#how much of it it serious and how much of it isn’t

[fullsunstrawberry]

Let Loose

Making out with a stranger in the closet seemed like a fun idea—until the morning after when you realized it was your friend…

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: Drinking, mentions of being drunk, making out, fingering, grinding, cumming in pants, just drunk and dirty xx

authors note: someone else gotta react to this in my dms and text me while reading this cause my pookie can’t cause this is her bro 😔💔

You finally finish getting ready—after changing your outfit a couple of times. You grab your bag, lock the door behind you, and head outside where Heeseung’s car is already waiting at the curb. He honks twice, and you roll your eyes with a smile as you jog over.

But when you open the car door, you freeze.

 “Are you serious right now?”

Jake is sitting comfortably in the front seat, turned halfway around to grin at you.

 “Heyyy,” he says like it’s all good.

In the backseat, Riki and Jungwon are already lounging with way too much leg space—spread out like they own the place.

“You’re sitting in the middle,” Riki announces.

You look at Heeseung through the open window. “Hee, are you kidding me? They always manspread. I’m going to be squished.”

“You’ll live,” Heeseung says with a smirk. “The others already left in Jay’s car.”

You groan but climb in anyway, squeezing yourself into the tiny space between Jungwon’s knee and Riki’s thigh.

“I swear, if one of you squishes me when we turn, I’m jumping out of this car.”

Riki just grins. “No promises.”

You slump into the middle seat with a dramatic sigh, adjusting your bag on your lap like a barrier between you and the two taking up all the space.

“Move your leg,” you mumble, nudging Riki with your elbow.

“This is me trying to give you space,” he says, deadpan.

Jungwon chuckles. “You act like we’re doing this on purpose.”

“You are doing this on purpose,” you shoot back. “I’m not even sitting—I’m hovering.”

“Sounds like a skill issue,” Jake calls from the front, looking back to flash you a grin.

“Jake, don’t make me climb over this seat and switch with you.”

“Go ahead,” he shrugs. “You’ll have to fight Heeseung, though.”

You glance at Heeseung, who’s smirking as he pulls away from the curb.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you say.

“Me?” He raises a brow. “I just drive. I don’t control the seating chart.”

“You picked me up last,” you mutter, trying to adjust yourself between the two human space heaters beside you.

“We knew you’d take forever getting ready,” Jungwon says casually.

You give him a deadpan look. “That’s why I look better than all of you combined.”

That earns a round of laughter. 

Riki throws his arm over the back of the seat like he’s making himself even more comfortable.

You look at Heeseung in the mirror. “Please tell me the place isn’t far.”

“Only like… twenty minutes.”

You groan.

 “Hey, could be worse,” Heeseung adds.

“How?”

“You could’ve been stuck in Jay’s car with Sunghoon on aux.”

You blink. “…Never mind, I’m good here.”

The car ride is halfway over when Jake suddenly turns around in his seat again, grinning like he just won the lottery.

“Okay, so I’m just saying,” he starts, “I know I’m pulling tonight.”

You squint at him. “Pulling what? A muscle?”

Heeseung snorts.

Jake ignores you. “No, like—this girl said she’s gonna be at the party, and we’ve been DMing all week. It’s on tonight.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your head back against the seat. “Can someone else besides Jake get laid for once?”

Riki raises his eyebrows. “You trying to hook up tonight?”

“I better,” you say, throwing your hands up. “I need to let loose. My brain is full of nonsense and stress, and I feel so pent up.

“That’s the spirit,” Heeseung says, nodding like a proud mentor.

“Thank you,” you say dramatically. “I am tired of being normal. I want to kiss someone and not worry about it later.”

Jungwon chokes on a laugh. “Who are you?”

“I’m free,” you reply. “Finally done with everything.”

Riki smirks. “You’re gonna be crazy tonight, huh?”

“Yep,” you say.

Jake laughs. “Now that’s the energy I like. Let’s all be crazy.”

“Speak for yourselves,” Jungwon says. “I’m minding my business.”

“Lame,” you and Riki say at the same time, then high-five over your lap.

After what felt like the longest (and most cramped) car ride of your life, Heeseung finally pulls up outside the house. Music is already spilling out from somewhere inside, bass thumping hard enough to rattle the windows.

“Freedom,” you mutter, trying to untangle your legs from Riki and Jungwon’s.

“Okay, don’t act like we kidnapped you,” Riki says, stretching like he wasn’t squishing you the whole time.

“You did kidnap my personal space,” you reply, scooting toward the door.

But before you can fully crawl over Jungwon’s knee and faceplant into the grass, Riki slides out first and turns around, holding out a hand.

“Come on, menace,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Before you dislocate something.”

You hesitate for a split second. Not because you need help—but because his hand is there, open and waiting, like it’s normal. Like this isn’t a rare soft moment from the guy who is always joking around with you.

You grab it anyway.

He pulls you up easily, steadying you when your shoe hits a weird patch of gravel. He puts a hand on your waist to catch you.

“Don’t go getting hurt already. I need you around to tell me all about everything tomorrow.”

It doesn’t take long for the drinks to kick in. Two cups of something bright red, a shot you immediately regretted, and one very intense round of karaoke later—you’re leaning against the wall, giggling to yourself as you wander through the crowded house looking for someone you know.

“Why is this hallway moving?” you mutter, narrowing your eyes at the floor like it personally betrayed you.

You stumble around a corner and nearly walk straight into someone’s back.

“Heeseung!” you say, relieved, grabbing the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline.

He turns, eyebrows lifting when he sees your face.

“Y/N,” he says slowly, holding your elbows to steady you. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” you say, smiling like a proud disaster. “I’m drunk. Like��� bad decisions drunk.”

Jay, standing beside Heeseung, just laughs.

“Yikes.”

“Shut up, Jay,” you say, pointing at him with absolutely no aim. “You don’t know my life.”

“This is what she wanted,” Heeseung tells him with a grin, then looks back at you. “You good?” You nod dramatically. “I’ve been flirting with a houseplant for ten minutes. I’m great.”

Heeseung chuckles. “God, we left you alone for two seconds.”

“I was looking for you!” you say, poking his chest. “You said I had to make a bad decision tonight, remember?”

He blinks. Then suddenly remembers, “Oh—wait.”

You stare up at him, swaying a little. “What.”

“You just missed it.”

“Missed what?”

He shares a look with Jay before turning back to you, clearly trying not to laugh.

“There was a round of seven minutes in heaven.”

Your jaw drops. “You’re kidding.”

He shakes his head. “I’m so serious. Like—literally just ended five minutes ago.”

You gasp like he just told you the worst news ever.

“Noooo. That could’ve been my moment!”

“I know,” he says, still grinning. “You missed your shot to make out with someone in a closet.”

You pout. “I was so ready for that.”

Jay raises a brow. “You could start your own round.”

You glance between them, mischievous now.

“…That’s actually not a bad idea.”

Heeseung narrows his eyes. “You better not pick a houseplant.”

“Hey! It was a nice houseplant,” you say, already spinning on your heel. “If the ficus calls me pretty, it’s on.”

You’re still mid-pout when Jay suddenly tilts his head, clearly up to no good.

“You know what?” he says slowly, eyes flicking to Heeseung. “Let’s make this easy.”

Heeseung grins, catching on, “Y/N, go wait in the closet.”

You blink. “…Excuse me?”

“You said you wanted to hook up with someone tonight,” Heeseung reminds you, gently turning you by the shoulders. “Consider this a favor.”

Jay’s already moving. “I’ll find someone for her.”

“Wait, what?! I didn’t agree to this—”

“You did,” Heeseung lies smoothly, pushing you toward a random door.

“Just now. You practically begged.”

“I—barely begged—” you protest, tipsy and dramatic as he opens the door to some random dark closet off the hallway.

“Y/N.” He gives you a look. “Trust the process.”

You squint at him. “If you lock me in here and run away, I swear to God—”

“We won’t.”

Jay peeks back around the corner. “Give us like thirty seconds. I’m gonna pick someone.”

“Pick someone hot!” you shout as Heeseung gently—but firmly—guides you into the closet.

“You’re tipsy. Your standards aren’t high. Anyone will seem hot.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the door is already closing.

Click.

You’re in the dark. In a closet. With the smell of old coats and someone’s spilled cologne.

 You sigh.

“This is either going to be the best or worst thing I’ve ever done.”

Outside, you can hear Heeseung and Jay walking away down the hall.

“She’s going to kill us,” Jay mutters.

Heeseung just laughs.

“Only if she remembers.”

You’re leaning against the back wall of the closet, head tipped back, still a little buzzed and warm all over.

The door creaks open behind you.

Footsteps. A body. Then—slam. The door shuts again.

You don’t turn around.

You don’t even think.

Instead, you push off the wall, spin, and grab the figure in front of you by the front of their shirt.

He barely has time to react.

Your mouth finds his like you’ve been waiting all night—like this was the point of the entire party. Because to you, it was.

He stumbles back a step, surprised, but his hands catch your waist automatically. Strong and steady.

You press in closer, chasing the heat, the rush. Fingers in his hair. Breath short. It’s dark. Too dark to see, too loud in your head to care.

He kisses you back.

Harder than expected

Faster than he should.

Neither of you speak.

You tug him down by his collar and he doesn’t hesitate. His hands slide lower, gripping your hips like he means it. Your bodies slot together without thinking.

You don’t know who it is.

And honestly? Right now, you don’t want to.

His hoodie bunches in your fists as you pull him in again, mouths meeting with even more urgency than before. It’s all instinct and heat—no words, no questions, just movement.

The closet is too small, too warm, too quiet except for the soft rustle of clothes on the hangers and the uneven sound of breathing between kisses.

His hand slides up your back, slow, a little unsure—like he’s still catching up to what’s happening. Your fingers find his jaw, thumb brushing over skin, his hand full of rings.

Your back hits the wall again, and he follows, pressing in like he can’t stay away. He smells like something expensive you recognize but can’t place. It pulls at the edge of your mind, but you push it away, drunk on the moment.

He exhales sharply when your hands dip under his hoodie, fingertips grazing warm skin. His grip tightens, lips dragging down the side of your neck.

You tilt your head back, biting your lip to keep quiet.

There’s a moment—one small breath—where you almost pull back. The shape of his mouth, the way his fingers curl against your waist, the way his body fits against yours…

Who is he?

But then his mouth finds yours again, and just like that, you forget the question.

You forget everything, only focused on your growing heat.

His hands move from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you into him with a hunger that matches your own. The kiss deepens, each movement more urgent and passionate than the last. As you press against him, he lets out a low groan, his grip tightening as if he never wants to let go.

Without breaking the kiss, he guides you both as you slide down the wall together, finding a better position. Your body molds against his perfectly.

Lost in the moment, you instinctively start grinding against his leg. He lets out a quiet growl of approval, meeting your move with one of his own.

His hand curls around the back of your neck, guiding your mouth back to his with a kind of desperation that sends a jolt straight through you. It’s messy now—teeth grazing, breaths tangled, your hips rolling without rhythm, just need.

Your dress has ridden up slightly, and the friction between you is dangerously addicting. His thigh shifts beneath you again, drawing out a soft whimper that you don’t have time to regret because his lips are already swallowing it whole.

You feel him shudder under your touch when your hands explore under his hoodie again, nails dragging lightly over his stomach. His muscles twitch beneath your fingertips, and you smile against his lips—drunk off his reaction as much as the alcohol.

Then, without warning, you shift your focus. Your lips trail away from his, down the line of his jaw and to the side of his neck. He freezes for a half second, breath hitching, before his head tilts slightly, like he’s offering more of himself without needing to ask.

You press soft, open-mouthed kisses to his skin, tasting the faint mix of sweat and expensive cologne. He smells warm, familiar, addictive. Your hands slide up his sides while your mouth explores the curve of his throat, and when your teeth graze the sensitive spot just below his ear, he exhales sharply—almost a moan, barely contained.

The sound fuels you.

You suck gently at the spot, then harder, determined now—like you want to leave something behind, some kind of proof this happened. A mark. A secret. Something he’ll see in the mirror tomorrow and remember exactly how you felt pressed against him in the dark.

He curses under his breath, hands tightening on your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Fuck...”

The way he groans only makes you go slower. More deliberate. You kiss down the side of his neck, peppering small bruises across his skin like you're signing your name in the dark.

As you shift in his lap, your dress rides higher—bunched up around your hips now, forgotten in the heat of it all. The air kisses your skin, cool against the warmth radiating from where his hands roam.

He notices.

His grip trails lower, fingers ghosting over the soft skin of your thighs before settling just shy of where you want him most. He pauses, breathing hard, like he's waiting for permission even as his hands slide inward—thumbs teasing at the hem of your underwear, stroking along the crease where thigh meets hip.

You gasp softly, your hips instinctively pressing forward, searching for friction. He chuckles low in his throat, a sound that rumbles against your collarbone as he dips his head again, lips brushing your neck.

His hands move with maddening patience, kneading the soft flesh near your entrance, fingers pressing just enough to make your legs tense around him.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs, voice rough and a little awed, like he wasn’t expecting it but can’t get enough now that he knows. His fingers tease at the edge of your underwear, never quite crossing the line—but so close your entire body shakes with anticipation.

You bury your face in his shoulder, lips parted, breath coming in soft pants as your fingers clutch at his hoodie.

He pulls back just enough to tilt your chin up, finding your mouth again like he can’t stand the distance. And just as your lips meet, his fingers shift—

Lower.

Slower.

Right where you need them.

You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

His fingers circle deliberately, just outside the place you’re aching for him most—so close it’s maddening, not nearly enough. Your hips rock into his touch, chasing more, needing more, but he keeps the pace slow, teasing, like he’s savoring every second of watching you come undone.

You bury your face in his neck, voice a strained whisper.

“Please…”

He stiffens slightly, like the word hits him somewhere deep. But still—he doesn’t move faster. His fingers keep tracing those maddening circles, and your thighs tremble from how badly you want him.

You breathe, lips brushing his skin.

“Please, touch me there.”

That’s all it takes.

His restraint slips.

His hand finally slides beneath the last barrier of fabric between you, fingers dipping down, and you gasp—a sharp, breathy sound that you try to muffle against his neck. He groans at how wet you are, how easily his fingers find where you're pulsing with need.

“You’re driving me insane,” he growls against your ear, his voice low and wrecked. “You feel so—fuck—”

You cut him off with a whimper, grinding into his hand now, desperate for every ounce of friction.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Please don’t stop.”

And he doesn’t.

His mouth finds yours again—sloppier now, deeper—kisses that leave you dizzy as his fingers work you slowly, expertly, like he knows exactly what you need. One hand grips your thigh to steady you while the other strokes you with growing urgency, each pass pulling a new sound from your lips.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs between kisses, forehead pressed to yours. “Sound so fucking pretty.”

You’re unraveling in his hands, every nerve alight, every breath shallow. The closet feels too small now, like the air is thick.

You’re moving against his hand now—chasing every stroke, every flick of his fingers, your body trembling from how close you are. The heat between you is unbearable, the air thick with your combined breaths, and the soft rustle of clothes.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, his voice ragged. “God, just—keep going…”

But you need more.

You can feel him, hard beneath you, his restraint fraying with every second. You shift forward in his lap, grinding down against him as your hands clutch his shoulders for balance. The friction sends shockwaves through your entire body—and his too.

He stutters out a curse, eyes fluttering shut as your movements become more desperate. You’re not even thinking anymore—just feeling, letting the rhythm take over. The soft drag of your body against his, the slick heat of his hand still moving against you—it’s too much, not enough, all at once.

“Fuck, baby—” he hisses, and you feel it—the way his grip tightens, the way his whole body tenses beneath you.

You freeze for half a second, breath catching.

Then it happens.

A shudder runs through him, low and sharp. His jaw clenches. His forehead drops to your shoulder. And he groans—long and low—body jerking once beneath yours as he comes, completely undone under you.

The realization hits you like lightning.

His arms wrapped around you as he tries to recover, chest heaving. You stay still, eyes wide, heart pounding in your throat.

Neither of you says anything right away.

And in the quiet dark of the closet, all you can hear is the sound of your own breathing—and his, uneven and shaky, still wrapped around you like he doesn’t want to let go.

You don’t know how long you’ve been in there.

You’re breathless, hot, and sweaty. Your lips are swollen. And the air in the closet feels like it’s on fire.

His hand brushes the edge of your jaw, thumb gently grazing your cheek. For a second, everything slows—his forehead leans into yours, both of you catching your breath, still pressed close, your fingers tangled in the front of his hoodie.

Then—click.

The door bursts open, flooding the closet with light.

“WHOA—uh—” A stranger’s voice.

Definitely not Jay. Not Heeseung. Or anyone you know.

Some random guy from the party totally ruined the moment, barging in like he’d just stumbled onto a crime scene.

“Oh my god,” you mutter, shielding your eyes from the sudden brightness, heart thudding.

“Privacy???”

“Damn, my bad,” the guy says, backing up fast with his hands raised. “Thought this was a bathroom.”

You immediately twist away from the guy you were just pressed up against, turning your face to the wall like that’ll somehow erase the last ten minutes.

He steps back too, one hand running through his hair. You don’t look at him. Neither of you says anything.

The guy at the door lets out an awkward laugh.

“Y’all good? Should I—?”

“Leave,” you say quickly.

“Right. Sorry. Uh… carry on.”

He disappears, the door left cracked behind him now.

The closet feels different suddenly. Too bright. Too quiet.

You let out a breath and tug at the hem of your top, still not turning around.

“I should go,” you mumble.

The guy clears his throat. “Yeah. Me too.”

You step out without looking back.

He waits a second, then slips out behind you in the opposite direction.

No names.

No faces.

Everything after the closet is a blur.

The music got louder. The lights got hazier. You remember someone handing you a half-melted popsicle. You think you danced with a girl named Sammy—or maybe she just braided your hair and disappeared. You can’t remember.

There were voices. Laughter. Someone yelled about pizza.

And then—

Darkness.

Until you wake up to the smell of bacon.

Your eyes crack open against the soft glare of daylight, your head pounding gently like it’s keeping its own slow, painful beat.

You’re on a couch.

Not your couch.

You shift and groan softly, the blanket someone tossed over you sliding to the floor. You’re wearing the same clothes from last night. Your mouth is dry. Your hair’s a mess. Your earring is gone.

Across the room, at the dining table, you hear voices and the unmistakable sound of forks scraping against plates.

“He looks like he got hit by a bus,” Jake says with a mouthful of food.

“That’s because he drank like a bus,” Heeseung replies, sipping from a mug, unbothered.

Sunghoon sighs, flipping them off. “Can we stop talking about buses?”

You slowly sit up and blink at them, still half-dreaming. “...Where am I?”

Jungwon looks up from his toast. “Our place.”

You look around, finally registering the layout. You’ve crashed here once before—Jay and Jungwon’s shared off-campus apartment. Warm lighting, mismatched chairs, the lingering scent of Febreze.

Heeseung turns in his seat, giving you a crooked smile. “Well, well. Sleeping Beauty rises.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, pulling your knees to your chest. “I think my soul is still drunk.”

Jake tosses you a granola bar without warning. You catch it—barely.

“What happened last night?” you ask, squinting at them. “Like, after midnight?”

They all glance at each other.

Jay shrugs. “You danced. You yelled at the ceiling fan. You knocked over a lamp.”

“You also tried to fight a Roomba,” Jungwon adds.

“I what?”

“You lost,” Heeseung says, sipping his coffee.

You groan and flop back onto the couch. “So no hookup?” you ask with a sad tone, staring up at the ceiling like it betrayed you.

The table goes quiet for a second.

Then Sunghoon chokes on his juice. “You were trying to hook up last night?”

You throw an arm over your eyes. “Don’t act surprised. I told everyone.”

Heeseung snorts. “You also told a lamp it was the love of your life.”

“It was a nice lamp.”

Jake leans back in his chair, grinning. “So, wait. You seriously didn’t at least make out with anyone?”

“I don’t think so,” you say slowly. “There was a lot of… red lighting. I kept losing my phone. And my dignity.”

Jungwon hums, thinking. “You did disappear for a while though.”

Your arm moves off your face. “I did?”

Jay nods. “Yeah, you vanished around the time the closet game started.”

Your stomach flips.

Closet.

You blink. Mouth opens. Then closes.

Heeseung narrows his eyes. “Wait… wait. You were in the closet, weren’t you?”

You sit up too fast. “I was put there.”

You glance around at them. Their faces are all amused, a little shocked, but definitely unaware.

You clear your throat. “Maybe for like… a minute.”

“Alone?” Jungwon asks, raising a brow.

You pause. “…Maybe.”

They all howl.

Jake slaps the table. “You so made out with someone and don’t even know who it was.”

“No I didn’t!”

“Y/N,” Jay says, pointing at you like a detective, “your lipstick was completely gone, your hair was ruined, and you were missing a shoe.”

You freeze.

Heeseung just smirks. “That closet wasn’t empty.”

Your brain short-circuits. You remember hands. A shirt. A mouth. But the rest? Blurry. Too dark. Too fast.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

“Wait,” Jungwon says. “So who was in there with you?”

You open your mouth—then stop.

You don’t know.

The guys are still laughing when Jay suddenly squints, fork frozen halfway to his mouth.

“…Wait.”

You glance up from your spot on the couch, warily. “What?”

He looks at Heeseung. “Dude. The closet. Remember what we said last night?”

Heeseung raises a brow, clearly trying to dig through the fog of tequila and sleep deprivation. “What did we say?”

“You know,” Jay says, gesturing vaguely. “When Y/N was all like, ‘I need to kiss someone,’ and you said—”

“‘Go wait in the closet,’” Heeseung says suddenly, eyes widening.

You blink. “Okay, rude.”

“No—you did!” Jay laughs. “You were like, ‘I got you,’ and literally shoved her into that hallway closet.”

Heeseung bursts out laughing, almost dropping his toast. “Oh my god, that wasn’t a dream?? I actually did that??”

“Yes!” Jay says, cracking up. “And then I went to find someone to send in there with her.”

Your heart skips.

Heeseung leans back, eyes wide. “You did? Who?”

Jay’s smile falters. His brows furrow. “…I don’t remember.”

Heeseung pauses. “You don’t remember?”

