#thank you for the ask toffee!!!

[legthief]

4, 6 and 19 for the art ask 💃💜

4. how often do you draw?

usually whenever i have spare time, i sit on the couch and draw. i have a LOT of wips i need to finish. whenever i'm not doing schoolwork, or i've finished a coding project early, i'm drawing.

6. tag your favorite artists/inspirations!

besides you of course, @ministarfruit has a really fun art style! @blackwhitefeatherart also has good mad trigger crew art (there's a nemu and samatoki piece she did that i absolutely love in particular). there's @jinseinodoremi, @simzart, honestly the list is SOOO long

a lot of my friends actually inspire me! my friend nat (@/sirius_1310 on instagram) is insanely talented, and my friend @thejukebox (who doesn't post art) has given me a lot of tips and helped me improve a lot.

19. do you like drawing short hair or longer hair more?

as much as i love long hair, it's so unmanageable to me (T^T). i have short hair myself so maybe that's why, but i can draw short hair so much better than long hair

[capn-twitchery]

hms inadvisable would have been a good name for twitchs ship xD

oh my god you're right

their ship doesn't actually Have a name i never gave it one....wait it'd be really funny actually if it started off as like HMS inevitable or something but twitch keeps forgetting the name everytime they sink the ship so over the years it just keeps slightly changing like

HMS inevitable

HMS irreplacable

The Irreplacable II

HMS irresponsible

The Indomitble

HMS Irresistible

HMS Inadvisable

The Irreplacable IV

canon to me now

[violant-apologia]

your own ask game! :D

🔥 — Least favourite Master of the Bazaar? 🧍‍♂️— What stats would they provide as a companion? Where would you obtain them?

yeah! i'm pretty proud of it all things considered

🔥 — Least favourite Master of the Bazaar? If we're only counting living Masters? Almost certainly Iron. It's got its personal beef with the Bazaar, the entity that the Apologist is primarily on the side of. Also he's jealous of its penmanship.

🧍‍♂️— What stats would they provide as a companion? Where would you obtain them?

A non-Fate-locked companion from the Feast of the Rose, during which you can find him musing on the nature of love near the Bazaar.

ask game here!

[gotham-snark]

THE LEVEL OF DETAIL ON YOUR EMBROIDERY OF DAMIAN'S GLOVES. I AM SCREAMING BC IT'S THAT GOOOOOOD

Thank you for noticing anon, they're my favourite part too!! 💛💛

I did each finger separately to give them a little bump 😭

[waterlogged-detective]

21 - sweet poison with darcy? :D

Pallet asks anyone?

Perfect pallet for him honestly 10/10

[milks-shake-cafe]

🕷,🌹, and ⚰️ for the ask game!

(@3lectro-heart)

HI TYLER HIIII!! I'm gonna be answering with my poly ship!

🕷: Three words to describe your f/o!

First F/O: Intelligent, eccentric, & puppy vibes DVFHVH

Second F/O: Asshole, softie (but secretly), & sarcastic

🌹: Favorite physical attribute of your f/o?

So for the first one, he has kind of this, fluffy looking hair! It just looks so soft and I think he would appreciate a few head massages/pets =w=

The other is not human at all so this will be interesting DVFHVHH He has like this, glowing purple orb thing? It's super cool to look at and it honestly probably has a smooth texture.

⚰️: What's a song that reminds you of your f/o?

This is literally their energy 100%

[ratfolkconservatory]

"Hey, can I pet you?"

It rarely happened that Perrine asks before.

Toffee blinked for a moment, tapping his pen to his head. Then he nodded. As the Conservatory’s journalist, his mind was swirling at the sight of a real life alien!

“Sure! Just be careful about my hairstyle. It’s hard to keep it from frizzing.” He smiled. He was going to ask about seeing her spaceship, but he realized that getting abducted by aliens(even willingly) might make the conservatory staff mad at him.

[bunnys-kisses]

welcome to the bunny's bakery!

how can i take your order? all you have to do is pick a dessert, drink and driver/character of your choosing! are you in the mood for a mille-feuille or a big slice of chocolate cake! please, please, please indicate who you want me to write about!!

the servers are from the following: formula one, call of duty, baldur's gate 3, haikyuu, one piece, jujustu kaisen, detective comics (dc), marvel comics (but i am open to any other fandoms you might have in mind! please do not hesitate to ask!!)

i do also accept polyam relationships! (pairing + reader), up to about four people! just to make it manageable on my end!

all orders can be made to the inbox for @bunnys-kisses and i'll get your order together asap! also let me know if you want it extra sweet or a little more spicy !

mille-feuille: “that’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”

butter tart: "let's ruin ourselves for anyone else."

sugar pie: “gonna let daddy hear ya?”

zebra cake: "well, what do we have here?"

carrot cake: "swallow it. all of it."

millionaire shortcake: "if they saw you now, you'd be the biggest shame to your family."

pots de crème: "if a picture is worth a thousand words, then i could probably get a million dollars for this photo."

oat flapjacks: "i'm not scared of you."

persian rolls: "it's mandatory i finish. you getting to finish is a treat."

spice pie: "i didn't know it was possible to be a liar and a slut."

mushroom pie: "if you don't shut up. i'm going to shut you up."

lemon slice: "i'm sorry, what was that? i can’t hear you over all that noise you’re making."

swiss roll: "everything you own, everything you wear i paid for. so i guess that means i own you."

pumpkin pie: "i've met strays who were more obedient."

pastry braid: "your job is to make me cum. now get to work."

sausage roll: "i wonder how much i could get for photos of this cunt."

pithivier: "if you don't behave, i'll let the boys take care of you."

tiramisu: “my little slut to ruin.”

sponge toffee: "aw, is someone mad that they can only cum because of me?"

pull-apart bread: "i love you"

powered sugar donuts: "marry me."

blueberry bars: “gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.”

pudding chomeur: "i don't share."

ice cream bars: “did you see the way he was eyeing you? he need to know you're mine."

chocolate cake: "do you feel that? that's what happens when i think about you all day."

soufflé: "i'll be gentle."

fried dough: "i know virginity is a stupid concept... but i want to take yours."

apple pie: "now be good and beg. thank you."

vanilla cheesecake: "where are your manners?"

berry trifle: "wrong. try again."

maple cream pie: "either you wear the necklace with my name on it, or wear my bruises around your neck."

s'more: "The accent gets to you, doesn't it?"

belgian waffles: "i cum in that every night."

pancakes: "if you bite me. i'll bite you back."

loaf of whole wheat bread: "you're going to shut that mouth and take me."

jos louis: "does someone need a daddy?"

maple taffy: "oh my god you're stupid."

snowballs: "don't worry, drug tests aren't till next week."

shortbread cookies: "and who does this belong to?"

flan: "i'm not possessive... i'm obsessive."

peach cake: "if you spill a drop, we start all over."

angel food cake: "if he fucks with me again, i'm finishing inside of you."

red velvet cupcake: "if you don't like being called a whore, then stop acting like one."

mince pie: "i'm not jealous."

banana bread: "i'm going to fuck that sweet pussy of yours until the only word your little brain can form is my name."

crumb cake: "if you just listened, all of this could've been avoided."

chocolate chip cookies: "you're beautiful when you smile, but you're the prettiest when my cock is in your throat"

nanaimo bars: "who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it."

coffee cake: "knees. now."

sourdough bread: "i'm going to breed you."

blueberry muffins: "i don't think it'll fit."

pound cake with strawberries: "you know i hate going over rules, but just because i like seeing you embarrassed, i'll tell you them again."

croissant: "i wonder if your father knows what happens during the off hours. if he knows you're here with me."

crepe: "pretty girl."

french toast: "you're trying to make me jealous!"

churros: "if you don't shut that little mouth of yours, i will stuff it full. okay?"

shortbread squares: "you're just mad that that my cock fits perfectly in you now. must be a blow to the ego that we're a perfect match."

savory pastry: "let your brother find out."

sweet pastry: "i'll make it all better."

eclairs: "the family's precious little girl. under me like a slut."

boston cream pie: "yeah, i'll use protection."

bagel: “gonna paint you with my teeth.”

crostata: “stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.”

tres leches: "i wonder if your brother know i cum in you."

peanut butter bars: “scratch me, bite me, just mark me sweetheart. show them I’m yours.”

eton mess: "be careful. your breath smells like cum."

scones: "but what if they see us!"

english muffin: "aw, is someone crying?"

honey cruller: "i forget how small you are sometimes."

banana split: "don't look at me like that."

beer brownies: "stick your tongue out anymore and you'll look like a dog."

fudge: "your father is pissing me off."

sticky toffee pudding: "the only way this is ending is you getting pregnant."

hot cross buns: "don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up."

brownies: "you're so much more agreeable when you have something to occupy that mouth of yours."

chocolate mousse: "the only necklace you need is my hand around your throat"

tim bits: "stupid little thing."

fruitcake: "i'll make tonight special."

cornmeal muffin: "i need you most."

devil's food cake: "you're my most unhealthy obsession."

crème caramel: "oh. you thought you were getting away from me?"

banana & chocolate muffins: "i'm only doing this because you need to learn how to behave, rules are rules, and you need to follow them."

custard tart: "i've never done this before."

cinnamon rolls: "no one needs to know."

mango sorbet: "you are by far the dumbest thing i've ever fucked. how did they even let you graduate?"

date squares: "you look better with my marks on you."

figgy duff: "if i buy it, will you stop pouting?"

spicy upside down cake: "let's play a game: don't get caught."

cream puffs: "let me finish inside."

profiteroles: "come away with me. for a week, together. anywhere you want, we'll go."

with a side of:

coffee: rivals

tea: semi-public/public sex

juice: cockwarming

mocha coffee: breeding kink

bubble tea: daddy kink

a vodka shot: rough sex

sparkling water: gentle sex

coconut water: alternate universe

energy drink: doggy style

champagne: sugar daddy situation

hard lemonade: possessive behaviour

espresso shot: dirty talking

a glass of wine: cowgirl position

ice capp coffee: werewolf au

bloody mary: vampire au

martini: mafia au

frozen latte: dumbification

frozen lemonade: consensual non-consent

cranberry juice: mean!character

glass of water: aftercare

chocolate milk: tenderness

milkshake: size kink

pina colada: pregnancy

cider: body worship

mai tai: loss of virginity

margarita: unprotected sex

mint julep: punishments

chai: biting/hickies

earl grey: big cock

fishbowl cocktail: protected sex

tonic water: age gap

matcha latte: collars/bondage

root beer: filming/recording

soda: jealousy

americano: oral sex

whisky: degrading language

vitamin water: dom/sub dynamic

irish coffee: high sex

sangria: drunk sex

dark roast coffee: sub!character

dark hot chocolate: sub!reader

iced tea: accidentally launching relationship

lemon water: university/college au

naked & famous: bimbo/ditzy!reader

on the house: author's choice!

ORDER UP!

[csainzoperator]

yummy: LN4 ☆

summary: y/n is a chef in the mclaren hospitality who is famous for her fabulous recipies. everyone is head over heels for her recipies, and a certain someone is most definitely more than head over heels. but not just for the food.

(lando norris x fem!reader)

read more under the cut!

itsmey/n has posted!

another day at work! for the british gp, their special "sticky toffee pudding" was a success :)

tagged: landonorris and oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, lewishamilton and 76,123 others.

landonorris it was so yum (she fed us the so called desert forcefully after giving us a 4 course meal)

- oscarpiastri you're such an ungrateful brat. it was great, bestie itsmey/n

- itsmey/n thank you pastry, and lando...i might leave you to starve to death.

lewishamilton i would kill for a pudding rn! you should drop by merc hospitality y/n!

