#some cats were in my life for years some were there for a while until they were rehomed

[aurorawritestoescape]

HIS STAR || Joel Miller x f!reader || 2,7k

Summary: Joel and you met a few years ago, being aspiring musicians, and fell in love. Now you’re a rising star while Joel is struggling with his career. One night you come to his place and share big news.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, ANGST, fluff, unspecified age gap, Joel’s pov, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie, heartbreak, alcohol consumption, swearing. Pics are only for the mood. Reader wears a dress.

A/n: this is written for @the-orange-tabby-cat ‘s writing challenge (my ask is here). I hope you all will like the story. I’m sending everyone who’s been hurting this week a warm hug and lots of love🫂❤️ Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕

MASTERLIST

You waltz into his apartment late at night and Joel’s dim living room seems not that dim, his sad life not that sad. Because you are finally here.

Before you came, it was quiet here, still and dull, and now you're twirling around like a shiny twister, wearing your expensive dress, dropping glitter on his faded carpet. You turn the lights on, place the take out you brought on the coffee table and pour him a glass of his favorite whiskey.

Joel's sitting on his worn out couch, watching you with a warm smile, while you're chirping with excitement, telling him about everything at once— the people you've met, the songs you've written, the places you've visited. It seems like he has grown into his old apartment while you're taking over the city, the country, the whole world.

It’s ok. He’s happy for you. Truly.

You can’t come often, only once or twice a month if he’s lucky, your busy schedule be damned, but every time you visit, Joel’s heart overflows with happiness. More often than here he sees you on billboards, beautiful and happy, your face smiles at him from the t-shirts of teenagers, passing him by on the street. You’re always on his mind and in his heart. Always were and always will be.

You both dreamed of becoming professional singers. He met you at one of his gigs in a small bar in Texas. You were too young for him, too beautiful, too talented. But at that time, years ago, he still loved himself and foolishly thought that he deserved you. You fell for each other fast and hard and started climbing that steep mountain together.

You came into his life when he was about to quit the chase but your drive, your passion and talent gave him a second wind. You wrote songs together, lying naked in bed after mind-blowing sex, sang them at the top of your lungs on road trips to various music festivals, supported each other every step of the way. He kissed salty tears off your face after every failure, celebrated with you when you succeeded, which started happening more and more often. His demos were collecting dust on the shelves while your career skyrocketed. Joel kept holding your hand until the moment he realized that he was looking up at you while you were standing on top of the mountain you both had dreamed about, too high for him to reach.

At first envy would squeeze his heart with its freezing hand - he wished to be standing there with you. But terrified of losing you, of ruining your relationship because of that ugly feeling, he taught himself to quiet the nagging voice inside his head and to be happy for you, to feel joy, witnessing your success, even from afar.

After some time it became apparent to him that he was too average, one of many. You were different. One in a million. A star. His star.

Joel continued singing in small clubs, he still needed music like air, but hope for something bigger, brighter was slowly dying in his heart.

Now you’re in his arms, on his lap, tired and slightly cold.

“These tiny dresses of yours— fuckin’ useless— gonna get sick like that,” Joel grumbles under his breath, covering you both with a throw blanket, and you immediately melt against him. Your scent is different every time you visit, he’s enveloped in something sweet and flowery today, but the taste of your lips is the same. Always. They’re intoxicating, soft and desperate. Your hands are eager to touch him, your body pressed tightly to his.

”I miss you,“ you mumble and your tongue slides over his lower lip. His heart sings when a shiver runs over your whole body. You want him. You can have anyone you want and you still choose him every time. He doesn’t know why but he’s grateful for each moment he gets to spend with you, holding you. Fucking you.

“Joel—need you,” you whine and deepen the kiss. Hungry and long-awaited, it soon morphs into a scorching fire, burning you both. A whimper falling from your lips sounds almost pained.

“Yes, baby, yes—jus’ a second,” Joel murmurs and swiftly lifts you so you could straddle him. With trembling fingers you pull down the waistband of his sweatpants and take his cock out. Your panties pulled to the side, you sink on his hardening cock, without preparation, without foreplay. The desire is too strong. Joel is swelling bigger and harder inside your core as soon as your wet walls welcome him, so warm and tight around his manhood.

“Missed you, baby.”

“Yes—yes—missed you— so—so— much,“ you echo him, your words falling with the same rhythm as you move yourself up and down on his lap, bouncing on his length. Then you kiss every inch of his handsome face— his chapped lips, his scruffy cheeks, every wrinkle and every mole which you could draw by heart.

His hands leave your waist and slither down to take your dress off. In a moment you’re naked in his arms, you, the subject of desire of so many people is right in front of him, just a kiss away. And he kisses you, your neck, your collarbone, your bouncing breasts. He licks at your nipples, sucks each tit into his mouth and you sing only for him, your most intimate song.

Joel’s t-shirt rides up and he feels how wet you’re for him as your folds and clit are rubbing against his lower belly. You’re chasing your pleasure feverishly and he already feels how your little pussy starts pulsating around his big cock.

“Come for me, my love.”

His gruff voice in your ear sends a signal to your brain and the sound you love the most pushes you over the edge. You’re crying and shaking, coming all over his stiffness, always so sensitive to the ecstasy he gives you, and he lets you soak him, both with your tears and you cum.

“Yes—yeah, sweetheart— ride it out— c’mon.” He’s lifting you up and down with his strong hands, wishing to give you more moments of euphoria as you tremble and whimper in his arms and soon he explodes inside you with a groan that rings loudly in his quiet apartment. He presses you tight against his chest but without leaving any marks on your soft skin, skin that millions of people could see tomorrow. He’s nuzzling the crease of your neck while his cock is pumping you full of his warm seed.

You’re leaning against Joel’s chest now, still straddling him, his member slowly softening inside you. Your eyes close by themselves, lulled by his heavy breathing, but you drive the sleep away. You need to tell him something, to ask him.

You slide off his lap, feeling your thighs getting wetter, and pull him to lie down with you on the couch. Joel tucks his cock back into the sweatpants and throws the blanket over you two. You face him and your eyes lock. Your mouth opens but then closes again.

“What is it, baby? Tell me.”

He always reads you like a book. You seem anxious.

After clearing your throat you whisper,

“I’m going on a world tour.”

Joel is quiet for a few seconds until he grabs you and hugs you. His chest is rumbling with a joyous laugh and you giggle when he squeezes you too tight and kisses the crown of your head, your forehead, your mouth. You melt into him again, feeling his smile on your lips.

When he parts from you, his eyes are glossy and warm.

”Your first world tour! I’m so damn proud of you, my love!”

You can’t help but tear up, seeing him genuinely happy, and you kiss him again and then murmur a shaky “thank you.”

“Joel. I wanted to ask you—,” you’re looking at his chest now, eyes averted, your sweaty palms placed over his heart, ”I’m gonna be traveling for a whole year… and... I wanted to ask… Will you go with me?”

Joel’s eyes are darting between yours. You look sleepy, tired and gorgeous. He pulls you close to his chest and embraces you.

“Let’s talk in the mornin’, baby. You need rest.”

You look at him for a few moments, your eyes piercing and then ask with a half smile, “Could you sing for me?”

With you lying in his arms, Joel starts softly singing your favourite song, the one he wrote for you, one of dozens he wrote for you.

He keeps singing when your breath gets deep and slow and you’re purring like a little kitten, your head on his biceps, and Joel can’t stop looking at you, can’t stop singing to you until his voice breaks, his eyes sting, and he holds his breath, scared to wake you up with a sob, crawling up his throat.

Here it is. Joel always knew that the time would come. The time when something big would happen, and he would have to do the right thing. Would have to let you go.

He takes a deep breath again and again, trying to calm himself down. He blinks the tears away and feels them on his cheeks. Your face is blurry in his eyes at first but he keeps watching you sleep, memorizing your every feature, as if there’s any chance he’s ever going to forget them. Your image is carved into his heart forever.

It’s not like you two haven’t talked about it before— why you come to him only at night, why you need to be extra careful not to be seen by paparazzi.

It’s still hard to accept for the both of you that Joel is your secret. Your label doesn’t want him around you and Joel understands it. He’s been trying to make it in this business for too long not to know how things work. It hurts but it’s the reality.

And the reality is making him stomp on his heart and break yours.

In your sleep you snuggle even closer to him and with your forehead against his heart he drifts off too. As always he dreams of you.

A few hours pass before you wake him up, stirring in his embrace. Your smiling face welcomes him when he opens his eyes.

“Morning, Joel.”

The dust of mascara on your cheeks, your hair disheveled, you look angelic in the soft glow of the early morning sun peeking through the drapes. Joel’s breath hitches for a second, your beauty overwhelms him, until the pain hits him right in the chest. He has to tell you.

You get up and, after putting on his flannel, pad to the bathroom. When you return, Joel’s sitting up and you take your favorite spot, you get on his lap. Your soft kisses caress his scruffy cheeks until you search for his eyes.

“So—about the tour— what do you say?” you ask, giving him a little smile, your eyes full of hope. Joel feels his heart beating fast and loud. He knows you feel it too, your warm hand is resting on his chest. He takes it, brings it to his mouth and kisses your palm.

“I can’t, baby.”

In your gaze he sees that you knew what he was going to say. You don’t look shocked, but you look crushed.

”Wh—why not?”

Still on his lap, you start hastily telling him why he should go, that it’s going to be fun, that it’s another opportunity for his career, and he lets you tell him all that, he doesn’t interrupt you.

“I can’t do this alone, Joel. I’m scared,” you mumble at the end, looking tired after your pitch, and press your forehead to his chest. Joel hugs you and starts rubbing your flannel-covered back with his hands.

“Remember what your team told you? I’m not good for your image. An old loser like me.”

You break his embrace and sit up, your gaze fiery, your chest heaving.

“You’re not, Joel! I don’t give a fuck what they say. I love you and — ” your voice breaks as tears start flowing down your cheeks.

You slide off his lap and sit next to him, crying. Joel wants to grab you, kiss your lips, comfort you, but he knows it’ll make it harder. For the both of you. His gruff voice is a little shaky when he talks.

“I shouldn’t go. You must understand why. And it’s gonna be ok. You’re a fuckin’ star! Now go and show it to the world.”

You turn your head to him, your wet face twisted with sadness, as you mumble through sobs,

“I—I can’t spend— a whole —year without you”.

“Baby—,” Joel takes a deep breath before ripping the band aid off. ”—I’m movin’ back to Texas”.

You turn to him on the couch.

“What?! Why?!”

Because he sees your face everywhere he goes. It would hurt too much. After this. After today.

So he lies. But only partially.

“Los Angeles isn’t for me. I hate it. Everything here reminds me that I failed.” He raises his hand when you open your mouth, ready to argue. “I’ve tried, sweetheart. You know I have. But it’s not in the stars. Tommy offered me a job. Contractin’. That’s what I’m gonna do for a start, then we’ll see.”

You drop your head and sit quietly for a few moments. Joel swallows loudly, his stomach twisted with nerves. It feels like he’s going to be sick.

When you look up at him again, your brows are furrowed, eyes reddened.

“What about us?”

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“I’m too old and you have a whole life ahead of you. Long, successful, happy life. I won’t hold you back. I love you too much to do it. You don’t need me.”

“Doesn’t sound like you love me,” you hiss at him, your pain turning to anger quickly.

You jump off the couch and grab your dress off the floor after almost ripping his flannel off your body.

“I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me!” you exclaim, standing in front of him, getting dressed, while he’s looking up at you with a pained expression.

“You’re telling me you love me but then you say all this shit?! You won’t even fight for us! For me!”

“But I’m doin’ it for you!” He hates to shout but it’s hard to control his emotions as they’re ripping his heart to shreds.

“Then why do I feel like you’re killing me right now?!” You take a small step towards him, your hand reaching for his. “We can see the world together—wake up together every morning and—“

Joel gets up and holds you by the shoulders, trying to make you listen.

“Stop lyin’ to yourself! Go live your life! Quit returnin’ to me! I’m your past and you still come here jus’ because you’re scared of the future! We had fun together, baby, but now it’s over!”

You shake your head in disbelief, your mouth agape, and then you angrily swat his hands away.

“Fuck you, Joel!”

These are the last words you tell him before storming out. The last words you ever tell him.

He still hears you crying in the hall when he shuts the door behind you. His forehead pressed to the wood, eyes closed, he listens and feels like everything good in his life is leaving with you. He hears the elevator ding and then nothing.

His apartment is quiet again until a loud wail shutters the silence. Joel knows that he’s done the right thing. Then why does it feel like he’s dying?

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!<3

MASTERLIST || more angst - Always and Forever

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

[milfs69420]

You belong with me - Part II

Natasha ran from her home country when she was 18, and has since been working at a stripclub in NYC. One night she spots a woman who seems all too familiar and turns out to be her childhood lover. While getting to know each other all over again, they discover new truths and old lies.

-Natasha Romanoff x Katya Petrova -Wordcount: 5,33K -Warnings: mentions of violence -A/N: I know it took a while but it's finally here, enjoy. Once again borrowed @katyaromanoffpetrova her babies, please note that Katya is a character she created, you can find the story through her page. I might actually hate this, but I hope you guys don't :)

We shall ignore any spelling or grammar errors for the sake of my sanity.

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!!

It took until Friday night, for Natasha to realise she had absolutely no clue where Katya was taking her. She spent the whole week thinking about seeing the brunette again, but she hadn’t thought much about the details of it all. Since she didn’t know where they were going, Natasha had no idea what to wear. Would it be cold or warm? Did it call for casual clothes or something fancy? Whatever she would wear, it had to impress Katya, but she couldn’t try too hard, obviously.

Natasha was going insane. She felt like a teenage girl all over again, worrying about impressing someone with her looks. Someone she hadn’t seen in years, no less. This whole situation took over far more thoughts than she would’ve liked, so she spent the rest of the night doing chores to distract herself, until she ended up falling asleep on the couch with Liho on her lap.

The next morning, she immediately regretted having ended up in that position. Her back was aching and her neck was stiff. She made her way to the kitchen and did some stretches while waiting on her coffee, when she noticed a box on the table. Packages were delivered downstairs, so Clint or Maria must have brought it here earlier in the morning. She went to take a closer look at it and spotted the label.

Natasha Romanoff

There was no address on the box, only her name, so someone had personally dropped it off here. Someone with very fancy handwriting, it seemed, and it got Natasha’s hopes up for the contents of the package. Before she could open it though, Maria walked through the kitchen door.

“You got a secret admirer, Romanoff?” The dark haired woman smiled at her teasingly.

Natasha decided it was best to ignore the comment for now, it was far too early in the morning to be explaining an entire story about her childhood lover. “Did you see who dropped it off?”

“Some odd guy, took himself much too serious. He was wearing a suit and everything.”

The Russian hated the disappointment she felt upon learning that it wasn’t Katya who had brought it. She suspected that whoever this mystery man was, had been there on behalf of the brunette. First, she tells her that she’s having a car pick the redhead up, now this. It seemed Katya was very well off these days, how she made a life for herself though, Natasha had no clue.

After talking to Maria some more, she made her way back to her own space and set the box down on her table. It seemed Natasha wasn’t the only one curious about the mysterious box, seeing as Liho hopped onto the table as soon as she had set it down. The cat inspected the package before sitting down next to it, as if to tell the redhead to hurry up and open it already.

“Okay fine, I’ll open it. Stop staring at me you little shit.”

Natasha could swear she saw the cat’s sharp claws make an appearance out of her soft paws, and decided it would be best to get on with opening the box. Not wanting to mess around with the cardboard for too long, she simply decided to stick a knife into top and drag it all the way to the bottom. In hindsight, that could have turned out quite badly, but lucky for her whatever was in the package was protected by another box. This second box was incredibly fancy, adorned with her name written in gold on the lid of it, and whatever was in there must be worth a sizeable amount of money.

She threw the cardboard to the side and opened up the package still on the table. Inside was a semi transparant kind of wrapping paper, with a note on top. As Natasha picked up the card, she saw yet another box on top of the paper. This one was small and flat, and the redhead had a hunch for what was inside. Before opening anything though, she flipped over the card to see what it said.

Dear Natalia,

I sincerely hope, that you look as good in this, as I pictured you would.

K.

The redhead wanted to be annoyed about Katya simply refusing to use her new name, she really did. But the idea that the brunette had been thinking about her, picturing what she looked like in whatever was hiding in that package, that idea drove her slightly insane.

She put the card aside and opened the small box, inside was some of the most gorgeous jewellery she’d ever seen. A delicate gold necklace, with an hourglass shape made out of rubies hanging off of it. The shape alone, was enough to have the gears in her head turning at a rapid pace. Memories of her teen years came back to her, when she’d received the news that she had to leave her foster family, and therefore the town she had met Katya in. The goodbye had been emotional, and the brunette had given her a ring to remember her by. A gold ring with a red hourglass symbol on it, one that Natasha couldn’t wear anymore because of its size.

Next to the necklace were several earrings and rings, all gold and some with red gemstones adorning them, and a bracelet with a charm connected to it. A small dagger, no doubt a hint to the nights they used to share, when Katya would teach her how to throw knives with unmatched precision, though she never got quite as good as the brunette. All of these reminders of their past made Natasha feel more than she had expected. Whereas she usually felt mainly sadness about that time of her life, she now felt an overwhelming sense of excitement. Hope overtook her at the thought of getting know Katya all over again.

She carefully put aside the box and removed the wrapping paper. What she found was a carefully folded garment. She picked it up and let it drop into its natural shape, and she couldn’t help but gasp. In her hands was the most beautiful slip dress she’d ever seen, smooth expensive fabric with a wonderful dark emerald green colour. There was a slit in the side of dress, one that looked to go up her leg quite high, and Natasha couldn’t be more excited to put it on.

Since it was only morning, Natasha had to use all her willpower to leave this on the table for now and go on with her day, until she had to go and get ready. With every task that she busied herself with, she glanced over at that deep green coloured dress, and she made it until seven that evening until she caved. Natasha felt utterly ridiculous, standing in front of her bed and looking at her laid out outfit. She didn’t do this. She didn’t get ready for things two hours in advance, and she sure as hell didn’t worry about needing to impress someone with her looks.

Yet here she stood, freshly showered, shaved and putting in extra effort to make her hair look soft and silky, and bring out her natural curl that she knew Katya loved. All throughout her hair routine she recalled memories from her teen years. She thought of how Katya used to play with her hair, how she would make tiny braids and how Natasha would let her do absolutely anything that she pleased. The redhead came to the realisation now that she would probably still let the other Russian do as she pleased to her, though maybe in more daring ways now, than back then.

To hint at their shared memories, Natasha made a few small braids in her hair. She knew that Katya would understand their meaning, and that made it all the more fun. The braids also helped keep the hair out of her face as she was putting on her makeup, which she wouldn’t dare to do with that expensive dress on already. She kept her look quite natural for the most part, just the way she liked it, and finished it off with a darker lip tint that she knew she could pull off in the best way. She could say that she made that decision purely because she thought the shade was pretty, but in reality she was hoping to have Katya pay extra attention to them, but she would never admit that, of course.

As she was putting on the dress and jewellery she was overly aware of how far ahead her thoughts were. Rationally thinking, she should hear the brunette out first, see why she’s here and why now. But her thoughts weren’t rational. As much as she loved Clint and Maria and everyone she had in her life, she never meant to end up here. She wanted out, out of this place, out of this job, out of her loneliness. Katya’s arrival had given her so much hope that she believed it may actually all happen. And so she found herself here, feeling like a teenager all over again, mind clouded with daydreams about what she and her childhood lover could potentially become in the future. 

….

After sitting and waiting, and feeling like a fool, for well over an hour, Natasha could finally go outside and meet whatever mystery person was picking her up. She hadn’t needed those two hours to get ready, usually she’s done well under one hour, or way less, she simply got too excited over the whole situation. She’d been right about her assumption that the slit on her right thigh went up quite high, and she was certain that Katya had chosen that on purpose. Natasha didn’t mind that at all, not because she was used to showing off her body, but because Katya was the one person who she’d gladly show all of her to. 

Right as she walked outside, a black SUV showed up at the curb, and before she was even close to the car, a man had stepped out. Dressed in a classic black suit, probably an expensive one, he walked to the other side of the car. As he turned to open the door for Natasha, she could see that he was wearing some sort of communications device in his ear, it made her wonder what kind of security measurements were present, and why they were needed.

The man hadn’t said a word, not when she got in the car, not during the drive, and he didn’t speak either when he opened the door for her to get out. As Natasha stepped out of the car she took in her surroundings, she caught a glimpse of the busy street in the city centre before she was ushered towards the building in front of her. She walked towards the entrance of the seemingly very classy restaurant, and the mystery man opened the door for her. He guided her inside, but as soon as the tables came into view she didn’t need his directions anymore. There, in the middle of an otherwise empty restaurant, sat the person who’d been keeping her up all week.

Natasha took notice of the guards standing in every corner, and she assumed there were more in the rest of the building. However wary she was of all this security, she walked towards the table with a smile. This time it wasn’t some man in a tailored suit showing manners, it was Katya who got up and pulled out the chair on the other side of the table for Natasha. Once she sat down, and the brunette had settled back in the chair opposite of her, she took a moment to observe the woman in front of her before speaking up.

