up his spine, and he bit down on a gasp, his eyes dark with a mixture of lust and anticipation. “Have you ever done this before?” he asked softly, his hands hesitating for a moment before helping you slide his sweatpants and boxers down in one smooth motion.  

You hesitated, your cheeks warming under his gaze. “No… Is that a bad thing?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.  

He shook his head immediately, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “No, it’s not a bad thing,” he said, his tone gentle yet weighted with emotion. “If anything… it makes it all the more special.” But then his expression shifted, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. He looked at you almost apologetically. “I’m sorry about this.”  

You tilted your head in confusion. “Hm? About what?”  

The moment the fabric pooled at his feet, the answer became crystal clear. Vulnerability washed over Jericho as he leaned back slightly, his chest rising and falling with steady, deep breaths. Your eyes widened in surprise, freezing as they landed on the sight before you.  

He cleared his throat, a hint of self-consciousness in his tone. “Uh… it gets a little bigger when I’m fully hard. Just thought I’d warn you.” His cheeks flushed a light pink, a rare vulnerability breaking through his usually composed demeanor.  

For a brief moment, you were speechless, caught between awe and disbelief. The sheer size of him was… impressive, to say the least. You swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat suddenly impossible to ignore. A nervous laugh almost bubbled up, but it was stifled by the intensity of the moment.  

“I… see,” you managed to say, your voice soft but tinged with a teasing edge. Your lips twitched into a small smirk. “A little bit bigger, huh? I’m curious to see just how much more it grows.”  

Jericho chuckled lightly at your words, his nervousness easing ever so slightly. Still, he reached out, his hand brushing your arm as if to steady both of you. “Take your time,” he said gently, his voice a soothing balm to your nervous energy. “Ease into it. And, uh… it’s okay if your teeth touch, just—maybe try not to bite down?”  

A laugh escaped you this time, a blend of amusement and nerves. “I’ll do my best to keep my jaws in check,” you teased, the shy undertone in your voice making the moment feel strangely intimate.  

Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached out, your touch tentative but curious. The warmth of him against your palm was startling, the weight and solidity grounding you. Your grip adjusted instinctively, firm but careful, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Jericho.  

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you murmured, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.  

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gave a quick nod. “You won’t,” he assured you, his voice rough with restraint.  

You glanced up, meeting his gaze. There was something intoxicating in the way his eyes burned with trust and desire. Leaning forward, you let your lips brush against the sensitive tip of his cock, soft and deliberate.  

A low, guttural moan escaped him, his head falling back against the bed. His hands clenched at his sides, resisting the urge to move and disrupt your rhythm. “Gods,” he muttered, his voice breaking.  

Encouraged by his reaction, you placed a series of soft kisses along the reddened head, your movements exploratory yet tender. Jericho’s breaths grew heavier, his chest rising and falling with each passing second. He forced himself to remain still, his muscles tensing as he let you set the pace, his desire to guide overshadowed by his determination to let you take your time.  

Your lips curled into a small smile as you continued, the moment feeling raw and unfiltered. Slowly, the tension began to melt away, replaced by a shared sense of trust and discovery.  

Jericho sighed when they took his lenght in your mouth. It’s already bigger than when he first pulled it out, quickly growing hard despite his reluctance to hold back. You feel it press in past your lips, dragging across your tongue, and finally hit the back of your throat. That’s it. That’s as far as it goes, right?

Looking forward, you can see that he’s not in your mouth. “Try to relax your throat,” he tells you. “That’s it, you’re doing good.” Jericho prasied. His voice sends goosebumps across your skin as his massive cock slides even further in, going partially down your throat. 

“Make sure to breathe through your nose,” he added. 

Your hands are on his thighs, gripping the fabric of his pants. You’re gagging slightly, trying to keep it under control and focus on breathing. After what feels like forever, your jaw is sore, and your throat aches.

Tears fill your eyes, which Jericho notices and looks at you guiltily before moving one large hand over to gently rub the top of your head. “Good girl,” he says, “you’re taking me well.”

The statement makes heat spread over your face. Then you remember that you’re supposed to be making him cum. The thought of it makes you excited somehow. You feel the urge to pleasure him, to make him feel good. He’s been so sweet to you, after all. He hasn’t moved at all, letting you do things at your own pace. Looking up at his face, it’s clearer than ever how gorgeous he is. 

You tighten your lips around his base, your tongue gliding across the underside of his cock while your tight throat constricts around his tip. He looks down at you suddenly, deep blue eyes slightly widened. You give him a tentative swirl of your tongue.

He can’t tear his eyes away as he watches you work your magic on him. The sight of you, the feel of your tongue, it’s the most incredible and overwhelming thing he’s ever experienced. He can’t help but let out another deep, guttural moan as the sensations wash over him. “Gods, yes. Just like that,” he pants, his voice low and rough.

“You’re so good at this. So damn good.” He reaches out, gently tangling his fingers in your hair, not to control your movements but just to have something to hold onto. 

The inside of your mouth felt nice and warm, causing him to shudder from the sensation. Eventually, his hand grips your hair and, for the first time, unintentionally thrusts into your throat. You feel a bit of force from him as he pushes your head down, his cock going halfway down your throat and almost choking you. 

Jericho lets out a low moan as you suck faster, wanting to hear the desperate need for ecstasy while taking pleasure from each sound he makes. He grips your hair roughly and throws his head back, but you don’t seem to mind. After all, you want him to make more sounds.  

You take the entire cock inside your mouth again, feeling the cock becoming harder than before, nodding your head up and down and swirling your tongue around his cock, making sure to aim for the tip as well, savoring the pre-cum taste. Your eyes travel to his face, beholding the euphoric expression as he bites his lips, feeling you lick the slightest bit of cum that leaks from him, 

Jericho could barely hold himself together as you pleasured him, his head spinning and his body writhing. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with lust and intense with love.

“You’re... you’re driving me crazy,” he managed, his voice rough and breathless. “…God.” His moans and gasps are like music to your ears, fueling that excitement as they suck and move your head in all the ways that they know will drive him wild.

“Mmh.” You suck faster and faster, your fingers fumbling with his balls as your swallow his cock even deeper down your throat—he didn’t think any more could be possible.

He’s so deep in your throat that whenever you thrust his cock in, your nose nearly touches his pelvis. Jericho can’t help but thrust your mouth down his needy cock down your throat again.

Immediately, you feel his warm cum flood your mouth, coating the back of your tongue and oozing down your neck. His hand quickly releases you, “Sorry, love, I couldn’t help it…” He mutters another apology. His face looks slightly flushed, and he’s breathing a little harder.

Oh god, he looks so hot right now—is all you think about, feeling the growing dampness between your legs as you stare up at him, his now soft cock still in your mouth. 

“No one’s ever made me feel this way before. Gods, you’re... incredible,” Jericho murmurs, his voice heavy with awe and lingering desire. His words hang in the air, electric and intimate. The way he looks at you—half in disbelief, half in reverence—sends a shiver down your spine.

Without hesitation, you lean forward, your lips brushing against the velvety, slick surface of his cock. Your tongue darts out, teasing the sensitive tip, and you savor the salty-sweet taste that lingers there. Slowly, deliberately, you begin to suckle, your tongue swirling and pressing against every ridge and curve. A soft moan escapes his lips, though he quickly clamps his mouth shut, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

Jericho’s chest heaves and his hands grip the soft couch beneath him, knuckles whitening as he fights to stay still. His breath hitches, and he glances away, the flush on his cheeks deepening as he battles the urge stirring within him. His jaw tightens, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again to find you. 

“You’re... you’re sure you want to keep going?” he asks, his voice strained and hoarse. Despite the question, his fingers reach out instinctively, trailing down the side of your face.

His touch is warm, trembling ever so slightly as if he's trying to ground himself. “I don’t want to wear you out,” he adds, his brows furrowing even as his lips part to let out a shallow exhale.

You pause for a moment, meeting his gaze with a soft smile, and your heart clenches at the mixture of vulnerability and yearning in his eyes. There's a rawness to him, an unguarded honesty that makes your chest tighten with affection. His concern feels genuine, but so does the hunger simmering beneath his words—a need he can’t quite hide.

Jericho looks down at you again, his heart pounding so loudly you can almost hear it. His disheveled hair falls into his eyes, and he brushes it back absentmindedly, the action making him seem almost boyish in his tenderness.

Despite the way his breathing is still uneven, he manages to smile faintly. “You’ve already done such a good job,” he says softly, his fingers brushing over your messy hair in an almost reverent gesture.

You feel a pang of something deep and inexplicable—a selfish kind of love, one that makes you want to claim and cherish every part of him. The thought takes root in your chest, blooming with a quiet intensity.

Jericho’s hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb grazing the edge of your jaw, and you realize that, for this moment, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than here, tangled in his warmth his selfish love. 

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── · 

[poisonappleeater]

i was in bed in the morning just checking to see if lana posted on ig and i was like “awe shes so pret😚<333” and i swipe and HOLY FUCK ??? SHE KNOWS ??? WHATS SHES DOINF ???