- mclaren look at you trying to steal our goddamn chef....

f1wagsss oh my god you're so pretty

landonorris has posted!

P2 AT HOME RACE BABY!! so proud of the team to be finishing at P2 and P4. also special thanks to y/n for feeding us well :)

tagged: oscar piastri and itsmey/n

liked by georgerussell63, carlossainz55, itsmey/n and 872,182,283 others.

landonorizz are we gonn ignore the fact that y/n just made it to a lando post???

lechaaair OH Y/N FEEDS US TOO. SHE SERVES ALL THE DAMN TIME. MOTHER 🙏🏼🙏🏼

itsmey/n its literally my job tho...?

- oscarpiastri some people are bad at their job. he's appreciating you for being good. (lando you fr have no rizz man)

carlaando lando are you trynna make a move GN

- landonowinss BROS PROBABLY REGRETTING RN 💀

(time skip!)

it was the hungarian gp. you were in the mclaren hospitality. the mclaren kitchen was quite big, and your co-workers were extremely sweet. you mainly cooked for the drivers and mechanics, while guiding the others. you were tasting a dish when you feel a presence behind you. you immediately recognise who it is.

"what is it now, lando?" you ask with a knowing smile on your face. he sits down on the counter beside you and watches you as you work. "i was wondering if you would like to, maybe, just maybe, come outside with me and sit down and talk and get some food you know?" he blabbers

"are you asking me out on a date?" you tease him. "well, yeah. only if you want it to be. its okay if you say no" he says with a sad smile on his face. you cup his face with one of your hands and give his cheeks a squeeze. "ofcourse i'll come, dumbass. now shoo, let me work. you're too distracting"

the smug smile he has on his face makes you blush. "so i am distracting huh? what else am i? you can give me details when we go on that date" he winks at you and walks off. you just simply shake your head in amusement.

the date goes well. to be honest, more than well. you both have the most fun ever. lando is everything that you craved. he was the sweetest boy. day by day, meal by meal, both of you started talking more, discovering each other. one fine night, in his apartment in london, where you taught him how to bake his favourite cake, he surprises you by asking you to be his girlfriend. you say yes without hesitation. you knew he wasn't going to play around with your heart.

it was the brazilian gp. lando had placed P2 again! you were the proudest girlfriend to exist, and the happiest. you were just so incredibly proud as he was doing so good this year.

itsmey/n has posted!

brazil you were brilliiianttt <3 liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, landonorris and 92,233 others.

f1wags HOLD UP. SOFT LAUNCHING????

oscarpiastri yuck i hate being around the hospitality now.

landonorris 🌟

- carlandodod PLS IM NOT OK WHAT DOES THIS MEAN.

- leclercvc oh. my. god. guys. i think its lando and y/n.

f1gosssip apparently some people saw looking for his "girlfriend" after the race, and some people even saw him kissing a girl in the mclaren garage! we hope its y/n 😫

y/nfannn MOTHER WHO IS THAT

landonorris has posted!

brazil with bae. thank you team for making the P2 happen! more to come.

p.s i don't believe in soft launches. she let me hard launch after 8 races 🖐🏼

tagged: itsmey/n and mclaren

liked by mclaren, itsmey/n, charles_leclerc and 827,123,12 others.

oscarpiastri GAG

carlandooo MAMA Y PAPA

carlossainz55 finally mate! congrats :)

maxverstappen1 lando isn't a kid anymore

f1wags OFFICIALLY OUR FAV WAG (with lily obv)

itsmey/n i love you, baby! super proud <3

- landonorris i love YOU. so much. so much.

paddockclubb 8 RACES?? HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON OMG

the end ♡

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐇

pairing: joel miller x webcam model!f!reader

genre: no outbreak AU, explicit smut, minors dni

word count: 9k

summary: Joel, only now starting to feel the impending sense of loneliness, decides to listen to Tommy and sign up on an online streaming service called Ravish.

warnings: joel is bi in this, sex toys, paddles, nipple clamps, pillow humping, self-spanking, female/male masturbation, piv, dirty talking, possesive!joel, cum eating, oral (female receiving), size kink

additional warning: alright so there is a short moment in this where reader smacks herself with a paddle that has a heart-shaped hole and gets a heart mark on her skin, I don't use any descriptions (like calling it red or pink etc) but I'm also not oblivious enough to think everyone would get a mark when getting spanked so I wanted to let you know in case that would put you off and wouldn't want to read and that's completely fine!

a/n: this definitely ended up being longer then it needed it to be bfgbfg I want to take the anon who requested this, and the rest of you who chimed in and voted on the polls. I hope you all enjoy 💜 oh, also a special thanks to @missredherring who gave the idea of a more in-depth reason as to why Joel likes honeysuckle flowers 👀

edit!!! this has more than one part now! click here for the masterlist

Joel was lonely. 

He hadn’t really thought about it until Sarah went off to college. 

Since the day she was born, he had one thing and one thing on his mind only—to give his little girl everything that he could and make her happy. The rest didn’t concern him. He didn’t really care about dating, he didn’t have the time to think about how lonely he was. He had been on a couple of dates, all of which were initiated by Sarah as she entered her teenage years, pleading with him to go out and have a life.

But now that she was gone, studying what she always wanted to study and being happy, the emptiness began to spread like a nasty infection. Every creak and groan of the house sounded like mockery to him. He started keeping the TV open all night, most of the time falling asleep, only to wake up in the middle of the night startled by sudden shouts from a randomly playing film or show. He hated it. This wasn’t how Joel imagined his golden years to be like. 

Maybe that’s why he decided to use the damn website. Ravish. He’d heard it from Tommy first —which was an uncomfortable conversation as one could imagine— and after that, he kept on hearing the name. 

Ravish 

Ravish 

Ravish 

It was like a shitty pop song, stuck between his teeth like toffee, impossible to get rid of. The name made a home in his brain, making its presence known whenever he was doing anything, no matter how mundane the task was. 

Ultimately, he gave in. What was the worst that could happen? 

Joel groans. He stares at the screen with his brows drawn tightly together, the text cursor blinking as it waits for him to type out a username. It’s been almost ten minutes. A brief thought of asking Tommy passes through his mind but he quickly pushes the thought away and leans over the keyboard. 

JMiller. That should be alright. He doesn’t need anything fancy, and J can be any name. It can be Jack, Jacob, Jonathan, John, Jeremy. There are a bunch. Besides, Miller is a pretty common last name, so if someone asks if he's JMiller, he can just deny it. Not that anyone would. Everyone would be too busy jerking off to pretty people. The last thought anyone would have would be of him. 

He quickly decides on his password and he’s immediately overwhelmed. There are too many things happening at once. His eyes widen, heart beating a bit too fast as he moves his mouse around. In the corner, there’s a little pop-up begging for his attention, and on the screen, there are multiple thumbnails of women and men. When he drags his mouse over a thumbnail it starts moving and he jumps. 

“Holy hell,” he mutters. “I’m in way over my head.” 

Joel gets up to pour himself a glass of whiskey. After that, he sits on the couch again and takes three deep breaths. The ice clicks together as he takes a swig, the amber liquid pleasantly burning as it goes down his throat. He looks around some more, looking for the profiles that pique his interest the most. 

While he scrolls, he sees one of a man with the username NicolasCageFreak, which he finds odd, but the man is pleasing to the eye with soft brown curls and natural honey highlights in between. The man has a small bullet vibrator pressed against his hard length, a cock ring at the base of it. Joel presses like and saves it for later. 

Joel has to remind himself a couple of times that the people who stream can’t actually see him. The more he scrolls the more relaxed he feels. There’s a woman with pretty green eyes he saves for later and another man with the username CammingBravo. He has his face hidden, Joel can see the red ribbon circling the back of his head as he bends over, granting the viewers a delicious sight of his ass that has a shiny buttplug. 

Liked! Added to your queue for later.

Until now Joel was fairly certain he was straight, sometimes he’d get the occasional same-sex dream but he figured everyone did at some point in their lives. He’s not so sure anymore. 

Some more scrolling and Joel starts getting restless. His cock strains against his sweatpants, aching for his rough touch. He takes a deep breath. The next live stream he sees that he likes he’ll click and that will be that. He’s starting to get worked up and, unlike NicolasCageFreak, he’s not a fan of edging himself. 

Then he sees her. A woman wearing a delicate chain vest with rhinestones that sparkle whenever she moves. His eyes flit to the username; Honeysuckle. He loves that flower, he has many memories of picking them with Tommy and sucking the sweet nectar hidden inside. He wonders if she tastes just as sweet. 

Not one to break a promise to himself, Joel clicks on the thumbnail. His eyes are instantly drawn to the live chat. There are so many people asking her to do something all at once—Jesus Christ. There are also a couple of them just chatting as if they were friends with her. He sees that everyone calls her Honey, which is fitting and a bit on the nose, he thinks. 

Noticing that he has the stream muted, Joel unmutes it, a pleasant tingle running down his spine as soon as her voice comes through the speakers of his laptop. 

“Wow, Eric47 I’m so happy you got that promotion!” 

“Don’t worry everyone, I’ve been thinking naughty thoughts all day and I’m ready to put on a show.” 

“Patience everyone.” 

“Thank you for buying a private chat, SarahBelieves! I can’t wait to be your good girl. . .” 

Joel is too focused on her tone, the smooth lilt of her voice, to hear the words she’s saying. The only thing his ears pick up on is the words private and chat. He wasn’t aware you could buy some extra time with the streamers. He loves that—

He shakes his head. Loves? Is he already planning on paying? At the thought, his cock twitches with interest, his reserve quickly crumbling to the floor. 

Joel decides to focus on the stream first. He can decide later on if he wants a private session or not. He cups himself through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, groaning as a spike of relief shoots through him. His eyes are glued to the screen. Honey’s hard nipples poke through the chains, her hands delicately kneading the tender mounds as she rises slightly by lifting herself onto her knees. She’s on a bed, wearing black panties and a matching garter. Joel’s mouth waters. The things he would do to her. . . 

His tongue pokes from between his lips, soft tendon moving with muscle memory as he thinks of eating her sweet cunt out. 

“Today my sweet bees,” she addresses them. “I was thinking of fucking myself with the biggest dildo I’ve got, how does that sound?” 

Joel’s eyes drift to the chat. Everyone seems to be cheering and asking her to show them how much she can take. There’s also a bunch of them calling her their favorite size queen. She chuckles. 

“I love all dicks, in any shape or form,” she purrs. “I’m just in the mood for a bit of pain.” 

Pain. That captures Joel’s attention. It makes him curious about all the other things she might be into. Perhaps she enjoys getting spanked, or she would enjoy the feeling of someone dragging their nails down her pretty back. He wants to know. He wants his imaginary scenarios to be as accurate as possible. 

He’s about to pull out his cock when he hears her voice again. 

“I do have one question though,” she says innocently. “Should I keep these pretty black panties on or off?” she grins into the camera, her eyes shining with mirth. “Let’s see those answers, my bees.” 

What do you want? Joel wants to ask. But this isn’t that kind of scenario so he thinks. The answers come flying in, there’s a fifty-fifty ratio. Joel’s mind blanks for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching. He wants her to keep them on. He likes the idea of her sliding them to the side and fucking herself deep, it feels more animalistic, more raw. He enjoys the idea of claiming someone, a curiosity he hasn’t yet fully explored yet. 

He types exactly that. His wording and grammar a bit too neat compared to the rest, but he gives Honey his answer. He wants her to keep it on. Maybe play with herself some more until the fabric is basically see-through, then she can fuck herself with the biggest cock she’s got. 