“This is an awful lot of guards for a dinner date, don’t you think?” The redhead still wore that charming smile on her face. She wasn’t afraid, or hostile, and neither was Katya. She was genuinely curious about why all of this was needed, the guards, the empty restaurant, everything.

“Oh so this is a date now?” Katya’s face was adorned with that oh so captivating smirk that, if it had been on anyone else’s face, would’ve annoyed Natasha to no end. 

“Well I don’t usually dress up quite this fancy for any other occasion, do you?”

Katya took that as her cue to, unashamedly, check out the redhead opposing her. She let her eyes wander where she pleased, and she knew that Natasha didn’t mind. In fact, she was doing the exact same to the brunette. It seemed that suits were her thing these days, as she was wearing yet another, no doubt tailor made, dark suit that fit her exactly right. With all this staring back and forth, and tension growing in the air, Katya decided to tease Natasha just a bit more. She took off her blazer and put it over the back of her chair, and to finish it off she rolled up her sleeves to reveal her smooth, ink adorned skin.

“You look beyond gorgeous in that dress, Natalia. Just as I hoped you would.”

“So you’ve been thinking of me then? Picturing me all dressed up, just for you.”

The brunette didn’t admit anything, instead she just smiled at Natasha and handed her one of the menus that had been on the side of the table. 

“I suppose we should get drinks and appetizers first, before getting into the details of this whole situation.” They quietly went over their menus before a sharply dressed woman came up to them, asking for their orders. When all was said and done, and they’d put in their requests for the evening, they received their drinks and were left alone for the time being. 

“So are you going to explain all the security measures?” Natasha was getting impatient now. As fun as the banter was, she was here to get answers. Katya could sense the change in her attitude, and adjusted her own accordingly. 

“You’ll understand the details later on, for now let’s just say there’s plenty of people who’d love to get their hands on me. And not in a pleasant way.” The brunette just couldn’t help but joke around, and Natasha hated that she liked it. She had to fight the blush that tried to make an appearance on her cheeks, because she too, wanted to get her hands on Katya. Though not in a way that called for all these guards present. 

“So what have you done then? To piss off people that badly.”

At that question, Katya seemed to get slightly uncomfortable. “To get to that, we need to go back to the past first. Even before we met, hell even before I was born.”

Now this piqued the redhead’s interest. She hadn’t gone into this with any expectations, but she certainly didn’t think there would be this much history to the story. And the sorrow that seemed to take over Katya had not only made her curious, but already furious at whoever was responsible for whatever bad things had happened to her childhood lover. 

“So, as you already know, I used to live with my uncle.” She started her story. “And I’ve told you before that my mom passed shortly after my birth, and other than my uncle there wasn’t anyone to take care of me.”

So far, this was all information that Natasha knew already, but she understood that the other Russian had to make sure she was aware of the foundation for the story. She didn’t speak, and decided against interrupting Katya at any point. The look on her face made it clear that this was a serious conversation, so all banter was to be stopped for now.

“I obviously don’t know what things looked like from your side of the street, but I can say with absolute certainty that things at Dreykov’s place were worse than they seemed. I think everyone in the town was aware that he was involved in some shady stuff, many suspected some kind of mob activity going on. The truth is actually worse. You see, he didn’t deal drugs, or weapons or any of that stuff, he dealt people. Girls, to be specific.”

Natasha tried to keep her face blank, she didn’t want her expressions to affect the woman opposite of her. She had heard her fair share of theories about what went on in the building across the street, but she hadn’t known about this.

“Some girls, depending on age, were sold to disgusting creeps. However, kids like me, who didn’t have a clue about the world yet and had everything to learn, we were trained. I won’t go into details for now, but we were trained not only to fight, but to kill. We were taught about every single way you can end someone’s life, and if any of the girls failed a part of training, they became the target.”

Katya fell silent after that, and Natasha didn’t bother filling the silence either. This moment was utilised by the staff to bring over their drinks and first course. The redhead muttered a quick thank you, but didn’t take her eyes off of the somber looking brunette, who cleared her throat and pushed herself to keep going.

“You have to understand, that while I may have seemed kind and innocent to you at the time, I have seen and done things you never want to imagine. To many, I’m a monster, and I completely understand if that’s how you feel about me too.” As she said that, Katya seemed about ready to watch the other Russian leave and never come back.

“And I need you to understand something in return.” Natasha looked her in the eye to make sure that every word reached her. “You were forced to do all of that stuff, I don’t know exactly what went down but it sounds like a life or death situation. You did what you had to do to survive, Katya. You were the only person that showed me any kindness at all. I mean, I thought that my foster parents liked me, but they threw me out with the garbage. You were the only person to be honest to me, you said you loved me and you meant it. I will never think that you’re a monster.”

The brunette looked down at her still untouched food, like she was taking all of those words in, unsure of how to respond. Then, she looked up at Natasha with a sadness in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

“They liked you.”

Natasha looked up at her confused. “What?”

“Your foster parents, they liked you. They had every intention of keeping you around.”

“You’re lying, they made me pack my bags and leave without explanation.” 

This made the redhead upset, Katya was implying that she may have had a chance at the happy family she had always craved, and she didn’t take this lightly.

“Natalia, I’m deeply sorry for what I’m about to tell you, and I understand if you don’t want to talk to me anymore after this.” Katya took a deep breath before continuing.

“Besides the girls and teachers, there was a load of guards involved with the organisation. I guess someone had noticed me sneaking out at night and a guard followed me when I went to meet you. I don’t know exactly what they saw but it was enough for them to know that we were more than what we were supposed to be. They couldn’t get rid of me like the other girls, not only had I become an important asset, but I’m also related to Dreykov.”

The brunette fell silent for a moment to prepare for what she had to say next. She couldn’t bear to look Natasha in the eye, knowing that she was causing all the hurt that was visible on the redhead’s face. She was fully prepared at this point, to break Natasha’s heart and watch leave.

“With some very convincing threats, and a lot of money, Dreykov got rid of you instead. He made them kick you out, and punished me in ways that made me wish he’d killed me instead. I didn’t know any of this at the time, he actually made me believe that you had been killed for the longest time. I found out a few years ago, I’m so sorry Natalia.”

“Stop calling me that.” Up until now, the name had only slightly annoyed Natasha, but in this emotional state she couldn’t handle any of it. She had to fight the emotions that seemed to get stuck in her throat, and tried her best to keep the tears from escaping. That name was a far too prominent reminder of the past, and it was too much for her to handle right now.

“I don’t want to hate you.” She looked at woman opposite of her. “I loved you, Katya. Hell, I’m half convinced I could fall in love all over again right now, so I do not want to resent you even the slightest bit. I wouldn’t change anything we did back then, even if the outcome hurts me so deeply. Right now though, I need you to work with me here. I’ve changed since we were teenagers, I had to. I needed a fresh start and that came in the form of this new person, Natasha. I need you to respect that.”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Natasha.” 

Katya dared to offer her a slight smile, in the hope of bringing some comfort to this situation. Natasha looked her in the eyes, like she was searching for something, anything that could help her navigate the turmoil of emotions she was experiencing. She saw a change behind Natasha’s eyes, one that indicated that she had put her emotions aside for now to keep herself together for the rest of the evening. There was no doubt though, that it would take time for her to let everything sink in, and learn to live with all that knowledge.

“I’m not saying we need to forget everything we used to know about each other, but we need to get to know each other all over again. That is, of course, if you intend on staying around to keep talking.”

Katya seemed almost surprised at how the redhead was dealing with all of this information. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d want me around after this conversation.”

It made Natasha sad, how badly the other Russian seemed to think of herself. Katya’s self worth seemed to have been crushed, and at that moment the redhead decided that it would be her mission to restore it. She needed her to see that she wasn’t a monster, she was just a human who’s been put in the most inhumane situations and did what she had to in order to survive.

“Well, I could always change my mind after you tell me the rest of the story.” She put that signature smirk on her face in an attempt to lighten the mood a bit.

“I’m guessing that you mean how I ended up here?”

“Tell me everything, what happened after I left, how you ended up in this position. It seems that you’re quite well off, with all your security and fancy clothes and everything.”

Katya smiled at her, silently agreeing with her. Firstly though, they finally finished their food and received the main course for the evening. While enjoying their food Katya shared the rest of her story. She told Natasha about the bad, painful things she had to endure after they’d been found out. She told her about how from that moment on, she started truly hating Dreykov, and started plotting against him. 

Katya had thought that he had been responsible for killing her childhood lover, and it filled her with an incredible amount of rage. So as she got older, she started looking for ways to not only put an end to this organisation, but to burn everything associated with it to the ground. Soon after she turned eighteen she had gathered all that she needed, and after a lot of violence all guards had been taken care of and all the girls had sided with her.

She told Natasha about that final encounter with Dreykov, how he had realised that this would be the end for him no matter what. In a last attempt to maintain his power he had told Katya about what had really happened to her secret girlfriend. She had smiled at him as she put her knife in his chest, not only because he was finally gone, but because she now knew that Natasha was alive. 

And so she’d gone on to lead all those girls that she has trained with. She’d downloaded all data from her uncle’s organisation and they had set off on a mission. They had a list of every organisation, government, politician and business associate of Dreykov, and the task was to eliminate them, whatever it takes. Along the way, Katya had made a name for herself and built a network. Most of those targets didn’t want to be convinced to stop what they were doing, and therefore had to be eliminated in a rather permanent manner. Now, even people in high power positions feared her, and nobody dared to mess with her.

That more or less summed up how she got to where she is now. She took money and weapons from organisations that they’d taken down, and thanks to her network of powerful people there were plenty of people investing in her cause. She’s built an army over the years, an army of people who move in the shadows, who take down anyone that stands in their way. 

“So I guess that’s the rest of that story you wanted.” Katya finished off her explanation as dessert was delivered to their table. 

“Almost, you still have to tell me how you found me, and why you showed up just now.”

“Well, finding you was actually quite easy. Your boss, Fury as he likes to call himself.”

“You mean Nick”

“Yes, I mean Nick. I also refuse to call him that ridiculous name. Anyway he got in contact with some shady people about a year ago, they tried to involve him in trafficking business to get women for his club. He wanted nothing to do with it and wanted them gone, so people from my organisation sorted it out for him. Initially I had nothing to do with it, but we do background checks on everyone that gets involved with us.” 

Natasha listened intently, she had her suspicions about her boss getting involved with something, she just hasn’t known what, or who. She’d seen him on the phone and whatever kept him busy seemingly required loads of secrecy. 

“Now this is embarrassing to admit, but here we go. I had an order communicated to everyone involved with what we do. If your name ever came up anywhere, I am to be notified right away.”

She was interrupted by laughter coming from the other side of the table. Natasha thought it was funny, utterly adorable and also more attractive than she was willing to admit, that Katya had gone to such lengths. It warmed her heart that the brunette had never forgotten about finding her. 

“Okay if you’re done laughing, I’d like to continue.”

“Oh I don’t think you need to, it’s easy. You found my name, my new one, and found out that I work and live at the club, and that’s when you decided to start lurking in the shadows to watch me on stage. I hope you enjoyed the shows, by the way.”

Natasha felt more confident now, she felt like she finally knew who was really sitting across the table. It saddened her that Katya had not expected the conversation to get this far. The love she had for the other woman back when they were teens, was the truest love that she’s experienced to date. Even with all the heavy subjects that they touched on tonight, the transition to that light, playful dynamic they were so good at was easy.

“Oh I enjoyed the shows alright, nothing beats that look on your face when I said your name though.”

After dessert had finished, they sat and talked for a little while longer, while enjoying their drinks. Neither woman could deny how much they enjoyed each other’s company. Even with all these new truths, and old lies, coming to light, there was an undeniable familiarity between them. As the night came to an end, they found themselves looking for excuses to stay right where they are. So they found themselves lingering outside on the pavement, delaying the inevitable separation.

“So, will I get any more mysterious invites like this, or can you text me like a normal woman?” 

Natasha couldn’t help but put that signature smirk on her face, just in case Katya needed a little extra convincing. She offered up her phone, and the brunette took it right away to put in her contact information. She immediately called herself with the phone so she could save the redhead’s phone number to hers as well.

“You’ll be taken back to the club with the same car, to ensure you get home safely.”

“Don’t you worry, I know how to defend myself much better than you’d expect.”

“Do I ever get to hear that story?”

Natasha smiled at her. “Sure, on our second date, darling.”

With that, she took a step towards Katya. She leaned towards her and gave the brunette a kiss on the cheek and stepped backwards again, showing that charming smile one more time before turning around and walking towards the car. It took more effort than she was willing to admit, to not turn around and stay for a little while longer. Instead, she got in the car and it took off to bring her back safely, and she immediately missed the presence of her childhood lover.

Meanwhile, Katya was left standing there on the pavement, looking at the car as it took off. This strong, powerful woman who was feared by so many, had been rendered useless because of such a simple gesture. If she had lost all self control, she might have reached out to touch her cheek right where the redhead’s lips had been. However, she was still surrounded by security guards and while she knew they had a massive amount of respect for her, she did need to uphold her image and couldn’t look like a total fool.

That night, both women let their thoughts wander to the other. Natasha was eager to rekindle the flame that had once been ablaze between them, and she could swear the sparks of it were still there like they never left. She was eager for a potential new life, where she didn’t feel this miserable and lonely so often. A life where she had someone to talk to at the end of every day, someone to share her joy with, and her sadness. If she let her mind truly get ahead of her, the future looked awfully domestic and joyful, both things she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Katya on the other hand only dared to let her thoughts go so far. Her upbringing had left her wary of people and filled with trust issues. As much as she’d love to be able to let Natasha right back in her life and go all in on exploring how good they can be together, she simply had to be sensible. But as her phone screen lit up with a goodnight and thank you text from the very person she was thinking of, she couldn’t stop a smile from appearing on her face.

[lightshcwer]

liam was taken aback by her sudden bluntness. he shouldn't have been— this was typical mel. but somewhere along the way, they'd stopped being the kind of friends who talked about feelings at length, if at all. those conversations had been born then died on some janky rooftop downtown, their old hangout spot. in the years after she'd left, he'd found himself going back there often, until the city eventually tore the building down. liam hadn't had the heart to tell melissa then. or maybe he'd wanted to spare himself the humiliation if she didn't even remember, or worse, didn't care.

their communication now was... infrequent. he couldn't hold it against her, but it was the truth. the fact that she was here now felt like a miracle, given her impossible schedule. he'd been grateful for the postcards and the occasional texts over the years, but they were clearly no match for the real deal. he froze momentarily upon hearing her question. the words sounded so sweet coming from her lips. why would she ask that? wasn't it obvious? liam sputtered, then rolled his eyes with a smile he hoped passed as playful. "of- of course i did, is this a joke? why would i want to hang out if i didn't?" he teased, thankful that he'd allegedly saved face. "did you?" liam wasn't sure what demon possessed him to even ask, but he could always curse himself later. he caught a glimpse of her bright blue eyes and quickly glanced away, scanning the surroundings for a distraction. so... maybe not the smoothest save.

"that's easy for you to say! i think most people would agree crepes in paris sound better than pancakes in tucson. it's just your nostalgia talking", he smiled, nodding towards his truck. "now come on, my stomach is gurgling like crazy." the tension— entirely of his own making — was finally starting to dissipate when mel asked him about his love life. for the second time now, she'd left him speechless, and he had a sneaking suspicion there was a lot more of that waiting for him during her trip.

for the sake of honesty (and not having to keep up some elaborate lie), liam decided to let the cat out of the bag. "girlfriend is not the jealous type, if you can believe that. not even melissa jensen rattles her." what girlfriend didn't know, however, was that liam had been in love with melissa jensen for as long as he could remember. when it became clear those feelings would never be returned, liam was faced with two choices: move on, or cut mel out of his life. the choice was easy; he couldn't picture his life without mel in it. she was his best friend. so he'd decided it would be better for the both of them to pretend those feelings had never existed. melissa wouldn't walk on eggshells around him, and he could stop actively yearning for someone who didn't want him back, which was miserable. his feelings took a while to subside, longer than he'd admit. but eventually, he just... stopped thinking about it. and that was when he met... well... "girlfriend."

"what about mr jensen? should i expect a cease and desist from paul mescal or whatever young hunk hollywood is pushing, now?" he made a conscious effort to keep his tone casual, hoped they could breeze past this. "not to sound self-important, but i'm putting myself in danger being around you, you know? your fans will want my head on a pike."

she didn’t avoid the subject of her plans, but instead just smiled at him. she didn’t want to upset him with that topic, especially when everything she had imagined as a child — being on screens, memorizing lines, walking red carpets — had come true, while she knew nothing about his plans. after all, she was empathetic! she didn’t want to turn this reunion into something all about melissa jensen. this was about melissa and liam, and only about them. "did you miss me?" she dared to ask, letting her eyes meet his. "crepes in paris? never. pancakes will always be better. and besides, paris doesn’t have the charm of this place." she bit her lower lip, trying to suppress a teasing smile from appearing on her face. she noticed he wasn’t making much eye contact, and she wondered if she was bothering him. had they changed too much? she hoped not. "don’t call me that," she complained. "won’t girlfriend mind you going to ihop at this hour with me?" she wanted to test the waters. she needed to know if he had someone.

[froody]

there are cats in pretty much all of my childhood photos and what is crazy is that I can remember the names of every cat I had growing up but I can’t remember the names of most of my childhood friends LMFAO

[why-animals-do-the-thing]

average United States contains 1000s of pet tigers in backyards" factoid actualy [sic] just statistical error. average person has 0 tigers on property. Activist Georg, who lives the U.S. Capitol & makes up over 10,000 each day, has purposefully been spreading disinformation adn [sic] should not have been counted

I have a big mad today, folks. It's a really frustrating one, because years worth of work has been validated... but the reason for that fucking sucks.

For almost a decade, I've been trying to fact-check the claim that there "are 10,000 to 20,000 pet tigers/big cats in backyards in the United States." I talked to zoo, sanctuary, and private cat people; I looked at legislation, regulation, attack/death/escape incident rates; I read everything I could get my hands on. None of it made sense. None of it lined up. I couldn't find data supporting anything like the population of pet cats being alleged to exist. Some of you might remember the series I published on those findings from 2018 or so under the hashtag #CrouchingTigerHiddenData. I've continued to work on it in the six years since, including publishing a peer reviewed study that counted all the non-pet big cats in the US (because even though they're regulated, apparently nobody bothered to keep track of those either).

I spent years of my life obsessing over that statistic because it was being used to push for new federal legislation that, while well intentioned, contained language that would, and has, created real problems for ethical facilities that have big cats. I wrote a comprehensive - 35 page! - analysis of the issues with the then-current version of the Big Cat Public Safety Act in 2020. When the bill was first introduced to Congress in 2013, a lot of groups promoted it by fear mongering: there's so many pet tigers! they could be hidden around every corner! they could escape and attack you! they could come out of nowhere and eat your children!! Tiger King exposed the masses to the idea of "thousands of abused backyard big cats": as a result the messaging around the bill shifted to being welfare-focused, and the law passed in 2022.

The Big Cat Public Safety Act created a registry, and anyone who owned a private cat and wanted to keep it had to join. If they did, they could keep the animal until it passed, as long as they followed certain strictures (no getting more, no public contact, etc). Don’t register and get caught? Cat is seized and major punishment for you. Registering is therefore highly incentivized. That registry closed in June of 2023, and you can now get that registration data via a Freedom of Information Act request.

Guess how many pet big cats were registered in the whole country?

97.

Not tens of thousands. Not thousands. Not even triple digits. 97.

And that isn't even the right number! Ten USDA licensed facilities registered erroneously. That accounts for 55 of 97 animals. Which leaves us with 42 pet big cats, of all species, in the entire country.

Now, I know that not everyone may have registered. There's probably someone living deep in the woods somewhere with their illegal pet cougar, and there's been at least one random person in Texas arrested for trying to sell a cub since the law passed. But - and here's the big thing - even if there are ten times as many hidden cats than people who registered them - that's nowhere near ten thousand animals. Obviously, I had some questions.

Guess what? Turns out, this is because it was never real. That huge number never had data behind it, wasn't likely to be accurate, and the advocacy groups using that statistic to fearmonger and drive their agenda knew it... and didn't see a problem with that.

Allow me to introduce you to an article published last week.

This article is good. (Full disclose, I'm quoted in it). It's comprehensive and fairly written, and they did their due diligence reporting and fact-checking the piece. They talked to a lot of people on all sides of the story.

But thing that really gets me?

Multiple representatives from major advocacy organizations who worked on the Big Cat Publix Safety Act told the reporter that they knew the statistics they were quoting weren't real. And that they don't care. The end justifies the means, the good guys won over the bad guys, that's just how lobbying works after all. They're so blase about it, it makes my stomach hurt. Let me pull some excerpts from the quotes.

"Whatever the true number, nearly everyone in the debate acknowledges a disparity between the actual census and the figures cited by lawmakers. “The 20,000 number is not real,” said Bill Nimmo, founder of Tigers in America. (...) For his part, Nimmo at Tigers in America sees the exaggerated figure as part of the political process. Prior to the passage of the bill, he said, businesses that exhibited and bred big cats juiced the numbers, too. (...) “I’m not justifying the hyperbolic 20,000,” Nimmo said. “In the world of comparing hyperbole, the good guys won this one.”

