#the gray streak 💕💕💕

[jirachuuu]

Clocking into my shift at the Chappell Roan factory😌

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄

PAIRING: JACKSON!JOEL MILLER X FEMALE READER

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ MDNI) | WORD COUNT: 1.5k

SUMMARY | Nowadays, he’s got the look of a man who’s discovered safety after survival, more life in his face, more weight on his bones. His hair has grown out, curling around his neck and more prominent streaks of gray at his temples and in his beard. This thing between the two of you remains undefined, comes and goes like waves crashing on a shore, but you’ll take what you can get because you’ve never been good about avoiding temptation.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | One glimpse of Pedro as Joel in the new season has turned me into a woman possessed. Thank you @undrthelights and @janaispunk for giving this a read for me 💕

ways to help palestine

WARNINGS | explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, porn without plot, mild angst, able bodied reader, no physical reader descriptions or age mentioned, jackson era, mentions of joel's weight (in the context of looking healthier in jackson), emotionally constipated joel, dirty talk, praise, pet names, kitchen sex, oral sex - f receiving (while standing), unprotected p in v, limited aftercare. let me know if i’ve missed any!

A noise breaks through your dreams, a loud banging that startles you from sleep and leaves you blinking at the ceiling. Thoughts still fuzzy, you stumble down the stairs and through your kitchen to the back door that rattles in its frame with each pound of a fist against it. You glance at the neon red numbers of the stove clock and at this hour, there can only be one culprit.

“Joel, what the fuck,” you groan, opening the door. “It’s two in the morning, what is wrong with you?” He doesn’t answer, simply shoulders past you and into your house. “Oh, sure come on in, make yourself—“

Your sarcastic remark is abruptly cut off by his lips crashing against yours, mouth hot and hungry as he skips any semblance of pleasantry and dives straight into carnal desire. His teeth graze your lip, the sting soothed by his tongue before it tangles with yours. Your fingers curl into his jacket sleeves, hanging on for dear life as he backs you into a wall, the two of you hitting one with a dull thump that disturbs the picture frames.

He shoves a knee between your thighs and pins you to the plaster, every sense invaded by him as he continues to consume you. When his mouth leaves yours and begins to leave hot kisses like brands across your neck, you finally find your voice again.

“Joel, what—“

“Shut up,” he grunts. You’re taken aback by the command and you have half a mind to smack him across the head for it, but he’s got his teeth on your earlobe and he adds, “I just, I need this, okay? Please?”

The fight leaves you in one fell swoop because you’d do anything for Joel if he just asks nicely. You nod and he returns to his task of turning you into a puddle with a single minded determination. When you start to rock your hips against his denim clad thigh in a desperate bid for friction, you feel, rather than see, the grin on his face.

“Mm, just as needy for me, ain’t you?” He teases. You frown.

“Don’t push your luck, Miller,” you snap. He laughs, a deep rumble that reminds you of the thunderstorms in the spring. “I can still kick you out of my house.”

“You won’t.” Confident, cocky, a man who knows he has you in the palm of his ridiculously skilled hands. “If you’d been smart, you would have kicked me out the first time. Now I’m just like a stray dog, ain’t gettin’ rid of me now.”

The first time, when he showed up in Jackson with a chip on his shoulder and a frown on his face. His hair had been shorter, his frame a bit smaller, his eyes a lot more vacant. He walked you home one night from the Tipsy Bison and when he kissed you under the glow of your porch light, his mouth tasted like whiskey, not unlike it does tonight.

Nowadays, he’s got the look of a man who’s discovered safety after survival, more life in his face, more weight on his bones. His hair has grown out, curling around his neck and more prominent streaks of gray at his temples and in his beard. This thing between the two of you remains undefined, comes and goes like waves crashing on a shore, but you’ll take what you can get because you’ve never been good about avoiding temptation.

While your thoughts drifted to the past, Joel has dropped to his knees and is curling his fingers into the elastic of your underwear, dragging the fabric down your thighs.

“In the kitchen? Really?” You huff. “There’s a perfectly good bedroom upstairs.”

“Too far,” he says, tossing your underwear aside.

Despite your complaints, there is something undeniably sexy about having Joel kneeling before you, impatient enough that he’ll take you right where you stand. He shuffles closer, lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and lavishes your clit with broad swipes of his tongue.

Your head drops back as you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulls out every trick in the book of your pleasure, alternating between fast circles and sucking the bundle of nerves between his lips. It’s not long before you’ve reached the precipice of your release, teetering on a razor thin edge before finally falling into oblivion with a gasp of his name. He groans against you as you come, waves of it rolling through you.

“So fuckin’ good,” he says as he pulls away. You look down at him with a half-lidded stare, his chin wet in the low light and his own gaze dark with lust. He stands, slowly, with a bit of a wince because of his bad knee that he tries to hide with a grin. “C’mere.”

You let him pull you away from the wall and into his arms where he kisses you, his lips and tongue drenched in your taste. He walks you back to your little kitchen table, kicking a chair out of the way so that he can turn you to face it, a palm between your shoulder blades urging you down until you’re bent over the wooden surface.

The clink of his belt buckle falling to the linoleum makes your muscles clench in anticipation. Joel’s palm smooths down your back, almost reverently, before reaching your ass and giving it a rough squeeze.

“You’re killin’ me, you know that?” He asks. You turn your head, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“Me? I’m not doing anything, I’m waiting for you to quit teasing.”

“That’s just it,” he says, sliding the head of his cock through your messy pussy before notching himself at your entrance. “You ain’t gotta do anythin’ except exist and you’ll drive me crazy.”

Any response you had dies a swift death as he presses inside of you, filling you in the most tortuous way. The ache of the stretch quickly fades as he bottoms out with a deep groan, his hands gripping your waist tight enough that you know you’ll feel the phantom sting of bruises in the morning. He sets a rough, demanding pace, the sound of skin against skin cacophonous in your little kitchen. You can’t hold back the noises of pleasure he wrings from you as he slams in deep with each thrust and pulls out so far that you’re practically empty before doing it over and over again.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous like this, so tight,” he grunts. You arch your back the slightest bit, changing the angle so that each drive of his cock drags against that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars and whimpering his name. “God, that’s it, sweetheart. Take it so pretty.”

“Joel,” you moan. “Please, please, please.”

“Beggin’ to come again?” He asks. “So greedy, ain’t that right?”

“Yes,” you sob. “Need to come, please, Joel!”

“I gotcha, baby.” His hand slips between your thighs and his fingers pinch your sensitive clit. “Come on, come on my cock so I can fill you up.”

It’s an empty threat, but one that works. Your muscles go tight with your second orgasm, your cunt pulsing around him as his thrusts grow erratic, uncoordinated as he chases his own high. He pulls out just seconds before making good on his word, painting your skin with warm release.

As you catch your breath, his warmth leaves your side. You vaguely register the sound of running water before a cold rag is wiping away the mess on your ass and cleaning up the slick between your thighs, the rough fabric over your sensitive flesh making you jump. Joel shushes you, another pass of his soothing palm down your back as he finishes wiping you clean.

You stand up straight on shaky legs and collapse in the chair that he’d kicked from the table to make room for your bodies. He’s already pulled his pants back up, the only evidence of your tryst in the sheen of sweat on his brow and his hair in disarray. His jaw grows tense as you watch him and he shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot in the awkward aftermath.

“Thanks,” he says. “Needed that.”

“So you said,” you reply. “Did something happen?”

“Just some bullshit with Tommy.”

“Brother bullshit or town bullshit?”

“Bit of both.”

“Oh.”

He nods, glancing at the door. “I should get goin’.”

“Right.”

Joel doesn’t move for the door, though. No, he steps in close, taking your face in his warm hands and kissing you softly, gently, a wild juxtaposition to his earlier attentions. When he pulls away, you can’t help but reach up and smooth a thumb between his eyebrows, trying smooth the line of concern there.

“You don’t have to leave,” you whisper. You’ve said it before. You’ll say it again. You’ll keep saying it, until the ship that passes you in the night returns to your harbor.

“I do,” he replies, stepping back. You give him a tired smile.

Tonight isn’t that night.

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed! You can find more of my writing below:

Joel Miller masterlist | All character masterlists

[tender-rosiey]

Hiii! Ik your not taking req rn but I just wanna send this in for when you open them again.

Can I request a fic where the reader is aging (like the reader getting frail, their hair turning gray, getting tired more, body pain, ECT) and hein era sukuna begins to notice and worry about how death may be near for reader

Love your work btw you're like literally one of the best writers on here.💛

unspoken — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: hope this is what you had in mind! and thank you so much!! 💕💕💕 hope I never disappoint

sukuna stands by the window, a heavy silence settling around him as he observed the woman who had been his light, now dwindling in its glow.

it started subtly, almost imperceptibly.

one evening, as the two of you sat in the garden, the sun sinking low in the sky, you had reached for a blossom, your fingers trembling ever so slightly as you plucked it from its stem.

he had watched, a brow furrowing slightly, as you struggled to hold it, the delicate flower slipping through your fingers. he attributed it to a momentary lapse, perhaps just fatigue.

after all, you had always been full of life, a whirlwind of energy, dragging him along on your adventures with that irrepressible spirit.

but the signs multiplied.

the laughter that used to echo through the estate began to fade into soft chuckles and gentle sighs. your once-lively movements turned slower, more deliberate.

he had noted how you needed to lean against the wall for support when standing, how you paused frequently to catch your breath, and how, one day, he found you gazing out the window, lost in thought, your expression more wistful than joyful.

the vibrant sparkle in your eyes dimmed, and he felt a strange sensation twist in his chest—a feeling he couldn’t quite name, yet knew was significant.

the afternoon sun pours through the large windows, illuminating the room as you sit in your favorite chair, a once-majestic piece upholstered in soft velvet, now frayed and softened with age.

your hair is streaked with strands of silver, each one a testament to the years that fly by like petals on a breeze.

you look down at your hands, frail and delicate, the skin thin and almost transparent, betraying the strength you once possessed.

sukuna can hardly bear to look. the sound of your labored breaths echoes in the stillness, a painful reminder of how time is relentless in its march.

he kneels beside you, taking your hand in his. the once-familiar grip that sparked defiance in playful challenges now feels so fragile beneath his fingers.

“do you remember that time you insisted on teaching me how to make that ridiculous dessert?” he asks, his voice low and steady, the words heavy in the air. “you nearly burnt the kitchen down, laughing all the while.”

you smile, your eyes brightening for a fleeting moment, but the warmth fades quickly, the effort draining from you as you lean back, exhaustion washing over your features.

“of course. you were so terrible at it,” you reply softly, your voice a mere whisper.

sukuna feels an overwhelming surge of despair(?) welling within him.

but time was relentless, and the reality of your frailty loomed larger with each passing moment. days turned into weeks, and the garden began to wilt, mirroring the decay he saw in you.

the flowers you once tended to with such care now lay scattered and forgotten, just as he felt you were slipping away from him. each heartbeat echoed in his ears, a stark reminder of the life that flickered like a dying candle.

one that he can’t do anything to preserve, not even the strongest jujutsu could keep you here.

on a fateful evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, casting shadows that stretch long and mournful across the room, he holds you close.

you rest your head against his shoulder, a quiet comfort he has taken for granted in the past.

but now, he feels the fragility of your form, the way your body seems to melt into his, as if you are slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

he presses his ear to your chest, straining to hear the steady rhythm of your heart. it is a sound he has always searched for—a reassurance of your existence.

but tonight, as he listens intently, he feels something shift. the thud of your heartbeat grows faint, as if the very essence of you is fading before his eyes.

“y/n?” he calls out, his voice barely a breath. but there is nothing. you are gone, and the empty space beside him keeps expanding.

sukuna remains still, cradling your form, holding onto you as if the sheer force of his will could bring you back. he can feel the warmth of your skin slipping away, the reality of your absence settling around him like a shroud.

he stays there, holding you until the moon rises high in the sky. the world around him fades into the background, and all that sukuna can decide is that if love was worthful, then you would’ve still been by his side.

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize

check out my buy me a coffee!

