#so it might end up looking completely different

[tojisteddy]

Untitled Unmastered.2 | cw: 18+ mdni, smut, meanie!simon, daddy kink (icky), dad bf! Simon, cowgirl, nipple play, age gap (simon 30s, reader mid 20s), fluffy (kinda), blackcat!reader,

Simon could stare at you for ages.

Literally.

He never gets bored of you. The way you look like a model when youre just sitting on the stool, flipping through a magazine while he works on his truck. From the way you tie your hair up and sit on the fluffy rug to fix your makeup, despite the vanity he bought you. How you rummage through everything, clothes ending up on the floor and the vanity chair just to find one article of clothing you decide you won’t wear for the night. The pout on your lips when you’re feeling less confident. The snarky faces you make when Simon playfully tells you off about the mess.

“Yeah, yeah” you’d mumble, fixing your hair for the hundredth time. Not hundredth truthfully, 11th to be exact. It was still pretty in Simon’s eyes. Today though, you’re job was specifically to clean out your closet while Simon did some quick jobs around the house.

And you were. Kind’ve. You ended up playing dress up. Trying on your clothes in different variations, every piece of clothing meticulously styled, holding hats and other accessories to your chest and over your head, to see if you’d actually wear it. You’d passed Simon 3 different times in 3 completely different outfits in the span of an hour.

He squinted, taking in the fourth outfit, a stolen black shirt from his closet, a black bucket hat with oversized black jeans, a red leather jacket to pair, stacked necklaces and black boots. He leaned against the sink, arms folded over his chest, “The fuck are you doing kitty?”

“Sorting through my closet.” You say, opening the fridge and grabbing an orange and shutting it. “I’m doin what you asked, remember?”

He snorts as you walk away, unconvinced, “Yeah, sure.”

But he follows behind you back to your room after a few minutes, you peak his interest just from that alone. He leans on the door frame, examining your semi messy room, the red leather jacket now in a pile with other items. There was always mess to your madness. Least you were trying.

He sighed, taking a seat on your leopard print throw on your bed. A lazy look on his face, “Come on baby, show ‘em t’ me.”

Sure, he’ll act bored, like hes making the process any faster by watching over you, like he’s not the reason your closet is so full. But he’s more than enamored with you, always ready for his own little fashion show. 

You come out the closet, in a pair of black shorts that hug your curves perfectly, a dark green baby doll blouse, your hair now in a low ponytail. “It’d be nice with a necklace I think.” You speak casually while smoothing the blouse.

Simon looks down at your shorts again, the way they ride up your thighs, scuffing. “Spin.”

“I don’t think-“

“—Lovie.” He blinks. voice stern and deep. You grumble, doing as your told, the shorts riding so high that both of your ass cheeks are half out. It’d be worse if you bent over.

He curses, “Bloody hell, these might as well be a thong kitty.” He leans forward, pulling at the elastic of the shorts. “You’re not goin out in these.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “But it’s for the summer!”

“My ass, out with ‘em.” He waves you off as you pout, watching as you slip them off right in front of him with a huff. He gives your delectable ass a pinch, making you yelp.

“Daddyyy.” You whine.

“I’m making sure your ass was breathin baby. Don’t mind me.” He grunts, nonchalantly leaning back on the bed.

You rummage through the closet again, coming out in a handful of outfits, Simon is breezing through them with you. Still carefully letting his eyes trail down the curve of your back, the way your tits sit perfectly in a top, he loves it.

It’s when you come out in a black dress his brain goes a little haywire.

His breath hitches as he watches you, a big grin on your face as you spin. The dress was tight, course it was, a long sleeve off the shoulder that just covered your ass just enough. Simon wouldn’t mind having to pull it down every five seconds, only if he got to see those gorgeous eyes looking at him and only at him.

“Yeah, lovie come ‘ere, wanna see it up close.” He speaks ever so carefully.

And he loves it, the allure you have, that twinkle in your eyes that knows hes head over heals for you. the small swish of your hips as you take the hand he heald out for you to stand in between his legs. He pulls you closer, large hands going up and down your body, from your back, to your hips, down to your thighs, peppering kisses on your stomach.

“I think it’s nice.”

“Mmhmm”

“I could wear this to my friends party this week. You’ll let me go, right Pa?”

“Sure.”

“And it’s not sheer this time, so everything’s not hanging out.”

He rolls his eyes, yanking you down to his level, and meeting your lips, molding the two together, “Fuck up.” He grumbles in between kisses. You slap at his back, annoyed but complying, wrapping your arms around his neck as he guide you to straddle his lap, the dress riding up to your waist.

“I-Is this my reward f-for cleaning- anngh- my closet?” You moan, Simons lips making their way down your neck, nibbling and sucking at the skin.

The older man thinks for a moment, still kissing your neck, grinding your soaking pussy onto his growing length in his jeans. You both grunt, Simon can’t help but internally smirk, favorite girl, “No kiddo. Just thought ya look so pretty, wanna see how you move in this dress. You’ll let me see, wont you?”

Your clit was swelling up, your arousal making your panties damper, you couldnt help but hump against him for any friction, too lost to get your words out. He cocks an eyebrow, hands roaming up and down your hips, “You won’t let me?”

How could you say no? You ramble out, “No, I’ll show you! I’ll let you see how it moves pa!”

Which led to your lace underwear slightly torn, Simon slipping inside you and stuffing you full with his girthy cock. His hands harshly gripping and pulling on your ass while you rode him.

You keen, rolling your hips so disgustingly perfect, fast and hard, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. Your long nails clawing self his shoulders for leverage, “Shi- mmphf- feels so gooood Daddy.”

Simon hisses, eyes stuck on your disheveled state, the euphoric face you make, as his dick meets every ridge inside you sopping walls, he curses, “So fuckin gorgeous kitten.” his thumb brushes your lips, inviting itself in your mouth for you to suck on.

“Don’t even think that pretty little brain ‘s- shiiit- there anymore, only thing on your mind’s feelin good, huh?” He speaks in such a condescending tone but you can’t help but moan around his thumb.

“My dumb little baby, don’t worry, Daddy’ll get you there.” He ruts up into you with a groan, wrapping a hand around you to lean your chest to his face, pulling the dress down just enough so it’s under your chest. You whimper as his lips latch around your nipple, the other getting harder as you bounce in his lap, meeting his thrusts.

His mushroom tip, meets your g spot, rudely hiting it over and over every time he burry’s himself deep inside you. Simon switched between your nipples, sucking and nippling at them, tweaking them in between his fingers, your pussy soaking his cock. You throb around his length, eyes widening before you shove at his muscular chest.

“Fuuuck, I- haaah- it’s so much Pa!” You gasp, trying to escape his hold, but he only slams into your meaner, giving your ass a harsh smack that’s sure to bruise as he looks up at you.

“Fuckin take it, damn- ah-, you got it. give it to me kitten, Show me how messy you are” He grunts, grinding you down on his length. And your legs give out on you, breathless and creaming as you reach your peak. Your walls pulse around Simon, he hissed as you claw at his back, crying out in pleasure while he still fucks up into you. He holds you tight, biting at your shoulder and licking around it.

He gruffs out, “Look at you, took my dick so well lovie, fuck- hah- So fuckin sexy doll, so fuckin tight—” his cock twitches inside you, paining your walls that white fluid and filling you till your nothing but stuffed with his cum.

You both are left breathless, sticky with sweat, cum spilling out of you and onto your pubic hair.

He leaves a kiss your forehead, “Such a good fucking girl baby.”

a/n: meanie simon who supports short clothes but really doesn’t like when your ass hangs out. Also, Simon who does prize/food rewards when you’re good instead of just fucking you. lol it’s been a while. Sorry y’all. Of course lmk what you think.

most recent masterlist.

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱<3: @bruisedfig @tessakate @sevikasblackgf @mocha-the-muse @dollfwn @mims900 @lillybunni

[emmanation]

the senses shift last mindset is quietly ruining your journey

this whole senses shift last business has become a bit of a poisoned chalice. and i'm not saying that it's completely off the mark, it's not, but people take it and run in the entirely wrong direction. and when you're on the wrong track, no amount of speed is going to get you where you're meant to be.

so, now what it ends up doing is sneaking delay in through the back door.

like, okay, let's say you've ticked the box, signed the form, said "i'm in my dr," and then instead of just cracking on with it, you sit tight, waiting for the walls to turn marble white gold and the air to smell like the fragrance of jannah. and when that doesn't happen in five minutes flat, you say.....ah, well. senses shift last. i suppose it's still on the way.

when you do that, what you're actually doing is making waiting your state. we're past the point where you're assuming you're already there, now you're just assuming that you'll get there eventually, which means you're not there yet. and if you're not there yet, where are you?

right. still over here.

people in this community treat delay as if it's some abstract obstacle imposed by the universe or whatever system you subscribe to, alas, it is not an admin error or a queue in customs. it is entirely a you thing. it is you assuming it'll happen later, that it's not here now. that it's coming, but not arrived. and because you assume that, your awareness sits in the version of reality where you're still waiting.

it is entirely self-fulfilling, and you're dressing for a flight you've already missed.

the trouble is that people are pinning everything on the moment it feels different. they want the moment and the proof and the gut punch of realisation that comes along with it. but if you're chasing a moment, you're not living in the state, now you're just chasing it. you're treating the assumption as if it's a bet you picked, and now you're pacing the bookie's window to see if your horse came in, that's not how it works.

what's happening under the hood is: you affirm i am in my dr, and in doing so, you're placing your awareness there. like actually and practically because now that's where you are. and every time you come back to it, i am in my dr, you're reorienting. literally adjusting the wheel while driving. i hope. HOPE! you know that you're not waiting for something to occur, now you're just staying in line with what already is.

now, if instead, you go: "i am in my dr, but nothing has changed, so maybe it’s not working yet" then congratulations, you've booted yourself out of the assumption and back into the waiting room.

you're checking the post box for a letter you already wrote, signed, sealed, and sent to yourself.

this is what senses shift last should mean, that the feedback from your senses is often lagging behind the state you've chosen, and not because it's trying to punish you or teach you something. it's just a matter of where attention goes, your five senses are creatures of habit, they need a bit of time to catch up with what you've already internally accepted.

if you're standing around waiting for confirmation, you're doing what every beginner in this space does. you're treating the assumption as a request, not as the shift itself. you're assuming "i've affirmed, now the world will show me something." which is not how it works, the shift doesn't happen after the world proves it. the shift IS the moment you assumed. the rest is none of your business.

you think you're being realistic by saying "well, obviously it's not here yet, but it will be," but actually what you're doing is anchoring yourself to that very state of absence.

cause now every time you look around and say, it's not here yet, but it will be, you are doubling down on the idea that it's not here yet, not that it might be.

you're essentially watering the weed and then wondering why your flower bed is bare.

delay is not about time, nor is it about the universe putting you in a holding pen. your brain is dragging its feet. it's about you saying, i'll believe it when i see it, and then not seeing it, and then not believing it. and round it goes.

that's what delay is. it's a treadmill.

because you're literally not waiting for your senses. they are waiting for YOU.

this isn't a call for blind faith or performative cheerfulness or about pretending something's real until you're blue in the face.

you're understanding that awareness is the engine room, what you pay attention to IS what you affirm, and what you affirm is where you go.

so stop treating your senses like a litmus test.

it doesn't matter if you feel it. it doesn't matter if you see it.

it does not at all matter if the walls are still the same colour or your hands look the same. what matters is: did you say it? did you assume it? then that's it, and you're done, and now hold your line.

if you want to actually live in your dr, and not just sit at the platform waiting for the train to arrive, you've got to stop asking your senses for permission. so stop waiting for the fireworks, stop treating doubt like a weather system you have to brace for, your assumption is the state, your awareness is the shift.

now before the whole thing gets tied up with a neat little bow, we've got to address the panic side of things. because if there's one thing that really gums up the works, it's people thinking that their assumption isn't good enough, or isn't working, or that they've somehow done it wrong.

and once that line of thinking creeps in, the whole thing starts unravelling like a jumper caught on a nail.

so let's get this down plain and clear: changing your assumption is not akin to some metaphysical divorce proceeding.

you're not locked into one idea like it's a mortgage. you're allowed to, and in fact expected to, reorient. if you realise you've gone off course or gotten spooked by the silence, all you've got to do is pick a new line and keep walking. no bells and whistles, you shift the assumption, not the stars.

when you panic over whether or not the assumption is solid, or whether you've ruined the shift by having a bit of a wobble, you're playing hide and seek with your own reality. and not in a fun way.

you're the one with your hands on the wheel, right? and if you're constantly waiting for someone else to tell you it's safe to proceed, you're going to end up stuck at the lights until kingdom come.

when you fall into this pattern, the checking, the worrying, the outsourcing, what you're really doing is giving your power away to an imaginary tribunal. you're acting as if there's a central authority somewhere, monitoring your thoughts and stamping them approved or denied. there isn't, it's just you, always has been.

and yes, of course senses shift last can be comforting. especially for people who've spent years waiting, waiting to be seen, waiting to be chosen, waiting to feel different, waiting for a break, it slots right into the familiar groove. it says: don't worry, the delay is part of the process. you're doing fine. you'll get there. just trust this.

and it's tempting to cling to that, because in a world that runs on deferred gratification, it fits like an old pair of shoes.

alas, that comfort can turn into complacency, and then into passivity, and then into this soft-focus patience that masks what's actually happening, which is: you're sitting in the same place, hoping something external will do the heavy lifting.

but yet. shifting isn't something done to you, it's something you are.

you don't need to sit and twiddle your thumbs while waiting for confirmation.

nor do you need to wrestle with the question of whether it's happening.

you say it, and then you hold your line.

and if you wobble? if you slip? if the old assumptions creep back in? no need to light a candle or start over.

just drop the old one as if it's a bad habit and keep going. carry on as if.

that's all.

special applause reserved to the loveliest to lovely @sheeezu, who was my think thank throughout this.

i do have to also point out that this is in no way shape or form directed at any sort of shifting creators, but just of a collective mindset that i have seen people twisting an originally very correct thing into!!!!!!

[calebsmoocher]

Makeup Ruiner! Caleb

She's out and about while he's sitting at home, pulling tufts of his own hair out. It's almost like she's forgotten about him. Nothing he can't fuck back into her memory tho 🤷‍♀️

cw: smut (so mdni!), stand and carry fuck / wall sex (the goat), mirror sex, jealous Caleb awh, sweet at the end i swear

She slides the key into the keyhole as quietly as she can, turning the door knob with her lip between her teeth. It’s 1AM and her phone has been blowing up for the past three hours.

Where are you?

Let me know when you’re on your way home.

Are you okay?

Hello?

Do you need me to pick you up?

Let me know that you’re okay.

Hello??

She clenches her eyes until she hears the faint click of the door opening. She had accidentally put her phone in ‘do not disturb’ mode earlier, only getting to check it when she was on her way home. 

“Caleb is going to kill me.” The thought hums its way like a mantra through her mind and she can only purse her lips in defeat. She steps into her apartment and shuts the door behind her. Her feet are killing her. Though the pink heels she has on aren’t necessarily as high as her other heels, the material still clips at her heels and toes. She braces a hand on the wall, using the other to start untying the winding ribbon on her calf. But her bag slides and knocks into her hand at the tip of her weight. She thinks she might fall over before she throws her weight completely onto the wall.

When she looks up, Caleb is leaning against the doorway, a hand placed languidly on his hip. She gasps, almost falling down again. 

“Caleb..!” He pushes himself up, walking towards her. His brows are furrowed. And he’s wearing outerwear. “You scared me.” When he stops in front of her, he takes her elbows into his hands, balancing her off the wall. 

“I was so worried.” 

She grimaces before giving him her best, pleading look.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise my phone was on ‘do not disturb’. I didn’t get any of your messages until I was nearly home.” He takes the bag off her shoulder and hangs it at the door. 

“You didn’t get my messages? Or you just didn’t happen to see them until now?” Despite her eyes crinkling in guilt, his gaze is lowered at her feet. He kneels down and begins untying the ribbon bow. 

“Caleb…”

“You must’ve been really engrossed in whatever you were doing to not check your phone.” Although his words cut into her, his tone is soft. Almost disinterested. Once the ribbon falls to her ankles, he undoes the other shoe. “You’re home safe now. That’s all that matters.” He looks up and gives her a reassuring smile. She can’t help but run her hand through his hair. It’s soft and smells faintly of their shared shampoo.

She winces as he guides one foot out of her heel, leaning one hand down onto his shoulder. 

“Your skin’s rubbed raw.” He frowns, wrapping an arm beneath her knees. He picks her up bridal style and she curls her arms around his neck despite feeling supported. Red floods her cheeks and her wide eyes can hardly stay on his. He wiggles her other shoe off before dropping it to the floor. He turns his head to her, mouth parting then closing again, as he walks further into the house.

“Caleb, you don’t have to…” He ignores her.

“Why not wear more comfortable shoes next time?” She looks down, suddenly finding his plain shirt interesting.

“I didn’t think I’d be walking as much as I did. Anyway, it only started hurting now.”

“Right,” he hums, turning the corner into the bathroom and flicking the lightswitch with his elbow. He sets her down on the counter and smooths down the fabric of her dress over her knees. There, his fingers linger, letting the soft cotton fall through his hands. 

The bathroom is cramped. Really, it’s a battle when they’re both using it to get ready at the same time. Despite the state of their bathroom in their youth, the room now is spotless. The counter only has their differing face cleansers and creams lined up neatly against the splashback. When he stays over he uses her shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. And he comes out smelling just as pampered as her. He claims that her shampoo makes his hair softer. It’s a local brand, one that he can’t find in Skyhaven. So he’s always taking a travel size back with him when he returns. 

He bends down and opens the cabinet, grabbing ointment and a box of bandaids. As he unscrews the cap of the ointment, she takes the box in her hands, inspecting the designs on the back. It’s the same brand they had used as kids, but now the patterns were different. She shuffles through the packets, looking for one with a design to her liking. A wince leaves her mouth as the cool ointment presses into her heel. Caleb murmurs an apology, offering her a teasing pout. He uses a cotton pad to gently rub it in before holding his hand out to her.

“See any you like?” She hands him one with a cartoon apple on it.

“I don’t remember buying these.”

“That’s ‘cause I bought them.” He smooths the bandaid over her skin before standing up and washing his hands beside her. She watches him in silence, chewing at her lip. When he’s done, he returns in front of her, not one word having been exchanged since.

He rests his hands on either side of her, taking a step back and letting his eyes wander over her. Her cheeks are still flushed as his scent encases her. She can feel the warmth radiating off of him; it’s a nice contrast to the goosebumps forming on her shoulders. Her dress is a pillowy pink, with lace butterflies sewn over the straps and bust. The sleeves are a sheer tulle that open out into a fanned cuff at her wrists. She wants to throw a towel at him, but there’s nothing in reach. She has never worn something like this, never seen herself in something so dainty and elegant. So, of course, neither has Caleb. Sure, he had witnessed her princess phases when she was young; the phases when she’d wrap bedsheets around her like a ballgown and appoint him as her butler. Have him hold her hand so she wouldn’t trip over the bundle of fabric while she paraded around their living room. 