"Michelle Sinnott, director and counsel for captive animal law enforcement at the PETA Foundation, emphasized that the law accomplished what it was set out to do. (...) Specific numbers are not what really matter, she said: “Whether there’s one big cat in a private home or whether there’s 10,000 big cats in a private home, the underlying problem of industry is still there.”"

I have no problem with a law ending the private ownership of big cats, and with ending cub petting practices. What I do have a problem with is that these organizations purposefully spread disinformation for years in order to push for it. By their own admission, they repeatedly and intentionally promoted false statistics within Congress. For a decade.

No wonder it never made sense. No wonder no matter where I looked, I couldn't figure out how any of these groups got those numbers, why there was never any data to back any of the claims up, why everything I learned seemed to actively contradict it. It was never real. These people decided the truth didn't matter. They knew they had no proof, couldn't verify their shocking numbers... and they decided that was fine, if it achieved the end they wanted.

So members of the public - probably like you, reading this - and legislators who care about big cats and want to see legislation exist to protect them? They got played, got fed false information through a TV show designed to tug at heartstrings, and it got a law through Congress that's causing real problems for ethical captive big cat management. The 20,000 pet cat number was too sexy - too much of a crisis - for anyone to want to look past it and check that the language of the law wouldn't mess things up up for good zoos and sanctuaries. Whoops! At least the "bad guys" lost, right? (The problems are covered somewhat in the article linked, and I'll go into more details in a future post. You can also read my analysis from 2020, linked up top.)

Now, I know. Something something something facts don't matter this much in our post-truth era, stop caring so much, that's just how politics work, etc. I’m sorry, but no. Absolutely not.

Laws that will impact the welfare of living animals must be crafted carefully, thoughtfully, and precisely in order to ensure they achieve their goals without accidental negative impacts. We have a duty of care to ensure that. And in this case, the law also impacts reservoir populations for critically endangered species! We can't get those back if we mess them up. So maybe, just maybe, if legislators hadn't been so focused on all those alleged pet cats, the bill could have been written narrowly and precisely.

But the minutiae of regulatory impacts aren't sexy, and tiger abuse and TV shows about terrible people are. We all got misled, and now we're here, and the animals in good facilities are already paying for it.

I don't have a conclusion. I'm just mad. The public deserves to know the truth about animal legislation they're voting for, and I hope we all call on our legislators in the future to be far more critical of the data they get fed.

[pears-trinkets]

.

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[warthogreporter]

A second look at the human fucker community on monster tumblr

🧜‍♀️ Hermaid Follow

After a while you start to notice some trends in how people talk about fucking their hoomans

Vampires: This is Brother Reginald Regicus Regicum who I slowly corrupted and tempted with earthly desires across several long years until he became a creature of the night like myself. We're throwing his one year vampirization party in a month, here's the invite, if you don't come it's a personal insult, to me.

Orcs: This is Himby the Himbo who I snagged in some raid I did because I got bored on my way to the grocery store. It's funny when I make him wear cat ears.

🐻 Beard-Toucher Follow

Demons: These are Sir Good and Sir Goody. I make them wear matching collars because of how they were all but boyfriends before I enthralled them with my dark magic. You noticed their matching collars right?

Werewolves: You'll never believe this, but my human Stucky, who used to be called Lady Stuck Up, was actually a repressed and stuck up person before I helped her embrace her wild side TM.

🐍 Scaled-Scales-Scaling-Scales Follow

Naga: ...Anyway after spending 400,000 years praying I finally met the human who is the love of my life and we recited mantras together, after 200,000,000 years of this we began to *blushes* hold hands and then the gods...

Other kinds of dragons: This is King Dragonslayer the Unfucked. I use him as a display stand for my jewels when not fucking him.

(164,597 Notes)

🐙 WetterThanYou Follow

Showing the humans parts of their world they've never seen (the depths).

(9,846 Notes)

🐎 Seventaur-deactivated20230527 Follow

Man humans really are such pathetic creatures

🐎 Seventaur-deactivated20230527 Follow

Stop reblogging this as a human fucker post! I advocate for exterminating those pests! It's literally in my bio! Human Fuckers DNI!

👿PazuzuOfficial✅ Follow

Hey OP we need to 'talk' IRL. Don't bother turning on your location, I already know it.

(369 Notes)

🐺 HereWolf Follow

Seeing elves in human fucker communities is always such a "bro thinks he's on the team" moment. Oh yeah you're so different from humans with your pointy ears and... oh right that's literally it.

🛣️Elf-Hater Follow

Elves are like humans but lame and pretentious, even lame and pretentious humans are better. Eying a 'human' only to notice pointy ears is like biting into a blueberry muffin thinking it's a chocolate muffin, if blueberries tasted like shit.

🧝Elfeven Follow

🥺

🪓Orcasionally-Really-Cranky Follow

If it makes you feel better I fuck both humans and elves, just got back from a raid where I scored plenty of elves to make into my obedient little whores.

🧝Elfeven Follow

That doesn't make me feel better.

(685,734 Notes)

🦅Feathery Follow

Finally going to an actual human town. What do human eggs look like? Don't want to cause any problems by mistake.

🦋 Gregory-Grigori Follow

People on this webbed site will really just say anything about hoomans huh?

🐂 No-Yournotaur Follow

OP, humans don't lay eggs. It's weird that you thought they did. They're mammals.

🦅Feathery Follow

I thought they were like platypi no need to get up my ass about this

🐂 No-Yournotaur Follow

Okay you know what fair.

(5,873 Notes)

🦋 Gregory-Grigori Follow

I'd say good morning, but I didn't wake up with a beautiful human on each side of me so actually it was yet another mid morning.

(4,384 Notes)

Click here for part 1 and here for part 3

[caffeinewitchcraft]

WIBTA for going to my high school reunion even though the two witches I stripped of magic are going?

(Read for free on Patreon (X))

I (28 witch) was in a coven during high school. Not really even a coven. We weren’t recognized and there wasn’t a clear division of responsibilities. We did have a high priestess but she hadn’t Declared or been Initiated or whatever she believed. Looking back, her learning was all over the place (and a little problematic, honestly. I remember her calling a poppet a Voodoo doll before being called out by another member). Let’s call her Sarah.

Sarah was a year older than the rest of us (still the same grade though) and her mom was a witch so that made her the high priestess. She was the one who would organize all of our rituals and held the power of veto over any proposed spells. While you think that’d mean she’d provide the ingredients, she never did. She did tell us what to buy and, let me tell you, some of those things were expensive for a high schooler. We met in the park behind her house, and she demanded that at least one of us be in every one of her classes. If we weren’t, we’d be “cycled” out of the coven until our parents convinced the school to transfer us in.

Any alt kid knows what I’m talking about because they had a Sarah in their life. If she was angry, we had to be angry (and a little afraid of her). If she was sad, we were expected to ask why. If she was happy, we had to be even more happy. You get the picture.

The problem came when Sarah added Jess (fake name) to the Coven during the start of our junior year. It was the first time Sarah allowed someone else from a witch family to join. Jess was a transfer student from England. She told us all that that made her magic deeper and more powerful because she was a “daughter of the witches you could not burn.” When I pointed out that that statement is historically inaccurate, Jess called me a “pilgrim.” She tried to convince Sarah to blind me (take away my decision-making power in the coven), but I was the only one with reliable access to dried herbs (my mom’s a botanist and didn’t count her stores like Sarah’s mom did), so Sarah said no.

Jess’ dislike of me got worse when I actually did dress like a pilgrim for Halloween that year. And, if I’m honest, I did take it a little far. I was a hot-headed kid. I followed her around the entire day and had kids sign one of two petitions – “Burn” or “Not Burn.” When the Burn Petition won, I could tell I went too far (there were a LOT of signatures).  I tried to make it a joke and told her that now she really was a witch we couldn’t burn.

Jess and I got in our first physical fight. Sarah eventually broke it up, but not before Jess ripped out a good chunk of my hair, and I broke the tiger’s eye bracelet she wore.

 I later heard from another coven member that Jess tried to lay a curse on me that night. Unfortunately for her, I was pretty interested in defensive work and had a fresh witch’s jar buried under my window. Her curse got caught in it and rebounded. Apparently, that’s how Jess got pink eye, not from her younger sister.

We fought like cats and dogs. Any time Jess would talk about England, I’d make fun of her accent. When I brought up what spell I’d like to do, Jess would call me a juvenile pilgrim. Eventually, Jess got smart. She’d text me insults rather than say them to my face so that she’d have a chance to tattle to Sarah before I got the chance to hit back.

Sarah pulled me aside at least three times to “address” the fights. She basically said that I needed to respect Jess more because she came from a witch family, like her. She told me I could learn a lot from Jess if I stopped acting like a human. When I pointed out that we are humans, just humans who have elected to use magic, she got really mad.

And when Sarah got mad, she could make life really difficult.

My spell for luck on midterms got passed over for Jess’ jinx on our English teacher. The jinx worked and Ms. Edel tripped, but guess who still came to class with a broken leg? MS. EDEL. Guess who failed their midterm?

ALL SEVEN OF US.

Damn, I can’t believe I’m still upset by this petty high school drama. Therapy did not work.

So safe to say that Jess and I never became friends. I love magic now and loved it then, but she took it so seriously. I’ve always believed magic should be fun. All the spells she brought to the coven required a spirit element—blood, hair, sacrifice. One of the members was a strict green witch and had to drop out because of it. We missed two full moons until Sarah approved Eileen to rejoin after she woke up from her coma.

(And before anyone freaks out about the coma – we all ended up in comas here and there. We were a bunch of uneducated and untrained baby witches who all had different belief systems. The fact that there wasn’t anything worse than a coma is a miracle. She wasn’t traumatized by it any more than I was by mine.)

Jess and I mostly avoided each other for the rest of the year. We always voted against the other’s spell and I’m fairly certain she tried to trip jinx me in the hall as often as I tried to trip jinx her. Sarah never tried to diffuse the tension between us. She confided in Eileen that she was grateful we kept each other in check.

Things could have continued on that way until we all moved away for college (or repeated the year after failing all those midterms) if it weren’t for the vernal equinox. Or, as we inaccurately called it, the Spring Solstice.

The way it worked was that we all got to propose a ritual during equinoxes. They’re powerful magical events on their own and when you bring intent to the party? They were always our biggest, most successful workings.

Sarah always chose what we did on those days. She pretended like we got to vote, but we all knew she would never choose one of our rituals. My freshman year, she made us all do one for beauty. Because it was a “make real what is in the eye of the beholder” type, some of our transformations were a little…traumatizing. I’m only telling you this so you understand the power an equinox has, okay? I do not think this way anymore. Other members were just as extreme. Eileen went from a Wendy from Wendy’s to a Jessica Rabbit. And I…

Well.

I grew rabbit ears and teeth. That doesn’t make me a furry! Who Framed Roger Rabbit? was super influential on BOTH Eileen and me. I was a kid and didn’t understand my own concept of beauty. It took almost three months before I got the ears to go away entirely.

Suffice it to say, we were all excited and nervous for what ritual Sarah would pick, which is why it was a blow to find out that she had picked a ritual - Jess’ ritual.

A ritual for power.

I didn’t want to do it from day one, okay? My belief is that whatever magic comes to you naturally is what’s okay to take. I think if you rip magic up from the earth or the abyss, it’ll change you. Maybe even corrupt you or change your personality.

But I was a kid and didn’t know how to explain that. Jess and Sarah were both from witch families and they seemed to think it was okay. Even though I didn’t like Jess, I did see her as a more “authentic” witch because of that. I know better now, but as a kid seeing all of her grimoires, I gave her false authority.

Jess explained the ritual to us over the next month. She talked about how we were going to be “tested.” The ritual would pull our spiritual selves from our bodies, and depending on how long we chanted, we’d return to them with more or less magic than when we started. She said that everyone in her family did it when they turned 18.

It wasn’t until three days before the equinox that she told us what would happen if one of us were to be judged unworthy.

“Mostly nothing,” she said. I remember her exact words, how her black hair spun as she soared through the air on the swings. We stood in a half circle before her and Sarah as they swung higher and higher. An audience to their aerial court. She said, “Sometimes people lose some of their magic. When the ritual decides they don’t deserve it.”

Eileen asked, “When the ritual decides? It’s sentient?”

“There’s an overseer we’ll call on,” Sarah said. She’d been the only one allowed to read Jess’ grimoire. Her lip curled and she leaned forward so she could look down over Eileen like an avenging angel as she swung overhead. “An impartial entity.”

“I am not a deity witch,” I said. I had long ago committed that I would never call on a higher being in any ritual. Most of our spells had to be modified for me so that I could swear to the cardinal directions rather than to the Morrigan or Hecate. “You know that.”

“You’re not swearing to anyone,” Sarah said and rolled her eyes.

“Which means no one is swearing to us,” Eileen muttered under her breath. But I could tell she had given up by the slump of her shoulders.

“It’s only the unworthy who lose their magic,” Jess reassured. Her eyes flashed at me. “Scared you’re unworthy?”

Yes. I was scared. I know better now than to think lineage has any place in witchcraft. It’s about the magic, always just the magic. But months of hearing their rhetoric had worn at my self-esteem. It really felt like if I didn’t do the ritual, I was as good as admitting I wasn’t a witch. If I did do the ritual…

Well. Obviously, I did the ritual.

I was a hot-headed teen, okay? I felt challenged. I decided that I would wear extra protections. Tiger’s eye and quartz charged with intention. I picked out a silver locket my mother gave me, filled with belladonna. She told me it symbolized beauty and choice.

Now, here’s where I may be the asshole.

I can’t give you a play-by-play of the ritual. It was ten years ago, and calling on that much magic has a funny way of warping memory. But what I do remember is this:

We gathered in the park before sunrise. Seven of us in new colors – spring green, white, soft yellow and pink. Jess made us get rid of anything with a working on it – crystals, cards, and ladders. She collected them all in a linen bag and threw them into the woods. I couldn’t get away with my tiger’s eye or quartz, but she missed the pendant my mother gave me. It was a warm comfort against my chest as we began.

We lit the fire together, each of us frantically thumbing our lighter to make sure the sparks caught at the same time.

Jess brought the chalice. We all cut our palms and let seven drops fall into it. (No, we didn’t use a clean blade. My cut got infected as hell and it itches like a witch. I know better now!) She bade us drink, and we did.

“Now the magic will see us as equal,” Sarah said while Jess prepared the next step. She licked her lips as if savoring the blood. “It will only be our wills determining the outcome.”

Jess doused us with oil and herbs. It smelled sharp and uneasy. I had provided the herbs and knew all of them were either fresh or dried to perfection. But it was rancid. There was rot in the air, but I couldn’t place it then. I wrinkled my nose and took up the chanting with the others to distract myself from the smell.

If you’ve ever chanted before, you know the stages. First, you’re just talking. You say the words and they mean something, but you don’t feel them. Then your mouth gets tired. You start messing up the timing of the words. You stutter. You stumble. The words lose meaning. Most people stop there. They fall silent and sink into a shallow meditation with heads full of fog.

You’re only a witch if you can reach the next step. You keep saying the words. They become comfortable. You wear the words like clothes and feel your cadence curl through you like a companion. Your body goes on autopilot and your mind relaxes. The chant turns smooth as silk. Depending on the chant, you lose yourself to the sweetness of your coven singing. Sometimes, you sink into the earth with them. Other times, you ride the flow of the magic like waves.

This time, the words pulled us away from our bodies. Jess slowly introduced new words to our chant. Words of summoning.

We called upon the Overseer.

Pressure fell around me like a vice. I couldn’t breathe even as the ritual fell from my lips without breaking. Magic had, at that point, always given me control. This? This was a complete loss of it.

I felt myself compressing. Smaller and smaller in the face of the being that was rising in the middle of the flames. It was not an observer. The moment I “saw” it, its endless form writhing in the space between the smoke, I knew that. It was a judge and jury.

It was a spider.

We chanted. It grew. It pulled us from our bodies like spiderweb and spooled our essences onto its forelimbs. It was not what Jess described and, simultaneously, it was. We were being tested. Our psyches were being tested.

So long as we chanted, the being would be contained. However, the longer it was contained, the more of us it could take. If we let it go, what would it do? Would it return any part of our magic to us? Any part of who we were?

Or would it eat?

This wasn’t a test of magic. It was a test of faith. Faith in each other and faith in the ritual.

For those practitioners out there, you can see the problem. I didn’t enter the ritual with faith. My intent was flawed from the beginning. We’d had spells fail because of lack of belief. I had never been the person who didn’t believe.

Until then

My words wavered. The Overseer turned its eyes to me. I could see my magic like thread before it, shimmering against the backdrop of its maw.

Then another tremor. Eileen dropped a word. The Overseer split and looked at both of us. Someone else faltered. One of the coven – I couldn’t see them – fell and went silent.

The sky yawned overhead, empty and cold. The embers from the fire spun up into it and were lost. The Overseer rippled and I felt our coven shrink in the face of it.

I gasped around the chant and looked across the fire. The light licked Jess’ gleeful face. Her eyes hungered for my failure. I could see it. Through the connection of the Overseer, I could feel it.

Jess and Sarah changed the chant. To this day, I don’t remember if they taught it to the rest of us. There are so many parts of the ritual that I’ve left out or forgotten. But I remember them chanting different words. The circle grew discordant.

“I offer my magic so I may be unspun and woven anew,” they said. The words have imprinted themselves like bitters under my tongue. “I offer my magic so I may—”

Some of the other members tried to pick up the new chant. Their voices grew weaker and the Overseer’s limbs began to extend out towards each one of us.

I wouldn’t offer my magic to that thing. I wouldn’t be unspun.  Eileen was stuttering. I saw her fall to her knees. I was close behind.

I threw my necklace into the flames.

Belladonna. Beautiful and deadly. It has meant choice to many women and many of them have been from my own family. It's extreme and it’s final. An end that doesn’t always make room for a new beginning.

Pretty words that cover up what I meant when I threw it into the Overseer.

My intent was Death.

Entities never die. I’m sure the Overseer didn’t. It howled. The wind kicked up and brought the flames into a spiral ten feet tall. Its forelimbs shattered, and I reeled myself back together greedily.

Not all of us were safe from the Overseer’s desperate struggle against my death curse.

Sarah and Jess were alone in the third phase of the ritual. They had changed the chant. They had offered their magic and asked the entity to do with it what it will. They believed.

And because they believed, the Overseer took their magic with it.

I think it was the first coma Jess ever fell into. Her family certainly acted like it. They whisked her back to the East Coast before the end of the year. I heard from Eileen that she woke up shortly after I left for college.

Magicless.

Sarah too.

I fully own that I was responsible for the ritual failing. I panicked. I’ve gone through every excuse over the years. I didn’t know what the ritual really was. I was just a kid. I took magic too lightly. It was their fault for not letting us read the grimoire for ourselves. But, at the end of the day, the real reason the ritual failed was because I panicked and I let that panic break my belief.

I moved on to college and it felt like running away. I’ve never returned to my hometown. I’m happy with the life I’ve built. My magic summer camp gives me time to travel during the winter months, and I feel like I’m making a real difference in young witches’ lives.

Nowadays I teach young witches to never do a working without full intent. If they have doubts, they don’t do it. It’s a lesson I learned the hard way ten years ago. I tell them it can cost them more than their magic. It can cost them their lives.

Eileen is still back home and she says Sarah rarely comes out of her house. Sometimes she sees our former high priestess wandering the school grounds on nights of the full moon. I hear from other members of the coven that Jess’ family put out a bounty on me a few years ago. However, I never saw an assassin so I think that was just a rumor.

So, knowing that they’re still not over it, would I be the asshole for attending my high school reunion next month? I’ve been craving reconnection with my roots, but I’d be subjecting Sarah and Jess (though Jess marked Maybe on the RSVP) to my presence.

I know they must hold a grudge. If they were still witches, that would be a problem. I don’t think I’d be able to defend myself from one of their workings since I blame myself for what happened. But since they’re not, it’s not really a danger. That’s pretty asshole-ish, right? Ignoring their feelings because they don’t have the magic to back it up?

So WIBTA for attending my high school reunion even though the two girls I stripped of magic will be attending?

-----

Thanks for reading! It looks like I'll have quite a few updates for the anthology! I am still obsessed with this format and can't wait to share some of the updates over the next few weeks.

If you'd like to support me before the anthology, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)! I post new stories every week and many of my patrons saw the above story a week early.

The current AITA story takes place in the same universe as our former Cryptid (X). About a poor, poor boy who is just proud to be a regional Nightmare. Why is everyone so mad at him?

See y'all next week!

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: Unwanted House Guest

Danny gets the bright idea to make his friends summoning disks in the case of emergencies. It's mostly due to a fight with a ghost that was so dangerous that his parents were forced to seal everyone in town behind another force field.

The only thing was, Danny winded up on the other side of it, seeing as no one realized Phantom and Fenton were one and the same. It took forever for Sam and Tucker to disable the force field, allowing Danny to go in and finish off the ghost wrecking havoc.

A metalsmith in the Zone made the disks for him using runes he selected for the design. The ghost had given Danny a warning before he started on the commission, repeatedly asking if the Halfa was certain he wanted to go through with it.

Apparently, the runes were a lost language of the Ancients, and while a direct translation was unavailable, he could make out that they would ensnare Danny to the summoner.

If that meant Danny would be their prisoner or forced to do their bidding, was anyone's guess. It was confirmed to be dangerous to even think of giving somone the chance to find out using Danny as a test subject.