Lana Parilla promoting Regal will be the death of me.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || poly!141 x Reader

[Chapter 24] || [Chapter 26]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.2K~ cw: not smut but a bit of sexual tension Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: ahem ahem ahem ahem

thanks to @lyralein for helping solve a problem I was having during this chapter

and also @st-el-la-luna for THIS brilliance that although I didn't copy or anything, still got stuck in the back of my head and made me giggle and inspired me a little!

Chapter 25: Soap............?

you: simon. you: save me pls. Simon: Location. you: that felt ominous as fuck. Simon: You texted me to help you. Simon: Location. you: oh gosh no simon its not urgent. you: its not even like you: a panic thing you: no danger Simon: Don’t ever text me to save you when it isn’t an actual emergency. you: i’m sorry!!!!!! you: did i scare you that much??? Simon: Yes. Simon: You had me ready to steal a HUMVEE to get to you. you: I’M SORRY! you: i’m just out with my friends for brunch and kyle and johnny came and they’re embarrassing me and i need help Simon: So that’s where they went. Simon: You’ve got this. you: SIMON, THEY’RE TALKING ABOUT OUR SEX LIVES! you: DON’T LEAVE ME TO DEAL WITH THIS ALONE. you: HELP? Simon: Darling you’re dating them, you’re gonna have to get used to this sooner or later. you: I KNOW BUT STILL you: SIMON PLEASE Simon: I’m in a meeting, darling. Simon: You’ve got this. Simon: 🖤 you: SIMON?! you: awwww you sent me an emoji! you: BUT SIMON?!?!?!??! you: don’t leave me like this!!! you: how dare youuuu

He stopped responding so you sighed dramatically and put your phone away, your eyes flittering over the table.

In just 15 minutes, Johnny and Kyle had gone from bickering to regaling your friends with sexcapade stories to talking about your dates, about each other, about the rest of the guys, about work. 

Your friends are, of course, eating it up, how could they not? The lads are charming, funny, interesting, hot…

You want to pay attention to the stories Johnny is regaling your friends about, as well as Kyle, with the retelling of his helicopter upside-down cruise, but… you can’t. You’re still mortified, long after they moved away from the sex talk… 

And it doesn’t help that Kyle has taken your chair and made you sit on his lap while the five of you talk.

Sure, you’ve graduated to regular talk, but that doesn’t solve the fact that Kyle’s cock is hard, straining against the fly of his grey jeans, and slotted right between your ass cheeks, his hands gripping you around the hip to keep you sat still.

Thank God for the existence of Simon Motherfucking Riley (memo to self: ask him and the rest of the lads what their middle names are)...

The door opens after what felt like a torturous amount of time and in strolls a 6ft4 mountain of a man in all black, as usual.

“L.T.!” Johnny shouts and waves him over, as if somehow Johnny’s raucous laugh was missable and Simon might not know where he, and the group, is.

Your friends, of course, immediately look over, their jaws proceeding to drop in unison at the sight of Simon.

His sexy little black leather jacket, black jeans, black t-shirt, black boots… No mask in sight… And, for once, his hair is lying flat over his forehead, loose blond strands just barely reaching his thick eyebrows.

He has to have done it on purpose.

“Hi…” You greeted Simon softly, your face warming up a bit at the sight of him. He nods at you and cocks an eyebrow, the left corner of his mouth rising in a smirk.

Just as you’re wondering where he came from, how he knew where you were, and wasn’t he in a meeting…

“Finally. Texted ye the address like 30 minutes ago.” Johnny quips next to you.

“Piss off.” Simon replies as he keeps looking at you. He doesn’t even bother to introduce himself to Leah and Mia.

“Hear you’ve been embarrassing our partner.” Simon says, his brown eyes slowly sliding up to Johnny then to Kyle behind you.

“Ye did?” Johnny asks and turns to look at you. “Ye told on me?!” He asks dramatically, as if it was the biggest betrayal.

“Don’t look at ‘em, look at me.” Simon quips as he leans forward and rests his hand on the back of Kyle and your chair, glaring right at Johnny.

“Oh, please, L.T., it’s all good-natured.” Johnny says dismissively with a playful smile on his lips.

“Is it?” Simon retorts.

“Why’s it feel like I’m watching a big brother confront a school bully?” Kyle quips.

“Don’t start too, Garrick, you’ll get your dose soon.” Simon adds.

“Si… Please…” You remark and laugh nervously as you look around, your face already burning hotter and hotter. “We’re making a scene.”

“You asked me to save ya, darlin’, that’s what I’m doin’, hm?” Simon tells you before leaning close and planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth, his eyes still glued to Johnny. “So, how about it, Johnny?”

“How about what, L.T.?” Johnny asks, though, you don’t miss the way his eyes are shining at the sight of Simon’s protectiveness… or the way Kyle’s breath hitches right behind your ear, his cock throbbing against your ass.

“If you’re so keen on embarrassing people by revealing private matters… How about we tell everyone about the reason your callsign’s Soap?” Simon quips. Then, he turns his head and, staring right at your friends, he continues.

“A callsign is like an alias we use over the radio.” He explains. “And Johnny’s here is ‘Soap’... wanna guess why? I’ll tell you…” He turns his head and looks right at Johnny again.

“It’s because he’s dropped his in the shower more often than one can stand to bloody count, if you catch my drift.” He remarks, then, he shoots you a little wink.

“That’s nae- You know it’s- You-” For the first time in what must be his whole life, Johnny was left a blubbering mess, stuttering over himself…

“Damn… didn’t know friendly fire was turned on…” You quip, trying to clear the air a bit. It seems to work, because all three of the men around you chuckle at it.

Your eyes then lock with Simon’s, then Johnny’s… and meanwhile, Simon’s also looking at Kyle behind you. The sexual tension is almost palpable…

“I think we should go home, so we avoid any more embarrassment, hm?” Simon suggests and pulls you up to your feet by the forearm, causing you to squeak in surprise at the suddenness of it. 

“I agree.” Kyle says as he stands up too. 

“Well said, L.T.” Johnny adds.

Simon pulls out his wallet and drops a few bills on the table. “For the check.” He tells Leah and Mia. “Nice to meet you.” Then, he drags you out of the bistro.

“It was very nice to meet you!” Kyle tells the girls, making no attempts to cover the bulge in his pants as he rushes after you and Simon.

“Sorry, duty calls. But we need to do this again.” Johnny adds as he scoots across the gap in the chairs and winks at the girls before setting off after the three that have already left. “I’ll make sure to tell you all the hot gossip next time!” He adds loudly before leaving out the door.

Leah and Mia are left sitting there flabbergasted, eyes blinking slowly, before exchanging a look with one another.

“The candle worked too well.” Mia states blankly.

“It did.” Leah agrees. “Do you… have another one?”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!):

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @cod-z , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @xxshadowbabexx

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 🖤 Summary: Damian and his girlfriend’s relationship is on the edge of collapse, and they discover a new, interesting way to reconnect. 🛑 Warnings: NSFW. Angst, alcohol, cockwarming, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, cum 18+ 🖤 Notes: Spanish translations are at the end of the story. I do not speak Spanish, so if anything is incorrect, please let me know and I’ll fix it! ❤️ It's super long, so I marked where the smut begins for my feral beauties ❤️ 🖤 Taglist: @pittieprincess22, @cyberdejos2, @brideofinfamy, @rainbowdreams-x. If you’d like to be added, please click here! 🖤 Requested By: Anonymous. Hope you enjoy! 🖤 MASTERLIST

Staring at the label on the empty bottle of beer in her hand, she heard Damian’s boisterous laughter across the bar. She remembered a time not long ago when her own giggling would have been mixed in, but instead, here she sat, abandoned by her boyfriend so he could watch some stupid baseball game on the TV behind the bar with a group of other drunk guys he’d only just met this evening. She glanced over her shoulder at him, the tallest guy in the place, hair in a wet ponytail, dressed in his Yankees jersey, band t-shirt, and ripped jeans. Sexy as ever—the man only got more attractive with each passing year. His gestures were big as he entertained the circle around him, probably regaling them with stories from the road as a WWE superstar. She rolled her eyes, returning her attention to the beer bottle. She considered getting another one, but how much fun was it really going to be to be pissed off and drunk?

“You look lonely.”

She glanced up, eyebrow cocked, and found not a bad-looking man standing next to her table, but a man just the same, who was not her boyfriend. She cast her eyes back to Damian, and he was still otherwise occupied.

“I’m really not,” she replied.

“Sure you are,” the man argued, taking it upon himself to sit across from her. She inhaled deeply through her nostrils and all she could do was hope Damian remained oblivious. “I saw your man leave you over here like an hour ago.”

Had it really been that long?

“Well, maybe I’m just not very good company,” she deadpanned.

“I don’t believe that,” the man said. “A pretty girl like you? You’d be the best company, and I sure as hell wouldn’t leave you alone all night.”

