#movement and every emotion expressed

[light-wrath-paradise]

Kyle Gallner is somehow capable of looking both hot as hell and whiter than Wonderbread bread and twice as milquetoast at the same time. What do they keep doing with him on sets

[scatterbrainedbot]

HEY NOW, HERE COMES TROUBLE

commissioned the incredible @danksy-ns to draw my rat sons au raph and mikey and!!!!!! YALL!!!!!!

I DONT EVEN HAVE SPACE IN MY BRAIN FOR WORDS ITS TOO FULL OF LOVE AND AMAZEMENT!!!! LOOK!!!! AT MY BOYS!!!! MY DARLING TROUBLE MAKERS!!!! THE ABSOLUTE MENACES!!!!! I KEEP HAVING TO PAUSE AND JUMP AROUND MY ROOM BEFORE COMING BACK TO LOOK AT THEM

THANK YOU AGAIN DANKSY FOR UR AMAZING WORK AND FOR DRAWING MY SILLY RAT CHILDREN

and yall, if you can, please consider commissioning @danksy-ns so she and her kitty can get home safe this holiday season!! PLUS THEN YOU GET TO LOOK AT HER AMAZING ART FOREVER SO ABSOLUTELY WIN-WIN ALL AROUND!!! her emergency commission info post can be found [here]!

[philiponmycracker]

A study in expressions Tom Hulce edition: Some more gifs to celebrate my king the wonderful Mr Hulce as Ivan, from The Inner Circle (dir. Andrei Konchalovsky, 1991) because just his face I swear to god

[khioneee]

tap out. pt ii.

warnings. mentions of death, emotional distress, grief and loss, pregnancy.

a few years later, another tap-out ceremony arrives, but this time, the air feels different—heavier, somber. simon’s been gone for over a year, his deployment unexpectedly extended due to an incident overseas. you’d been told he couldn’t come home for a while, but that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

today, you stand among families who aren’t just here to tap out their loved ones but to say goodbye to those who didn’t make it home. tears stream down faces as loved ones gather around caskets, grieving the soldiers they’d lost. the sight fills you with a mix of dread and relief, knowing simon is still out there, waiting.

simon stands in formation, rigid as always, but he has a sense for you. before you even appear in his line of sight, he knows you’re near. but imagine his surprise when he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision, a small bundle wrapped securely in your arms.

his heart hammers in his chest, quickening as he realizes what this means. his breath catches, his eyes fixed on you as you approach. you look up at him, your eyes sparkling, a knowing smile on your face as you watch the subtle changes in his expression—the slight twitch of his eyebrows, the way his breathing picks up as it dawns on him.

both of you had been trying for a baby before he left, and now, standing before him, you hold that precious life in your arms. it had been a struggle going through pregnancy without him, feeling his absence during every kick and every sleepless night. but seeing him now, looking more than ready to meet your child, all the pain fades away, replaced by a joy so profound it fills every inch of you.

‘daddy’s home,’ you whisper softly, tilting the blanket so simon can see her tiny face, fast asleep, a perfect mirror of him in miniature. she’s got his nose, his quiet strength already etched into her tiny features.

with tears in your eyes, you reach up, your hand finding his cheek, tapping him out in the gentlest of touches.

the moment your hand connects, simon moves, breaking formation as he pulls both of you into his arms, holding you close as if he’ll never let go. his voice is thick with emotion, barely a whisper as he murmurs, ‘my loves.’

you knew your husband had a reputation in the military—a man as cold and unyielding as steel, a fortress no one could break. but as he held you and your newborn in his arms, that carefully built facade cracked, revealing a vulnerable side of him that only you ever saw. the tough soldier was gone, replaced by a man whose heart lay entirely with his family.

‘do you want to hold her?’ you ask softly, watching his eyes light up with a blend of surprise and joy.

‘her?’ he whispers, voice catching on the single word, as if it’s almost too much for him to believe.

you nod, smiling through a haze of happy tears. ‘her.’

with slow, reverent movements, you pass your daughter to him, watching as she looks impossibly tiny cradled in his strong arms. simon looks down at her with a mixture of wonder and fierce protectiveness, as though he’s already memorizing every detail of her face.

as if sensing her father’s gaze, the baby yawns, a soft little sound that makes simon’s eyes shine with awe. you catch the faintest smile pulling at his lips, a rare, tender expression that he reserves only for moments like this.

he leans down, pressing his lips gently to her forehead. ‘never gonna let anything happen to you,’ he murmurs, voice thick with love and quiet promise.

while simon was lost in his quiet moment with your daughter, a loud shout cut through the air, breaking the peaceful silence.

‘is that our baby i see?!’

simon’s head snapped up, his expression immediately shifting to something harder. he turned to see soap grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement. with a sigh, simon reached over and smacked the back of soap’s head, though his movements were careful not to jostle the sleeping baby in his arms.

‘there’s people grieving, you idiot,’ simon muttered, but soap only snickered, completely unfazed.

‘and what do you mean, ‘our’? she’s y/n’s and mine. you’re not part of this relationship, mate,’ simon added, his tone dripping with mock irritation.

but soap, undeterred, just ignored him and held out his hands, wiggling his fingers in a display of exaggerated excitement. ‘oh, come on! let me hold our child!’

simon groaned, looking down at you with a glance that seemed to ask, ‘do i really have to put up with this?’ but he couldn’t hide the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as soap’s enthusiasm filled the air around you.

reluctantly, and with another sigh, simon finally leaned over, carefully passing your daughter to soap, though not without a low, ‘if you don’t keep her calm, you’re not holding her again.’

soap just grinned, taking her into his arms as if he’d won the lottery, cradling her gently and cooing softly.

soon after, the rest of task force 141 gathered around, drawn by the excitement, each member eager to catch a glimpse of the new addition to the family.

you and simon stood to the side, watching with cautious eyes as they took turns holding her, each one adopting a careful gentleness you wouldn’t have expected from hardened soldiers.

price held her with a proud grin, murmuring something about ‘training her to be the next captain,’ while gaz made her giggle softly with his gentle cooing. even the usually reserved roach softened as he held her, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

you glanced up at simon, watching his face as he stood beside you, arms crossed in a show of casual indifference.

but you knew him too well. beneath the mask of stoicism, there was something warmer, a subtle softness in his gaze as he watched his team, his family, sharing this moment with him. this gruff, unbreakable soldier, who had once thought he’d lost everything, had found a new family among them, one that shared in his joys and sorrows alike.

reaching over, you took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. he didn’t say anything, just gave your hand a quick squeeze in return, a quiet acknowledgment. but you could see it in his eyes, that gratitude for a family he never expected to find—a family that had now become part of yours.

[unboundprompts]

Can you do some more body language descriptions? For different emotions like Worry, sadness, love, etc!! Ty🩷🩷

Body Language Descriptions

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

Worry

She wrung her hands together, her fingers twisting nervously as she struggled to keep her thoughts in check.

He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze darting anxiously around the room.

She pulled at her sleeve, the movement repetitive and absentminded as her mind raced.

He bit the inside of his cheek, a habit that betrayed his inner turmoil.

They hugged their arms tightly across their chest, as if trying to hold themselves together.

She paced the room, her steps quick and uneven as she tried to shake off the nagging sense of dread.

Sadness

She wiped at her eyes, even though no tears had fallen yet.

He let his shoulders sag, his whole body slumping as if the weight of the world rested on him.

She clutched her scarf tightly, her fingers gripping the fabric like it was the only thing grounding her.

He kept his head low, staring at the ground as if afraid to meet anyone’s eyes.

They let out a shaky exhale, the sound heavy with unspoken grief.

She blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

Love

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her smile soft and shy as she met his gaze.

He brushed her hand lightly, the touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

They leaned closer, their knees nearly touching, as if drawn together by an invisible force.

She tilted her head slightly, her expression tender and full of quiet affection.

He laughed easily, the sound warm and unguarded, his gaze never leaving her face.

She reached out to fix his collar, her fingers lingering as she adjusted it carefully.

Guilt

He avoided her eyes, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

She rubbed her temples, her hands trembling.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, unable to stay still.

She clasped her hands tightly behind her back, her knuckles white as she fought to remain composed.

They bit their lower lip, their jaw tightening.

He fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, his movements jerky and hesitant.

Fear

She took a step back, her breath quickening as her eyes darted to the nearest exit.

He clenched the fabric of his shirt over his chest, as if trying to steady his pounding heart.

She froze in place, her body stiff and her movements tentative, like a deer caught in headlights.

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly as he fought to calm himself.

They pressed their back against the wall, their hands splayed out.

She whispered under her breath, her words shaky and barely audible.

Jealousy

He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw tightening as his gaze followed her every move.

She tapped her foot impatiently, the rhythm sharp and irritated as she forced a smile.

He clenched his fists at his sides, the tension in his knuckles betraying his calm demeanor.

She cast a sideways glance, her lips pressed into a thin line.

They shifted in their seat, their shoulders stiff.

He ran his fingers through his hair, his movements brisk and frustrated as he fought to contain his thoughts.

Relief

She exhaled deeply, her shoulders dropping as the tension melted away.

He ran a hand down his face, his smile faint but unmistakably genuine.

She laughed shakily, her hand pressed to her chest as if trying to steady her racing heart.

He slumped against the nearest chair, his legs suddenly too weak to hold him up.

They let their head fall back, their eyes closing as a soft, contented sigh escaped their lips.

She smiled faintly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the surface of the table as the weight lifted from her mind.

Embarrassment

She tugged at the collar of her shirt, her cheeks flushing as she avoided everyone’s gaze.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his lips twitching into an awkward, forced smile.

She bit her lip, her hands fluttering nervously.

He let out a strained laugh, scratching the side of his head.

They hid their face in their hands, peeking out between their fingers with a sheepish grin.

She stumbled over her words, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt as her cheeks burned bright red.

[mssorceressupreme]

Under Your Control

———

Pairing: In ho x reader

Summary: you wake up almost bare one night, away from the other players, tried to someone’s bed in an all too luxurious bedroom.

only to discover that the person you loved, young-il was the frontman and he would stop at nothing to gain information out of you.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, dom!inho, sub!reader, non-con touch, age gap, oral f!receiving, fingering, hickeys, use of ropes/tied up, betrayal, stripping, toxic relationship, orgasm denial

———

The first thing you noticed was the softness beneath you—luxurious sheets that felt entirely foreign after the cold, hard floor of the hall. Blinking awake, your arms tugged instinctively, only to be met with resistance. Your wrists were tied to the bedposts, the smooth silk of the restraints deceptively gentle against your skin but firm enough to hold you in place. Panic bubbled in your chest as your eyes darted around the room.

It wasn’t like anywhere else you’d seen in this nightmare of a game. The room was extravagant, draped in rich fabrics and gilded accents, a far cry from the stark, utilitarian halls where the other players remained. The flickering light from a crystal chandelier above cast shifting shadows on the walls, adding to the eerie stillness.

“Where… where am I?” you murmured, your voice trembling. The silence pressed against you, broken only by the distant hum of machinery. You tugged harder against the restraints, your breath quickening. “Let me go!” you called out to no one in particular.

A creak at the far end of the room made your head snap toward the sound. A figure stepped into view, cloaked in black, their face hidden behind the sleek, metallic mask that sent chills through you. The mask’s emotionless design contrasted cruelly with the humanity you desperately searched for.

“Who are you?” you demanded, your voice rising despite the fear knotting in your throat. “Where am I? What’s going on?” You struggled against the restraints, the silk cutting slightly into your wrists.

The figure tilted their head, the movement slow, calculated. They took a step closer, then another, the weight of their presence suffocating. Finally, their gloved hand reached up, gripping the edge of the mask.

Time seemed to slow as they pulled it off, revealing a face you knew all too well.

“Young-il?” you breathed, disbelief flooding every syllable. Your heart twisted painfully, as though the air had been stolen from your lungs.

He smirked, the expression sharp, almost cruel, and yet it sent an unwelcome flutter through your chest. “Surprised, angel?” he said, his voice low and smooth, like honey laced with poison.

The nickname, one he’d used during the games, felt like a blade twisting in your heart. It was a cruel reminder of who you thought he was—the ally who had stood by your side, shared quiet moments of understanding, and made you feel safe.

And yet here he was, towering over you, not as a fellow player but as something far more sinister.

“You…” Your voice cracked as you stared at him, your emotions tangling into a knot of betrayal and heartbreak. “You lied to us. To me. You’re one of them.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that felt like a mockery of all the warmth you once thought he possessed. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said, his tone playful but undercut with a dangerous edge. “I was doing what I had to. We all are.”

Your lip trembled, but you set your jaw, glaring at him even as your chest ached. “I trusted you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “...I loved you.”

His smirk faltered for a split second, a flicker of something softer passing through his eyes. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced by that same icy exterior. He moved closer after taking off his coat to reveal a black tight fitted shirt underneath.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he hovered over your tied-up vulnerable body, both his legs on either side of your hips.

“I’m not here to talk about feelings, Y/N,” he said, leaning in just enough that his breath brushed against your cheek. “I need information.”

You turned your head away, refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His hand cupped your jaw, gently but firmly turning your face back to him. The touch sent a jolt through you, confusing and unwelcome. “Don’t lie to me,” he said, his voice a quiet warning. “I know you’re close to Gi-hun. He trusts you. Now, tell me about that plan he told you.”

“No,” you said, the word shaking but resolute. “I won’t betray him. I won’t betray them.”

His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “Oh, angel,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

Before you could protest, his lips captured yours in a kiss that stole your breath. It was unexpected, overwhelming, and despite everything, it ignited something in you that you couldn’t suppress. Your resolve wavered as his hand moved to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss.

When he pulled away, you were left reeling, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. “Now,” he said, his voice softer but no less commanding, “tell me.”

You shook your head, biting your lip to keep from speaking. He tilted his head, his eyes scanning your body up and down, beneath him. He then caressed the side of your upper body, his hand making his way to your jacket zipper.

Shit, you weren't wearing a bra underneath today, nor a shirt, because it was supposedly bedtime. Slowly, he undid your zipper, exposing your cloth-less skin. "No bra?"

You laid beneath him shaking your head slightly, now bare, even more vulnerable.

"Look at you, so fucking pretty..." He then leaned in, "I might have to be rough if you don't tell me what I want..." He cooed, almost mockingly. His lips ghosting over yours, teasing, before pressing another kiss to them, sucking lightly. This time, your body betrayed you entirely, melting into him despite the storm of emotions crashing within you. Straightening himself up, he pulled your pants down while still hovering over you, leaving you in your undies. He pressed his thumb to your throbbing clit, with pressure before slowly stroking your folds over the fabric of your undies.

“Stop,” you whispered, though the word lacked conviction. “Please...” Yet, he continued, slipping two fingers inside your undies before stroking your folds again. You tried to resist his touch, you hated this, you hated him for betraying you guys. But your body felt differently. Trying to resist the pleasure, you forced yourself to not react, however, your body kept twitching under his touch and from all the pleasure building up.