Joel watches intently as her eyes go over the live chat, there are so many answers coming in, he doubts she’ll see his comment. Still, he likes to believe she’ll see it. 

Honey’s eyes still briefly, hunger swirling in them as a canine sinks into her bottom lip. Her smile is bashful and shy, much different than the character she’s playing. Her eyes move back to the camera. Joel watches her breasts as her chest heaves, nipples grazing against the cool metal. 

“Well, well, JMiller. . . you certainly have a mouth on you,” she tuts and Joel’s eyes go wide. The satisfaction he feels leads to goosebumps coursing over his burning skin, being noticed. . . it’s surprisingly thrilling. “Are you new? I haven’t seen your handle before.” 

Joel swallows, his hands shaking as he types in a quick “yea”, Honey smiles, “Welcome to the hive then, baby. Keep the comments up,” she sighs, cupping both her tits. “I love a man who knows how to dirty talk.” 

A knot forms in his throat, his skin tight. He wasn’t expecting to be this affected. Now he understands why so many people enjoy live streams. They don’t see you, not actually, but still, it almost fills the void. Almost. He’s excited now, eager to type in more of his thoughts, eager to hear her answer him. Joel pulls out his cock, the waistband of his sweats hugging his thighs. He gives himself a firm tug, his spine straightening at the burn gathering in his lower stomach. It feels fucking good. 

“Since it’s J’s first time, and because he got me all hot and bothered, why not leave the panties on for this time?” Honey says. Joel observes the chat, there are a lot of congratulatory messages addressed to him, welcoming him. He doesn’t care. “You want to see these panties soaked, huh? You guys know how much I love making a mess.” 

Honey shimmies back, revealing more of her bare legs. She spreads them for the camera, the soft sound of delicate metal filling the air whenever she moves. Her fingers start to move lazily over her clothed clit, her head falls. Joel can see a subtle dark patch growing, his own hand starting to move slowly up and down his throbbing cock. A drop of precum dribbles down, easing the glide of his rough palm. She doesn’t look at the chat as frequently as she did before, too focused on her pleasure. Her glossy lips part and her eyes scrunch up. Her moans are loud and breathy, signs that she lives alone. 

Joel doesn’t think as he fists himself. Normally when watching porn he would think; he would think of a scenario, or what he would be doing differently, or the things he would want to do. This is different. He’s just watching, inhaling what’s being given to him. He sucks a sharp breath, his hand moving faster, the side of his fist smacking against his pelvis, dark curls damp under his palm. 

“Fuck,” Honey moans, eyes peering toward the screen. Her fingers move faster, her hips grinding to meet the graze of her palm. Joel groans, his eyes rolling back into his skull. “I think I’m going to come,” he breathes out. “Should I?” 

Joel doesn’t bother with typing until he hears his alias. 

“JMiller, since you’re new the decision is yours. Should I? P-Please answer,” she sounds desperate, her hips rutting the air as she presses her fingers hard against her clit. “O-Or do you want me to come on your cock?” 

Joel’s hips stutter, filling the tightness of his fist, “Fuckin’ hell.” 

With sticky fingers he types his answer, telling her that she should come with his cock deep inside her. Joel also adds that he wants to hear her, telling her to be loud. 

“O-Okay,” she whines, almost tearful as she reaches to grab her dildo off-screen. Joel can’t help the grin that makes its way across his face. He types again, telling her not to cry and that she’ll be coming soon enough. When he presses enter, he notices that his name is highlighted in dark orange. “You’re kind of an asshole,” she answers playfully. “I like that.” 

You're the buzzing heartbeat of Honeysuckle’s live stream! You are picked by the streamer as the treasured Drone Bee, your unwavering loyalty and vibrant energy create an electrifying atmosphere. Your presence is a key ingredient in making the honey even sweeter! 

A growl echoes in his throat when Honey shows the camera the dildo she had picked out. She wasn’t kidding when she said it was her biggest. It’s bigger than his own dick, and Joel is by no means a small man. He squeezes his cock and looks down, with a sudden need growing in his chest, he purses his lips and lets a long trail of saliva drip between his lips. He shudders when it reaches the head of his cock. He swipes his palm over it and continues to stroke himself, he wants to come. 

He wants them to come at the same time. 

Honey pushes the dildo in slowly, giving her viewers a clear sight of what’s happening. The toy stretches her wide, the ache of it pulling a gasp from her pretty lips. Joel breathes heavily, his nostrils flaring as his hand speeds up. 

Oh, how he would love to be the one fucking slowly into her, to hear those little gasps coming from her in person rather than his shitty speakers. He holds his breath. It’s buried fully inside of her now. She slowly looks down, her eyes looking directly into the camera. 

“I hope the view down there is good,” she says with a smirk. Joel doesn’t type anything. He focuses on the way his cock drools for her, aches to be buried in her cunt. Honey pulls out the toy until it’s only the tip that’s inside and then shoves it all in one smooth thrust. She cries out, her voice unfiltered. Joel’s stomach jumps at the sound, his pupils dilating like a wolf seeing its prey for the first time. 

She fucks herself hard, whimpering and crying out every time she fuck herself deep. Joel sees the way the plastic surface shines with her slick, he bets she tastes fucking sweet. 

He knows she’s close when her thighs begin to shake—he also knows thanks to the live chat going completely berserk, cheering her on and telling her to squirt. Joel, despite her own release close enough that he can taste it, rolls his eyes. 

“This one is for you JMiller,” she whimpers and Joel’s eyes go wide, his cock pulsing in his wet fist. “Hope you’re gonna fall down the edge with me, big guy.”  

Joel doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until she’s coming—she does so with a loud moan, her cunt fluttering around the large cock. Her head falls back completely, giving a clear view of her heaving chest, nipples fully erect under the see-through armor. 

His fall from grace is less pretty. He lets out a grunt, his hips fucking into his hand helplessly as come spurts from the slit, it’s almost painful. His heart beats aggressively while he tries hard to keep his focus on the screen, he doesn’t want to miss anything. Joel makes a mess of himself and his surroundings, the rug underneath his socked feet stained with his release. 

 Joel’s cock stops throbbing and with a pleased sigh, his shoulders drop. 

“That felt fuckin’ goood,” he groans, staring blankly at the ongoing live stream. Vaguely he notices Honey pulling the toy out, an equally fucked out expression on her face. The live chat is still going wild, he manages to lean over and type in one last sentence before going offline. 

Good girl. 

Joel is a weak weak man. 

Watching Honey quickly became a routine for him. She would start streaming around the same time he would come back from work and it was the perfect way to let off some steam. Tommy had asked if he checked out Ravish, to which Joel promptly said no. He didn’t need his baby brother making fun of him. 

Besides, some primal part of him didn’t want Tommy to know about Honey. It’s an odd thought, he realizes, since she’s enjoyed by many many people. Still, he didn’t have an explanation for what he was feeling. 

Once she had brought in a guest, and his body had immediately rejected it. He was ready to close the stream and head to the bathroom for a quick shower—however, he stopped when he noticed who the guest was; CammingBravo. Another streamer who had caught Joel’s attention when he was scrolling through the endless amount of entertainers for the first time. He watched Honey eat out his tight little asshole, then he watched Bravo fuck her senseless, making her soak the sheets. 

Joel never came that hard in his life before— It was exhilarating. He tipped handsomely that night and Honey mentioned how JMiller was one of her best viewers. Bravo’s smile, which was surprisingly kind, was infectious. 

He would be lying if he said his chest didn’t puff up a little. 

And, of course, he ended up buying a private chat with her after that. He just had to. It would just be this one time, he told himself, just one hour without the live chat. Just him and her. 

He turns on the laptop, already knowing that he’s kidding himself. There’s no way this will be a one-time thing. He’s too. . . smitten to leave it with one private chat. 

Maybe he can limit himself to once a month. That seems reasonable. 

The familiar website of Ravish loads and he clicks on the little gray person in the corner. He finds the section that’s titled “private chats” and clicks. Her username, Honeysuckle, pops up. On the screen, it says she’ll be with him shortly. 

A minute later the screen goes black and her face comes into view. She’s wearing a pink see-through bra with strawberries on it, Honey’s smile is bright as she looks into the camera.  

“Hi there J!” she greets him, his stomach warms at the sound of her voice. “This is your first time doing a live chat right?” 

He nods absent-mindedly while typing. Honey reads his answer and gives him an empathetic look. 

“Okay, so you don’t have to show your face—obviously—but if you want you can click the tiny microphone in the corner and talk to me directly. But if that’s also too much you can continue to type what you want me to do.” 

Joel’s eyebrows raise. Talk to her. . . with his actual voice? The thought both excites and sends cold fear down his spine. What would he even say? What if she doesn’t like the sound of his voice? 

“Are you there?” her voice comes through. “Is everything alright?” 

His fingers tense and rigid, Joel types in the questions that swirl in his head. Luckily the questions sound cheeky without any tone indicators so Honey smiles, her eyes narrowing while her lips curl seductively. 

“You can say anything you want, big boy,” she licks her lips. “And don’t worry about your voice, I’m yours for the hour. You might as well have the most shrill voice in the world, I would still tell you how sexy you sound.” 

You always call me that. Why?  . . .  Also, it doesn’t make me feel any better when you say you’ll tell me how good I sound regardless but I get what you mean. 

Joel aggressively chews the smooth inside of his cheek. Honey reads his messages, a grin stretching across her beautiful face, “Let’s just say streamer’s intuition,” she winks. “As for the other thing, I mean that you don’t need to worry. I doubt you have the most shrill voice in the world.”  she thinks over her words before adding. “Of course, it’s up to you. If you don’t want to use voice chat that’s completely fine.” 

 Joel sighs, his curser hovering over the tiny microphone. Closing his eyes, he clicks. 

“Can—Can you hear me?” 

Her eyes sparkle. 

“Crystal clear,” she answers with a wide smile. “You sound hot.” 

She sounds genuinely impressed. Joel can’t help but chuckle with the shake of his head. “Don’t sound so surprised but thanks, I think?” 

“Oh it’s definitely a compliment,” she says rolling her tongue. “Is there anything you want me to call you or should I just call you J?” 

There’s a brief moment where he thinks of just telling her his name but he bites his tongue at the very last moment. His heart does a little jump when he answers, “You can call me. . . sir.” 

“Understood, sir,” she repeats, her voice dripping with lust. A shudder crawls up his spine and he has to brace himself by holding his knees. “There is also a matter of safewords, I don’t do everything as I’m sure you don’t as well. Red is for stop, yellow is for slow down and green is for go. I think that’s the simplest one but if you want to use a different word I’m okay with that.” 

Joel blinks before answering, “Uh, yeah sounds good.” 

“Also the website doesn’t allow screen recordings—which I appreciate— so you can’t film these sessions in any way. I’m just letting you know because no one reads the terms of service and one client was very unhappy when he got a cease and desist.”

“I. . . okay, I wouldn’t even think of it.” 

She smiles and Joel’s heart feels a bit lighter, “Good,” with the rules established, a sense of relaxation washed over both of them. “So, do you have anything planned for me?” 

Joel clears his throat as a warning and her eyes glimmer with amusement. 

“Sorry,” she breathes heavily. “Did you have anything planned for me, sir?” 

“Would you laugh if I said no?” 

“Sir, I would never laugh at you,” she pouts, brows turning upward. Momentarily she looks off screen and when her eyes find the lens again she smiles giddily.  “Would you want me to show you the toys I think you’ll like?” 

Joel smiles at how genuinely excited she sounds, it’s hard to remind himself that this is all an act and that this is her job. He wants this to be real. He wants her to actually be excited to show him all the things she wants him to use. 