[bunnyinvanilla]

The guys that I like just said to me that he doesn’t like me back💀

Now I need a cute daddy!price moment 🙏🏻

btw I love your writing 💕💕

oh cupcake im so so sorry, please don’t let that discourage you or make you feel too sad, im sure you’re beautiful n loving, and at the right time, the right guy will notice you an pick you beautiful flower up <3 everyone’s beautiful and everyone has their other half somewhere, maybe that wasn’t him, but delight in knowing that you’ll definitely find him and you can use this experience as a way to just focus on your glow in the meantime, ily enjoy this is for you🐇🍰 🍡 | sugar daddy!john price x sugar baby fem!reader, laaarge age gap as always (price is in his 40s and reader is 21) ddlg!! little space mentioned, very fluffy

“you’re so old,” you giggle mostly to yourself while you let your fingers scratch his salt and pepper, dark, thick beard. he stays quiet, as usual, only the almost imperceptible twitch of his mustache and the way he pecks his brow upwards give you any sign that he’s heard what you’ve said.

“careful with those words, angel” he mutters, a rumbling, rough voice that makes you giggle again, “but you are! my old, grumpy man”

you squeeze your tiny hands delicately against his cheeks, pressing an open mouthed kiss on his lips, and one more, and another one.

he doesn’t fight your affection, staying still and keeping his eyes steady and firm on your movements. He slithers a hand around your lower back, pulling you closer by your waist, fingers locked on your hip.

“might be your grumpy, old man, but ya still need to be respectful, doll face. Watch your mouth.”

you fake a little pout, throwing your arms around his strong neck and shifting impossibly closer on his lap, launching yourself up with your thighs until you can for once look down on him. “why, daddy, you don’t like being my old man anymore?”

“cheeky little thing y’are” he chuckled, a tiny laugh that almost sound like a scoff. “of course I do, what’s gotten my good girl in such a playful mood today, mmh?”

“I dunnoo..guess im just needy, and probably in little-“ your eyes stop blinking for a second, you realize in that moment that you’re sinking like a fish into the deep ocean of little space.

oh oh.

your cheeks flame up, taking in the same color and warmth of a summer midday sun. You gently shift down onto his legs again, your arms slowly untangling from his neck. “I mean, I guess im just needy, as always.”

“ah-ah, come back here,” he takes a firm hold of your hips, pulling you upward by your waist.

“what is it, princess? tell daddy, come on.”

“it’s nothing sir, im always this clingy” you bop his nose, admiring the way he’s literally aging like the finest wine, attractive and handsome in such a mature and charming way, with the contrast of streaks of gray on his dark hair. “but maybe i just…need some strawberry juice”

john grins at the innuendo, recognizing the secret word code you’ve both set for when you feel littler and needier than usual.

“warm bath with daddy? what’ya say, sweetheart?”

you gleam at the idea, nodding eagerly and happily, and with that, he pushes himself off the chair, effortlessly carrying you with only one arm wrapped under your legs, — you hear him grunt when standing, and you feel bad, scared you might hurt on him “am I-“

“you’re like a feather on my arms, doll, don’t even say it. I can effortlessly carry you wherever you want, just need to crack some bones, sometimes, comes with the age, you wanted an old man, that’s what ya get”

[sunshineangel0]

chapter one

pairing- Bang Chan x OC (Chi Nakamura) summary- Chi Nakamura, the owner of a cozy Seoul bakery, has a seemingly ordinary early morning encounter with a mysterious customer—one that lingers in her mind long after he’s gone. Little does she know, her small act of kindness has left an impression on none other than Bang Chan, leader of stray kids. genre- Slow burn, fluff, slice of life, a hint of romance (?) word count- 1.1.k warning- pure fluff, caffeine addiction (lol) a/n- This was just supposed to be a simple small idea with an oc I created in my head, but now I’m obsessed with their dynamic. Chi’s bright energy vs. Chan’s quiet exhaustion? Yes, please. Let me know what you think! 💕

The warm glow of early morning seeped through the tall windows of Mochi and Bean, casting golden streaks across the polished wooden floors. The air inside the small bakery was rich with the scent of vanilla, espresso, and fresh-baked pastries—a comforting aroma that wrapped around Chi Nakamura like a familiar embrace. She hummed softly along to the music playing through the speakers, a gentle K-R&B track that blended seamlessly with the quiet hum of dawn in downtown Seoul.

It was just past 5:15 AM. The streets outside were still sleepy, wrapped in the lingering hush of the night, where only the occasional early commuter or delivery truck broke the stillness. This was Chi’s favorite part of the day. The world felt softer, slower, like a deep breath before the city exhaled into the chaos of morning traffic. In these early hours, it was just her, her oven, and the quiet anticipation of a new beginning.

Behind the counter, she moved with precise, practiced ease, organizing the latest batch of butter croissants and matcha financiers onto their trays, each pastry arranged with delicate care. The polished glass display case gleamed under the soft café lighting, the golden layers of the croissants catching the light just so.

The bell above the door chimed, the sound crisp in the tranquil stillness. Chi glanced up, expecting to see one of her usual early birds—perhaps an office worker needing a caffeine fix or a delivery driver grabbing breakfast before the rush.

Instead, she was met with someone new.

A man stepped in, his presence quiet but deliberate. He wore a black hoodie pulled low over his forehead, gray sweatpants, and a mask covering the lower half of his face. He moved with the kind of energy that suggested he was used to going unnoticed—each step purposeful yet unassuming, blending into the background without effort.

Chi, ever the bright presence, propped her elbows onto the counter, resting her chin on her hands as she offered a natural, easy smile. She didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t matter.

"Good morning!" Her voice was warm, gently breaking the silence between them. "What can I get for you?"

The man hesitated for a second, as if her friendly greeting had caught him off guard. Slowly, he reached up, pulling his mask down just enough to reveal a glimpse of his lips and sharp jawline before tucking it under his chin. When he met her gaze, his deep brown eyes—slightly hooded with exhaustion—held an unreadable expression.

"Uh… just an Americano, please," he said, his voice a quiet rasp, the kind that came from too many late nights and not enough sleep.

Chi tilted her head slightly, observing him with a light curiosity. There was something about him that felt oddly familiar, but she didn’t press on it. Instead, she nodded, pushing off the counter with an easy grace.

"Coming right up! You want anything to eat? I just pulled out some fresh croissants—like, literally five minutes ago. Still warm," she offered, gesturing toward the display case where the golden, flaky pastries sat invitingly.

The man hesitated again, like he was about to refuse out of habit. But something in the way she looked at him—expectant but not pushy—made him pause.

"Yeah… sure. One croissant," he relented, voice softer this time.

Chi grinned, already turning toward the espresso machine, her movements fluid and practiced. "Great choice," she said as she punched in the order. The familiar hum of the machine filled the space, rich coffee dripping steadily into the cup. Meanwhile, she grabbed a pair of tongs, carefully placing a perfectly golden croissant into a small paper bag.

As she worked, she glanced over her shoulder, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "So," she started casually, "you’re out pretty early. Work?"

The man let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he tucked his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "Something like that."

Chi didn’t push for more. Instead, she simply nodded, setting the finished Americano on the counter alongside the bagged croissant. "Well, hope the coffee helps. It’s on the house since it’s your first time here."

The man raised a brow, clearly surprised. "You don’t have to do that."

"I know," she said with a small, knowing smile, "but I want to. I just opened like a week ago. I thought it would be nice offering a few things at first"

He exhaled through his nose—a quiet laugh, amused by her kindness. As he reached for the cup, his fingers brushed against hers—just for a fraction of a second, barely there.

Something flickered in his expression, like he was about to say something else, but instead, he just gave her a small nod.

"Thanks… Chi," he murmured, glancing at the name tag pinned to her apron before turning toward the door.

Chi blinked, slightly surprised that he’d noticed her name.

"See you around, uh…" she trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

He hesitated for a second before answering simply, "Chris."

And then, he was gone, slipping out into the early morning, leaving behind only the lingering warmth of his presence and the quiet weight of an interaction that felt like the start of something.

Chi exhaled, watching as the door swung shut behind him. Something about that guy was… interesting.

She just didn’t realize yet that Chris was Bang Chan—the leader of Stray Kids. And that was only the first of many mornings to come.

As the café settled back into its usual rhythm, Chi pulled out her phone, unlocking it with a quick tap. She hesitated for a moment before opening her messages and typing.

Chi: you ever just serve coffee to someone and feel like... that was kinda important???

A few seconds later, her best friend, Mina, responded.

Mina: girl it’s 5:30 in the morning what are you even talking about

Chi rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips. Before she could type back, Mina sent another text.

Mina: wait. was he hot.

Chi snorted, shaking her head.

Chi: idk??? maybe??? also kinda familiar but idk from where. anyway. just felt… different.

Mina sent back a string of eye emojis before typing.

Mina: oh you’re DEFINITELY seeing him again.

Meanwhile, across town, Bang Chan stepped into the JYP Entertainment building, the weight of exhaustion still lingering but… lighter, somehow.

Han looked up from where he was sprawled on the studio couch. "You look… unusually chipper for this time of day."

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, setting his coffee cup down beside the mixing console. "Do I?"

Han squinted. "Yeah. You actually look like you slept more than three hours."

Chan just smiled to himself, the faintest trace of warmth still lingering from the morning’s encounter.

"Maybe it’s just good coffee," he mused before slipping on his headphones, the soft hum of the bakery and Chi’s bright voice still echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general tags: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789

(if you want to be added to my taglist, please comment under the post.)

[speaknow-sw]

THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : Heavy description of a battle, deaths, injuries, weapons. Historic inaccuracies (sorry it breaks my historian heart 😭)

A/N ; GUYYYYYSSS LATE CHRISTMAS GIFT : CHAPTER 3 with 3.7k words. The plot thickens ! As an history student I couldn’t resist writing a battle with none other than one of my favorite film : BRAVEHEART. So William Wallace is here my dear. (I kinda had a crush on Mel Gibson when I was little but shh). Anyway I just reread it and damnnn I cooked with Anakin’s dream you’ll see it. (Self praise is the best improvement). Enjoyyy 💕💕

꧁ Chapter 3 : Cathedrals of Wails ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

"In the clash of blades, a kinship grew,

Respect in the eyes of the fiercest few.

Though bound by war, we share the flame,

Two lives entwined in honor's name."

The battlefield was a storm of chaos and resolve, stretching across the moors under a sky heavy with gray clouds. Smoke and mist mingled in the cold air, and the clash of steel rang out like a grim symphony. Anakin Skywalker rode at the head of his forces, his black cloak snapping in the wind, his eyes scanning the enemy lines with the precision of a predator.

Opposing him stood William Wallace, the legendary Guardian of Scotland. The towering Scotsman was a figure of unyielding defiance, his face painted with the blue streaks of war, his broadsword resting easily in his massive hands. Around him, the Scottish forces formed a wall of raw determination, their banners snapping defiantly in the wind.

Anakin’s gaze locked with Wallace’s across the battlefield. There was no hatred in those blue eyes, only purpose—and a glimmer of something Anakin recognized: respect. Wallace inclined his head slightly, a warrior’s acknowledgment of an equal.

There was no time for words. Anakin raised his arm, signaling his archers to loose their volley. The sky darkened with arrows, their deadly rain slicing through the air. The Scots responded with their own barrage, their archers firing from behind crude barricades. Screams and shouts erupted as men fell on both sides, but neither line wavered.

Wallace strode forward, his booming voice carrying over the battlefield. “Hold, men! Stand firm! Today, we fight for freedom!”

His words ignited a fire in his troops, their war cries rising in unison. The Scots charged, a tidal wave of fury and resolve crashing toward the English line.

Anakin spurred his horse forward, his sword raised high. “Shields up! Hold the line!”

The English knights braced themselves, their shields locking together as the Scottish warriors slammed into them. The impact was thunderous, the clash of metal and flesh reverberating through the air. Anakin dismounted in one fluid motion, his boots sinking into the muddy ground as he joined the fray.

A Scotsman came at him, his axe arcing through the air. Anakin sidestepped, his blade flashing in a swift counterstrike. The man fell, clutching his side, but there was no time to linger. Another came at him, then another, each strike met with the precision of a seasoned warrior.