And the phase in middle school when she began to experiment with makeup, braving school with cheeks so pink it looked like a sunburn. He had even seen her at her high school dance. Makeup done professionally, and a pretty dress that was fit for royalty. But she had still been a teenager. And throughout college and her moving into the workforce, she never returned to those princess phases.

Not until right now.

“You’re beautiful.” He twirls the ribbon around his finger loosely before letting it fall back against her dress. Then he brushes his thumb over her knee, tracing the dangerous line where skin disappears into fabric. His eyes wander over her face. The soft, pink blend of blush on her cheekbones. The intricate detailing of brown and black shadow around her eyes drawn out into subtle winged eyeliner. The gentle, coral plush of her lips. He swallows, a pink hue prickling at his cheeks. “So pretty. Did you have a good time at least?”

She drags her fingers up his arm, pressing into the hard muscle, before humming in reply. She can’t trust her voice not to quiver. Can’t trust her face to not flush in embarrassment if she meets his endearing eyes. No matter what he says, some part of her will still feel like the silly little girl dressing up. He mirrors her hand, knuckles brushing up her wrist, all the way up past her shoulder to her chin. He lifts her jaw so that she meets his gaze, face craned down and eyes searching hers. His brows are slightly furrowed, and she knows if she lets him look any longer, he’ll figure out exactly what’s wrong. So she pushes his hand away. But he only reels back closer than before, palm pressing against her cheek as his fingers wrap along the shell of her ear. He guides her lips towards his, then he waits. Hovers. And she watches as he takes another look down at her dress before clenching his eyes. She watches as his mouth fights between their open and closed states, like he’s juggling with whether or not to speak. 

He decides to kiss her first, taking her lip between his and pushing feverishly into her. She wraps a hand around the arm that is still braced on the counter beside her. But the kiss is as fleeting as her shock. He pulls away, just far enough to speak into her cheek.

“I’ve never seen this dress before…” Is that what he’s thinking about? Her mind blanks.

“...It was a gift.”

“Right,” comes his reply after a beat. He doesn’t dwell on it any longer before he leans down again to capture her lips once more. He doesn’t mean to be rough. But the way he’s angling his face, pushing her body back further onto the counter, she can only grip his arm tighter. His tongue swipes at her lip and she lets him in without a thought. His smell, entwined with the scent of his shampoo, fills her. Her eyes fall shut and she feels her mind slip. His tongue is cruel as it sucks on hers, coaxing her mouth wider. 

“Right, but, from who?”

She has to fight the roll of her eyes as she takes in a breath, pulling him back towards her. She doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t force her. Her hand runs up along his scalp, messing up his neat hair. She doesn’t know why, but she has a fixation with his hair. The way it just falls through her fingers. The way no matter what angle she’s touching his head, he always lets a groan slip. Delightful, full groans as he rocks his body against her, in between her inviting legs. He hikes her dress up to get closer. He thinks he should be afraid of ruining it, but he isn’t. Not even in the slightest. 

“Mmph,” she moans into his mouth. When he lets up, giving them a chance to breathe, both their lips are red and swollen. She can almost see the puffs of hot air leaving his mouth. Almost hear the thumping of his chest if her own wasn’t so overpowering. Her lipstick is smudged at the corners of his mouth, so she takes her thumb and swipes at it, watching with half-lidded eyes at the plush of his lips under her finger.

“Can I take this off?” He fingers thread over the tied ribbons on her sleeves. Despite its airy and pretty appearance, the tulle rubs against her skin the wrong way.

“Yeah.” She guides him back down to her, leaving small kisses along his jaw. At the corners of his mouth. Along the thin flesh of his neck as he pulses against her. His breaths are heavy as he undoes the ribbon and slides the sleeve off her. He does the same on the other side. Then his hand travels to the strap of the dress, tugging gently at the bow.

His brows furrow as he looks at the thin straps. Her skin is flushed beneath it, and her chest is rising unevenly. Slowly, he pulls the end of the bow until it falls messily and the fabric falls just shy of her breast. He gapes, pulling back a little to get a glimpse of her face.

“No bra?” It’s almost a whisper; almost just to himself, even, as his fingers dip over the soft curve of her flesh. She reaches for his hand, and guides it to the other strap without a word. No, her lips are focused on unwinding him from the base of his throat. He follows her encouragement and pulls the string, letting the bust of the fabric fall down onto her lap. He takes a moment, eyes grazing over the swell of her breasts. Over her hardened nipples as the rush of cold air engulfs them. 

“Don’t stare,” she whines, pulling his face into her neck. He uses the opportunity to reach around her and begin loosening the lace in the corset.

“Why not, though?” His tone is teasing. 

“It’s unfair,” she mumbles, hands lifting the hem of his shirt. He lets her tug it up to his chest before helping her and pulling it over his head. When he looks back at her, her cheeks are red as embers. His scent is overwhelming, and the heat radiating off his chest makes her dizzy. But she reaches up anyway, and runs her palm over his chest. Her fingers dip and bend to every crevice, every rise and fall of his muscles. 

Forgetting the corset, his hands pull her chin back towards him. His lips are scorching against hers, wet and messy in their trail down to her jaw. She gasps into the air, pulling him closer by his waist. The sheer broadness of his torso forces her legs wider, and he leans flush against her. His fingers work blindly to hike the rest of her dress up, pulling it out from under her and bunching it together at her waist. 

“Look at you.” His thumbs strokes at the soft flesh of her inner thigh before taking a devious swipe at her clothed cunt. “I’m going to ruin you, baby.”

“Caleb,” she sighs airily, wriggling her hips to get closer. He holds her in place, though, one hand gripping her waist as he kneels down in between her legs. He rubs at her clothed clit and she throws her head back, biting down a moan. 

“Don’t go quiet on me now, baby. You’ve done more than enough of that tonight, don’t you think?” She feels the sting of guilt creep back into her chest, contorting with her stirring arousal. But she can’t say anything; her mind blanks as he presses a chaste kiss on the damp fabric. “Answer me, baby.”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sorry, Caleb.” He doesn’t respond; instead he pulls her panties to the side and thumbs over her sensitive flesh.

“You’re already so wet, baby,” he murmurs, leaning in to press another kiss at her sex. She swallows and leans back onto her elbows. Despite her squirms, she can’t get any closer. He won’t let her. “Gonna use my fingers to stretch you out, okay?”

She nods frantically even though he can’t see her, her whimpers breaking through her clenched teeth. He uses his thumb to part her sex, sliding it gently up and down her sticky opening. Just when he thinks he has to use his evol to stop the writhing of her hips, he slides a finger into her, and she shudders. Compared to her own, Caleb’s fingers are thicker, longer. Warmer, even. He starts a slow, even pace. But even he knows she can take more with the state of her dripping cunt. 

“Gonna add another, okay?” 

She nods again.

“Please, yes.” Her words are just as shaky as her breath. She’s backed so far up onto the counter that her shoulders and head rest on the mirror. It’s freezing compared to the blaze between her legs. 

As he slides a second finger in, he wraps his mouth around her clit, sucking harshly. She almost cums right there, lurching forward.

“Caleb!” When the shock dissolves, she leans back down against the mirror, writhing against his tongue. His fingers are still gentle and slow. But his tongue is fierce, nudging at her most sensitive part with the tip of his tongue. She can see him growing restless beneath her, faintly mimicking her squirm. The hand on her waist presses into her harshly for a second before he soothes the area with his thumb.

“Gonna let you go now. Don’t move.” His voice is gentle, but firm. He looks up at her, mouth still on her cunt, and she feels something sinister stir in her stomach. She gives him a weak nod and mouths an ‘okay’.  

His hand leaves her shakily, then travels down to his own pants as he begins palming himself. She almost rolls her hips in pleasure but his piercing gaze holds her in place. His pace on his cock is rough yet slow, matching the thrusts of his fingers. Milky fluid is dripping down to his wrist, threatening to drop and stain his pants. He can’t care less, though. Not when he’s the one making her feel this good. 

“Caleb!” She can’t stop her squirms anymore, hand grabbing tufts of his hair and pulling him away to no avail. “Stop! I’m gonna come!” The moans falling from her mouth do nothing to deter him.

“Do it,” he says, sucking more harshly. He slips a third finger in and she lurches forward, using her other hand to brace herself on his shoulder. She shakes her head, the sting of tears brimming at her eyelids. 

“Don’t wanna.” She groans and her thighs try to clamp shut around him. “Wanna come on your cock. Please, please, Caleb.” His eyes snap up to hers again, brows knitted sternly. 

“Come,” he demands, “do it. On my fingers.” 

Despite her begs and whines, he doesn’t give her a choice. His fingers never slow, pushing and pulling against her pulsing walls until she can no longer hold it in. She orgasms with an open mouthed whine, thighs cramping in an exhaustive shake around his head. His fingers continue their slow drag through her high, letting her ride out the intensity. A single tear has spilled from her eye, traversing the curve of her flushed cheek. She slumps back down against the mirror, elbows just strong enough to support her body. 

“Good girl,” he says quickly, standing up and leaning down over her. He lifts her chin and looks over her, eyes searching hers. He kisses the stray tear gently; and it disappears into the mix of come and fluids on his tongue. 

Despite the pulsing of her swollen cunt, when she sees his hands unbuckle his belt, she can feel the slick in her start to build up again. She sucks in a few quick breaths, sitting up and reaching forward. She beckons him down and he obeys, letting her kiss frantic, breathless kisses along his neck, leaving coral lipstick marks in their wake. His fingers almost fumble with the belt, yanking it off and throwing it to the floor. They work messily on his zipper before pulling down his trousers to his ankles and kicking them off. Before he can steady himself, her hands are already tugging at the waistband of his briefs.

“So fucking needy,” he breathes into her, mouth ghosting her hair. Once his briefs are off, he gives himself a few slow, wide strokes. His inhale is shaky. Precum is leaking out of his tip and dripping down its veiny length. “Want me to fuck you, baby?”

“Yes,” she says immediately, shimmying closer. Her breath hitches as he presses the tip at her sex, stroking slowly up and down the puffy opening. “Yes, I want you to fuck me. Please, Caleb.” She can see how strongly her pleas affect him in the way his cock twitches. In the way the muscles in his arms tighten. And in the way his jaw tenses at her every whine.  

The sticky fluids from her orgasm gather at the tip of his cock and he rubs it over her flesh like a lubricant. When neither of them can take anymore, he presses forward, pushing into her cunt inch by inch. The girth makes her shudder and moan out into the hot air between them. She can feel him filling her out completely, taking every last barrier between them down until he occupies every nook and cranny of her conscience. 

“Oh fuck,” she whines, clenching her eyes shut. He starts moving, fucking her shallowly with half his cock. Working his way further and further into her as she loosens around him. He watches her expressions, each little contortion as he fucks her. Slowing and pulling back when he thinks she might cry out. The first stretch is always overwhelming, but he navigates her physical boundaries until she fully relaxes in his hold. He gives her a gentle kiss on her forehead and she smiles up at him despite her glassy eyes. Her winged eyeliner is smudged across her cheekbones. And her natural flush outdoes the pink blush. She gasps up at him, gesturing for him to keep going.

He begins thrusting into her fully, deeply with his entire cock, and her ears redden at the squelch. His pace is slow but rough, and it pushes her up further and further on the counter until her back is pressed against the mirror. She can only brace her hands against his arms locked on either side of her, nails digging into his biceps. She can feel every drag of his cock along her walls. Every ridge and curve as he fills her up slowly. Almost at a teasing pace.

“Waited all night for you.” He’s bringing this up again now. “While you were out, all pretty for someone else.” He gives her a sharp thrust and she whimpers, eyes falling shut. As she loses herself in the darkness, focusing on nothing but the feeling of his cock pushing in and out of her, she feels his knuckles brush along her cheek.

“Eyes on me, baby.” 

It’s a struggle to keep her eyes open and fixed on his piercing gaze, but he doesn’t take no for an answer. 

“Caleb,” she moans, blinking frantically to keep herself from slipping. She feels so, so full. And with each delicious push of his cock into her, he rubs against her sensitive, spongy tissue. She can feel her slick slipping out, can hear it even with each embarrassing squelch as his dick pushes through it. 

“Couldn’t even message me back-” he lands another forceful thrust, “because you were too occupied with whatever you were doing.” His pace has quickened now; and his knuckles are white against the counter as he braces himself. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“I said I’m sorry,” she cries out, holding onto him for dear life.

“For what?” He bites at her neck, harshly, then soothes over the area with his tongue. “What are you sorry for?” She gasps as he pulls her to the edge of the counter, forcing her legs wider to accommodate his hips. 

“I’m…I-” Her mind is going delirious with every thrust, lips biting into her swollen lips as he pushes her closer and closer towards release. “Wait,” she gasps, plating her palm against his chest. “It’s getting all over the dress.” Their combined slick has dribbled down the swell of her ass, spilling onto the counter and staining the ruffles of her dress.

Caleb barks a laugh, slowing his rut. He pulls out but he can’t stop the gush of arousal that seeps out of her sex and onto the fabric. He lifts her to her feet, steadying her for a second in her wooziness, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Want me to take it off, yeah?” His fingers pull at the ribbon and loosen the corset until it all but slips off her chest. He tugs the fabric down her hips harshly through her ‘uh huh’s and helps her step out of the pile of fabric. He kicks it out of the way much to her dismay. “Don’t worry. We’ll get it dry cleaned before you return it,” he snarls in her ear, biting at the skin.

Pushing her away from the counter and against the wall, he wraps her thigh around his waist. His lips work their way across her collarbone, sucking harshly at the flushed skin. She mewls into his ear, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly as he lifts her around him. 

“Want it just like this, yeah?” His nose nudges into her cheek at their proximity and he lines his cock back up with her messy sex. She’s pulsing. Being carried like this, having his flexed biceps all over her, she can almost feel her come at the brink of release. As she breathes in him, she catches a glimpse of the two of them in the mirror and almost moans. He’s so fucking huge, covering her entire torso. She can see her legs, wrapped neatly around him, and her heels digging into the flesh just above his ass. She swallows, a guilty flush encasing her face, and hides her face in the crook of his neck. 

Caleb slides his cock back into her, the red, angry tip swallowed in murky white release. 

“Now, tell me what you’re sorry for.” The sheer power of his thrusts causes him to push her back against the wall for support. She gasps and warbles into him, nipping intermittently at his lipstick stained neck. 

“I’m sorry for ignoring you. For not--mmph--checking my phone and making you--oh my god--making you worry.” The tears she has been so strong in restraining finally break. Inky globes roll down her cheek as her mascara runs. He watches her, bewitched by the way she looks so messy. So used and broken as she cries out his name. He thrusts into her harder. And she looks so pretty, he thinks, as fresh, hot tears run down her cheeks. Smearing her eyeshadow and liner until its nothing but a splatter of marks under her waterline. Her tears carve away at her foundation, leaving streaky beige stains down to her chin. And it feels so good. She feels so fucking full of him.

“Talk to me, baby,” he presses, kissing her brow.

“Mmhm,” she moans, head thrown back. “Feels so good. I just feel you.”

Her eyes can’t help but be pulled to the mirror, watching as he flexes his ass with each slam into her. She experiments with dragging her nails down his back, eyes widening as he convulses. Gasping as he pushes more roughly into her, fucking her ruthlessly against the wall. She can no longer hide her fixation, the dirty, sinister churning in her gut as she moans brokenly at the erotic image before her.

“What are you looking at?” His eyes widen for only a split second, like he can’t believe this is what’s got her clamping down on his cock every few seconds. He turns his head slightly and meets her pornographic expression in the mirror. Her eyes are half lidded and her mouth is parted. Her tongue drags lazily over her teeth with each rise and fall of her chest.

“You like watching, baby?” He watches as she breaks even further around his harsh thrusts. The smell of sex clouds her vision, fogs her conscience so much that she can only nod. “Like seeing yourself get fucked?”

He drags his thick cock out to the tip then slides back in, torturously slow. He does this a few times, angling and propping her up in such a way so that she sees the curve of his hard cock disappearing into her messy cunt. 

“Go faster,” she pleads, unable to take her eyes away from it. 

“You’re such a dirty girl, getting off on this. I had no idea you were such a lewd, filthy girl.” She cries out as she feels the spurt of her release rush to her core. This isn’t how she wants to come. Not when he’s being so slow and teasing. But she can’t help it. Can’t hold it in as she turns to mush in his arms. Her release squirts up onto his torso, soaking his skin in murky white fluids. She watches as rings of white, sticky cum gather at the base of his cock. And when he pushes too close, reaches all the way to her bruised cervix, her cum smears over her swollen sex.

“It feels so good,” she moans, wrapping her hands around his wrists tightly as he settles her down. Her legs are so shaky, and she can hardly support her weight.

“Not done with you yet,” he says, planting kisses on the top of her head. He guides her towards the counter, letting her brace herself against the cool marble, and coaxes her jaw up. “Look how messy you are, baby. So fucking beautiful for me like this.” He holds her chin between his fingers and watches her though the mirror as he plants kisses along her shoulder. Truly, her makeup is ruined. Her cheeks are wet and sticky. And her breasts are swollen, jiggling slightly as he grinds against her.

“Caleb,” she sighs, hanging her head low. Her arms are shaky, and each grind pushes her hips uncomfortably into the edge of the counter. Yet despite her exhaustive state her pussy is still pulsing for more. Seeing him behind her, almost engulfing her, makes her walls twitch and convulse. She bites her lip in embarrassment. “Wanna keep going…want you to cum in me.” She says this to spur him on. Knows that she’s biting off more than she can chew, but she doesn’t care. She reaches behind her and strokes his cock shallowly, guiding him towards her heat again.

He presses his hands against the counter’s edge where her hips meet, cushioning the blows as he bucks into her. His cock is so pent up and strained; and it swells up as she clamps down harshly on him. He’s not going to last long. Especially not now when he has a full view of her swollen breasts in the mirror, jerking with his every thrust. He desperately wants to tug at the plush flesh, bite at her nipples, even just wrap his tongue around it. But his hands are rendered immobile on the counter, and her comfort is prioritised above all else. Instead, he settles for biting into her shoulder and sucking the skin harshly. She can’t help the moans that spill out of her lips, hoarse and ragged. The particular angle of him rutting into her from behind is breaking her mind into pieces. She can feel him in her gut, fuck, she can hardly keep up as he knocks the breath out of her.

“Do you hear yourself?” Comes his taunting voice. Each moan sends a pulse straight to his cock. “Fuck, can you even think?” She manages to shake her head through her tears. She looks absolutely ruined. 

“Feel so fucking mmph--feel so good.” She feels her release gush out of her without warning, splattering over his thighs and the floor. She’s never felt so sensitive in her life than she does now as he takes on a bruising pace towards the finish line. He’s breathing out so heavily into her air, groaning and whining her name. And she can only egg him on, crying out for his release. Demanding to be filled up. 

His cock hardly leaves her cunt as he tries to push further in and in, balls flush against her ass. She feels him twitch before his warm come floods into her. It’s sticky and hot, and suddenly there’s a ringing in her ears. The feeling of being full, really full, has her gasping out against the mirror, body thrown over the counter. Her cunt is so sensitive, every trivial little shift of his body sets off another moan. Caleb slumps over her, careful not to lean his entire weight on her. He wraps his arms around her and lets her head rest back against his shoulder.

“Don’t pull out yet,” she mumbles, eyes closed.