“Listen, I appreciate the interest, but—”

The man’s eyes lifted, focused on something behind her, and she didn’t need to turn around to know what was happening, or about to happen.

“Somethin’ you need?” Damian’s hulking presence was beside her, and she took another deep breath, leaning against the back of the booth. 

“Hey, man,” the guy seated in front of her said, lifting a hand a beer bottle, “nobody’s doing anything wrong. Just havin’ a conversation.”

“Oh, okay, cool,” Damian said, leaning his fists on the table, muscles and tattoos rippling beneath the sleeves of his jersey. “Let’s have a conversation.”

The man across from her tilted his head and told her, “Good luck,” before beginning to climb out of his seat.

“The fuck is your problem?” Damian commanded, shoving the guy with one hand as soon as he stood up, freely knocking him off balance and to the sticky floor.

“Damian, relax,” his girlfriend yelled, slamming her bottle of beer on the table. “We were just talking.”

“Well I got some things to say, too,” Damian growled.

“Great,” she said, climbing out of the booth. “You guys talk it out, and I’m gonna go home.” 

Damian paused the stalking of his prey to focus on her for the first time since the incident began. They watched one another for a moment that lasted a lifetime, and she remembered falling in love with him the first time she saw him, she remembered feeling him the first night they’d had sex. She remembered holding hands and whispered secrets and promises of the future. He’d pledged to give her the world. Had he been lying when he’d sworn or had their relationship simply come to an unfortunate end? She didn’t know him well enough anymore to know the answer to what should have been a terribly straightforward question, and it horrified her, but she thought maybe if she could hold his concentration on her, he would recall all of those things, too. The good things. If he would just look deeply enough …

Damian severed their connection by turning back to a man and a situation that didn’t matter, and her heart disintegrated. Dusted, like in the Avengers. She grabbed her purse from the booth and had the Uber app pulled up on her phone before she even reached the door. She fought herself from looking back, repeating in her head that he wasn’t worth it—not anymore—in a futile attempt at making what she was about to do just a little easier. Yeah, right.

Once inside the Uber, her boyfriend having never once come out to check on her while she waited, she had another battle concerning whether or not to glimpse back. She kept her eyes forward until the vehicle was about to make a right hand turn, and suddenly there was a tug in her chest where her heart had once been. Like there was a string tied around the veins and arteries still remaining and it was connected to something she’d left behind. Clutching her aching chest with one hand, she pressed her other hand to the door to help her turn around, and she gasped, tears cascading down her cheeks. Damian was standing outside the bar, ponytail whipping this way and that as he searched desperately, perhaps finding what he was looking for in the back of the very vehicle she sat in as he promptly launched into an all-out sprint on the sidewalk, chasing after her. She slowly covered her mouth, weeping at the agony etched on his face, and she slid down in the seat, closing her eyes. 

She loved him. By all that was good and gracious in the world, she loved him with her entire being, but she couldn’t fucking do it anymore. She finished crying over the rest of the ride home, to their home, and she mumbled a thank you to the driver before getting out, closing the door behind her. The car sped off, she watched it go, and she imagined the scene was much like the one Damian had witnessed just a short bit ago. Her eyes slid to their front door, and she wrestled more tears as she plodded inside.

Damian arrived home faster than anticipated, but she’d had enough time to get herself together, to expel all the tears and soothe her trembling body by the time he came bounding through the door. Seeing her standing in the middle of the living room, he all but skidded to a stop. “I didn’t think—” He gestured at the door and held up his keys.

“We need … no, you need to figure out what you want, Damian,” she interrupted. 

He walked slowly around the couch, approaching her as if she were a lioness that could and probably would strike at any moment, rip him to pieces and devour him. When he was within a few feet, she took a step back. She knew what he was trying to do—he did it all the time. Get close enough to touch her, kiss her, hold her, coax her into believing she wasn’t mad about what she was really mad about. Her reaction stopped him dead in his tracks, and she watched his throat work as he swallowed.

“I don’t know—” he started.

“Of course you don’t know,” she interjected again, more tears pricking the corners of her eyes. So much for all cried out. “Why would you? It’s all about Damian. It has been ever since the beginning of this relationship, but I was too …” She sniffed, shrugged. “Too in love, I guess.” Her chuckle was pathetic as Damian breathed deeply through his nose, chest expanding and deflating. “And I thought you were in love with me …”

“What are you—? Of course—”

“Do you remember how we used to be?” she asked pitifully. “You were the Mickey to my Mallory …”

“Baby—”

“We actually made love for hours. We didn’t just fuck to cum like we do now.”

“Please listen to me …”

“No,” she stopped him one final time, her tone so soft she wasn’t sure she’d spoken at all. “I’m done listening.” She wiped fresh tears from her cheeks. “I put all your stuff for Raw by the door.” Damian’s brows furrowed and he turned to look at the door he’d just come through. His suitcase-on-wheels was lying on its front, a small duffel bag nearby—he’d blundered right past them. His eyes, now for the first time this entire evening beginning to show worry, returned to her, and they both knew how his luggage had gotten there from where he’d left it in their bedroom on the second floor. “I know you’re not supposed to leave for a day, but I just … I need you to go now.” Damian’s eyes fluttered closed and he scrubbed his huge hands over his face. “And while you’re gone, maybe you’ll remember what we used to have. How happy we used to be.”

“I’m—”

“If you say you’re happy, I swear to God—” She trailed off with a strangled chuckle.

“Oh, so you know how I feel?” Damian retorted.

She blinked up at him, and in his eyes, the ones that had once been so alive and so full of love, she could see misery and turbulence, and yeah, she could easily say she knew how he felt. She cleared her throat, brushing more tears from both cheeks quickly, as if she did it fast enough, he might not see how utterly broken she was. Maybe that’s what he needed to see. “I’m going upstairs,” she whispered, “and if you do love me, if you do care about me … you’ll leave.”

“Mi vida, please, just tell me—”

“You left me alone for an hour tonight!” his girlfriend suddenly erupted, and Damian’s eyes rounded. “We’ve seen each other four days in the past two weeks, and some fucking Yankees game has your attention? You try to fight some guy who didn’t know we were together because you left me alone for an hour?” Damian’s lips pursed and he remained silent for once. She sighed. “Goodbye, Damian. Have a safe trip.” 

She gave him a wide berth on her way to the stairs, stepping over his luggage as she headed up. Hurrying into their bedroom, she closed the door and locked it behind her, and by the time she’d slid down the wood until her ass met the carpet, she was a blubbering fool, covering her mouth to keep from crying out, to keep from hollering for Damian and telling him she was just kidding, and could he just hold her for a while and then everything would be okay? In time, she heard the front door open and close again. She could almost feel his presence, his very soul, drifting further away from her, that tugging in her chest returning, and she collapsed in slow motion, floating to the floor on her side, hugging her knees to her chest.

She awoke some time later in the same fetal position, suspecting she’d passed out from sheer exhaustion. Lifting her head, her spine screamed from the base of her skull all the way to her tailbone, and the carpet stuck to her cheek—she could only imagine the pattern etched into her skin as she lurched into a sitting position. She’d left a lamp on in the corner of the room, the soft glow illuminating the empty space, the unmade bed she wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep in at all, and as the quiet enveloped her, she wondered if there would ever be laughter here again. She looked at the chaise lounge opposite the lamp, a small smile quirking her lips when she could almost see herself straddling Damian’s lap there, and she could almost hear her voice whisper that she was in love with him and had been since shaking his hand on her first day at WWE.

She rolled her eyes, refusing to permit any more tears from staining her cheeks, but that didn’t stop the intrusive thoughts in the back of her mind. Did Damian remember these things? Did they mean anything to him? Did she? Or was it his career he was now madly in love with? She’d sent Damian away to decipher the answers to these important questions, but she wasn’t certain she’d be strong enough to hear the answers. She climbed to her feet, limping across the floor to grab her phone from her side of the bed. As she reached for it, she paused, rubbed her fingers along her palm, and took a deep breath—all she could do to prepare for what she might find waiting for her in her notifications.

The missed calls and text messages were both in the double digits, along with a few voicemails, all from Damian, and she swallowed a softball size lump in her throat as she opened the text messages. She knew damn good and well there was no way she’d be able to listen to his voice without breaking down once more, and she was so damn tired of crying.

She sat slowly on the bed, the earlier suspicion she might not be able to sleep here blotted out by the overwhelming need to somehow be near Damian even though she’d just sent him across the country a day earlier than either of them had anticipated. Her dying phone slid from her hand, thumping on the carpet, as she backed across the king-size bed until she was on Damian’s side. Somehow the man slept with only one very thin pillow, so she grabbed one of hers and added it underneath before slipping her legs under the blanket and sheet. She was instantly inundated by the scent of Damian’s leave-in conditioner, but most importantly, the spice that was simply him drifted inside her nostrils and she was both allayed and shattered at the same time. Still depleted, now more than before, her heavy eyelids fell and she drifted off into a land of nightmares.