“Then talk,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a velvet threat.

The push and pull was too much. Your heart warred with your mind, your love for him tangling with the sharp sting of his betrayal. "I won't." You spat, and he responded by inserting two fingers harshly inside you. You moaned, tilting your head back, panting heavily as he began pumping in and out of you. "Stop..." You pleaded, whimpering as he picked up his pace. Your breathing was heavy, gosh, he managed to make you feel so good, you were like putty under his control. "You tell me to stop, yet your body tells me otherwise...." His voice was low, sensual, "...so fucking wet for me..."

You felt your climax near approaching, your heartbeat quickening, you were close. "Young-il..." You plead, once more. "I'm gonna....I'm getting close..." Barely a whisper came out, your eyes shut tightly, body melting under his touch. "I'm gonna cum..."

He continued, pumping deeper and faster, and your climax was getting close and closer until...

He pulled his fingers out.

"Don't stop please..." You begged, "please Young-il I need you..." You mentally slapped yourself for sounding so needy, begging for more. No matter how mad you were, a part of you still wanted him. He smirked, seeing how needy you were for him which also fuelled his own desire. His bulge was evident, pressing against your thigh.

Young-il stroked your cheeks softly, "Oh Y/N, you'll get what you want...once you tell me his plan."

"I already told you I won't." You retort. "Such a stubborn, pretty mouth, hm?" He gazed into your eyes, filled with lust. He wanted you so bad, he'd do anything to make his name fall from your pretty mouth again.

He bent down, planting sloppy kisses on your collarbone down to your stomach. Sucking harshly till he left a bruise, "You'll look even more gorgeous with my marks all over you." Shifting down, Young-il moved closer to your cunt, making eye contact while he licked your folds.

"Young-il..." You moaned, body involuntarily arching, bucking your hips up into his face. Placing his hands on the velvety part of your inner thighs, he parted your legs wider before leaning in again to place kitten licks on your cunt.

"You taste so good angel..." He murmured into you.

He made sure to suck on your clit, with extra pressure, licking between the folds, slowly but sensually. "Young-il please..." You whimpered.

He pulled away slightly, "You want me to let you cum?"

"Please..." You begged, breathing heavily.

"Please what?" He retorted, "Use your words beautiful."

"Please make me cum..." You whined, before he continued, licking your whole slit, your became wetter by the second, body begging for more.

"The plan." He demanded you to tell him, "Now." Before pulling away again.

You groaned, wanting more, needing more. Your body so close filled with arousal, yet so far from a climax.

He leaned down once more, sucking on your clit again.

"The guards!-" You cried aloud, overwhelmed with pleasure. "An attack at midnight..." You moaned softly.

"Anything else?" Young-il smirked, knowing the control he had over you. "That's Gi-hun's plan...attack management at midnight when they've assumed we're asleep." You blurt out, which you immediately regretted. You told him what he wanted to know—about Gi-hun’s plan, the uprising, the desperate hope for freedom. Satisfied, Young-il sucked harder, licking every inch of your cunt with fervour. You moaned loudly, panting heavily as you came closer to a climax.

"I'm so close...gonna cum..." You arched your back further, "I'm gonna..." Then it washed over you, your body jerking harshly as it filled with pleasure. Your walls throbbed, and you felt a rush to your core; you let out a moan, hands tangling in Young-il's hair as you came.

When you finished, he pulled back, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He reached out, brushing a hair from your face with a gentleness that felt like a cruel mockery. “Good girl,” he said softly.

You turned your face away, tears slipping silently down your cheeks as guilt and shame consumed you. He placed a soft kiss on your cheek, "See that wasn't so hard was it." Young-il zipped up your jacket and helped you put on your track pants but still leaving you tied up.

He stood up, getting off the bed, “Not a word of this to anyone,” he said, his voice cold and unfeeling once more. “If you do, they’ll die. Every last one of them.”

You nodded, unable to speak. "Sleep here for tonight, the bed is more comfortable." He spoke while putting on his jacket, "When you wake up tomorrow, you'll be back in the hall with the others. I'll see you there angel." He winked, placing the mask back over his face before walking away.

Your body tremlbed as the door closed behind him.

Despite everything, your heart still ached for him. And that, more than anything, was the cruelest twist of all.

[p1girlfriend]

oscar piastri x emotional/sensitive!reader ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

content: fluff, comfort, love language overload, emotional vulnerability, soft protective oscar vibes.

– Oscar doesn’t say much when he first realizes how sensitive you are, but he notices everything. Every flicker in your expression, the slight change in your tone, the way your eyes gloss over when you're overwhelmed — he picks up on all of it, silently adjusting his behavior to make you feel safer.

– He never tells you to "calm down" or "stop crying." Never. If you cry, he just pulls you into him, strokes your back with slow, steady movements, and lets you fall apart in peace. He’ll whisper things like, “I’m right here,” or “It’s okay, you can cry,” while tucking his chin over your shoulder.

– You're the type to get overwhelmed by good and bad emotions — like, you cry watching underdog wins or get quiet when people are too loud or aggressive. And Oscar? He becomes your human noise-canceller. Just a calm hand on your thigh under the table, or a glance across the room like, “You okay?”

– He sends you voice notes when you're having a rough day. They're short and calm, always starting with a little sigh like, “Hey… I know today’s been a lot,” and ending with a soft, “I love you, alright? I’ll be home soon.”

– The way he holds you when you’re sad. Not tight, but firm. Like he’s grounding you. His hoodie sleeves are long and cozy, and he always lets you hide your face in them. He’ll wrap his arms around your head and let you stay there for as long as you need.

– You’re super expressive when you're happy too — jumping up and down after good news, tearing up because you’re proud of someone, always wearing your heart on your sleeve — and he adores it. Quiet little smirks when you’re telling a story passionately, just looking at you like you’re magic.

– You overthink things sometimes, and Oscar knows better than to say “don’t worry.” Instead, he sits beside you, legs touching, and goes, “Let’s talk it out.” He listens until you get to the real reason you’re upset — and then helps you untangle it with calm logic and gentle validation.

– He remembers the things that make you feel better. That one tea you like when you're spiraling. The way you like your hand held (fingers laced, always). Your favorite soft blanket. The playlist that calms you down. And sometimes, he prepares them without you asking, just… because he knows it’s coming.

– He doesn't get uncomfortable when you're emotional in public. If you're crying in a restaurant or anxious in a crowd, he doesn’t get flustered — he just focuses on you. One arm around your back, shielding you. A soft “Want to leave?” whispered near your ear.

– One time, you said “sorry for being too much,” and he got visibly upset. Not at you, but at the idea that you thought that. He held your face in both hands and went, “You are never too much for me.” And you believe him, because he means it.

– He never teases you for being sensitive. Not even lightly. To him, your softness is a strength. Your big feelings, your empathy, the way you care deeply about everything — it’s part of what makes you you. And he’s obsessed with that.

– Your softness doesn’t make him uncomfortable — it grounds him. It reminds him to slow down, to feel more, to appreciate things. He tells you that all the time. Like, “You make me feel more human.”

– And when he’s upset or stressed? You give him that same safe space. No pressure, no fixing. Just open arms and soft silence. He doesn’t talk much, but your presence alone pulls the knots from his chest. He once said, “You're the calm after the storm, always.”

©p1girlfriend

[whenstarsundress]

hello! i wanted to ask if you could write a scenario where the boys find the reader's self harm scars that the reader has been hiding for years? i know it's a difficult subject and feel free to ignore this ask or change up the request however you wish if it's something you're not comfortable with. no pressure at all! my favorites are zayne and sylus but i'm not picky, you can write the prompt for someone else if you'd rather! your writing is amazing and i really appreciate you sharing your work! :)

an: thank you for trusting me with this request, wherever you are, I’m sending you love.

sylus – protective, soft but quietly wrecked

he didn’t mean to see. he was tracing your skin with those featherlight touches. his usual calm reverence written into every movement.

but then his fingers stilled. “…angel,” he murmured.

you froze. he didn’t ask what it was. he already knew. his jaw clenched and for a second his fingers tightened around you. but when you tried to move, tried to hide, he caught your hand and kissed the scar instead. then another, and each that he could find.

“this… this doesn’t scare me,” he said thickly. “but it hurts that you went through something like that alone.”

he held you all night and whispered that he was proud of you. that you were still here. that he’d protect you from every shadow, including the ones in your own heart.

zayne – devastated, gentle, desperately wants to understand

he spotted it when you were changing. your shirt had barely lifted before he saw the marks. his entire expression dropped, his entire body went rigid.

“…baby?” his voice cracked. “can i… ask you something?”

you turned away, but he rushed to you. not to demand answers or to see, but to wrap you in his hoodie, pressing his forehead to yours.

“i’m not mad,” he whispered. “i just… i wish i’d known. i could’ve held you when it was bad. i still can. please don’t hide from me.”

that night, he made you hot cocoa and wrapped you in his clothes, in his blanket, in his arms. and let you talk or cry or say nothing at all. he sat beside you on the floor, lacing your fingers together, as if to silently say, “you’re not alone anymore.”

caleb – quietly fierce, immediate emotional anchor

he noticed the scars when you reached to grab something. you didn’t even realize until you saw his eyes on your wrist. he didn’t speak right away, because what do you say when the love of your life was hurting and you didn’t know?

“tell me who hurt you,” he said. “and if it was you… tell me what made it feel like the only choice.”

his voice didn’t carry judgment. just fury that something in this world—something in your past, or even right now—could carve that pain into someone he loved. he kissed the skin gently and said, “scars don’t scare me. but not knowing what you’re carrying does. so talk to me. or let me hold it with you.”

and he did. whatever you need, caleb would give it to you. forever.

xavier – emotional, deeply shaken, poetic and present

you didn’t think he’d notice. not through the long sleeves, but xavier always noticed everything about you. one night, curled in bed, you shifted, and your sleeve rode up. he saw. his heart dropped before beating so fast, like it tried to claw out of his chest, and to yours. to surround you with love, warmth and protection.

his fingers ghosted over the mark. “was this pain?” he asked, his voice hollow. “or… silence?”

you didn’t answer right away. but your eyes brimmed with tears and that was enough. he took your wrist in both hands, kissed every inch with reverence, like he could rewrite what had happened with softness.

“these scars,” he whispered, “don’t define you. but they’re part of your story. and i’m not afraid of your shadows. i love all of you. even the aching parts.”

rafayel – surprisingly serious, stays with you through every emotion

he usually makes everything lighthearted until he saw the faint scars on your thighs. his voice dropped to a serious low. “you did this to yourself?”

you nodded, too scared to look at him. he didn’t joke or tease. he stepped forward and knelt in front of you, resting his cheek gently against your leg, as a quiet act of devotion.

“i’ve made mistakes, too,” he said softly. “you don’t have to hide the hurting from me. i want the real you, even the parts you think are unlovable.”

he pressed a soft kiss to the scar before he got up again, and wrapped you tightly into his arms. “i got you. no matter how heavy the pain is, we’ll carry it together. okay?”

final words - you are not your scars. you are not broken. you are worthy of gentle love, understanding hands and unwavering presence.

and my dear? you’re so strong for being here.

these boys—sylus, zayne, caleb, xavier & rafayel—they wouldn’t run from your past. they’d stay, heart first.

[akalyndraw]

It's a little late but happy Mother's Day! I take this opportunity to introduce LeoYur's future babies, twins Laia and Lia and little brother Jul. I'll take the opportunity to write about them ^^

It's a good time to remember that Yura's eye color is brown 🤎 the olive green is actually contact lenses (she doesn't see well far away)

Yura and Leona's children:

Twins - Laia (🐆) & Lia (🌺):

Age: 9 years old

Birthday: June 15

Birthplace: Sunset Savanna

Eye color: Esmerald

Hair color: Dark Brown

Favorite Food: Meat (🐆) Lasagna (🌺)

Hobby: Training (🐆) Singing (🌺)

Dislike: Salad(🐆🌺) and insects(🌺)

Younger brother - Jul (🐾):

Age: 7 years old

Birthday: October 8

Birthplace: Sunset Savanna

Eye color: Brown

Hair color: Dark Brown

Favorite Food: Beef liver

Hobby: Read

Dislike: Noise and people talking behind one's back

The twins are a bundle of energy that came into 🌼🦁 life when they least expected it on one of their trips, but it was the greatest joy for both of them. Both have outgoing and curious personalities, Laia can be the more whimsical one. She likes to tease her brother and father, plus she has fun doing little mischiefs here and there, however this gets her in trouble almost every time. On the other hand, Lia is kinder although she follows her sister in her mischief, she is the “voice of conscience” (which Laia never listens to)

They are the female version of their father in appearance.

🐆: She is very smart and strong for her age. She enjoys watching her father's and the rest of Sunset Warrior's workouts. Occasionally she trains by imitating the movements of others, she likes adrenaline and is surprisingly good at leadership (in the future she becomes leader of the Sunset Warrior) Despite her personality she has a good heart.

🌺: cheerful girl, she will always greet you with a smile. Like her sister she is quite intelligent however she prefers to avoid physical training and instead rehearse her singing in the palace gardens next to her mother while she draws. She excels in creativity and perseverance, she often gets into trouble with her sister but you couldn't be too angry with them for too long, you won't resist her puppy look.

The arrival of the little princesses at the palace was a joy for everyone. Cheka and Falena were constantly dropping by as babies to bring them presents. Leona is a bit protective of them so she tries to get them to leave quickly. They are the darlings of the place, if any cookies are missing from the kitchen the chefs already know who they were. Kifaji even let out a few tears when he saw them and they both took his fingers in their little baby hands. Whenever she gets the chance she will spend time with them and tell them stories about their father.

🐾: Unlike his sisters, he has a calm personality and a normally stoic expression. He wants to grow up fast and be like his father, whom he admires a lot because of the stories his mother used to tell him. Despite the admiration and love he feels for his father, he is more attached to his mother, although he tries to act more mature, he is still a child. His ears and tail always give away his true emotions even if he seems disinterested in something.

He secretly asked Kifaji to teach him how to play chess so that he could play with 🦁 later and surprise him. You can find him in the royal library or somewhere quiet reading/studying

He is a polite little gentleman but if he sees his sisters nearby he will run away quickly (they like to bother him, often interrupting his study time)

His magic took quite a while to show up, which made everyone worried since 🌼 lacked magic and they thought he couldn't use it either. It was basically his worst moment, as he always wanted to use magic since he was little and even started hiding to practice more hours.

However, one day he heard some employees talking bad about his mother and since Leona could choose someone better, then he got angry and his magic woke up, making a mess of the surroundings (unintentionally because he still didn't control it).

Yura was left alone with him tending to the small wounds on his arms and they talked. Jul never blamed or felt resentment towards his mom, more than anything, he wanted to be strong to defend her and his sisters. To be a reliable brother and son. Little by little, although it was hard, he practiced with Leona until he mastered his magic power.