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he answers not missing the way her lips part with a soft gasp. “Show me what you got.” 

Honey shows him a handful of her toys. She has a lot. Dildos of various sizes, vibrators, nipple clamps, kegel balls, anal plugs, anal beads, floggers, collars, paddles. . . she might as well have an entire sex shop in her room. Joel takes mental notes of all of them to use during their next sessions.  

“Anything that you like, sir?” 

“The paddle,” he murmurs, feeling a bit flustered now that they’re actually getting into it. “The one with the heart-shaped hole and. . . the nipple clamps—” 

“The heart-shaped ones?” 

Joel swallows thickly, “Y—Yeah.” 

“No need to be shy, sir,” she grins. “It’s only you and me.” Honey picks out the toys Joel requested and raises an eyebrow while her gaze searches the pile. “So, no dildos? Or vibrators?” 

“I . . . had somethin’ else in mind, if that’s alright.” 

“Ohhhh, a mystery,” she purrs, winking into the camera. “I love it, sir.” 

Honey is slow to rid herself of her bra, sliding one arm out and then the other before moving both hands to the back to unclasp herself free of the dainty fabric. Her chest nears the camera, giving him a full view of her fully erect nipples. Joel’s breathing grows heavier by the second. He can feel his cock stiffen, pleasure stirring in his gut. He quickly kicks off his shorts, leaving himself bare on the couch as he watches her secure the clamps over each nipple. She lets out a tiny sigh of bliss, pulling her arms back and planting her palms firmly against the mattress, she shows her newly decorated nipples. 

Joel groans and wraps his hand around his cock. She does a little wiggle, the soft sound of bells making his cock twitch. 

“Are you touching yourself, sir?” 

“Yea.” 

“Good, I want to hear you get off,” she quickly adds. “Sir.” 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweet thing,” his eyes flutter closed as his fist moves down, and he opens them back up after giving himself a firm squeeze. “Turn around,” he grunts. “And don’t forget the paddle.” 

She does as she’s told, which in return gives Joel an immense sense of control and satisfaction. Precome drips down his length, he uses it to lube himself further, paying extra attention to be loud for her. Just like she wanted. 

His eyes follow the movement of the paddle, she drags it over the right cheek of her ass, caressing her skin. Her panties disappear between the crease of her gorgeous ass, leaving little to the imagination. “Is this okay, sir?” she asks, her voice thick. “Am I being a good girl?” 

Goosebumps rise over his skin. He’d called her, wrote to her, good girl after every stream—his smirk is laced with something dark when he realizes that she must’ve enjoyed it. 

“You’re being very good,” he answers. “Now hit yourself with it, I want to see a heart tattooed on that pretty flesh of yours.” 

“Southern man into branding, why am I not surprised?” she purrs and lifts her ass closer the camera. “You like seeing your pretty girl all marked up by her owner?” 

Fuck. 

“Don’t get full of yourself,” he orders, adding a bit more venomous tone to his voice. Honey stills, and briefly Joel worries he’d overstep. He stops breathing, not wanting to miss even the smallest hint of the safeword. 

But then she shudders, hitting herself lightly with the paddle. “How’s this, sir?” she says, her lilt indicating that she’s highly aware it isn’t enough. 

“Harder.” 

She spanks herself harder, her body jolting. Joel can hear the bells. He circles the head of his cock with the pad of his thumb, groaning as he makes himself more comfortable on the couch. 

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re listenin’,” he inhales slowly, enjoying the way her muscles tense. “I want to see those hearts on your skin. I thought this was supposed to be a show.” 

“Y-Yes, sir.” 

He loves how breathy her voice has gotten. Heat licks the base of his spine, his cock begging for release. 

She raises the paddle, smacking her plump meat much harder than before. Her asscheek ripples and Joel can finally see a faint trace of a shape. But it’s not clear enough to be a decent heart. “Again,” he orders. 

It takes about six to nine times before the heart takes shape on her skin. She’s whimpering, tremors moving up and down her body as she fights the urge to collapse. She loves seeing his mark there, she might’ve placed herself, but it was his doing and he revels in it. 

“Good,” he says, swallowing thickly. “Good fuckin’ girl. Lookin’ so pretty for me.” 

“S-Sir,” she mutters. Joel doesn’t know what to expect until her hand comes between her legs, sliding the thin line of her panties to the side. Her cunt is a sopping mess. Joel leans further towards the screen, his tongue licking the roof of his mouth. “Do you see how wet I am? P-Please, I want to come—Can I, sir?” 

“Fuck, ‘course you can,” his neck feels warm, burning almost. “Turn around, grab one of them pillows behind you.” 

“P-Pillow?” 

She sounds dazed, Joel almost feels bad for her, almost. “Yes sweetheart, pillow,” he coos. “I want you to grind that pretty cunt against it. . . honey.” 

“Shit, say that again.” 

“Honey,” he groans again, his hips thrusting into the air, burying himself deep into his fist. His voice drops further as he begins to chant, “Honey, honey, honey, honey—” 

She visibly clenches at that, her entire body tight with arousal. With shaky hands, she brings the pillow between her thighs, straddling the soft cushion. Her head falls back as she gives it an experimental roll of her hips, Joel’s breath catches in his throat. She looks delectable. Her hands come up to her chest and tugs at the clamps, she jumps, a wanton moan echoing from the back of her throat. 

“You’re so worked up aren’t you?” Joel continues as she grinds herself further down, leaving a wet, darkened patch behind. He’s preaching to the choir. His own arousal drooling over his knuckles. He closes his eyes, allowing his mouth to roam free. “Stuff three fingers in your mouth, want you to choke darlin’.” 

With a whine, she nods and pushes three fingers between her lips. Joel smirks, “It ain’t nearly enough but at least you can get a feelin’ of how much my cock would stretch those pretty lips, honey,” he rasps. She shudders, her hips moving wildly over the pillow. “You love havin’ your mouth full don’t you?” 

“Yesh, sur,” she moans around her own fingers, she move acutely, and with every jerk of her hips, Joel can see her throbbing clit. He’s teetering on the edge of his release, heat pools between his legs, his balls go tight. 

“I’m gonna come, honey,” he groans, his tight shaking. “Come with me, show me how wet your get that pillow.” 

With a hint of mischief in her eyes, she loudly gulps around her fingers, giving Joel a clear few of her cunt before rolling her hips down against the smooth surface. His eyes go wide and before his brain can register the coil snapping, he spills over his hand. Heavy strings of come dripping down his hard throbbing length. He makes a choked sound as he tries to breathe in and out at the same time. Honey pulls out her fingers from her mouth and grins, her hands drop in front of her and she bounces up and down, mimicking the way she would ride him. 

The action manages to squeeze one last rope of come from him, his lungs collapse, his body burning. She comes right after, her thighs squeezing around each side of the pillow before gushing around it. Joel can see the shine as she continues to grind her hips. 

“Show me,” he pants, his next words quickly shifting into a growl. “Show it to me.” 

Licking her lips, Honey pulls the pillow from between her legs and shows it to him. His cock twitches with interest. “Wanna taste you,” he says without thinking. 

“Sadly technology hasn’t improved that much yet,” she answers. “But I’ll tell you this much,” she leans in and flattens her tongue against the soaked fabric. Joel’s jaw tightens, his molars digging together painfully. She moans. “I taste sweet. Like honey.” 

You hate visiting home. 

You hate the heat, the crowd, staying at a home where you’re still treated like a child when you haven’t been one for a long long time. But you didn't really have a choice when your dad hurt his leg, which meant that you had to help around with the tiny bookshop your family owned. It was a miracle that it was still standing, but people did love their old, dusty bookshops. You had to admit, you enjoyed the aura of the place.

Your mom had asked you to bring over two coffees before coming in, she opened up shop early which you were grateful for. Now that you were home, you didn’t have the luxury to do as many private calls as you wanted to. You still streamed late at night, keeping silent, your audience didn’t mind. They thoroughly enjoyed the whispering and the “we can’t be caught” act. You only indulged in one private session, a session that you couldn’t bare letting go of. 

JMiller. 

You thought a lot about what his real name might be. Jacob, Jeff, Jeremy. . . none of them felt right. It was disappointing because you wanted to scream his name when you had your hand between your legs. But since you couldn’t decide on a name, you whimpered a string of sirs over and over again. 

You eagerly counted down the hours until you could finally spend time with him. This was a funny thought on its own because you boasted about how professional you were. You kept things clear, not allowing for any miscommunication or—potentially—feelings. But there was just something about him that got your entire body yearning to hear his southern drawl. Maybe it was the nostalgia of it all. You did grow up in Austin after all. But still. It was odd how excited you got before going online. 

You briefly mentioned you were going back home, you didn’t tell him where, obviously, but you did tell him that there could be scheduling issues. He understood. 

Of course he did, he was perfect. 

Pulling yourself away from your thoughts, you impatiently drum your foot against the clean marble floors. This line is insane. You let out a groan, sending your mother a quick text that it might take you a while. A second later your phone buzzes with a thumbs-up emoji from her. You sigh again as you shove the phone down your back pocket, you hate waiting, it gets you anxious and even though you don’t have a boss that will yell at you, you don’t enjoy being late. 

Then, as if he popped out of the concrete like a weed, a man pushes himself between you and the other person that was waiting in line in front of you. 

Your heart races, your eyebrows knitting together, no way in hell are you going to allow someone to cut in line. 

“Hey,” you call out. The man ignores you and you tap his shoulder, he turns sharply, his eyes glaring daggers. “You can’t cut in line,” you say defensively. “You need to move to the back of the line.” 

“Look lady I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about I was always here.” 

“Ummmm, no you weren’t,” your chest heaves, heat rising to your cheeks. You don’t like confrontation—you’d do it, but you’d hate it. Your legs are already shaking slightly. “I’ve been staring at the pink paint stain on that guy’s shoulder for about half an hour so I know what I’m talking about.” 

He rolls his eyes, an ugly snarl taking shape, “Just leave it. I ain’t gonna budge. I have places to be.” 

“And the rest of us don’t?” you snort, eyebrows raised. He shrugs, makes a face, and turns his back to you once again. It takes you everything not to stomp your foot like an angry bull. 

You’ve had enough. You’re tired of the assholes of the word, you don’t care if you’re not allowed into the coffee shop ever again. Puffing up your chest, you open your mouth wide, ready to give this rude stranger a piece of your unfiltered mind. 

“You know what—” 

“Is that any way to treat a lady, moonshine?”  

You turn towards the source of the voice. It’s a man you’ve never seen before. He’s rugged looking, the salt and pepper in his beard endearing. He has a deep crease between his brows, his brown eyes dark as he stares down at the rude stranger. You take in the sight of his broad shoulders, thick neck—your heart does a little flip. You don’t know why but you’re drawn to the man, he has a nice voice. 

The man, however, isn’t as pleased as you. 

“What’s it to you? She your girlfriend?” 

You’re not but you kinda wish you were. 

“Get in the back of the line, I saw you cut in front of her.” 

The tension in the air is thick enough that you can cut it with a knife. You hold your breath, your lungs starting to burn as electricity crackles between the two men. Finally the asshole caves and sighs, going to the back of the line. You let out the breath you’ve been holding, your shoulders sagging with relief right after. 

“Thank you,” you say, your gaze finding the kind strangers. “I was right about to blow my lid before you stepped in.” 

He doesn’t answer and just continues to stare at you. Worry builds in your spine. Why isn’t he saying anything? His softened gaze flits across your face, taking in every detail before looking away. He pushes his hands down his pockets, looking almost boyish with the way he drops his gaze to the floor. 