Another came at him, a wild-eyed warrior wielding a spear. Anakin dismounted in one fluid motion, his boots sinking into the sodden ground. He ducked beneath the thrust of the spear, stepping into the man’s guard. His blade flashed, severing the spearhead before driving into the Scotsman’s chest.

Around him, the battle raged. His soldiers held the line, but barely. The Scots were fierce, their war cries echoing across the moor. Anakin fought like a man possessed, his movements precise and lethal. He was a blur of black and silver, his blade cutting down enemies with an efficiency born of years of war.

Across the battlefield, Wallace fought with unmatched ferocity, his broadsword cleaving through the air. He moved like a force of nature, his strikes powerful yet controlled, his commands rallying his men even as they began to falter.

“Push forward!” Anakin roared, his deep voice carrying over the battlefield.

His men surged, their shields and swords crashing into the Scottish line. The tide of the battle began to turn, the Scots faltering under the relentless assault. Anakin fought at the front, his blade a constant blur, his movements a dance of death.

Anakin cut his way toward Wallace, the two warriors inexorably drawn together. The fighting around them seemed to recede as they faced each other, swords raised, mud and blood spattered across their armor.

Wallace studied him for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Skywalker. They say you’re a ghost on the battlefield. Let’s see if ghosts bleed.”

Anakin didn’t respond with words. He lunged, his blade meeting Wallace’s broadsword in a resounding clash. The force of the impact reverberated through his arms, but he held firm, his movements swift and precise. Wallace countered with the strength of a man who fought not for glory but for a cause, each strike carrying the weight of his people’s hopes.

The duel was a dance of skill and will, neither man gaining the upper hand for long. Anakin’s speed was matched by Wallace’s sheer power, their blades flashing in a blur of silver. Around them, the battle raged, but for a moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of them.

Finally, Wallace stepped back, breathing heavily, his sword lowered slightly. “You fight well, Skywalker. Better than most of your kind.”

“And you fight with honor,” Anakin replied, his voice steady despite the burning in his side where an arrow had grazed him earlier.

Wallace nodded, respect shining briefly in his eyes before he raised his sword again. Their blades met once more, but the tide of the battle was shifting. The Scots were being pushed back, their lines breaking under the relentless pressure of the English forces.

Wallace raised his voice, calling for a retreat. “Fall back! Regroup at the ridge!”

Anakin didn’t pursue. He stood amidst the chaos, his sword lowered as he watched Wallace and his men withdraw. The respect between them remained unspoken but tangible, a bond forged in the crucible of battle.

As the cries of the retreating Scots faded, Anakin turned to his men, his voice calm but firm. “See to the wounded. This fight is over—for now.”

He sheathed his sword, the weight of the day settling over him. Blood trickled from the arrow wound in his side, but he paid it little mind. His thoughts lingered on Wallace, a man who fought with a fire Anakin couldn’t help but admire, even as they stood on opposite sides of a war.

Victory belonged to the English that day, but Anakin knew it was only a momentary respite. The war was far from over, and his path would inevitably cross with Wallace’s again.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

"Victory tastes of ash and steel, A hollow triumph I cannot feel. For every life my blade has claimed, I bear the weight, my soul is stained.

The banners fly, the crowds still cheer, Yet silence grows where none can hear. Is the glory worth the blood-soaked way, When shadows haunt both night and day?"

The battlefield’s roar had long faded, replaced by the quiet hum of the night. In his tent, the air was heavy with the scent of blood and sweat, the residue of a hard-fought day. Anakin sat alone, the flickering light of a lantern casting shadows across the canvas walls.

He removed his gauntlets with slow, deliberate movements, flexing his fingers as if the stiffness in his hands might ease the tightness in his chest. His wound—shallow but angry—throbbed beneath his tunic, but he barely noticed it. His mind was elsewhere.

The small leather notebook lay on the makeshift desk before him, its cover worn from years of service. It had once been a tool for mapping strategies and sketching plans, but now it served a different purpose. A quill sat beside it, its tip poised like a question he wasn’t yet ready to answer.

Anakin leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. He could still hear the clash of swords, the cries of men falling, the steady rhythm of his own breathing as he fought. But beneath those memories, another image surfaced: your face.

He saw the softness of your expression as you watched him leave, the way your fingers brushed the edge of your gown when you thought no one was looking. He recalled the faint scent of lavender that lingered near you, a contrast to the grit and grime of his world.

Opening his eyes, he reached for the quill and dipped it into the inkwell. The first words came slowly, hesitant and uneven.

"She lingers in the quiet spaces of my mind, A shadow soft and fleeting, yet unkind. For how can one so gentle haunt me still, When all my life has bent to war’s cruel will?"

The lines startled him. He hadn’t intended to write about you, but there you were, emerging from the depths of his thoughts like a persistent flame. He set the quill down, running a hand through his hair.

Anakin hadn’t wanted this marriage. It was a treaty, a necessity, nothing more. Or so he had told himself. But the more he thought of you, the more that belief unraveled. You were more than a treaty, more than a pawn in a game of kings and generals.

He picked up the quill again, his hand steadier this time.

"She stands a world away from steel and fire, A quiet strength beneath her heart’s desire. And yet, I falter, caught within her gaze, A man unworthy of her gentle ways."

He paused, his jaw tightening. Was he unworthy? The question gnawed at him. You were so unlike the world he knew—soft where he was hard, quiet where he was loud. Yet in your softness, there was a strength he couldn’t deny.

Closing the notebook, Anakin leaned back in his chair and stared at the lantern’s flickering flame. For the first time in years, he felt something unfamiliar—hope, fragile and unsteady, but real.

Perhaps this marriage was more than a duty. Perhaps, despite himself, he was beginning to see you not as a symbol of peace, but as something far more dangerous.

Someone worth fighting for.

The light of the afternoon waned, stretching golden rays through the narrow windows of the tower studio. Your hands moved instinctively, the brush in your grasp guided by memory and longing. Each stroke built the shape of him—the strong line of his jaw, the determined set of his brow, the curve of his armor catching light.

The unfinished painting loomed before you, half-realized yet already brimming with life. His eyes were incomplete, shadowed outlines awaiting the weight of detail. They haunted you the most, those eyes, vivid even now in your mind. You had seen them blaze with frustration, glint with cold calculation, and—just once—soften as he regarded you before he left.

You paused, setting the brush down with a sigh. The studio was quiet, save for the faint crackle of the hearth and the soft rustle of the wind beyond the stone walls. It was a silence you had grown accustomed to, but one that seemed heavier now.

Isolation clung to you like a second skin. Since Anakin’s departure, the castle had grown emptier, despite the presence of bustling servants and noble visitors. Their voices were distant, their laughter hollow. None of it mattered. None of them mattered.

Your gaze returned to the painting. It was maddening, this pull he had over you, even from miles away. You tried to focus on your anger, the frustration of his coldness, his guarded demeanor. He was a man of stone and steel, a soldier who saw you as nothing more than a duty.

And yet, your fingers yearned to trace the lines of his face. Your mind clung to the rare moments when his facade cracked—the softness in his voice when he spoke to his men, the unspoken apology in his gaze when he had mounted his horse to leave.

As you picked up the brush again, your thoughts blurred, a haze of longing and anger intertwining.

That night, your dreams were vivid.

He stood before you in the castle courtyard, his armor glinting in the moonlight, his expression unreadable. You reached out to touch him, but the distance between you stretched impossibly far. The harder you tried to reach him, the more the space widened, until he disappeared into the shadows.

When you woke, the ache in your chest was as real as the cool dawn air seeping through the tower walls. You rose, lit a candle, and returned to the painting.

It wasn’t enough to ease the loneliness, but it was something.

The castle halls were quiet in the early evening, the fading light casting long shadows along the cold stone walls. You had been walking aimlessly, your thoughts tangled in loneliness and frustration, when a flicker of movement caught your eye.

A servant, hurrying through a side corridor, clutching a scroll adorned with the royal seal of your father, King Phillip of France. There was nothing unusual about correspondence in the castle, but the servant’s furtive glances and rapid steps made your heart beat faster. You followed quietly, staying just out of sight.

The servant stopped at the door to Count Aulbry’s chambers, rapping quickly before disappearing down the corridor. Suspicion gnawed at you. Count Aulbry had been a close advisor to your father for years, but something about his presence here had always unsettled you. He spoke in slippery tones, his words polished but never quite sincere.

You waited until the hallway was empty before stepping toward the door. It was slightly ajar, and from within, you could hear the rustle of parchment and the low murmur of Aulbry’s voice.

“Your Majesty’s plan is bold,” Aulbry said, his tone laced with intrigue. “The General will never suspect.”

A pause, then the sound of a quill scratching against paper.

“Yes, of course. The treaty was always a means to an end. Once the English army is stretched thin in Scotland, the betrayal will be swift. The princess? A mere pawn, as intended.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Betrayal. The word echoed in your mind like a thunderclap. You pressed yourself against the wall, straining to hear more.

“The Princess is naive,” Aulbry continued, his voice dismissive. “She will remain loyal to her husband, and in doing so, unwittingly secure our advantage. The General will fall, and the balance of power will tip in France’s favor.”

Rage and disbelief surged through you. Your father had orchestrated this marriage not for peace but for manipulation. He intended to exploit Anakin, to shatter the fragile truce between England and France. And you—his own daughter—were nothing more than a tool in his game.

Your fingers curled into fists as you stepped away from the door, your mind racing. You needed to see the letter.

Later that night, when the castle had grown still, you slipped into Count Aulbry’s chambers. The door creaked faintly as you pushed it open, and the faint scent of ink and parchment filled the air. His desk was cluttered with maps and letters, but it didn’t take long to find the one bearing your father’s seal.

Your hands trembled as you unrolled the parchment.

To Count Aulbry,

The treaty is a foundation upon which we will build our triumph. Skywalker is a formidable opponent, but even he cannot fight battles on two fronts. Scotland will drain their resources, and when the time is right, our forces will strike England's weakened strongholds. The Barbarian leader of Scotland will keep him occupied and the crown made sure to pay her allies handsomely. He must never know of the alliance or the possibility of his rallying with the General is great.  

The Princess must remain unaware of our intentions. Her loyalty to her husband will be our greatest asset. Continue to monitor the situation and ensure the plan proceeds without deviation. 

IV LE BEL 

The words blurred as tears pricked your eyes. Your father had betrayed not only Anakin but you as well. This wasn’t peace—it was deceit.

You rolled the letter carefully and tucked it into your gown. What should you do? The question loomed large, its weight almost unbearable. Anakin—cold as he often was toward you—deserved to know the truth. But could you trust him with it? Could you trust anyone?

For now, you decided, this secret would remain yours alone. The risk was too great, the stakes too high. You couldn’t act without a plan, and the tangled web of politics and betrayal demanded caution.

Slipping back into your chambers, you locked the door and leaned against it, your heart pounding. You pulled out the letter once more, reading it under the dim light of a candle.

The game your father played was dangerous, and you were caught in the center of it. But you were no longer the naive pawn Aulbry believed you to be.

You folded the letter carefully, tucking it away in a hidden compartment of your desk. The weight of what you knew settled heavily on your shoulders, but resolve burned in your chest.

For now, you would watch, listen, and wait. If your father sought to use you as a weapon, he had underestimated the strength of the blade.

The night stretched long, cloaked in restless silence. The world seemed to hold its breath, and in the stillness, two hearts, separated by miles of cold earth and bloodied battlefields, beat in unison, tethered by invisible threads.

Anakin lay stiff on the hard cot in his tent, the air thick with the mingling scents of sweat, damp earth, and the smoldering embers of campfires. His armor, dented and streaked with the grime of war, rested against the far wall, catching the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the canvas. He drifted into sleep slowly, unwillingly, his mind clawing at the waking world before giving way to exhaustion.

The dream came quickly.

He stood amidst a battlefield that was no longer a battlefield. The ground beneath his feet shifted from mud soaked in blood to the cold stone floors of a cathedral. The air smelled of iron and incense. Church bells rang out, their mournful tones blending with the distant wails of the wounded. Above him, stained glass windows cast fractured light across the ground, painting his armor in hues of crimson and gold.