Jake leans in. “You’re joking.”

Jay shakes his head slowly, realizing it in real time. “I swear, I was looking, but I got distracted… but I told Sunoo to put a guy in the closet. So I guess he did.”

The guest room door creaks open.

Riki steps out, one sock missing, hoodie half-zipped, hair a complete mess. He squints at the light like it personally offended him.

Everything’s too loud. His head’s pounding. His throat’s dry.

He shuffles toward the kitchen, grabs a bottle of water, and pauses—hand still on the fridge door.

His eyes widen.

He takes a step back from the fridge like it just burned him.

“…Wait.”

“Morning, lover boy,” Jake calls from the dining table, already noticing marks on his neck.

Riki doesn’t respond. He lifts his hand to his mouth, like that’ll stop the memory from crawling back.

Someone's lips. The way she kissed him like she’d been waiting her whole life to do it. The way she knew what she wanted. The way she never said her name.

He walks to the mirror near the hallway, wiping under his eyes—and that’s when he sees it.

The faint purple bruises blooming just below his jaw.

His heart skips.

Jake leans over, eyebrows lifting. “Riki… what the hell were you doing last night?”

“I—” he starts, but stops. “I don’t know…”

Heeseung eyes him, curious now. “What do you remember?”

Riki’s voice is low, almost like he’s admitting something sacred. “I was in a closet… and I ended up fingering some chick.”

The room goes still.

“You played Seven Minutes in Heaven?” Jay asks, stunned.

Riki shrugs, rubbing his eyes. “I guess? I didn’t know I was playing. I went into a closet and then boom—girl on me.”

Heeseung snorts. “Sounds like you won.”

Jake leans forward. “Wait, for real? Who was she?”

“No idea,” Riki says, already grinning. “Didn’t say her name. Didn’t see her face. It was dark. All I remember is she was hot as hell and clearly needy.”

You peek out from under the blanket, blinking. “Damn, okay, you got lucky.”

“She kissed me like we were in some porno,” Riki goes on, laughing softly. “Clung to me like I was a lifeline. Whiny, needy, insane. I barely survived.”

The boys start howling, half impressed, half curious about who this girl was.

You push the blanket down and sit up, still groggy but amused. “Wow. So you got some and I missed my chance? This is sexist.”

Jay grins. “You had to have hooked up with someone…”

You shake your head. “Not that I remember.”

Riki lets out a laugh.

Right on cue, the hallway door swings open and Sunoo strolls into the kitchen, looking way too awake for someone who witnessed last night’s chaos. His shirt is spotless. His hair somehow perfect. He looks like he got twelve hours of sleep and a therapy session.

“Morning, animals,” he says sweetly, grabbing a piece of toast from Jay’s plate without asking.

Jay glares. “You didn’t even sleep here.”

“Nope,” Sunoo replies, chewing. “I went home after I picked everyone up. That party was getting too crazy.”

He points at each of you as he speaks, like he’s reading out a crime scene report.

“Sunghoon was crying in a corner with a beer in his hand—again. Jungwon kept trying to give him water like he was an emotional support nurse.”

Jungwon groans and drops his head to the table. “He kept saying ‘no hydration can fix this.’”

Sunoo keeps going. “Heeseung and Jay were trying to flirt with a pair of girls from the dance team, but then Jake came out of nowhere, shirt half unbuttoned, talking about crypto and scared them off.”

Jake looks genuinely offended. “I did not mention crypto.”

“You absolutely said something about ‘investing in yourself,’” Jay mutters.

Sunoo continues, calm as ever. “Y/N went feral—flirted with a plant, told someone she was gonna get ‘emotionally wrecked tonight,’ and then someone told me she was trapped in a closet.”

You cover your face. “Oh my god.”

“And Riki,” Sunoo says, spinning to point at him, “got shoved into said closet and fingered a girl during Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

Silence.

Riki chokes on his water.

Jake starts laughing so hard he nearly falls off his chair.

“Bro,” Heeseung wheezes. “Sunoo, how do you say that so casually?”

Sunoo shrugs. “I’m just stating facts.”

Riki coughs, wiping his mouth, ears turning red. “W-Wait—how do you know that?”

“Someone opened the closet looking for a vape and ran away screaming,” Sunoo says, unbothered. “Pretty sure it was some guy named Mark.”

Sunoo hums, then takes another bite of toast. “Anyway, I hope whoever that girl was is okay.”

“She’s fine,” Jake jokes. “Spiritually altered, maybe.”

You laugh, sipping from your water. “Honestly? Same. Should talk to plants more often.”

Jay suddenly frowns, eyes narrowing. “Wait—hold on.”

Everyone turns to look at him.

He points at Sunoo. “You. I told you to shove someone into the closet. For Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

Sunoo nods easily. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Who’d you pick?” Jake asks.

Sunoo chews, swallows, then says it like it’s nothing: “Riki.”

The room goes dead silent.

You freeze mid-sip.

Riki’s bottle slips in his grip.

Jay leans forward. “Wait. You picked Riki?”

“Yeah,” Sunoo says, nodding. “He was just standing near the kitchen. I didn’t see who was in the closet already, but you said pick a guy and toss him in, so I did.”

“…I was in the closet,” you say slowly, staring at him.

Sunoo blinks. “You were?”

You nod.

Sunoo turns to Riki. “And you were the guy I shoved in.”

Riki nods once, eyes wide.

The realization hits the table like a bomb.

“Oh my god,” Jake breathes.

Jay’s jaw drops. “No way.”

Heeseung just bursts into laughter, falling back in his chair. “You two??”

You stare at Riki.

Riki stares at you.

And suddenly—the hoodie, the way he moved, the way he kissed—it all falls into place.

Your stomach flips so hard you feel dizzy. “Oh my god.”

Riki’s ears go red. “Oh my god.”

Jungwon gasps like it’s the season finale of a drama. “WAIT. So it’s true?!”

“I didn’t know!” you shout, covering your face.

Riki leans back in his chair, horrified. “I said she was hot and whiny.”

Jake is crying with laughter. “Bro, you were talking about y/n the entire time!”

Heeseung’s wheezing. “And you—” he points at you— “you were like, ‘Congrats to us!’ like you weren’t congratulating each other!”

You groan and drop your head to the table.

Riki covers his face with both hands, groaning. “I said so much. I’m gonna evaporate.”

“YOU FINGERED HER,” Sunoo screams, pointing in shock.

“SUNOO!!” you yell.

Everyone absolutely loses it.

You storm down the hallway—heart pounding, face hot, feet practically stomping with every step. Behind you, Riki follows—equally flustered, but a little too quiet.

You duck into the first open room and flop face-first onto the bed.

Riki lingers in the doorway for a second, then steps in and shuts the door behind him.

Silence.

You groan into the sheets. “They’re never gonna let us live this down.”

“Nope,” he agrees.

You turn your head to glare at him. “You said I was whiny, Riki.”

“You were,” he says with a half-smirk.

You sit up, squinting. “Don’t.”

He holds up his hands innocently. “Hey. I’m just saying. You were all— ‘closer’—” He mocks a breathy voice, fluttering his lashes. “‘Touch me there—don’t stop—’”

You throw a pillow at his face. “Oh my god!! Shut up!!”

He laughs, catching it. “You started it!”

You groan. “You gave them everything. I could’ve gone my whole life without hearing Sunoo yell the word ‘fingered’ like that.”

He shrugs, grinning. “At least I didn’t tell them you were humping my leg.”

Your jaw drops. “I was not!!”

He leans against the dresser, arms crossed, clearly enjoying himself. “Pretty sure you were. Desperate little thing.”

You grab another pillow. “I will end you.”

He holds his hands up again, but he’s laughing—quiet, cocky, way too smug now that the shock’s worn off.

You narrow your eyes. Then pause.

And smirk.

“Oh yeah?” you say casually, loud enough for your voice to carry.

From the hallway, muffled voices are still chatting. Probably waiting to eavesdrop.

You throw the door open dramatically and shout:

“Riki finished in his pants!!”

The house goes silent.

And then—screams.

“Noooo way!”

“BROOOOOO—”

“HE DID??”

“YOU COULDN'T EVEN WAIT??”

“Not the jeans!!”

Riki’s eyes go wide. “Y/N!!”

You grin like the devil herself and slam the door shut in his face.

“That didn’t even happen!!” he yells through the door.

You’re already laughing, dropping to the floor as the house erupts.

Outside, the guys are screaming with laughter. Jay’s banging on the wall. Jake’s yelling, “YOU SAID YOU BLACKED OUT, NOT BUSTED OUT!”

Riki buries his face in his hands, groaning. “You are so dead.”

You grin up at him from the floor, eyes sparkling. “Guess we’re even now.”

Taglist: @haechansbbg @chenlesfeetpic @talkingsaxy @haolovre @vampgege @naqkja (click here to be added)

[formulafanfics13]

hey this might be weird but i cant stop thinking about this since lando’s monster came out😔 so him fucking you with his monster can or you ride his can while he’s watching, sorry i’m just a girl🎀

if it makes you feel uncomfortable you can totally ignore this🫶🏻

Practiced for this - LN4 🔥

Masterlist

summary: you’ve been letting lando stretch you for weeks, no questions asked. he’s gentle, greedy, and insistent — always a little more, a little deeper. it isn’t until he brings home a mysterious can of his limited edition monster that you realize what all that prep was leading to.

warnings: established relationship, size kink, object insertion (safe & consensual), monster can used as dildo, dumbification, mild overstimulation, begging, praise, slight degradation, possessiveness, lando being a smug little freak, reader is obsessed with him, lando is obsessed right back, reader has been prepped for weeks, mentions of prior anal play/stretching, extremely filthy

He’d been working you open for weeks.

Never said a word about it. Not once. Just stretched you slowly and gently like he had all the time in the world. Always with a new excuse. "Just one more finger, pretty girl, c’mon now." Or "Gotta make sure you're not sore tomorrow, yeah?" Kisses to your shoulder. Fingers in your mouth. Lube cold and slick and constant.

You didn’t complain. Why would you? You liked the way it felt. Liked how he bit down on his lip every time you took more. How he’d kiss your hip like a reward. Lando was so fucking proud every time he bottomed out. Greedy, sweet, careful.

You never asked why. Until tonight. Until he came home grinning like he’d won a fucking trophy and dropped the silver can on the bed like it was sacred.

His Monster. His Monster. Custom-designed. LN4-branded. The one he’d been teasing on socials for months but hadn’t let you taste yet. You didn’t even know he had a can. You reached for it, all giddy curiosity, and he caught your wrist before your fingers touched metal.

"That’s not for drinking."

Your eyebrows shot up. "...Okay?"

Lando leaned in, kissed your pulse, dragged his teeth up the inside of your arm. His voice dropped low, like a confession. “It’s for you.”

The room spun a little.

“…You’re gonna fuck me with your energy drink?”

His grin was fucking feral. “Been getting you ready for it, haven’t I?”

You blinked, brain catching up to the weeks of stretching. Every slick session. Every soft push. Every time he’d whispered "so fucking good like this, getting all loose for me." You’d thought he just liked watching. Thought he liked the challenge of seeing how much you could take.

No. This filthy fucking man had been prepping you for a fucking can.

"You’re not serious," you breathed.

“Baby, I’m so serious.” His hands slid under your thighs and lifted you like it was nothing, manhandling you back onto the pillows. “You think I put all that work in for nothing? Nah. You’re gonna take it. Gonna take it like the perfect little hole you are.”

Your pussy clenched at that. Heat rushed down your spine.

He kissed your ankle, your knee, the inside of your thigh, worshipping you like he always did. "I promise I won’t open it. It’s sealed. Clean. Rounded edges. I checked."

"You checked?"

"Yeah. Did a whole test. Put a condom on it first and everything." He was so fucking smug, like he deserved a medal. “It’s safe. Big, yeah, but you can take it. I made sure of that.”

He kissed your cunt before you could respond, long and slow like a thank you. Like an apology. Like a man who was about to ruin you and needed you to feel how loved you were first.

“Color?” he murmured, sliding a lubed finger into you just to feel how warm and pliant you already were.

“Green,” you choked. “Fuck, Lando, it’s green.”

He grinned like the sick little bastard he was. “Good girl.”

And then he got the can. It was cold. Your thighs trembled just seeing it in his hand. His name on it. His number. LN4. The Monster logo glowing neon and teal under the lights. Something about that made it so much filthier. Like it wasn’t just a toy. It was his.

Your body responded before your mind did, legs parting wider, pussy clenching, mouth gone dry.

“You ready?” he asked, voice softer now. Checking. He always checked.

You nodded. “Please.”

He started slow, pressing the flat bottom of the can to your dripping entrance, rubbing lazy circles. The lube was everywhere already, cold against your heat, and when he finally pushed in, just the slightest bit, your body gave like it had been waiting for this all along.

"That’s it," he whispered, eyes locked on where his Monster was sinking into you. “Look at that. Look how fucking good you take it.”

You whimpered. The stretch burned, sweet and slow, but not sharp. He’d really done it. Spent weeks prepping you so this would be perfect. And it was.

Inch by inch, he worked it inside you. Gently. Lovingly. Worshipfully.

“God, I could film this,” he moaned. “Post it to my close friends. No caption. Just you, stuffed full of my Monster.”

You whined, your back arching as the can filled you deeper. The shape was foreign but smooth, and every ridge of the label dragged against your walls. You felt obscene. You were obscene. Spread wide, whimpering, cunt swallowing down the fucking Monster like your body was starving for it.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demanded.

“Full,” you gasped. “So fucking full, Lando-shit-it’s too much.”

He slapped your thigh lightly. “Too much, or just enough?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Your brain short-circuited when he twisted the can just slightly, grinding it against your walls like it belonged there.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” he said, staring like he couldn’t believe it. “Look at you. Took the whole fucking thing. That’s my girl.”

He left it there. Buried inside you. Thick and cold and pulsing with your heartbeat. Then he kissed you, messy and desperate, tongue claiming your mouth while his fingers slid down to rub your clit.

“You know what I want now?” he said between kisses.

You shook your head.

“I want you to cum. Want you to cum on my fucking Monster. Get it all messy. Ruin it. Ruin yourself for me.”

And you did. It hit you like a fucking train, the pressure, the stretch, his voice, his hand, his mouth. You came shaking, crying, teeth sinking into his shoulder as your body clenched around the metal inside you.

He held you through it. Praised you like you’d saved his life. And when you finally blinked back into reality, the can still buried inside you, he kissed your cheek and whispered, “Next week I’m bringing the champagne bottle.”

[stzrgirl4norris]

Puppy Love - LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Actress!Reader

summary: reader is an actress, famous for her love for her bulldog. so, lewis hamilton decides to play his cards and shoot his shot.

based on this request 🥹

(i made reader blonde because we've all seen how lewis has been feeling some blondies lately lol)

liked by lewishamilton, gigihadid, zendaya and 4,200,393 others

yourinstagram as hannah montana would say, we are living the life 💅🐾

view all comments:

lewishamilton Jojo is enjoying the ride

> user LEWIS??!? YOU’RE HERE??? > user Jojo x Roscoe doggy spa day pls

zendaya I want to be Jojo when I grow up

> user she speaks for all of us tbh > user even Zendaya is manifesting being a dog. what is this life

user I will NOT survive this lewis x yn crossover

> user same. tell my family I loved them

user someone check on Roscoe. he’s probably in love

> user I don’t think roscoe is the one in love lol

yourbff Jojo deserves all the treats in the world

selenagomez I need Jojo merch immediately

> user Jojo’s impact is INSANE

dualipa obsessed is an understatement

> user the way everyone is simping over a dog 💀 > user and the owner

user sometimes I forget she has celebrity friends because she is so down to earth and then BOOM dua lipa is here

user I bet she smells like coconut

> user and like rose or something

user do y’all think Jojo’s paw touched Lewis’s steering wheel

> user honestly it would explain his comment

user imagine being this dog and casually being more relevant than me

> user and richer

user I’m gonna bark

lewishamilton added to his close friends!

liked by lewishamilton, gracieabrams, florencepugh and 5,302,485 others

yourinstagram puppy playdate and cappucinnos. Jojo says it's love (tagged: lewishamilton)

view all comments:

lewishamilton I’m working on winning you over. Jojo gave me a head start

> user SORRY WHAT⁉️

user this feels suspiciously like a real date 👀

> user I volunteer as tribute for the next playdate

yourbff I know that look in your eyes😏🫢

> user SHE’S IN LOVE YOUR HONOR

florencepugh this is disgustingly adorable 😭 give Jojo a kiss from me

> user FLORENCE IS HERE TOO?? the power you hold > user she said “I’m watching” 👁️👁️

gracieabrams ok but Jojo deserves a wedding

> user GRACIE DON’T START > user playdate ➝ cappuccinos ➝ vows

user do I have to get a dog to hang out with you two?? asking seriously 🐶

> user  girl I’d get a goldfish if it meant sipping lattes with yn and Lewis

anyataylorjoy cappuccino dates with matching dogs?? this is ✨too much✨

roscoelovescoco Jojo is cute🐾💕

user the internet is NOT ready for this soft launch

user who let this post be this powerful

user I saw this and immediately made it my lockscreen 🫠

user so when are we meeting the barista who witnessed this chaos

lewishamilton added to his close friends!

liked by lewishamilton, roscoelovescoco, yourbff and 6,929,493 others

yourinstagram she’s suspiciously pleased with herself lately. I would be too

view all comments:

lewishamilton nice flowers😉

> user the wink is diabolical> user SIR this is too casual for what you're implying > user you're not slick and we're not blind

roscoelovescoco 🐶❤️🐶

> user even the pets are in on it 

user we get it. you're in love

zendaya I love this dog cinematic universe

user this isn’t even about dogs anymore and we all know it

yourbff approved.

> user you KNOW something. spill.

user so it’s serious now huh 😭

>user no more “just playdates” I fear

user WHEN IS THE HARD LAUNCH ‼️

> user give us the slideshow. we can handle it > user or just one blurry mirror pic. we’ll take crumbs

user She’s glowing and Hamilton’s in the comments. I’m putting 2 and 2 together

florencepugh I love this for her. And by her I mean me watching from the sidelines 🥂

>user Florence cheering like the rest of us 😭 > user supportive queen behavior

user if she’s happy I’m happy. but I still need confirmation

liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and 11,390,292 others

lewishamilton grateful for the love, always. and yes, the bulldogs approved 🖤🐾

view all comments:

yourusername our handlers are doing their best 😅

> user this feels like code for “we’re in love and too powerful to hide it” > user you’ve been glowing and we ALL see it

roscoelovescoco 🐶💍

> user EXCUSE ME???

lando I KNEW IT 🔥

>user LANDO SAY MORE > user bro has been holding this in since god knows when

user THIS IS NOT A DRILL 🚨🚨 user my therapist is gonna hear about this

user I thought it was a PR stunt until Roscoe looked at her like that 😭

> user real love can’t be faked. especially not by dogs > user12 the way his little tail wagged when she touched his head?? sold.

user the way she matches his energy, the dogs, the style… Lewis finally met his match 🖤

user they’re literally too elegant for this planet

charles_leclerc I’m honored to witness this

user this is more healing than any taylor swift album

user give us the vogue photoshoot sir please

user ferrari is drooling right now

user the way she fits into his world so perfectly it’s actually illegal

georgerussell63 Roscoe hasn’t let anyone that close since the vegan treat incident

> yourusername I bring freeze-dried sweet potato sticks, George. Know your competition > lewishamilton she showed up with snacks. That was it for him.

user someone tell Anna Wintour to prepare the September issue

liked by scuderiaferrari, lewishamilton, yourusername and 7,300,594 others

Vogue Lewis Hamilton Makes It Instagram Official With Actress Yn Yln — Inside Their Glamorous Romance.

Sources say it all started with a bulldog playdate that turned into something much more. Roscoe and Jojo might’ve played matchmaker…

Fans have speculated for weeks about the budding romance between the F1 legend and the global superstar, but the latest Instagram post confirms what everyone suspected. The pair have been spotted in London, Monaco, and Milan—and even attended a track day together with their dogs in matching gear.

view all comments:

user🐾🔥💍 (we did it)

user wait is Roscoe the best man??

user not Jojo being the co-pilot of love 😭

yourusername I told Roscoe not to leak the plot

> lewishamilton he held out as long as he could 🐶 > vogue let’s talk cover shoot? 👀

user "A bulldog playdate that turned into something more" is the best romcom plot ever written

user this post healed my relationship with love

user I KNEW THE DOGS WERE INVOLVED

user Jojo and Roscoe deserve a brand deal

user wait not me crying over dogs playing Cupid

yourbff she told me it was just a “friendly walk” 💅

user imagine being THIS elegant

user if they don’t get married with the dogs in flower crowns, I’m suing

user they’re the definition of power🖤

user we’ve entered the “Lewis Hamilton in love and glowing” era

user finally… a couple that makes sense and makes me want to better myself

user Roscoe really saw his dad lonely and said not on my watch

user I feel like their playlist is all Prince, Sade, and acoustic remixes

user this is soft launch turned hard launch turned cultural reset

liked by lewishamilton, kendalljenner, tchalamet and 4,300,493 others

yourusername not sure who's the coolest here

view all comments: 

lewishamilton let them decide 👀

>user oh WE decided. it’s YOU TWO. TOGETHER. > user casually dropping power couple energy like it’s no big deal 😩 > user Lewis in his lover boy era is a win for all of us

roscoelovescoco 🐾🔥

yourbff I’ve never seen either of you look uncool so… yeah, this tracks 😍

user “not sure” girl be serious 😭

zendaya honestly? not fair to be this good looking

charles_leclerc I want in on this level of cool

>user Charles trying to join the aesthetic party lol

user how are they BOTH the blueprint??

user okay but let’s be honest… she wins

> user respectfully, Lewis agrees 😌 > user they both win but she wins more

user if I double tap 7 times does it mean I get an ounce of this energy?

user this is the vibe we’ve been craving all year

user they’re setting all the standards

user couple goals, fashion goals, doggo goals 🖤🐶

user can we get a joint Vogue cover already?

user honestly, the real MVP here is Roscoe stealing the spotlight again

user the chemistry is radiating off this post

user I can’t stop smiling every time I see them together

user Lewis’ smile here? I’m dead.

user honestly, this is why I stan

user love that’s effortless and iconic

liked by user, scuderiaferrari, f1gossip and 1,399,422 others

F1 Lewis Hamilton opens up in interview about his romance with our favorite actress Yn Yln after they attended the GP in coordinated outfits — and yes, the dogs were there too, both in tiny designer scarves.

view all comments:

user the matching fits… the effortless vibes… HELP

user they’re not even trying to be iconic, they just are

user who approved this level of perfection??

yourusername we let the dogs pick the scarves 😌

> lewishamilton best stylists in the paddock 🐾💼 > roscoelovescoco 🐶✨ (we understood the assignment)

user she shows up in silk, he shows up in linen. the match is matching

user I saw the coordinated fits and immediately developed trust issues with my situationship

user Roscoe in Fendi??? Jojo in Dior??? I’m on the floor

charles_leclerc I tried to match outfits once. Didn’t go well.