I've gone on quite long 😅 but here I leave the basics, I have the story of the three brothers overdeveloped in my mind hehe

As a spoiler they enter NRC in the future!

[iydiamartinx]

THREE SECONDS

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 1.8k synopsis: You call Damian after you catch your boyfriend cheating on you. a/n: I love writing younger Damian since he's more funny but grown up Damian is equally fun to write in his own way. The pair are platonic but if you squint there's the implication of more.

The hallway spun. Not literally—but in that dizzy, gut-punched way that comes after betrayal. You couldn’t even remember how you got out of that apartment. You just remember slamming the door  behind you harder than you intended, the sound echoing in the quiet of the hall. You were still shaking—whether from rage, disbelief, or heartbreak, you couldn’t say.

You’d seen it. Heard it. That sickening moment when you opened his door without knocking, expecting to surprise him, only to become the one caught off guard. Clothes half-on. Some girl giggling. His stammered excuse still rang in your ears.

You didn’t even remember the Uber ride. Just rushing out of the car, the ache in your chest threatening to split you open, and the rush of cold air as you sprinted up your building’s stairwell.

By the time you reached your apartment, your fingers were clumsy at the lock. Your breath came in harsh gasps. The tears you’d held back during the ride now fell freely—hot, burning tracks down your cheeks. The moment replayed over and over again—his voice, that laugh, her shirt on the floor, the look on his face—Not for what he’d done but because he’d been caught.

You made it inside.

Locked the door.

Collapsed to the floor.

You didn’t know what else to do but call the one person who wouldn’t feed you lies. Wouldn’t try to make this better. Who wasn’t friends with your now ex. 

You hadn’t even thought about it. Your fingers dialled his number before your brain caught up. And when he answered, you didn’t even speak. You didn’t need to. The second he heard your broken sobs, he just said, “Stay where you are.”

You don’t remember getting up, but somehow, you’d pulled yourself from the hardwood and changed. You were now curled up on the couch in a sweatshirt far too big for you—his sweatshirt, actually, left from a night he crashed here after patrol. 

You peeled yourself off the couch, every movement heavy, limbs weighted with exhaustion and emotion. You shuffled barefoot to the door, fingers fumbling with the lock. 

He didn’t say a word at first. Just took one look at you—red-rimmed eyes, blotchy skin, your frame swallowed in his old hoodie—and stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

“Did he touch you?” he asked, voice too calm.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh that didn’t sound like you. “It wasn’t me he was touching.”

Damian’s jaw ticked.

“Where is he?” he asked quietly, voice cold.

You shook your head. “It was at his place. I left.”

He stepped closer, green eyes scanning you head to toe like he was checking for wounds.

“You’re trembling,” he said.

“I—I’m fine,” you lied, trying to straighten your spine.

His gaze locked on yours, unflinching. “Don’t lie to me.”

And just like that, your composure cracked.

Your lip quivered. Tears welled again, the pressure of them spilling over with barely a blink. He exhaled—quietly, slowly—some of the sharpness in his expression softening.

“Come here,” he murmured, stepping forward. “Sit down.”

His hand found yours, grounding, warm despite the chill still clinging to your skin. He led you gently back to the couch, as if you might shatter if he wasn’t careful.

He didn’t let go of your hand until you were seated again, curled up into the corner of the couch like you were trying to disappear into the fabric. Only then did he crouch in front of you, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes level with yours.

“Tell me what happened,” he said softly.

You hesitated. Your voice was paper-thin. “I thought I’d surprise him… he always said I didn’t do that enough. So I went over, hoping we’d spend some time together. He’d given me a key so I just walked in.”

Damian said nothing, just waited. Not rushing you. Not reacting. But you could see the effort it took—how tightly he held himself, how his fingers twitched like they wanted to reach for something and break it.

You blinked through the blur of tears. “I heard her laughing first. Then I saw them. She was in her underwear. His shirt was off. They were kissing. He tried to make excuses and say it wasn’t what it looked like.”

Damian scoffed under his breath—sharp and dry.

“I-I just left,” you finished, barely audible.

Silence settled between you like dust.

And then Damian stood.

You looked up quickly. “Don’t—don’t go to him. Please.”

“I’m not,” he said, voice tight. “At least yet.”

Instead, he went to your kitchen and poured you a glass of water that he came back and handed over. You let the coolness settle you as you took small sips watching as he paced back and forth in your small living room. You could practically feel the war going on behind his eyes. Not between right and wrong—he already knew which side he stood on—but between restraint and wrath. 

You wiped at your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you whispered again.

“You keep saying that,” Damian muttered, coming to a halt. He turned toward you, his expression unreadable. “But you’re not.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He moved again—this time toward you. He sat beside you slowly, carefully, like he was afraid of pushing too hard too fast.

Then, gently, Damian lifted your legs and guided them into his lap. His arm settled around your shoulders, the other curling across your knees like a protective cage. His posture was slightly stiff from discomfort but for you he was trying.

You didn’t realize how cold you were until you felt the warmth of him.

“I feel so stupid,” You admitted quietly.

Damian didn’t respond at first. Just the sound of his breath—steady, quiet—filled the space between you. His arm tightened around you a little, as though he could shield you from the words before they even left your mouth.

“You’re not,” he said finally, his voice low and certain. “Don’t mistake betrayal for foolishness.”

“I should’ve seen it coming.” The shame bled through your voice, thick and unshakable. “The late replies. The cancelled plans. I thought I was just overthinking—being insecure.”

“You trusted him.” His tone didn’t waver. “That’s not a flaw. That’s decency.”

You gave a shaky exhale, your cheek pressing against the fabric of his hoodie. “Maybe I don’t know how to choose decent people.”

“You don’t have to carry the blame for someone else’s cowardice. He failed you. Not the other way around.”

Your chest hitched, breath catching somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Since when did you get so good at saying the right thing?”

He huffed, just a little, and you could feel the shift of his chest under your cheek. “Because I usually am.”

There it was: the faint thread of arrogance laced through his voice, familiar and absurdly comforting. You felt the corner of your mouth twitch, the smallest stir of something close to amusement.

But the moment barely had time to settle.

but just as you were finally calming down and relaxing, frantic knocking broke the peaceful silence the two of you fell into and you could hear the muffled voice of your ex pleading for you to let him in so he could explain.

You froze.

Without a word, Damian easily lifted you off of his lap and set you back down on the couch before striding to the door, opened it—and stood in the doorway like a shadow from a nightmare. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“You have exactly three seconds to walk away.”

Your ex blinked, caught off guard. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, his voice rising with a scoff. “Has she been cheating on me with you?!”

Damian didn’t even blink.

His gaze remained fixed—unflinching, unreadable, but unmistakably cold. The kind of look that didn’t entertain foolishness. 

“One.”

Your ex’s eyes flicked past him, trying to look into the apartment. “This is insane. I just want to talk to her. I didn’t come here to fight—”

“Two.”

A muscle in Damian’s jaw ticked. He hadn’t raised his voice, but the shift in his posture was unmistakable. Still calm. Still collected. But coiled. Like a wolf deciding whether the threat was worth the bite.

“Look, I messed up, alright?” your ex said quickly, hands rising like he was trying to fend off a blow that hadn’t come yet. “I just want her to hear me out—”

“You won’t get the chance to say her name again if you don’t turn around right now,” Damian said.

Seemed your ex was stupider than you’d ever given him credit for. He squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest like that would somehow make a difference as he tried to square up—but Damian was still taller.

Yes, your ex was broader—more muscle, more bulk—but you knew the difference. Damian’s strength wasn’t for show. It was built for combat.

“Oh yeah?” he sneered. “And what are you going to do?”

He didn’t even see the moment shift.

One second, Damian was still. The next—your ex was slammed against the hallway wall, his feet barely scraping the floor, Damian’s hand locked around his throat.

The sound of the impact echoed through the empty hall.

Damian didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The venom in his tone was enough.

“You’re fortunate I’ve retired from killing.” he said, eyes burning into the man’s paling face. “Others have died for far less.”

Your ex struggled, gagged softly against the grip, but Damian held him there—hovering on the edge of real violence.

“Tt. Pathetic. You don’t get a second chance, coward.” He leaned in, voice dropping to a razor’s edge. “Go near her again, and you’ll wish death was the worst of your options.”

Then—just as suddenly—Damian let go.

Your ex crumpled against the wall, coughing and gasping, arms trembling. His gaze darted toward you, but he didn’t speak. Whatever cowardice had kept him dangerous before had finally caught up with him. He turned and bolted down the hall, stumbling over his own feet like the pathetic excuse for a man he was.

Damian stood there for another breath, watching the retreat before he turned, stepped back inside, and shut the door calmly.

The second he was within reach, you crossed the space between you and threw your arms around him. Damian stiffened, only for a moment. Then his hands found your back, steady and warm.

“Thank you,” you murmured against his chest.

He was quiet for a beat. Then, dry as ever, “If he shows his face again, I’ll introduce him to my katana.”

You huffed a small, unexpected laugh, the sound muffled in his shirt. “Violent solutions. Very on-brand.”

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to glance down at you. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

You didn’t.

Not when it was him.

[loveanddeepspaceimagines]

Talking to your baby bump ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Zayne carefully arranged pillows to support your sleeping form before settling beside you on the bed, your baby bump now beneath the covers. His hand wandered to stroke gentle circles over the swell, awestruck as always by the miracle inside.

"Hey little one," he murmured softly so as not to wake you. "It's just you and me for a chat." A tiny fluttering kick met his palm, drawing a quiet chuckle.

"I want you to know how excited your dad is to meet you," he continued, voice full of wonder. "I'll teach you everything how to walk, talk...".

His eyes drifted to your peaceful expression, love swelling in his chest. "You're going to have the best mommy, you know. She's the kindest, bravest person I know." Brushing hair from your cheek, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead.

Turning attentions back to your unborn child, Zayne smiled. "I promise I'll support both of you no matter what. We're gonna have so much fun together, the three of us."

Caressing the bump once more, he whispered, "I love you so much already, little peanut. Can't wait to hold you in my arms."

As if in reply, a stronger fluttering pressed against his palm. Smile stretching ear to ear, he rested his head by your side, content to keep watch over his perfect little growing family.

You were curled up asleep on the couch, your baby bump pressing against the cushions as you rested. Rafayel came over quietly and knelt beside you, gently placing a hand on your stomach.

"Hey little one," he whispered softly so as not to wake you. "It's daddy."

He still couldn't believe there was life growing inside the woman he loved most. Your child wasn't even born yet and already he loved them fiercely.

"I just wanted to tell you how excited I am to meet you," he continued, rubbing gentle circles with his palm. "Your mommy and I have been waiting so long for this."

There was a flutter of movement under his hand and Rafayel's breath caught, overcome at even the smallest response. "I know you can't understand me yet, but I promise I'm going to be the best daddy."

Throughout your pregnancy so far, he had doted on your every need and craving. But in quiet moments like this, he also spoke his heart to your unborn baby through your belly.

"We're going to have so much fun learning and playing together. I'll teach you how to draw if you want!" He chuckled softly. "But most of all, I want you to know how much you are loved already, little one."

He placed a tender kiss to your abdomen resting his cheek there.

The evening sun slanted gently through the bedroom window as you slept, your soft breathing the only sound amid peaceful quiet. Xavier lay beside you, propped on an elbow while watching your belly rise and fall beneath his palm.

9 weeks along now, just the faintest swell showed your child's growth nestled safely within.

Leaning down, he placed a tender kiss to your belly through fabric before whispering, "Hey little one. It's Daddy. I know you can't hear me yet but I just wanted to say hi."

He scooped gentle circles with his hand, half expecting to feel answering flutters even this early. His heart swelled impossibly at the idea of hidden tiny fingers and toes taking shape, getting ready to greet him.

"I can't wait to meet you. Your mom and I will do everything to take care of you, keep you safe and loved."

"You'll know so much love, little peanut. We're going to be a perfect happy family together - just wait and see." Xavier sniffed, emotion rising in his voice. His eyes strayed reverently to your peaceful face.

"You're so lucky to have her as your mom. She's going to be the best." He murmured placing soft kiss to your stomach.

You had drifted off to sleep early in the evening, Sylus sat beside you on the couch, watching your peaceful slumber with a quiet smile.

His large hand drifted to rest gently against the swell of your abdomen, feeling the occasional flutter of tiny movements stirring within. His child, strong and spirited even now, responding to his touch.

"Hey there little one," Sylus murmured low, careful not to wake its mother. "It's just us guys for now. You keeping momma company in there?"

A curious prodding against his palm seemed to answer. His smile widened as he continued his one-sided conversation.

"You're going to turn our whole world upside down soon. But me and your mom, we can't wait to meet you. We'll teach you everything - how to walk, talk. Maybe how to wrestle if you're up for it."

Soft chuckling accompanied the mental image before growing serious once more. "Most of all, we'll make sure you know how much you're loved. No matter what."

His fngertips traced soothing patterns over stretched skin, voice dropping lower. "We'll be here for you always, little crow. Me and your mom against the world."

Glancing once more at your sleeping form, he placed a tender kiss to your belly. "Be good to your mom, you hear? See you real soon, little one."

©loveanddeepspaceimagines 2024

⋆｡‧˚ʚ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Hope you enjoyed reading this peace! Reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated. I'm hoping i can find mutuals in lads fandom! Thank you for reading!

[the-ellia-west]

HOW TO WRITE ROMANTIC ATTRACTION FOR DUMMIES

For anyone who wants to learn, (especially aro/ACE, aspec, ect.)

Requested by the lovely @darkandstormydolls

Alrighty! Welcome back or welcome to my blog! I'm dipping my toes back into the category of posts that gained me my exposure!

So if you're here, you want to know how to write romantic attraction/romance!

Strap in and let's begin!

(Pls spread this to people you think would benefit from seeing it, or anyone who requested it bc I forgot, ANY ASPECS)

Step one -

Your characters must admire one another at the beginning, Romantic feelings usually do not present themselves as obvious until you really think them through, meaning your characters may not notice they have a crush until it's too late

These are general statistics and light stereotypes. So feel free to not use this tip:

Male characters usually tend to notice physical things first, like body shape, hair, skin, clothing, the way their lover moves, ect

And Female Characters Generally tend to notice more small things and personality-based traits first, like their lover's humor, speaking mannerisms, shifts in expression, ways they fidget, emotion in their voice, ect.

And someone who is in love will generally show more interest in this particular person's movements, actions, words, and anything in general.