“Don’t worry,” he coos, rubbing over her hips soothingly. “I’m not going anywhere.” She knows as soon as he pulls out, their mixed come is going everywhere. They stay there for a few minutes, the frantic rise and fall of their chests plateauing out into slow, even breaths. 

“Are you okay, baby? I know I was rough with you.” She hums, the fog in her mind slowly clearing.

“I’m okay.” Regaining control over her body, she reaches up and strokes his arm. “That felt really, really good.”

“Yeah?” He kisses at her jaw. “Gonna clean you up now, okay?” She nods. “But,” he gives her a once over, pursing his lips, “I’m gonna have to pull out. Is that okay, baby?” She braces herself before giving another nod.

“Yeah, you can pull out. But, gently, please.” Upon her approval, he eases his cock out slowly, and sure enough, white fluid trickles out of her cunt and down her legs. She lets out a gasp at the heightened sensitivity of feeling so empty. 

Caleb scoops her up and sits her back atop the counter. She leans against the mirror with a shy smile, watching him fiddle with the bottles beside her. He flips the cap of her makeup remover and lets some seep out onto a cotton pad.

“My beautiful girl.” He grins down at her, wiping gently across her cheeks. Blushing, she reaches up and brushes aside the hair falling into his eyes. His hair is damp now, seeped with sweat.

“My sweet, doting Caleb,” she echoes teasingly. He only laughs, getting a fresh wipe. He tips her jaw up slightly, dabbing cautiously around her waterline.

“Close your eyes for me, baby.” She does as she’s told, and feels the cold wipe on her skin. He takes extra care around her lashes and the corners of her eyes. When he’s done he leans back and tosses the used wipes in the bin.

When she opens her eyes, he’s holding out a jar in front of her.

“Want to use your cleanser now? Or after a shower, baby?” She giggles, chest filling with warmth.

“You can use it now.” He nods, twisting open the cleansing balm and taking a decent scoop out. Before he can set it down, she takes it, dipping her own fingers in.

“What,” he says through a laugh, “you’re gonna clean me up too?”

“Of course, dummy,” she quips, smoothing the balm between her hands. Once the balm is more pliable, she applies it evenly over his face. She rubs it into his skin with gentle, circular motions. “Like this,” she hums, the corners of her lips curling up into a smile. He watches, eyes rounded and gleaming in awe, and then he follows her direction, spreading the balm over her soft skin. Their arms brush against each other in their proximity. 

As they settle into silence, she bites her lip.

“I really didn’t mean to make you worry, Caleb.” He looks up at her, fingers slowing down. She stays focused, though, smoothing the balm over his forehead. “I should’ve let you know I was going out.”

“Don’t stress about it now, baby. You’re here now, right?” He kisses the top of her head. “That’s all that matters.”

“I made you stay up late,” she says. She reaches over to the sink, letting the water run over her hands. Guiding him closer, she begins wiping the balm off then rinsing it down the sink. 

“It’s nothing,” he reassures her. “Baby, don’t keep dwelling on it. It won’t happen again, right?” She shakes her head. “Then that’s all I need to know. I trust you.”

She stays still as he begins washing the balm off her face as well.

“Do you have to get up early tomorrow? It’s almost three…” He only shakes his head.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday, baby. I’m all yours.” He pauses. “Well, technically, it is tomorrow.” She mirrors his grin, leaning down and capturing his lips. It’s gentle and slow. 

He pulls away first, taking her arms and guiding her down off the counter. 

“Come on, gotta shower first before you fall asleep on me.”

Okay, i wrote this ages ago and this was supposed to be part 2 of a Sylus fic where he does your makeup . lord give me the strength to finish it.

bruh when the deceptive solitude artwork came out, best believe i was fucking FROTHING at the mouth

[arcanetrivia]

Long transcript behind the cut

[Image description: Five images of illustrated text. The first has a color drawing of a bald eagle with the red and white stripes of the flag of the United States around its neck looking at a golden eagle with stripes of the black, red, and gold of the German flag around its neck. On the second the golden eagle is holding what might be a rolled up scroll in its talons. On the third through fifth, the golden eagle is shown from the front with its wings spread. Complete text from all five images follows:

-----

The Germans have a message for you: We've been where you are now. Fighting fascism is an ideological war of attrition against you. You win by not relenting this instant, tomorrow, and every day thereafter. Listen to us!

MAGA Fascism You aren't crazy: MAGA under Trump is turning fascist. Even researchers begin to realize this. (Source 1) For all historical differences, there are modern definitions of fascism perfectly applicable to MAGA: "It wants to silence and even murder its opponents rather than arguing with thern; it prefers an authoritarian State over democracy; it pits an aggressively exclusionary idea of the nation against a pluralism that values and prioritizes difference." (Source 2) Silencing opponents- e.g. Trump's attacks on Gavin Newsom Authoritarian state - Sending NG and Marines Exclusion - Deporting people without due process

Source

1. Tourish, Dennis (2024): It's time to use the F word about Trump: Fascism, populism and the rebirth of history. In: Leadership, 20, 1, p. 9-32. 2. Eley, Geoff (2021): What is Fascism and Where does it Come From? In: History Workshop Journal, 91, l, p. 1-28.

-----

1. Resisting MAGA Fascism Reject the myths Fascism thrives off of fear. Stories involving the "replacement or destruction of the grand nation" by foreign aliens plus "internal enemies aiding them" are meant to frighten people. (Footnote 1) The fascists pretend there to be an emergency so they can play the role of the saviour. (Footnote 1) People who fall for this are often already afraid! They often feel like they have been left behind in a transforming world (Footnote 2) or fear their socio-economic status might decline. (Footnote 3) Who lashes out when they feel alright?

Source

1. Kutscher, Nadja (2023): Das Narrativ vom »grøsen Austausch«. Rassismus, Sexismus, Antifeminismus im neurechten Untergangsmythos. 2. Garsztecki, Stefan / Laux, / Nebelin, Marian (2023): Die »neue« Rechte im Kontext. Globale Trends und Entwicklungen. 3. Philip Morris GmbH (2024): Study on the reality of living in Germany.

-----

2. Resisting MAGA Fascism Snap out of it DOGE, El Salvador, the Big Beautiful Bill, Los Angeles… It is no coincidence that you feel like the bullshit never ends. (Footnote 1, 2) MAGA is trying to steamroll your public sensemaking. This is meant to make them look allmighty. They want to show you that if they can, they will. This is nothing but attrition targeting you. Once you understand this, you are fortified. When you stand together eith others, you can rely on a broad resistance no matter what they try anywhere. Los Angeles is proof of that.

Source

1. Wagner, Maria Celeste / Boczkowski, Pablo J. (2021): Angry, frustrated, and overwhelmed. The emotional experience of consuming news about President Trump. In: Journalism, 22, 7, p. 1577-1593. 2. Baum-Baicker, Cynthia (2020): Not Fake News. Toxic Consequences of the Trump Stress Effect. In: Journal Of Humanistic Psychology, 60, 6, p. 730-746.

-----

3. Resisting MAGA Fascism Do not relent The shitshow will continue for now. Do not expect your peaceful (!) resistance to make MAGA falter right away. That's not the point. The point is to bring them to a grinding halt over time. The point is to make clear without a doubt that the price for their actions will grow every time, until it's too much for them. If you continue mass resistance, the projection of power MAGA requires will falter. You are in a better position than Germany in 1933; you are a larger country, you have the internet, you have historical knowledge.

Source: You If you've ever wondered what you would have done back then: You're doing it right now.

-----

You still have a Chance Use it!

/end description]

[pillbaby]

camboy!choso who's your absolute favorite camboy. you didn't even know it was him, not really. he was always masked, a thing about privacy, which honestly just made him hotter.

camboy!choso who's livestreams you never miss. seriously, you've got notifications on, and your phone's practically glued to your hand just for him. there’s nothing quite like watching him work himself over, those big, calloused hands expertly pumping his thick cock. you live for it.

camboy!choso who you always time your release with. you can tell he’s getting close when his breaths start getting ragged, and that tattoo on his chest rises and falls all unevenly. the moment he cums, ropes of white splattering over his hands and thighs, you follow, leaving you with that familiar sticky mess on your fingers and sheets.

camboy!choso who moves into your apartment a few weeks later. you’d put up a flyer about the empty room, and he just showed up. turns out, he’s a great roommate. never brings over loud people, always cleans up his messes in the kitchen. his room is down the hall, and he mostly keeps to himself, pretty quiet.

camboy!choso who you don’t really talk to much (which is a real shame, honestly), but you totally think he’s cute. he’s always kind when you do interact, and it leaves you with butterflies every single time. somewhere along the way, you just stop getting off to that person on your screen. your thoughts start drifting to your roommate instead, and you just let them.

camboy!choso who you totally run into as he’s stepping out of the shower. he’s just got a towel hanging low on his hips, his v-line perfectly exposed. his hair’s still damp, and you can see a few beads of water trickling down his abs, and you swear you might just drop dead. you blurt out some awkward apology, practically forcing your eyes away.

camboy!choso who has that tattoo near his collarbone, the one you immediately recognize.

camboy!choso who you now know is your camboy. you’re not sure if you should even tell him, if that’s just invading his space. but then, is it really just his space if he’s putting it out there for the whole world to see? it’s a messed up thought, but it’s there.

camboy!choso who's newer videos you’re rewatching, trying to confirm if it’s really him. you keep telling yourself that plenty of people could have that same ink. then you notice the space he’s recording in looks different from a month ago. the lighting and background hide things, but the way he moves, that gentle, calm way he has; that’s what really gives it away.

camboy!choso who startles you by knocking on your doorframe, because you thought he was still out. you frantically try to hide your laptop, but it’s a second too slow, and his gaze locks right onto the screen.

camboy!choso who's chuckling, like this is all just some big joke, and you’re not currently wishing the floor would swallow you whole. you haven’t seen him smile for more than two seconds at a time, and now he’s got this wide grin.

camboy!choso who has you bent in a cruel mating press less than five minutes later. you can’t even remember your own name, let alone how you ended up like this. he’s just so perfect in person, and you knew he was big, but every time he kisses your cervix, it’s a brutal reminder.

camboy!choso who's back you’re digging your nails into, desperate not to clench around him, trying to take all of him in. when you finally do, he praises you, pressing soft kisses to your forehead. his fingers press deep into the soft curve of your hips, his breath hitches, and then his lips crash down onto yours.

camboy!choso who pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you, like it’s his actual job. he completely exhausts you, then lets you fall asleep right on top of him. when you wake up, it’s completely dark outside, and as you open your laptop to check the time, you're hit with his camshow tab. there’s a red circle for new notifications, and you click his profile.

camboy!choso who's latest post was three hours ago: fucked my favorite pretty fan.

[cvnt4him]

I haven't posted in a long time but have baby daddy!deku for his birthday it's bad but...enjoy its the last you'll hear from me/hj

You n izuku stayed close after the divorce mostly because of the daugter you had. You coparent your daughter pretty well, with izuku working as a part time pro hero mostly every night, he only ever got to see his daughter on the weekends.

You and izuku ended your relationship due to the both of you getting in arguments more than normal. Izuku tried to see the bright side but you didn't feel as if it were right to be arguing this much. You felt your happiness fleeting with each second the two of you stayed together. It wasn't healthy for either of you to stay in a failing marriage nor was it okay for your daughter.

Over the years you and izuku have been kinder to each other. With time apart you realize how much you've missed having some company. You have your daughter for majority of the time so it gets even worse when she visits her dad. You've grown a bit.... codependent. It's crazy to think that you get terrible frightened to see your daughter walk out of your front door; a never ending fear that she may never return. A thought that haunts the back of your mind more than you'd like to admit..

It was another Friday night, izuku had come to pick your daughter up, your sweet and happy girl running into her father's arms. Sweet sounds of laughter leave the two as he scoops her up in his arms swinging her around and holding her tightly as he chuckled loudly. Seeing the two of them brought a warmth to your heart, a smile forming on your face at the precious sight.

Izuku couldn't help but to look up at you and see, he missed your face terribly so. Your sweet smile and your contagious laughter. He missed you cooking for him and lying beside him at night, holding him and telling him everything will be okay. Like youve done time and time again whenever he needed it most.

You were still as gorgeous as ever to him. The way you leaned against the wall watching them, his eyes lingering on your body for a little longer than they should have. Izukus attention was completely on you, his daughter telling him about her days at school while he nodded his head. You notice his eyes staying on you for a bit too long and tense underneath his gaze. You haven't exactly been....intamate in a while. Feeling his eyes on you like this, your thighs squeezing together as his eyes trail back up to your own.

He looked far sexier than you remembered. Izuku was always a strapping man, strong bulky and nice with a sweet baby face and doe eyes. He was perfect, truly. Until he wasn't, thinking about the way he'd treated you while together, how he'd leave you might after night so he could sit with katsuki and listen to stories he'd tell about his patrol and all the villains he'd fight. Izuku wasn't always able to live out his full dream of being a hero like he was now.

It was unintentional, sure. He never meant to leave you alone for so many nights. He hated when he'd stay at work late because he was unhappy or felt you deserved better. What's worse was he never told you how he felt. After the divorce, that was that. You both agreed to shared terms and...parted ways.

You wouldn't lie, you'd wondered who izuku had been with after you. You've seen news stories and other things on social media about him and his love life. It always upset you, it's not like you were trying to find these things, they were always prone to finding you.

Izuku stood to his feet clearing his throat, he gave you a weak smile before taking a step closer. His breath was shaky and he didn't quite mnow what to say to you. Your conversations were always brief but this time .. something felt different.

" Hey.."

"..Hi."

You both looked at each other with more longing than either of you intended. Your lips snuck itself between your teeth as you lightly gnawed on it, izuku noticed the way your thighs were squeezing together while you looked at him. He knew you, your body. He knew exactly what you wanted from him, even if you were too proud to admit it yourself.

“ hey uh, sweetheart, why don't you go finish packing and let me and mommy here have a chat , hm?”

" but I am done packing.”

Izuku turns back to you with weary eyes, you didn't know what he was doing but for some reason you knew exactly what to say.

“ hun, why don't you just get ready for bed, you and daddy will stay tonight and head back tomorrow.”

You daughter hummed to herself before agreeing, with her backpack on her back she slipped back to her room leaving you and izuku in your living room. You didnt know exactly what to do now..you turned back to face him, he gave you another smile this one more fond and holding more meaning than his last.

You sigh to yourself, unsure exactly what this meant for the both of you. Your head was spinning and you hated the way you felt..the way your body felt because of him. You still held some sort of disdain for him but....you wanted him more than you'd like to admit and he seen rihht through it.

No words were left to be said and with that, izuku pulled you into a heated kiss. His lips smashing against yours reigniting a feeling the both of you'd felt before. You moan into his mouth as you pull him impossibly closer to you by his shirt collar, heavy breaths leaving the both of you as you led him to your bedroom.

Things were moving impossibly fast, he swiftly shut your door with his foot before removing your clothes along with his own. He laid you down on your bed placing messy kisses all over your body. His hands roaming and touching as much of your hot skin as he could, the feeling of his rough and calloused hands claiming every inch of your body like he has before, you couldn't help the sudden rush of feelings you felt for him.

You hated how this might affect all the work you'd done to get over him, but just for right now you'd like to forget everything, and you knew he could give that to you.

His lips trailed down your tummy to your thighs, small mewls left you as you felt his hot breath across your body. His lidded eyes staring up at you while he placed gentle kisses on the inside of your thighs, his breath trickling down impossibly close to your clothed cunt.

Your body jolted underneath his gentle touch, it always amazed you how he could go from a ravenous animal one moment and back to the sweetest thing the next.

He placed gentle kisses to your clothed cunt, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled your delectable scent through your panties. Your breath shuddered as your core ached for more, the sexual frustration you felt only growing with each kiss he pressed to you.

You groan at his teasing, a low chuckle emitting from him. He placed one last kiss to your thigh before removing your panties all together, his fingers gently brushed into your cunt with not much force a small sigh leaving your lips as he soon included his tongue.

It wasn't like you needed any help, you were already wet enough his fingers slipped right in with ease. His tomgue delving inside of you and tasting all of your sweet flavours once again, the shaky breath that left him fanning over you.

He tried his hardest to stay timid and calm, he wanted to keep it slow to show you he could still be sweet with you, even after all of this time. Your pitchy gasps as he softly made out with your pussy, his tongue swirled around your clit while his fingers moved in amd out of you at a nice slow pace.

The way you yanked at his hair and threw your head back, his gentle movements making your head spin. Your sweet sounds were like music to his ears, he couldn't take it anymore. He needed you, badly.

By the next morning he was holding your still sleeping girl and walking out your door with a bright smile as if he's just been rejuvenated. You give him a polite smile and plant a kiss on your daughters head waving as you shut the door behind them. You sigh heavily to yourself in disappointment, how could you have spent the night like this with your ex-husband.

This had so much potential to be an ACTUAL like series but like.....i haven't even finished diaries of spiderman or neighbors so..no😂😂🙏🏽 this is actually a draft from my notes app....from April.

[iikissagirl]

a secret, not so secret

lando norris x pregnant f!oc

summary: since lando found out that he and camille were having a baby he’s been acting different, maybe too different and people started noticing.

a/n: again really obsessed with soft lando, enjoy <3

masterlist

camille was completely clueless at the beginning, she was very stressed with her work that she didn’t notice the lack of not having her period, and she really thought that her morning sickness was just something viral. it wasn’t weird at her work place, at the end of the day she was a teacher and worked with children. 

lando on the other side, like the caring and observant boyfriend he is, he found out that something was off. he actually didn’t think about the possibility of pregnancy until out of nowhere he did.  

he didn’t say anything at first, but he noticed. the sickness in the morning came everyday like clockwork, camille being more sensitive than usual and, even though he would never mention it, the little bump that was forming on her abdomen. 

even the dog found out before the couple did. following her all the time and going crazy when she locked herself inside the bathroom. 

one evening, after lando’s training and camille’s classes, they were having dinner. “y’know today one of the little ones asked me if i was pregnant?” she said, chuckling. lando didn’t pay much attention to it and dinner continued like usual. 

“and then he fell” lando finish the funny anecdote of the day while he scrolled on the tv looking for something to watch, she laughed curling on his side, her cheek resting on his shoulder and her legs over his. one disney movie started but they didn’t pay much attention to it, they talked, as per usual. 

one of lando’s arm resting over her shoulders and the other one laying flat on her abdomen, that wasn’t weird, lando’s hand always rested his hand there. but as he started rubbing lando couldn’t ignore the bump anymore. 

“baby” lando called her attention, “do you think what that child said could be real?” he asked carefully, his hand still rubbing her abdomen. 

“what?” she asked, genuinely confused, “that her grandma’s ghost lived under her bed?” her eyes were glued to nemo playing on the tv. 

“no, that you might be pregnant” almost a whisper came out of his mouth. her eyes looked his full of confusion. 

“honey, what are you talking about?” she moved and sat up straight, her eyes looking for a clue if he was joking or not. 

“think about it” he grabbed one of her hands, “that viral stomach thingy that you think you had, it would have been gone by now and i would have it” she made a face, still skeptical, “you haven’t had your period in weeks” she was about to interrupt but he shout it down, “and you are a bit more sensitive than usual”     

she didn’t look at his eyes, staring at their locked hands playing with his, something that lando picked up as a nervous tick she has. 