> yourusername the white jeans weren’t your friend babe 😭 > lewishamilton still proud of you for trying

user they don’t just serve… they CATER

user they said “coordinated outfits” and “tiny designer dog scarves” and left no crumbs

user Lewis is glowing. she’s glowing. the dogs are glowing. I’m unwell

user Jojo was working that scarf like her life depended on it

user Lewis talking about her with that soft smile in the video… I need a minute

user every time I think they’ve peaked, they outdo themselves AGAIN

georgerussell63 okay but where do I get a dog scarf like that

>lewishamilton ask Roscoe’s stylist > roscoelovescoco 🐾🛍️✨ (exclusive, sorry George)

user they’re the blueprint. the GPS. the map

user can we get a Vogue “what’s in their designer dog bag” interview please??

user I just KNOW they share skincare and playlists

oscarpiastri I saw Roscoe’s walk. That dog knows he’s famous

user imagine being loved, styled, and photographed like that

user this is what it looks like when soulmates walk through life together in slow motion

[higuysetc]

Okay I haven’t seen anyone actually talk about this scene from S1E2 as Byler evidence but I think it’s so telling and honestly insane

In this scene, El asks the boys what a “friend” is and they explain it to her. They tell her and it’s wholesome. Then Lucas performs a spit swear with Dustin and it’s funny. This conversation was just leading up to a funny bit between the two! Right?

Wrong. Oh my god, WRONG.

I was like actually kicking myself when I realised I missed this detail not just on the first watch but on the second as well.

“Friend?”

“Yeah, friend: Will?”

El doesn’t understand what a friend is so Lucas gives the example of Will.

“What… is friend?”

“Is she serious?”

Dustin shrugs

“Um… A friend is someone—”

“—Is someone that you’d do anything for”

Lucas specifically referred to Will in his example of a friend. When El asks him to expand on their bond, he struggles to elaborate and seems exasperated with her questions. Dustin isn’t much better. He doesn’t seem to care much for answering her and they both chalk it up to the weirdo being weird.

Before Lucas can even begin his clumsy explanation, Mike jumps in with

“—Is someone that you’d do anything for”

Which is. Wow. He says it so simply, so bluntly, so instantly and he looks overjoyed at the opportunity to talk about his loyalty to not just Will specifically but also the rest of his friends.

And, bless him, he’s literally bouncing on the spot when he says it. This scene is adorable but it’s also kind of heartbreaking, especially when you take into account when Mike tried to end his life at Sattler Quarry to save Dustin’s baby teeth.

He would literally do anything for his friends. This isn’t hyperbole, this is Mike being excited to show El, his new friend, that he’s loyal and protective. He’s not exaggerating when he’s saying he would do anything because friends don’t lie.

And the rest of his friends know this. When Mike is about to jump, Dustin begs him not to because he knows Mike and he knows just how important loyalty and being a protector to his friends is to him.

But the way he says this:

“Someone you would do anything for” It’s like he’s beaming with pride for his friends. He’s ecstatic at the idea of calling them his friends and being able to be there for them, to protect them, and is proud of them for just being themselves.

Obviously, this could include the entire party, especially with how it relates to Dustin and Mike ‘protecting him’ at Sattler Quarry.

But the fact that Dustin immediately follows this up with:

“You lend them your cool stuff like comic books and trading cards”

Okay so maybe we are still talking specifically about Will. In the first episode, Will and Dustin race and Will, the snarky little shit (affectionate), declares that Dustin owes him a comic. This is. This is a pretty blatant reference to Will and Dustin’s friendship.

What he says is also a lot tamer than Mike’s declaration of undying loyalty which reflects Dustin and Will’s friendship vs Mike and Will’s status as besties for the resties. Quite literally.

Besties for the resties.

We should also take into account the fact that Mike most likely didn’t just jump off the cliff only to save Dustin’s baby teeth after seeing the person he would do anything for’s limp body being pulled out of the water. He would do anything for them both.

But the fact that in some sick alternate universe Will Byers was found dead in the quarry and 12-year-old Mike’s body was found there days later should be enough evidence to be honest.

And if El hadn’t have found Mike and Dustin when she did, this would have been their reality. And Mike knew this was an almost certainty, unaware that he would be saved, and he jumped anyways.

And how does that look? In a conservative small town where no major crime ever happens, the adults spread rumours of a 12-year-old Will Byers being hate crimed for being gay after going missing instead of having any compassion towards him or his family because of this child’s supposed sexuality. His body is found not long after he goes missing and within days, the boy he was rumoured to be so close with jumps in after him and dies.

And let’s be honest, Will most likely didn’t get this much shit for his alleged queerness because he liked art or was quieter than most. He may have gotten a picked on at school but for his parents to pick up on this? Lonnie was a bastard which is standard I guess. Common knowledge. Like the quarry meaning certain death thing. We knew that. Maybe he just gave him a hard time because he didn’t like baseball (Insert coded heart-to-heart with Jonathan and Will destroying Castle Byers with a baseball bat because he thought his feelings towards Mike were childish).

But for Joyce to bring this up to Hop instead of omitting both slurs and just leaving it at “he’s a sensitive kid” or just her most relentless “find him”s? For her to avoid the question when Hop asks whether or not Will is gay? Huh.

Most probably, he was really- suspiciously- close with a male friend. A male best friend. A little too close and a little too affectionate and for a little longer than is normal for boys to be so close with each other. Maybe this best friend even thinks that befriending Will was “the best thing he’s ever done”.

Mike was willing to die. That’s not fucking normal.

His best friend went missing and bear in mind Mike had little to no evidence that Will was alive at this point. He was presumed dead. Mike was 12 years old when he tried to kill himself. You can’t just chalk this up to trying to save Dustin’s baby teeth.

“You make that jump from this height, that water turns into cement. Hits you like a ton of bricks, break every damn bone in your body.” -Hopper

Mike understood that he was going to die. Outside the fact that it’s common sense and probably common knowledge in a small town, where he’s probably been warned by parents and teachers not to play too close to the quarry, it’s basic physics. He’s a physics nerd. He knew that he would die and he still went through with it.

The fact that they emphasise just how brutal Mike’s end would have been by having Hopper stand there and explain in graphic detail what would happen if someone fell over the edge? And then they send the point home further by having Mike weigh his options for a good while before making the decision to ignore Dustin’s pleas and ,I don’t know, any will that he has left to live? Is insane. No pun intended.

I don’t think I will ever get over the quarry scene. Mike jumps off to ‘save’ Dustin and possibly to join Will, out of love and out of loyalty, but also out of lonliness. Fucking insane. Especially with how that would have looked in a conservative town during the AIDS crisis, if El hadn’t interfered. And how Dustin must have felt after he begged Mike to stay alive for him and saw Mike actively ignore him and try to sacrifice himself to save him.

So yeah. Mike would do anything for them both, to a concerning degree.

But back to S1E2, El asked what a friend was. Lucas hesitated. Mike excitedly said some deep shit. Dustin followed up with something more lighthearted but still painful (lowkey imagining how he must’ve felt after failing to get Will home safe, and then later get Mike not to jump) and—

“—And they never break a promise”

Mike when I catch you Mike.

What promise could Mike be referencing here? Friends don’t lie, perhaps? Yes. That. That’s like the only option at this point, I fear.

And we’re back to Mike specifically describing his relationship with Will. How do I figure this? It’s established right off the bat.

S1E1- Will chucks the die somewhere and he rolls lower than thirteen. Lucas tells him it doesn’t count if Mike doesn’t see it. Lucas is willing to lie. Lucas is willing to break the promise. Mike is specifically referring to his relationship to Will here.

“It was a seven.”

“Huh?”

“The roll: it was a seven. The Demogorgon. It got me. See you tomorrow.”

Will dgaf about winning the campaign if it means lying to Mike. He would never break his promise. (Do not bring up the Season 4 painting right now istg this is pre-the-puberty-amplifying-internalised-homophobia-thing (and also I could go on a whole rant about what Will meant by “ripping of the band aid” there so lmk if you guys would be interested in that))

Immediately, within the first eight minutes of the first episode of the first season of Stranger Things, it is established that Mike and Will do not fucking lie to each other no matter what and they have a bond much stronger with each other than with the other two boys.

What did Will say again?

✅ The roll was a seven.

✅ The demogorgon got him.

❌ He will see Mike the next day.

Oh. Okay. That’s not like. Blatant foreshadowing or anything. This might be a reach but I feel like the fact that Will never lies to Mike but told him that he would see him tomorrow, then went missing, may have amplified Mike’s desire to find him faster or at least served as a way to communicate to the audience that Mike and Will hold their promises dearly and if Will says he’ll see Mike tomorrow, Mike will do everything in his power to see him as soon as possible and this is made further tragic by his attempt to join him at the bottom of the quarry.

Maybe a reach. I’m confident about everything else though so who gaf. Let a girl have fun.

“—Especially when there’s spit.”

“Spit?”

“A spit swear means—Puh—you never break your word. Its a bond”

Comic relief for all the devastated re-watchers, classic. This scene definitely wasn’t intended to be sad but I’m a sap, I fear. Plus the absurdity of Lucas’ spit swear and how seriously he talks about it contrasts how bubbly Mike is when he talks about promises when he is the one who holds loyalty so dearly that he is willing to give up his life for it.

Oh my god, I’ve just had a thunker of a thought. It’s. Oh my god. I’ve had a revelation. But it’s 5 am and I’ve been trying to put my thoughts into words for like a good couple of hours now so. It’s to do with the spit swear thing and how it relates to Mike’s asexual treatment of El until Will’s disappearance. Oh my god. Stay with me. It sounds like such a reach and it may well be but I genuinely unironically think I’m onto something here. Especially with how cosmedically Lucas’ bits are played out compared to Mike’s. Holy shit. Aaand it’s nearly 6 am. Well. I’ll edit this for basic grammar mistakes later, it's fine.

Okay, I’m gonna end this part here so just let me know if you guys want a part 2 and I’ll tag some lucky individuals in it maybe.

Also let me know if colour coding the characters’ names was too jarring or something? I feel like it helped me get through writing this monstrosity but low-key idk how the rest of everyone will feel sooo just lmk :)

[theoats99]

The Time In Between

Remmick x Female!Reader

Summary - Your in that time in between your cycle, your body is yelling and screaming for anything, for everything from Remmick.

NSFW! Mentions of ovulation, doggy, some praise from Remmick. This one is kinda tame really.

Word Count:2,285

One of the many horrors of being a woman was of course the monthly bleeding, something that Remmick struggled with a lot since we’d become, well, closer. The restraint he showed with you became thinner with each day into your cycle, but after months of living together he’d been able to keep that deep dark hunger in check. For the most part whenever you bled he’d excuse himself more often, leaving into the dark for hours before coming back less tense.

His keen sense of smell didn’t help either, he could always just know. The first month it happened you’d have thought he smelled death the way he recoiled from you, all with a polite tight smile on his lips he’d excuse himself leaving you confused. After time his sense of smell was a powerful weapon, he could smell any predator that came close to the land of your home, smell when the weather would change, and also smell others on you.

He hated when you went into town because that smell that seemed to make you you was muddled by others, he’d grumble and whine about how you smelled different, off. It usually ended with him on top of you, covering you completely in the best way possible, more than making sure that you smelled like him again.

Today he knows something is off, it’s that fine point right in between each bleed, the point that drives a hunger so deep inside of you that it burns, seeping out of your core to your underwear. He knew it from the moment he left the bedroom at dusk, eyeing you strangely as he started helping you in the garden. 

You knew what it was, it was your body's way of pushing you to be filled, pushing you to have children that you knew Remmick could never logically give you. But still that burning feeling lingers, you attempt to work through it, you managed to grit your teeth all day in the yard, doing anything and everything to not go to the vampire laying in your bed, to not beg him to ruin you like you desperately wanted to.

But each time you looked over at him, his strong body moving some soil, or even plucking the weeds out of the ground, that burning hunger inside of you grew. In moments like these you get an understanding for the pain Remmick struggles with, that hunger he always fights, you imagine it feels like this, like a fire burning its way out of your body screaming to be put out. 

Not that Remmick would have minded, it was very clear early on that Remmick would do anything you asked, something that scared you at times just as much as it made that familiar feeling pool in your core. “I’d burn the world down if it kept you warm hun’.” He’d told you once, face fully serious, and shockingly it only made you love him more.

“Darlin’ are you feeling alright?” His concern isn’t lost on you, and neither is the closeness of his body. He’d managed to sneak up on you, crouching right next to you while you were lost in your thoughts, hand hovering over your shoulder. You look at him, staring into those pretty eyes that search over your body as if looking for something out of place, a reason for your strange demeanor.

“‘M just fine, we have a lot of work out here that needs to be done is all.” You lie, whipping your head back to the weeds that have infiltrated the garden, yanking the thing out sharply. Remmick doesn’t move though, instead he falls to his knees mirroring your position on the ground, placing his hands over your own to stop you from getting to the next weed. You glance at him, not turning your head at all. 

“You smell warm, you been out here too long, sugar, ya need some rest.” You finally look at him, and all you want to do is punch that sweet caring look off his face. He’s a fucking vampire, something so dangerous and lethal, I mean fuck he’s older than the town we’re in, possibly older than anything in this country. But here he is, worrying over you over working yourself, over the fact that you’ve been in the sun all day with no break.

Something in you snaps, you look away from him, peeling the thick gloves off your hands and throwing them to the dirt, he looks alarmed at the action, worry again spreading over his face. That look is whipped away when you latch onto his shirt, lips smashing against his. He takes no time to allow his hands to grip onto you, lips moving against yours just as roughly.

You latch your teeth onto his lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but it sends him over, bringing a growl out of him as he breaks away from you. His eyes have changed now, that worrying blue gone and replaced with that shining lustful red gleaming down at you, it sets your already hot insides on fire. He stands, hands going to you hips hauling you up over his shoulder eliciting a gasp from you as he takes you inside, once inside he tosses you onto the bed, your body bouncing against the springs as he crawls over you. His whole body is pressing yours to the bed, not an inch of space between the two of you.

“Now I know what that smell is, it’s you, yer want. Yer that desprete huh?” He gloats, hands on either side of your head, normally his gloating would send you spiraling. It would make your head spin, send some hot embarrassed flush crawling over you, but today he’s right. From the moment you woke up this morning the need for him was burning inside of you, so you tilt your chin at him and face him head on.

“Ya, it’s me. I’ve wanted you so bad all day, working myself like a horse all mornin’ just to distract myself. All I wanted to do was come in here and take you or let you take me, it wouldn’t have mattered which way I just wanted you, all morning I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” His chest is rising sharply, erratic breaths leaving his mouth as he takes in your words, sharp teeth shining in the candlelight he must have lit when he woke up.

He doesn’t say anything as he rises, a whine leaving you at his absence, but the sound is replaced by a yelp as he turns you over quickly. Laying on your stomach now he yanks your skirt down removing it completely then your shoes, he grabs your shoulder dragging you to your knees, your back pressed against his chest. You can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his hands unbutton your shirt, yanking it down your arms, his arms returning to your torso holding you so close to him. So close you can feel him drool onto your shoulder, so close you can feel him straining against your ass, his cock rearing to be free and you clench around nothing at the thought of it.

One of his arms wraps tightly around your waist, holding you still against him while the other travels down and cups over your heat. The moment his hand connects with the wetness that has been pooling all day he groans, hot and heavy against your ear. 

“Ye could have woken me baby.” He groans again, fingers trailing through the seeping heat, moving down each stroke then back to your clit, he repeats the slow torturous motion over and over again, driving you insane. “I wouldn’t have minded, I would have taken ya I promise.” He slurs against your shoulder, bringing more whimpers from you, simply just nodding to his statements.

And once his finger slides inside the relief is instant, like aloe against sun burnt skin the sensation of his finger finally inside of you leaves you sighing, relaxing against his tense body behind you. He works you over slowly, bringing that finger in and out like he’s cherishing it, his lips working over your neck just as gently, like he’s worshiping you like this. 

“Remmick.” You sob, wanting more, needing more. More fingers, more kisses, more of anything that he is willing to give you. He lets out an equally pathetic sob, nodding against your shoulder.

“I know baby, I know. I just want to take my time with you is all.” He tries, but you jerk your hips against his still moving finger, whimpering.

“Please, just more Remmick please.” You whine, hating the way your voice sounds as you plead with him. But it works, he groans against your neck and slides another finger inside. The moan that leaves you seems to light something inside of him on fire, his fingers now moving fast, slamming against your hips as his teeth scrape over your neck. You can feel his drool sliding down your shoulder, gliding down your chest as his fingers bring you closer to the edge. And just when that familiar knot is about to snap, just when your moans reach that high pitched begging sound he stops, he yanks his fingers out of you and pushes your shoulders down towards the bed. You fail to find purchase against the sheets, landing on your elbows instead, a whine leaving you lips at the emptiness. 

His hand collides with your cheek, a wrangled moan making its way out of your mouth, the pain mingling into the pleasure. Then another on the other side before both of his hands grab at your cheeks. “I can see ya dripping, fucking glistening.” He growls as he spreads and massages your rear, your forehead against the mattress panting into the sheets under you.

You hear the sound of his belt buckle, the sturdy piece clanking as he undoes it followed by some rustling as he joins you on the bed. His hands go to your hips, raising your ass to him where you feel the weight of him against your thigh, his hands are all over you, fingers grazing over your burning skin like a map he’s read over and over again. He leans over you, his cool chest draped over your hot clammy skin, he buries himself in your hair inhaling slowly like it’s the first breath he’s taken all day.

“Tell me you want it, tell me I can ruin ye and I will. Please just tell me.” He begs, whimpering against your ear. 

“Remmick please, please.” You sob, his hand finds your own, still clutching the sheets below you. “I want it, I want you, please.” That’s what breaks him, his hips angle back and in one swift motion he’s pushing inside of you. It’s searing in the best way possible, eliciting a moan from you that only pushes him further.

Then it’s like he’s been set free, his hips snapping against yours, balls colliding with each thrust, hips snapping to yours all while his hands are gripping onto yours. His fingers weaving between your own as they clutch onto the bed, his own head resting against your shoulder muttering words you don’t know. They sound old, something from when he was living no doubt, and they only add to the pleasure as they meet your ears, he notices because of course he does, Remmick notices everything about you. 

“An maith leat é sin?” The words are foreign to your ears, but his tone is enough to tell you it’s a question, one you don’t know how to answer. “Do álainn.” He mouths against your shoulder, it sounds sweet, reverant, the opposite of how his hips are still slamming into yours. With a force and precision so skilled your brain can’t even keep up, that coil tightens again and this time he isn’t stopping. With three more power filled thrusts your crumbling away, his name leaving your lips loudly as you clench around him. He moans against the skin of your back, slamming into you once more as he fills you, ropes of himself spilling into you with each stuttering thrust he gives you.

He stays draped over you, his breathing calmed quickly, but you're left under him still trying to catch your own. His fingers are still weaved between your own, his lips trail over your shoulder blades, leaving tender soft kisses over the skin. “You alright?” His voice is hoarse, like gravel against your ear, but also mixed with that accent, something he hides, something that comes out when he’s too blissed out from you to care about keeping his facade up. 

“Shit, I knew I went too hard.” He swears when you don’t answer, going to get off of you but your fingers keep his in place, holding him tightly. 

“I’m perfect.” Is all your voice can get out, he sighs over you, like you’ve given him the world in just those two words.

He pulls himself out of you, and nudges you up the bed, you allow him to move you up. Your body feeling light as he brings you to his chest, you bury your face into it sighing to yourself this time. One of his hands is over the small of your back, the other is weaving into your hair keeping you close. With the fire inside of you gone the exhaustion takes over you, your eyes drooping, eyelashes fluttering against his skin as you relax into both him and the bed. Right as you're drifting off you hear him say something, something you again don’t understand. 

“Tá grá agam duit.”

Note!!! I tried really hard to find a good enough translation site for Gaelic, but alas it's really hard, so I'm sorry if the bits in here are butchered!!!

An maith leat é sin? = Do you like that?