As Damian’s plane bound for Washington crashed above her into the side of a mountain, she was jolted awake. Her upper body careened forward, hair flying, arms reaching out because maybe if she could just catch the plane … A hand on her shoulder brought her fully out of unconsciousness, and she jumped again. 

“It’s okay! It’s just me!” Tiffy. Beautiful, sweet, perfect Tiffy, but all Damian’s girlfriend could think about was the fact that Tiffy had Ludwig and Ludwig had Tiffy and they were disgustingly happy and she was wildly envious.

“Tiffy,” she whispered. “What are you …” She scratched her head, looking up at Miss Money in the Bank, eyes mere slits. “How did you get in here?”

“Damian called Ludwig,” she explained. “He said he hadn’t talked to you in hours and your phone was going straight to voicemail.” Damian’s girlfriend nodded, though not wholly comprehending. “He told me where the spare key was.” She held it up.

“I see,” the dejected woman in bed said. “Well, I’m fine.”

“Obviously,” Tiffy rolled her eyes, “just like Damian is just fine.” Her pink manicured nails formed air quotes.

“Tiffany, I really don’t—”

“Look. It’s almost one o’clock, so I brought two of these—” She lifted the neck of a bottle of wine out of her glittery tote bag. “Let’s talk.”

Damian’s girlfriend was really getting tired of people demanding she speak to them, but she supposed this was different. Maybe she needed another perspective. She sent Tiffany to the patio by the pool while she changed out of the clothes she’d worn to the bar the night before and then had slept in, brushed her teeth, and as she was headed across the bedroom toward the door, she spotted her phone still lying on the white carpet. She feared what she’d see upon bringing it back to life, so she left it where it was, closed the door after her, and met Tiffy by the pool.

Nursing a hangover on Sunday and into the evening on Monday thanks to Tiffy Time, Damian’s girlfriend was again in bed, on his side, iPad in her lap, Monday Night Raw on the television. Tiffany had succeeded in making her feel at least a little better, agreeing that things had gotten bad enough between them that sending him to Washington early was probably the best way to get through to him, although, she added, it seemed a bit harsh. She recalled a similar situation between herself and Ludwig—their schedules had been completely opposite, they never saw each other, and their connection had started to dissolve—to which Tiffany had responded in a completely different manner. Instead of kicking him out and sending him across the country, she’d done internet research and consulted various friends in search of a way to reconnect with her boyfriend.

And the route of reconnection Tiffany had discovered was now in the search bar of Safari: cockwarming. Damian’s girlfriend had heard of it, but never given it much thought, assuming it was just one of a million other ways to please a man, but Tiffany had assured her that cockwarming wasn’t about giving or receiving pleasure, it was about being present and intimate with someone you loved, building or rebuilding a physical and emotional relationship by linking together in the closest way possible. It made sense, and she was willing to try anything. 

She glanced up at the muted television, heart skipping a beat when saw Damian in the middle of a match. He looked tired, and maybe he was hungover too, and he just didn’t seem as on point as he normally was. A little slower, a little careless, a little like he didn’t give a fuck. She turned the TV off, rubbing at her forehead. She was responsible for his distraction, and she hadn’t meant for their problems to interfere with his work, but she’d acted so rashly in kicking him out, she hadn’t considered any effect it would have on his live television performance. She hadn’t considered him at all, if she were being honest, so what did that say about her? Maybe Damian wasn’t the only one who needed to figure things out.

Without warning,  a bolt of lightning shot through her entire body, a current of electricity coursing across her skin, and she jumped out of bed. She looked at Damian’s side where she’d been sitting, her pillow under his, and it wasn’t right. She glanced at the TV and Raw wasn’t on and she wasn’t cussing at whomever Damian’s opponent was, and it wasn’t right. She hadn’t kissed him goodbye and he hadn’t slapped her ass for good luck, as was their routine, and it wasn’t right. The way she’d made him leave, ignoring him—none of it was right. Her eyes cut to her phone on the bed, to her purse on the chair, ending on a pair of sneakers in the corner of the room. Her brain shut off, leaving her heart in control, and her legs were moving. She grabbed the phone and the purse, slipped her feet in the shoes, and jogged downstairs. She grabbed her keys from the table and slammed the front door behind her.

She found herself at the airport, still on autopilot, and she bounced from one foot to the other as she waited in line to purchase a ticket. When she finally reached the desk, she placed her wallet on the counter. “Hi,” she said, “I need to get to Seattle tonight. Right now. One way.” 

The lady behind the computer punched several keys. “Well, it’s your lucky day,” she beamed, and Damian’s girlfriend suppressed the urge to punch her. “I have one seat left on a flight leaving in thirty minutes.”

“Great.”

“It’s $1,798.” Of course the only seat left would be first class.

“That’s fine,” she said, rummaging through her wallet for her credit card and identification. Damian was worth it, their relationship was worth it. 

Aboard the plane, she tried to sleep, but it was impossible. She tried to read a book on her phone, but she couldn’t concentrate. She ended up spending most of the flight reading and rereading Damian’s text messages, self-loathing growing with each pass. Yes, he was responsible for their abrupt separation, but she was just as much to blame. 

Landing in Washington, she checked her messages again, this time tapping on the thread with Rhea, who’d responded to her question while she’d been 37,000 feet in the air. Armed with the information provided by Damian’s closest friend, she ordered an Uber and gave him the address of Damian’s hotel. She rode the elevator to the top floor, wondering if he’d had to pay extra for a last minute booking, which, again, would have been her fault. Same with the price of his plane ticket. Of course, whatever she’d cost them monetarily paled in comparison to the time she’d cost them. 

SMUT Standing in front of Damian’s hotel room door, she knocked softly. Moments later the door opened, and there he stood, the love of her life, the Mickey to her Mallory, the very face she wanted to see before she died. He was in a black sleeveless shirt and black basketball shorts, and he looked burnt out and used up, and was she accountable for that too? But when he realized who was standing in front of him, those dead eyes reanimated, and his hunched shoulders squared. They gazed at one another for an extended moment, a silent conversation passing between them, an ask of permission and consent granted.

Damian stepped into the hall, and his girlfriend raised her elbows so he could position his big hands under her armpits before slowly, tenderly, lifting her in the air, not unlike picking up a crying toddler. Her arms slipped around his neck, her legs around his waist, and he completed their puzzle by enveloping her in his protective embrace. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, crossed her feet behind him, and she was home. He held her for a while in the hall before stepping back inside the hotel room, the mechanism at the top of the door closing it for him, and then he held her some more, still standing, placing a hand on the back of her head. Eventually he took a seat in the chair beside the bed, his girlfriend repositioning her legs so she was straddling him, sitting back on his thighs, and they were able to look at each other again.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke first, cupping her face. “You’re right. I took you for granted. I took everything we have for granted.” He shook his head, eyes round and clear and the most delicious shade of chocolate. “I know what we were before … and I know … we’re not—we’re not that anymore. Just tell me how to make it right.” He brought their foreheads together, and her hands braced herself on his hard chest. “Tell me how to fix it. Because I ain’t quitting, and I ain’t letting you go.”

His girlfriend smiled for the first time in days, but it was fleeting. “I shouldn’t have kicked you out. I’m sorry, too.”

Damian shook his head, eyes searching her face. “No more apologies.” He kissed her forehead, and she laid her head on his chest. “So what do we do?” he mumbled against the top of her head.

Her eyes opened. “I just think we … need to reconnect,” she said. “And … I might have an idea how we can start.”

She explained cockwarming with a hell of a lot less grace and knowledge than Tiffany, and a hell of a lot more embarrassment, if her superheated cheeks were any kind of clue. But Damian listened, and his focus was solely on her, and he didn’t make fun of the idea, and they were already headed in the right direction. They agreed to give it a try here and now, as there was no better time than the present, and they were both too exhausted to engage in much else. The couple made their way to the bed, Damian’s girlfriend toeing her shoes off before they removed each other’s clothing, and they climbed under the blankets.

The experience was supposed to be more about intimacy and less about having sex, she’d illustrated, but, to make it easier for him to slip inside her, she’d have to get at least a little damp. It was no secret what Damian did to her simply by existing, so he smirked, brushing her hair from her shoulder so he could cradle her neck, thumb caressing her jawline. He pressed their lips together, the couple sharing a sigh of relief, and she rested her fingers on his wrist as they kissed. All the fear and worry and stress melted away as her arousal grew, and as they’d both suspected, it didn’t take long for her to become wet and ready, and, consequently, for Damian to become hard.

“Sorry,” he said.

“That is something you’re never gonna have to apologize for,” his girlfriend assured him. They shared a smile. “Just try to keep from, you know … fucking me.”

“Easy for you to say,” Damian commented, and they snickered. “How do you wanna …?��

She rolled over to her other side, backing up against him, semi-hard dick slipping between her ass cheeks. Damian whispered in her ear to be careful, and she couldn’t help the smile. They were going to get through this. He positioned her how he needed, making sure she was comfortable before slowly sliding inside her. He moaned, playing it off by clearing his throat, and she was barely able to mask her own whine. His arm slid under her pillow, gripping her hand that was already there, his other arm wrapping around her, and she held that hand with hers against her chest. He twitched inside her, and her pussy instinctively clenched around him, and their holds tightened on each other.