Step 2 -

The character will show more interest in sharing their love language with their lover/crush

Physical touch - People with physical touch love languages may want to hold hands, cuddle, hug, or just lean on their crush whenever they are close to them moreso than they want to with others

Gift giving - Gift givers will want to get more gifts more often for their crush, probably thinking of them whenever they see little trinkets or wanting to get them big gifts for special occasions or signs of appreciation

Acts of Service - Acts of service people will offer to do extra favors and a bunch of extra stuff they don't have to do twice as much as normal

Words of Affirmation - Flattery, they will generally flood their crush with kind words and compliments

Quality time - Quality time people will want to spend time with their crush at almost every turn, and when they want company, will turn to their crush first

Step 3 -

After a while, these urges while become very prominent and more noticeable to the person having them

They may find themselves fantasizing about their crush or having them show up in their thoughts more and more, feeling nicer and happier when they're around, or when they're thinking about them

Smiling when they think about them, cutsey little fluff thingies like that

A crush is essentially: I want to date that, I want to be near that always, I want to marry that, I want that to snuggle me (or other love languages)

Or in simpler terms: if that asked me out, I would say yes (or at least want to say yes if your character is in denial)

Step 4 -

The character's urges to be close to this person grows strong enough that they do smth about it, whether prompted by another character. Or they just don't know I how to not anymore (like when you wanna eat candy and you don't want to, but you do anyway bc I JUST NEED THE CHOCOLATE OKAY?)

(Or for Aro/Ace, garlic bread)

People who are in love are generally very prone to be all dreamy and poetic and VERY EXTREMELY BIASED towards their crush

Then Yada Yada they kiss & shit

You're welcome, BYEEEEEEEE 👋

Happy writing!

Love you! Thanks for reading, And Ghost Tumblr Mother says go drink some water and have a snack, you've earned it, and you are beautiful <333

Have a good day! :]

@blue-kyber @thisisntrocket @cosmolumine @i-do-anything-but-write @paeliae-occasionally

@supercimi @the-letterbox-archives @sunglasses-in-the-bentley @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @artsandstoriesandstuff

@corinneglass @wyked-ao3 @urnumber1star

[agentstarkid]

YOU'RE THE ONE (TO MAKE ME LOSE MY MIND) ✦ AZRIEL

✦ SUMMARY: Azriel prided himself on restraint—on silence, shadows, and secrets. But you, with your unshaken confidence and maddening obliviousness, were testing every last thread of his sanity. As chaos ensues, the Shadowsinger realizes one thing: he might be doomed.

✦ WORD COUNT: 1.2K

✦ WARNINGS: crack fic, archeron!sister (briefly mentioned), miscommunication, angsty fluff and humor (maybe??), obliviousness, azriel is stressed and about to have an aneurysm—azriel fanart by harleetattoos

✦ MAY'S RADIO: this was a fun little experiment 😅 azzie boy is a certified swiftie™ 😆 i hope this is somewhere close to what you had in mind, lili bestie! -> based on this post by @lili-of-the-wildfire 🖤

< back to general masterlist

Azriel was losing his damn mind.

He had spent centuries perfecting the art of self-control—of mastering his shadows, his emotions, his very existence. But this? This was unraveling him at the seams.

And he was at his limits.

Not the normal limit, like when Cassian got a little too rowdy or Rhysand smirked a little too much. No. This was a whole new brand of suffering.

Since the moment you were thrown into the Cauldron, he had kept his distance—watching, waiting, giving you space to adjust to your new life, to the Night Court, to him. Knowing how difficult it was for your sisters, knowing that maybe you needed time to grieve what you lost.

But you—you seemed fine.

You smiled, you laughed, you trained with Cassian and traded insults with Rhys, you asked Mor endless questions about the best places to visit in Velaris. You were fine.

Except Azriel knew that wasn’t true.

Because he felt it—the crackling in the air whenever he was near you, the way your emotions bled into his own, even when you weren’t looking at him. The bond—the one you were blissfully ignorant of—was there, thrumming between you.

And it was killing him.

Because you didn’t know.

You were testing him in ways he never thought possible.

Which was why you were currently sitting across from him at the dining table, casually eating a pastry, completely unbothered by the fact that every time you so much as breathed, the bond between you screamed at him.

“I was thinking,” you said, licking a crumb from your finger, completely unaware of the way Azriel’s eyes tracked the movement, “maybe I should go to the Winter Court for a while. Just to clear my head, see more of Prythian, you know?”

Azriel’s fork snapped in half.

You blinked at him. “You okay?”

No. No, he was not okay.

“You can’t,” he said, voice tight.

Your brows knitted together. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

“You can’t just—” He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t just leave. You belong here.”

You scoffed. “I belong nowhere, Azriel. That’s kind of the problem.”

He exhaled sharply. “You belong with me.”

“Excuse me?,” your expression twisted in confusion. “Why are you being so weird about this?”

Azriel exhaled sharply through his nose. He had planned to do this delicately, to ease you into it, to find the right words—

That plan was dead.

“You’re my mate.” he rasped, voice strained.

“…Okay?”

Silence.

Azriel just stared at you. His mind short-circuited so violently that his shadows actually stopped moving.

“…Okay?” he repeated, his voice an octave higher than usual.

You shifted on your seat. “Yeah? You seem really stressed about it, though.”

His eye twitched. His shadows twitched. Everything twitched.

Cauldron boil him, you had no idea what it meant.

He inhaled sharply, his wings flaring slightly. “Do you understand what that means?”

You folded your arms. “Is it, like, a fae kink? I mean, I don’t judg–” You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you look like you’re about to have an aneurysm?”

A FAE K—?

He had seen battle. He had been tortured. He had infiltrated enemy territory and survived things that would make even Cassian cry. But this? This was what was going to kill him.

“I—No,” he choked, rubbing his temples like he could physically press the stress out of his skull. “It’s not a kink. It’s a bond. The mating bond.”.

You hummed, swishing the tea in your cup thoughtfully. “Right. So, like… what does that mean, exactly?”

“You don’t know,” he whispered to himself. “You don’t know. No one told you.” He let out a breath that sounded like a mix between a groan and a whimper. “I’m going to kill Rhys.”

His shadows curled and twisted like they were also on the verge of a complete breakdown. “It means we’re soulmates. Destined. Bound by the Cauldron itself. You’re mine.”

You blinked. “I what?”

“You. Are. My. Mate,” he repeated, slower this time, as if you were a particularly dense trainee.

You tilted your head. “So… like an arranged marriage?”

Azriel made a sound that was somewhere between a snarl and a sob. His hands were shaking.

“No,” he gritted out. “It’s deeper than that.”

You frowned. “Like a super intense best friendship?”

“I—NO.”

You hear someone wheezing, barely holding their laughter in—then, moments later, a crash followed by a yelp.

You turned just in time to see a figure darting away, a blur of wings and siphons.

Cassian.

Azriel’s shadows had found him eavesdropping—and, judging by the way he stumbled, they had made sure he regretted it.

Azriel’s eye twitched. He’d deal with him later.

“Was that…? Is he okay?” you asked, glancing toward the door.

Azriel exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’ll live,” he muttered, clearly deciding that his brother’s suffering was not his current priority.

Instead, he turned back to you, inhaling deeply, speaking very slowly. “The bond ties our souls together. It means you’re meant to be with me. It’s why you feel drawn to me.”

Your face scrunched in thought. “Oh.” A pause. “I do feel really attracted to you.”

Azriel’s heart stopped. His wings tensed.

Finally. Finally, you were understanding—

“I thought it was just, you know… female hysteria.”

Azriel.exe stopped working.

You gestured vaguely. “Like, I figured I just had a stupidly big crush on you. Thought maybe it was the trauma or the near-death experience. But the mating bond? That makes so much sense.” You laughed, shaking your head. “Wow, I really thought I was just—”

Azriel inhaled sharply. Fine. If words weren’t getting through to you, maybe this would.

He reached deep into himself and gave the bond a firm tug.

You gasped. A shiver shot down your spine, warmth curling in your chest like liquid sunlight. Your breath hitched, and—Cauldron damn him—you gasped, eyes going huge and then giggled.

Azriel felt his soul crack in half.

You blinked at him, eyes wide with wonder. “Wait, what was that?!” Then, catching the look on his face—his pinched expression and the slight tension in his shoulders—, you gasped again, pointing at him accusingly. “Was that you?!”

Before he could respond, you beamed, wiggling excitedly in your seat. “Oh my gods—do that again. That tickled.”

Azriel was going to pass out. Or throw himself off a balcony. Maybe both.

“I—” He pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it nearly bruised. “You—You don’t just have a crush on me. That feeling? That’s the bond. The Cauldron literally forged us for each other.”

Your smile faltered and you squinted at him. “Are you sure?”

Azriel’s grip on reality was slipping.

“Yes.”

“…Huh.” You sipped your tea. “Neat.”

Azriel’s vision blurred. He was on the verge of blacking out.

Cassian’s laughter echoed from the hallway.

Azriel snarled. “Go away, Cassian.”

More laughter. Then a whispered, “I cannot wait to tell Rhys.”

Azriel inhaled so sharply his chest ached. He turned back to you, shadows writhing. “You do understand what this means, right?”

You smiled. “Of course I do.”

Azriel exhaled in relief.

Then—

“Anyway, as I was saying—I think I’d still like to visit the Winter Court and maybe then the beaches in Summer.” You smiled dreamily. “I could get a nice tan. A little vitamin D never hurt anyone, right?”

Azriel dropped his head onto the table so hard he thought he might develop a second brain injury to match the first one you’d unknowingly given him.

< back to general masterlist

[joelsgoldrush]

“lovers once a year” | 9.4k

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

SUMMARY: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. joel’s POV. a lot of introspection. mentions of alcohol. miscommunication. no outbreak. dbf!joel. age gap (25 and 56). petnames. religious imagery. car sex. oral sex (f!receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. riding. missionary. doggy style. orgasm denial. crying. hair pulling. thumb/finger sucking. cum shot. creampie. reader sits on joel’s lap and has hair. moodboard for aesthetic purposes only. A/N: the fact this idea has been sitting on my drafts for over a year is just crazy. i finally found the time to put into words, and i know i’m a little late to the whole dbf!joel trope, but i’m a real sucker for it... hope you like this one! <3

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend.

For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the sentimental type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length.

Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state.

Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree.

Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing could throw him off.

Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

His gaze drifts across the room, settling on you at a smaller table a few meters away, surrounded by your younger cousins, ages five to fifteen. He watches as you scroll absent-mindedly on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, only tearing your eyes away from the screen when one of the kids hurls a handful of salty peanuts at you.

You press your palms flat against the tablecloth, eyes narrowing as you scowl playfully at the child, a mischievous glint in your expression. “You’ve got ten seconds to run,” you utter in a tone meant to sound ominous, tickling his sides until he erupts in laughter, his giggles filling the dining room with raw joy.

Joel’s been here for over two hours, but he can’t recall a single detail about the night’s events. All he knows is you—he’s studied your every movement, following the shape of your silhouette through the crowd. He’s accepted a few drinks, engaged in shallow conversation with your relatives, trying his best to play the part of a man with nothing to hide. But despite his efforts, despite every attempt to appear unaffected, he feels a slow burn kindling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that curls through him in a deliciously destructive way.

It’s when you look up, locking eyes with him, that he nearly mutilates the chicken breast on his plate, the knife skittering over porcelain with a screech. He quickly mutters an apology, excusing his clumsiness and blaming it on one too many drinks. Meanwhile, you don’t quit glaring at him, a hint of a challenge dancing in your stare.

This shouldn’t feel the way it does, this hazardous, risky game you’re playing. At one time, he might’ve thought this was something only seen in movies, something imagined and unreal. But here you are, and here he is, and the indisputable hunger in your eyes is as real as anything he’s ever known.

Suddenly, his memories drift back to a year ago, to your grandmother’s 84th birthday—the night it all began.

Stephen had left Austin when he was eighteen to pursue a college degree. That’s how he’d ended up in New York, and from that point on, he never came back. It’d been amazing to see him as an equal when they were teenagers, but as they grew older, the only things they shared were the white hairs scattered all over their beards and the memories of much better days.

Whenever they got in touch—which didn’t happen often—your dad would talk about you. You were just a name without a face, an empty canvas. Close to graduating, with only a few subjects and finals left. Psychology was your major—weren’t you smart? Joel remembers typing back with a string of exclamation marks to show his contentment. His best friend’s daughter was a success; how could he not be happy?

One random day, Joel’s phone buzzed late in the afternoon, flashing with Stephen’s name. It was rare for them to talk outside the usual birthdays and holidays, so seeing his name on the screen sent a small jolt through him. A dozen scenarios raced through his mind as he picked up, each one edging between concern and curiosity.

Just like that, Stephen dropped the news without any preamble. “I’m moving back to Austin,” His voice came in clear, and there was something unusual about it, brisk but almost nostalgic. Joel gripped the phone a little tighter, processing the words. “In fact, I’m filling up the gas tank as we speak. There’s someone at home who wants to see you.”

That someone had been your grandmother. With a twinkle in her eye, she’d insisted on inviting Joel to her 84th birthday. “It’s the perfect chance for you two to reconnect,” she’d declared, her tone laced with warmth and hope. She adored Joel, practically worshipping the ground he walked on, often reminiscing about the vibrant young man he had once been.

Who could deny anything to an elderly person, especially one as cherished as her? He was strong, physically imposing, but not strong enough to resist her wishes.

The reunion was going as well as it could, given the circumstances. After all, it was a strange kind of delight, seeing his best friend for the first time in decades. Joel thought they’d do what friends do—sit back, drink, smoke, and trade stories about the good old days. 

Then you walked into the room, absolutely gorgeous and with a smile that was all teeth, and you reached out to shake Joel’s hand as you introduced yourself. The contrast hit him instantly—your skin was satin-like against his, smooth where his was rough and calloused from years of handling concrete and steel. A subtle heat bloomed where your fingers touched, the chill of the rings on your hand sending a shiver through him, as if his senses had sharpened in that brief instant.

You pulled away, taking a step back, your eyes flicking between him and your dad. Joel’s arm fell back to his side, his hand forming a tight fist, the bite of his nails embedded into his palm to keep him grounded. But he couldn’t stop himself from scrutinizing you—every detail of your face, the curve of your smile, the effortless way you carried yourself. Your beauty was at fault, not him. You were completely out of reach, yet close enough to marvel at. He was no more than a man, bound to notice the charm of a pretty girl like you.

That you happened to be the daughter of his best friend—that was just a cruel stroke of fate. 

“Oh, sweetie. I’m glad you got to meet Joel at last!” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, an arm draping across Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. “He’s that friend from school I’ve been telling you about.”

Stephen looked so at ease, so utterly pleased, that Joel could only swallow back the lump in his throat. What kind of sick joke was this? What could he have possibly done to deserve this twist of the knife?

With a soft laugh, you folded your hands behind your back, tilting your head to the right. “My father wouldn’t shut up about you,” you said, light and melodic, drawing him in like a lure. Joel found himself adrift in the sweet cadence of your voice, entranced by the delicate chain glinting at your throat, resting just above the neckline of your shirt, the v-cut hinting at a world of temptation.

He blinked owlishly, fighting the images clawing behind his eyelids. “Well, he’s a good man, your father,” Joel managed, his smile strained. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was a blaring alarm in his head, warning him to get a fucking grip. He knew himself well enough to read the signs, the underlying meaning beneath these nerves, the quickened pulse, the quiet, undeniable urge to reach out and feel you.