Do álainn = So beautiful

Tá grá agam duit = I love you

[celestiaras]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ you're all i can think of (every drop I drink up) ]❜

ft. mystery x f! reader — kpop demon hunters

╰₊✧ ever wonder what mystery is thinking about during meetings?┊1.4k words

setting: non demon & demon hunter au contains: smut!! dom mystery┊established relationship, receiving oral, semi-publix (supply closet), reader is a member of huntrix, au but still the universe where fans are normal about male and female idols interacting because jesus christ

➤ author's note: i spent like half an hour looking for gifs of him only to settle on icons

they say the eyes are the windows to the soul, so when it comes to mystery, who keeps them hidden behind his lengthy bangs at all times, it’s impossible to know what he’s thinking about. he’s always quiet, and if he didn’t have the magnetic aura of an idol, he would be entirely invisible. you’re always wondering what’s going on in that pretty little head of his, if he’s paying attention to what’s being said in the conversation or if he’s mentally in a different place entirely. when he notices you staring at him from across the table, he flashes a little knowing smirk your way before once again getting lost in his own world instead of focusing on the meeting.

it’s no secret that huntrix and the saja boys have a rivalry with each other, the most popular girl and boy group fighting for the very top spot of the most popular group in all of kpop. it’s nothing too serious and has been played on multiple times to elicit a reaction out of each other, the fans, and the press, but it has become so well known that even their companies have developed the genius idea of a collaboration that was sure to be a massive hit and break records.

now, all of the members of both groups are seated at a rectangular table, looking towards the end where their managers are explaining the entire thing with projection images on the whiteboard and markers in hand. 

it was also no secret to anyone that the lead vocalist of the saja boys and the all-rounder of huntrix were dating, much to the disdain of the other members, even though they try their best to remain respectful and supportive. fans often compare the two of you to romeo and juliet, without the tragic ending (hopefully), and are eagerly awaiting the day you get your bandmates’ approval (because, let's be honest, it’s inevitable for them to agree when they can see your shared love as clear as day).

that’s for another day, however. as of now, you’re all still stuck in this room talking about the collab and wondering what mystery is thinking about since he clearly isn’t paying attention to what’s being spoken. is he on board with the demon hunters versus demons concept, or does he think it’s childish? is he staring at you because he likes the way you did your make up, or was your lip glass smudged without you knowing? you have no idea. this man could witness someone getting robbed and wouldn’t react. 

little do you know, he’s shamelessly undressing you with his eyes, thinking about the beauty underneath your clothing that he knows and has memorized like the back of his hand. he doesn’t quite know himself why he’s being so perverted today on an occasion that requires his full focus, but does he really need an excuse to be horny for his gorgeous girlfriend?

his thoughts wandered to last night when you were in his bed, sprawled out all pretty in lace, looking up at him with doe eyes as you awaited his next move, all needy and soaked after his constant teasing. you had cried out in pleasure as his tongue darted out to swirl around your clit, reaching out to tug at his silky periwinkle locks when he pushed his fingers into your heat and curled them upwards at that spongy spot that had you seeing stars. the sound was echoing inside his mind as if it were hollow with nothing else in there, bouncing around like a dvd logo/ 

mystery couldn’t stop thinking about it, even if he tried to, recalling how sweet you tasted and how you would moan out his name when his hands gripped your waist to pull you closer. just recalling it made him feel parched, and there was only one way to quench his insatiable desire.

he followed you closely once you were all let out, no more than four paces behind you, making you acutely aware that there was something he wanted from you, “what, do you want me to buy you lunch too or something? were you thinking about what you wanted to eat instead of paying attention?”

your boyfriend said nothing, merely pushing you along the hallway until you reached one of the cramped supply closets and ushering you in. he lifted his finger to his lips before you could ask him what was going on, but once he dropped to his knees, you finally understood all too well, “really? that’s what you wanted to eat? was last night not enough for you? were you actually thinking about us fucking while our managers were explaining what could be the collaboration of the decade?”

he simply nodded with a slight pout, making you groan in exasperation, “alright, fine, but make it quick, i promised the girls i would pay for their lunches.”

you noticed the sly smile on his face, but wasn’t able to comment on it as he made quick work to strip you of all your lower clothing. leaning back on the shelves, he hooked your legs over his strong shoulders to split your thighs apart to reveal your pretty pussy to him and wet his lips before diving in. he was practically salivating like a dog, lying his tongue flat between your fold and sucking greedily at your clit.

any annoyance you had with your boyfriend’s sudden need dissipated as it was quickly replaced with pleasure. you don’t know how he does it, how his mouth is so talented at both singing and eating pussy, but you quickly find yourself covering your own with one of your hands to prevent any sinful noises from slipping out. you couldn’t get caught, especially not in the company building, there would be serious consequences, probably not expulsion, but punishments you didn’t want to think of, because what would they even do if they found two talents fucking in a broom closet—

mystery shook you out of your thoughts with a light smack to your thigh, halting his actions until you looked down at him, “what are you thinking about? keep your attention on me.”

god, his voice is incredibly sexy when he decides to use it, so is his feverish eagerness to get you off. he’s absolutely relentless, and loud— so sloppy with how he’s lapping up all of your juices like he was dying of dehydration and you were the only source of satiation for miles around. the way his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs was bound to leave bruises, but you didn’t even seem to register it with how your head was spinning with that addictive fuzzy haze of lust.

all the while, one of his hands had dipped down into his own pants and was jerking himself off his one of his hands, quickly covering it with his leaky pre-cum

all the while, he couldn’t help but to move one of his hands to dip down into his own pants and jerk himself off, the tip leaking with beads of pre-cum and covering his shaft with every constant movement. he felt like he was going crazy without the stimulation and needed some form of relief while you were getting off. he thinks it’s only fair that way.

you let out an embarrassingly loud gasp as your orgasm hit you, making you pop like a bubble and leaving a sticky mess all over his lower mouth just as he liked it. in the dim light, you could see him move away with his lips and chin glistening with evidence of what transpired, licking away the residue and pulling out his hand to find it dripping with white. 

it took you a moment to pull yourself back together, only doing so when you heard your phone ding with a text message from mira, asking where the hell you were. mystery was silent, ripping off a paper towel from a nearby roll and cleaning you up before himself— playing the part of the perfect gentleman like he didn’t pull you into this cramped closet for a quickie. 

“i gotta go, the girls are looking for me,” you sighed, swiping over the camera app to check your appearance and hoping the post-climax glow wasn’t too obvious. 

his gave you a gentle kiss on the cheek, whispering a few words of love in your ear before letting you go, already excited to head home to see you again.

[ma-lemons]

SPY X FAMILY CHAPTER 120 SPOILERS BELOWWWWWW

God. Was I expecting a Yor confession immediately after 119? No. Did I eat up every second of it? Yes.

In my last post, I was talking about how our main three characters view their relationships with one another. I wondered if Anya loved her father, which she does, “more than omurice”

This moment was just between Anya and Yor, allowing them both to be honest without the subject of their conversation with them. Anya, again has that innocence of a child, and represents the love a child has for their father. Anya knows the nature of her relationship with her father and in a way has accepted it.

What’s interesting is Yor.

Now, I’m very grateful for this chapter, because it shows that Yor is much smarter than people want to admit. I know the subject of her intelligence is played up for laughs, even Anya pokes at it, but here, I’m referring to her emotional intelligence.

There is some significance to these two panels.

1) they’re split in two. It gives the reveal more depth. The first panel focuses on Anya, it shows how her interest is piqued. The second panel splitting between the two focuses on Yor, but also Anya. The two are being honest with each other, Yor’s smile and Anya’s expression are genuine feelings.

2) Okay, look at Anya’s reaction. Anya was just talking to Becky about “her feelings” for Damian. She doesn’t quite understand romantic love, and while Becky ships them hard, Becky is 6, she hardly gets it herself. But Anya, a telepath, still doesn’t get what Yor means by loving Loid. I think that this confession has opened Anya’s eyes a bit, that she’ll start getting the idea of romantic love, not only between her parents, but eventually her and Damian. She’s starting to see it. Anya is growing up. Even with the way she’s doing fractions and learning. It’s been six months in universe and because of her parents and the socialization at school, Anya is learning all types of love. Familial, platonic, romantic, and self love.

Yor says “I might be in love with Loid” we didn’t have a bunch of flashbacks or evidence of some sort to allow us to see how Yor made this conclusion. We saw that moment building up from the last chapter, but it’s been a long time coming. Yor has always admired Loid for accepting her and being a good father towards Anya. Although Yor isn’t able to fully verbalize it towards Anya, she understands that the love she feels for Loid is a different kind. Again, because Loid isn’t there, Yor feels comfortable telling her daughter that she loves her fake husband. I think as the story goes on, we’ll have Yor explain her feelings more into depth. This is just the beginning. We’ll find her being more flirtatious, noticing more things about him, being a little a more comfortable.

And then this line!!

Yor is harboring so much guilt and negative feelings; she thinks her being an assassin means she can’t be with Loid (and little does she know he’s also hiding a secret!) She has little self esteem. Remember when her coworkers said early in the series that Yor had potential? Yor hardly saw herself as beautiful, and then here comes Twilight/Loid calling her beautiful and wanting a fake marriage with her. (And a side note: I think Loid was being honest here about her beauty, even if he was using that sentence to manipulate her). She feels like her feelings will complicate the contract for Loid. Even when discussing her feelings, she keeps thinking of Loid. This is how you know she truly cares for him. It’s just said that she denies herself romantic love.

She makes Anya promise not tell Loid. And Anya reads her mind at that time. Maybe she understands how serious her mom’s feelings are. Maybe she sees how much her mom doubts herself and holds so much guilt and shame over her career.

Which is why the reveal is going to be so painful, yet so delicious. Yor is doing the exact thing Loid keeps trying to fight against. Putting her feelings into the situation. But while this is a mission for Loid, it’s becoming more for her. The big question is, will Loid realize and confess before the reveal ? There’s so many things in between, Desmond, Project Apple, Melinda, Yuri and the SSS… so I don’t feel like we’re getting that any time soon. Loid has a long way to go, but I believe that Endo has already set the foundation for him. From noticing how close Yuri and Yor were in the early chapters, to him talking to Franky in the bar after Yor rejected him, when he was thinking about his family at the dog park and then after the Wheeler arc. I think a lot of people focus on Loid falling in love, Loid confessing, but I think it’s so fun to explore Yor as a character more and how their relationship grows from her perspective.

[writing-girlie]

Too much?

Pairing: Jack Abbott x Fem!reader

Blurb: Jack knows exactly how much you can handle-so he gives you just a little more.

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: Smut, Oral (F!receiving), sex toy (used on F), overstim

Request: Yes / No

You met Jack Abbott the night you were rolled into the ER–scared, bleeding, and shaking. He was the one who took care of you. With calm hands, and his voice keeping you grounded while everything else spun.

“Stay with me.” he’d said, eyes locked on yours while his palm pressed hard against your side. “Look at me. You’re going to be okay.” 

It’s been a few months, and you’re still with him. A few follow ups turned into grabbing coffee, which turned into this. There’s no label about what it is. You don’t ask, and Jack’s not the type to explain himself but you’re in his apartment more than your own, you sleep in his bed, and make breakfast together. So whatever it is, it’s something.

Today you decided to go into the city for a few hours, no plans–just enjoy your day off.

You’re standing in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, with your mascara wand in hand. Focused, mouth parted slightly, tilting your chin to get the right angle. You see movement in the reflection and your eyes flick over. He stood with one shoulder against the frame, rolling up his sleeves.

“Nearly ready?” He asks,voice low but warm. You pop the mascara closed with a soft click, and set it down on the counter, before you turn to face him fully. Your lips curve into a smile and you nod.

“Mhmm, All ready” You grab your lipgloss and walk towards him. 

He drives you to the city, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. The windows are cracked just enough for the breeze and the sun is warm against your skin. When you get out of the car, you loop your arm through his and curl your fingers around his bicep. He doesn’t say a word about it, just lets you stay close while you drift in and out of the different stores. 

Eventually, you get to your favourite cafe. You order your usuals, then settle into one of the booths by the window. Jack slides in next to you, his arm stretching along the back of the seat, fingertips drumming soft against the cushion.

“You know…” you murmur, looking up at him “you look real good today.”

“Is that right?” His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smirk as he sips his coffee. 

When the mugs are empty, you wander back out onto the main street. Your hands brush as you walk. Once, then again. The third time you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers with his. His thumb softly traces small circles against your skin, like he’s not even aware of it but you know better. That little gesture says plenty. 

You walk a little further, till you reach the end of the main street. Then Jack tilts his chin toward the crosswalk. You cross the street and wander into the quiet park.

Jack relaxes onto one of the benches, shaded by the trees. Instead of sitting beside him, you sit on his lap, sideways, like the seat next to him isn’t perfectly empty. His hand comes to rest on your thigh immediately.

“You know” His voice is low against your ear, his breath warm against your skin, “you don’t have to do all this to get my attention, right?” There’s no serious tone or warning in his words, just soft teasing. You smile, pressing your lips to his jaw, feeling the faint scratch of stubble.

“Yeah,” you whisper, you smile against his skin “but where’s the fun in that?” He quietly laughs at you, letting you know that he’s noticed your little sweet mannerisms throughout the day. 

That’s the thing about Jack Abbott–he doesn’t rush. He doesn’t break when you try to bait him. He just lets you. 

Lets you touch him.

Get close.

Whisper every thought that comes to mind. 

And he carries on with his day like none of it’s getting to him. 

Except you can sense it does. All in the way that his jaw tightens slightly, through the weight of his hand on your leg and how his eyes linger on your lips.

The ride home feels longer than the drive into the city. Maybe because you’re restless now, eager for him to put his hands on you. You’re practically buzzing by the time you get back to his apartment. You think he’ll give it to you–strip you down, press you into the mattress, and fuck you. But like you learn time and time again Jack’s a patient man.

He watches you as you remove your jewellery and shoes.

“What?” you ask. You step closer, hands slipping under his shirt, fingertips grazing the skin of his stomach. His muscles tense under your touch. You look up at him, doe-eyed.

“Jack…” You breathe his name out softly.

“Yeah?”

“I need you.”

“I know you do.”

He catches your wrists before you can push his shirt any higher, backing you toward the bed. His large hand cups your jaw, tilting your face just how he wants it and leans in to kiss you.

Clothes come off on his terms. He takes his time peeling layers away until you’re both bare. He lays you down on the bed, your head on his pillows. He presses kisses to your stomach, then your hips, and your inner thighs. And then he’s between your legs.

His mouth is slow at first–warm lips, soft tongue drawing teasing circles that make your stomach tighten and your breath catch in your throat. You shift beneath him, which makes him rest one heavy hand across your hip to hold you in place.

“Stay still” he murmurs against your skin, voice low. You try but his mouth is good. His tongue flicks over your clit, then drags lower, dipping inside you just to make you whimper. He works you open until you’re slick. You whine softly when he swipes back up to your clit.

“I know.” he says softly. His eyes flick up to yours as he pushes two fingers in. They curl just right to find the spot that makes your thighs twitch. His mouth stays where you need it

“Jack, please-”

“Thought you liked teasing?” You were really good at it today.” He continues until your back arches. You moan his name, hands scrambling for something–One ends up on his shoulders, the other in the sheets. He doesn’t stop, you try to twist away from the pressure, but his hand stays firm at your hip.

“Too much” Your body jerks when he curls his fingers again, mouth closing over your clit with just a little more suction, just enough to make your head spin. Another orgasm builds before the first has even faded. Your eyes roll back, and you gasp his name. He moves his mouth away and focuses on how his fingers are moving which sends you over for that second time.

“You’re doing so good” He removes his fingers, you see him reach for something, then hear it buzz. You’re not sure when he even grabbed your vibrator but your thoughts stop when the toy presses against you. Your hips jolt off the mattress. Jack watches you like he can’t adore anything more. His free hand strokes your thigh keeping you grounded. Tears prick the corners of your eyes from the intense feeling. You barely get the words out before you whining from a third orgasm. 

“Shh. You’re okay” He removes the toy, placing it aside. “You have one more for me, don't you?” His voice is coaxing. You nod. “Good girl.” The praise sinks into your skin. His fingers curl around your knee to part your legs wider. His other hand comes to his cock, stroking himself slowly as he looks at you. He leans over you, his cock dragging against your slick, swollen pussy–but he doesn’t push in yet. Just lets you feel the weight of him. You were wet enough to drip down your thighs, your whole body begged for him without a word.

“Look at me.” You blink up at him, eyes glassy, lashes wet from the corners where your last orgasm pushed tears up. The head of his cock nudges inside you, just an inch, just enough to make you feel the stretch.  You swear you can feel the shape of him, It’s too much and perfect at the same time. He doesn’t rush, just rocks his hips forward until he’s seated all the way inside.

His hand slides under your back, keeping you close. He stays there for a second, buried deep, like he’s giving you time to feel every inch of him.

“This is what you needed, huh?” He starts to move, hips pulling back just enough to thrust slow and deep. He sets the pace–steady, heavy strokes that push the air from your lungs. There’s no rush in the way he fucks you, but there’s no mercy either. Your nails scrape gently at his shoulders, fingertips dragging over freckles you’ve traced a hundred times before. Your body trembles under him, still too sensitive from everything he’s already given you–but desperate for more. You try to close your legs, instinctively, but with him between them you and up loosely wrapping them around his hips. 

His hand moves from under you to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. He leans down to kiss you. Every drag of his cock pushes against the spot that makes your stomach coil tight again. You try to hold back but every move is perfect.

“Attagirl” Jack murmurs, his voice barely a breath. You clamp around him, a constant pulsing, and he groans against your skin. His thrusts get heavier as he chases his own, the rhythm breaking, his breath hotter, and rougher in your ear. He presses his forehead to yours as his cock jerks inside you, his hips grinding down one last time. You feel the heat of him filling you, thick pulses that drag another soft moan from your lips.

“Breathe” he whispers, lips at your temple. “I’ve got you.” He gently runs his fingers through your hair. He rolls you both on your side, keeping you close. “Too much?” His voice is quieter now, roughened at the edges but gentle. You shake your head, eyes still glassy, a soft breath leaving your lips. 

“No. I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” He smiles into your hair, lips curving against your temple. “Did real good for me, sweetheart.” The praise makes you melt further into him, wrapped in his strong arms, certain this is how it's meant to be.

[impishjesters]

hey guys it's the Mystery anon back at it again... I HAVE A SCENARIO. HOPEFULLY IT GIVES INSPIRATION. Okay, reader was in a previous relationship that was abusive and their ex would often bite or scratch or yell at them. Thankfully, with Mystery, he isn't abusive! hooray! So reader is like sitting with their back to Mystery while playing a game or scrolling their phone and he playfully bites their shoulder causing reader to freak out. breakdown / panic attack, basically. HURT NO COMFORT OR HURT COMFORT WORKS. I DON'T MIND I JUST LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH </3

Welcome back, Mystery anon! 💜

The writing/idea sounded better in my head than it does written out... I've never had healthy relationships, so comfort is something I've never known how to write. I don't think I've ever been comforted after someone did something to me?? So this was me free balling it... I hope it's good. ;w;

Content Warning(s): implied/mentioned past abuse towards the reader by their ex, but nothing is detailed

Dating Mystery had been a far different experience than being with your ex, while your ex had been loud and physical. Mystery was quiet and more often than not, let you initiate any physical contact first. You’re still unsure if that last part was intentional or not, though.

Mystery is sitting on the couch with you on his lap, your back against his chest, while you idly scroll through your phone while he plays a video game. How he can see the TV screen with his hair in his eyes is beyond you. His hands are on your lap, holding the controller, and every now and then, you’ll rest your hand on his wrist and take a break from scrolling to watch him game before returning to staring back at your phone.

You aren’t really sure how long the two of you remain like that, then again, you aren’t really sure when you put your phone down and simply just watch the TV as he plays. More importantly, you have no clue how long Mystery’s been trying to get your attention; he’s been saying your name for the past few minutes after all.

The sudden bite to your bare shoulder catches you off guard, your mind immediately reeling as your reflexes kick in, elbow slamming into Mystery’s chest. He lets out a quiet grunt at the force of your elbow into his ribs and lets go of his controller, giving you the perfect moment to escape his hold.

“Don’t touch me!”

Mystery watches you throw yourself to the ground and frantically scrounge to get distance between the two of you, and if you had been in the right mind, you would’ve seen the look of hurt crossing his partially covered face.

You’re trying desperately not to hyperventilate as the memories of your ex flood your mind. Repeating under your breath that he isn’t here, he can’t touch you anymore. Now with a decent-sized gap between you and Mystery, you finally look up at him, and the ghost of your ex that overlaps where Mystery is disappears, leaving only your concerned boyfriend. Your hand comes up to your shoulder, and you crane your neck down to look at the spot he bit, no teeth marks.

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly, making no effort to move closer towards you. And truthfully, you’re thankful for that.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, breathing still erratic, you give him the tiniest of nods.

“Don’t lie.”

You cringe at his call out on your lie and rub your shoulder roughly, trying to get rid of the feeling of teeth on your skin. “I’ll be okay, I just… please, don’t do that again.”

Remaining in place, Mystery lets you take the time to calm down, and even though you don’t want to think about it any longer than necessary. You can’t help but feel like Mystery deserves some kind of explanation. It feels only fair if things remain serious with him as your boyfriend.

As you begin to explain, leaving out unimportant details, even though you can’t see his eyes, you know he’s staring at you with anger, not at you, but at your ex, the longer you talk about the things he did. His fingers curling into fists so tight his nails threaten to draw blood, it takes everything in him not to snarl, but he’s trying to remain level-headed to avoid scaring you again.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is louder than normal, but not too loud to cause you to flinch at the volume. “I won’t do it again, that wasn’t my intention,” he pauses, “but I wish you had said something sooner.”

You let out a tired sigh, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “I was going to, but how exactly am I supposed to say that in casual conversation?”

“My ex used to hurt me, and I’m still healing, so I jump at certain physical contact. Please avoid doing x, y, and z out of nowhere.” He states bluntly, ignoring your amused scoff.

“Okay, fine, maybe I could’ve said it like that, but still.”

After giving your shoulder another aggressive rub, you stand up and slowly make your way back to Mystery. He stiffens slightly but looks up at you when you step in between his legs, his attention completely and utterly on you.

Your fingers ghost against his bangs. When he makes no attempt to stop you, you brush back some of his hair, a single eye peeking out and staring straight up at you. It’s almost startling being stared at so intently, but the stare doesn’t feel hostile. “Thank you… I know it probably sounds stupid to say, but just, thank you…”

Mystery’s eyebrow raises, confused as to what reason you would need to be thanking him, but decides to let it go. You’ve been through enough, and he’s just happy to have this piece of knowledge about you. He says nothing when you pull the rest of his hair out of his face, letting you find entertainment in clipping his bangs out of the way.

If you’re weirded out by his staring, you say nothing, though in truth, you’re doing quite a bit of staring yourself by practically gawking at Mystery’s face.

Your legs begin to ache, and Mystery settles back onto the couch again, allowing you to return to the spot on his lap if you’re comfortable. And you do, except this time you’re facing sideways on his lap, staring up at his face as he takes the controller back in his hand.

“Having fun?” He asks, not looking away from the TV.

You hum in response, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “Yeah.” You place your hand on his chest and mumble. “Sorry that I elbowed you…”

A small chuckle leaves Mystery at your apology. “Didn’t hurt.”