“You know it’s been, like, 50 hours since I left,” Damian said, following a moment of adjustment and silence.

“Damian …”

“No, I—I just mean … that was 50 hours without you. 50 hours to think about everything, all of it. So I don’t want you to feel bad for kicking me out. You were right. I needed time to figure things out.”

“And what did you figure out?” she asked. Considering he was inside her and holding her and he hadn’t slammed the door in her face, she knew his answer was at least a little positive.

“I haven’t been there for you,” he said, voice so deep, his girlfriend could all but feel her pussy producing slickness. “I made my job and everything else more important than you. And I’m sorry.” He pulled her closer, his cock slipping that much deeper within her. His biceps were unforgiving but protective, and the steady rise and fall of his chest comforted her on a level she’d never experienced before. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she said, squeezing his hands.

“You don’t—”

“Damian, there are two people in this relationship. What if I had just talked to you about how I was feeling weeks ago? We could have avoided—”

“I know me, you know me. It wouldn’t have had the same effect as kicking my dumbass out of my own house had.”

She sighed, believing what he said, but there would be no way to erase the guilt she still felt. 

“I love you, querida,” he uttered into her ear. “Eres mi vida, mi alma, mi todo. Siempre.”

Her body shuddered, Damian’s arm tightening around her. “I love you, Papí.” He pressed his face into the back of her neck, and the couple was physically as close as they could possibly be to one another. She felt her heart rebuilding, she felt their connection rejoining, and she knew just this one night wasn’t going to solve all their problems, but they were making an effort, and that was enough for now. “I love when you’re inside me,” she breathed, eyes closing.

“I know,” Damian whispered.

She awoke sometime later, eyes slowly blinking open. The sun was beginning to rise and her body was moving, ever so gently, her head sliding up and down the pillow. Regaining consciousness, she realized that where Damian had been semi-hard and comforting inside her before falling asleep, he was now solid and thick, filling her to the brim, and his hips were thrusting somewhat casually against her. And then she heard a faint snore from him, and that explained everything. She thought about waking him, she really did, but he felt too fucking good and she’d missed him too fucking much, and it had been a long fucking time since they’d been so intimate. There was no way she could fight this.

She let him continue, his pumps erratic and varying in strength, but she didn’t care. His hand rose from the mattress, sliding past one nipple to cup the opposite breast, which he instinctively squeezed, groped, and that particular pump was hard and deep. She cried out, smacking a hand over her mouth, but it was already too late.

“Shit,” Damian breathed. “I’m sorry, I thought I was dreamin’.”

She reached back, grabbing at his hip over the blanket. “No,” she whispered, “please don’t stop.”

“But—”

“Please, Papí,” she begged.

Damian attacked her neck, sucking, biting, and she moaned into the pillow, imagining proudly wearing his marks for all to see on the way home. His thrusts became steadier, more powerful, and his hand returned to her breast. He brushed the cool metal of his rings along her nipple before pinching and pulling, and her back bowed, pulling him deeper inside her pussy.

“This isn’t …” he trailed off, panting, and she recognized the sounds he was making, the words he was repeating.

She lifted her hips away from him, allowing him to carefully slip from inside her. Rolling over, she climbed on top of him, stroking his big cock a few times before lining her pussy up with the head. Meeting Damian’s gaze, she sank down onto him at a snail’s pace, watching as his eyes averted to witness their bodies join together, lasting longer than she expected before he laid his head back on the pillow, eyes closing, mouth uttering a string of obscenities. Biting her lip, she massaged her soft hands along the firm planes of his tattooed pecs until she found a suitable position that would allow for optimal riding. As she was about to lift her hips, Damian’s fingers encircled her wrists and raised her hands, melding their palms together, their fingers intertwining, his elbows anchoring them to the mattress.

“Ride it, baby,” he growled.

Grinning, his girlfriend’s eyes closed and her grip tightened on his hands and her hips started to move. She was instantly reminded of his size as she rose, her pussy shrinking back to its normal proportion the further he was removed, only to be stretched again with the next downward thrust.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Damian moaned, as she repeated the action over and over.

“I missed you so much,” she breathed, impaling herself fully and then grinding her clit against him. She freed her fingers from his and put them back on his chest, her entire body moving with her hips.

“I know,” Damian whispered. He grabbed two handfuls of her ass and took control of the pace. “Fuck, yeah, bounce on it. Bounce on my cock, baby.”

She obeyed, though he was doing most of the work, which ended up with him holding her still and his cock hammering up into her. “Oh, God,” she squeaked, his pounding hitting that secret spot inside her. “I’m gonna cum, Papí.”

His hand wrapped around the back of her neck and he jerked her down until their lips smashed together. “Say my name,” he breathed. “Say my fucking name.”

“Damian,” she wailed, pulsing around the battering ram that was his dick. Their lips smacked and their teeth clacked, and her throbbing cunt milked his own orgasm. The kissing continued as they rode out the waves of pleasure, as every ounce of stress and heartache and worry melted away, to be replaced by hope and love and positivity for the future.

Sleep was knocking, and she slowly descended until her cheek was on his chest, his softening cock staying warm within her. “I love you,” she whispered, almost like an afterthought, and Damian chuckled, placing a hand on her head.

“I love you, mi vida.”

🎀 Mi vida — My life 🎀 Mi alma — My soul 🎀 Querida — Dearest/Beloved, term of endearment 🎀 Eres mi vida, mi alma, mi todo. Siempre — You’re my life, my soul, my everything. Forever 

[stardust-swan]

What Type of Charisma are You Manifesting? ✨

Left to right: 1, 2, 3

Pile 1

You're manifesting vibrant charisma. You are radiating magnetism that draws people in - the type that makes you best friends with everyone in the room even if you only met them five minutes ago. The type that everyone has a little crush on. The type that can make a small gathering feel like a lively extravaganza. You are full of cheer and high-spirited, brimming with fun and excitement.

You're experimenting with your identity, which makes you come across as raw and authentic. You have a lot of power but you have not yet learned how to wield it. You are confident and ambitious, and people sense your potential. Some people might find it intimidating, but others are drawn in by your exuberance and honesty. You are full of passion and energy and are going places quickly, which other people sense as a vibe of spontaneity and excitement. You live for fun, and if things are no longer fun, you don't want to play anymore.

Imagery I associate with your kind of charisma:

Scent: Citrus - sweet, bright, and bold, but it doesn't linger.

Flower: Sunflower or a zinnia.

Animal: Toucan

Artist: Matisse, full of high contrasts and vibrant colours.

Colour: Clear, bright colours, like turquoise, dandelion yellow, Kelly green, sky blue, and tomato red.

Archetype: The Cheerleader or Prom Queen, who rather than being the stereotypical mean girl, is actually very friendly and genuinely beloved by all - the type who is invited to every party and who makes sure to chat with the new kid in the class to make them feel less alone.

Pile 2

You are manifesting regal charisma. This type of charisma exudes poise, confidence, and elegance. People feel like they're hanging out with royalty around you, even if you're wearing jeans and a t-shirt and cracking jokes. But no matter how casual and relaxed you are, you radiate dignity and grace. People are drawn in by your competence, talent, and skill - you're someone that commands respect, a natural leader like a Queen at her throne. Your peers respect you, and people younger than you look up to you.

Sometimes you come across as more reserved than you are. You're afraid of overwhelming people, so you hold yourself back a little. But people can still sense the fire underneath - the big goals, the worldliness, the growth coming full circle. This makes you come across as confident, wise, and a bit mysterious. You have a wicked sense of humour, which softens a demeanour some may otherwise find cold.

Imagery I associate with your kind of charisma:

Scent: Rose - fresh, clean, and feminine.

Flower: Carnation or white camellia.

Animal: Swan

Artist: Diego Velázquez - realistic, dramatic, highly detailed, and technically impressive.

Colour: Jewel tones, like emerald green, garnet, aubergine, and royal blue.

Archetype: The High Queen. Dressed majestically, you sit at your throne, inspiring awe in others. You are kind, regal, and benevolent, beloved by all the land. You bless and reward those who respect you generously.

Pile 3

You are manifesting laid-back charisma. You are very grounded, which puts people at ease. You like to help people grow. You won't do the work for someone else, but you'll support and encourage them as much as you can as long as they do their share (your pet peeve is people refusing to do their share of the work or improve themselves). You carry an air of vulnerability (in a good way) and openness, which gives you a soulful quality. People relate to you easily, and feel comfortable sharing things with you. They perceive you as resilient, someone who can not only emphatise with their struggles, but who has overcome their own struggles and gotten stronger because of them. You are someone who is actively seeking growth, unafraid of getting a bit messy to do so. You have a healing effect on people and will help anyone that needs a hand. You are supportive of your local community, whether that's through participating in the neighborhood cleanup or donating to a local food bank.