He was gone already. He fancied you, and his mind raced with thoughts he knew he had no right to entertain. He imagined what you’d taste like, the way you might sound if he were between your legs, encouraging you to gasp his name. Yet, he was aware that these fantasies were as treacherous as they were forbidden, even more with you standing right in front of him. And your father, just inches away.

From the kitchen, someone called out to Stephen, and with a weary sigh, he unhooked himself from Joel’s shoulder. “Coming!” he shouted back, already angling himself toward the door. He glanced back at the two of you, half-smiling while rubbing his temples. “I forgot how exhausting it is to host a family birthday party. I’ll be right back. You two go ahead and chat without me.”

Fuck, no, Joel thought to himself. Don’t leave me here. Where the hell are you going?

Joel resorted to remaining silent, choosing instead to take a long sip of his beer to avoid the occasion of sin. He refused to look in your direction, fixing his gaze on anything that didn’t involve your bare legs—the same legs he’d just been eyeing in those damn denim shorts, which exquisitely hugged your thighs. But, then again, he shouldn’t even be noticing that.

As he peered down at the carpet, he couldn’t ignore the movement of your shoes as you stepped closer. He observed your fingers playing idly with the frayed edges of your shorts, your body inching nearer, and he braced himself in anticipation of whatever you might say next. When his eyes landed on yours, he was met with an aura of expectancy, a cocky smirk pulling at your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with effort. Letting your hand linger beside your face, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him through your lashes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and there was no mistaking it—you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to push him off balance, to see how far he’d bend before snapping? Was this just a game for you, a bit of mischief to spice up a family gathering? The idea irritated him, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the thrill woven into the discomfort. A quarter of his mind itched to play along, but the rest of him screamed to find the nearest exit.

“Y’can just call me Joel. No needa be so formal,” he mumbled, lifting the beer bottle to his lips once again, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.

“But I like Mr. Miller better.”

His mind conjured all those images of fire and damnation, of being dragged to some dark, smoldering pit. Rotting in hell, he could already see himself within the flames. Tugging at the collar of his flannel, now too tight and hot, he gave a rough, clearing cough. “M’gonna—go find your dad.”

He was glad you didn’t try to approach him in public again. For a few hours, he felt something close to tranquillity—not fully, though, as he could still hear echoes of your voice in the silences. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch you orbiting near him, lurking in his peripheral vision, even though you sat at a different table.

Later in the night, he wandered upstairs in search of the bathroom, instead stumbling upon your father’s childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he took the liberty to enter it, a familiar scent filling the room. He ran his fingers over the walls, still papered with posters he recognized well. It was as if time had paused there—everything remained as it had the last time he’d been in this very room. The framed portraits, the worn bedspread, and Stephen’s desk, scattered with foreign bills under a layer of glass, each one a memento from the different countries he had visited.

It was only a matter of time before you found him, a light knock on the open door drawing his attention. Joel turned on his heels, catching sight of you, acknowledging your presence with a slight bow of his head. You ambled toward him, curiosity alight in your steps, twisting the chain of your necklace, a restless gesture that betrayed the energy simmering beneath your calm exterior.

He scratched the back of his head, offering a half-hearted smile. “This isn’t the bathroom, right?” he joked, attempting a casual tone. The joke was a weak one, admittedly, but you laughed anyway, a nonchalant sound that showed the gleam of your teeth.

“No, I don’t think it is,” you replied, sliding onto the edge of the desk with an effortless ease. “What brought you here?”

“Birthday parties can be a bit overwhelmin', dontcha think?” 

“Totally.”

And then you went back to watching him, your eyes tracing his features with an almost stubborn intensity. 

“You gonna stop doin' that?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant, though they didn't make you flinch.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Lookin' at me all doe-eyed.” His voice didn’t waver, but he advanced in your direction. His knees nearly brushed against yours, the weathered denim grazing your bare skin, and only then did a flicker of uncertainty soften your confident stance. “Whatever it is you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. So quit tryin’.”

You drew in a slow breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “You sure about that?” Before he had the time to react, you were standing inches from him, your chest pressing against his, just close enough for him to feel the soft weight of your breasts. “Should I pretend, then, that I haven’t noticed you’ve been half-hard all night?”

Joel's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting almost painfully. His fists flexed by his sides, his entire body feeling heavier, muscles pulled taut by some invisible thread. "Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” You hooked a finger inside his belt loop, tugging him that much closer. Your breath, fresh and minty, mingled with the faint scent of your perfume, and he inhaled both, heady on the mix. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”

There was only so much patience a man like him could summon, and you were a thorn in his flesh, determined and unyielding. He leaned in, voice gruff as he uttered three words that made your brows knit together. “Close the door.” You stayed frozen, lips parting in surprise. “Did y’hear me? M’not into exhibitionism. Close. The. Door.”

You did as he asked, obliging, stepping back to close the door before returning to your place. Without warning, he turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the cool glass of the desk, a sharp chill that made you yelp. His hand settled firmly on your back, guiding you down until your chest was flush against the surface as well. In one swift motion, your shorts were gone, followed by your soaked panties, a damp spot where your arousal had begun to seep through.

He slipped his fingers inside you first, his hand covering your mouth to stifle the needy whimpers escaping your lips. The roughness of his beard grazed your cheek as he hovered over you, his breath hot in your ear as he spoke. “Bein’ too fuckin’ loud, doll.” Matching the rhythm of the slow drag of his fingers, his hips pressed forward, grinding against the curve of your ass, each movement making his mouth go dry. “Y’want this cock that bad?” He nipped at your throat, and you, against his sweaty palm, mumbled what could have only been a muffled Yes. “Then I need y’to keep real quiet for me, alright?”

His jeans and boxers hung around his knees, his cock leaking and throbbing at the tip. Joel realized what true desperation felt like, dangerously close to busting his load at any given moment before even getting the chance to be fully inside you. On top of the desk, your body trembled, and you reached back, pulling your top higher up to bare more of yourself to him. He unclasped your bra with one hand, while his other guided him to your entrance, his lips pressing reverently against your spine as he pushed inside, savoring the heat of your walls wrapping around him for the first time. It certainly didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty-six years of life.

It had been short, and harsh, and fast. Borderline animalistic, what experts would label as a quick fuck. The moment he breached your entrance, you begged for more, fucking yourself back onto him until his thighs met your skin. You acted as if possessed by a greater entity, diabolic, though Joel didn’t mind it. He relished it, welcomed it. But he couldn’t let you take the reins. He asserted his dominance, snapping his hips forward with a force that drew moans from the depths of your lungs. He was the one in control, driving himself deeper and deeper within you. Suffice it to say you seemed to love it, if the sounds he elicited from you were anything to go by.

It was what you wanted, what you needed. One way or another, he’d caught onto what those lingering glances throughout the party had signified. Every glance you’d thrown his way had been leading to this—a silent promise that whatever was happening had been destined to be the night’s climax.

You bit down on his palm as you reached your peak, tightening around him, and perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the knowledge that he’d need far more time to become well acquainted with your body, that had him chasing after you. Holding back until you came had been a feat, pulling out seconds prior to his release, stroking his length once before painting your skin with his seed. A low, primal groan escaped him as he slid his length between your cheeks, prolonging his high, each heated pulse marking you in a way that felt undeniably his.

As he regained his composure, he watched you swirl your thumb along your lower back, collecting a trace of his release, and bringing it to your lips to have a taste of him. You softly laughed when he cursed under his breath, turning your face lazily to the side. “Damn minx y’are,” he rasped, closing the gap between your mouths, his claiming yours in an urgent kiss. Your mewls faded beneath the insistent press of his mouth as he sought to suppress the strange pull in his guts, reluctant to confront the unfamiliar sensations churning within him.

Things wrapped up quickly after that. You both returned to your places, resuming the roles you’d stepped out of briefly: Joel had been in the bathroom; you had been on the phone with a friend. When he reappeared downstairs minutes after you, no one thought twice about his slightly damp hair.

For the remainder of the party, the two of you exchanged no further words. The time for him to leave came, and he offered only a nod of his head across the packed living room. It was a farewell only Joel would give, a subtle acknowledgment that left you wondering about its meaning. There were no explanations, no parting words.

The next time he saw your father, the mere thought of seeing you again terrified him. If it’d happened once, then the temptation would still remain undiminished, strong enough to awaken the lust and the longing veiled in silence. But you weren’t there anymore—back in New York, focused on finishing your semester at college. The surprise must have been evident on Joel’s face, a bewilderment that prompted Stephen to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember I told you she hasn’t graduated yet?”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember now,” he said, wishing to convince both your father and himself.

You were out of the picture, no longer around. Yet, the two of you now shared a secret. You still do, to this day. He’s no stranger to the notion that some things never seem to change. After all, he’s a creature of habit—same breakfast every morning, same brand of bread he’s been buying for years. Like all his other preferences, he’s come to realize he likes his women a certain way. And though he hates to admit it, you fit the bill perfectly.

Betty, Stephen’s mother, was turning eighty-five tonight. A seat with Joel’s name was saved at the big table; they wanted him there, his best friend and his best friend’s mother. How nice it was to actually feel wanted. He liked that feeling. Still, he’d had to bite his tongue when your father mentioned you’d be there, too. You had graduated at long last, with your birthday having been just a couple of weeks ago.

“Can’t believe she’s twenty-five already,” Stephen muttered with a chuckle, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Sitting beside him, Joel gripped the arm of his chair, sinking his nails into it. “Me neither, man.”

His choices had led him to this moment. The clinking of glasses rings in his ears, blending with laughter and the rich aroma of food that fills the air. None of it manages to distract him. He can't help but track you down, eyes scanning the room, relentless in their pursuit of yours. The need to see you goes beyond any shred of restraint he might have faked to have. Joel can’t muster the decorum to feign indifference—God, not when you’re near, when the pull toward you feels like gravity itself. He’s keenly, almost painfully aware, that he’s not even pretending to be indifferent, his interest etched plainly in the way his gaze persists, refusing to pull away.

It’s his first time seeing you in a year. A lot can change in that span of time. He can’t help but be amazed, because you look just the same as you did back then. Only your hair’s a touch shorter. He wonders if it’s even noticeable, or if he’s just spent so long memorizing your features that he’s losing his sanity. He bets it’s the latter.

A light pressure on his shoulder makes Joel jump, breaking down his reverie. He turns quickly, eyes widening. "Betty," he exhales, patting his chest with a smile, eyebrows lifted. "Jeez. Y’scared me."

“Y’alright, Joely? Y’look a bit pale.” The older woman reaches up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a gentle familiarity. Through her lens, he’s still young. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fever, though.”

"That’s ‘cause I’m not sick." Joel takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How’s everythin’ goin’ so far? Got all these people together just t’celebrate ya’."

"It’s a wonderful night, sweetheart. So happy y’found the time t’be here," she replies, pinching his cheek in that affectionate way that earns her a quiet laugh from him. Her eyes then catch sight of a familiar figure. "Oh, look who's here. If it isn’t my beautiful granddaughter."

He stops smiling. In fact, he thinks he even stops breathing for a second as you intrude yourself into the scene, settling yourself beside your grandmother, flashing him a knowing grin. “I was getting kind of bored with the little ones.” 

“Y’know Joel, right, dear?”

“Yes.” A pause, a beat you draw out between breaths. “Yes, I do.”

Betty leans his way, her warm hand still on him. “Have y’heard the latest news? This young lady just graduated.”

“Stephen told me,” he answers, looking up at you with a reserved nod. “Congrats, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

There’s that damn name again. Were he alone with you, he’d laugh in your face, but he can’t. Under the scrutiny of family and friends, he knows he’s cornered. Joel’s starting to believe you think you’re untouchable, that there are no consequences to your actions. You might look the same, maybe a little older, but that teasing, provocative spark in your eye hasn’t changed a bit.

“Always so polite, my child,” Betty says, cupping your cheek with a light pinch, a grandmotherly gesture perfected over the years which she seems to repeat often. “Any boyfriends back in New York?”

This would, without a doubt, be the perfect moment for him to excuse himself and stand up—a conversation he’d rather not be privy to. But with you positioned right in front of him, escape isn’t an option. “Still single, grandma,” you respond unfazed, as if you know exactly what you’re doing. “No one to worry about. Better like this, anyway.”

“But what’s the problem? There aren’t any boys y’like?”

He doesn’t even know what makes him say it—some impulse, some hidden tension surfacing—but he jumps in, his voice carrying a slight, sardonic edge. “Boys are more foolish than ever these days, Betty. Surely y’wouldn’t want her to settle for the first idiot who crosses her path.”

Betty clutches his arm, shaking her head in feigned shock. “Oh, not at all! It’s all about waitin’ for the right person. There’s no rush, for either of you. You’re still on your own, Joely?”

Time to drink again. He drains the last drops of alcohol remaining in his glass, feeling your eyes on him, intense and searing, and then he clears his throat, swallowing down the words he’d rather say. “Affirmative.”

“Well,” she sighs contentedly, patting each of your hands as though binding you both with some invisible thread. “Just means y’two have to wait a bit longer, right? Time has its way.” She chuckles, eyes soft with memory, turning to you. “Darlin’, this man here was quite the heartbreaker in his day. He and your dad would find all kinds of trouble with the ladies!”

“How so?” You cross your arms, playfully tilting your chin up. “Joel Miller, the charmer of the town?”

“Guess I’ve been known t’make a fool of myself,” he shoots back, silently cursing the moment he missed his chance to slip away. “Stephen got more fans than I did, though.”

“I did what?” Joel feels an elbow nudging his back, and there’s his friend, grinning in his usual easy way.

Joel's luck in life had been more bruised than blessed, a string of hardships that seemed amplified compared to what most people experienced. Being drawn in by you—in which category did that fall? Good luck or bad? He couldn't decide. Every glance and delicate smile you aimed his way stirred something reckless within him. Was it pure thrill, or a warning?

He laughs every time Stephen cracks a joke, but he’s barely listening, his mind half-tethered to the present. It’s like he’s watching himself from afar, observing his reactions as if he were an outsider. He isn’t stoned or drunk, just acutely mindful of your presence. He catches himself peeking up at you from where he sits, jaw tight, his brow creased. You meet his gaze with a slight squint, a polite look that hides something far more dangerous.

Boys are more foolish than ever these days. He’s sure of that much. They’re young, untested. But what about him? He’s no model of virtue, either. He’s made his share of mistakes, left good women behind—women who were willing to love him in spite of his flaws. They’d seen through the layers he wore like armor, and yet, in the end, he couldn’t hold on to any of them. He carried the ghosts of every past life, fragments of who he’d been and what he’d left behind, and he knew those shadows weren’t for everyone.

A thought pierces through him, sharp and sobering: what would Sarah think? His lovely daughter, grown and settled into her own life, would likely be mortified to know her father’s infatuation with a twenty-something. The weight of that realization sinks into his chest, and that seems to be his last straw.