Vultures perched on the rafters, their beady eyes gleaming, watching, waiting. Anakin’s hand moved instinctively to the hilt of his sword, but when he looked down, he found it missing.

Ahead, you appeared, standing at the altar. Your hands were folded, your figure bathed in an otherworldly glow. The softness of your gaze contrasted sharply with the jagged edges of this warped place.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice hollow, reverberating off the cathedral walls.

“I am always here,” you replied, stepping closer.

As you moved, the cathedral twisted again. The stained glass shattered, raining shards that dissolved before they touched the ground. The bells grew louder, their toll turning into the shriek of metal clashing. He reached out to you, but the space between you stretched impossibly far.

The vultures swooped down, their forms changing mid-flight into soldiers with faces he recognized—brothers, enemies, and ghosts of his past. They surrounded him, their hands grasping, pulling him back.

“Anakin!” you called, your voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. He roared your name in return, fighting to reach you, but his hands closed around nothing but smoke.

When he woke, the air in his tent was frigid. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, and his heart thundered against his ribs. The moonlight cast long shadows across the canvas walls, their shifting forms reminding him too much of the dream.

He sat up, his hand brushing against the small leather notebook he had tucked beneath his pillow. It was your notebook, left behind on your desk the day he departed. He had taken it without thinking, intending to use it to record military strategies, but instead, it had become something else entirely.

Anakin lit a lantern and opened the notebook, staring at the blank page before him. His fingers hesitated, the pen hovering over the paper. What could he say? How could he name this ache, this pull toward you that he neither understood nor welcomed?

Finally, the words came, spilling out in raw, uneven lines.

"Enemies can shapeshift from slaughterhouses to cathedrals, Ringing with church bells, echoing with wails, filled with vultures. But your face remains, unyielding against the storm, A light in a place where light was never meant to be."

He stared at the words for a long time before closing the notebook. The night stretched on, but sleep did not return.

Back at the castle, the world was no kinder to you. The wind howled outside the tower walls, and the fire in the hearth struggled against the cold. You stood before your easel, the unfinished painting of Anakin dominating your vision.

The brush trembled in your hand as you tried to capture his likeness. His eyes—those piercing, unreadable eyes—remained the most elusive. Every stroke felt wrong, every attempt at completing them futile.

Your dreams had been plagued by him again. You had seen him standing on a battlefield, surrounded by shadowed figures. He was reaching for you, his expression torn between rage and despair. You had called out to him, but the storm had swallowed your voice.

Now, as you stared at the canvas, the memory of the dream lingered. He had appeared vulnerable, stripped of the cold armor he wore in his waking hours. You hated him for the way he made you feel—this unbearable longing, this ache that twisted in your chest.

And yet, you painted. Stroke by stroke, you poured your anger, your yearning, your confusion into the image of him. When exhaustion finally claimed you, the painting was still unfinished, his eyes nothing more than shadowed outlines.

In the quiet of the castle, as the fire died and the wind stilled, the two of you, separated by miles, carried the weight of unspoken words and unacknowledged truths, dreaming of each other in the silence.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

The vultures cry where the church bells toll, 

Between slaughtered earth and a fractured soul. 

Smoke rises where roses should bloom, 

A battlefield cursed, a cathedral’s tomb.

[superiorsturgeon]

Some Time Alone

Rusted Knight DILF Jaune: *removes his helmet and reveals his face to RWBY* Hey guys! 😁

RWBY: 😧

Ruby: Jaune! What happened to you?

Blake: How did you become the Rusted Knight?

Yang: Why do you look so…

Weiss: Mature~! 😍

Jaune: Well, it’s a long story. Let me tell it to you while we walk back to my house!

At Jaune’s house…

Jaune: …and I spent the next few decades waiting for you to arrive! 😁

Yang: You’re honestly a lot happier about all of this than I would’ve thought.

Jaune: Well, it’s been a long time to wait, but hey, at least I have Pyrrha here to keep me company, so I’m actually doing great! 🥰

RWBY: ?!

Ruby: Oh no…Jaune’s losing his mind…!

Weiss: He must be seeing things! Pyrrha died back at Beacon!

Blake: Poor Jaune…

Yang: Uh…Jaune, you know that Pyrrha’s not-

????: …Jaune? Are you coming to bed or not? I’m waiting~! 💕

Ruby: Who’s that?

Tarnished Spartan MILF Pyrrha: *steps out of bedroom in her bathrobe and pushes a gray-streaked lock of hair back* Jaune, who are you talking to-Oh! Hello again!

RWBY: 😱

Weiss: MATURE!! 😳

Jaune: 😊

[rumpelree]

💕Made a 1973 Mrs.Afton design and drew some doodles!! Forgot to give William his gray hair streak but oh well

Decided to make her naturally be a redhead and she just dyes her hair blonde later, because William prefers blonde (I wonder why…haha. Henry. Cough. COUGH.)

Also obligatorily mentioning this though I’m sure I have before but, she isn’t Michael’s bio mom in my AU, though she becomes mom to him very quickly all the same. In 1973 when William meets her for the first time, Michael is already 5 :3

[sinful-lanterns]

*slams hands on the table* Older women are the best, just consider their s/o being a young, sweet things that don't let them out of bed before they are satisfied. I would chortle if Langley/Garofano/Adela (consider her white streak in her hair as her goingg gray) would just lie on the bed breathlessly while we stare down at them, lovestruck, and dive down to finish them and they just try to push our head away because they're so sensitive.

If i ever get my hands on one of them they will experience the most mindshattering bed experience ever. When I'm done with them they will be shooting blanks.

THESE POOR OLDER WOMEN ANON 😭😭

Their bones are practically aching from just existing, imagine them having to deal with their much younger, much enthusiastic girlfriend too as she rides them like a rollercoaster. Langley, Garofano, and even Adela are left gasping for air, panting as their poor legs are shaking from the overstimulation of your body eagerly swallowing theirs.

They miiiiight pass out mid-way through sex, but honestly they don’t mind it. They just need a quick Power Nap before proceeding the next round of satisfying their younger gf 💕

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Thank you so much for the response and I'm so glad you're doing well! With that said, I'd love to send in a romantic matchup request for Hobbit & LOTR, if that's alright.

I'm tall 5"9, she/her, 20. I'd like to be paired up with a male character. Personality-wise I am described as ambitious, resourceful, adaptable and very stubborn. I'm a lone wolf to the core and independent for it, I don't feel much comfort in asking help of others or relying on someone. Although I can yap a lot when I'm really close to someone and we're talking about something interesting or about something I'm passionate about. I'm not the best when it comes to emotions or physical displays of affection.

I love reading books and I love to learn in general - new hobbies, skills, about history..etc. Specifically, my favourite books are Game of Thrones series(and Tolkien books ofc). Favourite animal is a dragon. My other hobbies are art and writing and a bit of calligraphy and I have a hobby of collecting pretty rocks. My aesthetic would be a mix of dark academia+medieval themes, medieval royalty type of thing. For looks- I already said I'm quite tall, besides that I have brown eyes, glasses and really long brown hair with white streaks (grays- *couGh*) that I love to braid now and then, I'm pretty athletic and have some curves. I also have a lot of beauty marks everywhere.

That's it, I tried to keep it short so I hope it's alright :'D thank you sm for your time 💕

-🔶🐉

HI! I'm sorry this is a tad late! Thank you for your request! <3333

I hope you enjoy your matchups!

Romantic Matchups; The Hobbit and The Lord Of The Rings

~~~ Romantic;

~~~

The Hobbit;

Thranduil -

You meet Thranduil during a formal event at his halls in Mirkwood. Perhaps you’re there as an emissary, or he takes an interest in your scholarly pursuits and invites you to his court.

Either way, that was where you officially met.

Your keen interest in history and your medieval royal aesthetic catch his eye.

He might initially seem cold and aloof, his gaze assessing. However, your passion for learning and dragons manages to spark genuine interest.

Perhaps one day he'll tell you about his scars.

A conversation about ancient lore or your rock collection would slowly soften his demeanor.

Thranduil respects independence and strength, qualities he sees in you. He admires how you carry yourself, blending elegance and strength.

He doesn’t push you to rely on him but creates opportunities to share knowledge and experiences, such as inviting you to study the Elven archives or learn about the treasures in his halls.

Your stubbornness and his regal pride occasionally lead to playful clashes of wit, but he secretly enjoys your ability to stand your ground.

Sometimes there are fights, but they are quickly resolved.

The friendship grows through late-night discussions in the grand halls, where you both talk about ancient tales, compare aesthetics, and admire each other’s intellect.

Thranduil is cautious with his emotions but finds himself charmed.

He notices the way you light up when speaking about topics you’re passionate about, and though he doesn’t show it openly, his heart warms when you talk animatedly about a book your read or show him your latest pretty rock find.

His subtle gestures - like gifting you rare stones or books on lore he thinks you’d appreciate - are how he begins to express his affection.

Thranduil is a king, so romance with him is grand but restrained. Expect quiet, meaningful moments rather than overt public displays of affection.

He’d braid a strand of your long hair, intertwining it with silver and jewels as a sign of his affection, especially when you mention how much you love braiding.

You can braid his hair too :)

He tells you how your beauty marks are like stars.

One of Thranduil’s love languages is quality time. He’d invite you to stroll through the starlit woods of Mirkwood, discussing ancient lore and admiring the natural beauty surrounding you.

Spend hours reading ancient texts in the royal library. He’d sit across from you, his piercing gaze occasionally wandering to admire your focus.

He’d teach you calligraphy using Elven techniques, his hands guiding yours if needed.

Don't even get me started on the clothing he would get made for you.

He’d personally train you in swordsmanship or archery, wanting you to feel capable and secure in dangerous times.

You are there when Thranduil is feeling down, lending an ear, and making sure he is alright.

If you need time alone, his is willing to leave the room, but before, he makes sure you have everything you need.