But Danny trusted Sam and Tucker more than anyone in the multiverse. He pushed through with the disks.

The disks were disguised to look like a necklace, and when thrown like a Frisbee, the runes would activate and pull him to the location it landed in.

Danny was happy to see it was able to bypass forced fields, solid walls, long distances, and giving his friends means to get help as quickly as possible.

It was all well and good until Sam lost her necklace. Or more like she put it down in her room to shower, and her mother had gone through her room to throw away "problematic" belongings. Her parents had gotten it into their heads that Sam needed a firmer hand in changing her Gothic outlook on life and would randomly get rid of her things.

It was getting to the point Sam rarely spent any time at home and she was saving till the day she could leave and not ever return. Her parents were in a panic over it, trying even harder to control her life.

Thankfully, her grandmother had left her the entire estate, so Sam didn't need to worry about them controlling her finically. She just needed to hit eighteen, surviving with the help of Danny and Tucker.

Danny had an entire box of her things hidden in his house, as she had stashed some with Tucker, too. She was worried they would get rid of the last few things her grandma gave her before the older woman's passing.

She was in tears when she reported the lost summoning disk. Danny assured her that he didn't blame her, even of he was uncomfortable with the idea that a means to forcefully teleport him was lost somewhere in the world.

He prayed it did not fall into the wrong hands, as he went into the Zone to ask the metalsmith to make him another necklace.

The ghost had the good graces to not tell Halfa a "I told you so" while he made Sam's replacement.

Three years passed before Sam's lost disk became a problem. It had fallen into the wrong hands, alright.

It had fallen into Lex Luther's hold, and the man wanted Danny to kill Superman. There was a moment of horror where Danny thought he would be forced to go through it when he realized that no.

The only thing the runes did was tie him to Lex, making it impossible to be more than 20 miles away from the man. A string of light would appear around their wrists and flung them together as if someone had handcuffed them.

The other great thing was that the disks automatically changed him into Phantom, and Lex was unaware of Danny's human side. He just thought he was cursed with a nineteen year old Ghost King.

"How can the great and powerful Ghost King be a child?! A useless one at that!" Lex snared while gesturing at the glowing young adult.

Danny raises a brow from where he is soaking in Lex's expensive suit hot tub. " I'm not the one who can't get over my ex. Buy a cat or something, man. "

"I was never with Superman!"

" Don't you have a kid with him? Superboy? He's biologically Superman and your son, right? Deadbeat. "

"That's not.....get out of my house!"

"No." Danny sips some of Lex's fancy wine. " i like it here. It's been ages since I been in the human realm."

Lex also seemed unaware that Danny was trapped with him. It was better to play it off as a higher being bothering him so the man wouldn't try to make him do anything until Danny was able to free himself.

[theonottsbxtch]

Can we get oscar x teacher smau since school is starting over here in America?

Professor Piastri? | OP81

an: thank you so much for this request! i had so much fun with it. i had to remake this three times because tumblr kept deleting my progress 🫠. good luck with the start of school soon!

fc: pinterest

requests: open

messages between oscar and yn

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, logansargeant, mclaren and 983,836 others

only 34 days left 🙃

*tap to load comments*

userone: I WANT MORE B&W PHTOOS 💳💥💳💥

usertwo: what is op81 doing in a library?

landonorris: summer break is in 15 days you muppet

oscarpiastri: i know, i can count

landonorris: right and i’m world champion

userthree: i need more photographer oscar content

logansargeant: i swear it was 28 days the other day?

oscarpiastri: no ☹️

userfour: what does logan know🤨

userfive: me 🤝 oscar, both having important things in 34 days

usersix: ooh what’s yours!!

userfive: school break!

twitter

imessage between oscar and yn

ynprivate

liked by yourbestfriend, oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 19 others

getting to see the hubby live at work 🥰

*tap to load more comments*

yourbestfriend: HOW DOES IT FEEL FHAT OSCAR PIASTRI, YOUR HUSBAND, IS NOW A GRAND PRIX WINNER

ynprivate: SHUT UP SHUT SHUT UP I CANT EVEN CELEBRATE WITH HIM

oscarpiastri: you can celebrate with me in the hotel room

logansargeant: ew get a room

oscarpiastri: i’m trying to

yourcoworker: THIS is why you didn’t want to meet up for coffee and mark papers?!

ynprivate: 😅🤭

logansargeant: my favourite secret wag i swear

ynprivate: how many secret wags do you know?

logansargeant: 🤐

twitter

f1wags

liked by userone, usertwo, userthree and 981,264 others

BREAKING‼️

the shock. the disbelief. the dismay for some. oscar piastri married?! today the world is shocked to find out that one of the grid’s most charming drivers has been secretly married for years! that’s right, married. the news was bought to us after a screenshot was leaked on twitter from yn (his wife)‘s private instagram where she was seen posting him with the caption “getting to see the hubby live at work🥰”. the woman identified as yn ln, still goes by her maiden name was a girl he met while at boarding school.

yn ln is currently a teacher in england, and the couple has managed to keep their relationship entirely under the radar. sources close to the couple reveal that they chose to keep their marriage private due to her career in education, wanting to protect her from the intense public scrutiny that comes with being associated with an f1 star (hence the reason she has kept her maiden name)

the screenshot, which shows a sweet picture of oscar looking into her camera, has sent the f1 fandom into spirals!

despite the sudden exposure, oscar and his wife have yet to comment on the leak. the secrecy surrounding around their relationship only adds to the intrigue, leaving fans and media outlets waiting with bated breath.

who is oscar piastri and what more is he hiding?

*photos credit to yn’s instagram*

oscarpiastri

liked by ynprivate, landonorris, logansargeant and 923,746 others

cats out the bag now, mrs piastri everyone. only 11 more days until her summer break!

*tap to load more comments*

userone: that’s what the countdown was about 🥹

usertwo: oh hell nawh they both hot

userthree: how long have they been together what?!

logansargeant: married for two years but together for much longer, i’ve known since 2019☺️

landonorris: oscar we are NOT friends

oscarpiastri: i am sorry, i had to respect the mrs’ wishes

landonorris: LOGAN HAS KNOWN FOR SIX YEARS THAT YOU HAD A PARTNER

landonorris: i was low-key starting to think you were gay mate

ynprivate: i’m so sorry!! i just didn’t want work and private life to get mixed up

landonorris: i guess i can somewhat forgive him

ynprivate: yay! maybe we can meet for coffee to get to know you better, osc talks so much about you :)

landonorris: he talks about me 🥹

userfour: i think they broke the internet for good this time

userfive: helpppp lando in the comments 😭😭

usersix: imagine your teacher being oscar piastri’s WIFE

userseven: i hope nicole didn’t find out through instagram

nicolepiastri: no, but i did find out he got engaged three weeks after it happened!

alex_albon: @/landonorris take this L and hold it you dweeb

landonorris: 🖕🖕

[prettyboykatsuki]

✮ tags ; gn! reader, established relationship, fluff, alcohol.

"Shouto,"

"Hm?"

"You're drunk,"

Your boyfriend leans his head on your shoulder and makes a noise in the back of his throat. "A bit."

More than a bit, you think. In actuality, you don't think you've ever seen him this drunk before. He's okay with alcohol, usually - but tends to stay away from drinking too much. You think the last time you saw him get actually drunk at all, you were both twenty and he was barely tipsy then.

He doesn't like getting drunk, he's told you before. A few times. The lack of control and hazy memories make him just slightly anxious, so he's careful around liquor.

You've been dating for years now, and unless he's living some double-life (a different one than being a hero) - you've never seen him get this wasted. Ever. To everyone else in your surroundings, it probably doesn't look that way.

But you've spent enough time to know him, and he's not like this usually. Nowhere near as absent minded he is now, at least. He hasn't been able to sit still since he downed that last bottle of shochu. He went to go play with Bakugou's cat, Momo and you couldn't find him afterwards. You lost sight of him for about half-an-hour until you finally found him in the living room while everyone else was outside, feeding Momo some treat that squeezes from a tube.

(You still don't know where or how he found where Bakugou kept the treats, but you decide it's better you don't ask. Plausible deniability, or something.)

You're both grown-ups, and you're not one to worry about his liquor intake. Still, though - you're worried. Even if it seems like he's not different to everyone else, you can tell. And it's bothering you.

"Shouto," You call out to him, your hands reaching to pet the back of his neck. He's a head taller than you, and a little heavy. Palms smooth against the prickly ends of his hair - tapered and neat. He presses his cheek to your shoulder. "Shouto, love."

"Oh," He says, suddenly remember where he is. He stands up but doesn't back away far enough to give you space. You're in a far off empty corner. Most people are in the backyard but Shouto wanted some air - so you're crowded against a wooden fence and wall with your boyfriend locking you in out by the entrance. He smells nice, you think - clean with a soft touch of aftershave. You look up at him. "Hi,"

"You're drunk," You repeat, watching him blink rapidly - bleary eyes and the faintest line of a smile whenever he glances at you. He's bent over, staring at you hard. "Is something wrong?"

His expression is the same as always. Unchangingly neutral with a strong and uncharacteristic rosiness to it. Your boyfriend is handsome, alarmingly so. You're aware of it constantly, but this new face knocks the air out of your lungs.

He's... pouting you think. But not fully. His lips aren't drawn together, it's subtle like most expressions on him.

But it's...there. You're not imagining it - the soft furrow of his brow, the press of his lips. His expression grows warmer and it only makes you more confused. He shakes it off, all of a sudden, a micro-expression that fades just as quickly as it appears.

"I'm okay."

"Are you?""

He blinks slowly at that. Concern aside, you can't help but think he's cute like this. His ears are pink enough to stick out against his skin, cold air making them flush even darker.

"I'm okay," He says, then looks at you. He sobers up if only for that moment. "Had something on my mind."

"Something you can't tell me?"

"It's supposed to be a secret," He mumbles. He's really drunk. You realize this late. "So I don't know if I can."

"Mm," You reply. You feel like doting on him suddenly, so you do, petting the back of his neck before hugging him a little. "That's okay."

He follows up with a light groan. You've never heard him complain like that, so you laugh. "But I want to tell you."

"I promise I'll keep your secret at least."

He smiles at you more fully that time.

He pauses for a minute, thinking it over. You don't do or say anything in return. A beat passes of you two standing and swaying with silence where Shout to grabs your hands from in front of you. You think he's being affectionate again, wanting to hold them.

He draws your hands to his pocket though. The angle is awkward, makes you bend your wrist on the inside of coat pocket until you feel something hard and square touch your fingers. It's velvet from the material. A box of some kind.

...A box?

Shouto guides your hand again, this time out. When you pull it out, his palm is over yours. It's a jewellery box. You blink a few times, confused. Shouto hasn't let go of your hand.

"I keep missing the timing," He says, hiccuping. The lack of sobriety more clear than ever from the slight slur in his words. "It's been in my pockets for a while."

Your eyes go wide open. You can feel your own confusion and excitement twist and tangle inside of you, frantic to get a better read on the situation. He smiles down at you, disarmingly and then closes his eyes. His forehead is warm as it touches yours.

"...I thought you didn't want to married. Not really, at least." You whisper.

"Me too," He says, a wetness to his laugh that tugs at your heart . "It was on a whim. I wanted to talk to you about it. But." He frowns a little "It's tough."

You chuckle, a sudden wetness to your voice too. "I bet it was,"

He smiles at you, big and stupid. "I love you," He closes is eyes and presses his forehead to yours more. "Thank you for everything."

"Shouto," You repeat, unsure of what else to say. "What brought this up?"

"Mm," He shrugs, getting sleepier by the minute. "I thought giving you my last name would make you suffer." He admits, soft and unsure. "But taking yours. That felt...okay. Felt nice."

"You're silly."

"Yes," He says, not denying it. "And I love you."

"And you love me." You repeat, a grin splitting your face. Big tears at the corner of your eyes, making your vision sting and your cheeks ache. You look up at him again. "Enough to marry me?"

He seems almost sheepish that time. "If you'll have me."

"Are you sober enough to even remember this?"

His embarrassment makes him blush and laugh again. "My heart is beating so loud I'm a little afraid of it. So yes. I'm sure I'll remember." He admits.

"Let's get married, then." You repeat to him, so achingly happy you think you could die. You wonder when to tell your friends. Bakugou will be pissed you did at his place. "If you'll have me."

He smiles. "I'd like too."

You lean up to press a kiss to his mouth, and Shouto holds you there to kiss you longer than you expect. When you're done kissing, he's smiling.

"Anymore secrets?"

He thinks on it, then hums.

"We should get a cat."

[ifwdominicfike]

your camera roll —

if you were dating guitarist!matt

a little insight on the life with your boyfriend who is the lead guitarist of an upcoming band ⊹ ࣪ ˖

layout inspo: @55sturn

1st - you walked in on matt shirtless while strumming away on his guitar, his bottom lip between his teeth while bopping his head to tune he was playing. you were enjoying the view until he had caught you staring. “sweetheart- where’d you come from? scared me there” he says with a smile “have i ever told you how good y’look like this..?” you make your way to his lap as he sets down the instrument “come on y/n you know i c-cant have any distractions baby..” your hands trailing down his chest, teasing their way down to his belt “just five minutes please ?” “fuck okay fine, only five though got it?”

── .✦. ──

2nd - your 1 year anniversary with matt was coming up and you had the perfect gift for him. you were lucky that he had gone off to rehearse at a friend’s house leaving you alone, with his laptop still opened on a tab that was on a specific guitar still on the screen. fast forward the day of your anniversary you had matt covering his eyes as you excitedly brought over the same guitar to set in his hands. by the feel of it matt had already gotten an idea on what it was. “o-oh my- no you didn’t” “happy anniversary matt!!” he carefully sets it down and wraps his arms you, lifting you up slightly as he starts to kiss all over your face “i love you so much baby you have no idea”

── .✦. ──

3rd - it was no secret that matt loved you, he would kiss the ground you walked on every second of the day. always waiting on you hand and foot and taking care of whatever you had going on, he spoiled you bad. you always got your way no matter what, some may say you were “needy” but that never bothered matt — he loved it. you two were getting ready to go out and you were “having trouble with the laces.” that was your excuse to matt as he kneeled down with a sarcastic sigh “you were having trouble with the laces bun? the other shoe seems perfectly fine t’me” you smile and pull at the other lace to undo the knot “i think y’need to do that one too baby” you giggle at him as he sighs “have it your way then, spoiled girl”

1st - it was your first time seeing matt play live and fuck. he looked so good, the entire night he would glance over at you and wink or give you a teasing smirk as his fingers worked the chords. that was another thing too, his hands. he knew how much you loved them, as the night went on the show was coming to an end. matt had made his way over to you and he instantly lifted you off the floor “m’gonna fuck you soo good when we get home, hope y’know that pretty girl” his voice filled desperation as you whine when his lips make their way to your neck.

── .✦. ──

2nd - matt knew you were the only one he would ever want, he always knew from the start. so when you suggested getting matching tattoos he dropped everything and made an appointment. “y’scared pretty girl?” he was holding your hand to calm your nerves as you were basically shaking in the chair. “shut up matt, im just- not used to getting these. unlike you!” you point to his sleeve as you scoff “s’gonna be fine sweetheart, im right here”

── .✦. ──

3rd - “baby you he- oh” he opens the bedroom door before he stops in his tracks when he sees you sitting down with his favorite guitar in your arms. “what’re y’doing?” he asks but before you could answer he interrupts himself “wait- whats jerry doing there?” you laugh at the name of the cat, you never took it serious for a cat name but matt insisted on naming him jerry. “jerry wanted to help me out love, isn’t he the cutest thing ever!!” matt laughs as he makes his way to you, his hand caressing your jaw as he lifts up your head to give you a kiss “i love you so much sweetheart.”

1st - “baby that sounds fine right?” matt ask’s “m’sorry what?” your eyes quickly meeting his, he wanted you to be the first to hear his solo for his bands next song but you got sidetracked and ended up staring at his hands — the veins spread out and becoming more prominent when they moved. “really? whats with you and my hands huh?” he teases “they’re just so pretty, how could i not stare at them?” you state “you’re weird, kidding! but please can you actually hear this real quick” “of course handsome”

── .✦. ──

2nd - you two always enjoyed moments like these, quality time was always something important to both of you. it never failed to turn into you talking matts ear off but he loved hearing you talk about your day. “also you’re never gonna guess what happened so y’know my friend- sorry m’rambling again” matt looks at you confused “no- no keep going baby why’d y’stop?” he asks “o-oh uhm okay!” you awkwardly laugh “you’ll never annoy me bun, i love hearing you talk”

── .✦. ──

3rd - you were deep into your book while matt was fixing up his guitar, until matt heard small snores coming from you as your book was limp against your chest. he smiles to himself and begins to put away his things — agreeing that it was time for bed already. one everything was done he had gone over to you, curled into a ball peacefully sleeping. “m’pretty girl” he says to himself, he carefully picks you up making sure to not wake up but he failed horribly “wh- matt?” you grumble “shh, just go back to sleep hun. ‘kay?” last thing you know is matt snuggling up against you while whispering the sweetest words ever.

- avery’s note ˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡-

i live for guitarist!matt. i always use sweetheart WAYYY TOOO MUCHHH. but i just know matt would call his gf sweetheart so SHHH. this took me way longer than needed but only bc im a procrastinator ANYWAY i didn’t notice how long these were.. but enjoy!!

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - @ellaapsworld @chrissv4mp @jetaimevous @mattsbrowser @submattenthusiast @flouvela @bluestriips

[macfrog]

sweet child o' mine | pt. i

purely just some fun and games putting big grumpy joel miller slap bang in the middle of a romcom. i hope you guys enjoy. dedicated to big sis @mrsmando, who is the light of my life, let herself be completely swept away by this idea into unhinged, whimsical mania with me, and who inspired so many lil details for this story. love u, zhort x

pairing: neighbor!joel x fem!reader

summary: you strike up a deal to attend a wedding with your neighbor as his date. what could go wrong?

warnings: age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), grumpy!joel initially finds reader mildly infuriating, cursing, alcohol consumption, discussion of a car accident (non-graphic) & dead parents, softdom!joel as per, fingering, handjob, comeplay, spitting, drunk unprotected one night stand, creampie, praise kink, one mention of nausea (but nothing happens, my little emetophobic angels), someone falls pregnant and it's not joel miller i'll tell you that much. honk if you love cats!!!

word count: 9.8k 

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🩵

It’s just gone seven on a Saturday night when his knuckles rap on your door.

The sun casts tall, angled shapes on your living room wall. Lights the pages before you in a glow of tangerine. Refracts through the glass tumbler on your coffee table and bleeds the amber liquid onto the pale wood surface. Everything lit in some variation of gold, everything bowing its head quietly as the day begins to turn its back.

The house is still. The world feels still, as though transitioning. Like you’re sat in a waiting room, leg bouncing, anticipating something you don’t know to look for yet.

Perfect, comfortable, still – until he’s on your porch. And he knocks again.

You snap your book shut and slide it across the table, nudging the heavy glass. The ice clinks, irritated.

“You mind fastenin’ your…delicates to your clothesline a little better?”

His voice shoulders its way into your hallway before you’ve even pulled the door back enough to see him. Not that you need to see him to know who it is. You’ve lived in Austin three years now and met only one person with a voice as low and toneless as Joel Miller’s. Slung in sarcasm, dripping with disdain. All that.

You cross your arms and slant against the doorframe, unable to mask your amusement. “Excuse me?”

He answers by lifting his left hand. From his pointer finger hang a tiny pair of white panties, lace pattern fluttering in the late summer breeze. You glance over his shoulder as you steal them from his grasp, balling them in your fist.

“Uhuh. They were sitting on my back lawn. I have company tonight, y’know. I can’t have women’s underwear just – lyin’ in my damn yard.”

Your head tilts. Ears prick. “Company? You hostin’ somethin’?”

His shoulders drop with a sigh. “No. I am not hostin’ anythin’.”

“Good. ‘cause I’d want an invite.”

“If I were hostin’, you’d be the last person I would invite. And you know that.”

“Ouch,” you pout, “that hurts, Miller. I watered your plants while you were off visiting your brother last month. They woulda died without me there.”

“And I am grateful to you,” Joel grumbles, “but that doesn’t mean I need those anywhere in view of my kitchen window.” He throws a pointed finger to your elbow, where your panties sit scrunched in your fist.

You look down to the froth of frill spilling between your knuckles, and back up to his dark features – his glower casting a shadow over the hazel eyes and deepening the creases between his brows. You smirk, a realization dawning.

Company – that he doesn’t want seeing a pair of someone else’s underwear.

“You have a date.”

Joel’s tongue flicks across the inside of his cheek. He glances over his shoulder and speaks through his teeth. “No, not a date,” he quietly tells the street.

“But you have a lady comin’ over. Or at least – someone you don’t want seeing these.” You unfold your arms and twirl your fist. The gentle wind lifts the lace.

He grunts. A low hmph. Agreement, you think.

“Sounds like a date.”

He hisses, “’s not a date.”

Your stare doesn’t slip from his. Not when his brows tighten, not when his jaw does, too. Not even when he sucks a breath between gritted teeth. Your smile widens.

Finally, with a sigh, he concedes. “It’s…it’s somebody Tommy ‘n Maria are tryna set me up with. Alright?”