He can’t possibly take it anymore. Rising from his chair, he mutters something to Stephen about needing fresh air and makes his way to the backyard door, exhaling deeply and gripping his car keys. The cool night air hits him, stepping outside, a temporary relief as he heads toward his truck.

Just as he’s about to open the door, he hears your voice. You call his name, your tone soft but distinct. He doesn’t turn, only lets out a long, weary sigh. “What?”

“Where are you going?” You stop a few steps behind him, watching the way his shoulders visibly tense. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” He faces you, almost snapping his neck in his rush to look at you. “Why would I be—I’m not mad at ya’.”

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you leaving so early?” 

He scrubs a hand over his nape, fingers pressing into the tension gathered there. “Would y’like me t’break it down for ya’, how messed up this is?” His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet yours. “I’m riskin’ the only real friendship I’ve had here for… for somethin’ that I can’t even wrap my head ‘round. This isn’t okay, no matter which way I look at it.”

In that moment, it’s as if reality pulls you under. The mask of subtle, practiced arrogance falls apart, scattering in fragments around you. He watches, waiting for you to gather them up, to hide behind that composed veneer again. But you don’t move. You leave the pieces where they lie. Instead, you confront his gaze, unguarded, and ask, “Do you regret what happened between us?”

Another question. You seem to be full of them. They just keep coming, one after the other, as if you already had them prepared. I don’t, he thinks to himself, but would it do you any good if you knew it? “Don’ start with those mental games.”

“Then come back inside.”

“I know myself well enough to know what’s gonna happen if I do that, darlin’.”

Neither of you breaks the silence that’s settled between you, thick as the night air. You slip your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders slightly hunched, head hanging. Once again, like all those times before, he’s struck by how young you are compared to him. The difference stretches between you like a chasm, bridged only by these stolen moments. The weight of his years presses down on him, the choices he’s made—the mistakes and the half-hearted attempts to mend them. He’s got decades on you, three of them to be precise.

Joel never thought of himself as an ever-lasting free spirit, the kind of man who clings to youth or pretends to be something he’s not. Right now, with you here, he feels reckless, like a boy again. Stupid, impulsive, like the foolish young men he used to shake his head at—the very ones he’d warned your grandmother about.

“You left without even saying goodbye last time,” you mumble, low but clear, as you scuff the toe of your shoe against the grass. “And now you’re doing it again.”

He inhales sharply, clenching his keys, feeling the edges of the brass biting into his palm. For a moment, he thinks the sharpness will give him something to hold onto, but he knows the sting is nothing more than a weak anchor. “You’re a smart girl. Don’ need me to spell this out.”

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I get it.”

“Then why do you keep pushing?” His pent-up exasperation slips through despite himself, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, the way your forehead barely puckers as his words hit harder than intended.

Even as you look away, a trace of that hurt fading, you stand firm. You shake your head after a beat, seemingly trying to brush off your doubts and confusion. Joel can’t decipher if you’re feigning innocence—if you are, he thinks, you could be one hell of an actress. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see how far this can go.”

You take a small step forward, testing the waters. Your feet move cautiously, not aiming to scare him off. Each step draws you nearer until there’s only a whisper of space between you, close enough for him to catch your scent, and he has to force himself to peer down to meet your eyes. They hold a quiet intensity: pleading, wide and earnest, already trained on him. Gleaming like two lone stars cutting through a moonless, empty sky. 

It baffles him, the question forming unbidden in his mind. He goes even further, can’t help but wonder: why him? What is it that you see in him? What makes you keep coming back for more? You’ve already had a taste, a story you could tuck away, a secret to be shared with your friends someday around a campfire. So why, he would like to know, are you still here, seeking something from a man like him?

“I like you,” you blurt out, fingers drifting to skim over the worn fabric of his flannel, almost hesitantly. That tentative gesture sparks something raw in him, a low rumble of desire that feels like it’s been lying dormant for too long. Heat pulses through him, hot blood racing through his veins, awakening every nerve, each beat of his heart more insistent than the last one. “I think you like me, too.”

“You’re insufferable,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts. He closes his eyes, half hoping you’ll disappear, that he’ll find some reason, any reason, to call this off. Though when he opens them, you’re still there, waiting, unshaken. “I wish I knew how to stop this. How to walk away.”

“That’s not what you want.”

“We don’ always get what we want, kid. You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He means it as a warning, but even he hears the way his voice falters, his defenses crumbling in the face of your unflinching state.

You let out a slow sigh, your arms falling to your sides, eyes roaming over his features as if you’re memorizing every line. Your focus dips to his mouth. “Maybe,” you murmur, and he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. “But some things are worth fighting for. And sometimes, those who don’t give up… get the best in the end.”

With a gentleness that stuns him, you lean in, bringing your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. You pull away, and he helplessly notices the way your lips part, how your breath hitches, and for a split second, the guilt becomes palpable, the significance of wanting a woman he knows he shouldn’t. You stand there, chest rising and falling, skin tingling, a faint trail of goosebumps visible where your neckline meets your chest. 

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another compromise he won’t keep.

From where you remain frozen, he’s certain you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs every possible outcome. “It’s gonna happen, isn’t it?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and before you can react, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and turning you toward the car door. The cool metal pressing against your back startles a gasp out of you, but the suddenness only heightens everything—the heat of his body, the toughness of his hold. 

He doesn’t waste time with words, having always been a man of action. His hand cradles your face, inspecting your features to later crush his mouth against yours. Your tongue finds his without hesitation, seeking him out, hungry and unrestrained. He savors your eagerness, the way your hands roam over him, clutching at his shirt, tugging him closer by the belt until your lower halves are pressed tightly. The taste of beer and mint clings to your lips, and a husky groan rumbles from him as your fingers find their place in the longer strands at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer. 

He could lose himself in this, the simple, electric thrill of kissing you, how you fit so perfectly against him. Hours could slip by, and he wouldn’t mind, but then reality pulls him back; it’s too exposed here, right outside his truck where anyone could stumble upon you. “Get in the car,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, fumbling to unlock the door. It takes him three tries, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth of your laughter beside him as you tease him.

Once inside, his mouth finds yours again, this time more urgently, his hand pressing against your back, tracing the line of your spine through the clothes. “Tell me y’want this,” he breathes, his kisses trailing down your throat, latching onto the tender skin there. “C’mon, baby. Tell me y’want it. Tell me y’want me.”

A soft, breathy sound escapes you as his mouth fixates on that sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your hips instinctively, craving contact in search of relief, and he shifts you onto his lap, guiding your thighs to settle over his. Desperately working to undo the buttons of his shirt, yearning to uncover him, you pant against his cheek. “J-Jesus Christ, I need you. Please, touch me. Anything will do. Just—”

He’s silently grateful for your choice of a dress tonight. It makes things easier for him, and he gets right to it, bunching the fabric around your waist, hands roaming over the soft skin of your hips before moving his fingers lower, tracing teasing lines over your clothed center. He can’t fully make out the murmured words you breathe into his ear, but your voice drives him like a lighthouse guides a sinking ship, and he adjusts his movements, pressing with more intention. The only sounds filling the car are his ragged breaths and your gasping moans, and he holds you close to his chest, cooing softly as you start to rock into his hand, asking for more. 

His fingers find their rhythm, circling your clit in deliberate flicks. Joel watches as you unravel, trembling in his arms, a hint of drool spreading over his shoulder from your parted lips on his skin. His grip tightens as he tugs your underwear down your legs, grinning when you kick them impatiently to the floor of the car. Now, as he strokes his digits up and down your folds, you turn to putty on his lap. In another world, he’d have you laid out in his bed, enjoying each inch of your body. But here, in the cramped, dim backseat, he keeps the lights off. He knows it’s reckless, yet that barely slows him down. His cock throbs at the very risk of getting caught, at the edge he’s walking just to have you like this.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked, aren’t ya’?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, at least not in any coherent way. He sinks his middle finger into your bare heat, searching your face in the dark, contemplating the fluttering of your lashes. His hand weaves into your hair, a firm tug guiding your gaze to his. Your head tips back, a moan spilling from your lips at the new sensation, rolling your hips into his palm with earnestness. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, huh? If this is how you’re grippin’ my fingers, I can’t imagine what that cunt’s gonna feel like wrapped ‘round me.”

Studies suggest that in those final, fleeting moments of life, memories flood the human mind—a last journey through a person’s years before crossing over. If he were to die after tonight, he knows your face would be there, etched into his last breath. He can almost picture it: struggling for air, teetering on the edge, with that reddish, towering figure of mortality looming over him. But even then, he’d find solace in the thought of you, thrown into oblivion. You’d grant him a last-minute reprieve, easing the ache. You’d be the one who’d hold back the shadows. This constitutes the apex of his life, and he knows he should be worried, yet intellectual dominance doesn’t stand much of a chance when confronting the heart of a man. Not when that heart, so long starved of its pulse, has finally found someone worth remembering.

He makes space for himself, thrusting his long fingers into you until he’s got your slick coating his palm. One hand settles firmly at the small of your back, guiding your movements, while he feels his collected composure faltering. You mouth at the rough stubble along his jawline when you start to get close, breathless whimpers clouding his thoughts. “Joel,” you call out to him, as if that alone would make wonders. “Oh, fuck. Please, I waited a whole year. I need to come.”

A whole year. You were his once a year, and he was yours, a bittersweet ritual bound by time. He never would’ve thought this party could bring him such pleasure, though he can’t pretend he’s against it. Last time, he hadn’t taken the chance to pull you under and make you fall apart as many times as he’d wanted. He’s intent on making up for that missed opportunity, determined to make you enjoy every moment.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, and a sharp laugh nearly escapes him at your reaction. You reach instinctively, grabbing for his hand, trying to guide him back to where he belongs between your legs. But he’s already moving, maneuvering you down until you’re lying on your back, fully under his command. He lowers himself, replacing his fingers with the warm insistence of his mouth. The sound that escapes your lips as his mouth presses against your center is nothing short of a scream—a wild cry that fills the space around you. He’s grateful he parked far from the other guests, because that sound would turn more than a few heads. 

Joel laps at your arousal as if it's the fountain of youth, the very essence of everything pure and precious in the world. He presses down on your thighs until they rest on either side of him, unclamping your legs from around his head. The suppleness of your skin feels divine under his fingertips, and he brushes his thumbs over your trembling form, coaxing you into calmness, to let him have his way with you at his own pace. It's an absurd paradox—aiming to soothe you while his mouth continues its fervent worship, tracing intricate patterns against your most sensitive flesh. His beard, streaked with gray and freshly trimmed, glistens with your slick, and Joel smolders with all-consuming passion.

When his friends had told him to go out more, maybe find someone to date, he's certain they didn't mean this. The smart choice (scratch that: the correct one) would have been to pursue a woman his own age. But fuck it—he's spent a lifetime doing what's right. Every road he might've taken would've led him here, to this moment, with you. Part of him believes he must still have something left, some spark of appeal. To have a pretty little thing like you, so eager, so willing, offering yourself to him? He has to have something. His knees ache from where he kneels on the unforgiving surface, but the burn is inconsequential, and he’ll endure anything to be what you need.

Joel trails his hand up your body, over the curve of your breast, before gently groping it, his palm covering yours in a shared grip. He runs the tip of his tongue along your folds, his saliva mingling with your wetness, aquiline nose grazing your sensitive bud. “You’re tellin’ me you’re this tight ‘cause you’ve been savin’ yourself for me? You do know what t’say t’make a man happy.” He spreads you open slowly, his gaze lingering on the way your cunt glistens, a sense of satisfaction rippling through him. You remain silent, your breath shallow. “Still with me, sugar?”

“It’s just that—I’m so close.” You bite back a moan, nails digging into the soft leather of the seat. Joel hums in response, his lips closing around your clit. Agitation flickers across your face as you try to grind your hips against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

The pressure is gone as he notices your thighs quivering again, his movements halting immediately.

“No, Joel. Please—”

“You’ll come when I tell ya’.”

He’s having the time of his life. Damn right he is.

He suddenly realizes he's still dressed from head to toes, the heat building in his body becoming too much to ignore. With a frustrated grunt, he undoes his belt, yanking the metal zipper down, longing to rid himself of the constricting denim. A strangled noise escapes him as you suck on his neck, fisting his base, giving him a few purposeful tugs.

“Now, you’re gonna ride me,” he murmurs, making a pause to shrug his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor of the car, “and you’re gonna like it. Don’ want you t’hold back this time, understood?”

His back ends up against one of the fogged-up windows. The air is thick with the apparent scent of sex—a phrase he’d only ever heard in movies, but now, it’s undeniably real. Joel holds his cock, aligning the tip with your entrance as his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. A deep groan escapes him, vibrating over your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. The sensation intensifies when your wet interior welcomes him, velvet walls molding to his size. Your brows scrunch together at the stretch, a choked whimper catching in your throat. As your hips sink fully, your ass flush against his thighs, your body clenches around him, that abrupt tightness drawing a stuttering gasp from him.

“For God’s sake,” he exhales, the words rough as his forehead bumps into yours. His hand splays over your ribcage, fingers curling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re—killin’ me here.”

“I can feel you everywhere,” you huff, your arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding your breath. He takes the moment to capture your nipple between his swollen lips, leaving a shiny trail of spit in his wake. You lift yourself, the motion teasing, before sinking back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. “Can feel you in my stomach.”

When you begin to move, Joel loses track of everything else. Time seems to stretch, bending and reshaping itself each time his tip finds some hidden place inside you. He’s fifty-six years old, yet in this moment, his soul feels infinite. Invincible. He brings his hand to your lips, thumb grazing over them before slipping inside. Your warm tongue envelopes it, and when you start to suck dutifully, muffling your moans, his body jerks in response. His eyes drift to your glistening chest, where a sheen of sweat makes your skin glow in the dim light. You’re the most captivating woman he’s ever seen, and he knows he’ll never look at anyone the same again. He can’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the way your body merges with his, the way you undulate your hips on top of him.

You move back and forth, and he drives into you, filling you to the brim with every calculated thrust. He thrusts upward, stealing the air from your lungs, the sharp motion making you sputter as your body struggles to keep up with his.

“That’s it.” His voice is a husky growl as he wraps his arms tightly around your back, your chests sticking together with sweat. His pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more insistent. “Takin’ it like a good girl. You feel exquisite, baby. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“So big inside me,” you pant, your own pace faltering as you surrender to Joel’s unforgiving tempo. His hooded eyes flicker to yours, catching the way your pupils have swallowed up your irises, dark and blown wide with desire. A shiver runs through him as your fingers dig into his shoulders, your grip leaving faint crescents in his skin. “Missed your cock so much, Mr. Miller.”

Fuck, not that shit. If it’s possible, he grows impossibly harder. He pounds into you with renewed intensity this time, his singular goal to leave you speechless, boneless, completely undone. He wants you limp and shuddering, with nothing left to give. “Enough of that.” His hands find their place on the soft globes of your ass, molding and squeezing until the pressure has you mewling, the sweet sound shooting straight through him. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “Responsive everywhere, honey. Have any idea how much fun I’m gonna have with ya’?”