“Don’t mention it,” he mutters. 

You raise an eyebrow. His voice still sounds familiar. Your curiosity getting the better of you, you shove the thoughts of familiarity into the back of your head and grace him with a wide smile. He blushes profusely, eyes slightly going wide, he takes a sharp inhale. 

“How about I pay for your coffee. . . or whatever you’re buying?” you ask. 

“You don’t have—” 

“I insist!” you chirp, glad that the line is finally moving. You extend your hand with enthusiasm, which he accepts a bit tentatively. Your smile never wavering, you tell him your name and an emotion akin to guilt washes over his eyes. He releases your hand, lips a tight, frigid line. “Is something wrong?” you ask. “You don’t like the name?” 

“N–No, it ain’t that,” he shifts from one leg to the other. You nearly look down, curious to see how tightly his jeans hug his muscular thighs. “I’m. . . Joel.” 

The world around you falls into a complete silence. Joel. Joel. Something electric and searing shoots up your spine, your lashes fluttering. Your heart starts beating a mile a minute but you’re not sure why. The only thing you do know is that this is a significant moment. An important moment. 

Your rake your brain for answers. 

Why? 

Why is it important? What piece are you missing to complete the puzzle? 

His lips break into a soft smile, he gestures towards the counter with his head. “We’re up.” 

“O-Oh, yeah,” you swallow, barely able to pull your gaze away from him. “Sorry.” 

You tell the kind barista your order and she writes it down on both your cups happily. The two of you move away from the line to wait for your drinks; a black coffee for your mom, a caramel macchiato for you, and an iced quad espresso for Joel. You raise an eyebrow. 

“I have a long day comin’,” he says with a small smile. “And I didn’t do much sleepin’ last night.” 

Your mind immediately flashes you memories of last night. Legs spread wide with two dildos stretching you, JMiller really enjoys it when you test your limits. Your pulse pounding in your skull, you look down. “Don’t I know it.” 

“You had a late night too?” there’s a teasing lilt to his tone. Your stomach churns and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. It looks like he’s about to say something else but the barista calls your name and both of you head towards the counter. He takes his death juice with a grateful smile, his demeanor more relaxed compared to when you introduced yourself.

“Thank you, honey. I appreciate it.” 

Oh shit. 

Shit shit shit shit. 

It is him. 

JMiller—J stands for Joel. 

Fuck. 

“You. . .” you begin, panic raising in your voice. “You’re. . .” 

He nods, “I think we both know why I didn’t sleep much last night,” he extends his hand again. “Huge fan by the way. You’re great and this is awkward as hell.” 

“It is,” you whisper. Still, you take his hand. “It is.” 

“You’ve never had someone come up to you on the street before?” he asks, curious. “I would assume you get recognized a lot.” 

“Not as much as you would think,” a cruel, humorless burst of laughter drops from your lips. “People don’t exactly want their partners to know they’re watching me. But if they’re alone yeah. . . sometimes they’ll say hi.” 

Or they’ll ask inappropriate questions and be weird about it but he doesn’t have to know that. 

Now that he’s mentioned you bumping into others, you’re not sure why it felt like the end of the world before. You feel embarrassed, flustered even, two emotions that a client shouldn’t be making you feel. 

“Well,” he breaks the silence, moving his jaw as he opens the door for you. “Thanks for the coffee.” 

“Technically you bought it.” 

“Right. . .” 

The two of you are out in the street now, staring at each other, contemplating what to say. He scratches the back of his head, then his fingers move to rub at his jaw. Arousal gathers between your thighs, it’s not your fault, now that you know that it’s him, your body acts accordingly. 

“Are we still on for tomorrow?” 

You still for a moment before answering, “Yeah.” 

He turns and leaves, you do the same, only in the opposite direction. 

After learning your name, Joel completely abandoned his rule of you calling him 'sir', making you moan his actual name as frequently as he could. His name stuck to your tongue. It might as well have been tattooed under your bottom lip. He was possessive in the way he asked, in some instances even begging for you to say it—and you fucking loved it. You loved this sick claim he had towards you now that you two had officially met. You loved how much more eager he was to see you make a sticky mess between your thighs. You love how cock dumb he made you feel without actually being there to fuck you himself. 

He even started doing his version of online aftercare. Mostly he would just talk, tell you about every-day things as you came down from your high. Or he would murmur a song. You never asked if he was a musician, he had a nice voice. 

It’s the beginning of the session and you’re getting ready. He says he enjoys watching the preparation you do for him so you decided to start streaming five minutes earlier, allowing him to watch. You really need him today. You had a rough day with an order mix-up, and your mom isn’t the best at dealing with mishaps. He clears his throat, which draws your attention to him. 

“Is something wrong?” you ask. 

“No no, everythin’ is fine, sweetheart. I just. . .” he sighs. “I want to ask somethin’.” 

“Ask away.” 

“Can we—Would you want to—” he groans in frustration and you start grinning. His frustrated pout is adorable. All you want to do is smooth the crease between his brows with your thumb and give him a kiss. 

“Joel Miller,” you tease, not missing the way his breath catches in your throat. “Are you asking me out on a date?” 

Oh god, you hope your intuition is right. If it isn’t this call is about to get really awkward. 

He flushes, eyes dropping as he nods. 

“Is that okay?” 

This is highly unprofessional, “More than okay. I’d love to go on a date with you.” 

His grin is infectious. 

“Good,” he lets out a breath then settles back against the couch. “Now show me those pretty tits, honey.” 

You can’t believe you’re actually in JMiller’s, aka Joel’s, home. 

The date had gone better than you expected. He was kind, charming, and chivalrous which were all qualities you haven’t seen for a while. Ever since you started streaming you hadn’t been on many dates and frankly, after a while, you purposefully avoided them. It just felt like asking for drama that you had no intention of dealing with. But Joel wasn’t like that. He could be blunt, a bit grumpy, yet also kind. He had taken you to one of his favorite pubs. Beers accompanied by the best jalapeno poppers you ever had equated to one of the finest dates you’ve ever had. 

He was a contractor, had a daughter in college, and a younger brother. His mother and father had passed a long time ago and ever since Sarah left, he’d been feeling lonely. He’d admitted shyly that that was the reason why he signed up on Ravish. He wanted company. 

You found it incredibly charming. 

As soon as Joel closes the door behind you two, you fall into each other’s arms. He kisses you with fervor, tongue slipping between your lips as he breathes you in at the same time. You feel him everywhere. Large hands squeezing your hips, waist, breasts—it’s intoxicating. You moan wantonly into his mouth, your lids falling when he sucks your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like beer and you’re pretty sure you do too. 

Joel pushes you up against the wall, knocking the air from your lungs while you continue to chase his lips with an insatiable need. You can’t bear to be separated from him, not even for a second. He drags his lips down your neck, mouthing at your jugular, sharp teeth nipping the sensitive flesh. Your hips jerk to meet his and with a growl, he pins you back to the wall. 

“Don’t,” he grunts. “I’ve been waitin’ so long for this honey, so fuckin’ long.” 

Your lips curl, a challenge lingering in your eyes, “Show me then, big boy. Show me how bad you want to fuck your slut.” 

“Fuck,” he hisses, gripping your chin harshly and pulling you in for another kiss. Your teeth clink together, he pulls back just as quick, the muscle in his jaw twitches. “Fuck,” he breathes out again. “You have quite the mouth on you, darlin’.” 

You have no recollection of how the two of you clamored upstairs, stripping one another in a lustful haze. The time you realize you’re naked is when you feel the cool air of the room caressing your burning skin, he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses down between your breasts, fingers eagerly working your nipples as he forces you to walk back until your back of your knees hit the bed and you fall. 

Not wanting to give in so easily, you wrap your fingers around his heavy cock. It juts angrily between his legs, answering your touch by drooling all over your palm, slickening your movements. You jerk him until he’s fully hard, his breathing heavy as he rolls his hips to meet the tightness of your fist. He sinks his teeth into your neck, the pain that blossoms coaxes a moan from you, your own wetness growing between your legs. 

“I knew you’d be fucking big,” you whisper, tongue toying with his earlobe. “So huge—makes me wonder if I can take it. . .” 

“I’ve seen you take bigger,” he groans, hips stuttering. A whimper drops from your lips, you want him, you want to feel him inside, want to feel his come dripping out later. You feel thick fingers spreading your soaked folds, he drags down a middle finger between them, licking himself into your mouth as he draws circles around your aching clit. “So wet for me,” he rasps. “Gonna make a mess in you, honey.” 

You gasp, “P-Please.” 

He lines himself against your entrance, teasing you, stretching you subtly with the bulbous head of his cock. Your head falls back and your back arches into him. He draws a hard nipple between his lips, closing them as he sucks. Heat rushes all over your body, arousal thick on your tongue. You clutch the sheets. He smiles as he pushes in, filling you inch by inch with a lax jaw and a dazed gaze. 

He stops and waits for you to adjust to him. Joel’s forehead drops against yours, dampness growing between the skin. You feel his breath fanning your face, so warm. There’s a hint of pain, the type that makes you flutter around him. He feels it too. The way you tighten against him, your body begging for more. He obliges. Pushing further and further until his hips are flushed against yours. His jaw is clenched tight, his breathing heavy. 

“Fuck you feel so good,” he presses fleeting kisses all over your face. It’s ticklish and if all your senses wasn’t narrowed in between your legs, you would’ve giggled. 

Your body jerks as he pulls back, the pleasure you feel is instant and overwhelming. You’ve missed the feeling of actual flesh inside of you. Joel snaps his hips forward, locking your breath in your throat, with a moment of desperation you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer. He fucks you in earnest. Every thrust desperate. Every thrust needy. He seems lost in you, whimpers, groans and grunts trembling in his throat and chest. You spread your legs wider, wanting more of him, wanting your cunt to take the shape of his cock. 

“Harder—” you cry out. “Take it—Take what you want—” 

Your arms fall limp, his body moving up and towering over yours. Joel grips your thighs tight before lifting them, he jackhammers into you, tugging and pulling at you like a brand new fucktoy. He splits you in half. The force of his movements making you scream. You don’t miss the way he grins wildly, dangerously. Something dark and haunting washing over his face. 

Your eyes grow wide, your heart beating in your throat, making it hard to swallow. It happens all at once, you clench around him, arousal pouring between your legs in a way it never had before. The look, the cock, the man behind it all—everything combined pushing your mind into the deep stages of want and need. Your eyes roll back, your hands coming up to pinch your tight, tingling nipples. You sob his name, your voice hoarse as you beg him for more and more and more—

“W-Wait, darlin’ if you squeeze me like that I’ll—!” 

A series of curses drops wildly and unintelligently from his lips. You feel him. The heat of his seed filling you to the brim, his cock throbs and twitches, spurting into you again and again. Your lips break into a satisfied smile. Instinctively, Joel pushes deeper, shoving your combined slick even deeper. 

“Shit,” he says catching his breath. “I-I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I usually last. . . longer than that. I—” 

You shush him and cup his cheek. You’re so pliant right now, floating happily in the air. You let out a sigh before willing your lips to move. Has talking always been this taxing? 

“It’s okay Joel,” you slur your words, smiling lazily. “I take it as a compliment, that felt fucking good.” 

“Yeah?” he sounds so innocent and hopeful that you can’t suppress your giggle. His eyes twinkle under the dimmed light. “Well, I’m glad you felt good, sweetheart but I’m not done yet.” 

Your breath hitches when he pulls out, your brows furrow as a chill settles between your legs. You wanted him to stay inside longer. But you’re pleasantly surprised when he slides down your body, kissing every patch of skin before settling between your legs. 