“haven’t thought about it” her eyes watery as she looked at him.

“oh my baby, don’t cry” both his hands went to her cheeks and caressed her. “i’ll go buy a pregnancy test, wanna go with me?”

it’s been almost three months since they found out, the two pink lines in seven different tests and a confirmation from an actual doctor, it was a hundred percent confirmed that they were expecting. 

and lando was over the moon, he already bought clothing and stuff for the baby’s room, he was completely excited. 

if he was a caring and attentive boyfriend before, he is ten times more now. every time a muscle of camille’s move he was asking if she was all right or if she needed anything. it was cute and she didn’t complain, but they agreed on keeping it in between them durning the first trimester and him being like that was going to give it away. 

the first one that noticed was cisca, lando’s mom. it was the three of them in the apartment that lando and camille shared, she knew her son was very attentive with his girlfriend but he didn’t let her do anything. 

then it was the hand placement, that same evening they were on the couch talking about everything and nothing at the same time, cisca was sat in front of them and she saw how his hand rubbed the tiny bump that she had hidden under her —his— hoodie. when the woman's eyes lighted up in realization landos had flew away from camille like she burned him. 

“oh my god” cisca said with a huge smile. 

“what?” camille asked with a nervous smile while lando rubbed the back of his neck. 

“you are pregnant” she didn’t even ask, she already knew. 

“no, mum, she’s not” lando lied like hell and that was the confirmation cisca needed. 

“oh sweetheart” she standed up with her arms open and when lando walked towards her she shoved him to go and hug camille first. “im so, so happy for the both of you” 

then, after the whole family —his and hers—, max fewtrell and his girlfriend found out. they were out, the four of them in a fancy restaurant, she was wearing a silk dress, her bump small enough to just said that she gained a little weight, but that wasn’t what gave it away. 

camille, as same as lando, hated with her whole heart sushi or any kind of fish, but that night she ordered, and on top of that, she didn’t drink a single drop of wine. 

“didn’t you hate fish” pietra asked. 

“oh yeah, but i don’t anymore” camille said simply and max and pietra bought it, but lando opened his mouth. 

“yep, she’s been craving them, y’know, pregnant lady stuff” the four of them went silent and stayed still like stone, taking in the information. the sharp sound of lando’s fork falling in his plate sounded in the whole restaurant. “i mean,” a nervous chuckle slipped from his lips. “you know, she… uhm” 

“your pregnant?” max asked. 

“yeah” 

“oh mate, congratulations” he standed up and hugged lando so tight at the same time pietra hugged the girl, “i’m so happy for you” 

they could hide it from the grid for a bit longer because of the three weeks break, but they came back, lando could only last a weekend. 

after like thirty minutes without seeing her because of media stuff, he grabbed her hand and took her with him to a quiet corner, without cameras or people. 

“everything alright?” camille asked and she felt his hand slip to her covered bump. he let a kiss on her lips, and then another. he nodded and kissed her one more time.  

“how are you? is this little one okay?” lando asked while caressing her lower back and bump at the same time. 

“what little one?” the spaniard accent of carlos breaked into lando and camille’s ears. lando turned around and moved a bit to the side so both could see carlos, but he wasn't alone. 

charles, carlos and max where standing there looking towards lando’s hand that was still on her bump. “are you pregnant?” 

and, last but not least, that same weekend, lando said it on live camera. it was a post race interview, he was all sweaty and he was smiling so much even though he finished third. “is there someone important supporting you this weekend?” 

his smile grow even bigger, “yeah, my girlfriend is here and the little someone inside her, so yeah, very important people” 

“what?”

“what?” lando’s eyes wide at the realization. 

 “is she-, are you going to be a father?” 

[unforgivable-thatswhatiam]

I've read all the meta and, borrowing from Doctor Who (Twelve), I dare say that Crowley and Aziraphale are "billions of years beyond [your] petty human obsession with gender and its associated stereotypes".

They have "to make an effort" to be a man or a woman, yes.

They might have a preference, sure.

But they can choose what they're in the mood for. If you can experience a completely different pleasure than what you're used to, why give it up? A hedonistic spirit like Aziraphale, then! ✍️

✍️ Curiosity about the difference between male and female pleasure is almost a topos: think about Tiresias, who was turned into a woman for seven years because he interrupted the intercourse of two snakes. As a woman, he married a man and gave birth, then was turned back and the gods asked him to judge who had the most pleasure. SPOILERS... Women: "Of ten parts a man enjoys one only; but a woman enjoys the full ten parts in her heart".

Let's get back to the point. Aziraphale and Crowley love and desire each other, not the man or woman in the other. They know the other half of themselves in mind, body and senses. They've chosen him. And love him as a whole. They were attracted to each other when they were both angels, far before the concepts of humanity, sex and gender.

In my opinion, if they were having sex, they'd seen that like a healty experiment for their love... They'd try anything they could imagine. When you love someone, you can be top, bottom, Dom, Sub, woman, man, fox, welsh corgie, but at the end of the day you think "It was wonderful, because it was with you".

I think it's unfair to pin them down to one dynamic of roles, that would be belittling and demeaning to who they are: two beings who are actually one ("the yin to each other's yang"), truly complex and potentially eternal people with innate characters shaped by their living together around humanity.

Sex for them isn't a sin, it isn't lust, it isn't necessary. Instead, it's love and it's a choice, it's natural, human curiosity, joy, good and fun.

That's a powerful message, even though not so original.

Love the other not because of his looks or because of his side, love him because he's himself and because he makes you the best, happiest version of yourself. 💞

I saw you agree with the soft dom stuff in Aziraphale Defenders and I just don't know where you guys are seeing that.

For starters. 💕😇😉

[centaurianthropology]

Why I Think the Throuple is Important (or, Redefining Sex, Love, and Intimacy with Preservation Alliance)

I have noticed that one of the most-complained about additions to the show is the Throuple.  I’ve seen it called ‘cringe’ or ‘tacked on’ or ‘unnecessary’, but I actually think that it was a key part of show-don’t-tell storytelling to show us the different culture of Preservation Alliance, and how they relate to sex/love/intimacy in a different way to how the Western monocuture currently relates to those topics.

This has been something I’ve been thinking about for a bit, but it was also very much inspired by this post by @todaysgenderismurderbot which puts it really well and way more succinctly than I’m about to put it (because I do love to waffle on!).

We are introduced to the Throuple via MB’s narration, laying out that Arada wants Ratthi, Ratthi wants Pin-Lee, and Pin-Lee is sort of along for the ride.  But we do need to remember that MB’s perspective and narration is limited, and it is very bad with emotions.  So we’re supposed to read deeper into that relationship than just what it says.  There is a lot more going on with them than those lines—suggesting an awkward love-triange in classic sitcom fashion—would suggest.  The show uses the Throuple to deconstruct how the audience might look at such a thing, and by utilizing that particular term, the audience is set up with an expectation that can then be taken apart as we are gradually introduced to a different culture with a different perspective on love, sex, and intimacy.

We see the start of the relationship come in the form of the contract.  I saw people not happy about this because this isn’t how polyamory is ‘supposed’ to go.  The fandom has had a bit of an issue with assuming the worst-faith takes when it comes to the showrunners and the production, and I really saw it at play with this relationship.  From the off, some people were convinced that by portraying PresAux as open and loving the show was ‘mocking’ them, when I perceived the show as loving them.  MB is clearly wrong about them (as they are often wrong about it), but it slowly embraces them throughout the course of the show as they chip away at its cynicism simply by being themselves (and thus also chipping away at the cynicism of the audience too, because boy howdy are a lot of the audience deeply cynical).  It doesn’t get all the way there by the end of the season.  It still needs to find itself, but the love they instilled in it is growing. 

So the audience has to learn about how love works on Preservation, don’t they?  Since love in all its forms lies at the heart of their relationship to MB, the audience needs to see some of those forms.  Preservation is a society where polyamory is completely normalized.  We see this in Mensah’s casual mention of her marital partners, but we needed an onscreen example of how this could go, which also works as character-building for everyone involved.  Thus, the throuple.  Which, much like all of PresAux, is lovingly portrayed as flawed, emotionally open but still sometimes missing the point, loving beyond what many audience members are comfortable with, and so, SO human.  They are all Cringe, and they are all free, and I want to be more like them.

Through them and how this throuple plays out, we learn more about Preservation, and honestly?  It feels like such a healthier approach to sex, love, and intimacy than our own.

Let’s start by talking about the contract.  It clearly delineates what is expected in the relationship, but is not a requisite for such relationships on Preservation (we are told this by Pin-Lee, as they think that their last addition didn’t work out because there was no contract).  The contract is a bit of character-building for Pin-Lee, as we learn that they want it, and it makes them feel more comfortable existing within a well-defined legal framework.  The society gives them the tools to build the relationship—contracts are non-necessary but sometimes useful part of relationships—but they need to implement them for their own comfort.  Pin-Lee wants a contract, and the other two accept that.  Arada is much more free-wheeling, I think, and wouldn’t necessarily want that framework on her own, but it makes her spouse happy, and so that’s fine.

But what Pin-Lee struggles with is that, even within a contractual framework, people are still people, and they are going to bring unpredictable elements.  Ratthi brings a completely different dynamic into their relationship simply by being himself.  That’s what Arada wants, and Pin-Lee accepts with their own stipulations.  This is a couple trying to work through their individual needs, but, as we see throughout the course of the throuple, still needing to get better at open and honest communication.

We are told later in the season that the contract has a clear time delineation.  This is not a marriage.  Ratthi is likely being brought into their relationship for the duration of the survey, and that’s it.  This is supposed to be a fun engagement with one another, bringing a new dimension to already-established relationships.  And that, for me, totally reshaped how I was looking at sex, love, and Preservation.

The Western monoculture very much gears people toward seeing sex and love through an extremely narrow lens.  You should be In Love when you have sex (casual sex Wrong and Immoral), and sex should be Deep and Meaningful only.  And Love is for the long-term.  For a single pair of heterosexual people to procreate through. 

And through the throuple we see how effortlessly Preservation explodes all those limiting notions of what sex and love can be.  Sex can be engaged in between colleagues on a long, boring survey for fun, because sex is fun and casual if you want it to be.  With futuristic birth control readily accessible, one assumes, and without the power dynamics inherent in our own current work culture, why wouldn’t colleagues get to engage in casual sex?  Why wouldn’t you pull in a friend into a sexual relationship if they’re into it?  What is the boundary between the platonic and the romantic?  Is there a need for a boundary?  This will vary person to person, but the society creates a framework through which labels and boxes can be exploded. 

Love is ever-present, but its form is changeable for the situation and the people involved.  And that is partially why the throuple works as a way to explore the personalities, quirks, flaws, and natures of the three people involved in it.

Ratthi has a very refreshing, different relationship to sex and love than we usually see on television.  He takes his relationships in all their myriad forms very seriously; they seem like the most important parts of his life and personality.  He is defined by his relationships with others, and perceives himself best through them.  He falls in love easily, but also lets those relationships go very easily.  I honestly think there is no particular delineation for him between friendship, romance, sex, and casual intimacy.  He loves his friends, he’s in love with his friends, he would happily have sex with any of his friends who would want him, and when a sexual or romantic component to a friendship no longer works out he lets that go without complaint.  He moves along the continuum of platonic-romantic and sexual-sexless with incredible ease, because it’s all love to him.  He is overbearing in his love because he feels it so intensely for everyone around him.  Learning to regulate his expressions of that love is going to be a long-term character arc for him, I think, but the fact that he feels it so strongly and openly is so refreshing.  The fact that he was raised in a culture where there was no shame around sex or love, so long as everyone is consenting and having a good time, shows how different and healthier someone can be about sex and love when given the space for it.

But the show doesn’t limit how someone can exist in a culture so open about sex and love, because Pin-Lee and Arada both have very different expressions of what they want and need from sex and love, while still existing within this clearly-established cultural framework.  Arada and Ratthi share an unintentional, non-malicious sort of self-centeredness.  They both assume that everyone around them feels and wants in similar manners to themselves.  They are both incredibly generous, loving people.  They give gifts and acts of physical affection easily and naturally, but both of them struggle a bit to read the room, which can make others uncomfortable. 

Arada is a really interesting example of this, because she is a gift-giver.  She repairs Bharadwaj’s clothes for her after the attack; she gives SecUnit an outfit.  In a BTS comment it’s said that Arada embroidered everyone’s socks for them.  I think that she embraces Pin-Lee’s offer of the Throuple out of that same spirit of earnest and open gift-giving.  All of Arada’s gifts are given without reservation or ulterior motive, so she assumes the same about Pin-Lee.  She doesn’t read Pin-Lee’s slight discomfort with bringing Ratthi in because she’s not looking for that.  Pin-Lee is a people-pleaser far more than Arada properly understands.  Arada is delightfully open about her desires and her needs, but it means that she sometimes steps all over her spouse’s wants and needs without meaning to.  And Pin-Lee chronically doesn’t speak up about it.  They’re so loud and abrasive as a lawyer that their wife doesn’t notice what they aren’t saying, how much they don’t speak up in their marriage.  It’s an interesting dynamic to bring in for Pin-Lee because it goes against the shark-lawyer stereotype and gives them added dimension.  There is lawer!Pin-Lee and spouse!Pin-Lee and those are very different people. 

Everyone is given communication tools.  They have Sweet-Bitter; they have We Can Talk About This.  But being given the tools and actually using the tools are two very different things that all three of these people need to work on.

Their miscommunication is so lightly-done and refreshing, because it never explodes into genuine hurt feelings or resentment or possessiveness or all the other things you might expect to see in a throuple storyline on a television show.  They try on intimacy, and have the cultural framework for a lovely casual relationship, but as much as they should Talk About This, it’s clear they don’t, or if they do they haven’t embraced the sort of honesty that would be necessary for it to really work.  So it’s off from the beginning, each of them wanting something different out of it: Pin-Lee puts up and shuts up, Arada assumes everyone is on her same page, and Ratthi keeps butting in when he’s not wanted.  Ratthi eventually realizes that he didn’t go in with the right headspace, wanting Pin-Lee more than Arada, and realizes it’s unfair on all of them, so he breaks it off.  But they all wanted it done, having each come to the realization that it’s not bringing out the best in any of them.  That’s where that culture of healthy relationships to sex and love and intimacy really pays off for them.  It doesn’t mean their relationships always work out, but it does mean they’re given a framework to recognize what any relationship should do: bring out the best in everyone involved.  And when it doesn’t, their culture gives them the framework to end that relationship in a clean, healthy way, because there are no hang-ups about a relationship having to be only one way to be valid, no shame or preciousness about sex that would make returning to a sexless relationship somehow ‘lesser’.

And hopefully, even when the relationship itself didn’t bring out the best in them, it still let them learn things about themselves that they can continue to explore next season.  This casual, limited-time relationship may not have worked, but that doesn’t make it meaningless.  Failure is not shameful.  Failure is natural, and can be a tool for learning even more potent than success.  And Preservation as a society also gives grace to failure, because it completely de-emphasizes competition.  If there is no particular cultural glory attached to winning, people can fail and still be happy. 

Sex and love and friendship are continuums through with the people of Preservation can move.  They may still be limited by personality, by foibles and hangups, because existing in a better society doesn’t actually make people perfect.  People are still people, and they carry their baggage with them.  These three didn’t work out even on the short-term because they didn’t unpack that baggage, even having been given the tools to do so by their society.  This is never an indictment of polyamory as a whole by the show (again, Mensah and her partners are RIGHT THERE), but rather an exploration of three people’s characters and their relationship with their society through the lens of a relationship.  It is both character-building and world-building, which in a show with a limited runtime, does what everything in this show has to do: serves multiple purposes.

We learn that Preservation doesn’t share our hangups about casual sex through them.  We learn that people are still people, even on a better world, and even with better tools for dealing with interpersonal conflict and miscommunication, they can still fail at it.  But we also learn that failure is okay.  Failure teaches you things and allows you to move into a better place.  We learn that love on Preservation isn’t limited by the boxes that we might ascribe it, and that moving along all the myriad spectrums of love is precisely as difficult or easy as each individual personality makes it.  Love can be platonic, can be romantic, can be both at the same time, can be neither and exist as something else without labels.  There can be as many consenting people involved in that love as you want.  It’s all good.  It’s all cool, so long as it’s fulfilling and brings out the best in those involved. 

And if it’s not fulfilling, if it’s not bringing out the best in you?  Reconfigure it.  Fashion it into something new and better suited to you the same as you refashion your clothing.  Upcycle your relationships!  Being culturally part of Preservation means that can be done without shame or recrimination.  Just a movement to someplace better along the spectrum of love.

[sixeyedog]

things to read when you're in a bingqiu/bingyuan deficit

obviously, some of these won't be a perfect match, but all of them have bg/by qualities, or would make a really fun au.

I Want to Be a Big Baddie

A true villain needs to be ruthless, evil, and self-destructive! After torturing the protagonist to hell and back, they will exit the scene fabulously with a bang as their work is done.Wang Yi was determined to act that kind of villain. Unfortunately… His male lead could read minds. :)з)∠*)“You mongrel!” Mr. Yi chuckled as he looked down on the novel’s male lead. Suddenly, a thought bubble filled with cute emojis (⁄ ⁄ ⁄ω⁄ ⁄ ⁄) with the words “You’re so cute…” appeared in front of Qin.Qin: ?

this manhua is so binggeyuan. The mc transmigrates after an accident and is the villainous half brother to an illegitimate child, who is the protagonist of the story, except this protag can read minds and knows all the cruelty is fake. the protag becomes increasingly obsessed with the mc and since this is quick transmigration (the mc must transmigrate to different worlds to complete different objectives), the mc leaving the first world blackens the protagonist. also, there's cross-dressing and the iirc, the mc is a sadist in denial.

2. Retirement, Not Love

Scrooge Carolt, a middle-aged villain who traumatizes the male protagonist of a romance fantasy from his childhood, approaches the younger version of himself, the male protagonist, Crown Prince Calcion Dellingham, in order to avoid being killed by him, and becomes his spiritual mentor and great teacher. On the long-awaited coming-of-age ceremony of the Crown Prince, he hands in his retirement letter, full of dreams of retiring and living a peaceful life, but Calcion suddenly refuses to retire, confesses his love, and kisses him…?! A gag BL fantasy about Scrooge who doesn't need love, but needs retirement.

do i even have to say anything? apart from the unfortunate names (imagine moaning scrooge in bed...) the premise is perfect for bq. contains nc, so read at your own risk!

3. Raising a half-demon child in another world turns him into a yandere

Ikumi, an office worker, jumped off an apartment building to escape a stalker, only to find himself in another world. Far from living a slow life, he was living a harsh life, and ended up raising a half-demon child named Roy who was being persecuted by the people!?

it's bq. if you're not into the "raised a husband" trope, you won't like this, obviously.