Imagery I associate with your type of charisma:

Scent: Sandalwood - soft, woody, and rich.

Flower: Hydrangea

Animal: Dove

Artist: Maxfield Parrish - vibrant, gently blended, and whimsical.

Colour: Gentle, warm colours, like copper, rosewood, cream, moss green, charcoal and lavender.

Archetype: The Earth Mother. You are someone who is wise, nourishing, and gently firm. You have a creative soul, and you find beauty in the ordinary. Like an ancient goddess who has come to Earth to bless us with her presence and love.

[cocteaucherry]

fuckboy!suguru x reader

a/n-something I wrote in like two days, :p

cws- geto is fr a douche, nipple play, nipple piercing, tongue piercings, unprotected p in v, 18+, geto with tattoos, mention of bodily fluids, slight coercion, reader uses she/her pronouns

fuckboy!Suguru who was the sweetest boy through your years of high school.

His hair was relatively long and his face was still developing, he’d offer to help you study for upcoming quizzes and would often invite you out for coffee study dates.

The summer after graduation Geto had cut contact with most of his friends (other than Gojo and Shoko) you didn't look too deep into it, I mean he was cutting social ties starting fresh, turning over a new great leaf. Oh how wrong you were

That fall you attended your local college excited to enter a new chapter, a few weeks into your first semester everything had gone calmly until you saw him.

He was more sculpted, his raven hair cascaded down his back and, how did he get jacked in a matter of months? Although to be fair he always wore baggy clothes. To add onto his new look was a long dragon sleeve tattoo and a cool metal ball pierced through his tongue.

You wondered where this pivot came from until the rumors and whispers began, many people regaling with tears how he fucked, led them on then broke it off with swift quickness.

A pang of disappointment rang through your body, over a boy you hung out with a few times was crazy your mind told you but you couldn't care.

fuckboy!Suguru who approached you in the dining hall with a sickeningly sweet smile and his usual hushed tone, “Y/N, long time no see.” a fake smile generated on your face as you listened to him try to powder and egg you on.

“I think we should catch up this weekend whaddya’ think?”

“I don't know..”

“Come on pleasee, it'll be like old times.”

“Fine,”

“Saturday at five good?”

Fuckboy!suguru picking you up in his surprisingly nice black Jeep, for being a douche he had a suspiciously clean car. He wore baggy jeans and a tight black t-shirt, his muscles looking as if they're trying to bust out the tight fabric but your eyes are brought to his chest.

Four small metal balls on either side of his nipples and you were gobsmacked.

“It's rude to stare, angel.”

You were bought out of your gaze, a heat creeping up your neck, you hadn't registered the nick name he gave you.

The date with Suguru had gone surprisingly well, you held your breath for the level of sleaze he could give off but so far nothing came.

So how come you found yourself on his couch sloppily making out with him?

His lips attacked and bruised yours aggressively, his large hands running over the slight exposure of your skin, small grunts came from his mouth as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

In the back of your mind this went against all your morals but at the moment you didn't care.

Fuckboy!Suguru who had you ride his thick, aching cock in the comfort of his bed, you whimpered as you struggled to slam your hips down completely on his length.

His amber eyes scanned your body as his muscles tensed as he felt you clench around him. Rough hands came to your soft bouncing breasts as he squeezed a nipple aggressively in-between his fingers, “Feel how hard you make me angel?” he cooed using his other hand to slap his hand harshly on the fat of your ass.

“Letting me fuck this tight pussy on our first outing too? tch.” he clicked his tongue latching his mouth onto your erect nipple, he swirled the tip of his tongue around purposely moving the cold metal around the space.

Whines escaped from your mouth as you pleaded, “S-Sugu, let me cum please,” you moaned continuing to bounce off his cock.

“Mm should I?” he mumbled pulling off your nipple to smirk at your sweaty face, “Don't know if you earned it,” the grip on your ass getting harsher each second.

Fuckboy!suguru who edged you for about two hours that night but came about four times all over your face, tits, and ass.

Fuckboy!suguru who left you naked in his bed to smoke outside as he ran into his white haired roommate hair tousled, “Suguru, do you always have to do this shit here? I'm not getting any sleep.” he groaned, rubbing his eyes.

Suguru smirked, holding a cigarette in hand as his sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, “You'll be fine.”

“Who’s on the roster tonight?”

“Cute girl, met her in the dinner hall.”

“Huh, might’ve been the quickest fuck you've gotten usually you wait a week or two what's different?”

Suguru shrugged while walking towards the balcony, “No idea, just met her this week.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow with a grin, “Sugu~ y’know you're a terrible liar right?”

I feel like I could've gone a lot more extreme but I didn't wanna hurt my own feelings)

[lulublack90]

Prompt 14 - Secret Identity

@wolfstarmicrofic July 14, word count 948

Because of his family, Sirius often used another name when dealing with people he didn't know. Especially when dating. Once they heard Black, that was it, they were suddenly obsessed with being introduced to his parents. He’d grown his hair long, and he avoided suits like the plague. If you put him next to a picture of his younger self, it would be hard to guess they were the same person. 

He was being set up by a friend of a friend. He’d been adamant that his real name wasn’t mentioned. He had a rule that he only revealed his actual name if he thought it would go anywhere and, so far, that hadn’t happened. 

He was nervous. Something about this date was making him jumpy. He tried to shake it off and think about the nice meal he was going to have tonight. He’d chosen his favourite restaurant, all the staff knew him and knew not to call him Sirius or Mr Black. 

A tall, thin man in faded blue jeans, a slightly rumpled white shirt and an honest-to-god brown cardigan. Sirius looked around the restaurant to see who he was meeting. The man leaned in to ask the host something and, to Sirius’s astonishment, Celeste led the man over to his table. He jumped out of his seat when they stopped beside him and the man looked at him expectantly. 

“Thank you, Celeste,” He held out his hand to his date. “Simon White,” He introduced himself. 

“Remus Lupin,” Remus replied politely. They sat down and opened their menus. 

Sirius already knew what he was ordering, so he observed Remus instead. He was very handsome now that he was closer, with gorgeous sandy hair that wound into cute little curls. If only he had a sense of style, he’d be batting them off instead of going on a blind date with him. 

They made polite conversation and Remus seemed very nice, but Sirius was bored and not for the first time he wished he hadn’t come. Then Remus came out with the most outlandish, unexpected thing. 

“You look like a good shag, wanna have a bit of fun?” Sirius spit his water out across the table.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” He mopped up the spilt liquid as best he could. Remus put his hand on top of Sirius’s.

“Simon, calm down, it’s only water. Now if it had been red wine I think the staff might throw you out,” He stage whispered. 

“Nah, they love me in here,” Sirius waved him off. 

“Do you come here often?” Remus asked, his brow furrowing. 

“Er, yeah, it’s my favourite and I don’t cook so…” He didn’t dare say it was where he brought all his dates. 

“So, Simon, what do you do?” Sirius felt like squirming, he hated that Remus was calling him by his fake name. 

The man was growing on him, and he could almost see a possible future with this man. 

They were tucking into their desserts. Sirius had ordered the lemon cheesecake and Remus had the chocolate fudge cake. Remus was regaling him with a prank he’d pulled at his boarding school that nearly got him kicked out. 

“The toilets blew blue water everywhere, and they had to get in a line of portaloos on the front lawn to accommodate all of us while the plumbers tried to sort out the mess I made.” Sirius laughed a genuine laugh. He had tears in his eyes and was finally enjoying himself. “Did you ever get up to mischief when you were younger, Simon?” Sirius did shudder that time. Remus looked at him concerned. “Are you alright?” Sirius swallowed and braced himself. 

“Sirius,” He said, screwing his eyes shut. 

“Huh?” Remus asked, confused.

“My name isn’t Simon, it’s Sirius. I use a fake name on dates or else people want to know about my parents or the rest of the family and I can’t deal with that.” He confessed.

“So what is your real name?” Remus asked him. 

“Sirius Black,” He watched as Remus’s eyebrows crept up his forehead. 

“Oh,” He said. Sirius closed his eyes, a bit disappointed that he wouldn’t get to see Remus again and just when he was starting to have fun. “Well, I can happily say I have absolutely no interest in your family. No offence but they’re terrible,” Sirius’s head snapped up. Wait, what?

“You really don’t care who I am?” Sirius asked in wonder. Remus shook his head. 

“Who cares where you come from? It’s about who you are that matters, and I can tell you’re nothing like them. A bit lonely, but you show me a single person who isn’t.” Sirius could have cried. Where had this amazing, caring man come from and how could he have ever wanted the date to be over because he was boring? Remus Lupin was anything but boring. 

“Want to finish up here and come back to mine for coffee?” He dared to ask, putting himself out there in a way he never had before. Remus grinned a smile so big it took Sirius’s breath away. 

“Turn it into a hot chocolate, and I’m yours,” Remus joked. Sirius felt his stomach doing summersaults. He’d never eaten a cheesecake so fast in his life. The bill was charged to his account, and they left. Sirius grabbed Remus’s hand on the way through the door and Remus linked their fingers together. Sirius felt like he could fly right now. It was ridiculous. He made a mental note to thank Marlene for the set-up. But for now, he had hot chocolate to make, he was just glad that he had the good stuff in.