[iloveseraphims]

Can you do a Yandere Alphabet for Mihawk? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Mihawk isn't the kind of man to cloud things with unnecessary words. He has his own way, his demeanor toward you, the way his gaze slips under your skin so effortlessly. The way he treats you, the way he singles you out any fool could see he loves you.

And when he thinks actions need to go further, Mihawk is the kind of man who’ll lean in to speak right by your ear, in a voice that melts youand solve the strength in your legs with nothing but his tone.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Anyone who dares to utter your name. He won’t even bother with them, without blinking he’ll drawn Yoru.

At the same time, give him a name. He will take care of anyone you want gone. He would kill anyone for you. Or rather he would attempt to. Still sometimes he might inexplicably avoid shedding blood, especially when he’s with you.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

He is not a man who will mock you. He loves you and respects you. Like a lover, he will treat you the way you deserve. In his eyes you are his equal.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Mihawk is a man who values the trust built quietly within. He won’t try to pressure you, instead of wasting his energy on that, he will work for you to get used to him, trust him and love him.

Mihawk is a clever man. Even though he could get what he wants by force, he also knows he would lose certain things in the process.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Mihawk is someone who can easily sense the intentions of those around him. If he trusts you he’ll open up his heart to you a little, something that isn’t in his nature. But he’ll show you a softer side of himself.

If you're the first to show vulnerability around him, he might see it as a new step. Before long, he’ll do the same for you.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

This would be the most damaging step for your relationship. It would remind him of the times he was betrayed in his youth. He wouldn’t expect such behavior from you, and doing it when he’s let his guard down would truly hurt him. Still, he’s not the kind of man to easily give up on someone he loves. Even so, he’ll wait for you to take the first step and apologize or he’ll come to you himself and want to talk about where you both stand.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

He thought things were going well between you. And now you’re running away…he’ll be deeply disappointed. Be prepared for him to give you sulky looks for quite some time. He wouldn’t enjoy what you’ve done. He sees this relationship as something serious, so why don’t you? Hasn’t he given you enough already?

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

This man is very skilled at shutting people out. If there’s tension between you, he can make you feel that way. Aside from the emotional toll, there’s no chance he’d ever physically hurt you, he values you too much to ever raise a hand against you. But the worst moment might be when, during an argument, you clumsily try to run off down the stairs and end up falling because he couldn’t stop you in time. You’re injured and bedridden after that.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Mihawk is a man who cherishes peace and solitude. He wants to live a calm, quiet, beautiful life with you, one where you both truly value each other. And if you're able to have children, maybe…if you bring it up, he might just agree to have one with you. Honestly even an accidental pregnancy wouldn’t be such a bad thing in his eyes. Still to him, a family doesn’t have to include a child. As long as he has you and you’re happy together until the end, that’s more than enough.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Mihawk isn’t a jealous man by nature. But if a situation pushes his limits, he will step in. Truth is he’s not the type to quietly tolerate just anyone interacting with you. Who do they think they are, speaking so casually with the partner of the World’s Strongest Swordsman?

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

As the bond between you deepens, he will approach you with even more depth and meaning. He’ll casually stroke your waist, giving gentle squeezes to remind you that he’s there. When you rest your legs on him, instead of pushing you away or ignoring it, he’ll massage you while reading his newspaper. He won’t hesitate to show his love and devotion to you through his touch and actions.

Love Letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

He is quite traditional. Romantic dinners by candlelight, bringing you expensive or unique gifts when he returns from a meeting or mission, intimate candlelit baths, proposing outings to other islands when he’s free and creating memories together. A man who will even make romance by having sword duels with you. Damn it he knows exactly how to approach you.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Not too much. He won’t act distant toward you just because of others. You are his partner, let the whole world see how much he values you. Small touches in public, speaking to his partner respectfully, that’s how he will treat you. Still he won’t show his vulnerable side to others. You’ll be the only one who gets to see that.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He’s not the type of man to restrict or punish his partner. Truly he could be one of the most respectful yanderes you’ll ever meet. He values your body, your life, your personality, your decisions and your thoughts. Maybe if you make a mistake, he might give you advice and speak a bit argumentatively but he won’t punish you. He doesn’t want you to be physically or mentally unwell. He values every moment and every second spent with you. He really won’t waste your time in life on nonsense like punishing you. You’re both mature adults and can handle things by talking. With just one conversation, he’ll firmly make his stance clear and show what he doesn’t want.

You are his partner, not a circus animal to be punished.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

He won’t take anything away from you. If he does that now, others might do it later. He won’t tolerate anyone, including himself, restricting your freedom or breaking your spirit. Still he will expect some things as a partner, knowing you won’t disappear and giving him the assurance of your loyalty is enough. However sometimes he will express what he thinks is right or wrong for you.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

While he is quite a patient man (except with fools), he will be even more patient with you. Need time? He’ll give it. Want to be alone, to think, to focus on other things, or ask for a little break before taking the relationship to the next step? He’ll give you all of that. You’re a human not a puppet. He will be patient in every matter and won’t try to rush things, he can move at your pace too.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He will try though with great difficulty, to endure your death. Even if he doesn’t have time to fully accept or mourn, he will do so inwardly in his own way. He will have your grave made close to himself, he won’t let anyone else do it, he will prepare it himself. If he can he will visit every day, perhaps those visits will be the moments he talks the most. He will come with wine and two glasses. No he won’t pour a glass on your grave soil. Instead, he will tell you about his day and his thoughts. Even if you’re not there, he will remain vulnerable and fragile by your side. Though others may not see it, anyone who has lost someone they love can catch that painful sparkle in his eyes. He will bury you on Kuraigana Island. Perhaps your grave will be the most beautiful, nostalgic and unique place on the island. Unfortunately when he lost his Warlord title, one of the reasons he stayed on the island a little longer was because of you. He doesn’t want to leave you behind. He truly doesn’t trust the damn Marines. But when he finally has to let go, he won’t be gone forever. Eventually, he will come back to your graveside and speak with that fragile gaze and voice. Mihawk is a man who will carry you in his soul until the very last moment.

If you run away he will find you. If necessary, he will travel all across the Grand Line, even ignoring the Warlord summons, unless threatened with losing his title, which they won’t do.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

No first of all, just knowing that your life and presence are safe with him is enough to bring him peace of mind. If this has affected your mood, that’s okay it’s nothing that can’t be mended with time. And if he had to take you by force, it’s only because you refused to come willingly. He’ll do everything he can to make his home feel like your own.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Maybe it’s the loneliness maybe it’s the belief that he could never fall in love. He truly wasn’t expecting a feeling like this. Especially not at this stage in his life. And yet, you’re the one who brought him to this point.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

He is a man who will comfort you with his words and touches, enough from both sides. Still, he doesn’t want to see you cry, it affects him negatively as well.

And if you need time, he’ll wait patiently and give it to you. Sometimes, it’s not right for only one person to always take the first step in a relationship. When you’re ready and take that step, he’ll be there ready to dance with you.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Perhaps it's the fact that he knows how to rein in his obsession and gives you room to breathe. No one would ever suspect he's a yandere. Not even he would think of himself that way. To him, he's simply a true gentleman and a devoted partner. Exactly what you deserve.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Trust. Trust. Trust. If you’ve earned this man’s trust, it will open many doors for you. Still, I wouldn’t recommend breaking it, he won’t forget betrayal and you’ll leave him with emotional damage he’ll carry forever.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Physical damage? No. Emotional damage? Absolutely. This man's words have a way of nailing someone to the spot. Even if he always speaks to you with care, there might come a moment, intentional or not, when he says something that breaks you.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Make it clear that you accept him and that you want him. He's someone who would do anything for you. Of course, everything has its limits, he won’t give you everything all at once. But if moving forward means creating chaos around him, he’ll still do it.

When it comes to respect, his respect for you is truly boundless. Even if he’s furious after being betrayed, he would never speak to you with filth or insult you. It’s against his principles to disrespect the person who stole his heart. In his eyes, you don’t deserve disrespect ever.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

It depends on the situation and circumstances. His longing will only fuel his determination to reach you. He’s not someone who will lose his mind, even if it frustrates him, he’ll endure it with patience.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Hurt you, the one he loves and values more than anything? He wouldn't do that even in his worst nightmare.

While he stands as your shield and sword to keep the world from hurting you, he could never be the one to break you.

[rivalsispunk]

20 Cigarettes pt. IIII (DBF!Joel Miller x reader)

part I, part II, part III

tags/warning: +18, mdni. Joel is in his 40s, reader is in her 20s. age gap. f!reader. unprotected piv. creampie. SMUTT. angst. slow burn. drinking, swearing, phone sex(if I've missed anything let me know and I'll amend),. no outbreak, non canon, mention of TLOU characters but nothing is in line with the show/game aside from the fact Joel is the dilf to end all dilfs

w/c: 11.3k

a/n: things are getting MESSYYYY plus a surprise appearance by an unwanted guest (also this is unedited mainly because I wanted to get it out asap so apologies if things are a smidge out of sorts hehe

***

Joel isn’t a fan of weddings. 

It’s not that he’s a cynic, not really. It’s just that most of the ones he’s been to have ended in divorce—including his own. So, no, he didn’t exactly get all soppy and starry-eyed over vows and floral centrepieces. Speeches always dragged, the food was no better than the dinner service at the local bar-and-grill—even though everyone liked to pretend it was—and someone was always crying for some reason not to do with the day. It’s not that he doesn’t believe in love. It was just… He’s seen too much of the after. The unravelling of a relationship. The resentment. The cold silence where warmth and happiness and laughter used to be. He’s lived it. So no, weddings aren’t his thing.

Then there was the dressing for them.

The stiff collar of the blue button-down itches at his neck as Joel tugs at it, scowling into the bedroom mirror. It fit fine, looked good, even. But something about it makes him feel like a fraud. It’s too crisp, too polished, almost like he’s trying to be someone he isn’t—and he’d spent too many years trying to stop doing that. He drops the empty hanger on the bed beside the softer, worn in olive shirt he often gravitated towards for more serious events. Not fancy, but dependable. Like him. Only problem was that it didn’t feel like enough.

And that was a stupid thought, wasn’t it?

You’re not even going with her, he reminds himself. Just a guest. A seat-filler. The guy who showed up a with a drill and saved the bride’s ceremony vision.

Still, he doesn’t want to rock up and look like shit. Especially not if you’re going to be there in whatever dress you had picked out—something he is trying really hard not to think too much about. Because if he does, he’ll start picturing the way you looked with the shower steam still clinging to your skin a couple of days ago, how your mouth had opened when he—

Joel exhales hard through his nose and grabbed his phone.

He hasn’t seen you since he left Dina’s parents’ house yesterday, after you helped him clear up the mess of offcuts and tools. Not that he hadn’t kept an eye out. He’d lingered by the front window longer than he should have when he heard a car door slam outside. Caught himself scanning the aisles at the grocery store this morning, ears pricked for your laugh like some lovesick teenager. And he was still thinking about that message he’d sent you the other night after you’d slipped out of his place and made the roundabout trip back to your’s—Sweet dreams. It was still sitting there in your text thread, painfully neat, excruciatingly unsatisfying. Too short. Too impersonal. But the truth was, anything longer had felt dangerous.

But he was still about to call. Over a shirt. 

At least, that’s what Joel tells himself it’s about. He hovers over the call button on your contact card for a few long seconds before finally pressing it. It rings once. Twice. A third time long enough that Joel feels the relief and disappointment snipe his shoulder blades together. The phone rings again when—

“Hello?”

Your voice is a little breathy, warm, and behind it, Joel catches the sound of running water—followed by a sharp squeak and the stream cutting off.

He freezes.

He can see it far too easily: steam curling around your shoulders. Water dripping down your back. The memory of your bare skin soapy under his palms in a similar setting just a few days prior. Joel clears his throat.

“Hey. Uh. Hope I’m not botherin’ you.”

“Nope. Just hopping out of the shower.” A beat. “And you could never bother me, Joel.” He huffs out a short laugh, ignoring the way his whole chest goes warm and oozy. “What’re you doing?”

“Tryin’ to figure out what the hell a man wears to a wedding these days. Dina didn’t exactly say what the dress code was.”

“Is Joel Miller asking me for fashion advice?”

“Well, I was hopin’ for a bit more tact than that, but yeah. Guess I am.” There’s a pause, and the sound of bare feet padding across the floor before you ask, “What are the options?”

Joel stares down at his bed at his lacklustre options. “Blue shirt. Bit too…ironed? Makes me feel like a lawyer,” he jokes. “Then there’s a green one.”

“You like green,” you offer, smiling down the line.

“I like green,” he confirms.

You hum, and he can hear the smile in your voice now. “Go with the green. And maybe a jacket. You’ve got a jacket, right?”

“I have—”

“The Carhartt doesn’t count,” you interrupt, even though you won’t lie—you do love that Carhartt. 

“Watch it, darlin’. I’ve got a jacket. Wedding appropriate, don’t you worry.”

The conversation is so simple, but still, his veins vibrate. His cheeks hurt. He tells himself it’s just the shirt. Just the call.

But it isn’t. It never is with you. 

He contemplates saying something else—something about how he was looking forward to seeing you on Saturday, about how he’d been thinking about the other night a little more than he probably should’ve—but he didn’t. Doesn’t get a chance to, because you ask him to send you a photo.

“Just so I can confirm my expert opinion,” you say.

“You want me to send you a photo? Of me?”

“Do you want my help or not?” you jest, perching on the edge of your bed. 

Joel sighs. “Alright. Give me a second, need to change m’shirt.”

There’s a beat of silence, then some rustling, a muttered goddamn collar and a grumble about the buttons. “Christ. How the hell do you young people do this all the time?”

You’re still giggling to yourself when the photo of Joel lands on your screen—half his head cut off, his shirt collar sitting slightly askew. Free arm bent at a weird angle. It’s endearing in that very Joel kind of way.

“Don’t laugh,” he grumbles in your ear, even though your laughter is already slipping past your lips.

“I heard that.”

You bite your lip, try to tone it down. “It’s just… You look like you’re being held at gunpoint.”

Joel breaks, and you hear the quiet chuckle through the phone. “I’m gettin’ on in years, darlin’. I ain’t out here taking selfies every other day like your generation.”

The conversation halts there and you settle back on your bed, still wrapped in your towel, skin warm and still a tad damp. Neither of you say anything for a moment, just listen to each other’s breath on the other end of the line. Nothing about it is awkward. It’s almost… comforting.

A minute later, you break the silence. “How was your day?”

Joel shrugs and you practically hear it through the phone. “Not bad. Stopped by a kitchen remodel a couple of the guys are doing in Westwood. Spent half the morning chipping old grout off tile.” And he’s paying for it tonight. His lower back is screaming with a deep throbbing ache that made standing up after the task feel like unfolding rusty hinges. His shoulders burned from the hours spent hunched over. It was shit like that that made Joel realise he wasn’t getting any younger. 

“Sounds thrilling.”

“Tell that to my back, baby,” Joel jeers, then: “Almost stopped by your place actually.”

Your heart trips. “Yeah?”

“Had some long-forgotten stuff of your dad’s layin’ around. Figured I could drop ‘em back. Y’know… as an excuse.”

There’s no use fighting the grin that cracks over your face, or the heat that sizzles through your body. “You miss me, Miller?”

It’s meant to be a tease. Light. But something about the way it lands—hushed, suspended—makes it feel heavier than it should. 

Joel doesn’t laugh. 

“Yeah,” he says finally. “Somethin’ like that.”

Your throat goes a little tight. You shift where you’re sitting, towel tugged snug across your chest. You hesitate, fingers curling a little tiger around your phone. “What if… you could see me?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well,” you murmur, your voice soft but steady, “you sent me a photo. Seems only fair I return the favour.”

“What kind of favour we talkin’ about here?” he wonders, cautious but curious. Like he’s not sure if you’re kidding—and not sure if he wants you to be.

You rise to your knees on your bed slowly. The towel slips lower on your chest, the tight pull of it accentuating the swell of your tits. You bite your lip again, adjusting yourself so one arm braces behind you while the other angles the phone. Your striped towel clings to where you’re still wet from the shower. Pushed high on your thighs, the material teases more than it hides. Your skin glows, flushed and dewy under the light.

You take a snap.

Delete it.

Try again, with a tilt of your chin, arch of your back.

No. That’s not it.

Another pose that comes out too stiff. Too try-hard mannequin.

Then finally—heart galloping—you let go of trying to be perfect. Stop posing. Just smile up at the camera, completely you, and hit send.

It takes a second. Maybe two. Three. Then you hear it—a loud clatter, something skidding across hardwood, followed by a muffled string of curses and the rustle of movement.

“Joel?” Silence. Then a stern, almost anguished, “Darlin’.” You hold your breath. “You can’t spring somethin’ like that on me,” he says, voice hoarse and thick. 

You reply, smug. “You liked it though.”

Joel breathes out a soft laugh. “Liked it? You nearly sent me into cardiac arrest.”

“So you don’t want more?”

There’s a pause. Not because Joel’s unsure—but because he’s trying not to sound too desperate, too pussy-whipped when he answers.

“Don’t play with me, baby,” he says, all strained. “You know damn well I do.”

Your cheeks pinch, heat blooming everywhere, legs pressing together beneath your towel.

“So ask,” you say quietly.

Joel groans. Quiet—but you hear it. Feel it in your core, where the sound pulses, clenches, begs for more. You can almost picture the way he’s dragging a hand over his face, trying to keep it together.

Because honestly? He’s barely hanging on by a thread. Sneaking around has been risky enough. Ducking glances, half-truths, stealing away moments you shouldn’t even have in the first place. But this? Pictures? Cold, hard proof? That was a whole other kind of danger. Joel knew that.

And yet, he doesn’t tell you to stop. Can’t bring himself to. Not when you’re offering yourself up like this, so willingly. Which is why, when he finally speaks, it comes out fractured. Gravelly. Almost painful. 

“Send me another,” he says. “Please.”

Your breath catches, lungs suspended, frozen, like they’ve forgotten how to function. Until they do, and you lower your towel completely. Let it slip down your sides and puddle at your hips. The camera captures the top of your thighs, the slope of your waist, your bare chest, how your nipples peak from either the cool air, or anticipation of what comes next. Maybe both. You try not to overthink it. Just snap the photo fast before your courage wanes, and hit send.

The silence that stretches after the small delivered lands under your photo feels endless.

A hiss from Joel’s end comes sharp and unfiltered. You can hear fabric shifting—his weight repositioning with the groan of his mattress, a shaky inhale through his nose. You can almost picture him. Reclined against the headboard, bedside lamp casting a glow across one side of his face. Shirt hitched up, maybe, jeans unbuttoned but still on, the curve of his cock unmistakable beneath denim.

Meanwhile, you shift back against your pillows, body warming even more under the pull of his breath through the one, the rough edges of it catching in your chest. You part your legs slowly, letting the towel fall open. One hand cradles the phone at your ear, the other grazing across your torso—over the curve of your tits, your fingertips dragging down your navel, dipping into the crease where your thighs meet your hips. You arch into the touch, even though he’s not here.

“Joel?”

“Mm, darlin’?”

You dig your fingertips into the flesh of your thighs. “Wish you were here.”

“Oh yeah?” His voice is scratchy, underscoring the trepidation that lurks on the other end of the line.

You nod, forgetting he can’t see it. “Wish you were touching me.”

Joel doesn’t answer right away, and the pause has your pulse skittering. You’ve never said anything like that before, never asked for someone like this. Definitely not in this way, over the phone, mewling for validation while your hands explore your naked body. Despite the newness of it, it doesn’t feel scary. But then again, when it’s with Joel, nothing does.

His words are frayed when they eventually filter down the line. “Jesus, baby. You got any idea what that does to me? Hearin’ you beg for me when you know I can’t do anything about it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper through a smile. “That’s kinda the point.”

That yanks a choked laugh out of him. “You’re killin’ me.”

You allow your eyes to flutter closed, let your hand drift slower, everything unrushed and warm where your fingertip traces the seam of your folds. “Tell me what to do.”

Joel exhales, your name wrapped up in his breath. As if he’s been waiting for you to ask just that. “Start slow, just like I would. Pretend I’m there. Pretend my hands are yours.”

Your lips part.

You imagine his hand cupping you, middle finger strumming over your cunt with purpose until it dips into your wet flesh. You jolt when you come in contact with your clit, your bundle of nerves already throbbing, sensitive with anticipation. You must make a noise, because Joel hums.

“That good, baby?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. You circle your clit, pressing into your bed as if you had the shape of him behind you. The idea makes your breath stutter. Makes you whimper his name as you sink your finger into yourself, right to the last knuckle but it’s not enough.

You’re no match for Joel’s thick fingers. You can’t even scrape your g-spot with the precision he does, arching into your touch, chasing the satisfaction you know—you know—only he can give you.

Joel should’ve known the second that first picture landed that he didn’t stand a chance. He’s barely breathing, hand resting over the waistband of his jeans, fingers twitching with restraint. This is about you, not him, but fuck if he doesn’t get up off his bed and storm over to your house right now and fuck the life out of you, your dad be damned.

You’re not helping the cause, with your soft little pants, a broken sigh. A whimper that’s barely there but enough to unravel him completely. It’s the kind of sound that feels too intimate for a phone call. The kind of sound that burrows under his skin and blooms alight in his chest like a fuse.

You hear him swear under his breath.

It’s not just the noises you make while you fuck yourself with your fingers, it’s what they mean. That you trust him. That it’s him you’re thinking about. Him you want. So when you gasp out his name again, all breathless and aching and on the brink, Joel finally gives in. Shoves his jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs—thick, weeping cock grasped in his fist in an instance. It only takes three pumps along his length to know it’ll take the same amount for him to come.

“Darlin’, I’m—”

Your pending orgasm tugs low in your belly. “Me too,” you breathe. It’s all you can manage before your back bows and the heat you felt a moment ago splinters apart in your core. Your hand clams over your mouth as your body pulses through it, the phone sliding out from your grip onto the mattress beside you. Even though it’s no longer at your ear, you can still hear him—his voice breaking, the sharp exhale, your name groaning low like it’s being dragged from somewhere dark inside him.