4. Reborn as a Character in a Dating SIM on Hard Mode

Why are this dating sim's characters into an NPC!? After being hit by a truck, Tomoya Miyuki wakes up in the world of "Dokimelo High School," a popular dating simulation game. He is the female main character's best friend, who helps her end up with one of the potential matches in the story. Just when Tomoya's made up his mind to enjoy the kind of high school experience he never had in his previous life, he realizes he's attracted an unusual amount of attention from one of the romance options… the ever-popular Yukito Sakakibara. To top it off, Yukito ends up helping Tomoya remove a capsule item stuck inside him…!

it's binggeyuan ... it has mysterious ml who might also be a transmigrator, but who definitely knows too much. in the first chapter, the system puts a vibrator in mc's ass that the ml has to get out, in the second chapter, all the other mls are kinda obsessed with the mc in the bg, which makes the ml jealous. ml is a weirdo and has a sweat kink. binghe-core.

5. The Mutual Non-Aggression is Unpalatable

When Hyeon Weol realizes that he was inside the pages of a webnovel he had read, it's too late. But he's given a second chance and his goal is to find Seol Cheonyu, the dashing and dangerous main character.

mc lives through his transmigrated life once, before dying at the hands of a boy he took care of briefly when he was younger, who ends up killing him by accident. he goes back in time and finds the protagonist, who is leader of a martial arts cult and only acts like a puppy in front of mc, in front of everyone else, he's a wolf.

6. Kirawaremono no Tenisha wa, Deatta Isekai de Dekiai sareru

Thirteen-year-old Towa, suffering from a persistent "Chuunibyou" syndrome, is suddenly transported to another world. Although he is a rare foreigner in the new land, he has yet to manifest his "gift"—a unique ability granted only to outsiders. To hide the fact that he lacks this power, Towa puts on an arrogant front, earning the dislike of those around him, including Griz, his own guard knight. Depressed and disheartened, believing that even Griz, whom he considered his only ally, despises him, Towa is attacked from behind. When he wakes up, he finds himself back in his original world, but fifteen years have passed. Haunted by memories of Griz, he now lives as a simple businessman. Yet, for reasons unknown, Towa finds himself drawn back into the parallel world once again…

this is so reformed chuuni-sy/binghe ... in the raws, i think griz had feelings for towa during the first transmigration (when towa was 13) don't read this if you're not okay with that

7. I Was Kidnapped by a Disciple From Another World

Ryu Jangjin lives an ordinary life, finding joy only in reading web novels during his subway commute to and from work. One day, while returning home, a mysterious stranger follows him, breaks a window, and barges into his apartment on the third floor.The stranger claims to be Ryu Jangjin's disciple and that the world they originally lived in is not this world. Ryu Jangjin, who usually enjoys reading web novels, especially martial arts novels, is tempted by this sweet offer, but he declines because he has to go to work the next day.However, the guy abducts Ryu Jangjin to this other world out of the blue?

do i really have to say anything omg

8. Dreadful Night

Wanna play a game? The only catch is, you’re not just playing it, you’ve got to play your way out of it. That’s exactly what is happening to Bada. And he’s been at this for a while, trying to gather clues and items to find a way out of this damn horror RPG. The killer, the NPCs, the setting, Bada’s now familiar with them all. He’ll just have to endure a couple more games, maybe get killed a few more times… But in this session, Nam Doha, someone who Bada thought was just an NPC, is suddenly acting strange. Has he been another player this entire time? Bada has to be tortured to end this storyline and start over and Doha has volunteered to do it, but the look in his eyes suggests he has other, even more sinister intentions in mind… What sadistic horrors must Bada endure to break free from this Dreadful Night?

Horror game transmigration BL where one of the NPCs breaks free of his programming (?) and he and the MC work together (?) to end the game successfully. a lot of character death in here, but the game resets after each "round" and the MC learns more of the lore of the game.

9. My Fave Looks so Precious

What would happen if two celebrities with major crushes on each other met up…!? This is a super sweet love story between a popular model and a trending live streamer! Natsuhiko's a live streamer who makes horror content and has a total crush on a particular idol. That idol is Yukiharu, a handsome male model who's popular for his mysterious image. Natsuhiko's enjoying a life centered on his work and idol crush, but one day, during a shoot at an abandoned house, it turns out that's where Yukiharu actually lives! Also, Yukiharu says he's also a fan of Natsuhiko and they end up exchanging numbers. Both of them have crushes on each other, but they have to deal with their urgent desires to hook up while also being afraid of appearing too eager……!

yeah this is freak4freak bq/by.

10. My Secret Stalker

Kadoya is a resilient, hardworking, and gentle person, so he’s often pushed to do a lot of work. He has this certain “secret”. He is living strangely with someone he can't see. When he comes home completely exhausted, there’s a hot bath and meal prepared for him. And at night… —— “He” comes to his side and holds him. Kadoya feels so perfectly supported in everything, from housework to letting our sexual frustrations that it feels like he can’t live without “him” anymore…!

this is binggeyuan. fullstop. it has the MC knowing he has a stalker that enters his house and he lets it happen. the stalker cooks and cleans for him and also takes him at night after the chores are done and this just becomes the MC's new normal that he is fully aware of and looks forward to. and gets mad when it stops????? binggeyuan.

11. Why are you so kind to everyone except me?

Jeong-yoon has harbored a crush on Chae-heon all through high school and now college. Despite ‘fate’ always bringing them together, Jeong-yoon hasn’t been able to become close to Chae-heon, much less tell the latter about his feelings. This is mainly because he is convinced that Chae-heon doesn’t like him. But unbeknownst to Jeong-yoon, Chae-heon is not without his own complaints. Will the two resolve ever their misunderstandings and will love, which has been put on hold for so long, finally begin?

possessive obsessive top and an oblivious but mutually obsessed bottom. basically mutual pining with two-faced black lotus bingge to bingmeification. all i have to say.

12. For you who grieves

Doyoon Kim should’ve died in the car crash, but fate had other plans. He wakes up in the hospital, trapped in a bruised and unfamiliar body. Upon returning to university, he crosses paths with his old friend, Hangyeol. However, Hangyeol is unrecognizable. He is consumed by grief and unwilling to engage with Doyoon. Yet, a haunting familiarity tugs at Hangyeol, as if this stranger is an uncanny reflection of the dead man he still loves…

bottom dies and gets transmigrated into another body in the same universe that shares his name and gets to see how his junior who acted like a puppy with him is actually a wolf. we get grieving top and traumatized bottom and then codependency. yay!

13. Secretary Jin's Confinement Diary

I'm 28-year-old Jin Yoo Hyun, and I secretly enjoy S&M. I fell asleep after some solo time again today, but when I opened my eyes… I became the main bottom of the famous BL+SM novel, "Miserable Confinement!" I can't believe that my ideal type, who has a gentle looking face, but is actually a sadistic protagonist, Kwon Lee Shin, is keeping me in captivity!! What luck!! My confinement comes with food, accommodations, and great sex!! What is this confinement life? It's awesome!!

closeted MC becomes obsessed with a BDSM novel and transmigrates into it after jerking off one night into the soon to be confined bottom. literally drinks the drugged wine that the top hands him because he wants to be confined and experience the top dominating him. creates intricate rituals in his head of how he has to behave so that he can continue to be dominated by the top. he's shen yuan who knows he's gay and freaky.

14. Raising the Demonic Cult's Leader

In the martial arts novel “The Return of the Hero,” Ha-yun, a graduate student possessing the Herbalist Cho Yun. Under the belief that children deserve to be protected, he picked up the final boss of the original story, Seomun Cheon-oh, the future leader of the Demonic Cult. At that time, he was relieved that he could twist the flow of the original story and now raise him well and send him to society. “I want to rip their heads out.” Is this truly what it means to be a martial artist?! If you experience extinction, will even a child inevitably dream of revenge?! The words that came out of the mouth of a seven-year-old child were beyond cruel, and as an adult, he thought he should stop him… “Do whatever you want. Either create the world's most brutal martial arts technique or seek revenge with it.” Nothing happens. The body that has been trained in martial arts often refuses to listen to words and instead responds with solemn words. The disciples' eyes always roll when it comes to the teacher's tasks. In addition, the vengeful spirit is no longer seeking revenge but has become obsessed with Cho Yun and does not want to be separated from him at all.

literally bingqiu.

15. Dawn of the Dragon

As the heir to the Yooshin corporation, Yoo Taehyuk is living his best life. However, everything changes when he’s informed that the dragon, the patron deity of the Yoo family, wants to forsake them to be with his mate. When his sister is asked to take the fall for the family and announce herself as the dragon’s mate, Taehyuk steps up instead. He agrees to meet the dragon in the hopes that he can convince him to stay. But will Taehyuk succeed in slithering into the impervious dragon’s good graces or get under his scales?

very much puppy-top bingmei waiting for sqq to reincarnate.

16. Netkama Punch

One year ago, I was a world-class player in the game [Arcadia]. However, everything I built up was destroyed by Shin Heejae as easily as a sandcastle. I sold my account at a high price and decided to never set foot in the game again… Even if I quit now, it doesn't mean I quit for good though, right? One year later, I made a new account just like following a homing instinct.

this is binggeyuan. the bottom catfishes the top and instead of the top letting it go, he decides to construct this entire revenge plan that ends with him falling hard as fuck for the bottom. peak.

17. Dead Man Switch

After barely finishing his final assignment, Jung Hohyun, who fell into a deep sleep, wakes up on Christmas morning to blood and flesh being ripped out right in front of his eyes. Some of the students who remained at the school became zombies for an unknown reason. Jung Hohyun, who was in a panic, ran away frantically. He ran into a man, Ki Wonyoung, who kills zombies with no remorse. However, the joy of meeting a decent human is short-lived since this man is somewhat strange. 'What are you talking about? who are you?' 'Fuck you, Hoobae-nim. Why are you suddenly pretending not to know me? It's me, Youngwon. Ki Youngwon.' Jung Hohyun unknowingly falls for this strange guy who is not only pretending to know Hohyun during their first encounter, but also seems only interested in saving him in this unbelievable reality.

Zombie time loop BL where the top is progressively loosing his sanity watching the bottom die and i just have to say ... bingmei.

18. Four Week Lovers

Wanna fake-date for 4 weeks? Dojun's life at college is off to a perfect start! Until he meets his roommate, Jaehee, a high school friend whom he may have ghosted. Jaehee claims he's over their unresolved past, but after an accident resulting in a fractured wrist, he makes Dojun a proposition…

top hams up injury and progressively corners the skittish bottom into a relationship. immaculate art with incredibly erotic sex scenes.

19. Welcome to the Yandere Cafe

Yandere fan visits a yandere cafe and unknowingly meets a real yandere that's obsessed with him. it's binggeyuan.

20. B-class Guide

A dizzying office love affair between an S-class esper and a B-class guide! Lee Jaeha, a B-class guide, had an office relationship with an esper at the same center for 3 years, but was recently done wrong. Despite breaking up with his lover, he finds himself forced to still guide him, and he applies for a transfer to a high-risk area. Surrounded by all kinds of rumors and stares, all he wants is a quiet and peaceful work life in the new center! However, Jaeha takes on the task of guiding Do Jiyoon, an S-class esper, on the verge of a rampage, and Jaeha's work life is getting farther away from peaceful…!

yandere, obsessive top who won't leave the bottom alone and causes mayhem and destruction when ignored by the bottom.

21. My Bias Appeared

When high school teacher Na Aejoon shows up for work on an ordinary day, he never expects to bump into his favorite celebrity in the hallway. But when his school becomes a filming location for a show starring Choi Siyeol, his bias from the idol group A-One, that’s exactly what happens! If that’s not enough to give a fanboy a heart attack, Siyeol takes an interest in Aejoon and asks him to join the show as his “co-teacher.” Desperate to keep his fan life a secret, Aejoon is forced to put his acting skills to the test, and not just on camera. But as he spends more and more time with Siyeol, the deception becomes harder to keep up. Not to mention, he might not be the only one keeping secrets…

idol BL where a fan meets their bias and the bias is a two-faced, scheming asshole who eventually falls HARD for the bottom. BINGGEYUAN!

22. 100% Love Gauge

Yihan is obsessed with one thing and one thing only: Mikaros, the really hot mint-haired hunk who exists only in the world of Yihan’s favorite BL game, Love Meter 100%. Wherever Yihan goes, his hefty stash of Mikaros merch goes—the limited edition tote bag, the special key ring, and the myriad of adorable plushies that he somehow manages to keep on his person. Being the ultimate stan isn’t something Yihan is ashamed of, that is, until he runs into Mikaros in real life. Mikaros-in-the-flesh is called Park Há, and he is everything that Yihan didn’t know he needed. There’s only one catch. Park Há hates otakus…but Yihan is literally the biggest otaku ever.

do i even have to say anything ...

23. Release Your Persona

Oh Jaegyu is a world-famous actor. Despite being beloved for his unique acting style since he was a child, Jaegyu chooses to isolate himself from others because he is tired of the unfounded rumors that follow him constantly. One day, a strange man approaches Jaegyu while he is feeding a stray cat. Standing in front of the wary Jaegyu is Yoon Cheongrok, who lives in the apartment right in front of him. Jaegyu, who misunderstands Cheongrok as a stalker, becomes enraged at him, but surprisingly, Cheongrok does not recognize Jaegyu at all. It hurts Jaegyu’s pride to meet someone who doesn't know him for the first time, but on the other hand, it subtly excites him. That night, Cheongrok appears in Jaegyu’s dream. "Is it true that everyone in the world knows you? But there’s no one who knows the real you, is there?"

@sapphicjackal is right this was totally bingyuan. highly, highly recommend, it's a short read and the art is gorgeous. we also have famous person being jealous of their body pillow scene, which should be a staple of every bingyuan fic. ugh. SO GOOD!

[fatherwound]

𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: fake plastic trees: joel’s pov

masterpost • ao3

summary — joel sees your car in the driveway from down the road, and he feels the beginnings of a smile creep on to his lips. the two of you have always been close, but sometime over the past month he started to be excited to see you. for the longest time he simply saw you as an extension of sarah, someone to look after, to protect and care for. but in the passing month, your presence has started to feel less like spending time with a friend of sarah’s, or the daughter of his best friend, and more like something else. like spending time with someone he is close with.

word count: 5.4k

content warnings — age gap relationship (reader is late 20s/joel early 50s), complex themes that come alongside dbf, this could be taboo for some so if you're that person then don't read! otherwise this chapter is fairly free of cw, just go in with an open mind.

author's note — okay so this chapter kicked my ass. seriously i rewrote it a few times and almost completely scrapped it but finally got something i am remotely happy with. next time i do a joel pov i will make it a complete stand alone chapter. i really did my best to try and capture joel's internal conflict when it comes to our reader. i've only ever experienced these feelings from her perspective, so imagining the complexity of how he might feel was originally what made me want to write this chapter. i love media/art that delves into the complexity of relationships and the taboo so even though this chapter was a challenge to write i hope it came out well, so let me know <3!! as always like if you read, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. thank you all for the support on this fic it truly means the world to me! ૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა ₊˚⊹ᰔ

additional note — this chapter is joel's pov of the previous chapter, make sure to read it before reading this one! if you would like to be added to a tag list for future chapters comment on this chapter! ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡

Joel stares at your name on the screen, finger hovering over the blue letters. He doesn’t know why he’s hesitating, it’s not abnormal for him to call on your birthday. Yet something deep in the back of Joel’s mind tells him it’s different. Maybe it’s something to do with intent: he wants to wish you a happy birthday of course, but it’s also Friday. He hadn’t realized how nice it’s been to look forward to your company at the end of each week, but knowing that you likely won’t come tonight is a little disappointing. He chastises himself for even thinking that. Of course you’re not going to come, you surely have any number of things you would rather do than spend your birthday with him. 

He shakes his head and presses your name, holding the phone up to his ear. The phone rings for a few moments, long enough that he’s almost about to hang up, when it picks up, your breath heaving on the other end. Joel hesitates another moment, before clearing his throat, “Hey birthday girl”. 

“Hey Joel, what’s up?” Your voice sounds slightly off, and he worries he’s caught you at a bad time. 

“I was just wantin’ to wish you a Happy Birthday”, Joel leans back into the sofa in the trailer that’s serving as a makeshift breakroom on the site. He rubs his hand on the back of his neck, trying to relieve some of the tension that's permanently taken root in his aging body, “You got any big plans for today?” He does his best to sound casual, not wanting you to feel any sort of obligation to y’alls weekly routine. 

There’s a pause before you respond, “Uh so actually about that, I was hoping I could still come over for dinner tonight, like usual…” 

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up, his hand stopping in its menstruations, “Oh!” He sits up a bit straighter at that, that is not what he was expecting you to say and he’s trying to ignore the stir in his gut that feels suspiciously like excitement. 

Before he has a chance to respond, your voice comes in anxious and rambling, “Unless you don’t want to. I just thought… ya know it’s been kind of a nice routine… why break it?” 

A smile threatens to break across his face, betraying the nonchalance he is trying to conjure up about this change of plans. But he doesn’t want to give away anything. Part of him wonders if you just feel bad about ditching him for a night out with friends. Joel would love to have you over, but he doesn’t want you to come just because you feel like you have to, so he treads cautiously, “Yeah no of course. I wouldn’t mind one bit but you don’t have plans with your Dad, or some friends?”

It’s quiet on the other end for a moment, and he’s instantly kicking himself for prying. When you finally respond, your voice comes out dejected, “Dad actually had to go to Houston this weekend. He left this morning and… well, you’re kind of the only person I’ve spent time with since I’ve been back…” Joel curses under his breath, of course Daniel had to work. It’s nothing new, his best friend has always had a knack for being neglectful. Then again, for the first time it occurs to him that he hasn’t once heard you talk about any friends since coming back home. If anything, you seem to do everything but talk about your personal life. He rubs at his eyes, conflicting emotions threatening to tear away at careful compartments he’s made when it comes to you. 

A part of him hates that he’s all you seem to have at the moment. Knowing that it’s your birthday and there is no one for you to spend it with aside from him has his heart ache for you.

But on the other hand, in the darkest recesses of his mind: he likes knowing you depend on him. Joel has always had an almost compulsive need to care for those who are important to him, and you're nothing if not important. It also gives him the opportunity to spend the evening with her and the chance to make it special just for you. It’s selfish of him to want this, and he hates himself for it. 

He pulls himself from his train of thought, realizing he’s paused for probably a moment too long, and tells you to come by. The genuine excitement in your voice tugs at his heart strings. He likes knowing that he’s the cause of it. 

He hangs up the phone and rests his head on the back of the couch, staring up at the water stained ceiling of the trailer. He wants to make the night special, but it’s already well into the afternoon and there isn’t much he can do so last minute. You’d always had a sweet tooth, so he settles on a simple cake. Maybe a small gesture, but he’d always loved Sarah’s reactions to the cakes he would get her – face alight with childlike giddiness. 

His mind conjures up the thought of you like that, face split in a beaming grin, and something twists inside him. You look beautiful when you smile. The smallest hint of a gap between your teeth, freckles crinkling on your nose, your one dimple making an appearance. Something unspeakable begins to unfurl in his chest, clinging to the back of his ribcage. It’s foreign, something he hasn’t felt in years. That realization hits him, but almost as soon as it’s there it’s gone – his mind a clean slate again.

He stands up quickly, hoping with movement he can shake off whatever started to settle over him just then. He opens the door to the trailer, the Texas sun blinding him for a moment before his eyes readjust. He walks up to the flannel clad back of Tommy who’s currently shooting the shit with a few of the guys over sandwiches. 

“Hey, I’ve gotta run, last minute errand just came up. You got this?” Joel’s voice is commanding in a way that tells Tommy there isn’t any other option than for him to say yes. 