“So – a date.”

“If you don’t –” Joel’s head flicks over to his own driveway at the same time his hand lifts, a pointed gesture you read as – shut the fuck up. “We’re just having a few drinks. Just – hangin’ out.”

“Just hangin’ out,” you repeat, eyes widening. “One-on-one. With some woman who – Wait, Tommy’s in Wyoming. How the hell do he and his wife know someone way the hell down here?”

“From before they moved. And – Maria ain’t his wife. Yet. They’re getting married next month.”

Suddenly the sun reappears over the dark horizon. The evening begins to clear up, make sense again. You lift your chin, nodding.

“Right, right. So, she gonna be your plus one, or…?”

The understanding raises his heckles again. Exasperated, he asks, “How many damn questions are you gonna –? I’m only here to – to return your –” He nods once more to the pale fabric in your hand.

A laugh shoots from your nostrils. “What’s the matter? You don’t like – whatever her name is?”

“Laura.”

“Laura,” you breathe.

“And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with her. She just – she…”

“She…?”

“She has, like, five cats, and it’s just…hair, everywhere. And at their engagement party, she spilled an entire margarita down me. Right down my –” He sweeps a hand down his front, balling his fists again once they reach the hem of his shirt.

Your lips turn, amused. “Five cats. Cat lady Laura. Well. Have fun, I guess. Thanks for these.”

He acknowledges your raised fist with a bashful glance. He’s already halfway down your front steps when he says, “Keep an eye on your laundry from now on,” and strides off back to his own place.

Joel has lived here his whole life. In Austin. You’ve no idea when he moved in next door, just that he was here when you did. You don’t know much about him at all – the fact he even filled you in enough to tell you about his date is shocking enough.

The day you first arrived, U-Haul truck squealing to a halt by the curb, he found himself unlucky enough to be stood in his front yard watering the blond patches of his grass. He saw you struggling to open the rear door of the truck, and with a grumble and a glance across the street for a more eager rescuer, he tossed his hose and came over to help.

He unclicked the heavy latch and pushed the door up with enough ease to put you to shame. And he seemed to feel some obligation when he saw the mass of belongings stuffed in the back, to help you unload them. Didn’t seem overjoyed by the thought, mind you, what with the sigh he let slip when you hopped up and held out the first box.

He indulged you for no more than one hour. Answered every question you had about the neighborhood, dodged every one about himself. He told you about the couple across the street with the newborn baby, told you about your neighbor on the other side who pretends to garden just so she can snoop on everyone else’s business. And as soon as the last box thudded down on your gleaming living room floor, he nodded, and paced back over to his own property.

He's a good guy. You know this much. He’s a dick to you most days, but he’s honest, and he’s kind when you catch him in the right light. He takes deliveries for you when you’re not home; he once drove Diane to the vets when she showed up on his doorstep in the dead of night, Fred the Jack Russell ailing in her arms.

He’s observant. Noticed just this summer the three different plumbers who showed up to your house in the space of two days, and came over as the third guy was leaving – his shining bald head low between his shoulders.

‘s the matter? Joel asked, watching the navy overalls sink into the rusted vehicle.

Kitchen sink’s leakin’. Fuckin’ – nobody can fix it.

He shouldered you out of the way with his then-trademark sigh and left twenty minutes later, your kitchen finally free of the dripdripdrip you’d been plagued with for a week straight.

He’s good. He’s a good neighbor. But, man, is he private.

You’ve never seen the inside of his place. His body blocks it anytime you’re on his doorstep. He has a brother, you know that – though, only since last month, when he asked you to keep an eye on his garden – and you know, now, that the brother is getting married.

You know that he likes country music, know he plays guitar – accidentally. You heard him one day in the spring, when he left his window open and you were lounging by your pool. When he looked out and noticed how you’d angled your sunbed to listen, really listen, he slammed it shut.

You know he’s single and childless and has been for at least the three years you’ve lived next door to him.

You know little fucking else.

The words on the curled pages seep into one another. You’re staring through the book now back in your hands, the shape of your living room blurring around you: the brick fireplace, the still, red light of the TV. The lulling sway of the sheer curtains, pushed like the tides by the air through the open window.

You cross your ankles on the coffee table. Your lips purse. Tongue dabs at the smoky-sweet singe of whiskey on the flesh of your cheeks. From here, you can see the street outside Joel’s house. If – when – Laura pulls up, you’ll know. And you’ll be here to watch. Survey. Observe.

See what kind of woman a guy like Joel Miller takes to his brother’s wedding.

It’s nine fifty-two when she eventually leaves.

She’s been in there two hours and seventeen minutes. Her car – a kind of rotten green Chevrolet with one tail light out – sits patiently out front, like even it can’t wait to help her fucking disappear.

You’re hoisting a swollen black bag down your drive when his porch light flickers on and his front door opens. The glossy plastic exhales as it slumps against the trashcan. You dust your hands. Joel hasn’t noticed you yet.

“…so nice gettin’ to properly know you,” Laura’s crooning, sidestepping as Joel walks calmly down to her car. Ushering her. You hold back a laugh.

“Thanks for comin’,” he says, his voice falling flat in the windless evening. He’s a step ahead of her, like a parent leading their child away from the park. She’s still babbling about his six-string.

“Maybe next time I can hear a little somethin’…” she says, and you know from the way he halts that Joel hears the same questioning tone you do, the way somethin’ curls up at its end.

“Maybe,” he says, curtly. His words curl down. And then nothing else, and Laura – who, now that she’s a little closer, stood on the curb by her car door, you notice has sweeping golden hair which flicks away from her plump cheeks, and bright eyes which dazzle in the dusky glow – is forced to cough up one last chance.

“I gave you my number,” she says, then, “I didn’t get yours?” and this time, it’s definitely a question.

Joel pretends to pat down his pockets. “I musta left my phone in the house.”

You can’t help it. A scoff bursts from your lips. But he still doesn’t look over.

“Well,” Laura tugs on the handle, “thank you for a lovely evenin’. I’ll hear from ya.”

Joel smiles but puts a hand on the door, like he might slam it shut for her if she tried to backtrack. But she doesn’t. She swings both legs in, pulls it closed, and the engine spurts to life.

As she pulls off, Chevrolet jolting a little, you notice the bright yellow bumper sticker plastered squint beneath the license plate. You walk silently over to Joel, grass prickly under your socks.

“Honk If You Love…Cats,” you murmur, shoulder brushing off his bicep.

He sniffs. Tightens the grip his arms have on his chest. His eyes are fixed on the one red light, slowly shrinking into the distance. “Don’t even.”

“Good date?”

“I said don’t.”

“She talk much about her cats?”

“Goodnight.”

“Did you ask their names, at least?”

He’s backing up, crossing the dark lawn towards his front steps. He looks you up and down, his lips a flat line. Your sweat shorts. Your bare legs. The tight vest top molded around your breasts. His eyes shoot back up. “No more questions. No more pesterin’ me.”

“Nothin’ about the cats? Seriously, dude?” You lift your arms, grinning after his dark figure, swaggering up the porch steps.

Joel ignores you. He disappears through his front door and the light is snuffed. You slink back up to your house, grateful for the blanket of darkness covering the skip in your step.

Eleven hours later, you’re stood in front of your bedroom mirror.

The day melts against your window. Brilliant blue sky, cradling soft puffs of snow-white clouds. Crows on Diane’s roof cawing, slowly yellowing trees rustling. The bright, hot square across your front where the sun forces her way in.

You turn, taking the loose hem of your sleepshirt in your fingers, and pull it over your body, tossing it to the foot of the bed as you examine the pattern of colors hanging from inside your closet.

You take them one by one, tug them free, slot them back in. Eventually you settle for a gray hoodie, cropped and loose. As you haul it from its hanger, there’s a whine from the wooden cabinet. A squeal. The top shelf rips from either side, dropping to the closet floor and taking the pole with it.

“What the f–? You gotta be fucking kidding me,” you growl, stepping forward to run your fingers along the splintered wood where the nails have ripped themselves free. Four black holes, jagged insides of the closet pricking your fingertips.

The crumple of clothes and hangers sulks up at you pathetically. You fall back onto your bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The fan whirs slowly, scooping your gaze and throwing it in lazy circles.

The closet was old, anyways. Was here when you moved. It’s probably about time you had some new ones built. But fuck, that’s gonna cost. Ripping the old ones out, building them from scratch. The fan pulls your eyes back around to twelve o’clock.

Joel’s a contractor. He could do ‘em. Might give you a discounted rate, too, for all the times you move his newspaper from his front lawn to his doorstep for him. Either that, or he’d want something in return. And what handy skills do you have? You once knitted a scarf for you grandma for Christmas. Maybe not Joel’s thing. You can cook mac ‘n cheese – though one lousy meal isn’t payment enough for an entire wall of solid wood, two panes of glass and two days’ labor.

A favor, maybe. An IOU. What the fuck kinda favor does Joel Miller need–?

You’re hopping over the tiny burst of hedge between his yard and yours before the thought is finished, bending to scoop his newspaper up and slotting it under your arm. He answers just as you lift your fist to pound on his door for a second time.

You slap the rolled paper into his chest. “I have an idea.”

He squints at you in the summer light. “Wh–? Didn’t I tell you not to p–?”

“I’ll be your date.”

Joel blinks.

“I’ll be your date,” you repeat. “I got a wardrobe needs replacing. You do it, for free, and I’ll be your date.”

“Your wardrobe?”

“Crapped out on me this mornin’. I don’t want to pay for some stranger who’ll overcharge me ‘n do a half-assed job. Fix it, ‘n you don’t have to take cat lady Laura to Tommy’s wedding. And you can fix my kitchen sink, too.”

“I already fixed your kitchen sink.”

“It’s back at it. Drippin’ all through the damn night. Drip drip drip –”

“Alright.” Joel’s palm is up again. He does that a lot when he’s talking to you. “Alright. Wardrobe ‘n sink.”

“We have a deal?” you ask, extending your hand.

His chest fills with a thoughtful breath. His eyes scan you up and down, lingering somewhere a little lower than your jaw for a second. And then, the heavy weight of his palm against yours. The tightening of his fingers around your wrist. One sure shake.

Deal.

Two weeks before the wedding, you’re at Joel’s door again.

He’s in a black tee, dark sweatpants slung low on his hips. His hair is damp, fringe still dripping onto his forehead. He runs a hand through the gray-singed brown and stares at the tangle of fabric slung over your arm. “The hell is this?”

“Do you know what you’re wearin’?”

His eyes roll up to meet yours. “Do I know what I’m wearin’?”

You nod. “You’re the best man. Guessing Tommy has you covered?”

“Black suit,” he says, after a beat.

“That’s it? He ain’t got no theme?”

Joel’s head cocks. “I don’t do themes.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under his arm fixed against the doorpost. He manages three words of protest and then shuts the door in resignation, turning to watch as you take his stairs two at a time.

“You are so damn annoyin’, you know that?” his voice echoes behind you.

“You want this date or not, Miller?” you call over your shoulder, following the route through the identical house to your own bedroom – thankful when you nudge the door and it opens to reveal his bland, colorless decor. “Very…gray,” you note, feeling the shadow of him over your shoulder.

You throw the dresses down on his bed, satin and lace and pink and green swimming between one another on his sheets.

“I’m not wearin’ a dress.”

You glower at him. “Ha. We have to match.”

He rubs the towel against the back of his head, drying the dark hair. “Match how?”

“Y’know, your suit ‘n my dress. If I’m your date, we have to match.”

“Already told you. I’m wearin’ a black suit.”

“Right. But, like – what color tie? And can it be any of these colors?” You hold your hands out, surfing over the sea of shades. “Maybe,” you lift your eyebrows, eyes darting to the pale teal color, “this one?”

Joel entertains you for all of five seconds, lifting his cheeks in a false grin before they deflate. “No. Black.”

“Joel.”

He slings the towel over his folded arms, and looks at you plainly. “Black,” he says again, in a tone of voice which sounds something like a door being slammed shut.

Your eyes thin, and you gather your dresses up in one swipe. “Can you just –? Will you make sure that you match my corsage, at least?”

“Why the hell are you so hung up on this?”

“I’m not. I’m just tryna make it believable. You turned down cat lady Laura, this is what you get.”

He sighs, tossing the towel over to his laundry basket. “I will make sure I match your corsage. Happy?”

“Happy. Are you ready?”

“Give me five minutes.”

You huff, head rolling back. “You are so prima-donna, Joel Miller.”

With a sarcastic chuckle, he shoves you out of his bedroom to get dressed. You saunter down his stairs, drinking in every detail of his home as though it’s the only chance you’ll get to see it.

It probably is, when you think about it. You don’t imagine he’ll be inviting you over for drinks anytime soon.

Your eyes move along the wall as you slowly thump down his stairs, thrown from framed photo to framed photo – a black and white photo of a man with a tousle-haired boy on his lap, the kid’s tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he wraps his small hand around the neck of a guitar; an out-of-focus Christmas photo, a family of four sat in front of a million multicolored orbs dotted along the branches of a tree; a kid with skinned knees crouched by a German shepherd, his lanky arms hooked around the dog’s thick neck.

One brown suede jacket hangs from a coat peg at the bottom, Joel’s boots sat loose and unlaced beneath. A dark blue blanket draped over the back of his couch. A painting of a moose over his fireplace. Shelves lining one entire wall decorated with carved-wood animals, with more photographs of times gone and memories made, with books and DVDs that lend your fingertip with a heap of white dust as you drag it across their spines.

Enough to paint a picture, not quite enough to show you the colors. The tones, the depth. Despite your best efforts, the man remains a mystery. You settle with the fact he will never be fully revealed.

The creak of his stairs turns your attention from the guitar on the wall around to his tall figure, fixing the collar of the loose flannel over his shoulders.

“You ready?” Joel asks, bending with a groan to reach for his boots.

“Yep,” you reply, leaning forward to glance into his kitchen while his head’s down. The most you manage to observe are the light drapes, the sunlight shooting through and bouncing off of a white-topped island.

“’s go,” he says, keys dangling from his finger.

It takes twenty minutes to drive to Home Depot.

You chitter in Joel’s ear the entire time, reading from his handwritten list of measurements and supplies needed for your new closet. ‘n how do you know this is all enough? Because I know. What if you get started and it’s not? I won’t; it’s enough. You sound so sure. That’s ‘cause I’ve done it before, kid. You take many closetless girls out on fake wedding dates, Joel?

“What’s our story, then?” you ask in the store, fiddling with hanging packets of door hinges while Joel reads thrice over his note. Your hand dives into the bag of M&M’s he begrudgingly bought you at a gas station on the way.

“Our story?” he mumbles back, the words slipping under the mental math you can see going on behind his eyes.

“Like, when people ask how we met. What’s our meet-cute? Both reached for the same door hinge, our hands touched and lit aflame? That kinda thing?”

He doesn’t laugh. Your smile dampens instantly. You kick his boot. “Joel.”

“’sec,” he frowns, “I’m focusing.”

You lean close, pushing on your toes to study the folded slip. His scrawled numbers, the pencil lines blunt and smudged in the creases of the paper.

“Twentytwofortysixeightyninetyfivesixhundredelevenfourtwelvenineteen–”

Joel’s lips seep a maddened sigh; he glances down the aisle like a store attendant might separate you from him if he demanded with enough passion, or maybe if he slipped them a twenty.

“Do you mind?” he barks, his expression a brick wall for your giggles to fall flat to the floor against.

“Home Depot’s your stomping ground. Why the hell do I gotta come watch you pick hinges and timber?”

“Because it’s your damn closet I’m fittin’. Just –” he swipes two packets from their peg, tossing them into the shopping cart, “– come on.”

Joel makes off down the muck-colored floor, the overhead lights reflecting harshly in the shiny surface. The front right wheel of the cart trembles as it rolls, nervously leading the two of you down an aisle lined with cylinder tins and pamphlets on Choosing the right finish.

“So, are your parents gonna be at this wedding?” you ask, taking the cart from Joel’s hands when he drifts off to study a shelf of wood varnish.

His jaw turns towards you, and then back to the tin in his hand. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do I get to meet ‘em?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not gonna introduce your date to your mom and dad?”

He scoffs, stealing a handful of candy. “My fake date?”

“They don’t know that. Let me meet Mr. and Mrs. Miller.”

He holds two tins up, offering them to you like answer to your question. “Matt or gloss? Guess it don’t really matter if I’m painting ‘em after.”

“Stop fuckin’ ignoring me. I hate when you do that.”

He leans in close, lowering the matt varnish into the cart. “You think I’m gonna introduce you ‘n your potty mouth to my mom?”

You smirk, eyes narrow. “Dick.”

“Funny. What color paint you want? You said something about duck egg?”

“Planning on repainting my room that color, yeah. Hey, you could –”

He swats your pointed finger away, taking the cart back. “We shook on new wardrobe. No changin’ the deal,” he mutters, wandering over to the rainbow of paint tins on the opposite side of the aisle.

You follow him over, eyes moving from blue over to green, the tins plastered with the fake smiles of families and fluffy pet dogs on the front. “Where are your mom and dad from?” you ask.

“Austin,” he replies, eyes squinting to read the small print on the back of one vibrant shade. You shake your head and guide his wrist back to the shelf, where he obediently sets the heavy tin back. “Never known anywhere else,” he adds. “What about you? Where’s Mr. and Mrs. Potty Mouth?”

“Uh,” you swipe at your nose awkwardly, “they’re up in Allandale. That’s where I grew up.”

“That so? I got a cousin who used to live that way. Used to take my bike up every Saturday. He lived right by this old car shop, all these old classics they used to fix up ‘n resell.”

“Yeah,” you say, “right next to the cemetery, right?”

“That’s the one,” Joel says, lifting paint tins to the light and setting them down again. “They live nearby?”

Your breathing shifts, starts to claw its way up your throat. Your chest heats, skin lighting with an irritating anxiety. “They’re, um,” you gulp, “they’re in the cemetery.”

Joel pauses, letting the tin slip from his grasp with an echoing thud against the wooden shelf which reverberates in your ears a second too long. “Oh,” he says, set on your expression.

“It’s okay – I don’t mind. It’s – it was a car accident, back when I was eight. I wasn’t in it, or anything. I grew up with my grandma. Really, Joel, I don’t mind,” you add, when his face falls and he begins to apologize.

“I had no idea,” he says, and you break the eye contact before you break a fucking sweat.

“’s all good,” you murmur, lifting paint tins of your own now, focusing on deblurring your glossy vision, “I got to buy a big house with the money they left.”

It thaws him a little. He snorts, and taps the lid of the tin you’re holding. “That one’s nice. You, uh – you okay?”

You finally turn back, the world clearer, colors no longer bleeding into one another through sharp tears. “Yeah. I’m fine. We got everything?”

Joel nods, and wheels the cart around. “You can meet her, if you want. My mom. She’s a little full on, but I reckon you can handle her.”

You smile, following him down the aisle.

A month after he delivered your underwear back to you, you’re back on Joel’s doorstep.

Your hand flicks nervously at your side as you wait for him to answer, petals of your corsage quivering. The clip of his footsteps echoes down the stairs, a deep sound growing louder and louder until the door clinks open and you’re separated only by air.

Joel’s eyes scan down your body at the same time yours scan down his. Black suit, sure enough, just without the jacket, and with his tie slung around his loose collar. You both freeze when your eyes meet again, your lips silently forming the shape of an avalanche of words that refuse to sound until Joel’s do.

“Wow, you –”

“– look great, I –”

“– nice dress, is that –? Sorry –”

“– no, I’m sorry, you were – sorry.” A laugh pushes from your throat. “You look – you look good. Scrub up well, ‘n all that.”

“You too. You – Yeah. That’s a nice color, after all. You suit it.” His eyes linger on your chest, your breasts draped in lustrous silk, decorated with the glint of golden jewelry. You notice.

“Thanks. After all?” You snort, and Joel’s exterior seems to crack a little.

He steps back, ushering you in. “Alright,” he says, taking the tote with your change of clothes from your wrist. He watches across the street as you step over the threshold, his fingertips light on your back as you pass by, like little shocks of lightning up your spine. “You know what I meant.”

Your dress swishes around your ankles, your heels clicking along his varnished floor. Your arms lock around your torso, holding your pashmina in place while Joel totters around, tossing his jacket over his shoulders. His shirt stretches from his tight waistband, fabric flattening against his tummy. Your eyes shoot north again when he speaks.

“You mind doin’ my tie? It’ll end up squint if I do.”

“Sure,” you reply, stepping forward.

He buttons the top of his shirt and lifts his chin, staring at the wall behind you as you tug on the black fabric, the silk slipping through your fingers. You steal glances at the trim of his beard, his pink lips beneath the dark bristles; the slope of his nose, the lines on his worn skin.

He’s rough around the edges, sure, a man in his late forties. But there’s something soft about him, something familiar and…comfortable. The pages of a used sketchbook, the lived-in material of a favorite dress.

You pull the knot higher until it’s sitting in the notch below his Adam’s apple, smoothing it down and giving his chest a light pat before stepping back again.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he mumbles, and a spark lights in your chest. “Oh,” he says, holding a finger up and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a little white box, holding it out for you to see.

Your cheeks swell, eyes flitting up to acknowledge the proud look on his face. “Very nice. Good job.”

“You can do the honors,” Joel says, handing you the boutonniere by the stem.