That was—

You can’t even think, eyes still slammed shut as the last wave rolls through you, tingles fading. Your chest rises and falls like you’ve run a mile. Eventually, you blink up at the ceiling, the world soft around the edges.

“Jesus,” you say into your phone.

Joel chuckles. It’s low. Fond. “Ain’t the name I heard you say a minute ago.”

You roll over, groan into your pillow. “Don’t.” But you’re smiling. You know he can hear it.

Joel basks in the feeling for a moment longer before his voice drifts down the line again. “That was okay, right?”

Your cheeks are warm against the cotton pillowcase. “Of course it was. I started it, didn’t I?”

He’s quiet for a second, then: “I know. Just wanted to make sure.” “You’re sweet sometimes, you know that?” you tell him. Genuinely.

He grumbles a soft protest under his breath. “Don’t go spreadin’ lies like that,” he nips back playfully. “You get some rest now, y’hear?” You roll your eyes, tut softly. “Always so bossy.” You catch another huff of laughter before you tell him, “Night, Joel.”

“Yeah. Night, darlin’.”

***

You wake late. No alarm, no rush. Just golden fall sun peeking through the gap in your curtains. You planned to have a lazy day before you needed to be at Dina’s parents' house for a wedding eve dinner with the bridal part,y followed by an old-school slumber party complete with rom-coms and all the sugary treats that dentists tell you’ll rot your teeth. 

Maybe today you’ll finally catch up on Real Housewives. Go for a big walk. Take one of those long everything showers. Shave your legs. Wash your hair. Lather up in that expensive lotion you never make time for. The kind of day you never let yourself have in Charlotte.

But then: a text from Dina.

I love you sooooooooo much. And I need a favour. Can you pls do a grocery run for tonight? Get the lot. All the chocolate your heart desires.

Another one three seconds later that says, and those white choc covered pretzels I love.

A third a few moments after that.

Oh and can you plssss pick up the flower wall? And did I mention I love you?

You blink. The flower wall. Six feet of silk peonies and foam backing. Your dad isn’t home and there’s no freakin’ way that’s fitting in an Uber. You sigh, because of course you’ll do what Dina’s asking, you just need to figure out the execution. You pad downstairs in your pyjamas for a glass of orange juice and a piece of toast, swearing to yourself you’ll do the least stressful, minimalist version of a wedding when the time comes. If the time comes.

But when you glane through the kitchen window—there it is.

Joel’s truck, parked neatly in his driveway across the street, and an idea begins to take shape. 

Fifteen minutes later, you’re in activewear: black flared leggings and a skintight zip-up jacket, the kind that hugs every curve enough to grab plenty of attention on your walks to and from pilates classes back home. You tie your hair up in a messy ponytail, swipe on some tinted lip balm and march across the street.

It’s not a big deal. Just a neighbour asking for a favour. You’re not doing anything wrong. Still, your eyes flick left, then right, back again as your knuckles rap against the Millers’ front door.

Joel answers a few moments later, eyebrows raised in surprise. Surprise that softens almost immediately when he sees you.

“You busy?” you ask with a tilt of your head. Try not to sound too hopeful.

He leans on the doorframe, crosses his arms. You don’t miss the way his biceps strain against today’s chosen flannel. “Not really. Got some paperwork to get through before I swing by a job later.” His gaze drifts—just for a second—down your figure and back up. “Why?”

You lift your phone, show him the instructions from Dina. “Dina needs this stuff—the groceries I can handle, but the follower wall’s the size of a damn mattress. My dad’s out and Uber’s not an option. Any chance you could…?”

He grunts. “So what you’re askin’ is, can I be your chauffeur?”

You grin. “Something like that.”

He nods, just once. “Alright then.” But what he doesn’t say—what flickers behind his eyes—is sure, if it means spending time with you. Time that’s already tick, tick, ticking down.

“Great!” you chirp, already turning on your heel and heading down toward Joel’s truck when you hear—

“Hold up.”

His hand, warm, firm, catches your wrist. You stop, barely have time to turn your head to look at him before he pulls you through the door, shuts it behind you, and presses you up against it.

His mouth is on yours before you can speak—rougher than you expected. Like he needs the connection to keep himself together. Like he’s gone too long without you.

You gasp against him, startled, but your body melts into him on instinct, hands sliding beneath his shirt as his fingers find your waist. He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you make a sound you barely recognise—it’s belly-deep. Hungry.

“Joel,” you say against his lips, dizzy from the pace of it. 

“M’supposed to be keeping my hands to myself,” he pants, already searching for the zip on your jacket.

You laugh, already breathless. “Yeah, since when?”

“Since thirty seconds ago,” he says. “Didn’t last.”

Your jacket’s open. Gone. Pants follow. You straddle him on the couch moments later, hips bracketed by large palms as he guides you, up and down frantically on his pillar of a cock as you both hurtle quickly towards release. You’re not sure how long you’ll be here, or how long he’ll let you stay like this, but for now, you stop caring.

You’ve got errands to run. Eventually. 

But not just yet.

***

The air-conditioning in Joel’s truck fights off the sweat left on your skin, dried from the mad tangle you’d both fallen into on his couch. You still feel the aftershocks curling low in your belly as you tick off Dina’s list one item at a time. 

You’ve been bouncing around town for an hour now. Three different stores just to track down the specific chocolate-covered pretzels Dina wanted for tonight. Joel didn’t complain once. Just drove wherever you pointed, quietly amused. You’ve got music on—his kind and yours. Keith Whitley, Kenny Rogers, a little Chris Stapleton, then a newer one from Wyatt Flores that Joel pretends not to know but taps along to anyway. You queue up Fleetwood Mac, the Eagles, something familiar that makes Joel hum low under his breath.

He watches you from the corner of his eye as you sing softly to yourself, head turned toward the window, breeze catching wisps of hair that have fallen out from your ponytail. Your fingers drum against your thigh in time with the beat of whatever song filters through the speakers.

He wants to touch you. So he does. 

A handle settles there, palm wide over the curve of your thigh. He doesn’t squeeze, no lingering like he wants anything. Just rests it there, and you don’t flinch. Don’t even turn to look. You just smile—faint, barely there—and keep your attention on the trees whipping past, the hum of tires and music filling the truck’s cab. It all feel so…natural. Like this is something you’ve done before a hundred times. Something you just do. Joel’s thumb begins to stroke slowly over the fabric of your leggings mindlessly, his other arm hanging lazily off the steering wheel as he pilots the truck down the highway like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

To Joel, you look unbothered. Carefree. Stoic in that way you get when you’re deep in a thought, unreachable for a minute. But inside? Inside, your nerves are rattling. Because what used to feel stolen, those unhurried, breathless moments in the dark, fumbling in the cab of this very truck, now feels startlingly simple. Wholesome, even. Like this is all normal. Like you belong here. His hand on your leg, the radio on, groceries in the backseat, the day stretching out quietly before you.

And maybe you do belong.

But neither of you says it. Not yet.

Not until you’re parked at Helen’s Diner on the edge of town. The one you used to come to after school and after football games with your faces painted in team colours following a win. The one with checkered floors, red vinyl booths and a waitress named Margie who calls everyone honey and has worked here since before you were even born. The scent of grilled onions and grease hangs in the air, mingling with the hum of rock from the jukebox in the corner.

You and Jole sit across from each other in a booth near the window, sunlight slanting in across the table. Half-eaten burgers and fries sit between you, condensation dripping down the sides of your Coke glasses.

“You’re leaving soon,” Joel says. It’s not a question. Just a fact. But still, your stomach turns over, unsettled by the way he says it. Quiet. Weighted.

“Yeah, I—” You pause. Pick up a fry, set it back down before settling on, “Yeah.”

Joel nods slowly. Wipes his hands on a napkin he never fully unfolds. “So… we should probably talk.”

You try to deflect. Try to tease, even though something in your chest pulls tight. “You’re not gonna give me the same we’ll be better as friends line you gave Tess the other night, are you?”

Joel’s eyes flick down to his place.

“Oh, shit.” You slump back against the fake leather with the tears in it. “You totally are.”

“No. No, it’s not that,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “I mean—it kind of is. Or, it was. I don’t know.”

“Joel,” you cut in, gently. “Just spit it out. I’m a big girl.”

He hesitates. Then finally: “Thing is, I like you. A lot more than I wanted to.”

It takes effort for him to admit that. You can tell. Joel Miller, who never says anything he doesn’t absolutely have to. He doesn’t even remember the last time he told a woman he liked her. With his wife, it was just understood. Expected. With you it feels like saying it wrong might mess everything up.

You look down at your drink. Swirl the straw around a half-melted ice cube. “I’s not just sex. At least, it doesn’t feel like it on my end,” you say, voice barely above the hum of conversation around you. “I didn’t think it would get this far.” You almost shrug. “But it did.” Obviously, you can tell by the strain in your voice, by the tension that locks Joel’s shoulders an inch away from his ears.

Joel sighs. Scrubs a hand over the hair at his jaw. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do in a situation like this. I don’t have a blueprint for this, for… us. You’re there, I’m here. You’ve got a whole life. I don’t even know what I’m asking for, I just—”

You stop him with a soft shake of your head. Push your feelings aside, your pride, for the sake of his when you tell him, “This doesn’t have to be anything, Joel. We can wrap it up in a neat little bow. Leave it as this little moment in time. No pressure. No dragging it out.”

Joel’s eyes flick up. There’s something sharp in them now. Not anger—something else. Frustration? Annoyance?

“And then what?” he says, voice gritty, low. “We pretend like we’re strangers every time you visit home? Act like we weren’t doing what we were doing? Like you don’t mean nothin’ to me?”

You blink. “What do you want me to say? I don’t have the answers. All I know is what I feel and—”

“And what?”

Your throat works around the lump. Close your eyes for a second, will away the tears. “It’s gonna be hard to give that up.”

Joel leans back, exhales slow. Like that admission settled something inside him. Not fixed it—but acknowledged it. There’s a beat of silence between you, long enough for you to take a sip of your drink. He finishes the last bite of his burger.

Then, finally, Joel says, “Guess what I’m sayin’ is… would you mind if I came and visited you up in Charlotte sometime?” Your head lifts. “I think… I’d like to see you again. Once you go home.”

A smile breaks slowly across your face. He’s fighting for you. You’re about to answer, about to tell him you’d like that, when a shadow falls across the table.

You glance up. Freeze.

“Tess?” Joel says, eyebrows climbing.

Fuck.

She’s standing there in a denim jacket and sunglasses perches on her head, a to-go coffee in one hand, confused smile on her face like she’s trying to piece together what she’s seeing. It feels a little eerie, this encounter, a flip on last Friday night when it was her and Joel—a pair, seemingly—sitting across from you while you seethed silently. And now, it’s—whatever you and Joel are—then Tess, removed. Curious.

“Hey,” she says slowly, eyes flicking between you both. “Didn’t expect to see you two here… together.”

Joel clears his throat.

You scramble. “Oh—yeah. I, uh… needed help picking something up for Dina’s wedding. Joel was the only man in a two-mile radius who wasn’t busy on a Friday morning.”

Tess hums, clearly unconvinced. “Right.” She takes a sip of her coffee, eyes still trained on Joel. “It’s bound to be a beautiful day tomorrow. Weather’s supposed to hold up.”

Joel nods, polite but a little stiff. He won’t quite meet her gaze. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

“I heard you saved the day yesterday, Mr. Contractor.” Her tone is almost… adoring.

It’s your turn to stiffen.

Joel rubs at the back of his neck. “Ain’t no Superman, Tess. Just doin’ a favour.”

“A favour that earned you an invite, I hear.”

Her eyes flick to you now, just for a second—but long enough. Long enough to stir something hot and sharp in your chest.

“See you both tomorrow,” she says, stepping back, resting a hand on Joel’s shoulder as she tells him, “Save me a dance.”

You give her a smile that’s more teeth than anything else. It drops the second she turns her back. Joel chuckles under his breath.

“What?” you ask, still watching her retreat through the diner's glass door.

“Your face,” he says, shaking his head like he can’t help himself.

“What about it?”

He lifts a shoulder, shrugs. “It’s beautiful. But it ain’t got a way to hide its jealousy.”

You roll your eyes, huffing. “Whatever. Let’s just go get this flower wall, alright?”

Joel only grins, biting back something smart as he tosses a few bills on the table and follows you out.

***

The morning of the wedding is a flurry of organised chaos. The house is filled with hairspray mist, the smell of warm curling irons, clinking champagne flutes, and the occasional bark of someone looking for the florist or a bobby pin or a phone charger. A playlist blares softly in the background—Whitney, then Beyoncé, then some overplayed Harry Styles song everyone sings along to. Miraculously, only one shoe goes missing—a right heel, nude satin, nearly caused a full-scale meltdown before it was found beneath a mountain of bags in the guest room. You snatch it up and toss it to Molly like a damn hero, all without Dina’s knowledge. She’d have combusted. Your own dress is powder blue—soft and romantic, strapless with a fitted bodice that hugs your waist and flares at the hips. The skirt’s light and airy, split high enough up your thigh to make you self-conscious if you stand wrong. Your hair’s swept back in a curly updo with a few loose strands around your face. By the time your makeup’s done and someone pins the corsage at your wrist, you actually feel ready. 

Almost.

Because now the nerves hit, and it’s not even your wedding. 

You know he’s out there.

Joel.

You can feel it.

He arrives just before the quartet starts playing, slipping into a spare seat halfway down the aisle with a quiet precision that’s almost suspicious for a man his size. He nods a curt hello to the guy sitting next to him—a dark haired kid he’s never seen before—and settles in. Your dad had offered to drive them both, but Joel declined. Didn’t want the awkwardness. The guilt. They hadn’t spent much time together lately—not since, well, you. And today wasn’t the day to start.

He’d thought about not coming at all. God knows it might’ve been easier.

But then again…it would’ve been rude. Not after the invite. Not after Dina was so insistent. And truthfully? He couldn’t bear the idea of missing it. Of not seeing you in your dress. Of not knowing what you’d look like walking down the aisle—glowing and gorgeous, warm light slanting over your shoulders.

And fuck, was he glad he came, because when you appear at the top of the aisle in Dina’s parents’ backyard—gripping your bouquet with fingers that tremble just slightly, the blue dress cascading around you like water, your smile soft and a little shy—it knocks the damn wind out of him. His breath catches. You’re glowing. Angelic, almost. A little champagne-braver than usual, because when your eyes find him—there on the end of the row in a green shirt he ironed just for today—you wink. The corner of his mouth tugs up, but he doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare blink in case he misses something.

After the bridal party, Ellie walks first, eyes sparkling with emotion. She’s wearing a classic suit with a shirt that’s open at the collar, hair pulled back in its signature bun. She looks equal parts excited and terrified. But then Dina steps out—radiant. Veiled. A little unsteady on her heels, but beaming, and suddenly the entire lawn shifts into admiration. Everyone rises.

You don’t think about your thighs or your split or the wind playing at the hem of your skirt. You just take your best friend in as she marries the love of her life. It’s like watching her falling in love all over again in real time.

Sometime during the ceremony, your eyes drift. Back to where you know Joel’s seated. He’s still there, watching you adoringly, dark eyes dancing in the afternoon light. But he’s not alone.

The breath catches in your throat before you can stop it.

Jesse.

Sitting right next to Joel.

What the fuck?

Your feet root to the ground. There he is—like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t lie to your face. Didn’t cheat on you. Like he’s supposed to be here.

But he isn’t

He shouldn’t be. It should’ve been obvious—crystal clear, actually—that when you broke up, he broke up with Dina too. That his invite got revoked the minute he blew up your life. But apparently not.

The ceremony blurs after that. You try to stay present. You try to lock in and focus on Dina and Ellie, on the vows that are the perfect blend of hilarious and tear-jerking. You laugh when you’re meant to, smile when you feel people’s eyes on you, but your stomach is in knots. The liquor in your gut churns. The back of your neck feels hot. Joel’s face is unreadable beside Jesse, completely unaware of who he’s sitting next to.

You don’t know what you’re feeling exactly, but you know something’s brewing. 

You’re just not sure what yet.

***

When Dina and Ellie break away for photos after saying I do, the guests spill across the lawn into cocktail hour, chatter and laughter floating into the air along with the soft pluck of the string quartet. Glasses clink, heels clack on concrete on the patio while you drift through the party. Say hi to a few people who went to high school with. Kiss your dad on the cheek when he passes, grinning, proud, as if you were the one who just tied the knot. Pose for a few group shots with various family members. All the while, your mind swims, unable to fully grasp onto any one thing happening. You head straight for the makeshift bar set up in Dina’s parents’ kitchen, your shoes clicking on the tiled floor. There’s a line, full of people ready to get their buzz on, but it moves past. You shoot back a whole glass of champagne like it’s a shot and are two sips into the next when you hear it behind you:

“Well, that’s number… what, four?”

You turn. Joel’s standing on the outskirts of the kitchen, away from the crowd, watching, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other curls around a sweating beer. His eyes—god, those eyes—are crinkled in amusement.

“Three,” you reply a little too sharply, mentally taking inventory of the drinks you’ve had over the day. Then, with a sigh, “Maybe four.”

He raises his brows but doesn’t press further. Just takes a sip while you look away, trying to shake the prickling under your skin.

“You look stunning, by the way,” Joel says, voice dipping.

Your throat catches. You glance down at your shoes like they’re the most interesting thing you’ve seen all day. “Thanks,” you murmur, then nod toward his shirt. “You clean up alright yourself.”

You look up again just in time to catch a flash of movement over Joel’s shoulder. Jesse, still here, still talking, hand gesturing animatedly to one of Dina’s uncles outside. He laughs at something. Looks up. Manages to meet your eyes. Smiles, tight-lipped. Waves.

You go absolutely rigid.

Joel’s brow furrows. “You okay?”

You don’t answer. You’re staring so hard it feels like maybe—just maybe—if you focus enough, Jesse might disappear into thin air. Like if you will it hard enough, he’ll vanish, dissolve, walk out of your life again like he should’ve done for good.

Joel turns now, following your gaze, squinting in the direction of the patio. “That guy… I was sittin’ next to him during the ceremony. You know him?”

You say nothing. Just stare, grip tightening on the champagne glass. Joel turns back to you, concern lining his face now, voice dropping to something meant just for you. 

“Darlin’, what’s wrong?”

Your eyes are still locked. You whisper, barely audible when you say, “That’s my ex. Jesse.”

Joel blinks. Straightens a smidge. “The one who—”

“Yeah,” you cut in, sharp. “The one who cheated on me.” The air around you thickens, champagne no longer light on your tongue. Joel’s knuckles flex around the neck of his bottle.

Jesse breaks away from the group he’s chatting with, eyes trained on you like he’s been waiting for the right moment. You spot the casual confidence in his stride, the easy way he navigates the crowd like he’s supposed to be here. He’s halfway to you when you shove your half-empty glass into Joel’s hand.

“Darlin’, I don’t think—” he starts, but you’re already moving. You ignore Joel completely, the hem of your dress brushing the tops of your feels as you cut across the kitchen and through the sliding door. Jesse smiles, too wide and too eager, lifting his hand like he might go in for a hug.

A fucking hug.

“Hey,” he says, chipper, like he didn’t blow up your life a few short months ago. “You look gre—”

“Out front,” you cut in, voice icy. “Right now.” You don’t wait to see if he follows, just push through the house and out onto the front porch, arms folding tight over your chest as soon as the door clicks shut behind you. The noise of the party fades, the music faint hum now, dulled by distance and insulation.

Jesse steps out after you, lingering just far enough to feel casual, like none of this is a big deal.

“You look great,” he tries again, softer this time.

You get to the point. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His hands go to his pockets. “I was invited”

“Yeah—when we were a couple,” you snap. “Cheating on me kind of cancels that out.”

“I said I was sorry.”

You can’t help but laugh, and the sound that expels from you is completely bitter. “You said a lot of things, Jesse. And guess what? They don’t mean shit.”

He says your name, and you flinch. God, you hate the way it sounds coming from his mouth now.

“I want you to leave,” you say, jaw tight.

“That’s not happening,” he responds with a lift of his chin. “I had to move a lot around to be here, so I’m going to stay. Enjoy the party.”

“Jesse, I’m being serious.”

“So am I—”

“Everything okay out here?” Joel’s voice cuts clean through the tension. You don’t even turn to look at him, just hear the creak of the porch as he steps out. Jesse, though—he turns. Smirks.

“Yeah,” he says, too bright. “Everything’s great… pal.”

Joel’s head tilts a little, one eyebrow lifting. “Pal?”

You wince, and Joel steps forward, just enough to place himself halfway between you and Jesse. Not blocking, not yet. Just…present. A warning. Your mind briefly flits back to the night at The Rusty Antler when you put yourself between him and those other guys. Now, he’s the one protecting you.

“I think you should head out,” Joel tells Jesse, calm but unflinching. “Don’t reckon you’re wanted here.”

Jesse laughs, scoffs really, hands coming out of his pockets. “And what, you get to decide that?”

Joel tilts his head. “Don’t need to. Pretty sure she already did.”

“I’m not talking to you,” Jesse snaps, jerking his chin toward you.

Joel doesn’t move. “No, but you’re standin’ awful close to her for someone who ain’t welcome.”

Jesse’s eyes narrow. “Who even are you?”

You cut in before Joel can. “He’s Joel. My dad’s friend. I’ve mentioned him.”

Joel’s jaw works, something tightening beneath the words. Dad’s friend. Logical. Safe. True. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting. 

For Jesse, the comment should be neutral. Harmless. But the way his eyes dart back to Joel, something in him flares.

“Joel.” He says it like it’s a punchline, like a name he’s trying on and finds amusing. “Right. You’re the one who pops up in all those little stories. Always fixing something. Always hanging around.”

Joel crosses his arms, presses his weight into his left leg. “That bother you?”

Jesse smiles, all teeth. “Should it?”

Joel doesn’t smile back. “Maybe not. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be worryin’ about me. I’d be worryin’ about how long I’ve got before the bride figures out she’s got a rat sneakin’ champagne in her backyard.”

“Man, you think you’re real tough, huh?” Jesse takes a step closer, no longer bothering with subtlety. “Walking around like you’re someone important.”