“Yeah. Sure brother, whatever y’need. Everythin’ alright?”

Joel nods, a noncommittal sound coming out before he slaps Tommy on the back and turns heading for his truck. A/C on full blast and the radio quietly playing a Rush song, he leaves the parking lot, clouds of gravel dust surrounding his truck. 

Once on the road, he rolls his window down, pulling a half empty cigarette pack from his glove box, pulling one out with his teeth. He throws the pack on the seat, and rummages around for the lighter he’d bought. Flame kissing the end of the cigarette, he pulls in a drag, the familiar burn of smoke filling his lungs. The feeling reminds him of the first cigarette he’d had in years, on that beach at the lake. Before he can stop himself, his mind flashes an image of your lips wrapped around the cigarette the two of you had shared. The blush that had crept across your cheeks when he had put your cigarette to his lips, the quick aversion of your eyes, and once again he finds himself having to wrangle his own thoughts. 

Taking another drag, he allows himself half a moment longer of reflection before taking the memory and tucking it back into its fortified box in the back of his mind. Locked tight enough that hopefully it won’t escape every time he tastes the burn of tobacco. 

Joel sees your car in the driveway from down the road, and he feels the beginnings of a smile creep on to his lips. The two of you have always been close, but sometime over the past month he started to be excited to see you. For the longest time he simply saw you as an extension of Sarah, someone to look after, to protect and care for. But in the passing month, your presence has started to feel less like spending time with a friend of Sarah’s, or the daughter of his best friend, and more like… something else. Like spending time with someone he is close with. 

He’s not sure when the switch started, but it feels gradual, something subtle that has crept up on him. So when he opens up the front door of his house to the delicious smell of garlic and baked chicken, the TV humming from the living room, he can’t stop the small smile that lights his features. It’s been nice having the house alive on Friday evenings, it almost feels like Sarah is back home on those nights, but the air is distinctly different. 

Something much more akin to how he imagines it would be to have someone to come home to, but as soon as it appears he wipes that thought from his mind. Thoughts like that keep finding their way into the forefront of his mind, and it feels like spiders crawling under his skin. The wires in his brain cross every so often when it comes to you, and it’s been happening more and more lately. You’re not some woman to come home to, you’re his best friend's daughter, Sarah’s friend, and you will always be that. He really needs to get out more. 

Joel walks quietly by the living room, seeing the back of your head as you recline against the couch. Normally he would announce his presence but he’s hoping he can get the cake he bought for you into the fridge without you seeing. He’s able to slip by unnoticed, and holding the box on one arm, he nudges the fridge open. He sets it down on the counter so he can rearrange things a bit. Unfortunately, even with your frequent stocking of the fridge, it’s relatively empty, so he’s only able to make a feeble attempt at hiding it behind a few items before giving up. Joel grabs a beer while he’s at it, and walks back towards the living room. 

He sees the TV first, you’re watching what looks to be some sort of 80s slasher judging by the low quality, cheesy music, and large breasted woman running through the woods. He turns the corner of the couch, finally pulling his eyes away from the TV, and when his eyes land on you he freezes in his tracks. 

You look — different. 

Beautiful, if he’s honest. Your hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail, a few strands hanging in loose waves, framing your face. Your brow is furrowed in concentration, a small crease between them that reminds him of faces he’s seen you make as a kid when you were concentrating on homework or reading a book on his back porch. 

He then takes in the most jarring difference of all — you have makeup on. 

It’s not that he’s never seen you wear makeup. He saw you before prom, graduation, parties, various dates; so it’s not exactly new. But he hasn’t seen you like this in a long time. Not since you’ve left adolescence behind, evolving into the woman now sitting on his couch. 

When did she change so much? He swears in a flash you’ve gone from the gangly limbed tomboy, always covered in dirt and climbing in trees; to a breathtaking young woman filled with a quiet solemnity that is both alluring and heart wrenching. 

Your eyes are lined dark, causing them to stand out even more than usual, making it near impossible for him to take his eyes off you. The freckles from your childhood have started to come back, spattering across your cheeks and shoulders. 

Joel takes this all in during the briefest of pauses, your front facing eyes leading him to hope you didn’t notice. Joel clears his head before sitting next to you, groaning a bit when he sinks into the low couch. 

“Sorry kiddo, I know I’m a bit late”, he says, rubbing his beard in his anxious habit. You still haven't said a word to him, and he gets the impression that he might need to do a bit of damage control. Birthday’s have always been important to you, no matter how much you’ve tried to pretend they aren’t. Your noncommittal response confirms his suspicions. 

He turns slightly to face you, the sight of you even closer makes his jaw tick. “You look nice… This for your birthday or just for me?” 

You finally turn to face him, and he holds his breath for the briefest moments when your eyes meet his. They really are hypnotising like this. You roll her eyes at his remark, reminding him of the kid he used to know, and he’s grateful for the temporary clarity, “It’s for me actually” you say, eyes looking from his quickly, “but thanks. It’s my birthday so I thought why not”.

He smiles at your shyness, you never were good with compliments. He lifts his beer up towards you, nodding his head in cheers. You reciprocate, and when you take a swig he can’t help but watch. Joel kicks himself for the moment of weakness, and leans his head back against the couch.

“Today was hell… but I’m lookin’ forward to that chicken parm you promised me” he says with a smile. “And I may ‘ave brought you a little somethin’ too…” he says, opening his eyes to glance over at you. You’ve always loved surprises, and the light that enters your face at the suggestion makes the stress of the day run off like summer rain. 

“Oh? For me?? Why Joel you shouldn’t have” you say with an over dramatic flair, batting your lashes and placing a hand to your heart in mock surprise. Grinning you stand up quickly, his eyes following your movements, remembering when he was able to stand up that easily. Your hands move to tug down your top as your pants dip low to expose the top of lacey white panties. On top of it all your jeans hug your ass in a way that makes him feel disgusting for even noticing. 

You’re almost halfway to the kitchen by the time he catches up, just in time to see you searching for whatever it is he brought. “Hey, I didn’t say I’d give it to you yet. You’ll have to wait” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. You roll your eyes and huff a melodramatic sigh, but concede. 

Moments like this remind him of countless memories shared with you over the years. The same kind of memories that  cause bile rise in his throat when he notices the fit of your pants, or the freckles on your shoulders. If he was smarter he would put a little distance between the two of you. The tangle of thoughts that constantly threaten to break through when he’s with you scares the hell out of him.  

But that would be selfish of him. He knows you’ve been struggling. He can see it in the cracks of your facade, can see the hurt carefully hidden behind your eyes. He noticed the thinness to your frame when he first hugged you the day you came back. The dull look to your usually bright eyes, the slight inward curve of your shoulders indicating some unspoken weight. It hasn’t escaped his notice that you drink beer more now than he can remember when you used to visit home, but he reminds himself that it’s none of his business. He tries not to look too closely at all of it but he cares about you. He loves you as if you were his own. He can’t push you away because his own thoughts are muddled. It’s a problem he has to face on his own, he won’t isolate you further because he can’t keep himself in check. 

“I’m gonna go hop in the shower real quick,” he says over his shoulder, heading up stairs before he can hear your response. He walks to his bedroom, sitting on his bed to untie his work boots. He sits like that a moment, arms braced on his jean clad legs. He’s got to get a hold of himself. He can’t keep having these slip ups, brief moments where he sees you as something other than who you are — the daughter of his best friend. Are you beautiful? Of course, any man with eyes can see that. But you have more than that; you’re intelligent, witty, down-to-earth, creative, thoughtful. Any man would be lucky to have you, which makes Joel wonder how things have gone so wrong with that boyfriend of yours. Clearly the guy’s an idiot, and you deserve better. The thought of the son’ve bitch has Joel’s hand clenched in a fist. 

He’s not entirely sure what’s happened between the two of you, not wanting to pry, and you have been purposefully vague on the subject – but the thought that this kid has may have caused you unhappiness makes him feel a fierce sense of protectiveness. No matter how conflicting things may get in Joel’s head, that fact will never change. 

He flexes his hand, releasing the tension that has wound up in his arms and shoulders. He stands and walks into his bathroom, pulling the belt from his jeans and stripping from his dirty work clothes. He makes the shower quick, not wanting to keep you waiting any more than he already has. He manages to time things perfectly, because by the time he’s coming down the stairs, you’ve got everything ready.

Dinner is the usual affair of delicious food and good company. Joel had gotten used to eating on his own, even before Sarah moved out she more often than not she was either out with friends or he was coming home so late from work that she had already eaten – having to warm up his portion from its home in the fridge. He had never minded it, but it’s been a welcome change having you as company. 

Joel’s never been an overly talkative person, so although it shouldn’t be, it’s surprising to him how easily the two of you coexist. During the natural lulls of conversation, you sit in comfortable silence; a stark difference from dinners with Sarah who would talk for the both of them. 

Plate practically licked clean, Joel leans back in his chair, looking across the table at you as you finish the last few bites. Some more strands of hair have fallen around your face, and you brush them away with your free hand. The brown gloss that you’d had on earlier is gone now, leaving just the natural cool pink flush of your lips. 

As beautiful as you look done up like this, he can’t help but think your bare face suits you more. Maybe because it’s familiar to him, it’s easier to see the girl behind the woman. It offers the same reprieve as reverting to your old childhood nicknames, putting that distance between you again; needing the familiar comfort of “kiddo” or “kid” to keep him grounded. Because there are whispers of moments where he almost forgets. Almost.

You must feel him looking, because your kohl lined eyes meet his, brow lifted in question. He holds your gaze, a small smile lifting the corner of his mouth, before he stands quickly, “Close your eyes”. You look at him, a slightly startled look on your face, her cheeks turning a light pink, “Why?”. Always gotta question everything, “Girl, just do it”. Your cheeks flush a darker shade of pink, but you comply, face cracking into a nervous smile. Joel waves his hand in front of your face to make sure you’re not peaking before going to grab the cake. 

He sets the cake on the counter in front of him, a small smile coming to his lips. He’s glad he was able to find the perfect cake. Something simple and yet so distinctly you. He pulls out a small green candle and sets it right in the middle. He heads back to the dining room, and walking up behind you, he gently places the cake down. He leans over your shoulder, seeing your eyes still dutifully closed, “Alright, open up” he says softly. 

He walks back around to sit down, avoiding looking at your reaction. He’s nervous. You’re turning 28 not 18, you could be too old for all this. You thank him for the cake and the emotion in your voice causes him to finally look up, and what he sees shatters his heart into tiny pieces. 

The image of your smiling face he’d conjured up earlier has come to life before him and it takes his breath away. The corners of his lips lift, mirroring your own, and he feels a weight leave his chest. But his smile falls slightly when a single tear falls down your cheek. You wipe it away as soon as it falls, averting your gaze, clearly embarrassed. Without a moment's hesitation he’s reaching out, taking your hand in his, “Hey, hey, you ‘lright kiddo?” 

“Yeah, yeah I’m sorry. I’m fine this is just… really nice is all. Sorry, I’m just bein’ stupid”, you’re looking everywhere but at him, and he hates seeing you ashamed of your emotions. He wonders who made you feel like you had to hide them away. 

“Hey, don’t talk about yourself like that, darlin’. You ain’t bothern’ me at all, I just hate seein’ you cry.” He squeezes your hand, and finally your eyes lift to meet his. “You’ve seemed to be doin’ better lately, but I remembered you always enjoyed you’re birthday’s growin’ up and I know how easy it is to forget all that as you get older. But gettin’ older doesn’t mean you have to stop carin’ about the things you used to”. 

You nod at his words, eyes lingering on his hand around yours, “Yeah, I know. I just can’t remember the last time I had a nice birthday, if I’m being honest. So this is just… it’s nice”. That makes his jaw tick. Some ugly emotion like anger twisting in his gut. You have a boyfriend back in Boston; one you live with and have been with for years, yet a simple cake is enough to have you in tears? He finds himself gripping his thigh beneath the table, and he wants more than anything to tell you how much you deserve so much better than that. That you deserve to be with a man who appreciates you, who is willing to make each day better than the next. A man who will give you the world. But he swallows down all of that, reminding himself it’s not his place. 

He squeezes your hand once more before getting up, going to grab his favorite whiskey from its place. He can feel your eyes following his movements, and the look of relief on your face when he returns with the bottle is a welcome sight. You suggest watching a movie, and he concedes. The two of you go to rest on the couch, and he pours glasses for you both. You both take a swig, and the familiar burn of whiskey in his throat is welcome. Your features twist and your voice comes out choked, “Mmm delicious”. 

“Hey this is the good shit, thank you. Chase it with some cake” he chuckles defensively, and he watches as you pick up your slice of cake, taking a bite. The look of surprise that comes across your face at the combination of flavors has him feeling smug, “Told you, whiskey and cake ‘re good together”. 

“Alright old man, I won’t question your wisdom again”. Joel leans back into the couch, and you follow suit, curling into his side. The feeling of your body next to his has him finishing his whiskey, ready to pour another. He’s used to sitting like this with Sarah, and at this moment he is distinctly aware that you are not his daughter. But you seem comfortable and unbothered by the closeness, so he doesn’t react when you tuck your feet beneath his leg, leaning into him as you get comfortable. He lets out a breath, allowing himself to relax into you, this is fine. 

He picks up the remote, and flips through countless movies before one finally catches your eye, what looks to be some chick flick. He looks over at you, but your expression tells him there is no changing your mind. The movie begins, and he resigns himself to a movie that will likely result in him falling asleep. 

He doesn’t expect the movie to actually be, well, good. It’s more than good if he’s being honest, but he chooses to blame his investment on the unknown amount of whiskey he has had at this point. He can’t help his commentary throughout the film, the whiskey has loosened his tongue and these women keep making idiotic choices. He’s so caught up in their antics that he almost is able to forget about the warm body pressed into his side. At some point he put his arm on the back of the couch, his hand now resting on your shoulder, wisps of your hair brushing against his wrist. 

The warmth of the whiskey is in his bloodstream now, and the heavy weight of his eyelids has him realizing he probably shouldn’t have another glass. He didn’t mean for y’all to drink this much, but he felt like you could use the relaxation and honestly so could he. He can’t remember the last time he allowed himself to have more than two or three glasses, and the fire in his stomach is soothing. 

Joel is pulled from the movie, when he feels your eyes on him. He had felt it a few times before, but was distracted enough to not notice. But this time the tingle on the back of his neck of being watched hasn’t gone away, and he finally looks over at you. Your eyelids are low, thick lashes almost hiding them, your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth. 

The scene changes, lighting up your features, and he can see the flush that is blooming across your cheeks and neck. It reminds him of the night you came home after your graduation, drunk and giggly, caught red handed in the kitchen. It’s then he remembers what you had said to him that night, all those years ago, something about you finding him handsome. He hadn’t thought much of it then, the drunk babblings of a teenager. You’d still been a kid then, and the memory makes his whiskey-addled brain realize how different you look now. He has to look — really look — to see that girl before him. But in his current state, he doesn’t necessarily want to. 

His senses are dulled, his control slackened, so just this once, he lets himself see the woman next to him. He breaks the silence, you both having lost interest in the film, his voice comes out hushed, rougher than he means for it to be, “You know it’s rude to stare”. 

You don’t respond, you just keep looking at him, your eyes searching for something. Your tongue flicks out to wet your lips, and it draws his eyes. He watches, swallowing, his mouth suddenly dry. His eyes move slowly back up your face, and when they meet yours, suddenly you’re unrecognizable. 

You’re not Sarah’s friend, you’re not Daniel’s daughter — no, you’re a woman.

A breathtaking, undoubtedly sexy woman, sitting tucked into his side, staring at him in a way he hasn’t been looked at in years. 

So when you start closing the distance between the two of you, Joel doesn’t move. He doesn’t even breathe. This moment isn’t real, it can’t be. He must have fallen asleep during the movie, and the alcohol in his system is causing him to have the most hyperrealistic dream he’s ever had. His eyes watch as you move closer, roaming your face, falling to your perfect pout. 

When your lips brush against his, his eyes fall closed, and for a moment, he falls. Into this moment, into this fantasy. His hands ache to move, to touch you; the arm draped around ghosts against the skin of your neck. Your lips are sweet, tasting of cake and whiskey, it’s intoxicating and he doesn’t want to wake up. 

Joel’s lungs burn, unintentionally holding his breath, like deep down his body knows this is real, that he’s letting himself drown. Lungs burning and lips against yours he finally breathes you in and the familiar scent of you pulls him painfully back into reality. All at once it comes crashing back to him, and he can’t control the way his body reacts. One moment his lips are on yours, and the next he’s on the other side of the couch, as much distance as he can put between the two of you. 

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the actual fuck was that. Jesus fucking christ Joel, Fuck– Joel’s mind is a mess of spiraling thoughts and he puts his head in his hands. He rubs at his face, his mouth, trying to undo whatever just happened. His heart is beating out of his chest, and his blood runs cold. We’re drunk, I’m drunk. Too much whiskey, that’s it, yeah. It’s just– I just fucked up that’s all, forgot where I was– who I was with, it ain’t nothin’. Yeah, it’s nothing at all, fuck she has to know that, I didn’t mean– But why? She kissed me, why– why would she do that? Did I– 

Joel is too distracted to notice you stand abruptly, it isn’t until your voice pierces through the maelstrom of his thoughts that he realizes what you’re saying. You’re babbling, panicking, breath coming in short huffs, talking about leaving, driving home. His mind clears for a moment, his protective nature taking over, and he gets a hold of himself to grab ahold of your wrist as you move to leave. 

“Hey, hey it’s- it’s okay”, he stands, his vision moving in slow motion. He can’t look you in the eyes, so he just keeps his hand on your wrist, the other on your shoulder, but enough distance between the two of you that it feels safe. “Hey, look at me, you can’t drive home like this. You’ve had a lot to drink tonight, just- just take Sarah’s room”. 

You don’t seem to hear him, your eyes looking everywhere but at him, chest heaving, “Look at me, I ain’t mad. ‘M not upset, we both just… had a lot okay. It’s alright, I promise. Just… please stay here for the night”. He’s not sure how much of his words he’s saying to you and how much is to himself. Everything is alright. You both just had a lot to drink. He just had a lot to drink. That’s the only reason this happened. The only reason you kissed him. The only reason he let you. Yes, it’s alright. You both just need to sleep it off and everything will be okay. 

You finally concede, walking quickly down the hall to Sarah’s room, disappearing behind her door, leaving Joel at the scene of the crime. His legs feel like lead, his head is spinning, and his stomach is in knots and he wishes to god it was from the alcohol. He closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths, steadying himself. Desperately scrambling within his mind to lock everything that had escaped back into their carefully crafted cells. That’s all this was, a slip up, nothing more. He lost control for a single moment and this is what happens. This is why he keeps everything locked up. 

He opens his eyes, and just like that he’s on autopilot — body moving without him.  Everything tucked away neatly within himself. Joel Miller the immovable object. 

Clean up. Drink water. Take Ibuprofen for hangover. Walk to bedroom. Brush teeth. Change clothes. Get in bed. Lie down. Close eyes. Go to sleep. And don’t think. Don’t think about what just happened. Don’t think about the woman down the hall. Don’t think about her body pressed into yours. Don’t think about the taste of her. Don’t think about the smell of her. Don’t think about the softness of her lips. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.