You pin it through his lapel, straightening it with a focused glance. Joel’s eyes are on you, watching the flutter of your eyelashes, the tilt of your head. “There,” you whisper, leaning back.

He extends his elbow, something of a smile on his lips. You don’t see it often. It beckons a mirrored expression.

Arm in arm, Joel leads you out to the truck, where he helps you up and waits for you to scoop your dress into the footwell before closing the door. You watch patiently as he locks the front door, slings both your bags over his shoulder and jogs back to the truck, tossing them in the backseat before joining you in the front.

“How come he didn’t send a limousine? Or a Jag, or somethin’?”

“You think we’re made a’ money?” Joel asks, smirking.

You return the smile, wrapping your shawl over your body. “Can I pick the music?” you ask, earnestly, a tinge of sweetness to your voice.

Joel glances over again, reaches behind your headrest to reverse out of the drive. He runs his tongue along his top teeth. “No,” he says.

Three hours later, Tommy and Maria are married.

The wedding is…big. Joel’s family is big. The venue – a rustic hotel suite, fairy lights draped from the rafters, blooming flowers sprouting from crystal vases, lace tablecloths and tied chair cushions and wax dripping from thick, naked candles – is big.

Joel’s been good about it – that friendly neighbor you see all too little has been kicked into high gear. He delivered you by hand straight to his mom – a small woman with silver hair neatly twisted into an updo at the back of her head – who took your hand and held it tightly all the way to your seats.

Kind and warm, she asked where you were from, how you met Joel, how long you’d been dating. She offered you some tissues before the ceremony started, then winked and nodded in Joel’s direction as the bridesmaids swept down the aisle.

You lingered behind the photographer while he took photos of the wedding party, instructing them to shuffle a little closer, that’s it; ma’am, with the red hair, lower your bouquet a little; alright, now, everyone: big smiles!

You worried that Joel had kept the same placated smile frozen on his face for so long that it might never melt away, might never return to the stoic scowl you’re so used to seeing on him. You didn’t even realize you were staring at him, until he waved you down, flicked his hand, and beckoned you over to the group.

You hesitated. I don’t know if I –

Get over here, girl, Tommy had called, grinning alongside his big brother.

The two Millers slotted you in like a jigsaw piece between their bodies, two arms wrapped around your back – Tommy’s, loose on your shoulders, and Joel’s, tight around your waist. He held you close, squeezing you into his side while the photographer praised the party and snapped photo after photo, the flash burning into your eyes by the time he clapped his hands and thanked you all for your patience.

Drink? Joel had asked, and you’d responded with one thumb up, the other massaging your eyelids. He squeezed your shoulder and disappeared into the crowd of bodies.

He’s still over there – by the bar, a wooden structure draped in ivy and studded by steel bolts. His beer in one hand and your wine in the other. A lean, poised figure stood opposite him – her dress a royal purple, her hair a wave of brown spilling over her bare shoulders.

She’s beautiful – a striking charm which draws your eye to her like an arrow directly through the sea of bodies between here and there. Her languid movements, the slow roll of her neck to sweep the hair from one side of her body to the other.

Her head falls back in laugher, her bejeweled hand falls softly on his arm. Your throat closes sharply. Joel nods, angling as if to make off, but she holds onto him and leans in. He laughs, then, at whatever her full lips whisper into his ear, and he finally breaks off from her and returns to you.

He pushes the glass by its base across the smooth tablecloth. Your fingers brush over one another as you trade, the stem sitting between your index and middle. He’s warm, his knuckles kissing yours.

“How was it, then, talkin’ to my mom?” Joel asks.

You smile, propping your chin on the heel of your palm. “I like her. She’s funny.” And then, when he tosses his head in response, “Who were you talkin’ to?”

Joel follows your eyeline over to the woman in the purple dress. The glint of white crystal on her neck. The drama of dark hair on pale skin. “Uh,” he wanders around your back to his chair, “we used to work together.”

Your nails tap against the glass. “Oh, yeah?”

He sniffs. Doesn’t meet your eye. “Yep.”

“You were talking to her for a long time.”

He watches a blue orb dance over your head on the wall, a spot of light from the disco ball over the dancefloor. “Lotta memories.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

His eyes plummet. Fall from the string bulbs straight to your face, sparkling in the rainbow lights. “You want me to look at you? There.”

You grin. “’s better. If you stare up there long enough, they might stick.”

“Safer to have ‘em stuck on you, is it?”

“Mhm,” your voice echoes around the curve of your wine glass, “better view. So, who is she?”

Joel shifts uncomfortably. He twirls the bottle in his fingers. “We…we were together for some time. A few years.”

“An ex,” you muse, stain of lipstick left on the rim of your glass. “How many years?”

“Eight.”

You almost choke on your drink. “Eight – eight years?”

Joel nods, waiting for you to catch your breath. Expression never changing. Bottle still twirling. “Haven’t seen her in a while. We were just catchin’ up.”

“Eight fucking years. Why the fuck aren’t you married?”

He scoffs. “That’s a fifth-date question.” He lifts the bottle to his lips, tongue pushes against the glass.

“I don’t need five fuckin’ wardrobes,” you quip, and he laughs. Like, genuinely laughs. His head tips back, his teeth show. Your chest swells, confidence and relief blooming there. She didn’t make him laugh like that – not from where you were watching.

It becomes something of a mission in the back of your mind – tallying up how many times you can make his chest shudder, his shoulders jerk. How many times he leans in closer and repeats whatever you said, eyes closing over and hand hitting his thigh. How many times he looks at you and your stomach flutters, the blood cartwheels through your veins, the bones of your ribcage readjust and make room for the swelling of your heart.

Within four rounds, you’ve lost count.

The thudding beat of the music muffles in your drunken ears, like it’s coming from the next room. Your gaze fixes on the vase in the center of the table, the bouquet spilling over the glass. The wide burst of speckled lilies, the humble blush of tulips between. The colors soften and blur the longer you stare at them.

The jerk of Joel’s shoulders stirs you from your daydream. That’s one more.

“What?” you ask, head rolling to look over to him.

“You still in there?” he asks, one word slurring into the next like waves lapping.

You scoff, looking back to the pink flowers. “You know who has tulips?” you ask him.

He lifts his eyebrows. Who?

“Alice.”

“Brown?”

Your head nods heavily. “One time, she was out getting her mail, and I had just pulled up in my car on the phone to my best friend – he’d just broken up with his girlfriend, it was a whole thing…” You bat your hand. “Anyway. She pretended to tend to her tulips for forty-five minutes while I sat talkin’ to him in the driveway.”

Joel’s head tilts back with a burst of laughter. “She hear every word?”

“Every – damn – word. Stood by the fence listenin’.”

“That woman is som’ else,” Joel says, shaking his head. He stares down at the bottle between his fingers. His thumbs play with the curled corner of the label. “Didn’t I warn you about her?”

“Mhm.” You smile, realizing he has the same memory that you do, locked up somewhere in his mind. The sweat running down his temple, the dark patch between his shoulder blades. His hands gripping the heavier boxes, leaving you to carry the linen, the base of a lamp. Nodding as he wandered back over to his own porch, calling back for you to Holler if you need anythin’.

The high squeal of the Sweet Child O’ Mine intro snaps you back to the wedding reception. Tommy and Maria are playing air guitar on the dancefloor over Joel’s shoulder. You unstick your gaze from his white shirt, unsure how long you’ve been fucking staring.

Joel sits forward, drags his chair across the polished floor closer to you. He fixes the strap on your dress, untwisting it before settling back again. Your eyes follow his fingers as they leave your shoulder and sit back on the curve of his thigh, lifting when his voice breaks through to your eardrums.

“What room number did you say you were, again?”

Your shoulders roll. “Thirty-four, I think.”

Joel nods. Points to himself. “Thirty-six.” And then he glances over his shoulder, watches as Tommy kneels before Maria and rocks his head, his messy mop of hair tossed across his shoulders. The older Miller brother turns back. “Think they’ll miss us if we call it a night?”

“We’re callin’ it a night?”

“Figure if I’m headin’ off then you won’t wanna be sat here by yourself,” Joel says, and he’s right. He stands up, sets the half-empty bottle on the tablecloth and stares down at you. “I’m callin’ it a night,” he tells you. “You comin’?”

The colors in the room spin like the reels of a slot machine. Your fingers sit lightly in his outstretched palm, and you pull yourself up alongside him.

“’s a good girl,” he mutters, looking over your shoulder to the doorway, and your eyes sober up long enough to catch the flicker in his eye.

You totter along the hallway, arm in arm, anchoring yourselves together. Whichever way one sways, the other inevitably follows. You’re laughing, and Joel’s hushing you, warning that there are folks tryna – tryna sleep, we’re in a fancy place, hey, da-rlin’, no – you gotta shhhut up.

“Great party,” you decide, finally docking against your door.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, leaning a little on the wall. The gentle glow of the hallway lights him perfectly; the strong angle of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbones. The hazel pools that make up his irises, the swollen circles of black in the middle. And the twinkle in them, like the moon reflecting on dark water, every time his gaze lifts to you.

He’s different tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol. The way it colors everything in a peachy film, all objects softened and rosy and shapeless. But he feels different, too. You suddenly realize, shoulder pressed hard against the cold doorframe, that you’ve never touched one another more than you have today. His elbow in yours, his arm around your waist, his hand through yours as you danced together.

“Are you tired?” you ask, head rolling.

“Tired? No. Drunk, yeah. Not tired.” He laughs again. It’s infectious.

“You wanna come inside?” you ask, words leaping from your giggle.

He takes ten seconds to consider it. Slumps into the wall, steadied only by his forearm pushing him back upright. His watch face catches the light behind him.

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, I do.”

Your hand fumbles in your clutch for the keycard, swiping the handle and pushing down heavily. You spill into the dark room, light sneaking in from the sconce outside your window, and spin back to face him, his hand locked tight with yours.

Joel follows you slowly as you back towards the bed, kicking your heels off and tripping over the skirt of your dress. When your legs hit the plush mattress, his body leans into yours. Your lips ghost across his, your words pushing them apart one by one.

“This ain’t – part of the – agreement,” you murmur, the coarse hair of his beard scratching your chin. You pull apart his tie, loosening the knot.

“Changed my mind,” he replies, collapsing on top of you on the bed.

Your head rolls back when his lips suck into your neck. You wrestle with his belt, with the waist of his suit trousers. “No changin’ the deal, remember?”

“Tell me to stop.”

If you had any intention of answering him, your body overrides it. Words lassoed and dragged back down where they came from, your throat opening only to gasp when Joel’s teeth graze the flesh of your breast. His fingers tug on the straps of your dress, letting them fall from your shoulders until your chest sits exposed.

He drags his tongue along your skin, dipping between your tits while his hands massage them, fingers pinching your nipples. Your back lifts and his hands move beneath, following the curve of your spine to where your dress pools loose around your waist. He pushes down, slinking the smooth fabric from your body.

“You fuckin’…” He clicks his teeth, laughing behind them. Another flush of heat washes over your skin.

You giggle, bending your knees to cover the lace panties he knows all too fucking well. Joel stops you, pushes your legs back down with two heavy hands.

“Don’t get shy now, baby,” he murmurs, opening your body up again. “You were so happy about me seein’ ‘em a few weeks ago, no?”

“’s different,” you reply, tang of alcohol fueling your words, “now I just want you to take them off me.”

He cocks his head, drinking every word you’re handing over like it’s water from an oasis. “Such a dirty girl, ain’t you?”

You pull him closer by the collar and line your mouth against his, the tip of your tongue wetting the inside of his lips. “You got no fucking idea,” you whisper, whipping the shirt from his torso.

Joel growls, flipping you over and pulling you by the shoulders flush against his chest. You hook an arm around his neck, turn to grant him access to your lips. He kisses you like a starved animal, savoring every taste, teeth nipping at your tingling lips.

His hand curves around your hips, pushing beneath your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger pushing on the spongey hood of your clit. Your head falls limp against his collarbone, back arching as Joel holds you steady with an arm around your waist.

“’s alright, baby,” he coos, his tongue licking the shell of your ear. “I’m gonna take good care of ya. Gonna give you what you need, alright?”

A strangled moan unravels across your tongue, echoing into Joel’s mouth. Your hips begin to gyrate, meeting the rhythm of his hand, his finger massaging rough circles into your clit. He smirks, peeling the panties down your thighs.

“Attagirl,” he breathes, “you want it bad, huh? Gettin’ so worked up so fast. Here.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, ignoring your moan of protest and replacing it with two fingers on your bottom lip. “Open,” he instructs, and you obey like a fucking dog. He slips them in, thick and heavy, and waits for you to coat them with your wine-stained tongue.

Joel pushes down, forcing a muffled gag from your throat which lifts the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head lightly, whispering, “You got it, ‘s okay.”

A thread of saliva strings between his fingers and your lips when he lowers his hand again, trailing his fingers through your folds until he’s dancing along the seam of your cunt. You jolt forward; Joel hauls you back.

“Just fucking – do it,” you whimper, your walls clenching around nothing.

He holds his fingers together, curling and inserting them in a painfully slow motion. Your knees widen on the mattress, body sinking down by instinct to meet his fist, to feel his thick fingers and wide knuckles as deep as they’ll go.

You gasp when Joel begins hooking them inside you, nudging against your walls like your heartbeat against your clit. Your hand lowers, slipping beneath his loose waistband, beneath the elastic of his boxers and around his already solid cock.

Joel groans, fucking you harder on his hand. “Fuck, just like that, baby. You feel what you do to me?”

“Uhuh,” you reply, voice wanton and broken.

You squeeze him, your fist moving up and down, his warm skin following the movements of your tight grip. His tip is already soaked, precome staining his underwear, dribbling down your thumb.

Joel uses his free hand to shove his pants down, crumpling on the floor at his feet when they free his cock. You carve your mouth around his, the two of you exchanging breath and flicking your tongues together as you fuck one another’s hands, the room slowly filling with the hot, muggy smell of sex.

Joel’s the first to cave. With a jerk of his hips, he takes you by the wrist and frees himself from your clutches.

“You’re gonna make me come, darlin’,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers from your cunt.

“That’s kinda the point here,” you reply, teeth bumping into his in a grin.

Joel shakes his head, lifting his hand, glistening with your arousal. “Gotta feel this fucking pussy first.”

You smile, parting your lips for him for the second time, suckling on his fingers and licking them clean of your own salty slick. His cock draws sticky trails on the seam of your thigh.

“Yeah,” Joel breathes, eyes fixed on the place where you close around him, “that good, baby? You gonna let me taste you?”

You release his fingers and he pulls you in, tongue slipping against yours with a groan which vibrates against your jaw. When your lips part, you hold your mouth open, your tongue sat on your bottom lip.

Joel reacts instantly, collecting a bead of saliva in front of his teeth and letting it drop into your mouth. You moan and swallow it, a cocktail of beer and whiskey and slick. Joel watches as you lick your lips, the stained-pink coated in a thick, white shine.

“Alright,” he says, letting you fall forward onto the bed. He jacks himself a few times, spitting into his hand and using it to coat his cock.

“Want you to come in it,” you whine, wiggling your ass for him as he lines up at your slit. You can feel the arousal gathered on his tip, dripping down your cunt.

“Yeah, baby,” Joel growls, a smirk on his lips as he watches himself slowly disappear inside you. And then –

You both fall silent, mouths hanging wide open as you each feel the width of his cock and the tightness of your cunt. The way your body opens up to accommodate his size, the direct pain and ethereal pleasure of Joel pushing into you.

“Fuck,” he groans, your pussy drawing him in with a sweet, wet sound. “Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day, baby. So damn gorgeous in that dress.”

You slowly move your hips back to meet him at the base of his cock; dark, trimmed hair bristling against your lips. Joel’s hands lock around your waist, holding you steady with his entirety buried inside, letting you adjust to him.

He’s so fucking big, so wide and deep that your breath tears rugged from your lungs, barreling up your windpipe. Your walls squeeze tight as he pulls out like your body refuses to let him go, like your cells understand better than you do that you were made for this – made for him. Like the only place in the world that he belongs, is somewhere deep inside you.

So big that it hurts, each time he fills you up and stretches you wide open. The pain an eye-rolling, lung-closing, limb-shaking sensation.

Your elbows give, falling chest-first onto the mattress while Joel fucks you hard, his hands gripping your hips. Your cheek and breasts flat against the sheets, your back arched. He slams into you, edging you closer and closer with each meeting of his warm skin against yours, each sopping slap of come and saliva.

The mattress shifts above your head, two valleys where his palms push down heavily, then the weight of his body at the back of your thighs. He towers over you, hips hammering so hard that you’re forced to hook your fingers around his wrists just to stay on the same fucking planet.

“Gonna – fuckin’ – come – baby,” he spits, his jaw locked tight. “You want it in this little pussy? You think she can take it all?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, the edges of your words rounded by the silk sheets. “Joel, I – fuck –”

“Yeah, she can,” he agrees, playing with the hair spilling across your shoulders and taking it in a fistful.

The hazy drunken blur begins to turn over in favor of something sharper, something electric pulsing through your veins. Every part of your body alive, everything rising to meet the same high, the same release. You cling onto him, body beginning to melt beneath his.

Joel’s lips press between your shoulder blades. “Don’t fight it, baby, let go. I got you.”

You moan his name in one last pathetic attempt before the world whitens. You clench around him as a deafening orgasm shocks through your body, curling your back and forcing your nails deep into Joel’s wrists.

“Fuck, baby, fuck me,” Joel gasps. He slams into you one final time before you feel the staggered pump of his come flooding between your walls. “Ahh,” he groans, pushing apart your ass cheeks to watch the trickle seep from your cunt. “Good fucking girl. Take it, baby. That’s my girl.”

He turns you over onto your back and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against your body as he thrusts into you again, tenderly pushing his spend deeper inside. It draws a strained moan from your throat.

“’s alright,” he coos, hips slowing against yours, “just feel it, baby. You feel how deep I am?”

“Uhuh,” you cry, nails digging into his skin, damp with sweat.

“So fuckin’ full of me,” he says, more to himself, before collapsing alongside you, holding your thigh on his hip, his tip still sheathed inside you.

You lie like that for a while, listening to the distant hum of music from downstairs, the party still raving in the belly of the hotel while you two lay in content bliss somewhere in its ribcage. Tracing one another’s features, learning the lines on Joel’s face, the flecks of gray in his eyebrows – all the parts you’re never close nor brave enough to get to know.

His right hand massages your plush waist, his left arm a pillow to rest your heavy, dizzy, drunk head on.

“I wanna do it again,” you whisper, the words sneaking out between heavy breaths.

Joel nods. His bottom lip sticks with sweat to yours. His hips push a little neater into you. “I wanna do it again, too.”

“I wanna do it all night.”

He hasn’t stopped nodding. He shrugs, tightens his grip around your shoulders, and tilts his head. “Then let’s do it all fucking night,” he says, and his lips slam back into yours.

The morning after the wedding, Joel drives you home. The truck soars down the highway, the two of you an uncomfortable distance apart. The same sobering distance you’ve kept all morning – the unreal aftermath of sex.

The rolling waves of bedsheets between your bodies; the sun sifting her long fingers through his hair as she peered through the curtains. The way you’d silently pushed yourself from the mattress, fragmenting your movements and allowing the spring to dip a fraction at a time so not to wake him. The spongey feel of the hotel carpet under the balls of your feet as you’d tottered to the bathroom. The sharp shot of the lock sliding into place, echoing like a bullet.

He waited until you finished showering to get ready himself. Sat on the edge of the bed patiently and watched your shadow beneath the door, the to-and-fro of your silhouette breaking the sliver of golden light as you dressed your sticky body. When you pulled on the metal lock again, he was sat on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bare shoulders were curved, and tanned. You blinked twice to store the image and turned away as he stood.

He says he feels hungover. You say you do, too. It’s the closest you come to talking about it. You hop out of the truck in his drive, your tote bag hooked on your shoulder. The canvas gnawing at the silk inside. Joel tells you he’ll see his end of the deal through in a couple weeks.

“Real busy with work,” he mutters apologetically, his wrists still balancing on the steering wheel.

“That’s good,” you tell him, nodding. “I ain’t in any rush. I know where you live, so.”

A relieved laugh pushes from his lips. “I will get to it,” he assures you.

You shrug casually. “Whenever, Joel.”

You don’t talk for a few days. A few days bleeds into three weeks. You find yourself stood by his front tires, throwing his newspaper onto the porch and scampering when it lands. The noise like a bomb dropping.

Slowly, as the month draws on, you become braver and braver – daring closer and closer to his front door, until you’re back to marching up the steps like you own the place, depositing the roll on his doormat. Rubbing your thumbs against your fingers to feel the ink like satin.

The door cracks open as you make your way back down his steps one bright morning.

“Hey, kid,” Joel murmurs, reaching down for the paper with a groan.

“Hey.”

“You doin’ okay?” he asks, leaning his forearm against the door.

Your head tilts back and forth, your hand lifting to shield your eyes from the sun. “Think I ate som’ bad, maybe. Weird stomach this mornin’.”

Joel’s chin angles. “Hope it ain’t contagious. Was thinkin’ I could get that closet started for you, maybe tomorrow?”

The offer takes you off guard. You buffer for a few seconds before answering, “Sure. Sure, just, uh – just come over whenever, I guess.”

“Nine work for you?”