“Let’s see if you’re as sweet as you’ve been tellin’ me.” 

He kisses your cunt, lips moving in tandem with your wet folds. He drags his tongue up between them, curling it as he takes himself into his mouth, tasting both of you at one. You go limp at the pressure of his tongue, your walls fluttering and squeezing for more. With a groan, he shoves his fingers, the wet sound makes your toes curl into the mattress. It’s like torture, a very pleasurable torture. You gasp when he pulls you flush against his face, the bridge of his nose bumping against your clit as he licks you clean. 

Your build up is spontaneous. You feel it coming, the taste of your orgasm at the tip of your tongue. Joel curls his fingers, sucking your clit between his lips and gently nipping at it. You hips chases his mouth, his mustache chafing the tender skin. Your hands come to each side of his head, threading your trembling fingers through the soft locks, his fingers brush against an especially sensitive spot and you tug at his hair. His throat shakes with a groan. His eyes closing. 

“Do it again,” he mutters. And you do. He starts moaning into your cunt, his hips, despite just spilling inside of you, rutting against the bed. Your nails bite into his scalp and he flicks his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

The tension coiling in you finally snaps, your entire body locking up as you gush into his mouth. He gulps you down loudly, fingers still moving deep inside you. Your throat is dry as ou shout his name, hips stuttering helplessly, he pins you down with both hands, moving his head up and down as the fat strokes of his tongue becomes more wild. 

When he’s finally done feasting, he pulls away with a wet mouth. 

“Wow,” you murmur, curling into him when he lays beside you. “That was. . . wow.” 

“You really had low expectations, huh?” 

“Not low,” you grin. “But not that high either.” 

“Well,” he says, guiding you so you’ll lay on his chest. “I’m glad to prove you wrong.” 

You smile, heart fluttering. 

“Me too.” 

[bluepeachstudios]

PREMIER: Ghost in the Shell Part 2

Read Ghost in the Shell Part 2: Chapter 1 here!

“You are unauthorized to be out of bed at this time,” the robot informed him.

“Who’re you?” Ghost asked, voice rough.

“I am Shelldon,” it answered. “Your automated smart lair.”

“Directive,” Ghost muttered.

“I clean, cook, give massages, provide musical–”

“Okay.” Ghost held up a hand to stop him. “Where’s Donnie?”

“You are unauthorized to be out of bed at this time,” Shelldon repeated.

“I need coffee,” Ghost grunted, and kept walking towards the kitchen.

“Toffee blend from Petrichor Cafe with one cream and one sugar.”

The offered steaming mug blocked Ghost’s path. Hesitantly, he took it, watching Shelldon carefully. “Thanks,” Ghost said. “Where’s Donnie now?”

“You are unauthorized–”

“To be out of bed, yeah, yeah. Where’s Donnie?”

[capn-twitchery]

ask game :D!

🔥 — Least favourite Master of the Bazaar? 🧍‍♂️— What stats would they provide as a companion? Where would you obtain them?

🔥 — Least favourite Master of the Bazaar?

OH NO, QUESTIONS THAT EXPOSE MY BIGGEST FL SECRET (not knowing anything about the masters)

i don't think twitch would particularly like any of them. if you put an authority figure in front of them they get the sims 🧍‍♂️➖➖ icon above their head

pages' secret hoarding and intentional censorship and hiding of information would infuriate them for sure

but i think they'd hate mr.spices most of all. i haven't had the opportunity to go into it or iron out the details yet, but there's a lot of red honey stuff in their backstory >:3c

as for Grace:

currently, grace is a suck-up of a lawboy and thinks the people in power can be trusted, so he doesn't have any strong opinions on the masters other than being confused that they're giant bats and that they run london. they're probably fine!

his biggest gripe is that wines didn't pay him for the party he catered for :(

after being down for a while, though, and working with constables and the admiralty, it slowly wears off. the excess violence and force against revolutions & undeserving people would be what gets to him, so it would be fires he hates the most. (and constables reporting to fires means he'd probably have the most knowledge of him too)

🧍‍♂️— What stats would they provide as a companion? Where would you obtain them?

Twitch:

The Epicurean Captain: Persuasive +8, Zeefaring +3, Bizarre +3, Increases Scandal buildup.

(maybe also increases troubled waters buildup bc it would be funny)

as for where you would find them, maybe a random chance encounter at zee, around corsair's forest. takes a good chunk of whispered hints to get them to join you

Grace:

The Dutiful Vagabond: Watchful +12, Persuasive -3, Respectable +2. Greatly reduces Suspicion buildup.

if there was a mechanic that could make you more likely to fail at luck-based rolls he would have it. his lack of swag and his terrible luck aura affects you too, sorry

pops up after you do something about the velocipede squad, or just in concord square maybe...he could fit anywhere, really!!

FL OC ASK GAME

[cdragons]

Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 2

Previous Part, Next Part

Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. But silver linings exist in the sticky toffee pudding Mrs. Gavey made for you.

Warnings- MDNI 18+, Sex, Felix is Felix (a ho), Reader finally eating some good fucking food, Michael is Michael, Farleigh is Farleigh, Oliver is Oliver (a creep), alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic

Author's Note: BRUH??? HOW DID I GET SO MANY NOTES IN PART 1??? Everyone has been so wonderful and supportive. I received so many questions and comments, which have all been great! Thank you for reading this story, and I hope that this part lives up the first one. Also, this is technically a Christmas fic bc it just fits with the story's timeline. I would like to thank Grammarly for catching all my grammatical errors 🥲, @ethereal-athalia for enabling my crazy ideas 🥰, and @valeskafics for providing me Saltburn smut when I catch myself thirsting 😇

Christmas Eve - Saltburn 2006

“Oh! Oh – y-yes, yes, yes! FUCK!”

Fucking the girl underneath so hard to the point where she likely saw stars. Meanwhile, Felix was trying to finish as soon as possible.

“So big! God, you’re so fucking big – FUCK!”

He brought her to his room and in his bed because he thought her hair just barely matched yours, and if he didn’t think too much about it – her voice sounded a bit like yours too.

But he made a mistake.

The girl – whatever her name was – sounded nothing like you. Her hair was nowhere near as pretty and shiny as yours, and her nails were fucking long and sharp that they were digging for his blood. Her makeup too – fucking hell, it was like she trying out for the opera with how much she caked onto herself.

Every time Felix saw you – whether in the library or under a tree – your nails were trimmed short. And from what he remembered, you didn’t plaster yourself in cheap cosmetics.

No, you never needed to. Your style of choice was simpler and more elegant than most girls he knew, including his sister, Venetia. Granted, he loved his sister to bits and pieces, but the girl loved her spray tan in the winter.

But worst of all – she didn’t have your eyes. Her gaze was too mindless and soft, a mix of adoration and unparalleled lust. Your eyes held vivacious rage and

“Felix?” What’s-Her-Face asked. “You okay?”

Fuck, he was getting soft.

Closing his eyes, Felix knew the only way he would get to finish was to think of you. He thought about the last time he saw you. He remembered how hard the wind blew and how cold it was that night. He felt himself harden at the memory of how alive your eyes were right before and after you broke his nose. His back still had the welts from the blows of your notebook. Every time he saw them in the mirror, he would lovingly stroke each bruise because they were the only evidence that you were real.

That you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

Letting his mind run wild, Felix imagined you here instead of this imposter. He’d imagine you on top – no way a woman like you would let anyone be on top, not even him. Fuck, you’d be the most wild thing ever to exist, he’s sure he’d let you do anything to him.

His heart, his soul – whether you cared for him or wished to crush him under your shoe – everything of his would be yours.

He wondered if you were the type to be into using a riding crop.

Regaining his vigor with his eyes still closed, he imagined you riding him until oblivion. Your breasts would fit perfectly in his hands as you would still be bouncing on his cock. Your head would be thrown back, and his eyes would roll to the back of his head at the feeling of your pussy tightening.

Oh God, he was going to blow.

Quickening his pace, the girl that wasn’t you was full-on howling in unbridled pleasure. When she climaxed, he could finally let go and come. Ropes of his cum spilled into the condom as he shouted out your name.

Falling to his side, he hadn’t bothered to check if Lady Not You remained in the sheets. It didn’t matter if she did; Felix was too exhausted to care. Finally feeling like he could rest, he fell into a dream about the day he felt his life truly begin – the day he met you.

First Week of Oxford University Michaelmas Term of 2006

Felix remembered the first time he saw you – it was after the first week since the term began. He and his mates were fucking around in Radcliffe, and the old bag running the desk was having a cow with them. He was bored out of his mind when all of a sudden – he spotted you on the upper level. You wore dark wash blue straight-leg jeans with rolled-up cuffs and white high-top Converse sneakers. It looked like your shirt must have been at least a decade old, given how the black-dyed cotton was faded to dark gray, and the paint looked cracked and chipped. Your thick locks were gathered in a loose but simple braid. Unlike everyone else, your eyes weren’t focused on him – but on the structure and life around him.

He had to know more.

Slipping a tenner to one of his friends to cause a distraction, he used the diversion to make his way to your spot on the second floor. Having a closer view, you were the most vividly gorgeous creature he had ever laid his eyes upon. He was worried that his movement toward you would alert you of his presence, and you would only scurry off – and away from him. But judging by the slight bobbing of your head, you wouldn’t be able to hear him since you were listening to whatever was playing through your earbuds.

All the better for him to keep observing you.

As he inched closer, his eyes caught the tiny wisps of your hair that weren’t contained by your messy braid, creating a lovely frame of your face while also bringing out the shine in your eyes. You had a simple gold chain around your neck with a circular locket hanging. From the side, Felix could faintly distinguish the words “Bon Jovi” in blue cracked paint and “1989” underneath a skull wearing red aviators.

He didn’t know who the fuck Bon Jovi was, but clearly, he was someone pretty fucking important to you.

But what captured Felix’s interest was how engrossed you were with the scene unfolding underneath you. Your eyes very rarely broke away from the view – only to quickly glance at the hardcover sketchbook you balanced on the white-painted railing. Whenever you glanced down at your sketch, Felix could see how long and thick your eyelashes were. Each time you blinked, it was like his mind broke down the movement of your eyelids frame by frame as if he were editing a Garry Marshall film. He wished he could be your cheek at that moment. If only to feel the gentle flutter of your lashes’ touch. Deep in your concentration, your lips were slightly pursed in a way that brought out their luscious fullness.

He couldn’t help but imagine how they would look around his cock. If he came inside your mouth, he was sure that some of his spunk would leak past your lips before you tried your best to swallow it down.

He was so lost in the fantasy of you and him that he hadn’t realized you had been calling out to him. Breaking out of his reverie, he looked down to see you right before him. And you looked downright pissed at him.

“Hey! HEY!” you exclaimed while waving your hand to his face to catch his attention.

You were American. How adorable.

“If you could stop staring at me like a fucking serial killer, I think your ‘mates’ are trying to get your attention.”

You pointed your finger at his group of friends still on the first floor. It seemed that they successfully drove away the grounds' warden. The old bat was now fixated on putting away all the returned or misplaced books on the shelves.

Must have been Farleigh’s idea.

Anyway, back to you.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Hey, can I get your –” but you were gone by the time he turned back to you.

Instead, he found himself alone on the second floor. He quickly glanced around to see if you had just moved to a different area. But you were gone. Racing the stairwell, hoping to catch up to you, he found that you had already walked too far for him to call you out without seeming completely desperate.

Except that he was.

He watched you walk away – shoulders back, posture straight, and head held high – and thought at how utterly unfair it was to him that you walked away from him so beautifully without giving him your number, or at least your name.