[comehereoohlala]

let me see you

summary: it's a scorching summers day in new york, your boyfriend (a man notorious for hating parties) is insisting you attend a pool party with him. it's only your worst nightmare.

rating: explicit (18+)

tags: fem!reader x hozier. tw body image issues, anxiety, mutual masturbation, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, (the smut takes a couple thousand words to get there but i promise it gets there)

words: 5,238

note: ah! i feel like i have so much to say about this fic! thank you @uprightpillar for beta reading the smut for me you are the best!! the rest has not been beta read, we die like the poor thing in the road! and biggest thank you ever to @man-i-love-fanfiction for the prompt, this is for you, love you. but like always writing is my diary so this became very personal for me as well... sorry lmao <3

fic under the cut ❊

When you were 9, you started to realise you didn't look like the other girls your age. You stood out more in pictures, took up more space in the confined space of the picture compared to all of your friends.

When you were 13, you went behind your mums back to try on a bikini in a change room. And when the reflection staring back at you didn't match the reflection of the pretty, cool, older girls you always saw on the beach, you couldn't get it off you fast enough.

When you were 16 and finally the age of those pretty, cool, older girls, you knew you were the complete opposite of them. They were so perfect, almost as if they had been pulled straight out of a magazine.

You bought your first bikini when you were 17.

You didn't wear one outside of your bedroom until you were closer to 20. And even then, the shorts had to be high waisted, and you would only wear black. Nothing that made you stand out more than you know you already did.

When you were 20, you became convinced you were completely unlovable, entirely unattractive. Maybe some might say you were dramatic, but it was how you felt.

But when you were 20, Andrew came along. He was 24, crooked teeth, messy long hair and the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen. He had been on tour in your country, staying at the hotel right around the corner from the coffee shop you worked at. You called off everything and came into work everyday just with the hopes he would come back. And he did. Four days in a row.

On day two, his hand brushed over yours when you passed him his coffee and you nearly dropped it all over him. On day three you took your sweet time making his order, especially considering he had ordered coffees for all the people with him, it gave you a good excuse to listen to his voice as he talked to those with him and before you knew it you were completely head over heels.

On day four, you finally, properly talked. He told you he was a musician and it was his last day here. He stopped being a gorgeous mystery boy and now had a name that suited him perfectly, and you instantly wanted nothing more than to spend a lifetime saying it. Your best friend Charlie had written your number on the coffee cup you gave him, and you were too busy memorising every inch of his face one last time to even notice. But he had messaged you almost straight away, asking if you wanted to meet up when your shift ended. You had never said yes to something quicker.

But it couldn't work. He didn't even live in the same country as you. And your lives were just too different. You stayed friends for five long, painful years, growing closer and closer as time went on.

Until just over a year ago, when you couldn't hold all the love you had for him in any longer, and turns out neither could he. That was when you were 25.

Now here you are, at 26. It's a hot summer day in New York, where you've been staying with him while he finishes some music with producers and does some face-to-face meetings and work with his label.

But today is a scorching Saturday, and one of Andrew's friends that lives here is hosting a big pool party. Lots of people he knows, but also people he doesn't know. And Andrew will be the only person you know.

"Coffee for you my darling," he says softly, coming up behind you and passing you a the hot cup, his now free arm wrapping around your waist before pressing a kiss into your neck. You're leaning against a fence near the coffee shop, watching the people in the park. The families and young kids, the couples on picnics, the groups of friends. Trying to calm your mind, but it's going a million miles an hour. You instinctively pull your shirt a little, trying to stop it from hugging to you.

"So… how much of a pool party is this pool party?" You ask, bringing the coffee cup to your mouth.

"Ehm… what do you mean?"

"Well I don't have anything to wear like in a pool. I didn't bring anything with me."

"Oh…" he thought for a second, "yeah I probably don't either."

Yes, you thought to yourself. Now he'll suggest that we just don't go and have a quiet day togethe-

"Well it doesn't start until around 4, why don't we go shopping?"

What. This man despises social gatherings, you can't count how many times you have snuck out early of parties and dinners. No one complains more about them than him. He will normally take any bait you give him as an excuse to not go, which is what you were expecting to happen. But now he wants to go shopping? Just so they can go?

"Well… I mean…"

"Come on," he takes your hand, "there's heaps of little shops around here and we really do have to go to this today. He did a lot for me when I put my first album out, but he's a busy guy and this is the first chance I've had to see him in ages. Please baby. I know you don't know these people but I promise they'll love you, it's impossible not to."

You nod and he smiles, so big and wide, and there's a mischievous little glint in his eye. "Can I pick?"

You're standing in a shop, staring blankly at the wall of bikinis in front of you. Andrews hand in yours, and you look over at him, his eyes scanning his many options; he's thinking carefully, taking this very seriously.

He let's go of your hand and starts to grab a couple. A red set first, then pink, some patterned ones of lots of colours, a brown set, a dark blue, one that is beaded with seashells.

You leave him be, and turn your attention to the array of cover ups and sundresses. You have no intention of being seen in a bikini in front of anyone but Andrew, and even then, that thought makes your stomach turn a little. It's been a while since he's seen you in something like that. Even in the bedroom you prefer the lights a little dimmer, and recently you'll keep your top on until he is practically begging you to let him tear it off you. And a bikini is different. Especially when you're surrounded by other people. It just makes certain things more obvious.

You decide on a white, short, flowy, throw over dress, and you turn around to see your boyfriend carrying probably more than twenty options for you. Bikinis and one-pieces.

He smiles when he sees your face, "I think I got a bit overwhelmed. So many choices. And you'd look so good in all of them."

You shake your head, force a smile. Your mind continues to race. He's lying to you, he's just being nice. He knows you don't feel confident and he's just trying to be nice.

"Let's see what you've got there mister."

He dumps them out onto a nearby display table. You start to shuffle through them and put them in two piles, he rests his head on your shoulder. "I love the brown one, you always look so gorgeous in brown," he says softly, pointing to it, "if I can only pick one, I think that's the one." You see how low the bottoms must sit, so different to the high waisted ones you normally wear, but you pick them up anyways. Maybe you won't wear them today, maybe a day that's just the two of you.

You get him to pick another and he happily does; this time he's toying between a simple olive green and a white with what looks watercolour flowers of a variety of colours.

"Can't do strapless," you say quietly, trying to hide your embarrassment.

But he just dropped the white one, not making a big deal out of it. "Good thing I love you in green," he smiled, leaning in to kiss your cheek. "What do I have to do to get you to try them on for me when we get back?" He whispers in your ear, his voice so low and desperate just from imagining you wearing these is enough to make you feel like mush.

You smile, deciding to tease him back, leaning in and whispering, "I will… if you let me braid your hair for tonight."

"Done."

You took the brown and green ones from him, and waited until his back was turned putting away all the others he had picked out while you quickly checked the sizes.

"Hey Andy," you called him back over, "can you um… can you get me a bigger size in this one?" You passed him the brown, "I can't reach up the top."

"Yeah course," you watched him shuffle through the rack. Twice.

"That's the biggest size isn't it?"

He looks at you, "I can go ask if they have any out the back?"

"Please don't. It's fine. I don't need two anyways."

He goes to say something, but you just take his hand and walk over to the register. You're so embarrassed. His words ring in your ears, I love the brown one, you always look so gorgeous in brown.

You've killed the mood and you know it and you hate it.

He tries to change the topic on your walk back to where you're staying, and you nod along as he talks, occasionally adding in a little comment, but never really more than that.

When you get home he makes you both lunch, but you're now so full of nerves about this stupid, silly, pool party that you can barely stomach anything. You feel like you're going to throw up over a pool party. You feel juvenile, you're 26, not 15. And that thought somehow makes it worse. That crashing realisation that you look nothing like the woman you had pictured being when you were 15.

You can feel him watching you closely, you can see the cogs turning as he tries to puzzle your thoughts together, work out everything you can't verbalise. That look behind his eyes you recognised all too well, that look he got when he was really thinking about a song he was writing, when he was reading, when he was trying to understand all of you, even the bits you yourself didn't understand.

He comes up behind you in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Will you try it on for me?"

"I don't know…"

"Please," he turned you around to face him.

Unbeknownst to you, Andrew was now a man on a mission, a careful, delicate mission he had come up with during your quiet lunch together. It had to be done right, he knew you well enough to know that this was much bigger than just a party or a bikini. What 'this' was exactly he was determined to work out, and even more determined to help you with. But he had to be gentle, and he had to let it come from you first.

He ran this hands down from your waist to your hips, pressed you a little closer to him, "please?"

You sighed in defeat, "Andrew…"

"I can finish the dishes while you go change. And you can do whatever you want to my hair. And you can pick my outfit. And I'll make us drinks we can have before we go. …Please."

"Fine," you breathe out, shaking your head, but you can't not smile as you do.

He kisses your neck, "yay," he says against your skin, and you smile again. You're not quite sure what you did to deserve him, someone who audibly says 'yay' at you agreeing to wear a bikini.

You change in the bathroom, having made the decision to shower and quickly shave every inch of your body. You exfoliate, moisturise. Anything you think will make you look better in it.

The olive green stares at you the whole time, it's as if it's taunting you. It's much bolder and brighter compared to the brown. You wish you had the brown. The one he loved and picked first. Second choice. Those two words ring in your mind. Ones that often did. What if you were his second choice? Maybe even his third? Or fourth?

You had known Andrew for so long. You knew of his exes, even met a few of them. You always felt like you looked so different from them. You would be blatantly lying if you said it never bothered you, it never snuck up in the back of your mind, that it never once made you hate what met you in the mirror every day.

You only feel worse when you struggle to get it on. You spend what feels like forever trying to adjust the straps so they fit, you spend another forever trying to fix it in the back, and then the front, just so it sits right.

When you finally stop, admitting defeat in your fight with the frustratingly small pieces of fabric, your eyes properly meet the mirror. What stares back at you is somehow worse than anything you were picturing in your head. Your heart drops. You cannot be seen in this. Not even Andrew, especially Andrew.

"Darling," you hear a knock from the door, "is everything okay?"

"Fine," you stumble out, voice shaking a little. You frantically try to wipe your tears but they won't stop coming. It's just like it was when you were 13, standing in that change room. Wishing the body you saw in the mirror wasn't yours. Asking why it was given to you. Your eyes find every imperfection, until you can't stand to look at yourself for another second.

"Just… um… I'll be out in a few minutes," you yell out, and pull on a jumper that he had left in the bathroom. He wore this jumper all the time. It was big, even on his tall frame, always coming past his arms. You loved it because you swallowed it you up, covered everything.

"Okay…" he responds. He's leaning up against the door, holding two glasses. "Ehm… I made gin. I'll just be out here." He puts the glasses down on the little table in the corner room. He sits down on the end of the bed and watches the bubbles in your drink, taking a slow sip of his own. His eyes wander to your array of things on the table, the notebook with the pink suede fabric that covers it, your black framed glasses, the unorganised pile of silver jewellery from rings to necklaces.

You have sunk down to the floor, unable to face the mirror even with your whole body covered. You lean against the wall, the cool tiles pressing to you as you fiddle with the sleeves of the jumper.

You're not sure how long passes, but it must have been longer than a few minutes, because he knocks on the door again.

"Please darling… just come out here."

The sooner you can get this over with — tell him some lie about not feeling well and that he should go without you — the sooner you can curl up in bed and wallow. You wipe your eyes, splash your face with some cold water, and finally open the door to the warm light of your bedroom.

He's sitting on the bed, leaning back a little, drink in hand. Sunlight seeps through the window on to his face, and your heart stings at his beauty.

"Hey," he gives you a sly smile, "I love it," he gestured to the jumper.

"Not funny," you shoot him a look.

He puts his drink down, holds his hands out to you, "come 'ere."

"I'm not in the mood Andrew." But you still walk over to him, and he takes your hands in his.

"Let me see," he says, so quietly, so lovingly.

You let his hands slowly drift to the hem of the jumper, his fingers slowly curling into the fabric with the clear intention to pull it up, but your hands hold it down, and you shake your head.

"My love," he looks up at you, his hand finding your thigh and his thumb slowly moves up and down. The feeling is grounding, his hand is cold from his drink. You are here, right here, with the man you love you tell yourself, and your breath comes out more shaky than you would have hoped. "What's going on?"

"Uhm…" you want to tell him, you really do. You want his reassurance. You want him to wipe away your tears. But the words refuse to leave your throat.

He squeezes your hand, "it's okay-"

"I can't show you," you blurt out suddenly, "I can't let you see… because… because I'm scared you'll see me... you'll see me and you'll realise… and… and you'll stop liking me."

He shakes his head, firmly, eyebrows furrowed together, but his eyes still soft. "What would make you think that?"

You shrug. You suddenly want nothing more but to sink into the jumper and run back into the bathroom. Hide and never be seen again.

"I've seen you before darling. More than times than I can count. And you know how I feel about you."

"No Andrew. No you haven't. Not recently. Andy…" your voice starts to shake, "…you could have anyone. Why would you stay with me?"

He never looks away from you. "Because I'm in love with you. I fell in love with all of you. Your kindness, your strength, your mind, your body. I love all of you, and I think every inch of you is beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Just picturing you…" he brings your hand down and your eyes follow to the growing strain in his pants, "just from sitting here, waiting for you, imagining you," his voice is lower now, an undertone of desperation.

"Let me see you," he nearly whispers. The request is so gentle, so tender. You know he won't mind if you say no.

But when his fingers find the hem of the jumper again, you don't stop him from pulling it up. You squeeze your eyes shut, you can't bare his reaction. He hasn't seen you, in full light like this, for months. You haven't let him. Your chest feels tight, your body telling you there is no where near enough air getting into your lungs right now.

"Shh," you hear, and your eyes snap open, meeting his again. "Breathe, just breathe baby. It's just me."

Your arms instinctively go to cover your stomach but he takes your hands before they can, his eyes scanning over you as if he is committing you to memory.

"I… uhm… I think the brown would have been better," you finally manage quietly, breaking the silence.

He looks at you, snapped out of his trance, "no…" his fingers slowly tracing over the fabric sitting up by your hips, "the green suits you… compliments you." His other hand moves to your face, tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, "…it reminds me of you. God… you're so beautiful. Did I say that yet?"

You smile a little, tears stinging your eyes, fiddling anxiously with his hand. He stands up and you tilt your head up to look at him.

"Sit down for me baby," he orders gently, and you follow without hesitation. Arms instinctively crossing over your body when you do.

He looks down, reaches to the back of your head and takes out your hair, slipping the hair tie onto his wrist. You watch, dazed, as he sinks to his knees before you.

You shiver at the feeling of his fingers gently, slowly moving up your left leg, his lips doing the same, as he trails kisses from your ankle to your thigh, before repeating the same on your right.

He took your hand next. He kissed each finger, then your palm, your wrist, up to your elbow and all the way to your shoulder. Stopping every now and then at the odd scar or freckle for longer.

He's still on his knees, but at eye level with you now. He kisses every pimple scar from your bad acne days when you were a teenager. Lips find your nose, then your lips, his tongue fits perfectly in your mouth. He wants all of you, every inch. Because he needs you to know how much he adores every bit of you. You can feel his hands on your back, whilst yours curl into his hair. He fiddles with one hand at the slightly flimsy clasp holding your top on, you feel it drop onto your lap, and he quickly tosses it to the side, never once breaking your kiss.

His hand moves to cup one your breasts, "You know…" he starts, a little smile growing as he does, "sometimes I like to think they were meant for me… the way they fit so perfectly in my hand," he says between soft quick kisses, and you can't help but giggle a little. His kisses trail to your jaw, and you lean your head back, your body relaxing and leaning into his touch the more he goes on.

"Lay down," he breathes against your collarbone, and you don't hesitate.

You watch as he crawls on to the bed, his hands by your shoulders to hold himself above you. He continues at your collarbone, and you sigh beneath him as he continues pressing his lips to your breasts. He kisses every stretch mark, teeth dragging where he knows you are extra sensitive, and you can feel his smile at every noise you make. His fingers roll over your nipples, and you squirm underneath him.

"Andrew," you breathe out, "please."

He looks up from where he has been comfortable against your chest for the past few minutes, "patience baby. Patience." He doesn't break eye contact as he goes back to kissing you, making his kisses painfully slower, dragging out every movement.

He's finally moving down your sternum, and your anxiety starts to rise again. "Andy," you say quickly, "stop."

He halts his kisses instantly, looking up at you, face twisted in concern, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just…" you feel so exposed, you want nothing more than to hide.

He reads right through you, takes your hand, "you're okay. I promise. Let me love you baby, let me show you how much I love you."

You relax again and nod, holding onto his hand tightly as he continues moving downwards with his kisses, taking extra care to show his affection to every newly formed stretch mark that you had taken great lengths to hide from him.

You had been unable to bare the thought of anyone seeing them, not even Andrew, not until they had at least faded a little. And yes, no matter how many times you told yourself that they were normal, that it was nothing to hide or be embarrassed of, it never really stuck. The voice in the back of your mind fulled by the words of girls from high school, of jokes from ex-boyfriends and comments from 'friends', meant that you could never fully accept any of your countless repetitions of self-love to be true.

He made his way down further, pausing to trace each line gently with his finger tip. The darker ones, the more faded nearly invisible ones. Your eyes sting, you squeeze his hand tighter.

"I love you," he breathes against you, ever so quietly, kissing you again. "I love you." You hear him repeat it over and over. Like a mantra or a prayer. Your head falls back as he moves to your hips, a tear rolling down your face.

He lets go of your hand to move off the bed, getting back on his knees. Slipping his fingers into the green fabric still sitting on your hips, pulling it down as slowly as he can. You watch as he quickly ties his hair back, held in place with the hair tie he had removed taken from you earlier.

He brings his attention back to your hips, kissing along your pelvic bone, one of his hands resting on your upper thigh. He works carefully, lips brushing against your hair, but never going further down where you ache for him. Moving along to your inner thigh, he effortlessly pulls you further down the bed to be closer to him, before guiding your left leg to rest on his shoulder.

He kisses up your inner thighs, reaching again for your outstretched hand as he does. His lips are so close to where you want him, need him, crave him, but never quite.

It's not until you're whimpering, begging for him, body squirming with need that his tongue finally runs down you, set on continuing his devotion of every inch of you. He knows with perfect precision what makes you scream, what makes you whine, what makes you plead his name over and over. He works with purpose, and the way he works… one might think he was sent to earth with the sole purpose of bringing you pleasure.

His nose brushes over your clit, and the sensation draws out a loud cry of his name. He grips your thigh in response, nails digging into your skin that you think for a second he might draw blood.

His finger slips into you, then another, his mouth and tongue still focused on your clit. Your hips thrust up involuntarily to meet him. He's going slow, dragging this out, it's perfect torture.

He's barely started when you feel his mouth leave you and you blindly try and reach for him in a desperate, almost pathetic, attempt to get him back.

"Look at me," he breathes. You pull your head up from the bed to look down at him.

You whine, "why did you stop?"

"I want you to touch yourself baby," he says softly, "make yourself feel good for me."

You stare at him for a moment. You just want his warm hot mouth back on you, his fingers curling perfectly into you.

"I want you," you plead desperately.

"Show me," he repeats.