You nod. “Nine’s good. See ya then.”

It’s something like nine when you find out.

You wake feeling groggy. Tired, sluggish. A heavy ache pulling on your breasts as you rise from bed, tender and swollen. You stand in the bathroom, milky morning light filtering in through the doorway, and your stomach lurches. Waves of nausea deep in your belly, rocking back and forth, swirling and spiraling.

You’ve a box under your sink. It makes sense. Before Joel was some date from Hinge, who fucked you against the wall of his living room and who snored so loud that you left before the sun came up. Negative. Like always.

But it never hurts to be sure.

The pack tears like it’s liquid in your hands. Peels back to reveal the plastic white test, the bubblegum pink cap – like it’s something fun and sweet to place the direction of your future into this little device. A clinical compass needle.

Three to five minutes. You set it down on the counter and drag yourself back through to your room, lifting your bedsheets, tucking them under the mattress, heaving your pillows back into place against the headboard. An uncomfortable heat boiling under the surface of your skin, a prickle of sweat clinging to the nape of your neck.

A sickly taste harboring on your tongue, you pad back to the bathroom and swipe the test up. Your eyes scan past the result window to the counter as you reach for your toothbrush – and then snap abruptly back to the tiny oval. Your outstretched hand freezes in midair. There’s no fucking w–

Your arm swings back to reach for the light cord. The bulb hesitates – flickers, like it’s unsure whether to reveal the truth to you. It knows something you don’t. It’s seen something it doesn’t want to show you. You stare at the pregnancy test.

Two little pink lines stare back. And Joel knocks at your door.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 08 - Sex Magic]

Pairing: Soft Dom!Jungkook x sub f.Reader

Genre: married life!AU, Wizard!Jungkook, Fantasy!AU

Kinks: love making, vaginal penetrative sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, blowjob, cunnilingus, spit, multiple orgasms (f.receiving), edging (m.receiving), praise, body worship, sex magic & toys aka he enchants a crystal wand so it becomes a vibrator, size & strength kink, cuddly aftercare

Wordcount: 7.4k

a/n: someone gave me these kinks and i went “what if KOOK was the one with magic for a change?” and then this was born. also, i say this with pride, he is 100% and proudly inspired by Howl Pendragon from Howl’s Moving Castle, like, this is basically a Howl!AU with Kook. i also wholeheartedly fell in love with this Kook oh my lORD he is so dreamy and perfect <3

Jungkook Pendragon was many a things. Healer of the sick. Protector of the weak. Traveller of worlds. Wizard of one’s trust. Lover of animals and nature. An introvert rarely happy about small talk. Connoisseur of good foods. And man of immaculate beauty. He possessed the wits and intelligence to escape many a dicey situations. His bravery and courage was known just as well as his kind and empathetic heart. His humour never stooped down to insult other people, instead it so very often came down to making a fool of himself for the sake of a good laugh. But as funny as he was, he was also serious. He was intense and stern and scary if one dared to cross him. He was powerful and those who wronged the innocent felt his strength to its fullest. 

In his daily life however, Jungkook rarely showed off his strength. He helped flowers bloom anew or lit a fire for a desperate baker, he filled the bowl of a hungry stray cat or showed curious children a harmless but wondrous magic trick. Whatever his little show of strength might be, in his daily life, Jungkook wanted to bring happiness to the living beings around him with it.

You were no exception from people he wanted to make smile. Perhaps you were the one whose happiness was most important to him. His beloved and cherished wife. Only human and terribly weak against the dangers of dark distant lands. And he loved you more than he had ever loved another before.

You lived in his hometown your whole life. You knew of his existence and the help he bore to the townsfolk. You also knew that sometimes his windows went black and that meant his house wasn’t exactly in town. He explained to you later when you and he were already lovers how it worked. That he needed to use a lever by the front door to teleport his interior and the beings inside to another place and that he possessed buildings in each place to teleport into. Some of these places you were allowed to as well, while others he kept hidden from you because they would be too dangerous. 

Sometimes you stay in town while Jungkook disappears through the door and when he returns again, he brings the stench of death and signs of a hard battle. You always nurture him back to health even if seeing his body bruised and broken from fights hurt you. 

Now back to how you met. It was five years ago when a wicked warlock cursed your cats to stone. You knew instantly to seek the wizard Jungkook Pendragon for help. Up until this point, you have only heard of him and perhaps seen him hurry through the streets in passing, and when you stood before him, you barely managed to get your words out. He was beautiful. Beautiful beyond your wildest imagination. His skin radiated in health and youth. His hair, dark as raven feathers and slightly wavy, ended just a little above his shoulders. His eyes were friendly and filled with galaxies. They were the darkest brown, but glowed purple when he used his magic. His features were ethereal and his body both strong and slim. He was taller than you and smelled of sandalwood. Back then, he smiled at you and asked what you needed and you somehow stuttered your problem. He knew exactly what to do and somehow through being yourself, you managed to catch his attention as well. It wasn’t long after, and because of some very intense romancing by him, that you and he became lovers. You married but six months after, about which your parents were very happy. You moved into his house one day after the wedding, taking your two cats and everything you owned with you. Jungkook welcomed you in his home gladly. He gave you his sunniest room and encouraged you to fill it with your most beloved hobbies. Each time you placed a thing of yours somewhere in the house, he smiled and said how much he loved it there. And over time, his home became as much your home as it was his’. He even fulfilled your dream of owning a garden, accessible through his magic door and built just for you.

Jungkook Pendragon was many of things. Wizards, healer, protector and fighter, but most of all he was your beloved husband. The man you love more than you have ever loved another person. 

Dawn has long past and the town was whispering for sleep. Jungkook hasn’t come home yet. It has been since the morning when he went through one of the bad doors. It worries you to the point you can’t find calm. The dinner is dished, cold by now, and he should be home already. The only dinner you managed to get down were your own fingernails as you bit them in nervousness. Your cats, Fili and Kili, are sleeping by the fire but you could see from their erect ears that they were nervous as well. You cannot take it anymore. Is he still alive? You have such thoughts often when he leaves through one of the bad doors. Not every country on this planet was as safe and peaceful as your homeland. Many were cursed by monsters, war or dark magic. There were other wizards like Jungkook, but not many felt courageous enough to venture beyond their own borders. Jungkook never limited his powers to borders, he went where magic was needed and while you loved him for it, you also loathed this part of him. His kindness will kill him one day. You would never dare to tell him that because it was what he needed to feel happy, but sometimes you wished that he would stop leaving through bad doors and stay with you instead. 

Speaking of doors. The number shield above the lever suddenly flicks to black. You jump up from the armchair, staring at the front door with bated breath. The doorknob turns. Please let him be unharmed, please. The door opens, allowing the stench of phosphor to enter your home. Jungkook walks over the threshold like the wind, closing the door quickly and flicking the lever back to the town. He walks upright and with lightness in his steps. His face and clothes were darkened by soot, as were his hands, but he looked unharmed. 

“What a day”, he says, shrugging off his black cape.

“Beloved!” you call out, running to jump into his arms.

“Oh?” Jungkook catches you with a laugh and his dirtied hands under your behind.

“I’m so glad that you’re home. I was so worried that you were hurt or, or worse killed”, you almost sob into his shoulder, twisting his hair to get him closer to you. 

“Worry not about me. I’m home safe.” 

“Yes? Oh Jungkook, my beloved”, you cradle his face.

Jungkook sets you down gently, holding your waist as he smiles down at you. 

“You are so dirty. Oh my beloved, are you truly unharmed?”

“Yes, I promise you this is just soot which lingered in the air. I fought and won.” 

“You will cause me heart problems one day. You’re finally home”, you say and hug him, face buried in his strong chest despite his dirtied clothes.

Jungkook hugs you back, caressing the back of your head. He leans down and kisses the crown of your head, resting his cheek on it afterwards with closed eyes. His beloved woman. He loves this part of his days the most. To return home and be greeted by your hug is truly what Jungkook does all of this for. 

“My little love”, he whispers, holding you safely, “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too, so very much.” You crane your neck so you could look up at him and get on your tiptoes. Jungkook meets you in the middle, cradling your cheeks as you and he kiss. His lips taste of ash and so you pull back with a slight scowl.

Jungkook chuckles, “I know I taste awful. Let me bathe and then I will really kiss you.”

“Yes, alright. I shall warm dinner in the meantime.” 

“Oh my little love”, he whispers and kisses your forehead in gratefulness. He breaks away from you to hurry upstairs in light steps and a melody on his lips. You clean off the soot from your clothes and cheeks, hurrying to the kitchen afterwards.

Dinner is served and warm when Jungkook skips down the steps. He changed into black pants into which he tugged a white flowy shirt. His bare feet are almost silent on the many rugs spread on the wooden floor. He dances to your side, picks you up to twirl with you once. You laugh loudly, wobbling slightly when he sets you down again.

“How I missed you”, he says, hugging you close and nuzzling his face into your neck. His hands roam your body innocently, rubbing your back and waist, giving your buttocks a gentle squeeze and caressing your arms. It is as if he refuses to let go and you love it so much, melting into him if there wasn’t dinner waiting. 

He ends his loving touches by holding your waist and cradling your hand with the other, resting his forehead against yours to sway with you to melodies he hums. It is as if you were dancing.

You smile, having your eyes closed. He has such a beautiful singing voice. Sometimes when sleep comes a little harder to you, as it sometimes does to a person, Jungkook caresses your face and sings to you softly until you fell asleep. You love these nights so very much and whenever he is gone for longer than a day and you can’t fall asleep because of worry, you are damned to a sleepless night. Are have gotten so used to his singing that living without is like torture. 

“Is this a new melody? You keep humming it lately?” you whisper.

“Yes, I thought of it”, he says and singings it softly with syllables of “lalala”s. 

You join his singing harmonising with him, which makes him smile and kiss your lips. You giggle.

“Mhm, you perfect blessing you”, he says, trying to deepen the kiss but you squirm away for the sole purpose of talking. If there wasn’t dinner waiting for you and him, you would want to stay in this moment for ages.

“Dinner will be cold again if we take any more time.” 

“Mhm, you’re right.” He kisses your cheek and steps back, but keeps his hands on your waist. “What did you make?” 

“Your favourite. Potato stew with cow’s meat. The bread is fresh, from baker Yoongi. Sit down, sit down.” 

“I’m in a dream. You have no idea how much this will cheer me up tonight.” 

He sits down, earning himself a kiss to his shoulder before you sit down as well opposite of him. You break the bread, giving him the bigger piece because he always eats so much more than you when he returns from a bad door. 

You talk about your days during dinner. You tell him that you went into town for shopping and that you met your parents for some tea. He tells you about the dangers he encountered. The situation in Berking was brittle as more and more fire demons invaded the mountainous lands and threatened the livelihood of the people. Jungkook worked together with the wizard of Berking, Taehyung Emerand, but he fears that soon their shared powers won’t be enough to ward off the demons. Jungkook plans on visiting the wizard Seokjin Koral tomorrow and ask for his aid in the matter. He is positive that the wizard will help. 

You and Jungkook clean the kitchen together after dinner and because it is so late already, you decide to go to bed soon after.

It took you a while to get used to Jungkook’s bedroom. His furniture was dark and the bed most comfortable, but the room was brimming with treasures. There was no wall which wasn’t covered in trinkets or artworks and no surface which didn’t carry more trinkets or healing plants. Many of the items were of magical nature and helped Jungkook recharge when he slept. Some bore memories while others were merely of aesthetic nature. You felt overwhelmed from all the views at first, but now you loved it dearly. Every item had its home and it fit so well together with the rest. These days, there are a few of your trinkets in the collection as well, looking perfectly in place. The floor was entirely covered in colourful, expensive rugs scattered without plan. Most corners of the room, or spaces where you rarely walked, were covered in stacks of books. Tonight, Jungkook reads one of the books when you enter the bedroom in nothing but your sleeping gown. He stepped out of his pants as well, now lying in bed with a bared behind covered by the warm blanket. 

“The water was really warm tonight. I barely wanted to leave the bath.”

“Yes, it felt good on the skin. The weather gets colder here again so it’s nice to have a warm bath.”

“Yes, not long and we will have to use the thicker blanket. I can’t wait, I love this blanket”, you say, getting comfortable under the covers. 

Jungkook lowers the book and places his hand on the side of your head so he could caress you gently. You gaze up at him, head the only thing sticking out from under the blanket. The light of the night lamp illuminates his face in warm colour, his dark hair falls in soft waves. Looking at him will never not make your heart flutter.

“Please don’t die far away from me, Jungkook Pendragon.”

“Oh beloved, you worry too much”, Jungkook speaks softly, massaging your ear soothingly. 

“Please just promise me.”

“I promise you. I shall grow old until I look like a raisin and then die in your arms.” 

You snicker, making him smile with it. 

“Yes, I can accept that.”

He chuckles, booping your nose. 

“You’re too cute.” 

He picks up the book and continues where he left off. You continue where you left off too, which is staring at his face to make sure that he was truly back with you again. 

“What are you reading?” you ask him, fingers tracing the side of his thigh mindlessly under the blanket.

“Spells I might need tomorrow. If Seokjin wants to leave for Berking right away, I want to be prepared.”

“So you will fight again tomorrow?” 

Jungkook lowers the book, meeting your eyes.

“Hey, little love”, he brushes his hand over your temple soothingly, “don’t worry about me. Nothing will happen to me, I promise.”

“You made a promise about raisins.”

“And I intend to keep it”, he says, scratching your scalp softly so your thoughts could calm down. He continues petting you like this as he gets lost in the book again, using magic to float it in front of him and flick the pages. 

What if you won’t ever see him again? Jungkook wants you to calm down and find sleep, but you can’t. You could lose him tomorrow. He could be gone, leaving you alone with no arms to lie in and no person to call home. If this moment wasn’t so tranquil, you would be crying. Instead you look at his face to memorise every inch of it just in case. 

Jungkook soon glances at you. 

“Try to sleep, beloved” he whispers, brushing his fingers over your lids gently to close them. 

“I can’t. I’m worried about tomorrow.”

“Don’t, I will return back to you.” Jungkook lies down on his side, kissing your forehead as he holds you close. “Try to sleep, beloved, please try to sleep.”

“I can’t. I want to look at you longer.” 

“Do I have to tire you, mhm?” 

Your lids flutter, as does your heart. Jungkook smiles sweetly, pinching your cheek and kissing it.

“Try to sleep, yes?” he whispers before sitting back up to return to the book. 

You continue to stare. His words made you desperate for him. You didn’t even think of this yet. If you lose him, you will also lose the intimacy. 

Jungkook is many a things. Wizard, healer, saviour, husband. And he is also the most attentive lover. You knew some intimacy before Jungkook, but truly got to know it through him. He waited after your wedding, of course he did. As a matter of fact, he was such a gentleman, that he didn’t even kiss you before you were officially his wife for he didn’t want to spoil your honour. The first kiss you shared was during the wedding ceremony and then later at night, Jungkook kissed you properly, sealing your shared fate. He couldn’t get enough of you and you couldn’t get enough of him. It always feels so good to be intimate with him. What if tonight is the last night to share this feeling? 

“Beloved?”

Jungkook sighs and looks at you, “why are you still up? Look at you, you seem so tired already.” 

“I don’t care. I want to be with you.”

“You are, little love, you are. In sleep as well.”

“Not yet, I have a wish.”

He places the book aside and lies down on his side, drawing calming circles on your upper back. His eyes are filled with so much love, his face looks constantly happy when he looks at you.

“Tell me your wish.”

“Can we love each other tonight? If you don’t return tomorrow, I want to have something to think back fondly on.”

Jungkook swallows the words he actually wanted to speak, that your worries were for nought and that you should sleep, when he sees how much you truly needed this tonight. He smiles with his eyes and kisses the shell of your ear.

“Of course, my beloved. We can love each other.” 

“Really?” 

"Yes, of course. I missed you today. Loving you like this, would make me very happy.”

“It would make me happy too. Jungkook, my beloved.” You touch his chest. “Can I taste you?” 

“You.” He gulps, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “You would want this?” 

“Yes. A lot.”

“I, I want it as well.” 

You sigh his name. He cradles your cheek.

“But first I need to kiss you. Truly kiss you.”

You meet him eagerly, fingers burying themselves deep in his soft hair and lips so ready to be claimed. Jungkook smiles into the kiss because of your eagerness, purring softly while his hand pulls you closer by your waist. He puts his other arm under your head, placing his hand on your shoulder. Naturally and happily, you drape your leg over his hips, breaking the kiss to whisper.

“This feels so good.” 

“It does, my beloved. I love holding you.” 

The kiss continues. Your hearts beat in sync, your lips dance perfectly together. How you both needed this tonight. He missed you all day, looking forward to the moment he was finally with you again. You missed him as well, worrying for his safety and healing now that he was kissing you again. 

You remember the first night he properly kissed you. You laid under him, cradled in his strong arms and with your breath stolen by him. It has been years ever since and it still feels as exciting as it did back then. Perhaps even more exciting because your love for each other grew over the years. Familiarity, intimacy, connection replaced the once thrilling feeling of learning each other and with it allowed your love to blossom. Being known and knowing in return is much better than getting know, it truly is. Jungkook knows that you love it most when he uses his tongue to trace your lips. You know that he gets especially excited when you run your nails over his scalp. You use your knowledge tonight, soon turning the kiss from gentle to just a little starved. You moan first, Jungkook answers you instantly, hand gripping your thigh to tug you closer. His hold on you is gentle but desperate. The hardness poking your middle shows his hunger even better. You and he both know that you needed to end this kiss in order to continue.

It breaks with shaky breaths leaving the both of you. You can’t stop looking at him. He reciprocates, starry eyes racing between yours. His fingers brush your cheek, his whisper comes oh so very quietly.

“I love you with the very essence of my soul, ___ Pendragon.” 

“I love you with every breath I draw, Jungkook Pendragon.”

He exhales shakily, resting his forehead against yours. You and he close your eyes.

“My little love….” 

For a brief second, you enjoy the moment of connection. You are both aroused yet want to take time to truly savour each other. Being naked and getting it done quickly is easy, but what truly makes intimacy with him so wonderful is that you equally want to take your time. You savour the connection, the moments your souls are intertwined and your hearts are one.

“I feel so good”, you breathe.

“I feel so good, too”, he whispers.

“I want you.”

“I want you too, so very much that my hand…” he dances it to your behind and gives it a gentle squeeze, “...wants to act up.”

You giggle, he chuckles. 

“You’re just being cheeky.”

“Mhm, I am. It makes you laugh.” 

“Oh beloved you”, you break the connection by gently pushing him to his back. He moves gladly, breath quickening at what was to come. You peck his lips first, then lie down on your stomach, draping your arm over his waist. You feel up his chest slowly, gazing at his face. His heart races uncontrollably. 

“You’re beautiful”, you say and rest your cheek on his chest, scrunching your face in a love drunk smile. And as you rest, your hand rubs him slowly, memorising how it feels to touch him. “My strong love and yet you are still so soft.” 

Jungkook smiles, brushing his hand down your cheek. With a giggle and scrunch of your nose you lift yourself again to kiss him over the shirt. Your hands and fingers guide your lips, painting a picture of him in your memories. His strong yet comfortable chest, which is so perfect to hide in, his delicate collarbones, on which necklaces always sit so prettily, his tender neck which always smells so good and his strong shoulders, which are perfect to lean on, his even stronger arms which give the best hugs and then you take the path back. You brush your lips over his nipples, making him sigh softly, but you don’t linger. You need to kiss his stomach next, which is so strong but also so soft when he lies with you. You hug him and rest your cheek on it.

“You are so soft, you really are.” 

Jungkook chuckles but sighs soon after. He feels so warm inside. If this is how he can spend the night before battle, he is one lucky man. Quite frankly, he is the luckiest man who ever lived. He is married to you after all. 

It so happens that you soon reach the edge of the blanket. You glance at his face briefly. His eyes are closed. So it will be a surprise. Good. You love surprising him.

You push the blanket down to the middle of his thighs carefully and slip his shirt up to his lower stomach, exposing his hardened length. You keep one arm still around his waist, using it to support some of your weight as you lower your starving mouth to his length. He fits between your lips as if he was molded just for you. 

Jungkook gasps loudly, hand falling to the nape of your neck and fingers ever so slightly dimpling your skin. His hips twitch up, his length throbs on your tongue. The surprise was successful. How exciting. 

You moan and begin moving. You concentrate on his tip, using both your tongue and lips to taste him. He is sensitive where he leaks and around his frenulum, so you switch between these two spots, listening to the sweet moans he releases in reaction. His hand is still on your neck, grasping it and when he doesn’t, he gives you gentle rubs of gratefulness. 

You lick his taste from his slit, purring in answer to his gasped moans. You enjoy his taste a lot. At first, you were surprised by how he tasted down there. You always expected it to be different flavoured, more like milk to match the look of it, but that isn’t so. It is masculine when he is deeply aroused and sweet when he ate lots of fruit and sometimes it carries a hint of salt in its taste but most of all, it tasted like him. And you loved this flavour so much that you find yourself drooling all over him right now. You slurp it up, picking up what you can’t swallow with your fingers to spread it on his lower inches in a deep and skilful massage.

“Beloved this is…” He groans deeply, kicking the mattress as you force his legs to be restless. “...a lot. Ah mmhhgm.”