Joel doesn’t bat an eye. “Don’t need to be important. Just need to be here. Which is more than I can say for you.”

“The fuck that’s supposed to mean?”

Joel shifts his weight forward, leisurely. Deliberate. “Means you made your choice, son. And it wasn’t her.”

Jesse’s jaw tightens. He looks to you now, like you’ll step in. Like you’ll defend him. You don’t. 

Because he doesn’t deserve it. But also, because you can’t shake how it does something to you—seeing Joel like that. Calm, immovable. Not puffing up, just there. A wall between you and Jesse without you ever needing to say so. It makes something flicker deep in your chest, something that feels a lot like safety. Like being seen. And when Jesse takes a step back—not because of you, but because of Joel—you feel it again. Gratitude. Relief.

And maybe something darker. Satisfaction. Joel didn’t flinch. Didn’t look to you for permission. He just stood up. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to protect you.

Like it wasn’t even a question.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Dina. 

Storming out of the house, heels in one hand, veil tucked under her arm, eyes blazing. Jesse takes another step away immediately, like her fury is physical, before saying her name. It’s too soft, too rehearsed, and she’s not interested. Not even close.

“You’re not welcome here.”

“Come on, I was invited—” “Yeah, by mistake,” she snaps. “Back when we thought you were a decent human being. Then you cheated on my best friend and somehow still have the balls to show your face at my wedding?”

Jesse looks like he might protest again, but Dina steps closer, fury radiating off her in waves.

“You either leave right now, or I have no problem going full bridezilla on your ass. Like, I will scream. I will ruin you, Jesse. Try me.”

The silence that follows is thick.

Jesse’s lip curls. “Whatever. You’re all fucking crazy.” He backs off the porch and disappears down the driveway. The tail end of his muttering carries faintly on the wind but whatever he’s saying, you don’t care enough to take it in.

For a second, no one says anything. Then Dina exhales, mutters asshole and ducks back inside without waiting for a reply.

Joel glances over at you, holds out your glass. “Still want this?” You take it. Down the rest of it in a single go. “Fuck.”

Joel’s still watching you, expression creasing an eleven between his brows, like he’s waiting to see how rattled you really are.

“I’m good,” you assure him, preempting the question. “Let’s just go back to the party.”

The celebrations have rolled on without a hitch. Guests are scattered around the yard and kitchen, drinks in hand, someone’s uncle trying to start a conga line to Superstition. You blend back in, shoulders relaxing with every step away from the front porch, every sip of champagne, every smile that meets yours. You take a few more photos, hug Ellie so tight she squeaks, even let Dina drag you onto the dancefloor, your heart finally unclenching.

***

It’s late now, the sky inky black, fairy lights strung up around the yard blinking soft gold. The playlists’s fused from carefree sleeper songs to old school bangers ranging from LMFAO to Usher to Nelly Furtado. You’ve changed into a shorter dress, still blue, but lighter, clingy in the right places and airy in the ones that matter. Your sneakers—swapped from your strappy stilettos—are grass-stained and your hair’s a little wild from the hours of dancing, 

Joel’s on the outskirts of the party, chatting to your dad and a few others, Beer bottle in hand, green shirt unbuttoned two down from earlier. He’s laughing at something your dad says, but his eyes keep slipping to you—like he can’t help himself. 

You plop into the seat beside him, a little breathless. “You good, hiding over here all night?”

Joel glances at you, then says deadpan, “Someone’s gotta keep your dad from trying to wrestle the DJ for the aux cord.”

You snort, remembering Fourth of July the summer after you graduated high school. “You know what an aux cord is, old man?”

Joel takes a swig of his drink. “How many times do I gotta tell you to watch your mouth?”

“I dunno,” you say, egged on by the few drinks you’ve had since your encounter with Jesse on the porch. “If I recall, you kinda like it when I use my mouth.”

You make a point to keep your voice down, keep it between you two, but it still earns you a side-eye from Joel. You roll your lips in, try to keep your smile at bay. A quiet stretch passes, the hum of the party buzzing around you both.

“Y’ever want all this?” Joel asks, nodding toward the dancefloor, where Ellie and Dina are pressed together, faces glowing, giggling into each other’s necks.

You shrug. Then sigh. Because truth is, “I used to. Thought I did. Thought it would be with Jesse. Now… I don’t know how to explain it. It all feels… foggy, I guess? Like I’m looking at my future through someone else’s eyes.”

As you watch the newlyweds, something twists in your chest before you turn to Joel.

“Would you ever do it again?”

Joel straightens in the plastic lawn chair. “Do what?”

You gesture loosely to the floor. “Get married.”

He leans back a little, eyes scanning the crowd like the answer might be out there somewhere. “Haven’t really let myself think about it in a long time.”

“But if you did?”

Joel’s mouth shifts, like the words are there but he’s not sure if they should come out. Eventually, he says, “Maybe. If it was the right person. If it felt easy. Quiet.” He looks at you. “You know what I mean?”

Your heart swells. You nod. “Yeah, I do.” He holds your gaze for a beat, like he might say more, but then just hums low in his throat and looks away. The playlist suddenly softens and a slow song hums to life, something dreamy and syrupy and so far removed from the last two hours of music. The high energy, dancing bodies split, giving way to swaying couples. Arms around waists, heads on shoulders.

Love, suddenly visible.

You nudge Joel, a glint in your eye. “Dance with me.”

His brows lift. “Is that smart?”

You grin, because it certainly isn’t. “Definitely not.”

Joel tilts his head, amused.

“Come on,” you press, eyes warm. “It’s a wedding. Everyone’s drunk and blissed out. No one’s gonna notice.”

Joel watches the couples swaying out on the dance floor, then glances back at you. You’re tapping your foot to the slow beat, a little tipsy glow on your face, eyes soft and a little hopeful. He leans back in his seat, gives a small huff of consideration. Then he pushes up off the chair with a grunt, holding a hand out toward you.

“Come on then,” he says, voice low, with a ghost of a smile. “Before I change my mind.”

You blink, surprised. Then your mouth curls. You slip your hand into his, and he tugs you gently to your feet.

“You sure?” you tease, fingers threading through his.

“I ain’t exactly known for my moves, but I’ll risk the embarrassment,” he says, then: “For you.”

In the middle of the dancefloor, you slide your arms around Joel’s neck. His hands settle respectfully at your waist, unsure how close he’s allowed to be when you’re on display for the whole goddamn wedding. There’s space between you, just a smidge, but it’s enough to make your chest ache. 

Not close enough.

Joel feels it too, his fingers twitching, then relaxing. You smell like champagne and flowers and something that’s just so you wishes he could bottle it. It takes every ounce of discipline he’s trained himself to have to not pull you flush against him. You tilt your head slightly and peer up at him.

“Hey.”

He hums, and you feel the vibration of it where you touch, but his eyes stay trained over your head as you rock side to side.

“You can touch me, you know,” you say, adding: “Properly. Not like we’re sixth graders leaving room for Jesus at a middle school dance.”

That earns a chuckle, then an exhale as Joel’s hands shift—one to grab one of your own, the other splaying across your ribs. He brings you closer, so slowly it’s like he’s savouring every last inch.

The sway of your bodies is gentle, slow—but inside, it’s anything but. The press of Joel’s hand, warm through the fabric of your dress, makes your lungs feel too tight, like you could drown in the closeness and never come up for air. You lean into it, into him, greedily. His thumb traces patterns that shouldn’t be allowed in public, each pass lighting a fuse that curls deeper and lower. Realistically, you’re barely moving.

But everything feels like it’s changing.

Joel wants to dance with you at every party, sit and laugh with you at every barbecue. Wants to hold you like this with nothing hidden, no porch light guilt or secret glances or texts that should probably be deleted after they’re read.

He wants it to be known. Wants people to see. To know.

He wants you to look at him the way you’re looking now. Like it’s just the two of you and the rest of the world can fuck off.

Your fingers flex behind Joel’s neck, fingers trilling over the curls that brush his collar. He shifts closer, and your stomach flips when your thighs brush, when his belt grazes you. The way he’s looking at you, with that lazy smile, eyes laser-focussed on you, warming you from top to toe… It’s too much and still not enough. You want him so badly, all the time, and the restraint you’re exercising hurts—like your skin is too sizes too tight. The feeling rises in you and it’s getting impossible to ignore. Arousal, yes, but it’s more than that, too. 

The ache for him. For all of it.

Your gaze falls to his mouth without meaning for it to. Joel notices.

Then—

The song shifts. A familiar beat drops—one of those songs people can’t help but scream-sing to. Cheers erupt across the room, whoops and laughter, glasses clinking on the sidelines. 

This moment between you and Joel is supposed to break. But he leans in instead.

His mouth brushes your ear, the warmth of his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake. His voice is rough, fractured.

“Meet me upstairs in the bathroom. Five minutes.”

Your breath catches in the hull of your throat. He pulls back like nothing’s changed, giving you a soft, almost teasing smile. Then, casually, he steps away, disappearing into the crowd as people surge toward the dance floor.

You stand there for a beat, heart rattling underneath your ribcage like a trapped bird. Someone bumps into you from behind, murmurs an apology that you hardly register because you’re dazed, honed in on Joel’s broad shoulders as he cuts through the party and disappears into the house. You should step off the dancefloor but your feet are rooted to the spot, the air thick with the ghosts of his hands. You touch your waist like you’re afraid the warmth might’ve faded already.

Five minutes. It’s not long but the time seems to stretch like a day.

You exhale and start moving—not toward the stairs, not yet. You weave your way back to the kitchen where the makeshift bar has been left unattended, and bottles of every alcohol imaginable have been left to self-serve. Your pour a splash of vodka into a tumbler, top it up with even less soda water and sip it. It’s for show, really, but the slight burn of it comes in handy when you see her.

Tess. She’s standing in the yard with your dad and Dina’s mom, who you now remember works with her. She’s half-smiling at whatever story your dad’s telling, egged on by copious amounts of beer. But she’s also watching. You. Not obviously, not enough to make a scene, but it’s there. The flick of her eyes as her gaze ghosts Joel’s movement down the hallway. Then right back to you.

It’s sharp. Inspecting, and a weird, crawling sensation settles beneath your skin. The memory of yesterday bubbles up—the diner, her eyes bouncing between you and Joel, that subtle crease between her eyebrows. She didn’t have to say much because the scepticism bled off her in waves.

You hadn’t talked about it after. Joel had steered the conversation elsewhere as soon as you were back in the truck.

You blink hard, shake the attention off like cold water. Maybe she’s just curious. Protective, even. Or maybe it’s just you—overthinking things when it’s not necessary. You tell yourself it’s fine. Just in your head. 

Still, it’s not until you’re halfway up the staircase.

Halfway to Joel.

Upstairs, the music dulls to a soft throb that pulsates under your feet. The hallway stretches familiar and strange, lit golden by the same sconces that have been here for as long as you and Dina have been friends. You walk slowly, past half-cracked doors and the spare bedroom where coats are piled high on the bed. It hits you then, that jarring sense of nostalgia. You’ve walked this hallway a hundred times—barefoot, tipsy, laughing with Dina as you fixed your eyeliner in the upstairs bathroom mirror. You know the shape of the floorboard that always creaks, the one corner where the paint never quite took. You and Dina used to sneak in and out through the side gate, end up here in the middle of parties, whispering secrets down this very hallway. Her house was always easier than yours. Her parents slept like the dead and well, your dad perpetually slept with one eye open when you were a teenager.

Now you’re here with the weight of five minutes ticking in your blood, your body electric with anticipation, knowing what you’re likely about to do. In the same space where you once curled your lashes and borrowed your best friend’s perfume.

You hesitate at the bathroom door.

Raise your hand. Two quiet raps.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then the latch turns.

Joel opens the door.

He stands just inside, one hand braced above the frame. His jacket his gone and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled to his elbows, forearms bare. He doesn’t speak. Just watches you. And somehow, that silence says more than words could. His molten eyes rake over you. Nothing about it is lewd or possessive like they’d been in the past. He’s just…hungry, you guess. Almost like he’s spent every one of those five minutes thinking about this. About you.

You step past the threshold. He closes the door behind you.

And just like that, the party disappears.

“That was the longest five minutes of my life,” Joel jokes, scratching through his hair. “Felt so long I thought… Thought you weren’t gonna show.”

His hand leaves his head and comes to grip the back of yours to tug you to him in one swift movement until your mouths crash together, hot and teeth and breath and want. His other hand fists in the silky fabric at your lower back, dragging you flush against him like he can’t stand the space anymore, and you let him. Kiss him back like you’ve been waiting years, not just five minutes. It’s messy, full of tongue and the kind of ache that flares deep in your belly and seeps into the cotton of your panties. Joel breaks the kiss with a gasp, forehead pressed to yours when he tells you, “Turn around.”

You do.

“Hands on the counter,” he grits, and you obey, palms flat against the cool ceramic, breath catching as he steps up behind you, chest to your back. Your eyes meet his in the mirror. That look—fierce and wanting and reverent—cements you to the floor. He runs his hands up the length of your bare arms in lazy but firm strokes that pull hair to its ends. You shiver beneath his touch, head titled with a moan when he leans in and presses a hot kiss just below your ear. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous girl,” he murmurs, the scruff of his beard scratching your cheek. He nips at your earlobe, sucks lightly. “Fuckin’ mine.”

His claim on you makes you whimper, and he smiles deviously against your skin before mouthing down your neck. His tongue drags the expanse of your skin there before he bites once, low, where your shoulder meets your throat. The sting is just as quickly soothed with another kiss. You press up onto your tip-toes, chasing Joel’s mouth while his palms span your ribs, dip to your hips. He’s everywhere—exploring, worshipping—and then he sinks to his knees behind you.

The hem of your dress rises until it’s resting above your ass, and a low curse escapes him.

“Jesus,” he mutters, more awe than filth. He’s thumbs graze the crease of your thighs. “You’re already a mess f’me. You’re fuckin’ soaked, darlin’.”

A red flush creeps over you at his words and still, your body rocks toward him instinctively. You’re met with Joel’s lips pressing a kiss to the well of one ass cheek, then the other. One mammoth hand squeezes while the other traces light, maddening lines along the edge of your underwear. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t speak. Just takes a second to look. To commit you to memory.

“Look at you,” he breathes, then says again, under his breath, to himself: “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Then he rises. His belt clinks open. Pants shoved low enough to free himself, you hear the sound of him dragging a palm up your thigh, the thick rasp of his voice right behind your ear again.

“Eyes on the mirror, baby.”

All you can do is nod, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts.

“I want you to watch.”

Joel presses the head of his cock against the soaked fabric of your panties. You tremble at the sensation, at the way he groans low at the heat of you on his head, already weeping with precum. “Want you to remember this, every damn second of it,” he growls, pushing the damp cotton aside. “When you’re on that plane. When you’re back in Charlotte. When you’re lyin’ in bed at night… I want you thinkin’ about how I had you right here.”

And then he’s inside you.

You cry out, chasing his barbaric grunt with an arch of your back, palm pressing into the counter to stop yourself from faceplanting into the basin. Joel pants behind you, one hand locking around your hip while the other grips your shoulder. “Fuck—darlin’, you take me so fuckin’ good.” His thrust are slow, deep, then harder—each movement yanking a new sound from your throat.

The party downstairs thumps, laughter and voices and music muffled on the other side of the door, beneath the thunder of your heartbeat. Up here, there’s only this. Only him. Only the desperate slap of skin and the frantic rush of your breaths and the filthy, whispered way Joel says your name.

And you doesn’t tell you to stay quiet. Not once.

Your body burns. Nerves alight and trembling under every little sensation. You can feel Joel in every inch of you, dragging you open, filling you so deep you don’t understande how your knees haven’t given out yet. 

"Fuck," you gasp, breath fogging the mirror. “Joel—”

That’s mostly all you can manage as you lean over the counter. Your voice keeps snagging on whimpers, broken moans that rise every time he grinds deeper, every time his hips snap to yours in perfect rhythm.

You blink up, eyes locking on him in the reflection of the mirror. He looks totally wrecked. Brow furrowed, jaw clenched, cheeks matching the flush in your own. His hair’s a little wild, lips rolled in with focus, a vein pulling tight in his neck. His eyes stay locked n yours in the glass, and the look in them—ravenous, tender, like her could live here in this moment forever—makes your stomach flip. Joel leans in, presses his chest to your back. His stubble scrapes your shoulder as he grits against your skin, “You feel what you do to me, baby? You feel that?”

You nod, barely. Another moan punches from your throat.

“I ain’t gonna last,” he breathes, thrusts stuttering now. “You’re gonna make me—shit—”

Your legs tremble. The heat coils low in your belly, tight and unbearable until your cunt clenches around Joel’s cock, your orgasm hurtling through you.

You cry out his name, loud, desperate.

Joel groans, hips jerking once, twice more before he stills, letting the hot seed of his release empty into you.

The mirror fogs. Your skin shines with sweat. His forehead drops to your shoulder.

You both stay like that for a while. Bent, breathless. His weight warm against your back, one hand still on your hip like he can’t bear to let go just yet. Your heart is pounding. Ears ringing. Legs shaking. Joel eventually shifts, easing out of you with a quiet groan. You hiss at the loss, at the oversensitive throb between your thighs, and brace yourself on the counter. Your dress shimmies itself back to appropriateness.

“You good, darlin’?” Joel wants to know, his voice roughened by exertion.

You nod, still trying to get your breaths and heartbeat to a pace that wouldn’t set off a blood pressure monitor. “Yeah. Just… give me a second before a try to walk.” He huffs a lugh, presses a kiss to the top of your spine. Then he steps back and tucks himself away, fiddles with hit belt, and leans against the doorframe as he checks his watch.

“S’almost midnight,” he notes. “How ‘bout I get you home? Your dad, too.”

You take in your form in the mirror—cheeks pink, hair untamed and frizzing with sweat at your temples, eyes still glassy—and exhale through a smile. “I should probably stay a little longer. Help clean up. Be a bridesmaid and all that.”

Joel raises a brow. “You’re a good friend,” he says. “You’re a good…” He falters. Swallows. Then shrugs like the words got away from him. “You’re just good. Period.”

You smirk. “That your big heartfelt post-sex compliment? You’re just good, period?”

He gives a helpless, crooked grin. “Hey, just be grateful. Ain’t nobody else in my life gets that many words from me. Let alone compliments.”

You laugh softly and wet your fingers under the tap, dabbing under your eyes, fixing your hair with your fingers. Of course you feel grateful. You feel a lot, but you don’t know how to say any of it out loud, so yeah, you get where he’s coming from. You get him, and for you, maybe for him too, that seems to be enough.

You glance at Joel in the mirror one last time before he unlocks the door. The hallway outside is quiet. Empty. You both slip out—cautiously. Casually. But as you round the corner towards the stairs, you feel the weight of a stare. 

And when your eyes adjust, your heart sinks to your gut.

Jesse.

Lurking in the dim light of the hallway. Leaning against the wall with crossed arms, mouth twisting into a wicked concoction of a smirk and sneer. 

You freeze as he pushes out of the darkness, gaze flicking between the two of you. Joel shifts subtly behind you, hand coming to comfort you at your hip.

“Well, ain’t this something,” Jesse slurs. He’s drunk. You’d know it anywhere.

You square your shoulders even though your stomach is in knots. “I thought you left.”

“I did, for a bit.” He shrugs. “Then decided to come back. And boy, am I glad I did.”

“Jesse—” “I was just sitting along the fenceline, mindin’ my business when I saw the two of you sneak off. Thought I’d see what was going on.”

Your jaw clicks. “So what—you just stood out here and listened? What the fuck, Jesse?”

“Sick fuck,” Joel seethes under his breath.

Jesse snorts. “Old men, huh? That what you’re into now?”

You don’t dignify his question with a response. It doesn’t matter though, because Jesse’s grin sharpens all the same, like a wolf that’s caught the scent of blood. “Your dad know about this?” A sharp laugh. “Of course he doesnt’ Guess we should go let your old man in on this little secret, huh?”

And just like that, it begins. This whole thing—you, Joel—splintering outward, carrying you toward the backyard, toward the unavoidable blow-up, toward every painstaking thing that comes next.

***

masterlist

taglist: @hotmess-x @callmeknife @leesromanova @brinapedroswife @joelmillersgffff @lilasskicker2 @yslgreen @akah565 @justobsessedwithyou @winyourheartemma @decadent-hag1

[bullyingfictionalmen]

🌈The LADS LIs when you come out to them 🌈

LADS x bi/queer/pan!reader headcanons (implied afab in Caleb’s if you squint, but gn in the rest)

A/n: This was supposed to come out in time for Pride, whoops!

To preface, I’m queer and cis, so I chose to include details that have some overlap with my own experiences. But I wholeheartedly believe all of the LIs would love you no matter how you identify, and I would love to hear specific HCs from trans, fluid, aro/ace/aspec or any other LGBT+ fans that depict their unique take on things.

I wish everyone a safe and lovely July, and hope you enjoy these :)

✨Xavier✨

Initially, Xavier is on-edge, mostly because you started this conversation with “Hey, we need to talk…” in a serious tone.

But when he processes what you said, realization dawning in those big blue eyes, his body goes slack with relief.

“Ooooh,” he says, “so that’s what you wanted to tell me. I’m glad.”

“You’re glad I’m bi?” You blink.

Xavier blushes, “Uh, no, I mean— I’m not not glad. Wait—“ he takes a moment to compose himself. “I’m really happy you told me and I’m proud of you for being your authentic self. I want to support you however I can. What I meant earlier was ‘I’m glad I didn’t do anything to upset you’. You had me worried for a second there.”

“Awww, Xavie…” you pull him close and pepper kisses on his cheeks. “You’re too sweet. Sorry for worrying you.”

He draws you in by the waist and rests his head on your shoulder, “‘Bi’ means you feel attraction to multiple genders… but I’m still your favorite person, right?”

You give a warm laugh and ruffle his hair. “Of course.”

Xavier is very supportive. He wins you rainbow plushies, takes you to Pride and queer events, loving to see you express and enjoy yourself without fear.

He starts reading more queer stories/comics/theory in his free time, and will randomly bring them up to pleasantly surprise you.