Staying up late to watch the stars together.

~~~

The Lord Of The Rings;

Haldir -

You meet Haldir while wandering in Lothlórien, drawn to its beauty and mystery.

Perhaps you were studying Elven culture or merely passing through.

As the watchful Marchwarden, he is the first to spot you, his sharp gaze cautious. However, he notices your graceful demeanor and admires your respectful curiosity about the land.

Your shared appreciation for history and knowledge sparks a tentative connection. He finds your dragon fascination peculiar but endearing and might tease you about it gently.

Haldir appreciates your independence and shares your love of deep, meaningful conversations.

You bond over late-night walks through Lórien’s golden woods, where you exchange tales and philosophies.

He values your adaptability and ability to hold your own in a conversation. You’d earn his respect through your wit and determination.

Though reserved, Haldir begins to open up as he recognizes your loyalty and willingness to be there for him without smothering his space.

He needs space too sometimes.

Haldir is hesitant to express romantic interest, but he notices small things about you - the way your hair shines in the moonlight, the conviction in your voice when speaking passionately, and the delicate care you put into braiding your hair.

His affection is shown through actions rather than words: guarding your favorite spots, teaching you about the flora and fauna of Lórien, and leaving small tokens like pressed flowers for you to find around your room.

Haldir’s romance is understated but deeply meaningful.

He’d show you how to handle an Elven bow, his hands lightly brushing yours, though he’d hide his flustered expression behind his calm demeanor.

Share quiet evenings reading together. He’d help translate Elven texts for you and take pride in your eagerness to learn.

Haldir teaches you elvish, falling deeper in love with you as you try and pronounce a word or two perfectly.

Playfully argue about tactics and strategies, whether in combat or games. He enjoys the intellectual challenge and seeing your fiery stubbornness.

Carve a small wooden dragon for you, his attempt at combining his skill with your passion.

You share your artistic talents by drawing landscapes of Lórien or even sketching him while he’s unaware.

You encourage him to relax and enjoy life’s simple pleasures, like admiring the beauty of a sunrise or sitting quietly in nature.

Be his confidante, providing a safe space for him to express vulnerabilities he’d never show to others.

Braiding each other's hair, the courting has begun.

[hjarta]

going to a gay friendly salon really hits different because my hairdresser complimented the gray streak i have in my hair 😭💕

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

I’d like to request a boyfriends dad fic where reader is on vacation with their family and Joel gets handsy with her but she convinces herself it’s okay. Then when her boyfriends ditches her Joel fucks her. Bonus points if boyfriend comes back super drunk while Joel is fucking reader and Joel just puts his hand over her mouth and continues fucjing her and bf passes by them but doesn’t notice 🤷🏻‍♀️

Just some thots…if it inspires you a fic/Drabble would be awesome

I may have....gotten carried away with this one.

title: karma is my boyfriend's dad

pairing: boyfriend's dad!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6588

summary:

Your boyfriend, Sean Miller, is an asshole. The one redeeming thing about him?

His dad, Joel Miller.

And he's just invited you along on the family vacation to Panama City Beach, Florida.

author’s note: thank you for the request!! this was a fun one. my 1000 follower mark is quickly approaching and i cant wait to do something fun for it! thank you for all your support and love so far 💕

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, alternate universe - boyfriend’s dad, age difference (21F and 56M), power imbalance dynamics, infidelity, asshole boyfriend, alcohol use, sunscreen as a flirting mechanism, reader wearing a bathing suit, touching in public, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, almost getting caught, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), thigh riding, sex against a door. let me know if any are missing!

Sean Miller is a shitty boyfriend. He constantly ditches you to hang out with his frat brothers, he’s left you at parties by yourself, he’s forgotten birthdays and anniversaries and, to top it all off, he’s never made you come. You’ve been with the guy for two years and not a single orgasm in all that time. 

You deserve better. You deserve orgasms. 

The only redeeming thing about Sean is his dad, Joel Miller.

Joel is the textbook definition of a DILF. He’s tall and broad with dark curly hair streaked with gray and kind brown eyes. Even approaching the upper fifties in age, he’s built like a tank. Wide shoulders and biceps that stretch his flannel shirts to the point where you’ll sometimes sit there willing a thread to pop, his thick thighs and a tight ass always hugged by the most sinful pair of Levi’s. 

But besides looking like sin, Joel is kind. There’s been more than one occasion where Sean had forgotten your plans, leaving you waiting at his house where he still lives with his dad and Joel would always take pity on you and invite you to watch a movie with him, the two of you sitting on opposite sides of the couch while he played a comedy to cheer you up. On your birthday, he sent you a Starbucks gift card and a text when his own son didn’t even remember. When you would update him on how school was going, he’d always pat your shoulder and say, “‘Atta girl.” 

That last memory in particular always makes your tummy erupt with butterflies.

In the last few months, things with Sean have been especially strained. He’s started hiding his phone from you, flipping the screen face down anytime you’re within arms reach of him. On the rare nights he spends at your apartment, he’ll get calls that he insists on taking privately.

Honestly, you were more than ready to end it before Joel caught you in his kitchen one day and asked if you wanted to come with him and Sean on their vacation to Panama City Beach.

“Really? I thought this was supposed to be, like, a guy’s trip?” You ask. You stayed the night last night and Sean was still asleep, always one to sleep until noon if given the opportunity. Joel is making coffee while you sit at the bar.

Joel shrugs. “I’m sure he’d want his girl there. You two can party and leave the old man behind for his bedtime,” he says with a playful smile that makes your heart flutter. 

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Miller, but there’s no way I can afford a ticket to Florida right now.” You reach for the cup he offers, only for him to pull it back out of reach.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover everythin’,” he replies. “Say yes and you can have your coffee.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to be a burden.”

Joel’s fingers brush against yours as he hands you your warm mug. A shiver runs down your spine at the contact.

“I’m positive, darlin’.”

________

Joel knows that his son treats you like shit, and he fucking hates it. He’s tried to talk some sense into the kid but all his wisdom just goes in one ear and out the other. He has to pretend that he doesn’t hear him bringing other girls over and it eats him up inside because he wants you to know, wants you to have better, but if he tells you, he’s severing the one tie he has to you and what then? He’s fifty-six, over thirty years your senior. He’s lived over two lifetimes in the course of your one. There’s no way in hell you’d look at him twice, and that’s not even including the fact that he’s your boyfriend’s dad.

Joel’s not sure what possessed him to invite you on vacation. You’re right, it was supposed to be a guy’s trip, a gift from Joel to Sean for his twenty-first birthday that was unfortunately right in the middle of his finals. He knows damn well Sean is, in fact, not going to be happy that you’ve been invited along. He’s certain the younger man fully intended to turn his hotel room into a revolving door for women he picked up at the bars along the beach, one time flings he could write off before returning home to a sure thing.

He tells Sean about the change of plans that evening over dinner. His son whines petulantly, slamming his fork down on the table.

“Dad, seriously? Why the fuck would you invite her, this is gonna ruin everything,” he says. 

“Shouldn’t be talkin’ ‘bout your girlfriend like that,” Joel admonishes. Sean rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t even put out anymore, I don’t even know why I keep her around. I should just break up with her before the trip.”

Joel’s jaw clenches with frustration. “I already bought her ticket. She’s comin’ whether you like it or not and that’s final.”

“Fuck this shit,” Sean says, chair scraping across the floor as he stands. “Whatever. Won’t stop me from having a good time.”

Joel’s counting on it.

________

Joel and Sean pick you up from your apartment at 4 am for the 7 am flight to Florida. Your boyfriend is passed out in the front passenger seat, but Joel shakes him awake and tells him to get in the back. The younger man grumbles but does as he’s told while Joel helps you load your luggage into the bed of the truck. The trip will last four days, so you’ve squeezed everything into a single carry on and your backpack. 

After all, it’s Florida. You plan on spending every day in a bikini.

Sean passes back out as you settle in his vacated seat, placing your travel mug of coffee in the cup holder besides Joel’s. He gives you a polite smile as he puts the truck in reverse, placing his arm on the back of the seat and twisting to look out the rear window, his other hand deftly turning the wheel. 

You can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, your core already aching at his proximity. 

You’re in for a long four days.

_______

The three of you make it through airport security quickly, the early hour lending some reprieve from the crowds. 

“Why is this flight so fucking early?” Sean grouses, slumped in one of the uncomfortable terminal seats. 

“Did you want more or less time in Florida?” Joel replies, flipping through his newspaper.

“Whatever,” Sean replies with a roll of his eyes, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up and burrowing into it.

You return from your quest for breakfast at that moment, a white paper bag in your hands and a bright smile on your face as you sit between the two men.

“I got you a bagel,” you say to Joel, pulling a plain bagel wrapped in wax paper from the bag.

“You get me anything?” Sean asks, peeking from beneath his hood. Your shoulders drop.

“Oh…no. You don’t usually eat breakfast,” you reply. Sean groans. “We can share mine?” You offer.

“No, it’s fine, whatever. Thanks for thinking of me.”

Joel’s brow pinches in irritation, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he watches your smile fade into a frown as you look at the bag in your hands. He nudges you with his shoulder.

“Hey, I appreciate it,” he tells you quietly. You give him a tentative smile.

He misses the bright one.

________

“I call window,” Sean says when the three of you have boarded the plane, flopping into the seat after haphazardly tossing his bag into an overhead compartment without waiting for a reply. 

Joel fixes his son’s bag before settling his own beside it and turning to hold a hand out for yours. You hand your duffel over to him with a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Which seat do you want, darlin’?” Joel asks you.

“I can sit in the middle,” you offer, scooching past him in the tight space. Your back brushes his chest and he catches a whiff of your strawberry shampoo, the scent making his mouth water.

He sits beside you, tucking his backpack beneath the seat in front of him. Your thigh brushes his as you get comfortable in your seat, the row a tight squeeze for the three of you. 

“How long is this flight?” You ask, pulling a pair of headphones from your backpack. Sean’s already unconscious again, his head tilted against the window and his mouth open in a snore.

“‘Bout two hours,” Joel says. You nod, shifting in your seat again. Your shoulders knock into his when you do, and you give him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. Tight fit,” you tell him. He swallows around the lump in his throat.

He can think of something else that would be a tight fit.

The flight attendants go through their pre-flight duties and take-off occurs without any issue. When they give the green light to use electronics, you pull out your phone, cursing when the screen remains black even as you hit the power button.

“My phone died,” you explain. He smiles sympathetically.

“You wanna watch a movie on mine? I downloaded a couple,” he offers.

“Sure. We can share my headphones?”

“Good idea.”

Joel plugs your headphones into the jack on his phone and passes you the right earbud before sticking the left one in his own ear. He queues up a movie, some action film called Triple Frontier that seemed interesting based on the synopsis, and holds the phone on his lap. You lean into him, that strawberry scent settling over him once again.

You keep fidgeting in your seat, twisting and readjusting your upper body against the arm rest between your seats. After the third time, he reaches down and flips it up, your body slumping closer to his. When he looks down at you, your face is tilted up towards his and he has to concentrate very hard to keep his gaze trained on your eyes. 

“Thanks,” you whisper before returning your attention to the movie. “Hey, that guy kinda looks like you.”

________

The flight passes quickly, much to Joel’s dismay. He would have liked to keep sitting pressed up beside you for longer. 

At the car rental facility, Joel gets handed the keys to a Jeep Wrangler. Sean’s eyes light up when he sees it.

“Can I drive?” He asks. 

Joel sighs. “Fine, just be careful would ya?”

Sean lowers the soft top before hopping in the driver’s seat. Joel insists that you sit in the front passenger, because he’s a gentleman, but he quickly regrets the choice.

With the top down and the music blaring, Sean is in a relatively good mood. He’s smiling at you and even reaches over to grab your hand, pulling it towards him to press a kiss to the back of it. Joel can feel the tug of jealousy in his gut as he watches you smile back at him but there’s nothing that he can do about that.

After all, you’re Sean’s girl.

And he’s just going to have to live with that.

________

Sean is standing behind you with his hands on your hips, lips trailing kisses along the exposed skin of your shoulder in your tank top while Joel is speaking with the hotel clerk, checking into the rooms. You squirm away from Sean’s attention, the man dropping his hands from you and frowning.

“Why are you being such a prude?” He snaps. 

“I’m not being a prude,” you say with a sigh. “Your dad is right there.”

He tries to pull you back towards him with an arm around your waist. “Come on, babe. He’s probably already heard you moaning my name,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Not likely, you think. 

“I just don’t think it’s appropriate.” You step out of his grasp again as Joel approaches, holding three key cards.