What an exciting reaction. Your stomach flutters and your wetness grows between your legs. You sink him between your lips, keeping them relaxed so they move as you suck him. You press the flat of your tongue against his length, moving your head in the same rhythm you move your hand.

“Beloved ah”, he gasps, fingers digging into your tender neck desperately. He kicks the sheets, bucking his hips up afterwards. 

Encouraged by his reactions, you pick up speed and depth, drooling down his length without bothering to swallow it. 

Jungkook moans loudly, hand dropping from your neck to reach up and grab the corner of his pillow. He cannot decide whether to keep his eyes closed or gawk at the ceiling in disbelief. He also cannot decide whether to dig his head into the pillow or lift it in surprise. Neither can he decide whether to gasp or moan. Perhaps he does all of these things. With no pattern behind them. They just happen and happen while you suck his very soul out of his length. He feels it in every inch of his cock, feels it in his balls as well. It burns like fire and consumes the very same. It spread to his stomach by now, lingering as a warm, tight knot. It consumed his legs as well, rendering them useless and tingly as if millions of fire ants crawled over them. 

He might release in your mouth if he wasn’t careful. It would feel so good and you would love it so much, but he can’t. If you want tonight to truly be memorable, he wants to do it the right way. He wants to look into your eyes as he lets go and feel your fingers grasp his arms as you feel it coat your walls. 

You moan around him, head pounding in pleasure. You love to have him in your mouth. It shouldn’t feel that good to have something hit your throat over and over again but it does. You love him inside so much that you feel no need to gag or choke, only the need to consume him more and more.

“Stop it now”, Jungkook however stops you, sliding his hand to your chin to gently pry you off his length. “Stop or you will make me release.”

You slip off begrudgingly, turning your head to look at him. Your lips are puffy and glossy, your eyes are hazy. Jungkook feels thoughtless at the view of you, except for one thought. 

“Oh you, let me kiss you”, he gets out and pulls you up to him so he could do just that. You whimper, melting into him instantly. You don’t mind anymore that he stopped you from tasting his orgasm, not when he kisses you so hungrily. He flips your position, claiming the emptiness between your legs with his hips. Only the thin fabric of your sleeping gown keeps you from connecting deeper. 

“Oh you…perfect woman. You felt so good I feared for my heart. Oh you…”

Jungkook tastes himself on your lips and tongue as he kisses you. It makes him want to kiss you even more, even better, even longer. Not just your lips. Everywhere. Your beautiful face, which he always thinks of for happiness when times are hard, your tender neck so soft and smelling always so good, your collarbones which are prettiest when sunlight hits them, your shoulders which sometimes get stiff but which relax so easily when he rubs them, your arms which are the only home he will ever have, your chest which is rather precious to handle. He palms your breasts and gathers them carefully so he could kiss them over the thin fabric. His warmth seeps into your skin like this, drawing gasps from your lips. He feels so good on your body.

“You are the living proof that the creator is an artist. She carved you from the very soils of beauty, my beloved”, he breathes, lips ghosting over your tender nipples without ever deepening the touch. That is the task of another night, he needs to worship every inch of you. Your sides which he loves to hold and gently tickle because it makes you laugh, your upper stomach which tenses whenever he makes you belt in laughter, your stomach which is so soft. So soft. Jungkook finds himself sinking his head into it and sighing your name. 

He gazes up at you, holding your sides.

“I’m home when I’m with you, ___ Pendragon.” 

You ruffle his hair, smiling at him.

“You’re my home too.” 

Jungkook sighs happily, lifting his head to continue his path. He wiggles under the blanket and lifts your gown, sticking his head under it. You gawk with bated breath, waiting for his wet tongue between your folds. 

It never comes, instead he places dozens and dozens of kisses on each of your inner thighs, drawing a sigh from your lips. You prop your legs up all on your own, getting his hands on your upper hips outside the gown. You can hold them like this and you do, grabbing one finger per hand as he kisses a path closer and closer to your heat. 

Jungkook bends the fingers you hold, letting you know that he was holding you back. The warmth between your folds hits you a second later, surprising you so greatly that you squeak and close your legs on his head.

“Mhm.” He lifts his mouth, “forgive me. Too far?”

“No, no sorry. I startled, that’s all. Please more”, you stutter, opening your legs.

“I will be gentle, I promise my beloved”, he says and sticks his tongue out to part your petals with it. You squeeze the fingers you hold, moaning his name. 

Jungkook closes his eyes, releasing a breath of utter relief. He loves to be between your legs. You offer him such heaven. You are soft and tender and so warm. When he excites you, your warmth begins to smell so intensely feminine and addicting that Jungkook becomes droopy. And your taste. Oh, your taste. Jungkook loves every drop of it. You become sweeter the more aroused you get and your nectar changes from thicker to more liquid. You are already so wet tonight from pleasuring him that Jungkook can’t decide where to linger. Your entrance, your petals or your clit. All of it gets traced and licked by his eager tongue. He can picture you in his mind when he does it. How you open up like the prettiest flower, how there are the first then the second petals revealing your warm depth and presenting your swollen clit.

“You’re beautiful, so beautiful” he murmurs into you and includes his lips as well. He sucks and kisses you, forcing your voice to raise in pitch as he makes you moan constantly. 

Your legs are shaky and it feels as if millions of ants were crawling under your skin, just how you made him feel. The same warmth is in your stomach as well, tight and deep inside you, hiding almost. 

You mewl and tug at his finger. Jungkook comes up with a slurp, appearing from your gown. His raven hair is messy, his rosy lips glossy. 

“Was I too rough?” he asks with worried eyes.

“No, your fingers please, your fingers.” 

“Ah, I understand”, he smiles and sticks his two longest into his mouth to coat them in a good layer of his spit. He slides his other hand to your inner thigh and opens your legs further with a gentle tug. 

You whimper in reaction, fingers grasping the sheets. To be gazed upon by him as he pleasures you is so arousing to you. He is looking at your face, watching your reaction as you take his digits.

The stretch is unbearable, not because it hurts, but because it feels too good. He is so careful in how he fills you, gliding in inch by inch. 

You whimper, face contorting in pleasure. Warm. You are so warm now that you are finally filled. 

“So beautiful. You are so beautiful”, Jungkook says and disappears inside your gown again to lick you eagerly. He traces your stuffed folds first, moaning deeply at the feeling of it. He can’t wait to exchange his fingers with his length. For now however, he wants to help you to an orgasm with just his fingers and tongue. He curls them deep inside you, pressing them against your upper walls right where it felt best. A gasp from you. Jungkook guides his tongue to your clit and presses it against you tightly to use the pressure and wet warmth to rub it with his tongue. The gasp turns into a moan. And another. Then another blending into a constant stream of noises as he gives you pleasure so intense you can see light behind your lids. 

You twist the sheets and tug on them, head buried deep in the pillow and back arched off the mattress. Your toes curl, gripping the sheets. The once quiet warmth in your lower body turns into a raging, all consuming fire. His fingers fill you entirely, the pressure on your insides is perfect and his slickened tongue is so strong in its grinds. He will make you climax. It is inescapable. 

“I have to orgasm”, you get out, whimpering his name next.

Jungkook encourages you to let go with a hungry growl, sealing your fate. 

You throw your head back and break screaming his name. Jungkook moans, tingling with you as he helps you ride it out until you pull away all by yourself. 

Jungkook licks his fingers clean before reappearing from your gown, lower face messy in your orgasm and his drool. 

“Beloved”, you croak, reaching for him. He lies himself down on you, meeting you in the middle for a kiss. You whimper and twitch, grasping him desperately as you use his kisses as your remedy. He left you so shaken from your high, but you wouldn’t want it any other way. You are alive when you can be with him this way. 

You break the kiss with a wish on your lips, “can I feel your skin on mine?” 

“Yes, of course. This would be everything to me”, he says and sits up to pull his shirt over his head. You do the same with your gown. You and he stay seated afterwards, gazing at each other.

“You’re beautiful”, you say, tracing his pecs. 

“You are just as beautiful”, he breathes and hugs you against him.

You instantly melt, eyes closing and skin taking in every second of contact it has with him. He is so warm and soft. He is the same temperature as you and yet he feels so much warmer than you. Like your only heat source in a cold room.

“I want to be with you.”

“You will be, I promise. Do you want to lie down for it?”

“Yes, very.” 

While you lie down, he disappears from your side for a brief moment to get a small wand of pure emerald, then claims his spot between your legs again. He intertwines his right hand with yours, resting on his elbows. He uses his left hand to cradle your cheek and caress it. His eyes gaze at you with so much love that you feel breathless.

“You’re beautiful.” 

“You’re beautiful too.”

“No, but you are truly so beautiful”, he whispers and furrows his brows as his emotion overwhelm him. “Oh my beloved. I will be gentle with you, I promise.” 

“Whatever you promise, please just hurry. I need you inside me. Please.”

“Help me, yes?” 

You reach down with your left hand and take his length to guide it to your entrance. You give him a gentle push and then he takes over, filling you with him in a careful push of his hips. 

Your breath hitches, you grasp his shoulder and squeeze his hand. He furrows his brows, eyes clouding over in pleasure.

“Is this good for you? Are you in pain?”

You shake your head vigorously and squeeze his shoulder as well.

“And now? I feel you tightening. Is it too much so soon after your orgasm?” 

“I’m tightening because it feels so good”, you croak and roll your hips up to take the last inch.

Jungkook moans your name, dropping his forehead against yours and squeezing his eyes shut. A curse slips from his lips, “forgive me”, he instantly apologises.

“Don’t. I agree. Damn it. Ah beloved, I love you.”

“I love you too”, Jungkook chokes out and kisses you, beginning to chase your warmth in deep but gentle movements. You swallow each other’s initial moan. Jungkook slips his hand from your cheek and grasps the pillow instead, holding it with the kind of desperate strength he wouldn’t dare to hold you in fear of hurting you. But he has to hold something like this. The tingling fire in his legs and stomach is back, his length feels even better than it did when it was being sucked by you. If he didn’t grasp something, he would go insane. He regrets not releasing in your mouth when he had the chance because he is paying the price now. 

Jungkook breaks the kiss, drool still sticking to your lips and his.

“I’m so sensitive. Every stroke feels like coming alive. I should have released in your mouth, ah beloved, ahmh it’s…you’re driving me insane.” 

“Is it too much?” 

“Almost, I’m burning up. It feels…”

“It feels so good”, you whimper.

“That’s right, it feels so good”, he agrees and moans, length so deep inside you that you swear you can feel his soul reach into you. 

You gaze up at him through your blurry vision. He is so close to you but you see enough. His pleasure twisted face, his messy hair, his flushed cheeks.

“You are so beautiful right now, so beautiful.” 

“You are…beauti…ful…too”, he struggles with his words, following it up with a growl and his fingers slipping from your grasp to instead grip your wrist and pin it into the pillow. He does it carefully, unlike how he twists the pillow. 

“My beloved, it’s so difficult not to break you. Are you still comfortable?” 

“Yes, please.”

“Oh my little love, my warm soft love… it takes everything inside me not to ruin you.”

You clench around him, arching your back. To be underneath him, to be so fragile and weak in comparison to him and to be treated with such utter tenderness because of it, is driving you insane as well. 

You reach between your bodies and touch your clit. 

“Ah!”

Jungkook peels his eyes open at the sound. His hips stop.

“What happened? Are you alright?” he gasps, worried.

“Yes, yes. Please move.”

“Oh my love, what a relief. You are just so small and tender. I worried that I hurt you for a second.” 

“Jungkook, please”, you beg him, gazing up at him pleadingly. You wiggle your hips, trying to give yourself more pleasure with quick rubs of your clit.

“No, wait. I have something for you.” 

“What?” you ask breathlessly, craving more of what he did.

He sits up, cock still inside you, and reaches for the emerald wand. He closes his fist around it and whispers an enchantment over it. It looks normal afterwards and feels warm as he places it in your hand. 

“What did you do to it?”

“Tap it once.” 

You follow. The wand begins vibrating in your fingers, “oh?” 

“For you. It will last for a day. Tap it again and it will increase gradually, tap it twice and it will stop.” 

“This is so…” 

“Place it on your clit.” 

You obey in curiosity, sitting up slightly in shock upon the initial sensation. 

“Jungkook”, you croak, walls throbbing around him.

“Does this feel good?” 

“Yes”, you mewl, nodding your head vigorously.

“Good. Use it whenever you need it.” 

Jungkook pushes you down gently and with a knowing smile, lays himself back down over you to pick up where he left off. 

You gasp and writhe, gawking at him with widened eyes. He soothes you with gentle caresses of your temples and cheeks.

“Isn’t that nice?” 

“-ice”, you manage to squeak out because then you are unable to speak, scrunching your face up and grasping his arm. 

“You are so beautiful, my beloved. I love you so much”, he moans, head dizzy because of this situation. 

You are writhing under him, hips bucking up to chase him and walls so tight around his length it is almost impossible not to orgasm. Giving you pleasure, making you feel good, is his biggest pleasure.

“You’re taking me so well, you are so beautiful, so beautiful…”

Jungkook grits his teeth and angles his hips differently to stimulate your sensitive spots. He keeps his length buried inside you for it, drawing circles. 

You inhale loudly, reaching above you to twist the pillow. Your eyes spill tears because of the intensity with which he pleasures you. You have never felt like this before. The wand gives you shakes you truly cannot control. His length has never felt so filling before, so big and ever consuming. It is as if you are giving him your very soul right now. 

“Jungkook”, his name leaves you in a desperate keen as you kick the sheets.

“Don’t hold back, I will follow. I promise you, my little love.” 

He breaks you into a million pieces just as he patches you back up again at the same time. You thought that you screamed in bed before, but you hadn’t. This is a true scream of pleasure, one so utterly soul bearing that Jungkook feels his eyes cross and roll back before he orgasms so deep inside you, he feels your walls quiver in reaction. 

You and he ride out your shared highs in messy thrusts and rolls of your hips, falling in each other’s arms afterwards to kiss sloppily. The emerald lies in the sheets, still vibrating but without use. Your fingers are in his hair, he cradles your face.

“I love you, I love you, I love you”, he chants and you answer him with the very same words over and over and over again until your breath runs out and you need to catch it together.

You stay close, rubbing your noses together gently.

“How are you feeling? Was I too rough?” he asks.

“You were perfect. You felt so good. I, I never experienced such sensations before”, you say.

“I know. You screamed. I never heard you scream like this before. My beloved, my eyes actually crossed because of it. I never felt my orgasm so intensely before.”

“Me neither. It was as if you were trying to crawl into me.” 

“And for me it was as if you wanted to consume me whole.”

You and he giggle, hugging each other. 

“You are going to drive me insane one day, ___ Pendragon.”

“Good. When the day comes, I will become mad with you, Jungkook Pendragon.”

He smiles, hiding his face in your neck. 

“Good. I can accept that.”

“It is decided then. We will become two mad raisins.”

He laughs, lifting his head to get lost in your eyes. 

“Promise. We will become two mad raisins together. My precious, beloved love”, he whispers, cradling your cheek.

[sheyfu]

yappologist degree holder ༊*·˚

𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗥 𝗩𝗢𝗜𝗖𝗘𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦 about you.

feat. dan heng, aventurine, luocha, jing yuan, gepard, jiaoqiu, argenti and moze (gn!reader)

cw. ooc (very); jiaoqiu talks a lot; [slight] sexual innuendos

note. TRYING SOMETHING NEW GRAHHHHHH i dont think i captured their personalities correctly but 🙏🙏 WE BALL LAMSDOASDI i hope you guys enjoy it >:DD reader is identified as [name] and uses they/them prns (GANG I TRIED MY BEST LAMSDOAMSD) if you see me use fem prns in this piece please tell me <3 lmk if you'd like a pt. 2 w other chars (WOMEN ASHDUASHDUH)

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ DAN HENG

about [name] [name]? what about them?

chat: significant other  [name] is my significant other. aside from the express, they’re one of the only ones keeping me grounded whenever i become… “emo”. their words, not mine.

chat: sleep sleep is something i found hard to come by; everytime i closed my eyes, visions of my past appeared. but now that [name] is by my side, it has become easier to fall to a peaceful rest.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ AVENTURINE

about [name] through a game of life or death is how [name] and i met. hm? unconventional you say? well, it’s one of the reasons why i fell for them.

chat: bet betting has become an integral part of [name] and i’s life. while it’s not a common way of expressing your love for someone, it’s how we do things. whether those bets entail having to have the other run errands or even give your own life up, it sends spikes of adrenaline up our bones resulting in a very fun game of cat and mouse.

chat: loss there are seldom games i lose — and most of the time, i still somehow come out as, partially, a winner. but for some reason, whenever i offer a game of chance against [name], i seem to lose every game we have. i can’t lie, i get somewhat annoyed at how i can’t seem to win a game against them. but then again, life would be dull if it were just an unending series of wins.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ LUOCHA

about [name] [name] is a travelling merchant i’ve come to know over the past years of my journeys as one myself. if i didn't have anyone to rely on before, i've got my dearest to thank now. 

chat: bargain as a merchant, it is important for me to know how to bargain, especially when deals presented to me are severely unfair for me. i must admit, i wasn’t very good at striking fair deals when i was starting off my path as a travelling merchant. but over the years, [name] has taught me a lot about this art. by observing their ways of negotiating, i am now able to attain very fair and valuable trades. 

chat: aromatherapy with [name]’s upbringing as an herb specialist, i get to experience their family’s aromatherapy service. with every scent i am presented with, i am able to clear my mind and slip in the embrace of solitude and calm. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ JING YUAN

about [name] [name] is someone who can ease my troubled mind with an embrace; the calm in my storm, the light of my life, and the heart of my soul.

chat: birds when little birds flock to my head, my spouse wonders if im this character called… snow white… *sigh* i am not sure as to who that is due to my upbringing as a military leader — i had no time for these trivial tales. but whenever they tell tales about this... gizney? no.. bizney? not quite right either.. ah yes, disney princess, the intent of me being dressed with robes of royalty are reflected in their eyes.

chat: mimi what was once a kitten, has now grown into a ferocious little lion. i remember when i first got her, [name] was all over the poor thing — smothering it with their love and words of praise — mimi didn’t complain though, she let herself get spoiled. and even up until now, she’s still that same, little spoiled lion she is. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ GEPARD

about [name] [name] is my significant other – how i was able to catch their eye? i don’t know. sometimes, i doubt my ability to love, especially with my role as the captain of the silvermane guards. but whenever those thoughts appear in my mind, [name] is there to quell my uneasy mind.

chat: family the way [name] treats lynx makes me feel… funny. i can’t really describe it but my heart beats whenever they entertain my little sister. oh, and don’t even get me started with how serval treats them. *sigh* what should i do to ease this beating heart of mine?

chat: de-stress ways on how to de-stress? well, after a long day i am usually greeted with the embrace of my beloved once i step into our abode… then after that i’m littered with- o-oh.. apologies. i was supposed to give advice. let’s start over again, shall we?

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ JIAOQIU

about [name] [name]? you want to now about them? well you see, as general feixiao’s doctor, it is important for me to have assistants whenever patients visit the clinic in a time when i am tending to duties involving her – this is where my dear [name] comes in. they’ve been with me from the start; us being classmates in the medicinal school we attended and all that. they’re easily one of the very dearest people in my life. most people only know them as my assistant due to their preference of upholding a “low-profile”; of course, i am very much alright with it. but when time comes and they’re ready to reveal our bond to the world, i’ll be the happiest man in the whole entire cosmos.

chat: sweets  oh? you liked the sweets i gave you? well, you have my dear [name] to thank. they’re quite the connoisseur when it comes to making them. speaking of sweets, i forgot to mention we have a pastry shop in aurum alley. if you’re able to drop by, i’ll consider giving you a bundle of sweets, and probably other pastries, free of charge.

chat: coriander whatever you do, please do not hand me a bunch of coriander. i will absolutely lose my mind having to deal with a coriander-obsessed lover. 

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ARGENTI

about [name] my love for [name] transcends even the distant stars of the cosmos. my heart, my soul, and my own being belong to them. 

chat: roses roses are my beloved’s favourite flowers, as they are mine. every morning, i wake from my peaceful slumber to see my dear tending to the beds of flowers with a gentle smile on their face that makes me fall in love all over again. *sigh* i miss them so much, trailblazer.. please bring me back to my ship. i would like to sink into my lover’s embrace at this moment. 

chat: baking my beloved takes time to make my preference for thick baguettes each and every morning. while it warms me to receive such a valuable gift, i am not sure if i am deserving of their unconditional love for i am just a mere knight of beauty, idiotically searching for the goddess i’ve devoted myself to.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ MOZE

about [name] i am [name]’s lover. i am bound to them by fate and affection which is why you shouldn’t come close to them — unless you’d like to request an audience with the weapon in my hand.

chat: shadow [name] gets frightened whenever i appear randomly — jiaoqiu tells me it’s a normal reaction as he too, gets startled whenever i show my face to him. although.. im not quite sure how my sudden appearance has them stunned...

chat: cleaning [name] and i share the same hobby of cleaning. whenever i am relieved of my duties assigned by the general, i watch them- no. they tell me of the rather… unconventional ways of cleaning our abode.

tagging: @ayrastv, @whatisnerotypical, @lia-loves

🐈‍⬛: thank you for reading! reblogs, comments, and likes are very much appreciated!

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