You don't break your eye contact with him as your hand moves down to your pussy. The position you're in is awkward, not really what you would prefer for this. But you don't care, you don't want to stop looking at him.

He nods as you start to touch yourself, watching intently as you slip in two fingers, as your thumb brushes over your clit.

Just when you start to increase your pace he shakes his head. "Slow," he whispers, "go slow for me." You just nod, slowing down for him.

He never takes his gaze away from you, eyes dark, just like how they get when you ride him to oblivion or suck him dry.

"God," he moans, his hands fiddling with his belt, shrugging his pants down just barely enough so that he can reach his cock, using the hand still slick with you to touch himself. He's following your thrusts, timing them exactly with his own movements.

"My love," he pants, "you see now what you do to me, just by-" he cuts himself off with a low moan, watching you speed up your fingers, unable to stand the painfully slow pace for another moment. Especially now, watching him chase his own pleasure, seeing how close he was the second he touched himself. All from watching you.

You both keep going, he mimics your movements as closely as possible, until he can't stand not touching you for a second longer. He practically leaps at you, desperate to have your taste on his lips again, his hand stops stroking himself to hold you close to him, one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh.

You're already so close, that his tongue slipping into you again almost sends you completely over the edge. You frantically thrust up as his nose brushes over your clit again, and then again; he's toying with you, never giving you quite the right amount of pressure he knows you need. He stops moving and your fingers dig into his hair, holding his head in place between your thighs.

"Andrew," you beg, whining for him.

He moves his hand from your thigh to return his two fingers into you, just like they had been before. But at a much faster pace than he had been earlier. His fingers hitting where yours weren't able. He lifts his head up to see you, and he can't not smile at the sight of you, head thrown back in pleasure.

"This what you wanted baby?"

You nod, "don't stop. Please don't," you look down to give him a pleading look, your eyes meeting his grin and his beard covered in you. You watch him as he moves back down, lips and tongue latching onto your clit as he slips a third finger into you. It's almost too much, but it's the too much he knows you need.

His free hand has left your hip to stroke himself again frantically, and you can feel his fingers inside you almost trembling with his own pleasure.

One of your hands falls back onto the mattress to hold you up as your body starts to shake. Your fingers on one hand curl into the blanket, the other hand holding onto his hair like a lifeline. That feeling in your core growing, threatening to burst any minute.

You start to whine, desperate, pleading for a release and you can feel him smile. He picks up the speed of his fingers, tongue moving faster on your clit; only picking up his pace as your hips buck into his face frantically. You're holding and pulling on his hair so tightly that the bun he had put it in earlier is now a thing of the past.

He doesn't stop until he's sure he's gotten everything out of you, gently slowing down as your body relaxes, coming down from your high.

He eventually moves to lean against your inner thigh, looking up at you. He's still touching himself with as much fervour as he had been with you, quiet moans escaping his mouth. You brush a hand through his hair, down across his face and he never once breaks his gaze away from you, quickly reaching his own climax, his head falling forward with a cry of your name as he comes.

He beckons you onto the floor with him with his hand, too breathless to speak. He pulls a blanket off the bed, covering you with it as you rest on his shoulder. You both relax against the back of the bed, catching your breaths, hands locked together.

"Thank you," you whisper, bringing his hand to your lips. "You know… I think you're beautiful too."

He presses a kiss to your temple, wrapping an arm around you.

"I lied," he begins proudly, "there was never a pool party."

[dreamerwitches]

Wnk trailer July analysis

Yeah baby lets go

This Homura is the one from the phone poster as seen by her socks.

She has a white undershirt like the rest of the quintet and one other Homura, the one with the brown hairbow (with new magi and wavy hair homura having black and white). Her eyes are the devil pink-purple like wavy homura but unlike brown homura, who has the non-devil purple. I honestly dont want the under-shirts to be a standard good vs evil cause that would give things away too simply, right? I think Ive seen people saying this is blood she's in but I think liquid blood is way darker, right? Its probably just symbolic

I find it interesting how we see the moon splitting in half because at the end of rebellion, it's already in half by the end. Maybe it's symbolic again lol (theres gonna be a lot of that lol)

We get a water ripple/droplet effect when kyoko kicks. I think this is the tower from previous trailers

Or not? Who knows

This is Sayaka's glove. She probably misses having a cool hench gal pal v-v I wonder if this IS just before the next scene where the memory of oktavia has some dire effects on her

This eye is certainly very much like oktavia's helmet but also Klarissa's eye. I wonder if the bandages were literally holding something back or they just artistically fall away.

I really had to scrub these two frames but you can see musical score and scales emerging from her eye

Bona!!!!!

Okay ive seen thoughts that 'oh this is just Paola's magi then?' I still think this is itzli, ill get to these girls soon. Remember... itzli summons other witches familiars (and witches themselves) in her appearances. This place is clearly watery, I think bona are just here so she can get around easily. Also this seems to be the same place as we see later

Um so... just me or is this... a completely different Mami. Look at the hairclips. But also the hair. Could be a stretch but it kinda feels like her face is different too. What on earth is going on here? I'm wondering if this is a different MEMORY of mami. Perhaps one is real, one is what (for example) homura remembers. We've certainly seen the different magical girl outfits. ORRRR this is just because one was reused from an older trailer and this new animation looks different??? XD i dunno

Not sure what to say about this one but the caller seems to be Homu as seen by the glint of hair at the top. This is not the same as the phone from trailer 1. But the shape vaguely matches the poster one.

Very pretty. I dunno but this kinda makes me think this would be the kind of place ultimate madoka would hang out. Seems celestial like that. But the very top bit seems to match up with the bona area from before

edit: hang on a fucking minute you see a tower in a reaaallyy similar style to these buildings in paola’s exedra labyrinth. Are they dropping hints in exedra????

Seen this one before, seems less blue than before. Homu seems to be in this place later

Here they are! It's possible Itzli and most certainly Quitterie. She doesnt really match up to her concept movie design at all anymore but eh

This one though? Oh that is her, welcome back queen, it's only been 4 years. I prefer her older hair, and well, her eyes are purple so this no longer seems to be bear girl. I wonder if they intended them to be the same in concept but now they've split the characters?? Unsure. But she does have the bear wand??? Im conflicted lol. What im not conflicted on is that she is definitely quitterie lol

This might not hold much water cause our pics of these girls are still so low quality, but i dont see any soul gems hmm

Both homu and kyubey appear in the sayaka room. I guess it goes dark when homu is in there. Also who is she telling walpurgisnacht to? Kyubey? Sayaka? Both? I wonder if here is where she reveals oktavia to sayaka. It seems like a library of sorts so is this where all the witch content we see belongs? This homu also has regular purple eyes

The mami content is SO weird in these trailers like, why is she always in this one place (aside from the first trailer). I think the juxtaposition of it is really creepy though. Here she's biting down on a bear cake thing, and it squirts jam when she does so which is macabre lol. We've seen bear imagery in this cafe(?) before too. This also seems to be Mami number 2 with the correct hairclips

Im still curious with the multiple magical girl outfits. Im unsure if Kyoko's one from the initial trailer was just an early design or an alternate appearance. Mami's first appearance also matches up better with the FIRST cafe appearance (as seen in the fringe). This is all so confusing!!! IS IT INTENTIONAL OR NOT????

Im satiated by the new magi but obviously, disappointed in the delay again. Just set a date, i dont care how far away it is, stop changing it man... but its probably real hard to do that. Im just scared it's going through hell internally and it'll show in the final product.

[hajihiko]

Hey! Completely random, but--if you were to like have a specific symbol for each of the survivor gang (like a small tattoo idea??), what would they be?

Like, I remember one drawing you did where Fuyu was getting a cross hair for Hajime; I just want to know if you had any other ideas or thoughts about it!

HMMMM.... very fun question! 💫

I liked the idea of them all having a red circle for pressing the button at the end of the game, for one. But individualized...

Fuyuhiko: already hc him as getting tats for important people in his life (including the survivors), so the Peko-Natsumi-Hajime ones don't count. But if he got one of his own...obvious idea is the Kuzuryū dragon somewhere, in general I like the back of the neck for any specific tattoo for him. Or maybe a little incision line on his stomach to remind him what he did lol

Kazuichi: someone else mentioned tattoos of his blueprints (like the rocket), I think that's a super cool idea. The BPs of something like his rocket, or a mono-bot, or the pods (was that him?) or his air purifiers (i think that would be his best/most important invention, reversing some of the damage he did). Something that size would need to be on the back or sides, or maybe thigh. I kinda like the rib area for him? I feel like he actually wouldn't get many tattoos, now that he doesn't need to prove himself via his looks.

Sonia: I don't think she'd get a cute little crown in the main timeline, she might in a more kind, modern AU tho. I think she might get her country's crest or the outline of the land itself somewhere, specifically comething to represent the country and not her status. She loves her pepole, not her position. Either like the shoulderblade or right on the solar plexus (crest). Sonia wouldn't stop at one, though, and I can see her having a whole sleeve based off some dark media.

Akane: as always, she's a tough one! My first thought is she'd totally have the equivalent of (very common here) zodiac lineup of her family, like up her arm maybe. Idt that's a thing everywhere, though. HMMMMM. I think she might get like... a surprisingly poignant single word or phrase, on the inside of her upper arm maybe. Something motivating to herself that no one else needs to understand, in a place she can easily see. And people would be like "omg does it mean this and that and this" and she's like oh nah it's just something a friend said to me. And does not elaborate. But idt she'd be too into tattoos in general, she's not really appearance-conscious in that way.

Hajime: I don't think Hajime would get a tattoo because he can't stand the process. In a different universe where he did, I think he'd get something for Chiaki, like that spaceship hairpin or a small string of code. Besides that, in a world where everything happened as it did, a stop-crosshair combo. Maybe also at the back of the neck? Beyond all that.....and now I speak selfishly and not with regard to character..... I would like it if he had a sunflower along his spine maybe. Just because it would make me happy personally.

[kiwisandpearls]

walpurgisnacht rising theory time

we’re just gonna go straight into it lol (depending on how many photos I add I might have to make a part two of this)

for a second I thought that this was Homura’s doppelganger but looking at her socks it seems like this is Homura herself. I think this moment in the trailer is when homura transforms into her devil outfit, as in the Side Homura trailer right before the salamander runs into her it kinda looks like she has blood on her? But that could just be me.

(here’s a picture of Homura from the Side Homura trailer for reference)

then we see of a shot of the half-moon, which is how it looked by the end of rebellion, even more proving that this will be a continuation from rebellion. Which like,,,im sure everyone and their grandmother knew at this point that would be a continuation of rebellion but i think it’s still good to point out.

we see kyoko kicking down some doors to…somewhere? I have no clue where but im assuming it’s either where madoka and that green-haired magical girl (who im just gonna call Green for now) were or where sayaka was going. Something is happening in the background which kinda looks like it’s being caused by a witch, so maybe this is after Sayaka takes off her bandages? Since we know now that under her bandages is the eye of one of her witch. Also, slight note, this side view of Kyoko’s head shows us her new magical girl design has her hair done in braids, which is cute!

speaking of which, these two scenes seem to happen close to each other, and im willing to bet this is the exact moment sayaka remembers who she is. Which means that maybe those bandages were there by homura so that Sayaka couldn’t remember who she was, and so that her powers were kept in check. Because without her memories she couldn’t use her witch form, but with her memories back she could.

This seems like a continuation of the last scene with kyoko, and with the little circle symbols around her im thinking that she’s in some altercation with Green? Maybe this is actually during that scene with Madoka and Green?

Speaking of Green, this shot proves a few theories but also disproves others. I saw some people theorizing (myself included) that Green might have been a witch in the same vein as Sayaka, and her witch form might have been Gertrud, it seems like, with these little things crawling around, while she still has a witch form like Sayaka, her witch form is actually be — if not its own original witch — the Rubber Witch Paola.

the things crawling around the look very similar to Paola’s familiars, just missing some of their features.

of course, this could all be wrong, and Green might have a completely movie original witch form, but it was something I noticed. Speaking of witch forms, the fact that Green can even control her witches and familiars is interesting as that implies she has her full memories. So, did she somehow manage to gain her memories back by herself and is working on her own accord, or, if we go the theory that she’s working for Homura, did Homura grant her the special privilege of having her memories? If she is working for Homura though, why does it look like she’s trying to drown Madoka? Is she fully working for Homura or does she have her own secret goals Homura doesn’t know about?

in the first trailer of WnK we got, there was montage of phone calls by presumably the Clara Dolls saying different things. But in this trailer, the phone calls go ignored, and paired the symbolism of phones being all around Madoka, this all seems to symbolize something — maybe the Law of Cycles — calling out to Madoka and telling her to remember her past self. Madoka seems to know something is up which maybe is the starting point of WnK, not only is Homura noticing that her grip on her new world is crumbling, but also Madoka herself is starting to realize something it up and wants to look into it.

going more into the symbolism of phone calls, maybe not only is the Law of Cycles calling out to Madoka, but the other Clara Dolls as well, maybe for one reason or another the Clara Dolls want to actively work against Homura and reunite Madoka with the Law of Cycles. Especially since in one of the first trailers I remember the Clara Dolls saying something like “free that girl” or something. Which means that not only to the Clara Dolls maybe want to “free Madoka”, but also since the Clara Dolls are representative of Homura’s inner thoughts, somewhere in there Homura regrets what she did. This is all presuming this even is one of Homura’s Clara Dolls, it could very well not be.

then we see this building which seems like the full view of the building Madoka and Green are in. Maybe this is a manifestation of what Green’s full labyrinth used to look like? Or maybe there’s another reason this building exists?

This is the same place Sayaka was in, in a different trailer, and interestingly enough, while they’re are books there, maybe books on magical girls and witches, they’re incased in the glass in such a way that it doesn’t seem like you could easily just grab a book and start reading. Maybe this is symbolic of how much Homura doesn’t want the girls to remember their past before creating her new world?

And just for a couple of frames, we saw the fated Witch, the one mentioned in the title of this movie, and in this trailer…Walpurgisnacht. Which does mean she will play a role in this movie. Maybe this is just a flashback? Or this happens at the climax, and something happens causing Walpurgisnacht to come back.

here are — along with the poster — some shots showing off the two new girls magical girl outfits. I will say while the orange-haired girl’s (who im just gonna call Orange) pins look kinda silly to me personally, they do make me wonder if her witch form might be might be the Needle Witch Quitterie, since Quitterie has those same pins throughout her design.

Also interestingly enough, in a previous trailer we see a scene of Orange holding Kyubey. And what Quitterie’s familiars? Literally just Kyubey dolls.

again tho, I could be stretching.

This scene makes me thing Sayaka being in that room with the glass statue should not have been she was doing, because it looks like she has spotlight on her. But also…look at her shadow. It kind of reminds me of her reflection in the water during her talk with Homura after Homura fought Mami in rebellion.

I think these scenes takes place during the one with Green. But why is Madoka so scared? Is Green telling her something she doesn’t like? Or is Green actually trying to kill her like im guessing?

THE LITTLE FUCKER’S BACK. But seriously tho, what happened? By the end of Rebellion, Kyubey disheveled and all around messed up, but he looks perfectly fine here! So either this Kyubey isn’t actually Kyubey or something happened that caused him to turn to back to normal.

now we have a full shot of Homura’s design in the movie itself! And also, the head behind Homura kind of looks like the glass statue. In fact, it looks like she’s in the same room Sayaka was. Are they together? Is she trying to catch Sayaka in the act of remembering who she was?

I just added this because I feel like while Kyoko is usually symbolized with fire, it’s not usually with these colors. But the thing is, Madoka herself pointed out that Homura’s name means “flame”, and these colors fit her much more I think. So take that as you will.

[iuseatranslator]

Not canon, not even headcanon, but more like a “wouldn't it be fun if—?” kind of thing... I’m not sure what to call it. Anyway, here are my top 3 picks for that kind of setting.

1. Mickey and Mandy look a lot alike.

Black hair, blue eyes, pale skin. If we’re just talking colors, then yeah, I’d say they’re already about 50% alike! lol

But since it’s never actually mentioned in the show, it’s not canon. And Even as a headcanon, it still feels like it’s missing that last 2%.

Still, I love this idea so much.

I posted about it before, but I really enjoy the notion that Ian rejected Mandy, only to fall hard for her male version. I imagine Mandy, upon finding this out, thinking something like,"What the fuck? That asshole pushed me away but clings to the guy version of me—with a dick and an even more fucked-up personality?!"

Maybe they really do look alike. But Mickey’s just such a filthy mess that no one’s ever thought to draw the comparison. Maybe Ian only started noticing the similarities once he and Mickey got involved. Or maybe the reverse—he starts seeing bits of Mickey in Mandy.

Lip would never admit they look alike. Even if he did notice something, he’d deny it with everything he had. lol

(On a related note) I’ve always had a headcanon that Colin/Iggy and Mickey/Mandy are half-siblings through different moms.

And I’ve got a visual headcanon for Mickey and Mandy’s mom too! lol Basically, she looks like Mandy but taller and with a more melancholic vibe. (I know it doesn’t make much sense for her to be tall, considering Mickey and Mandy’s height) She probably married Terry, had the kids, but couldn’t survive his violence and either ran away within a year or two, or died. I really hope she’s alive and doing okay somewhere out there.

2. Mickey’s first crush was Lip.

This pops up in fics from time to time, and I find it super entertaining. I wouldn’t call it my headcanon, but I love the idea and it’s fun to imagine.

Mickey around 7 to 9 years old. Back then, Lip might’ve been a bit taller than the other kids, or at least smarter, and good at making friends. Mickey might’ve looked up to him, or had a shy little crush.

But as Lip grew up into someone completely not Mickey’s type, those feelings would’ve faded quickly. During puberty, Mickey might’ve even had a wet dream or two about him—but by then, the emotional part was long gone, and he probably woke up feeling sick with guilt and shame.

The reason I like this idea is that it adds more flavor to the weird dynamic between Lip and Mickey. And of course, it’s also because of how Ian would react. lol

Ian would be a little jealous at first, maybe get kind of pissy about it. But then he’d just end up laughing like, “Are you serious?” Considering how much they hate each other now, it’s hilarious to think there was ever something like that. At this point, Ian might actually be hoping the two of them get along for once.

3. Clayton Gallagher leaves part of his estate to Ian after his death.

I wish this would happen… But yeah, it’s about as close to zero as a possibility can get. lol

The chances are low, but I hope Ian got to see Clayton again after canon. I'd just like Mickey to have seen Ian's biological dad at least once.

And I wish they had met Ian's half-brother, Jacob(Is that even the right name?). According to Lucy, he looks just like Ian.

In my mind, Jacob is a little smaller than Ian, wears glasses, and has this classic “nerdy” Ian energy.

The reason I want them to meet him is simple. I want to see Mickey being low-key into someone who looks exactly like Ian.

Ian’s got this half-brother he loves—Lip—who Mickey fucking hates. But then this random-ass half-brother, Jacob, who Ian barely knows? Mickey kinda likes him. Of course Ian would hate it. And yeah... that’s exactly what I want to see.

Anyway, back to the main point: I just want Ian to inherit some of Clayton’s money and live a comfortable life with Mickey. That’s it. Will it happen? Absolutely not. But somewhere in the infinite multiverse, I choose to believe there’s a world where it does.