“Room 102 for the two of you,” he says, handing two of the cards to Sean. “And I’m in 104, if y’all need anything.”

“Great,” Sean says, grabbing your hand. “Come on, let’s go put our stuff away.”

You trail behind Sean, but can’t help looking back at Joel.

You’re surprised to find his dark gaze already fixed on you.

________

“Come on, let’s go find a bar,” Sean whines. You’ve just left the bathroom after changing out of your travel outfit of leggings and into a bikini and a sheer cover-up dress.

“It’s so early. I highly doubt there are any bars open. Besides, I need to charge my phone,” you tell him, packing a tote bag with your sunscreen, a book, your copy of the room key, and your sunglasses. “Why don’t we go to the pool?”

“It’s PCB, babe, there’s bound to be a bar open,” Sean says with a roll of his eyes. “But if you wanna be boring then by all means, go to the pool.”

You sigh. “You do whatever you want, Sean.”

He grabs his wallet from the nightstand, shoving it into his pocket. “Fine. I will. Come find me when you’re done being such a fucking bitch.”

The door slams behind him as he leaves, the sudden noise making you jump in surprise.

You can’t even find it in yourself to be upset.

________

Joel’s just opening the door to his room when he hears his son’s raised voice across the hall. He freezes, the door half open as he listens.

“Fine. I will. Come find me when you’re done being a fucking bitch,” Sean says before slamming the door. 

Anger courses through Joel’s veins as he listens to his son’s heavy footsteps echo down the hall. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, before opening the door fully and crossing the hall to knock on your door.

When you open the door, you look surprised to see him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Joel has to make a conscious effort to not let his eyes wander your body. He can see the neon pink strings of your bikini tied around your neck and god does he want to see more.

He clears his throat. “Hey. Everythin’ alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. I was just about to go to the pool,” you tell him.

“I’ll come with you,” Joel immediately offers without thinking.

“If you’re sure. I don’t want to get in the way of any plans you had, Mr. Miller,” you mutter.

“I’m sure.”

________

Joel sets some hotel towels on loungers positioned beside each other on a sunny part of the pool deck. The pool is fairly busy and to your surprise there’s a live DJ and a bartender is already making a steady flow of drinks behind the poolside bar. The pool itself is huge and even boasts its own lazy river that you’re looking forward to floating down.

Your attention is dragged to Joel once more as he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it up. Your mouth goes dry as you watch his back muscles work, rippling beneath miles of tan skin that you want to trace with your fingertips. 

You shake your head free of thought and remove your coverup while his back is still turned, stuffing it into your tote bag you’ve dropped beside the lounger. You pull out your sunscreen and sunglasses, slipping them over your eyes to combat the harsh Florida sun.

When you look up, you’re surprised to find Joel already watching you, gaze fixed squarely on your chest. You clear your throat, wiggling the sunscreen bottle at him.

“You want me to get your back?” You offer. 

“Sure. Thanks,” he replies, voice rough. You have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together for relief from the ache between them, your brain conjuring scenarios of that deep timbre in your ear telling you how good you feel around him. 

He sits on the lounger with his back to you, waiting for your next move. You squirt some sunscreen into your palm, rubbing your hands together before smoothing it across his back. His shoulders tense briefly at the first touch of your hands before he goes lax against you, his head dropping as you smooth the lotion on him.

You get lost in the feeling of his skin beneath your fingertips as you drag your hands over the broad muscles of his back and shoulders and down his spine. In a moment of bravery, or stupidity, you let your fingers drag the tiniest bit beneath the elastic of his navy swim shorts, just enough that it could be passed off as an honest mistake. 

When you’re finished, you hand the bottle to him over his shoulder. He takes it silently, lathering the rest of his body while you adjust your lounger flat and lay face down. You reach behind your back, tugging at the strings of your bikini until they fall to the side.

“Could you do me next?” 

________

Joel takes a seat on the lounger, his hips brushing yours. He’s hard as a fucking rock in his swim shorts, has been from the moment you opened your hotel door wearing your sheer coverup, pink bikini taunting him beneath.

It was a stupid fucking idea to ask you to come to the pool with him. He was clearly thinking with the head in his pants and not the one on his shoulders because he didn’t stop to consider that he’d be getting a front seat to the soft skin of your thighs and tummy, the curve of your waist and ass and breasts on full display for him to commit to memory. 

And now you were asking him to touch you. Giving him permission to have his hands on the same flesh he imagines when he’s gripping his cock roughly in his palm and chasing an orgasm that offers hardly any relief. 

He swallows nervously before uncapping the sunscreen and squirting it directly on your back. You give a little yelp of surprise, the lotion no doubt unexpectedly cold, but you settle back down when he smooths a palm across your back. 

You’ve untied the strings of your top, leaving him with no obstacles as he works the lotion into your skin. He loses himself in the repetitive motion, smoothing his hands across your shoulders and down your spine like you had done to him. He lets his thumbs press into the divot of your lower back, fighting the urge to drag them beneath the scant bit of fabric covering your ass.

As he finishes, he drags his hands back up your sides, his fingertips dragging across the soft skin of the exposed sides of your breasts. He feels the hitch in your breathing as he does and he worries for a moment that perhaps he’s gone too far. 

“Thanks,” you say, voice breathy. “Would you mind getting my legs for me? I don’t want to get up.”

Joel thinks he should mind. He should absolutely mind being asked by his son’s girlfriend to rub lotion into her back and legs. The action is too intimate, it’s crossing a line and he knows this.

He just can’t bring himself to give a fuck anymore. 

Wordlessly, Joel squirts some more sunscreen into his palm, this time warming it between his hands before smoothing it on your legs, starting with your calves. He slides his palms up your legs, high enough that his fingertips brush the crease where the curve of your ass meets your thigh. Your legs spread just the slightest bit and Joel lets his thumbs drift toward your inner thighs.

He’s playing with fire now as he presses his thumbs deeper, higher, the tip of one even grazing your bikini bottoms. He desperately wants to slide it beneath the elastic, to drag his thumb through your slit and find out if you’re wet just from the touch of his hands.

But Joel pulls his hands away and stands, moving over to his own lounger and laying facedown on the towel covered cushion. His dick presses uncomfortably into his thigh and he uses that discomfort as a means to will the hardness away.

He’s in for a long four days.

________

Your pool day with Joel runs from the early morning to the late afternoon. Neither of you hear from Sean during that time, but you can’t find it in yourself to be bothered. Not when Joel Miller is sitting beside you in an inner tube, floating down a lazy river as you talk about everything and nothing, drops of water clinging to his skin and catching the light. You could stay in a moment like this forever so long as he’s there, too.

As the intensity of the sun starts to wane, Joel suggests finding somewhere to get dinner.

“Pick somewhere nice, though. My treat,” he says as you’re parting ways at your hotel room doors. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, shutting his door and leaving you smiling in the hallway like a girl with a crush.

You let yourself into your hotel room, not surprised to find it empty. Your phone is still sitting on the charger with no new notifications. The part of you that’s been in a relationship with Sean Miller for two years feels a pang of sadness at your boyfriend’s silence.

The part that wants to fuck his dad doesn’t give a shit.

You shower and change into a sundress before slipping your sandals back on. Checking the time, you grab your bag and head to the lobby to meet up with Joel.

Joel’s already in the lobby, leaning against the wall near the exit and scrolling through his phone. He’s wearing a light blue short sleeve button down that hugs his biceps deliciously, the tan of his skin popping against the fabric, his usual boots, and khakis. You were almost certain this man didn’t own anything besides perfectly broken in Wranglers. His hair is combed back, still damp from his shower, and he looks so good you have to consciously stop your jaw from dropping.

“Hey, you pick a place?” Joel asks as you approach, slipping his phone into the pocket of his pants. 

“There’s an oyster bar nearby that looks good,” you reply. He holds the door open for you, broad palm ghosting across your low back as you exit the cool hotel lobby and out into the hot Florida night. The traffic on the sidewalk is thick, people moving like the nearby ocean as they ebb and flow from place to place. 

“You hear from Sean at all?” Joel asks as you navigate the crowds, his arm brushing yours as he sticks close to your side. You shake your head and Joel sighs. “I’m sorry. I love the kid, I do, but goddamn if he doesn’t piss me off sometimes.”

You sigh. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Miller. You don’t have to apologize for him.”

You’re both quiet after that. You don’t know what’s going through Joel’s head as you sneak a glance at him and catch only his furrowed brow and tense jaw. 

You nearly pass the restaurant in your distraction, but Joel catches you by the arm, tugging you with him to the entrance.

It’s a cute little bar and restaurant, the kind of place that’s cozy without being horribly cramped. The lighting is dim and booths line the walls while tables sit in the middle, candles flickering and casting shadows on the walls and across the white tablecloths. 

The hostess seats you at one of the booths, tucked away in the corner. You sit across from Joel, setting your bag beside you after digging your phone out from it. When the waitress walks away without leaving menus, Joel looks adorably confused. 

“You have to use your phone,” you tell him with a giggle. “They have the QR code menus.”

“I’m gettin’ too old for this shit,” Joel complains. You roll your eyes, standing and moving over to his side of the booth, settling beside him. His thigh presses to yours and you’re acutely aware of the contact as you lean close to share your phone screen with him. 

When the waitress returns, you place your drink and food orders. Joel opts for whiskey, neat, and a medium rare steak because you can take the man out of Texas but you can’t take Texas out of the man. You order a spicy pineapple margarita and a plate of herb crusted oysters.

You should probably move back over to the other side of the booth, but you don’t want to. The feel of his body pressed to yours lights up your nerve endings in an unfamiliar way, his clean woodsy smell settling over you like a comforting blanket. He doesn’t say anything about how you remain seated next to him, just turns his head to talk to you.

The drinks arrive first. The sour tang of the pineapple makes your face pucker when you take a sip, making Joel laugh. You might be imagining it, but you think his gaze lingers on your lips for just a beat too long to be coincidence. You cross your legs beneath the table, squeezing your thighs together for some semblance of relief from the ache between your legs.

A second round of drinks is ordered and delivered while you talk about a TV show you both enjoy. This drink leaves you feeling pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. Joel makes a joke about one of the recent episodes and it makes you laugh so hard you’re leaning against him for support.

You place your hand on his thigh close to his knee. Joel tenses beside you but doesn’t say anything, his eyes dark over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. You can’t bring yourself to look away but you’re also frozen in place, not daring to drag your hand further up. The spell between you is broken when the waitress drops by with your trays of food, setting them on the table and walking away with a request for another round of drinks from Joel.

“These look amazing,” you say, squeezing lemon over them. Joel’s started to cut into his steak, inspecting the center and giving a tiny nod of approval that makes you smile. “Hey, did you know oysters are an aphrodisiac?”

Joel coughs on the piece of steak he’d been eating, reaching for his whiskey and tossing the rest back as he swallows. “They’re what now?”

________

“Aphrodisiacs. They increase your sex drive,” you say, your lips wrapping around the bite poised on your fork. Your eyes flutter shut as you let out a little moan of satisfaction. “God, these are better than sex.”

“Must not be havin’ very good sex, then,” Joel immediately responds without thinking. His hand freezes halfway between his plate and his mouth, his eyes going wide as his brain catches up to his mouth. “Sorry that...that wasn’t appropriate.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Miller,” you say, patting his knee. Your hand lingers there again, the second time this evening, and it makes Joel’s brain misfire. This whole dinner has been a test of his self-control and he is quickly fraying at the edges the longer you sit pressed beside him, that god forsaken strawberry scent flooding his senses. 

The waitress delivers the third round of drinks and your hand leaves his thigh to pick yours up and take a sip. His eyes track the way your lips wrap around the straw, mind wandering to something else he’d like to see them wrapped around.

He takes a sip of his own drink, letting the burn of the whiskey down his throat distract him. The third drink is making his mind spin, a voice in his head urging him to trace his fingers along the exposed skin of your thigh beneath the table. He sets his hand on his own thigh, casual as can be.

You’re telling Joel a story about the time a guy in one of your classes was so hungover he fell asleep in the middle of an exam but Joel can barely concentrate. His eyes keep lingering on your lips and trail lower, lower, lower, over the delicate line of your neck, the dip at the base of your throat, the swell of your breasts.

Joel stretches his pinky, the tip of his finger barely skimming the soft skin of your thigh. He watches your face for a reaction and finding none, he feels emboldened. He inches his hand closer, his ring finger joining his pinky in caressing you. 

He’s focused on your face, watching for any indication that you notice what he’s up to beneath the tablecloth. He holds his breath as his fingers dip beneath the hem of your dress. You stutter in your story, tripping over your words and Joel’s fingers pause in their exploration.