Felix woke up in a dark room; he was confused as to why the maids hadn’t drawn curtains – until he realized that Mum had likely sent them for their holiday after the party was finished.

It's too bad that he wasn’t there to see everyone out like a good son. But he wouldn’t beat himself over about it too much – chances were that his parents were also hungover off their asses too. He didn’t even want to imagine V’s state right now.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Felix dug into his closet to find whatever someone wore the morning after fucking a completely faceless stranger to scratch an itch meant for someone else. In the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a little note on his nightstand. Swiftly plucking it with two fingers, he could barely make out the words written in swirly cursive.

My name’s Cassie. Just thought you should know for next time. Call me: XXXX-XXXXXXX 💋

Felix scoffed before tossing the dingy paper to the floor – destined to be forgotten before the next hour came – before locking himself in the bathroom to take a piss and wash off the smell of booze and cigs off his skin.

By the time he was finished, it was probably close to noon. He would have made his way down to the kitchens to fix something up – but he was immediately met with Farleigh as soon as he stepped out of the doorway. Bastard startled him up so bad that he practically jumped a foot off the ground.

“Fucking – really, Farleigh?” he asked. “Practically gave me a heart attack first thing in the morning.”

“It’s almost one so that ship has sailed.” He quipped back. “Aunt Elspeth and Uncle James were quite distraught when their golden son wasn’t seen by any of the guests when the party ended. It wasn't good when the Carltons’ daughter was gone for almost an hour. But at least she returned to her loving parents’ arms by the time it was to go home.”

Farleigh shot his cousin a curious look.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you? I’m pretty sure her name was Cassandra.”

Felix just shrugged.

“Don’t know about any Cassandras. Fucked a Cassie last night, though.”

Farleigh snorted a laugh as they went to the kitchens to see if any food was prepared.

“Merry Christmas, indeed.”

A few minutes of companionable silence passed before Felix asked his cousin something important.

“Hey, do you think she’s thinking about me?”

“Cassie or Cassandra? Because the answer’s probably yes anyway.”

“No, not them. Y/N, Y/N L/N.”

Farleigh immediately stopped. He genuinely wondered how Felix managed to get into Oxford sometimes. Sure, he was a legacy kid, but the line had to be drawn somewhere.

“You really think,” he slowly began, “that the girl who dragged you out of the library in front of everyone, broke your nose, beat you bruised with only her flimsy-ass notebook – because you ruined her painting – would be thinking about you?”

Judging by the look in his cousin’s eyes, yes. Sighing at the incredulity of it all, Farleigh could only shake his head before finding something to eat and drink away the migraine he could feel was coming.

Watching his cousin walk away from him, Felix knew he thought he was fighting a losing battle. But he wasn’t too worried. Everything would change during the upcoming term. Oxford was its own world – broken away from everything else. All that mattered to anyone in Oxford was this world's history, present, and future. And now – as it was made clear now to Felix – you were also part of that world. He would get to find you again and make sure to bring you to the point where you would look for him the way he would look for you.

Still, a selfish part of Felix hoped that you were even just the slightest bit miserable being away from him as he was being away from you.

Manchester, December 2006

You were having the time of your life.

Michael invited you to his home in Manchester for Christmas to spend the holidays with his family. You refused, at first, the idea of being a burden to your best friend during a time when it should be spent with family. Michael liked to put up a big front, but you knew that he was just as – if not more – excited to spend Christmas with his folks than you were before the “incident.”

But he insisted, and you could not have been more grateful for the invitation. But you wish you were a tad bit more graceful with your reaction when he first brought it up.

Oxford Dining Hall December 2006

You were angrily shoveling pasta into your mouth at the time. Sadly, the appallingly bland marinara sauce paired with the overcooked spaghetti and dry meatballs was the university's most flavorful dish.

“Come home with me.” He told you one evening during dinner time at the dining hall.

Caught off guard, you half-choked on the mountain of overcooked noodles in your mouth. Immediately, you reached for your glass of water to wash it down and to prevent a truly horrifically dull death.

“What?” you croaked out.

“Come with me to my house for Christmas.” He clarified, utterly unfazed by your near death. “Come on, you’ve been complaining to me all week about not being able to fly back for the holidays. And no one should have to spend Christmas eating whatever slop they’ll end up serving.”

“Michael,” you began, “I am not going to impose on your family like that. And you seemed to have forgotten one key detail: I can’t leave until I re-do the painting.”

“So, come over after you finish,” he reasoned, “I know you remember what to do, and that already cuts the time you originally spent on it in half. You won’t need a whole month to do it again, so come over when you finish. Plus, you don’t have your other classes to worry about.”

You knew that he was right – he was right about a lot of things – but the offer still made you uncomfortable. Scholarship student or not, you were no one’s charity case. If there was one thing you hated more than being underestimated, it was being pitied by people who didn’t know you. That wasn’t the case with Michael, but the feeling made you feel small.

You hated feeling small.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I would be imposing on your family. Your mom’s a nurse, right? She’s probably been looking forward to your homecoming for ages now. Informing her that she should be expecting a complete stranger, who would be staying for two weeks, would be a huge burden on her. She shouldn’t have that kind of stress burdening her during the holidays.”

He rolled his eyes at your concern.

“Don’t be a drama queen. I already have one in my life, and I’m genetically attached to her. And you’re hardly a stranger. Mum’s always asking when you would be visiting anyway. She’s worried if you’re eating enough or getting enough sleep. She’s a bit looney like that.”

You shot your friend a glare. He was trying way too hard to keep a cool, nonchalant façade. Michael Gavey was a total sucker for his family but in the sweetest way. During the long study sessions that stretched into the night, Michael’s defenses were lowered, and you could get more information about his life and home.  

His mom was a Manchester Royal Infirmary nurse practitioner, while his dad was an accountant at Pearl Lemon. They met at a coffee shop. He was working as a barista to pay off his student loans, and she was a nurse just starting her residency. He wowed her with his terrible jokes, and she charmed him with her infectious smile, and the rest was history. Three years into their marriage, baby Mikey was born, with the addition of his baby sister Lilypad a decade later.

When you remained silent, Michael knew your stubbornness would give him endless headaches. But you were his best friend, the only person he saw worth befriending in the infinite sea of prats and slags that overpopulated their university. You laughed at his shitty jokes, and he snorted at yours. You would try to trip him up with out-of-pocket sums; he’d laugh when he answered them before your calculator. You had his back when some rugby bloke pushed him around, and he had yours when some fake tanned bitch called you a tramp.

“Look, I can’t promise it’ll be anything like your home. I know you miss your mum’s cooking and your dad’s drunk stories. But my parents already made me promise that I would get you to visit because it’s Christmas and no one should be alone and you’re going to die without me here and blah blah blah. Just say you’ll come? Lil’ will murder me if you don’t come. She’s been dying to hear all about the Great Apple and Broadway.”

“…It’s actually called the Big Apple.”

Your comment brought a loud and rather unattractive snort to leave his mouth. And the chuckle that came after brought a small and tentative smile on you.

“Look, are you coming or not?”

You had to admit, the invitation sounded welcoming. You were dying to put faces on the people that made Michael Gavey, well, Michael Gavey. He rarely talked about his family, but his tone was warm and soft when he did. It was such a sweet contrast to the snarky little shit you were used to, and so temptation won in the end.

“…Fine.” You agreed after dragging out the tension. “But I am bringing presents for all your family members, and you have to help me. And any funds that were spent on me are going to be paid back before summer. Got it?”

A true, genuine smile crept across Michael’s face.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“…Will I be seeing any baby pictures of you?”

“Don’t push it.”

You weren’t sure what exactly to expect from Michael’s family – maybe they were wonderful, or maybe the idea of an American that hailed from a city with some of the highest crime rates in the US gave them hives – but you were sure that you wouldn’t be alone if Michael were with you. Safe to say, your expectations were set way too low.

His dad's arms immediately enveloped Michael after you two exited at your stop and the station. You had always assumed most British father figures to be a bit cold and distant, but it seemed that stereotype didn’t apply to his dad. You went in for a handshake but were also caught in a warm hug. You introduced yourself while expressing your gratitude to him and his wife’s generosity.

“Oh no, please,” he insisted, “please call me Greg. Mr. Gavey was my father’s name, and I don’t think I’ve grown that many wrinkles yet.”

When you arrived at his home, it was a medium-sized red brick building in the suburbs. After entering the door and Greg announcing your arrival, quick footsteps ran down the stairs, and a young girl with golden honey curls in pajamas and a pink tutu ran to Michael.

“MIKEY!” she exclaimed. “YOU’RE HOME! Did you miss me? Why did it take you so long? You said your tests were done by the third. It’s the fifteenth today!”

“Lily, Lily,” Michael breathily laughed, “calm down. Of course, I missed you. But I had to wait for my friend because she’s hopeless with directions.”

“That is not true!” you blurted. “It’s not my fault I come from a grid system!”

“Anyway, this is my very good friend, Y/N L/N. Y/N L/N, this is my little sister, Lily.”

Lily turned to you with a big smile and curtsied like a perfect ballerina.

“Hello! My name is Lily! I’m eight, but I’ll be nine in April!”

You almost squealed at how adorable the sight was. You crouched down and mirrored her smile.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Lily! I’m Y/N, and I’m turning nineteen this coming b/m! Your brother here told me so much about you.”

“He did?” she asked with wide eyes.

“He did! He told you how smart you are in math and that you’re an amazing ballerina.”

Lily shyly looked down as a massively cute blush bloomed on her cheeks.

“I wanna be good at sums like Mikey. That way, I can help Daddy with his work like Mikey did when he was my age.”

“Ok!” interjected ‘Mikey,’ cheeks equally flushed at the slipped detail from his baby sister. “Time to find Mum. She in the kitchen?”

“Yep! She’s making roast chicken and mash with peas!” She turned to you. “Is Y/N allergic to anything?”

“Nope!” you replied, “Only dust, but I’m pretty sure that won’t be in the dishes.”

Meeting Michael’s mom – who was absolutely gorgeous, by the way – was another huge highlight of the break so far. Hearing you three entering the kitchen, she immediately turned off the stove and dashed over to hug you and her son.

“Oh, Y/N!” she warmly greeted you. “I’m so happy that you were able to come. Michael has told me so much about you. Have you adjusted well in Oxford? The time difference isn’t putting too much strain on you, is it? You both look so skinny – are they feeding you at all at that school?”

“Careful, Mum. You might scare her off.”

You shot him a mocking glare before answering his mother.

“Don’t be mean! And I think I’ve adjusted well enough to the university. Jet lag wasn’t too much of an issue because my parents made sure I moved into my dorm early and adjusted to the time zone changes before classes started. The food they serve at the dining halls doesn’t compare to homecooked meals, so I haven’t had much of an appetite. But after walking into the kitchen, I think I’ll be able to regain it once I have your cooking!”

“Oh, you are so sweet! I’ll let you get settled. Greg and I cleaned up the guest room for you. It’s next to Lilypad’s room. She’s excited to hear any stories you have about New York. It’s just on the second floor at the end of the hall.”

Walking back to the entrance to grab your bags, you were just in earshot of Michael and his mom’s conversation.

“Michael! Why didn’t you tell me she was so beautiful! I thought she was a model from Vogue when she first walked in! Are you sure nothing’s going on between you two? Should I expect any grandchildren in the near future?”

“Mum!” he loudly groaned as you softly chortled.