[section-chief-prentiss]

Watercolors

Summary: Emily is pregnant and you decide to draw her. 

Word Count: 1288

Pairing: Emily Prentiss/Reader

A/N: Minors DNI

Ao3

You were blocked. 

None of your art for the past few weeks had turned out the way you envisioned it, and it was driving you crazy. It was like your ideas were getting lost in translation between your brain and your paintbrush, and by the time your paints hit the canvas, you didn’t recognize the result at all. 

You groaned, slamming your paintbrush down, which sent a splatter of colors flying around you.

“How’s it going in here?” Your wife, Emily, leaned her head against the doorframe of your studio, a sympathetic expression on her face.

“It’s official,” you sighed. “I suck.” 

Emily chuckled, striding toward you. “You could never suck.”

Your wife was a vision, and it didn’t help your art block that all you wanted to do was look at her. Touch her. Pleasure her.

You’d never seen Emily in a dress before she became pregnant. But ever since she started showing, when she wasn’t in the office, she solely wore oversized t-shirts and flowy dresses, claiming it was the only thing that she was comfortable in.

Today, she wore a knee-length, white sundress with flutter sleeves. Her feet were bare—her ankles had started to swell a few months ago, and now she avoided wearing shoes whenever she could. Her black hair hung just above her shoulders—she’d cut it after finding out she was pregnant and had kept it short since, and her bangs were brushing against her eyelashes. You would need to cut them for her soon. 

Emily wrapped an arm under her bump, and you smiled. Your wife was seven months along with your daughter, and there was a permanent glow to her features, even when she was scowling in discomfort. 

You closed the gap between you, resting a paint-covered hand on her belly. Your daughter shifted beneath your wife’s skin in response.

“I’ll never get tired of that,” you mumbled.

“You try carrying her around 24/7 and see how you feel then,” Emily teased.

“Turn around,” you said, knowing just what she needed.

She assumed the position, her back leaning against you. You brushed a kiss on her neck, and she shuddered. 

Emily’s head leaned back, her raven hair spilling across your shoulder, and you interlaced your fingers beneath her belly.

When you were sure your grip was steady, you lifted up, relieving your wife of the pressure of carrying your daughter.

Your arms shook from the effort, but the little moan Emily let out each time you did this was all you needed. 

“I love you,” Emily sighed.

“I love you,” you said. 

When your arms couldn’t hold much longer, you gently returned the weight to your wife. When she turned to face you, there were multi-color handprints on her dress around her bump.

“I might’ve ruined your dress,” you said, blushing.

But your wife only shrugged. “I don’t know; I think it could use a little more color.”

You should’ve known your wife would be the key you needed to remedy your artist’s block. 

“Lay on that couch,” you said, nodding to the thrifted furniture on the other side of the room. 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” she said, making her way over and carefully swinging her legs up. She turned to face you, one arm on the armrest, the other wrapped around her bump. 

You knew you couldn’t ask her to hold that position for long, so you picked up your paintbrush and began painting furiously. 

Each brushstroke was like a careful caress of her skin. You captured her midnight hair against her ivory skin, the stark paint colors against her white dress, the way her stomach bulged. Her pink, rosy lips, her chocolate eyes—each color had to be just right. 

You took a step back to admire your work and couldn’t fight back the growing smile on your face. Finally you had painted what you’d pictured. 

“Can I see?” Emily asked shyly.

You turned the easel so the painting faced your wife, and her face lit up at the sight of it. 

“I can’t believe that’s me,” she marveled. “I look so much more… regal than I feel.”

You made your way across the room to join her on the couch, and she swung her legs down to make room for you. 

“You are a goddess,” you said, leaning in to kiss her.

Her touch was electric, and immediately, you were hungry for more. Emily laid back and you positioned yourself above her, planting kisses from her lips, to her neck, and down her bump. 

“Paint me,” Emily said. When you looked up at her, her eyes were hungry.

You giggled, placing another kiss on her belly. “I think I just did.”

“No,” she said, taking your paint-covered hand and running it across her skin, leaving a trail of pink and white in its wake. “Paint me.” 

A thrill ran through you. You hurried across the studio to grab the first paint cans you could find before rejoining your wife. You submerged one hand in pink and the other in white and got to work. 

You pressed your palms against her breasts, squeezing gently. Emily moaned with pleasure, and you slid one hand under her dress to feel her skin against yours. 

You ran your hands up her neck and to her cheeks, so you could press another passionate kiss against her lips. When you pulled away, she pouted, so you pressed a finger against her nose, leaving a circle of pink behind, which made her giggle. 

Emily pulled at her white dress, and as soon as you understood what she was doing, you helped her lift it over her head and toss it on the floor behind you. 

Her naked body was its own masterpiece. Stretch marks danced across her belly—something she was self-conscious about, but you could stare at forever, the perfect pattern they created against her skin. Her belly button popped out, and you ran your hands over her bump, taking in the smooth skin and your dancing daughter beneath it. 

Her breasts were peaked, and you palmed them once more, marveling how perfect her skin felt against yours.

You braced a knee between her legs, and your wife hungrily ground herself against it, already slick with anticipation. 

Your wife’s increased sex drive had been another perk of this pregnancy. You couldn’t get enough of her, either. 

Your mouth met hers once more as she searched for her pleasure. You were desperate to be more hands-on, but the wet paint posed its own issue, and you weren’t about to leave her to go wash it off.

She moved faster and faster, panting in between kisses, until she let out a shuddered moan and released. Not wanting to overwhelm her, you pulled back, leaving only your hand on her belly. You couldn’t sit this close to your wife and not touch her.

Emily’s cheeks were flushed, and she bit her lip, her bare chest rising and falling quickly as she caught her breath. 

“Wow,” she breathed. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this sooner.”

You threw your head back in a laugh. “Believe me, if I’d known painting you would have this result, I’d never leave the studio.”

Emily struggled to sit up, so you leaned forward to put an arm around her to help her up. 

“I think… we need to take this to the bedroom,” she said. “It’s your turn.”

You leapt to your feet, not needing to be told twice.

Over her shoulder, Emily glanced back at the paint and nodded to it. “Bring that.” 

You picked up the pink paint bucket, already shedding your clothes with your other hand. 

Emily Prentiss. Your soulmate. Your wife. Your muse.

Tag List:

@yena-reyna, @propertyofemilyprentiss, @chaekhan, @obsessedwjill, @mrs-prentiss, @i-lovefandom, @tireddeadgirl, @lez-talk1, @emilyprentiss-ily, @sxekhaos, @Confidant._.Thoughts, @ssablackbird 

Join my tag list!

[yuurei20]

Malleus Facts Part 7: Lilia (pt4)

When Lilia asks Malleus to decide on the theme for Diasomnia’s Halloween costumes Malleus is reluctant, asking if there is not someone more suitable to whom Lilia can turn.

Lilia insists that the heir to Briar Valley's royal throne choosing the theme would pique the interest of the students, and his own as well, and Malleus relents.

After Phantom Bride it is Malleus’ idea to escort Lilia and Sebek home, and his idea to design and craft a tuxedo for Lilia out of magic, as a token of appreciation.

Lilia says that he has heard Malleus perform countless times, but the melodies that Malleus played to celebrate his birthday were “different from his usual style.”

Other presents for Lilia from Malleus are “more gifts than (he) can hold in both arms” from Fleur City, including a picture of Sebek and Silver in costume.

(Malleus: “I can see the look of delight on Lilia's face now. It seems I've gotten a souvenir for him already.”)

Malleus looks pleased to hear that Idia prepared a gift for Silver to give to his father, but appears unamused by the revelation that Idia doesn’t intend to give him anything (Idia: “Don’t see why I should go out of my way to be nice”).

Malleus concedes to taking a picture for Lilia during Firelit Sky (despite initial reluctance) and says his goal is to feel like he has truly visited so he can tell Lilia about it later.

Malleus struggles to find a souvenir for Lilia, as he has never shopped for one before.

Malleus settles on a shirt with a showy design, saying that it is “perfect for Lilia, and it suits how expressive and lively he is.” He says he would “like to wear matching shirts with Lilia sometime,” and must thank Lilia for giving him the opportunity of the outing.

Malleus welcomes the entire Firelit Sky group to Diasomnia to regale Lilia with tales about the trip.

Lilia says that he would often buy pennants for Malleus from tourist destinations when he travels, which Malleus loves hanging on his bedroom wall as Malleus “can’t exactly travel abroad on a lark” himself as the soon-to-be ruler of Briar Valley.

As pennants have begun to go out of style, Lilia decides that he will start buying Malleus T-shirts, instead.

Malleus himself says the he always looked forward to the souvenirs that Lilia would bring him and wants to get Lilia a pennant from the Scalding Sands, but he is not able to find one. (He gets Lilia the shirt instead.)