Who would’ve believed him back then? It proves this isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime fluke. It happened before, and now it’s happening again. He might as well surrender to it—accept his fate and move through the motions like a man resigned to what’s already written.

There’s a moment when your moans sharpen, turning high-pitched and dazed, and the way you constrict him sends his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a guttural noise tearing from his chest. His movements still, clutching your waist to pin you in place, denying you the chance to move, to bounce on him.

Then you break. A sob wracks your body, tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down your cheeks. They gather, fusing together as they slide along your throat and pool in the hollow of your jaw before disappearing lower. “Asshole,” you hiss, the word fragile as you push your face into the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.

“Sorry? Couldn’t catch that.” He makes sure to keep you securely tucked under his chin, tilting his lower half upward. “If you want me t’stop, just say the world and I will.”

He’s messing with you, plain and simple. He doesn’t actually expect you to take his words at face value. But you do, grinding down harder, impaling yourself further on the length of his cock, and your arousal trickles down, slicking the coarse hair of his thighs.  “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” Slotting your mouth over his, you attempt to move, chasing any sort of friction against your clit. Sadly, pleasure doesn’t come on its own—it’s Joel who can make you feel good, and he’s not obliging. His hand seizes your hair in a rough grasp, tugging sharply. Eyes fluttering shut, you hunch forward, submitting to the sharp edge of his control.

“What an impatient little thing y’are.” Joel grabs your thighs and turns you over, your back pressed against the leather seat. The brusque shift pulls him out of you, the cool air a cruel tease before he taps his head against your swollen folds, then fills you again in one powerful thrust, kissing your cervix in the process. A deep moan rips from your lungs, deep and guttural, as your legs tremble uncontrollably on either side of him. Your ankles dig into his back, fervent to keep him close. His balls rest heavy against your skin, full and aching for release. “Gonna give ya’ what y’want, okay? You’ve been on your best behavior,” he mumbles with his lips stuck to your forehead. “That’s a good girl. Think she deserves to come after all.”

Only then does he find his rhythm again, ramming into your drooling hole. For the third time tonight, he’s captivated by how you teeter on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. He has you eating out of his hand, taking all that he offers, and you do so willingly. He knows he could ask you for anything, and in exchange for an orgasm coaxed by him, you'd comply without thinking twice. In many ways, he’s not so different. He gathers some of your saliva, using it to moisten his fingers before slipping them between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he continues to hit your bundle of nerves. Where his stamina comes from, he has no clue, though he’s determined to keep pushing.

Your face becomes a living poem, each cry of yours adding to its verse. Your head nearly reaches the door, but he cradles it with his arm, ensuring you don’t hurt yourself. “Close,” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes from falling shut. “Joel, please. Let me—”

“Give it to me, darlin’.” Another thrust, another moan. “Drench me, c’mon. That’s what y’want, isn’t it? To come all over this cock?”

The way he’s worked you up has its rewards, leading to a release that feels like an eruption. You bite down on his shoulder, your cries growing louder, chanting his name without pause. It loses all meaning after being chanted so many times, but the way you say it still has an undeniable weight. He doesn’t mind it one bit, not when he’s finishing right after you plead him to fill you. His jaw hangs open as ropes of his seed spill inside you, and he sags against your frame, giving short thrusts to push his cum deeper into your warmth, your pussy milking him dry.

“Oh, God…” he groans, fumbling with one of your breasts, holding onto something for dear life. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Don’t pull out yet,” you say, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Stay a little longer.”

Too personal. Too intimate—dangerous in his books. Normally, he'd tuck himself back into his briefs, drive the woman he’s slept with home, and that would be the end of it. No happy endings in his story. So he’s surprised when he supports his weight on his forearms, claiming your lips in a voracious encounter of tongues and teeth. He caresses your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, and you sigh contentedly.

The two of you lapse into a heavy silence after that. He clears his throat, and says: “I should’ve asked you for your number that one time.” In the heat of the act, he’s being too honest. Regret will come knocking on his door once his excitement fades. His eyes bore into yours, dubious. “M’sorry for that.”

“Well, you could ask me for it now,” you admit from beneath him, and Joel pulls away for a moment, trying to gauge if you’re serious. He doesn’t think you’re joking. “To make up for lost time.”

This must be the onset of something else. He can't quite put it into words, but he feels it in his chest, in every place where your skin merges with his. He's no fortune teller, and there's no way for him to know where this path will take him, whether it leads to ruin or salvation. Though in this moment, he doesn't care—not now, at least.

At last, Joel blindly reaches for the pocket of his jeans with one arm. “How long are you stayin’ in Austin?”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[tobiosbbyghorl]

bounded by fate | psh

pairing: Ceo!Sunghoon x Secretary!Reader

summary: When CEO Park Sunghoon needs a date for his friend’s wedding, he unexpectedly asks you—his dedicated secretary—to accompany him on a three-day trip. What starts as a professional arrangement quickly shifts into something more as unforeseen circumstances bring you closer together.

word count: 3.8k

Sunghoon Park was a man of routine. Everything in his life was carefully structured—work came first, emotions were secondary, and personal entanglements were unnecessary distractions.

As his secretary, you had long accepted that he was a machine in human form.

Efficient. Cold. Untouchable.

So when he asked you to be his date for a three-day wedding trip, you were… stunned.

"You need a date?" you repeated, wondering if you had misheard him.

Sunghoon, seated at his desk in his pristine office, didn’t even blink. "For a wedding this weekend. Three days."

You folded your arms. "And I was your first choice?"

"You’re the most logical option."

Logical. Of course.

"And this is strictly professional?"

He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Unless you’d like it to be something else."

Your stomach flipped. "I’ll pass."

He smirked. "Then it’s professional."

You should have expected that answer.

"Fine," you said. "I’ll go."

Sunghoon nodded, satisfied. "I’ll pick you up Friday morning."

Friday morning arrived faster than expected.

The sound of a sleek black car pulling up outside made your stomach twist.

Sunghoon stepped out, effortlessly elegant in his black coat, his sharp gaze scanning your apartment building before landing on you.

Without a word, he took your suitcase and placed it in the trunk, then opened the passenger door.

"You didn’t have to do that," you muttered as you slid inside.

He shrugged. "Get in."

The drive was… oddly comfortable. Sunghoon wasn’t one for small talk, but he surprised you by stopping at a café and ordering your usual coffee.

"You remember my order?" you asked.

"You get the same thing every day," he replied, handing you the cup.

You tried not to read into it.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

Hours later, when you arrived at the resort, the trouble began.

“There must be some mistake,” Sunghoon said, his voice firm as he spoke to the receptionist.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the receptionist

apologized, looking flustered. “We’re fully booked for the wedding, and due to a system error, only one room was reserved under your name.”

You froze. “One room?”

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There aren’t any other rooms available?”

The receptionist winced. “Not for the next three days.”

Silence.

You turned to Sunghoon. “Well. This is unexpected.”

Sunghoon looked at you, his face unreadable.

Then, finally, he sighed. “Fine. We’ll take it.”

The room was beautiful—spacious, elegantly decorated, and boasting a breathtaking view of the ocean.

The only problem?

One bed.

You both stood at the doorway, staring at the large, king-sized bed as if it had personally offended you.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Sunghoon said immediately.

You eyed the small, decorative loveseat in the corner. “You’ll break your back.”

“I’ll manage.”

You sighed, placing your suitcase down. “Sunghoon, the bed is huge. We’re both adults. We can just… stay on our own sides.”

He glanced at you, expression unreadable, then nodded. “Fine.”

The first few minutes in the room were awkward. You busied yourself unpacking, hyper-aware of every movement Sunghoon made.

“You take the bathroom first,” he said after a while, his voice softer than usual.

When you stepped out in your pajamas—shorts and an oversized T-shirt—you caught him staring for a split second before he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Your turn,” you mumbled, quickly getting into bed.

When he emerged, he was in a simple black T-shirt and sweatpants, looking impossibly relaxed. He climbed into bed stiffly, keeping as much distance as possible.

The silence stretched.

“You’re acting like I bite,” you teased, glancing at him.

Sunghoon exhaled a quiet laugh. "Do you?"

Your breath hitched. "Go to sleep."

Somewhere in the middle of the night, you woke up to warmth.

Sunghoon.

At some point, he had moved closer, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his breath steady against your shoulder.

Your heart pounded.

For a moment, you considered waking him. But instead, you let yourself relax. Just for a little while.

Sunghoon Park was not a morning person.

You discovered this the hard way when you woke up to him groaning into his pillow, his usual sharp composure completely ruined by sleep. His hair was an adorable mess, his voice groggy as he mumbled something incoherent.

“What was that?” you teased, sitting up.

His hand lazily swatted at the air. “Too early.”

You glanced at the clock. “It’s eight.”

He groaned again, shifting to bury his face deeper into the pillow. “Five more minutes.”

You grinned, enjoying this rare, unfiltered side of him. “You’re the one who said we should be on time for brunch.”

“Regret,” he muttered.

You chuckled before nudging him with your foot. “C’mon, Sunghoon.”

At that, he cracked one eye open, and a slow smirk formed on his lips. “Hmm. That’s the second time you’ve called me by my name.”

You froze, heart skipping a beat. He was still half-asleep, voice lower than usual, and yet he had the audacity to sound so smug about it.

“I—”

“Say it again,” he murmured.

You grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. “Get up.”

That woke him up.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

The morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the elegant seaside restaurant, casting a golden glow over the neatly arranged tables. You smoothed down the fabric of your dress, taking a deep breath as Sunghoon led you inside with a casual hand on your lower back.

“Relax,” he murmured close to your ear. “They’re not that bad.”

You shot him a look. “Easy for you to say. You know them.”

Before he could respond, a loud voice called out.

“Sunghoon! Over here!”

A group of well-dressed men and women waved from a round table near the window, their smiles teasing before you even reached them. As soon as you arrived, a woman with sleek black hair leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

“So this is the date?” she asked, her gaze flickering between you and Sunghoon.

Sunghoon pulled out a chair for you before taking his own seat beside you. “This is my secretary,” he said smoothly, but before you could nod in agreement, he added, “and my plus-one for the weekend.”

You barely held back a sigh. Great. That definitely didn’t clear anything up.

A man with dimples smirked. “Ahh, so you’re the one who keeps him from losing his mind at work.”

You chuckled, finally easing into the situation. “I try my best.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. Sunghoon’s friends were charming, playful, and had no problem teasing him relentlessly. Stories about his university days, awkward moments at past weddings, and even a particularly embarrassing karaoke night were shared freely—all while Sunghoon rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee with an air of practiced patience.

At one point, his best friend, Jaehyun, leaned over with a smirk. “So, how did he convince you to come? Did he bribe you with a raise?”

You grinned. “Surprisingly, no. He actually asked politely.”

The table erupted into laughter. Sunghoon sighed. “Why is that so shocking?”

The woman from earlier smirked. “Because you don’t ask, Sunghoon. You tell.”

You turned to him, feigning curiosity. “Wait… was I supposed to say no?”

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes at you, but there was amusement in them. “It’s too late now.”

As the laughter died down and the meal continued, you found yourself enjoying their company. They made you feel welcomed, teasing included, and with Sunghoon occasionally leaning close to refill your drink or murmuring small remarks just for you, the entire brunch felt… easy. Comfortable.

And when Jaehyun sent a knowing glance between the two of you before saying, “You two look good together,” you felt Sunghoon’s knee brush against yours under the table.

He didn’t move it away.

And neither did you.

After brunch, with the afternoon sun warming the air, you found yourself walking along the beach with Sunghoon.

He wasn’t the kind of man who did casual strolls, yet here he was, walking beside you, his hands tucked in his pockets. The waves crashed gently against the shore, and the salty breeze played with your hair.

“This is nice,” you admitted.

Sunghoon glanced at you. “You like the beach?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It reminds me to slow down.”

He hummed, gazing out at the ocean. “I don’t slow down much.”

“No kidding.” You smirked. “I’ve never even seen you take a vacation.”

“I don’t like wasting time.”

You rolled your eyes. “Enjoying life isn’t a waste of time.”

He was quiet for a moment before surprising you with, “What would you do if you weren’t my secretary?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, then continued, “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

The question caught you off guard.

Sunghoon never asked personal things.

You thought for a moment. “I used to want to be a travel writer. Just exploring places and writing about them.”

He looked at you thoughtfully. “You should do that.”

You chuckled. “Easier said than done.”

“You’re capable,” he said simply. “If you wanted it, you’d do it.”

His confidence in you made warmth bloom in your chest.

“What about you?” you asked. “What would you be if you weren’t a CEO?”

He exhaled, looking away. “I don’t know. My whole life has been planned out for me.”

Something in his voice made you soften. “That doesn’t mean you can’t want something more.”

Sunghoon met your gaze, something unreadable in his eyes. “…Maybe.”

You walked in silence for a while, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt… nice.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

The rooftop pool of the hotel was breathtaking—an infinity pool that stretched toward the sky, its waters reflecting the soft glow of sunset. The beach skyline sparkled in the distance, and a warm breeze carried the sound of laughter, splashes, and clinking glasses.

You stood near the pool’s edge, taking in the view when Sunghoon walked up beside you, a drink in his hand. “You’re not going in?”

You glanced at the pool, where his friends were already having fun. Some were in the water, splashing around, while others lounged in cabanas with drinks. “I don’t know… I didn’t exactly plan for this.”

Sunghoon eyed you for a moment, then smirked. “You’re wearing a dress, but I bet you packed something.”

You sighed. “Of course I did. Just didn’t expect to use it.”

His smirk deepened. “So go change.”

You raised a brow. “Are you giving me orders, boss?”

Sunghoon took a slow sip of his drink, eyes gleaming. “Consider it a suggestion.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to head back inside. But before you left, you heard Jaehyun call out, “Sunghoon! Get in here, man!”

You glanced over your shoulder in time to see him unbuttoning his shirt.

And wow.

You quickly looked away, heart thudding, before you made it obvious you were staring.

When you returned in your swimsuit, the atmosphere had grown even livelier. The pool lights cast a soft glow across the water, and the laughter was louder, conversations easy and flowing. You hesitated for a moment, standing near the edge when—

SPLASH!

You gasped as a sudden wave of water hit you. Sunghoon stood a few feet away in the pool, smirking as he wiped droplets from his face. “You’re already wet. Might as well come in.”

You glared at him. “Did you just—”

Before you could finish, Jaehyun swam up behind Sunghoon and pushed him underwater.

The table turned instantly.

Sunghoon resurfaced, coughing and swiping water from his face. “Jaehyun, you—”

You burst into laughter.

His head snapped toward you, eyes narrowing. “Oh, you think that’s funny?”

You grinned. “Very.”

He stepped forward, the water sloshing around him. “Then come in and say that to my face.”

You crossed your arms. “What if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll make you.”