Joel shouldn’t be doing this. He should pull his hand back and forget any of this happened, forget the silky smooth feel of your skin beneath his fingers, forget the way your smile lit up your face as he floated down the lazy river beside you. 

Then you’re tilting your head, eyes boring into him like you can see right through him, see every depraved thought running through his head and your knee presses more tightly to his, your legs spreading beneath the table and Joel’s hand sliding to your inner thigh with the movement.

“Can I get y’all anything else?” 

Joel rips his hand from your leg and swallows guiltily as he looks up at the waitress standing beside the booth. You sit up straighter, your heat leaving his side and he curses the interruption.

Perhaps it was for the best, though. 

You’re still Sean’s girlfriend, after all. 

________

Your skin is buzzing with the liquor in your veins and the phantom feel of Joel’s touch on your thighs. The man is quiet on the walk back, brooding even. His brow is furrowed, jaw tense, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants like it’ll stop him from touching you again. 

The thought makes you downright giddy.

“Thanks for dinner, Mr. Miller,” you say as you stand in front of the doors of your respective rooms. 

He gives you a tight smile. “‘Course, darlin’. Have a good night,” he tells you before disappearing into his room, the heavy door shutting behind him and echoing in the hall. 

You swipe the key for your room, opening the door to find it still dark, everything the same as you left it. You drop your bag on one of the beds, pulling your phone out to check if you have any missed messages and finding none. 

The silence from Sean is the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.

You leave your room, crossing the hall to knock on Joel’s door. The man answers a moment later, already changed into a t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. 

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks, opening the door wider. 

“Left my key in the room,” you reply. “You mind if I stay with you for a bit?”

You can see the struggle flash across Joel’s brown eyes, but it’s just as quickly swallowed by a shade of lust that makes your breath hitch. 

“Sure, darlin’,” he finally says, stepping back and making room for you to cross the threshold. 

You turn to face him when the door shuts. You can’t tell who makes the first move, only that one moment you’re staring at each other and the next your body is being pulled against his, thick fingers digging into your hair and pulling your mouth to his in a bruising kiss.

He turns your bodies, your back hitting the door as his mouth continues to explore, his tongue dipping between your lips to tangle with yours. He tastes like whiskey and feels like sin, his broad body pressing against yours. Your arms wind around his shoulders, pulling him towards you desperately like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Fuck,” Joel groans against your mouth. “Been wantin’ to touch you so goddamn bad, you have no fuckin’ idea.”

His hands drag up your hips and over your waist, fabric of your dress bunching in his fists. He looks down between your bodies, watching as he slides a thick thigh between your legs, the sudden pressure against your sensitive core making you gasp. You rock against the hard muscle, unable to fight back a whimper at how good it feels.

“That feel good, baby?” Joel asks, lips close to your ear. “Come on, darlin’ move a little faster for me, that’s it.”

His hands grip your hips, urging your movements over his thigh. Your head tips back against the door with a thud as you gasp. His lips trail hot kisses across your jaw and neck, his teeth nipping at the skin just over your pulse point. One of his hands drags the strap of your dress down, exposing your breast to the cool air of the room, your nipples going tight with equal parts chill and anticipation. 

Joel rubs a thumb across the tight bud, almost reverently, before bringing his mouth to it, pulling it between his lips and swirling it with his tongue. The sensation makes your hips move faster over his thigh and you can feel how slick you are in your panties with each thrust.

“You have any idea,” Joel groans, other hand leaving your hip and ripping the opposite strap down so that he can give your nipple the same attention, “how fuckin’ hard it is, huh? To keep my fuckin’ head on straight when you walk around lookin’ like an angel that a devil like me don’t deserve?”

“Joel,” you moan, your chest heaving with strained breaths as just this man’s thigh brings you closer to relief than your boyfriend ever has. “Joel, please!”

“Please what, sweetheart? I’m already in this deep, you gotta know I’d give ya anythin’,” he says. “You wanna cum, baby? Wanna soak my thigh for me, get these pants all messy so that I can’t think of anythin’ but you when I gotta wear them for another three days?”

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, your orgasm cresting unexpectedly. Your legs clamp tight around his thigh, the aftershocks coursing through you with surprising ferocity. When your grip on him loosens, the man drops to his knees, looking up at you with a wicked gleam in his dark brown eyes.

“How’d that feel, baby?” He asks, running his hands up the outside of your legs until his fingertips find the elastic of your panties, easing the fabric down your thighs while he waits for a response.

“G-good,” you mumble, feeling a bit self-conscious in the aftermath. You’d just come from nothing but grinding against this man’s thigh for crying out loud. You reach up to fix your dress straps, but a pinch to your inner thigh has you yelping in surprise.

“Nuh uh, wanna see those gorgeous tits when I look up at you,” Joel admonishes. You can feel your cheeks heating, blood rushing to your face from just his words. 

He lifts your leg, draping it over his shoulder. The position leaves you a little off kilter, your hands landing on his head for balance.

“I’m gonna eat this pretty little pussy now, okay?” He says, rather than asks. He gives you no time to respond, leaning in to lick through your folds with a deep, satisfied groan. You cry out from the overstimulation to your sensitive clit, your fingers pulling against his hair. He hums, the vibrations pulsing through your bundle of nerves and making you damn near sob at the sensation.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” is all you can manage to say, a slur of his name as his tongue circles your clit and dips inside your entrance, messy slides of it through your folds as he drinks you up. You look down briefly, only to find him staring right back at you, his heated stare making your blood boil.

“Gimme one more, baby, and then I need to get you on my cock,” he groans before doubling his efforts, licking and sucking and nipping at your flesh until you’re sobbing out his name as you come for a second time. “Fuck, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls.

He stands, shoving his pajama pants down his thighs, his cock bobbing free. The thick length of it makes your mouth practically water as you watch him give it a few rough tugs. He smirks at you, reaching down to lift one of your legs, holding it up with the crook of his elbow at the back of your knee. The position leaves you spread wide for him as he takes his cock in his other hand, positioning the thick head at your soaked entrance.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands, the tip barely pushing inside of you. 

“I want this,” you repeat dutifully. He shakes his head.

“No, sweetheart. Wanna hear you say you want my cock.”

You whine, the sound damn near pitiful to your ears. “Please, Joel, I want your cock.”

“There’s my good girl,” he says with a smile, finally easing into you with a burning stretch that makes you gasp. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight.”

You moan as he bottoms out, hips pressing to yours. He kisses whatever skin he can reach as he gives you a moment to adjust before pulling out nearly all the way and thrusting sharply back inside, punching the air from your lungs as his cock drags against your g-spot with each thrust.

There’s a pounding at your back and a shout of your name, followed by, “Dad! Where the fuck is everyone?”

Your eyes go wide and Joel’s hips slow but to your shock, they don’t stop. He brings a hand to your jaw, fingers pressing to your cheek as he slips his thumb between your lips and shushes you.

“Haven’t seen her,” Joel shouts back, even as his eyes never leave yours. Your walls flutter around his cock as he continues to thrust, sharp but controlled so as not to make a lot of noise that can be heard on the other side of the door. “You should check the hotel bar. Said she might get some drinks there if you weren’t back when we finished dinner.”

“You guys went to dinner without me? That’s fuckin’ bullshit,” Sean whines. “Fine, whatever, I didn’t even want to see her anyways. Found me a blonde that I can bring back to the room instead.”

Joel’s eyes flash with rage and you shake your head gently. When Sean’s footsteps indicate he’s left, Joel’s hips resume a more punishing rhythm. He withdraws his thumb from your mouth as his hand slides lower, circling your throat possessively instead. You gasp, moaning loudly as your body relents to a third orgasm that leaves your vision fuzzy at the edges.

Joel’s own movements stutter before he’s pulling out, his cum splashing against your tummy as he grinds his cock against your hip, finishing with a gasp of your name.

You lean against him as you catch your breath, enjoying the feel of his hands smoothing over your hair.

“You okay?” He asks.

You grin at him. “Never been better, Mr. Miller.”

Sean may have found a blonde, but you’ve found your way into bed with his dad.

Karma’s funny like that.

Joel Miller taglist:

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727  @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo @bigboiseason123 @bean-is-reading @darlingpedro @silkiers @pascals-catt @bbyanarchist @therealcap @pedrosgrogu @Sadbloatedegg @dimitra300 @thesolarangell @pedrotonin @ievutebebee @peterrthree @worhols @lonesomecowboah @taraiel

Want more Joel Miller? Check out the master list.

[raelle-writing]

I’ve been seeing so many complaints about Jin not having enough backstory and that he’s too flat, and I’m curious to know your thoughts. I personally think he’s very developed and believe that a character should be able to stand by their current actions without needing flashbacks to explain them.

We know that he is a kind and gentle person who held (and still holds) idealistic notions, and that he effed up real bad with taking the video, and has been feeling guilty and haunted ever since. We know that he develops feelings deeply for people but always makes sure that they reciprocate. We know that he doesn’t like uncertainty when emotions are involved and wants clear communication and has a bit of a jealous streak. We know that when placed in physically dangerous situations, he will jump in immediately to defend and help people. We know that he loves photography and honestly a lot can be explained by his having an artistic soul.

I guess a recent example I’ve seen of a character that’s very developed with absolutely no flashback backstory is Tong’s character Hong from ManSuang. Obviously very different context and character but I loved how much we knew about his essence as a character and person without needing scenes about his childhood and how he grew up.

Anyway sorry for the length, and thank you for your wonderful DFF thoughts and analyses!

Thank you for sending this ask 💕 I've been thinking a lot about this too, honestly. I have some mixed, complex thoughts lol so let me try and explain them.

Firstly, I agree with you that we get a lot of Jin throughout his actions. I fully disagree with people who say that Jin is flat, or that he doesn't have impact on the narrative, or that he's a side character. Jin's always been a very central main piece of the plot. He's the everyman, reacting to the bullying the way most average people would. Acting selfishly and selflessly by turns. He's the catalyst that drove them into the woods. He's the only person who feels guilt and carries the weight of the past (among the bullies). He tries to be a good person, and fucks up bad by turns.

And as you said, we get tons of personality from Jin throughout his actions. He's naive and idealistic. He associates sex and feelings strongly. He falls hard and fast. He lives in a large house but clearly has no one checking on him when he comes home late or brings a boy over to stay the night. He shows signs of emotional neglect and unhealthy attachments. He has fits of anger which lead him to do bad things he feels awful about for years afterwards.

He calls himself a coward but when faced with a weapon he jumps in front of it to try and protect his friends.

There are a lot of shadows to his character that paint a full picture, to me. I don't find his character to be flat at all, in fact Jin is still one of my favorite characters because of all of this.

However, I do understand why people are disappointed. Because while we do see large pieces of Jin's character, when you compare him to characters like Non and Tee, where we see their home lives and motivations in detail, Jin definitely looks flat in comparison. I was also hoping that we'd get insight into Jin's home life and learn why he is the way he is, like we did with some of the others. And we didn't (and won't) get that. And that's definitely disappointing.

Especially since today, in a Space on Twitter, Sammon said she regrets not writing Jin in more detail and she views that as a failing. I think that's one reason people are being so negative about Jin's character right now.

BUT, I personally think people are entirely overblowing it all. Jin is a very interesting, complex, gray, sympathetic character in so many ways, even if we don't get that extra layer of depth. Especially given that one of the reasons we have less of Jin is because he does less terrible shit within the narrative as some of the others, I'm a bit 🤷🏻‍♀️ about it all.

Anyway! Thanks again for the ask, it was a good excuse for me to actually formulate my thoughts!

[imogenkol]

— WIP IT’S WEDNESDAY SOMEWHERE

tagged by @kyber-infinitygems @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @adelaidedrubman thank you! 💕

tag list (ask to be added or removed!): @florbelles @marivenah @simonxriley @shegetsburned @voidika @v0idbuggy @statichvm @aceghosts @jillvalentinesday @risingsh0t @unholymilf @thedeadthree @cassietrn @jackiesarch

cheating a little bit again because I have writers block and I’m trying to remedy that by reworking old writing (and also trying to refresh my love for said old writing) so hopefully ya’ll enjoy my two favorite werewolf siblings

Jayde waited in the rain for as long as she could before the beckoning warmth of the twenty-four hour diner across the street became too tempting to resist. It was worth the risk of getting recognized. All she wanted was to not be soaked to the bone like a sad mutt chained to the doghouse. And some damn coffee.

The dark, clouded sky gradually turned gray with an oncoming sunrise. Jayde sipped on the bitter liquid from the warm mug in her hands and stared out of the window beside her, watching the endless streaks of raindrops as they raced down the lightly fogged glass. Finally, she spotted a familiar pickup truck pull into the parking lot. Something bulky lay strapped in the bed, a blue tarp shielding it from the weather.