[solxamber]

i love your writing!! i wanted to ask what are your favourite cards for each character? and why?

you can ignore if its a long answer and if you're busy! I thought it's be fun to comapre our tastes.

thank you so much 🫶

there are spoilers for jp only cards below the cut!

Riddle: Halloween

The black lips? the pose? this card almost put me in my grave when I first saw it 10/10

Ace: Playful Dress

I adore the composition of this card and the ribbons and pose that give a marionette feel which i love

Deuce: Starsending robes

Deuce in general is very pretty but I found him extra pretty in this card.

Trey: Nightmare Suit

He's so *barks* Where do I even begin, the suit, the expression orz

Cater: New Year's Attire

I just love seeing him so confident idk this card just ticks the boxes for me

Leona: He has so many pretty cards where do I even start. The new nightmare suit is AMAZING but I have a soft spot for Liongarb Leona

He looks so regal??? and cool??? I spent everything I had for this card. absolutely worth it

Ruggie: Port Wear

He's so cute in this and his ears sticking out of his little hat. I'm gonna die of cuteness aggression.

Jack: Sleepwear

He looks so soft and fluffy already and his tail adds to that. 10/10 would hug

Azul: Luxe Couture

The expression??? the glasses?? THE HAIR??? hell yeah

Jade: Mermaid Fin

This is an insane card in general (I'm so normal about this) It's so !!!!!

Floyd: Mermaid Fin (again)

He looks so unhinged I'm so into it

Kalim: Playful Dress

Again, the marionette vibe and his serious expression instead of his usual smile does it for me

Jamil: I love Nightmare Suit but Luxe Couture

The attitude?? the posing??? orz

Vil: I'm extremely biased and I love all his cards and it was between silk adorned and tapis rouge but: Silk Adorned

Ever saw a man so beautiful you cry? Because I sure did. He's so pretty I cannot begin to describe. If he looked at me like that I'd just die jfc

Rook: Savanaclaw Dorm

Rook before he became French /j but forreal, its so different from how he usually is and I love that.

Epel: Platinum Jacket

i LOVE the expression he has and idk i just love the general vibe of all the platinum jacket cards and I like this one quite a bit.

Idia: I'm biased here again because he's so pretty to me. It's a tie between suitor suit and masquerade for me but masquerade just has the edge for me.

hes just so pretty man orz

Ortho: Fairy gear

The pink??? the butterfly motifs??? so peak. absolutely one of my top 10 cards

Malleus: Extremely biased because I love my dragon so I find them all pretty but Tsumsitter

Mostly because the whole family is here but I adore the expression he has on. (the diafam together is my weakness)

Lilia: Pop Music T-Shirt

The hair?? the ripped jeans??? the fishnet underneath??? 1000/10

Silver: Platinum Jacket

Love the expression, the implications. Amazing card 10/10

Sebek: Armor of Eternal Night

The tear in his eye? the context of the card? beautiful. book 7 broke me.

[viharmons]

What would be ur recs/advice for those who wanna start dressing like violet? I started the show less than a week ago ( late to the party, I know lmao ) but I already love it and she really stands out to me as a character.

Ps: I think ur posts are so cool!!

thank you! better to be late than never come i guess. :,)

if you're looking into violet's style and just want to dress like her, i recommend doing research on all of her outfits. she dresses very grunge-like at times with a twinge of girly and boho style. a great example of this is her outfit in “home invasion”, where she wears a dress and a flannel paired together.

the way she wears dresses is slightly influenced by 90s style. in “home invasion”, violet asks the girls if the tights they're forcing her to wear are vintage. it's clear that violet loves vintage style clothing. this photo is from a 1996 delia’s fall catalog, which is similar to violet's clothing style.

model A is definitely wearing something violet would wear. as violet loves to pair short-sleeve dresses with long sleeves. she also often wears combat-style boots with dresses, or vintage-style ankle boots. she wears ballet flats a few times, giving her outfits a feminine look. she also does wear a few blouses. violet is more on the girly side when it comes to dressing up.

for shoes, violet wears a lot of boots and ballet flats. her most common boots worn are her urban outfitters ecoté equestrian ankle boot. she wears them with almost every outfit with leggings, tights, etc.. with most of her outfits, she does wear combat-style boots. a great example of this is her boots worn with her ymc dress and the boots worn with the joie cardigan. she does wear ballet flats a few times, once with the spending time pullover and once with her free people fit and flare burgundy skater dress. only once in the show she wears sneakers. she also wears black, lace up oxfords with her a.p.c dress, which are never worn again after that.

violet often wears patterned clothing. the most common pattern violet wears is floral. almost all of her dresses have floral prints. her tights also have floral patterns. she often wears paisley print tops as well, such as the free people regal macrame asymmetrical tunic and the paisley ruffle top worn underneath the banana republic striped cardigan. she likes stripes as well, her socks are striped as well as some of her cardigans and sweaters.

another thing to remember is that violet always layers her clothing. underneath sweaters, she always wears an undershirt. underneath dresses, she wears long sleeves, and so on. underneath tank tops, she often layers two long sleeves or rolls up the sleeves.

she most often covers up her body when wearing dresses. she always wears something underneath her dresses to avoid showing any cleavage. she always makes sure to wear long sleeves with dresses as well to hide her cuts. when wearing sleeveless dresses, violet will pair cardigans or long sleeves underneath a dress to avoid showing her arms. when wearing shorts and dresses, violet always wears tights or long socks. it's clear that violet doesn't like to show a lot of skin. when wearing tank tops or short sleeves, she always wears something underneath unless she's by herself or with tate. only a few times in the show violet shows some skin, but not very much.

violet also loves graphic t-shirts. she wears a few of them like the j. crew lake erie boating club henley, the custom-made kinks tee, and the nordstrom chloe k. multicolored feather print tee. when wearing these, she always wears a long sleeve top underneath. as for long sleeves, violet likes to wear burnouts, such as the free people floral burnout henley and the free people striped long sleeve burnout in sand.

as for color, her outfits are never really vibrant. most of the time they include colors with dark hues. she wears a lot of black, purple, burgundy, gray, and beige from what i've seen. most of her outfits consist of muted color schemes.

for accessories, violet wears a lot of hats and bracelets. she wears the urban outfitters bailey of hollywood cosgrove wide brim pork pie hat a couple times. she also wears a lot of knit beanies or berets. when wearing bracelets, she really just wears whatever, such as pearl bracelets, knot bracelets, hair ties, and so on. she likes to wear scarves too, and she wears a small wrist scarf around her wrist a few times. with every outfit, violet wears silver hoop earrings, which aren't too noticeable unless she pulls her hair back. she also includes different bags, such as her rothco book bag and her ecoté backpack.

another thing about her style is that she often wears a lot of free people and urban outfitters brands, such as pins and needles, staring at stars, bdg, ecoté, and so on. free people is a mainly boho style clothing brand, and violet does wear a lot of boho style clothing as well. once in the show, she does wear a crochet white beanie, which stems from the whole 2010s boho style.

she wears crochet tank tops, paisley patterns, floral patterns, macrame vests and tank tops, ponchos, crochet dresses, lace tops and dresses, fringe cardigans and bags, the list goes on. her style overall is a mix of 2010’s boho, grunge, and vintage style clothing.

if you're looking to actually collect exacts, then before you start collecting, i would recommend doing your research on violet's outfits so you don't get the wrong exact. i've seen people buy the wrong colorway of the trapeze slip dress, so you should probably do your research first.

to start collecting violet’s clothes, you may want to start with some common items. such as the items listed down below. do keep in mind, as the years go on, the availability of some exacts are getting more and more limited as they age, so get these while you can.

• free people intimately voile and lace trapeze slip dress in storm.

• anthropologie moulinette soeurs anthro horkelia shift dress in orange.

• free people fit and flare burgundy skater dress.

• free people lost in the forest knit pullover in tan/faded rose.

• free people spending time pullover in ivory/cream.

these items are almost always available, these are some casual staples in your collection that really capture violet's unique style. new collectors usually get these anyway because if and when any rarer items are on sale, older collectors usually strive to get those because they've probably been looking for them for a while. as you slowly start to build your collection up, you can start to buy rarer exacts.

i recommend searching for items on other apps such as mercari, poshmark, vinted, curtsy, and ebay. if you search hard enough, you can find these items for really cheap. you can type in the brand name of an item you're looking for with a vague description of it, just like this. you can even use image searches on poshmark and ebay if you want.

you can find really cheap exacts this way, but if you can't find anything, then don't be discouraged. mapleavenues has been selling exacts since the early 2010s, and she still does to this day. she's on depop, poshmark, and ebay. however, her prices are high, so if you're not willing to pay that much, then you may wanna start searching with this method.

this is pretty much all i have to say about dressing like violet. this was a bit rushed, but i tried! violet's style is so unique and it always surprises me. so don't be afraid to change up your outfits every now and then like violet does. hopefully i explained this well enough, but violet's style doesn't have a main theme, so it is very, very complex and hard to explain. :,) hopefully this helps.