That said, he still gets jealous and sulky when anyone flirts with you, regardless of gender. You must restore his good mood with cuddles and kisses.

❄️Zayne❄️

“So… I’m pan.”

As you launch into an anxious explanation, Zayne sits across from you at the kitchen table with his hands folded. He listens, intently focused and absorbing every word like he’s being briefed by the Chief of Surgery.

When you finish, looking at him with expectant hesitation, he leans forward and threads his fingers through yours. The warmth in his expression is a salve to your frayed nerves. “Thank you for telling me, Darling. I’m honored that you confided in me, and I’m happy to think that, in knowing yourself better and finding community, you’ll feel seen and validated. When did you first suspect?”

This turns into a long and deep conversation about self-discovery, comphet, hegemonic ideas of gender and sexuality, and in all of this, he’s very supportive and affirming.

He admits that over the years, he’s come to the conclusion that he isn’t straight either, though he personally doesn’t care much for labels.

You agree to go to Linkon Pride together, as it happens to fall on a weekend you both have free.

He keeps the little rainbow penguin plushie the two of you won there on his desk at Akso, and when asked about it, he proudly explains its backstory

He’s so sweet about everything that you get blindsided by his dry humor.

You nearly choke on your coffee when, some sleepy morning after breakfast, Zayne holds up the newly washed skillet, arches a brow and says, “This you?”

🐠Rafayel🐠

Lemurian culture doesn’t have the same gender roles and ideas of sexuality, so Rafayel never really thought much of human binaries or labels. He’s learned more over his years spent on land, and has grown to love and find comfort in the LGBT+ community

As a public figure, though he’s elusive, he’s been out for a long time as queer, since that’s the blanket term that he likes best. He’s also been known to rock gender non-conforming looks, and the face card never declines

He actually inspired you to reflect on your relationship with gender and sexuality. He took you to Pride and introduced you to many other queer people he’s met over the years (Auntie Thalia is a lesbian too lol).

When you come out to him, it’s during a ride in his convertible. The words bubble up in your throat as you lean against the door to watch the coast zoom past, the sea breeze whipping through your hair.

Rafayel’s hand is comfortably entwined with yours, and when he notices you’ve gone quiet, he gives it a squeeze. “You doing okay, cutie?”

“Raf, I think I’m queer.”

Rafayel cuts the engine. He grabs both your hands and starts doing a little dance, eyes sparkling. “Oh my god. Am I the first person you told? Cutie, I’m so happy for you! How do you want to celebrate? Rainbow dessert? New tattoo? Does this mean you wanna start dressing gayer? Hey, don’t gimme that look, you know what I mean! Obviously, you don’t have to overhaul your style, cutie, but however you want to express yourself, you know I’ve always got your back!”

You giggle and draw him into an embrace, feeling so warm and supported. You knew he’d take it well, but his giddiness is magnifying yours, and coming out turns into a sweet core memory.

The two of you are a queer power couple, instilling awe, envy and lust in equal measure wherever you go. Everyone wants to be you or be with you and you both live for it.

🐦‍⬛Sylus🐦‍⬛

You let out a huge breath, squeeze your eyes shut.

“Sylus, I’m bi.”

Sylus takes in this new information how he always does, nonchalantly. He barely looks up from the handgun he’s cleaning as he replies, “Congratulations, sweetie.”

Silence.

You scrunch your nose, heat flaring in your cheeks. “That’s it? After I’ve been stressing for a week about how to tell you and how you’d react and if you’d still—“

Your tirade is interrupted by Sylus’ sudden appearance in front of you. He grabs your chin with one hand, tilting it up so you can see the affection and mischief shining in those jewel-like eyes. “I’m sorry for teasing you, kitten. I knew you had something on your mind, and I was waiting for you to come to me. I intended to answer seriously, but watching you struggle and pout was just too tempting.”

You feign a scowl, but you’re too relieved for the expression to have any bite. Sylus pulls you close, and you melt into his reassuring embrace

“You don’t… look at me any differently?” you ask, voice smaller than you’d like.

“You’re still you, sweetie. I look at you like I always have.” He says into your hair, voice deep and soft as velvet. “Like someone I cherish. We chose one another, and as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here.”

Tearful, you bury your head in his chest, and he strokes your back in soothing circles.

After looking into it, Sylus later admits to you that he’s bi, too. He appreciates beauty and power in all their forms.

Skye’s fruit stand then becomes a key sponsor of Linkon Pride in the years to follow

🍎Caleb🍎

Caleb knew you were queer before you did

Man’s been the foremost Pipsqueak Expert since you met, and he saw your bi awakening happen, in small little increments, in real time.

Girl bands, athletes, androgynous hotties, pretty boys, buff girls. Actors and fictional characters, Caleb has made mental notes about when you swoon, what your type is, even though you claim not to have one. He secretly kicks his feet any time you praise a character that looks a bit like him.

His is the shoulder you cried on after your Sapphic Canon Event of a huge, emotional girl best friend breakup. He feels guilty about it, but he was actually relieved that said “friendship” never escalated

When you do realize your sexuality, you initially hesitate to tell him because romance is a touchy subject between the two of you

But you pluck up the courage one night as you’re curled up together—totally platonically—watching a movie.

“Caleb, I’m bi.” It’s barely a whisper, you’re not even sure if it reached his ears over the sounds of the action scene on-screen, and you’re too embarrassed to repeat it.

But the next morning, Caleb brings you a plate of cupcakes, cutely decorated with the bi pride flag. You flush and hug him so tight that he worries his heart will beat out of his chest.

“No matter who you love, I’ll always love you, pips. Thanks for telling me.”

No deeper meaning to that, I swear

Before you got together, he used to get really jealous of the girls and Enbys around you, knowing they could be competition. But after you start dating, it’s zero to Bi Wife Energy in no time flat.

You get him hooked on Drag Race and he’s very invested

masterlist

[linxnnalyn]

dating zoey hcs? partly to complete the huntr/x trio hehe since rumi and mira are done

Dating Zoey HCs

࣪𖤐.ᐟ note -> Zoey is such a cutie I hate how the fandom babies her.

࣪𖤐.ᐟ warnings -> none.

࣪𖤐.ᐟ content includes -> fluff, civilian! reader, kissing, cuddling, dates, love songs, touchy, gifts.

۫ ꣑ৎ Being in a relationship with Zoey can be very loving but also exhausting. Zoey just has a lot of energy, and if you can’t match her freak then you will get exhausted. While she can act silly, Zoey knows when she has to be serious. Zoey is set firm on establishing boundaries and knows when to back off and give you space. Zoey is a very attentive girlfriend.

۫ ꣑ৎ She hates that she isn’t able to be open about your relationship. Zoey wants nothing more than to show you off and kiss you in public, but for your safety and HUNTR/X’s popularity she can’t. Zoey does make sure to hint at having a partner and being in a relationship but she never reveals too much. The only people who know about your relationship are her friends, Bobby and staff who had to sign an NDA.

۫ ꣑ৎ Zoey is a very touchy girlfriend. She just can’t help herself ! Zoey always wants to kiss you and cuddle with you, if she could she would wrap herself to you like a koala and never let go. No one is able to pull her away from her when she gets her hands on you. Zoey is very busy with being an idol so she likes to cuddle with you when she feels exhausted, just relaxing in your warmth.

۫ ꣑ৎ She loves writing love songs about you! Zoey can’t help but write songs about you for hours, she even has special notebooks dedicated to just writing songs about you! Of course they are never produced and made public, but it’s something she still likes to write for herself. Zoey makes sure to hide the notebooks, because she does not want anyone to see.

۫ ꣑ৎ Zoey always makes sure to think thoroughly when planning your dates. She doesn’t have a lot of free time so Zoey wants everything to be perfect for your date. She makes sure that it is somewhere both of you would enjoy and even get Rumi and Mira to help her so everything would be perfect for you. Rumi and Mira don’t complain since they can see how detrimental Zoey is.

۫ ꣑ৎ She adores giving you gifts! Zoey has a lot, and I mean A LOT of money. Her and her friends are one of the richest people in the whole country so she doesn’t mind spending money on you—hell she enjoys it! Zoey always puts a lot of thought into her gifts for you because she wants to make you happy and buys things she just knows you would love!

۫ ꣑ৎ Zoey is really happy that both Rumi and Mira adore you, because accepting you, her partner, means so much to her. She can’t help but melt when she sees you having fun with her friends, her family. Zoey never gets jealous either, because she feels secure in her relationship with you and knows Rumi and Mira would never do something like that.

۫ ꣑ৎ You have an exclusive pass backstage for every single one of their shows. Zoey wants you be there for every one of HUNTR/X’s shows, but she doesn’t force you to go. Bobby always makes sure to have everyone in the staff sign an NDA just in case you do actually come, and when you do Zoey gets so incredibly happy she is even more determined while performing.

۫ ꣑ৎ It was difficult for Zoey to tell you the truth behind HUNTR/X, Zoey wants no secrets between the two of you so she waited until she was sure you wouldn’t freak out to tell you. Instead of giving a well-prepared explanation that she wrote down Zoey just blurted it out.She was relieved because you took the reveal well and answered every question you had.

۫ ꣑ৎ When Zoey finally gets a rare day off, she spends it entirely with you, refusing to even check her phone. She turns off every notification, ditches any glam routines, and pulls you into a lazy day of love-filled nothingness. Whether you’re tangled up on the couch watching movies or making breakfast in matching pajamas, Zoey never lets go of you for long. She loves these quiet days more than anything.

[bradleysass]

absence - @rosekillermicrofic - wc: 505

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder. That’s the saying, right?”

Barty’s voice cuts through the stillness, delicate, but sharp enough to make Evan flinch.

He’s standing by the open window, shirtless, smoke curling from the cigarette between his fingers. Outside, the city hums with the low lull of a summer night, neon lights bouncing off brick and broken pavement. Inside, the only light comes from the flickering TV no one’s watching.

Evan shifts on the couch, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Don’t start.”

Barty turns slowly, one brow raised. There’s a look on his face Evan knows too well: that distant, tragic softness that means Barty’s brain is spiraling somewhere far, far away. Somewhere where Evan can’t always reach him.

“I’m not starting,” Barty says, dragging in a breath, “just thinking. Like. One day, one of us is going to die. And the other will have to live with it. Isn’t that just fucked?”

Evan exhales hard through his nose. “Yeah, well. So is staying up at 3 a.m. to play existential roulette with your boyfriend.”

Barty shrugs, unconvinced. He moves from the window and flops onto the end of the couch, limbs folding in on themselves. The cigarette dangles between his lips. Evan snatches it and stubs it out before it can burn the fabric.

“I’m serious,” Barty whispers.

“That’s the problem,” Evan replies, eyes locked on the screen like he’s actually invested in the static Netflix menu. “You get like this. Sentimental. Apocalyptic. Romantic in the worst ways.”

Barty smirks faintly. “You love me for it.”

“I love you despite it.”

Silence. Not the comfortable kind. The kind where the weight of everything unsaid fills the room like smoke.

Then Barty says, quietly, “I just think about it sometimes. How there’s going to be a last time. Last kiss. Last fight. Last stupid joke. And we won’t know it’s the last.”

Evan turns toward him, jaw tight. “You think about death too much.”

“I think about you too much,” Barty counters, almost defensively. “What happens when I can't anymore?”

“You think absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Evan mutters, voice flat. “But you forget how absence can hollow a person out.”

Barty blinks. There’s something raw in his eyes now, something that flickers like a candle trying not to go out.

“I don’t want to hollow you,” he says.

“Then stop rehearsing our ending,” Evan snaps, standing up. “You’re not dead, Barty. You’re right here. So act like it.”

Barty looks up at him, all wide eyes and bitten lip. For once, he doesn’t argue. Just nods, slowly, like he’s trying to convince himself it’s enough.

Evan sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “You’re exhausting, you know that?”

Barty reaches out, fingers grazing Evan’s wrist, soft. “But you’d miss me.”

Evan glares at him, then leans down to press a rough kiss to his forehead.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’d fucking miss you.”

Barty smiles then—tired, crooked, sad—and Evan hates how beautiful he looks when he’s being impossible.

[revelboo]

Im so so sorry if youre super busy and I promise it's alright if you can't , but I recently got broken up with, and I was wondering if you could Update the Megatronus prime story? Honestly my favorite bot and I never find anything for him! Thank you so much! 🥰

Sure, I know breakups can be rough!

Give It Up Pt 7

Megatronus Prime x Reader

• ‘May I?’ He sounds so darn serious, his deep voice rumbling through you as a servo hovers over your head. “Knock yourself out,” you say and when he hesitates, you almost laugh, because human sayings are going to be a problem apparently. “It means go ahead, it’s not literal,” you add and his optics brighten behind his mask as the tip of his servo ghosts over your head. Touching your hair. Petting you like a lost kitten. Maybe that’s what you are to him.

• Rumbling softly as he brushes over the softness of your hair, he’s smiling faintly behind his mask. Knows this isn’t exactly dignified for either of you, but had wanted to the klik you’d pulled off that helmet. And you’re softer than he’d imagined as you just shoot him a bemused look until he awkwardly clears his vents and pulls his hand away. “Right,” he mutters, reaching for the dish of synthesized paste, half tempted to ask Alchemist Prime to check it over. The scanner says it’s safe and compatible, but he’s worried he might accidentally poison you. “Only a very small amount.”

• After watching him work on this goop for hours, looking less than comfortable with what he’s doing, you get the impression that science isn’t his strong suit. Dipping your finger in to scoop some up, you smell it, but it doesn’t really smell like anything. Or taste like anything when you lick your finger. And he’s tense, servos gripping the edge of the desk as he watches you. ‘Is it safe?’ He asks. Shrugging when you don’t start foaming at the mouth and go into convulsions, you smile. “Probably.”

• Probably? You don’t know if it’s toxic to you after eating it? He’d assumed you’d just know and he drags the dish away when you try to scoop up more. ‘Pretty sure it’s okay,’ you chirp as his jaw clenches. Pretty sure? How has your species survived this long? “Maybe we should wait?” Growling softly when you lean to scoop up more and eat it anyway, you just shrug at him again. What is wrong with your species? ‘It’s probably fine.’

• You think he might be about to blow a gasket, possibly literally, as he moves the dish out of reach. “I’d rather not be the cause of your early death, little one,” he says, sounding so tired you resist the urge to get up and walk back over to the dish for more, because you’re hungry. Tasteless paste is better than nothing. And it’s kind of adorable that he’s so concerned about you. That he wants to keep you around. Good, too. You’re in over your head and his calm is the only thing keeping you from having a nervous breakdown at the whole situation. Something about him just makes it so easy to relax, to trust him completely.

Previous

[alexanderlightweight]

It's Wednesday!! Hi!

Could I request a follow up for Fall Into Fate? I love all your dragon Malec verses, I want to hoard them all.

Thank you.

since there is no preference listed, this is sfw just to be safe. i think the only warning is some cannibalism. last part here. that one is nsfw there are currently some time skips going on.

i hope you enjoy and thank you! i love writing them so i'm glad!

<3 lumine

fall into fate

Alexander’s words sit on his mind like bands of torment about Magnus’ thoughts.

Clearly Raziel is more foolish than Magnus thought, to give his so-called children such short, wasted lives.  Worse, Magnus’ own Alexander is tied to one of those mortal fates.

Magnus falls into his thoughts, not realizing how much time has past until his fingers tighten too harshly in Alexander’s hair and it stirs his boy from rest.

Alexander blinks sleepily up at him and then scowls, eyes still full of dreams and filling quickly with irritation.

“Why aren’t you asleep.”

Magnus blinks down at his treasure with curious fondness and a feeling of bemusement.

“I was thinking of you. I dislike how few decades you say I will have you for.”

Alexander sighs and his hand reaches out, cool on Magnus’ skin and scales as he belligerently pulls Magnus down.  Magnus allows it with delight, letting himself fall onto Alexander and his gem grunts with exertion but otherwise says nothing.  His fingers run up the ridged, scales of Magnus’ spine and into Magnus’ hair, carefully preening hair and feather alike.

“I’m still young, for a shadowhunter. You won’t get bored too soon. I’d worry more about how you feel about me in three or four decades when my body starts breaking down.”

Magnus snarls and Alexander laughs at him, undaunted by his rage and so sure that he’s correct.  That Magnus will tired of Alexander, will be ride of him, will lose him.

Magnus will not allow it.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to fix that.” Magnus speaks aloud but it’s mostly to himself but Alexander hears if the way he hums, a question in his voice even as he goes back to trying to coax Magnus to sleep.

“Fix what?”

Magnus cannot say why, but even just holding his treasure is not enough and he takes a kiss, letting it consume him for a moment before he pulls back.  Not nearly sated but satisfied for a moment longer.

“Your lifespan, treasure.” Magnus smiles, giddiness causing his eyes to gleam, “you won’t have to worry of me boring if I make you immortal, ageless and unable to leave my side.”

Alexander’s mouth pulls into a scowl and Magnus would nearly love to call it impressive but it’s just adorable and he tries not to croon. Alexander has proven to be unreceptive to Magnus’ adoration when he’s upset… or trying to be threatening.

“Yes lovely?” Magnus teases, forked tongue flicking out to taste the corner of Alexander’s mouth. “What are you about to demand of me in turn?” Because Alexander would be demanding something in turn. His sweet, stubborn and lovely gem can be vicious when it ensures he’ll not be thrown away or abandoned.

“You make me immortal then you better tie yourself to me in turn, Magnus.” Alexander is resigned beneath his threats. He already knows that Magnus is serious. There is no sense in arguing with a dragon set on a course and while Alexander certainly tries, Alexander does understand when Magnus cannot be moved.

—

Alec takes a bite of his breakfast, ignoring how smug Magnus is and the golden tail slipped under the table and curled around his waist. Or the feet holding his ankle possessively under the table and the fingers holding the hand he isn’t eating with.

It’s three more bites before suspicion sets in fully and he sets down his fork with a sigh.

Magnus’ fingers tighten on his own, the only sign of displeasure shown as he remains smiling across the table at Alec.

“It’s all very fresh.” Alec comments and he pretends the reason he set the utensils down is to drink, considering he only has one hand available. Magnus even used magic to cut up his food, refusing to release his hand.

“I hunted it for you myself.” Magnus assures him and Alec tries very hard not to roll his eyes.  Sulking dragon is not what he enjoys during breakfast and Alec normally falls asleep at this time of the day.  Even thought he’s taken an impromptu and slightly forced nap, Alec can’t help but feel the urge to retreat to bed and pull the covers — and knowing his dragon, Magnus as well — up and over him to avoid the world.

“Magnus, you do realize that shadowhunters haven’t partaken in active cannibalism for several centuries now.  Don’t you? Considering that I can’t place the flavor but it’s also strangely familiar, I am assuming this is nephilim.”

—

Magnus manages to swallow down the flame but he exhales dark, black smoke from his nostrils. 

“I was assured it was still a delicacy.”

It’s outrageous that someone has dared to make such a mockery of him, let alone that Magnus has served something Alexander doesn’t wish to eat. Despite the fact that Alexander refusing it should be considered a slight, Magnus feels that can hardly be taken into account.  Not when someone was deliberately misleading Magnus. If Alexander is delicate enough to not eat his own kind then that’s fine, all the more reason for Magnus to hunt for him and protect him.

Alexander sighs again and Magnus considers what to summon for him instead, only to watch his nephilim reach for his fork, spear another perfectly cut portion of rare meat and eat it with a little shrug.

“It’s not as if the flavor is bad.  It’s just unusual, not something I’d recognized with guesswork. But I don’t mind, not when you hunted it for me.”

Magnus wants to devour him.

Alexander is making it very difficult to remember that Magnus wants to court his treasure, properly.  While Magnus will ensure that his darling becomes immortal, he cannot forget the courting. It would be far to easy to simply disappear them both into Magnus’ lairs and strongholds, and show Alexander how truly coveted he is.

However Magnus knows himself.

If he secludes himself away with Alexander, it will be decades before he wishes to resurface.  It can take years to truly memorize and know another's scent and heartbeat and footsteps and Magnus wants to memorize them all. Not just aided by magic and instinct, but truly be able to merely think and feel all that Alexander is, because that is how well Magnus knows him.

Magnus uses magic to cut a second piece of perfectly seared meat into bite sized morsels and refills Alexander’s plate with a trill of pride.  The bread may not be handmade, but it’s made with magic which is good enough and the fruit was freshly picked from Magnus’ own garden.

Alexander has eaten nothing but the harvests of Magnus’ own efforts since Magnus claimed him and for at least another week, Magnus will ensure it remains the same. 

AN:

alec is cranky because magnus insisted they take a nap together and he wakes up to find magnus not sleeping? the pawdacity of his dragon.

magnus is not accepting mortality of his alexander. there are many things he loves and adores about alec but mortality is not one of them.

Magnus: he's absolutely perfect there's just this one, nasty little speck on my boy (snips his lifeline and makes it immortal) oh there. fixed it.

-

Alec: ha, yeah well i'm gonna be old and a mess and a burden and you'll hate me

Magnus: or you could just... not age or die and always be mine and that is much much better. yes lets do that.

Alec: i don't feel like my opinion is actually being asked. so if you think this tie is a one way street youre wrong. you are also mine. so there

magnus: ... he's so adorably prickly. is this why humans like hedgehogs? i just want to poke at him and tease him and lick his neck... ah. perhaps humans don't feel that last part for hedgehogs.

cat: - i don't want to deal with any of this

ragnor: a hedgehog! he's comparing his shadowhunter to a hedgehog

magnus: he's too small to be compared to a porcupine.

Alec: i am at least an inch taller than you in human form. i am clinging to that inch. do not deny me that. that means i am not small.

magnus: but i'm not often in human form, am i darling?

ragnor: tmi. please. i am leaving. goodbye. i regret my intrusion immensely.

alec sighing because he just wanted this one inch: fine. i'm small. happy?

Magnus: yes. *transforms to coil around his smol, yet tall Alexander *

(Ragnor: if he considers his shadowhunter small, how do you think he measures us?"

Cat: i think you'd be compared to a tea kettle or a book and i'd be a scrying mirror or a defibrillator. you know Magnus' imagination knows no bounds.