Skye stepped out of the truck once she parked. She was a fair bit shorter than her older sister with mossy green eyes instead of dark blue, but besides that, the two were unmistakable as siblings. They shared the same blonde hair and facial structure, though Jayde always thought Skye resembled their mother more. Or perhaps she secretly favored the idea of inheriting their father’s features. While they were similar in base appearance, the sisters differed in personality. Skye walked lightly, almost with a skip in her step, to mirror her bubbly attitude. She almost always had a small, arrogant smirk on her face like she understood a joke that everybody else didn’t. Most of the time she did.

She wore that exact smirk as she slid into the booth across from Jayde. “So, spill.”

“I got my ass beat, alright?” Jayde recalled in annoyance. “Wound up on lockdown in the local hospital, but I got out.”

“On your own…?” Skye clearly sensed that she left out important information.

Jayde sighed. For whatever reason, she didn’t want her to know about Nadya. Maybe because she knew her little sister would mercilessly make fun of her for it. “No, I had help.”

A waitress came by to offer Skye a menu and some coffee, which she eagerly accepted with a sarcastic comment about a bear doing its business in the woods that went over the poor old woman’s head. Once the now slightly perturbed waitress left, a moment of silence lingered between them until Skye held up her hands. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging.”

“There was a resident at the hospital,” Jayde complied hesitantly. “I convinced her to help me and she took me in while I recovered.”

“There it is,” Skye said triumphantly with a massive grin. Jayde rolled her eyes. “Is that whose scent is all over you? She smells nice, is she pretty, too?”

“None of your business.” She fixed the younger wolf with a warning glare. “Now, can I have my shit?”

“Geez, you’re no fun,” Skye complained.

“Skye, I have had a long couple of weeks,” Jayde told her in a scolding tone. “All I want is enough supplies to be on my way.”

“And where is that this time?” the younger sibling retorted with a sudden seriousness. “Am I gonna get another call in a month asking for more ammo? Or to bail you out of the slammer? Or how about a mental hospital? You haven’t got yourself fucked in one of those yet.”

“For your information,” Jayde started, a snarl nearly escaping her throat. “I’m gonna linger around here for a little while longer.”

Skye’s mossy eyes went wide with shock. “Really. You? The Lodge isn’t good enough, but this city is?”

Jayde was in no mood to have this argument with her for the tenth time. Nothing she could say would make Skye understand her reasons for staying away as long as she has.

“It’s not like that, I have to.”

“Why?” Skye prodded. “I would think you’d want to put as much distance between yourself and here as soon as you can.”

Jayde grinded her teeth. Skye wouldn’t let her deflect. She would also see right through any excuses and become even more pushy for an explanation. “I have to make sure the girl that helped me won’t be in any danger once I’m gone. She broke me out of the hospital and saved my life when everyone was calling me a terrorist. And she did it to protect people, so it’s not gonna sit well with me if something happens to her.”

“She broke you out?” Skye marveled in bewilderment, clearly impressed.

Jayde nodded. “Yes. I’ve been lying low at her place for the past week.”

“Damn, she’s ballsy,” Skye chuckled. “Or just really stupid.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jayde agreed with a small smile. “Trust me, it’s the former.”

“How are you gonna know if she’s safe or not?”

“I had her get a burner phone to call me if she needs help. That’s why I have to stay in the area until this blows over, I don’t want to be too late. Which reminds me, I need your phone.” Jayde held out her hand.

She scowled at her suspiciously. “Why mine?”

“‘Cause yours is the number I put in hers.” She motioned for her to surrender it. “You haven’t gotten any other calls besides me, right?”

“Why’d you give her my number?” Skye asked incredulously.

“Because mine’s gone, genius.”

“Then buy a new one, dumbass.”

Jayde sighed in exasperation. “It was easier to give her your number, now cough it up.”

Skye groaned dramatically and fished her phone out of one of her pockets. “Here.”

Jayde deftly caught the bright pink cellphone as her menace of a sister suddenly tossed it at her head and snickered at her disappointment. Supernatural reflexes had very little to do with the save, she had years of practice anticipating Skye’s antics. When Jayde looked down and saw the cheap Hello Kitty sticker stuck on the back, she glanced back up quizzically. “Really?”

She shrugged. “I went to a couple hospitals looking for you. They don’t exactly keep the kid stickers locked up.”

Jayde made a noise of displeasure. “I would’ve preferred a Finding Nemo one.”

“Then get your own damn burner and steal whatever sticker you want the next time you inevitably end up in a hospital again,” Skye bit back.

“I owe you. Happy?”

“My favorite words to hear,” she replied with a bright smile and took a sip of coffee. “So what did you tell her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, with everything the nurse did for you, she must’ve been curious. What did you come up with as a cover?”

That brought up another explanation Jayde dreaded. Might as well get this over with, she thought as she chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment before shrugging. “I told her the truth.”

Another charged moment of silence fell over the two siblings as Skye completely froze with the mug to her lips. She blinked a couple of times, then shook her head like she came out of a trance. “I’m sorry, you told her the truth about what?”

“About me. What I am.” The admission made Jayde cringe.

Skye’s expression turned blank, and she slowly set the mug down. “I know you mean you told her you’re bisexual and not that you’re a werewolf, right? Because admitting that you’d be down to clown with a hot nurse is way more believable. Telling a random human that you’re a werewolf is a new level of crazy that you wouldn’t even dream of. Right? ”

“First, she’s not a nurse. Secondly, she deserved to know,” was all Jayde could think to say as a defense.

“So it is the mental hospital for you next.”

“Skye –”

“You are the last person I expected to be that stupid, Jayde.”

The older wolf leaned forward in her seat and poked the surface of the table. “I did not make that choice lightly. Nadya put her entire life on the line for me without any thought for repayment. It was only natural that she had questions, and she was too smart for my shitty excuses. She would’ve figured it out herself if I hadn’t told her.”

Skye didn’t look convinced. “And how do you know she won’t tell anyone?”

“She’s not like that,” Jayde insisted.

“You’re willing to bet everything on that. On a human you’ve known for a few days,” her sister stated more than asked.

Jayde patted a couple of her jacket pockets before she remembered which one she put the small polaroid in. She pulled it out and dropped it on the table in front of Skye. The younger wolf picked it up and studied it with disinterest until she flipped it around and saw the note Nadya wrote on the back. She glanced up at her sister curiously.

“She’s a photographer,” Jayde explained. “When I told her I liked that picture, she gave it to me.”

Skye sat in silent contemplation for about a minute as she stared at the photo in her hands with pursed lips. Eventually, she gave a nod, and Jayde felt relieved that her sister finally accepted what she was certain of. Her eyes met Jayde’s and brightened with that mischievous smirk again. “It’s not just the picture you like, is it?”

Jayde raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Hot nurse saves your life, offers you a roof, gives you a gift before you go,” she held up the polaroid, flipping it between her fingers like a coin, “and you tell her the truth, give her a phone to call you, and stay in the city you almost got gunned down in to make sure she’s safe. Sounds like you have a crush.”

At first, Jayde felt offended by her assumption, but then her face quickly flushed with embarrassment. Is it that obvious? she thought before anything else, which threw her for a loop. Jayde knew she felt attraction towards the human, but it hadn’t even occurred to her that what she experienced might be a crush. Children get crushes for fuck’s sake, but apparently so do full grown werewolves who have to fight for their lives every single day.

Just like always, her sister knew her too well.

“Even if you were right, it doesn’t matter.” Jayde shrugged in an effort to seem nonchalant. “I’ll never see her again.”

Skye wagged an eyebrow. “Or maybe she’ll call you.”

Jayde rolled her eyes at her for the millionth time that morning. “I didn’t give her the phone to keep in touch. It’s for an emergency only, and she knows that.”

“Maybe an ‘emergency’ will happen.” Jayde’s whole body tensed as she sensed one of her little sister’s bits coming. Skye continued, using a high-pitched voice as she dramatically fanned herself. “Oh, Jayde, some trenchcoated goons have been lurking outside my house trying to sell me a new vacuum cleaner! Please, save me! You’re my only hope!”

Jayde scowled at her. “You think you’re so funny.”

“Come on!” Skye urged. “There’s gotta be some small part of you that’s hoping she’ll call.”

“No,” she said firmly, though Skye was partially right. A huge part of Jayde hoped that she would see Nadya again one day, just not under dire circumstances. But another part of her knew that was the only way she’d get to see her again.

“Fine,” Skye said, clearly not convinced, and handed the polaroid back.

Jayde took a few moments to stare at the photo fondly. She flipped it over to look at the note on the back and ran her fingertips over the letters Nadya wrote. Then she carefully returned it to the pocket it came from.

“You want some breakfast?” she asked Skye, ignoring the knowing grin on her face.

[wonda-fhr]

Tried a new sidestep combination for OCkiss week.💋 Love them both.💕 Have fun with @westealtoys Ryder and Justin. word count : 800

---

Just for the Music

Playfully but silently, Justin balanced over the stones of a flower bed in the light of the street lamps, while Ryder strolled slowly beside him. The black and gray shades he wore made him almost invisible, outshined by the reflections of dozens of colorful sequins.

The shimmering figure took occasional sips of his milkshake and made his way through the quiet residential area, looking amused. The unusually long silence began to weigh heavily on Ryder's shoulders as he watched his companion out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you mad at me?"

Justin looked down at him from a large stone that adorned the corner of a front yard, his head tilted and a honeyed smile on his face.

"Do I look mad?"

"You never do."

"Don't worry handsome, it takes more to incur my wrath than to deny me a kiss. There it is!" He pointed to an unlit spot among the trees, jumped down from his vantage point, and slipped into the small path that snaked into the cliffs behind the row of houses. The moonlit descent was steep and rough, but rewarded them at the end with a deserted spot in the small bay. 

As drinks and snacks were spread out on a rock, shouts of joy echoed from the promontory just 200 yards away, its tip shining brighter than the city thanks to large floodlights and laser beams.

Justin jumped to his feet and hopped up and down in the sand.

"They're starting!"

As the loud music of their favorite band blared across the bay, they toasted and let themselves be carried away by the music. The cheers of the enthusiastic crowd seemed to frame each song, and they often joined in when the lead singer fell silent, testing the fans' familiarity with the lyrics. Laughing, they teased each other when they couldn't find the right words.

Sitting, standing, sometimes dancing, they let the powerful rhythm of the music flow through their bodies.

After hours and several encores, they leaned exhausted and satisfied against the stone, now covered with crumbs, cigarettes and empty cans. After the concert, the night seemed darker and quieter than before, but none of them broke the silence in which the pleasant, carefree feeling of the last few hours still resonated.  

Ryder's eyes drifted dreamily across the bay until they stopped in fascination at the white-blonde hair with turquoise streaks, in which the moonlight caught as if on the waves of the ocean. A corner of the matching turquoise lips twitched upward, but the exuberant smile that had accompanied Justin through the city did not return.  

As unnoticed as the waves were carried to the beach, the distance between them narrowed. With a gentle pressure, Ryder took control as the turquoise ocean wave crashed on him. Sliding a hand around his neck, he felt Justin's pulse quicken and, with a shudder, seem to shrink and become more fragile.

The approach was steady, not initiated by himself as he was used to, which threw Justin further out of his comfort zone than he would have liked. He felt the tongue tap against his lips, testing him cautiously. Just an invitation, not an order, to accept or reject the gift was his free choice. He accepted. His weight seemed to float in the hand that rested on his neck, while his mind hovered, overwhelmed by the strange feeling of mutuality.  

Uncertainty made Ryder shudder as the fragile form seemed to melt in his hands, but quickly subsided as the soft lips accepted his invitation. Justin's hands closed tightly around the collar of his leather jacket, he felt the pressure on his neck as he pulled. For a second, he expected Justin to jump away as he began to pull himself up. But neither of them allowed their lips to part.

Smoothly, Justin climbed into Ryder's lap without breaking the kiss. Despite the jacket, he felt an electrifying tingle as Ryder's hands slid down his back to his waist. In the new position that gave him more control, it was he who made the withdrawal possible, pulling back until his lips continued to color the others with only feathery touches. No sooner than he had made the offer, the hand was back on his neck, preventing him from disappearing completely.

Again, their kiss deepened, carrying them far across the waves they couldn't hear and the darkness they couldn't see, until they leaned their heads against each other, breathless.

"Why now?" Justin whispered, barely audible.

"A kiss needs meaning, not just a purpose." Ryder replied quietly.

"We only exist to serve a purpose."

"And we both try to be more than that."

"Mhh," he leaned against Ryder's shoulder thoughtfully.

"This was a nice evening."

"It really was," Justin said, "One with a purpose. Thank you."

[hiddens-studio]

I enjoy your sprite edit very much! Does Descole ever think about dyeing their hair to get rid of the gray hair? Also I read your fic on AO3 and I liked it very much!

AGGHH THANK YOU 😭💕

Descole started getting gray hairs prematurely from stress, they do dye the streaks sometimes but other times they would rather focus on work then worry about something like a few gray hair.