There was barely a second to react before Sunghoon reached up, grabbed your wrist, and pulled.

You squealed as you tumbled straight into the pool, water swallowing you whole before you surfaced with a gasp. Sunghoon was standing right in front of you, smirking.

“You—” You splashed water straight at his face.

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch. “I warned you.”

The night continued like that—teasing, laughter, playful bickering. At one point, you ended up lounging on a pool float, drifting lazily while watching the lights. Sunghoon swam over, resting his arms against the float, keeping you in place.

“You having fun?” he asked, voice softer now.

You met his gaze. “Yeah. I really am.”

Something passed between you, something that had been building since the trip started.

And as the night carried on, you couldn’t help but feel like this trip wasn’t just about Sunghoon needing a date for a wedding.

It was becoming something else entirely.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

That night, when you both got into bed, things were different.

There was no stiff, awkward distance between you. Instead, there was a quiet understanding—an unspoken comfort that hadn’t been there before.

When you shifted slightly under the covers, Sunghoon turned his head to look at you.

“…Goodnight,” he murmured.

You smiled. “Goodnight, Sunghoon.”

This time, he didn’t tease you about saying his name.

And when you woke up in the middle of the night, warm and safe, you realized he had instinctively moved closer again.

But this time, you didn’t pull away.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was warmth.

The second was the weight of a strong arm wrapped snugly around your waist.

Your breath hitched.

Sunghoon was curled against you, his chest pressed lightly against your back, his slow and steady breathing tickling your neck. His grip on you was firm, protective—like he belonged there.

Your heart pounded as you carefully turned your head.

Big mistake.

His face was impossibly close, his sharp features softened by sleep. His dark hair was tousled, and his lips—God, his lips—were slightly parted.

Your stomach did an embarrassing flip.

Just as you were debating whether to wake him up or stay like this a little longer, he let out a sleepy groan and nuzzled closer.

Okay. Now this is dangerous.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered.

A low hum.

“Wake up.”

He groaned dramatically, tightening his grip on you. “Five more minutes.”

You huffed. “You’re literally using me as a pillow.”

“Mm,” he murmured. “Comfy.”

Your face burned. “Sunghoon.”

He finally cracked one eye open, sleepily meeting your gaze. His lips curled into a smirk. “You’re blushing.”

You shoved him. “Get up.”

With a quiet chuckle, he finally released you and stretched, looking far too smug for someone who had been caught cuddling.

You threw a pillow at him.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

Later, as you were getting dressed, you found yourself struggling with your zipper.

“Ugh,” you muttered, twisting your arms awkwardly.

A deep voice interrupted your struggle. “Need help?”

You turned to see Sunghoon leaning against the doorway, already dressed in a crisp black suit. His dark eyes scanned you lazily, a smirk playing on his lips.

You swallowed. “Fine.”

He stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His hands brushed your bare back as he reached for the zipper, and your breath hitched.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, his fingers grazing your skin.

“Maybe because you’re—” Your words caught as he slowly zipped up the dress, his touch lingering.

When he finished, he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your neck. “There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

Your pulse was out of control.

You turned quickly. “Thanks. Now go before you start charging me for personal assistant duties.”

Sunghoon smirked. “I’d pay extra for this.”

Your jaw dropped, and he walked away, laughing under his breath.

The ceremony was beautiful. With the ocean stretching out behind the altar and golden sunlight casting a warm glow over the venue, it was straight out of a dream.

Sunghoon stood beside you, his presence steady and warm.

At one point, you noticed him watching the bride and groom with an unreadable expression.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He glanced at you, then back at the couple. “Yeah. It’s just… nice.”

There was something wistful in his voice.

You smiled. “Maybe one day that’ll be you.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “Doubt it.”

You nudged him playfully. “You never know.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t argue.

And somehow, that made your heart race.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

As the reception went on, the announcement came.

“Ladies, it’s time for the bouquet toss!”

You instinctively started to step back, but before you could escape, Sunghoon placed a firm hand on your lower back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he murmured.

You shot him a look. “I don’t do bouquet tosses.”

He smirked. “You do today.”

You frowned. “Sunghoon—”

“Come on.” His voice was teasing but firm as he gently pushed you forward. “Just try.”

You sighed but reluctantly walked toward the group of women gathering in the center.

The bride stood with her back to you all, grinning as she tossed the bouquet high into the air.

Time seemed to slow as the flowers arched toward you.

Instinct kicked in.

Before you could even think, your hands shot up—and caught it.

The room erupted in cheers.

Your jaw dropped. “Oh, come on!”

As laughter and applause filled the air, you turned toward Sunghoon, expecting him to be smug.

He was.

Standing at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, he smirked at you.

Then someone shouted, “Guess who’s next?!”

You groaned as people started teasingly glancing between you and Sunghoon.

Another voice called out, “Better start planning, Sunghoon!”

Instead of brushing it off, he smirked, eyes locked onto yours.

And then he said the words that made your stomach flip.

“We’ll see.”

The crowd laughed, hooting and whistling, but you couldn’t focus on anything except the way he was looking at you.

Did he mean that?

Because suddenly, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

Back in your hotel room, the air between you and Sunghoon felt different.

The teasing from the wedding, the warmth of the day, the way his eyes lingered on you—it was all leading to something unspoken.

You placed the bouquet on the nightstand, staring at it for a long moment. “I still can’t believe I caught it.”

Sunghoon, who was loosening his tie, chuckled. “I can.”

You turned to him, raising a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirked, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps. “You were meant to.”

Your stomach flipped. “Sunghoon—”

“It suits you,” he murmured, gaze locked onto yours. “Flowers. Love. Happiness.”

Your breath caught. “That’s… surprisingly sweet of you.”

He exhaled, as if debating something, then muttered, “Don’t get used to it.”

You laughed softly, but the warmth in your chest remained.

After changing into your sleepwear—an oversized shirt and shorts—you found Sunghoon already on the bed, dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants instead of his usual crisp suits.

It was unfair how effortlessly good he looked.

He was scrolling through his phone, but as you climbed into bed, he put it away and turned to you. “Tired?”

You sighed, settling into the pillows. “A little.”

He hummed. “Come here.”

You blinked. “What?”

His expression was unreadable, but his voice was softer than usual. “Just come here.”

Hesitantly, you shifted closer.

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate. He reached out, pulling you gently into his arms, letting you rest your head against his shoulder. His body was warm, steady.

Your heart pounded. “You’re clingy at night, huh?”

He scoffed. “Maybe. You’re the only one who’s ever had to deal with it.”

That admission made your breath hitch.

You glanced up at him, only to find him already watching you. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on his sharp features, making him look more relaxed, more vulnerable.

Then, to your utter surprise, he lifted a hand and brushed his knuckles against your cheek.

You stilled. “Sunghoon…”

His fingers lingered for a moment before he exhaled and—just as you thought he might kiss you—he leaned in and placed a soft, lingering peck against your cheek.

The tenderness of it made your stomach flip.

Not rushed. Not teasing. Just… sweet.

When he pulled back, his voice was lower, almost husky. “Goodnight.”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. “G-Goodnight.”

Sunghoon smirked. “You’re blushing.”

You huffed. “I’m not—”

But before you could finish, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His warmth, his scent, the steadiness of his breathing—it surrounded you entirely.

And for the first time, lying beside him didn’t feel awkward.

It felt right.

As sleep slowly took over, you felt Sunghoon’s fingers lazily tracing patterns against your back. It was the last thing you registered before slipping into the most peaceful sleep you’d had in a long time.

જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･જ⁀➴ ♡°⋆.ೃ࿔*

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was warmth.

Again.

But this time, it was even more overwhelming.

Sunghoon was completely curled around you, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his face buried against the crook of your neck.

His breaths were slow and even, and the way he held you was… different.

Less accidental. More deliberate.

Your heart pounded.

Carefully, you shifted to look at him.

His dark lashes rested against his cheeks, and his hair was adorably messy. The soft morning light filtering through the curtains made him look unfairly attractive.

You were admiring him when, suddenly, his eyes cracked open.

He blinked sleepily, then let out a raspy groan. “Mmm.”

You stiffened. “Uh—”

Instead of letting go, he only tightened his hold on you.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Your breath hitched. “S-Sunghoon—”

“Five more minutes,” he murmured, nuzzling closer.

You felt your whole body heat up. “You said that yesterday!”

He made a low sound, halfway between a chuckle and a sigh. “Still true.”

You squirmed. “I have to get up.”

“No, you don’t,” he muttered, voice teasing.

“You’re my secretary. I’ll give you the day off.”

You rolled your eyes. “We still have to check out, remember?”

Another groan. “Fine. But first…”

Before you could react, he pulled you even closer and—without thinking—pressed another quick peck against your cheek.

You gasped. “Sunghoon!”

He smirked sleepily. “Now I’m awake.”

Your face burned as you stared at him. He just lay there, smirking up at you like he hadn’t just completely wrecked your sanity.

After a beat, you blurted out, “What happened to being professionals?”

Sunghoon didn’t even hesitate.

He propped himself up on one elbow, looked you dead in the eye, and murmured, “I think we passed that line the moment you woke up in my arms.”

Your jaw dropped.

His smirk widened.

You grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him with it.

He only laughed, dodging the next hit as he sat up. “Come on, let’s get ready. We still have a long trip home.”

You huffed but got out of bed, still feeling the ghost of his lips on your cheek.

As you went to freshen up, one thought lingered in your mind.

This thing between you and Sunghoon?

Yeah, it was far from over.

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[sab0dssey]

NewlyDad!Simon who is completely lost in panic and joy. When he first found out you were pregnant, right after he returned from a mission, it hit him like a wave. He was over the moon, but also overwhelmed. Simon had never been a man with many words; he was always terse, practical, and to the point. But this news? It was different. The moment he learned, his entire world shifted. His usually steady hands trembled as he looked at you, his eyes wide with disbelief and awe.

For a moment, he just stared, not knowing what to say, his mind racing. Then, before either of you could react, he pulled you into him—his arms wrapping around you so tightly, it was as if he never wanted to let go. His head buried itself in your neck, as though it was the only place he could find any grounding. It was so quiet between you both, just the sound of his breaths and the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

He stayed like that for what felt like eternity, unwilling to move. You could feel the warmth of his tears against your skin, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t make a sound. He knew you could feel the silent sobs, the emotion he didn’t want to let out in front of you, but he also knew you understood. He didn’t want you to see him like this—vulnerable and unsure. Not yet. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to let go, not even for a second.

NewlyDad!Simon never lets you do anything on your own. Never. You’re reaching for the remote, and it’s just a foot away? Don’t bother standing up—he’s already got it. You’re thinking about cooking? Forget it. He won’t let you. He’ll either cook for you himself or order your favorite meal—just so you don’t have to lift a finger.

NewlyDad!Simon is like a clingy little puppy—he just can’t keep his hands to himself. At home, he’s glued to you, constantly cuddling, wrapping himself around you like a human blanket. Outside, his hands always find their way to you—resting on your baby bump, the small of your back, or your waist. He just can’t help it.

Even when you’re relaxing in the tub, basking in the candlelit warmth, Simon refuses to let you have a moment alone. He pulls up a chair beside the tub, work files in hand, pretending to focus—but his hands betray him. One moment, they’re on your bump, the next, tracing lazy circles over your shoulder. He’s not letting go anytime soon. Not now, not ever

NewlyDad!Simon who loves to talk with his baby. His hands, large and gentle, find their way to your growing belly with a tenderness that surprises even him.

Every chance he gets, whether it’s in the quiet moments of the day or just before sleep, his hand rests there, as if the touch itself is a promise. He caresses your belly, his fingers lightly tracing the curve, his palm pressed against you like he’s trying to connect with the tiny life growing inside. It’s almost as though he can feel every tiny movement, even when it’s just a flutter.

He talks to the baby—quiet, low words that are almost a whisper, but they carry so much weight. His voice softens every time he speaks, and it’s a tone you’ve never heard before, one filled with a raw love that only a father could express. “Hey, little one,” he murmurs, his fingers rubbing slow circles against your skin, “can’t wait to see you, to hold you in my arms.” His eyes never leave your belly, his expression a mixture of awe and tenderness.

When he thinks you’re not looking, his lips brush against the top of your stomach, a soft kiss meant only for the baby. “I’ll protect you,” he says quietly, the words meant for both of you but carrying an unspoken promise to the child. “Daddy’s gonna make sure you’re safe, always.”

His hand stays there, lingering, as if he’s trying to convey everything he feels through the simple act of touching. Sometimes, he talks to the baby about what he hopes for their future—what he dreams they’ll be, but more often, it’s about how much he already loves them. How proud he is.

No matter where you are, he finds the time to remind you both of that, as if the baby can hear every word, every heartbeat, every promise. And each time he touches your belly, he’s not just caressing you—he’s speaking directly to the child, forming a bond that’s already so deep.

NewlyDad!Simon who had never been one for big gatherings or being the center of attention, but tonight, he was doing it—for you, and for the baby.

His teammates had insisted, as had your friends, that you both needed to get out. A little normalcy, they said. A dinner with the people who supported him through everything. But Simon? He was already on high alert the moment you stepped out the door. His hand was constantly on your back, gently guiding you, his eyes scanning the room, always aware of your every movement.

The restaurant was bustling, a little louder than usual, but Simon barely seemed to notice the chatter around him. His attention was split between you and the people he trusted—his team. His arm would sometimes drift to your waist, his fingers brushing against your bump, as if to reassure himself that everything was okay. He didn’t let you stray far, always within arm’s reach, his protective nature wrapped around you like a shield.

At the table, he was engaged, nodding along to conversations, but his focus was never fully on the group. When someone leaned in a little too close, his eyes would flicker to them, silently warning them to keep their distance. When Soap tried to crack a joke about fatherhood, Simon’s lips twitched upward in a brief smile, but the moment the laughter died down, his hand found its way to your stomach, his thumb brushing over it lightly.

He’d occasionally glance over at you, catching your eye, as if asking silently if you were okay, if you needed anything. He knew you could take care of yourself, but tonight? Tonight, he wasn’t letting his guard down for a second.

When dinner came, Simon was the first to help you with your plate, carefully cutting your food or offering you bites from his own. He made sure you were comfortable, always attentive, his eyes never straying too far from you. He wasn’t one to show weakness, but with you? And with the baby? His vulnerability showed in the way he constantly checked in, in the way he’d rather have his hand on your bump than anywhere else.

His teammates had known him as a man of few words, but tonight, they were learning a different side of Simon—one who would move mountains to keep his family safe and happy, even in a simple dinner setting. They could see it in the way he watched over you, in the little touches he gave you when he thought no one was looking. He may have been the strong, silent type to everyone else, but to you and the baby? He was all heart.

As the night wound down, Simon was already thinking about how soon he could get you home, make sure you were settled and safe. He never stopped being the protective husband, never stopped being the father-to-be, and he certainly never stopped being the man who would give up everything to keep you both safe.