Christmas with the Gaveys was so much fun. You played a dozen board games. Michael was a beast in Poker and Uno while you cleared the board with Scrabble and Black Jacks. Mrs. Gavey was a fantastic cook – you couldn’t remember the last time you had any meal that had more than salt as a seasoning since coming to England. You tried sticky toffee pudding for the first time – you almost cried at that first bite. Everyone was so warm to each other and showered one another with so much love. Most of the neighbors watched Michael grow up, and many shared his childhood stories. It reminded you a lot of the Christmases at your parents’ apartment back in Queens.

The community and camaraderie- it was like you were back at home with your family. Your mom would pick up a roast duck from Peking Duck Sandwich Stall in Flushing while you and your dad would go to Eileen’s to wait in line to pick up your favorite cheesecake. The building would have a huge potluck on Christmas Eve, and everyone would bring a dish. Your neighbor, Mrs. Wong, would bring out everything necessary to make her famous dumplings. Everything was made from scratch. You and the kids of the building would learn how to wrap the fillings in the wrappers while the adults made the wrappers and fillings. You would play White Elephant with the other kids on Christmas Day, which usually ended in a fistfight.

You still missed home. You missed your parents and cat. You missed making cookies with your parents because Christmas was the only time when both of them had time off from work. While his school was still on break, you and your dad would take advantage of your mom’s employee benefits and watch a bunch of live Broadway shows.

When your parents skyped you, you cried after seeing their faces for the first time in so long. School was so stressful, and you were starting to regret traveling so far when you could have easily gone to a school so much closer to home. You tried your best to reschedule your flight, but round-trip flights were expensive, and they increased exponentially during the holidays.

You cried for an hour after seeing the prices online.

But thanks to Michael, you felt so much less alone than you would have if you had stayed at Oxford for the entire break. You introduced him to your parents during the call, and they loved him. It was such a massive relief that they liked your friend, especially because of how much his friendship meant to you. When he left the room, your parents basically forced you to ensure he would come with you to stay with you when you returned for the summer. They were shocked when you told them he had never had fresh jianbing or a decent slice of pizza. After the call, you were confident they were making a list of every store and stall you and Michael would visit during his visit.

Classic Queens’ family behavior – showing love by forcing food down your throat whether you like it or not.

At the moment, you were at the window in your room and looking at the moon. It was about three in the morning, and the rest of the household was asleep.

Well – everyone except one.

Michael had crept in about half an hour ago, and the two of you were just looking at the stars. You hadn’t expected to see so many – you could only see the lights from planes and aircraft at night back home. There wasn’t any talking, only comforting silence. The scene outside your window with the fresh snow on top of the rooftops and ground. Each house had a slight outline of their Christmas tree lights shining from their lower windows.

Your fingers itched for your pencil and sketchbook to immortalize it.

Ever so softly, Michael broke the silence while looking at you.

“So,” he began, “how would you rate your first English Christmas in the Gavey Household?”

You looked back at him with the biggest smile that Michael had ever seen on you.

“Ten out of ten. Would pay to see lightsaber reenactment again.”

If there was a God out there, you prayed for the coming term to be as wonderful as this holiday had been for you.

Suburban Prescot, Liverpool December 2006

In a well-established suburban home in Prescot, a short boy with crystal blue eyes and inky black hair locked himself in his room. The noise and babble from downstairs gave him a headache. He hated his parents. He hated his sisters. He hated being invisible and being from nowhere.

He had to get out of here.

In his backpack, a photo of a specific heir of a manor was safely tucked in the bottom. The new term was going to be different for him. He would make sure of it.

Tagging: @aemondsbabe, @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @valeskafics, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindnow, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list by commenting!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stand behind the counter, ready to serve the next customer that comes through the door. If you thought the rush was bad, the lulls are worse. The time drags by as the clock seems to taunt you. You sigh again as you hear Bre clattering around in the back room. You’d rather be back there folding up empty boxes and scouring trays.

You yawn and waver on your feet. The small local cafe doesn’t have the consistent traffic of the franchised kiosk just down the block but there are still hectic rushes. The mornings just after nine, then at noon when the office workers run out for a refresh espresso or a lunchtime sweet, but the afternoons usually deliver no more than the errant college student on their laptop or a few friends in between visits to boutiques.

The door opens and you glance over at the man who walks through the door. He strikes you as out-of-place as he struts across the cafe, hitting a table with his thigh, and sneering at it as if it insulted his mother. He’s tall with broad shoulders, and his hair is slicked back while the sides of his head are buzzed. He wears a black turtle neck under and open jacket and a pair of matching slacks that show off his ankles. His loafers are a rippling grey and black snakeskin print with a shining silver buckle.

You grip the sides of the till as he approaches but he doesn’t look at you. You stare, a little put off by his lack of acknowledgement as he peers up at the menu. He steps forward, tapping his fingers on the counter as he blows out between his lips. A golden signet ring flashes on his pinkie. You’re still not sure he’s in the right place.

“Hello, sir, can I get you--”

“Shh,” he hisses and holds up his finger. You snap your mouth shut and blink. He squints at the menu. He hums, clucking as he gives a thoughtful look to the hand-painted letters. Alright?

You wiggle your foot impatiently, biting your tongue. You’re not an inherently rude person but some customers make you wish you were. You watch him and he finally lowers his chin.

“Oat latte. Half blonde espresso, half regular, with the toffee nut syrup and a sprinkle of cinnamon.”

You nod as you punch in his order. It’s quite the drink. Sometimes you think people just pile on to see how far they can push service workers. They can’t just have a simple drink. Some even request the temperature to the digit.

“Alright, got it, it’s fifty cents for the syrup, is that okay?”

“Fifty cents?” He echoes haughtily, “no, that’s not okay.”

“Um, okay, well, it’s uh, on the menu,” you crane to look behind you, “fifty cents for a flavour shot, twenty-five for whipped cream.”

“I didn’t ask about goddamn whipped cream. They don't charge me here, doll. Get me the goddamn drink,” he demands.

You reel. Admittedly, you’re new. You’re learning but your first lesson was simple; customers are awful.

“I can just take the syrup off, I guess,” you hit the x and the whole order disappears.

“Didn’t you hear me? No charge, honey. It’s on the house.”

You purse your lips and look at him. You raise a brow. Alright, this is a new one.

“Um, if you’d just hold on, I think... uh, I should ask--”

“Yeah, you better fucking ask,” he sneers as swipes at a stack of paper cups and sends them flying. You flinch out of the way and spin to burst through the door to the kitchen.

“Uh, Bre,” you say, “there’s a really angry dude out there and he wants a free latte so uh, what do I do about that?”

She looks over at you as she puts a tray of cookies on a cooling rack. She frowns and her forehead stitches. She pulls of her oven mitt and checks her fitbit.

“Shit, it’s Thursday,” she mutters as if it’s the end of time.

“Yeah, it is, so uh--”

She waves away your words with the mitt and tosses both on the counter as she hurries past you. Confused, you turn to follow her through the swinging door. You stay behind her as she goes to the till.

“Mr. Hansen, so lovely to see you, what were we getting today?” She chimes, more lively than you’ve ever heard you. At any other time, she’s dulcet, almost monotone, completely over the cafe lifestyle.

He scoffs and his eyes drift from her to you. He pokes his tongue into his cheek, “oat, toffee nut, half blond, half regular, cinnamon on top,” he notes each element tersely, “and how about you teach this one some goddamn manners.”

He glares at you and you give a wide-eyed look. You shrug at Bre as she glances over at you. She shakes her head subtly. You take a step back.

You grab a cup and she quickly takes it out of your hands, “I got it, stay out of the way.”

You put your hands up and back away. You don’t know what you did wrong. Who is this man? He smirks and hovers on the other side of the counter as he crosses his arms over his puffed chest. Bre brews a fresh espresso and steams the oat milk.

“I’m waiting, sweet lips,” he cups a hand to his ear, his other arm still over his chest.

You look back and forth.

“Apologise,” he demands.

Bre clears her throat and you glance over, your mouth falling open dumbly.

“Oh, uh,” you face the man again, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know--”

“Well, now you fucking do,” he sneers as Bre places a cup down before him and a paper bag.

“Mr. Hansen, there’s a cinnamon bun for you too. We just took em out of the oven.”

“You’re such a dear, Bre Bear,” he cooes, sending you a venomous snarl.

You cringe as he spins and strides out with his fare. You watch after him, still thoroughly perplexed. Bre wipes the counter with a cloth.

“The next time he comes in, give him whatever he wants,” she says quietly.

“Oh, I didn’t... who is he?” You garble.

“Better you don’t know. Just think of him as the boss,” she sends you a desperate look, her eyes gleaming, “if you know what’s good for you, you’ll smile and listen.”

She brushes you with her shoulder as she goes back into the kitchen. You furrow your brow and glance towards the door. The man’s just outside the windowed walls, watching you. He winks before he disappears beyond the next facade

[waterlogged-detective]

2 for either/both of your guys! I can't imagine either of them smell particularly good naturally lol

OC Asks!

2: Do they wear perfume/cologne? If so what scents do they prefer?

Are you saying formaldehyde (darcy) and mildew (doe) aren’t good smells? I’m shocked. Shocked I tell you!

Darcy uses a strong peppermint extract to cover up any and all smells associated with his work and/or the tomb colonies. It’s not for himself, mind you, but for others. Not to be kind, but so he has to talk to them less.

Doe doesn’t have a nose, and therefor can’t smell anything so you’re dealing with bottom of the ocean book man smells. Have fun!

Okay the Doe part is mostly a joke, but he does smell faintly mildewy for you know. Bottom of the ocean book man reasons.

[sanguineterrain]

if you're still taking requests, could I get one Jason Todd (my phone tried to autocorrect it to toffee) with the prompt "I thought you were scared of heights" pretty please? 🥰

he will henceforth be known as jason toffee (cus he's the sweetest)

thanks for requesting aud 🥰 jason todd x gn!reader. no warnings for once.

****

"Jay, I thought you were scared of heights."

"What makes you say that?"

You watch as he lays a picnic blanket on the blacktop. He gracefully criss-crosses into a sitting position and pats the space next to him. You obediently sit, squealing when Jason pulls you closer to him.

"How about the fact that you refused to go on any ride at the carnival last year?"

"Yeah, 'cause it's Gotham," he says, opening up the picnic basket. "You think I'm gonna get on a ferris wheel in the city with the highest death per capita rate? No thank you."

"But a rooftop picnic is okay," you say, squinting at him.

"Duh. It's perfectly safe. I can't shoot the ferris wheel guy, but I can shoot anyone who's stupid enough to mess with us up here."

Jason brings a chocolate strawberry to your lips. You bite and chew thoughtfully.

"What if Gordon found the body?" you ask.

"Who says he'd find the body?"

"Have I told you I'm desperate for you?"

Jason tuts. "That's what gets you hot? Freak."

You shrug. "Takes one to know one."

"Can't argue there."

He waves a grape and cheese cube combo in front of you, and you dart forward like a piranha, nipping at his finger. He chucks your chin.

"Cheeky," he says, eyes glinting.

"You eat too, Jay," you urge.

"I am, I am." He pops a grape into his mouth.

You sit back and recline into Jason's lap. He accepts you easily, arm curling around your hip. You hum, soaking up the last sun rays of summer.

"This is really nice, baby," you say, petting his cheek.

"You deserve the best," he says, though you can see the spark of relief at your words, the soothed insecurity.

"I have the best," you murmur, kissing his cheek.

Jason smiles at you, something that has become an increasingly frequent occurrence. He feeds you another strawberry.

"I love you," you say.

He kisses your temple tenderly, rubbing your hip. "Love you more, sweets."

Happiness is your favorite look on him, you decide.