#1) he's shown up twice

[chromaji]

you're telling me this was the most interesting shit you could pick out of the 3 hour VOD to make as thumbnails

ANYWAY PART 4 VOD'S HERE.

#cass ALWAYS shows up as a thumbnail choice and I dont know why. but this is the first time that: #1) he's shown up twice #2) my generated options are JUST NPCS CHILLING IN THEIR BACKGROUND. THIS SHIT'S ASS!!! #the plan was to wait til i finished the game to make a custom thumbnail but that may need to be sooner #eo2hd playing

[gutsby]

Hating Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.

Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3

Part 1 | Part 3

"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"

You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.

Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.

An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.

A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.

A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would’ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.

Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.

Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.

You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.

That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.

Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.

“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.

Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.

Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.

“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.

You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.

There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.

You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.

Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.

“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.

“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.

You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater’ was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.

You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.

The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.

Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.

A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.

You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.

You did well at first.

Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.

Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.

You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.

Vomit-inducing.

Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.

You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.

And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.

Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.

“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.

“You first,” he said, chuckling.

You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.

You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.

“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”

Then, when the cup didn’t waver:

“Can they change the fucking song already?!”

Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.

“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.

You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.

Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.

“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.

“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.

You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.

“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”

Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.

You shrugged instead.

“Some guy from school.”

Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.

“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”

You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.

“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”

The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

“Anytime, kiddo.”

You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.

Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.

“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.

You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.

Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.

Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.

Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.

You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.

“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.

Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.

“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”

Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.

If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.

Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.

That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.

“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.

Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.

“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”

“Can you spike it with bleach?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.

“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.

“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”

“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”

You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.

Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.

“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.

“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.

You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.

“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.

“Weird how?”

Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.

“Weird like…I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”

He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.

“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.

You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.

“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.

“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”

You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.

You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.

At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.

“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.

Ain’t that the truth.

Then, after a minute:

“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”

You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.

It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.

“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.

You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.

You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.

“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.

“Tweaking,” you corrected him.

“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”

“In what way?”

“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”

You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.

“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”

Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.

You raised both eyebrows.

“What?”

“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”

“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.

“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”

Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.

“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”

When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?

Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.

Good times.

You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.

“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”

“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.

The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.

“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.

You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah?”

Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.

He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?

What if Joel tells Tommy?

What if Tommy tells dad?

Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.

Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.

Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.

When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.

“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.

You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.

“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.

You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.

Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.

Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.

You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.

You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.

The only thing that followed were footsteps.

Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.

“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”

“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”

That made you pivot.

Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.

You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.

Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”

Joel didn’t flinch.

In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.

He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.

“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”

Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.

Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.

Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.

“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”

Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.

“My shorts, too?!”

You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.

“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”

Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.

Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.

You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.

“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”

“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”

“FUCK you!”

“Already DID!”

You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.

Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.

“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”

You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.

“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.

“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”

Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.

“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.

“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”

“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”

Joel was good.

He was an insufferable ass and he was good.

Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.

“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.

“What did I do?” he said, curious.

Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.

“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.

Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.

“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.

“Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”

Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.

Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.

“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”

Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”

You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.

“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.

“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”

“Fucker.” That was your word.

And it worked well enough for Joel.

In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.

He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.

“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.

Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.

“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.

He what?

You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.

You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.

Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.

He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.

“Joel.”

He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.

“Joel, I—”

“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”

You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.

“You fucked her didn’t you?”

Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”

“You brought her here.”

“Had to.”

Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.

“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”

“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”

Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.

“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”

Oh.

“And you—” you started.

“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.

Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.

“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.

You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.

At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.

“Happy?” he said, after a beat.

You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.

At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.

Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.

“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.

“Uh-huh.”

Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.

Good that he could fuck you.

Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.

Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.

He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.

“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”

Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.

He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.

“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”

Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.

You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.

“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.

“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.

“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”

You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.

Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.

“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”

Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.

You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.

Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.

You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.

Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.

“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,

“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”

Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.

“That’s my sweet girl.”

Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.

He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.

He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.

“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.

You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.

The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.

“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”

You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.

Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.

“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.

In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.

“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”

“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”

Evidently, he’d found your G spot.

Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.

You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.

“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.

“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.

You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’

Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.

You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.

Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.

So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.

He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.

Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,

“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”

“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”

He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.

“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”

You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.

“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”

You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.

“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”

“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”

The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.

“Want you to…cum on me, please.”

“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”

“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”

That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.

Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.

By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.

Must be fucking nice.

When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.

“Open,” Joel commanded.

You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.

He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’

You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.

Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.

There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.

“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.

You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.

Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.

He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.

With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.

You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.

Almost.

When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.

“Honey—”

“Don’t.”

“But I—”

“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”

You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.

You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.

You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.

Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.

You hated it.

“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.

Hated him.

“How’s my baby been, huh?”

Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.

“I missed you.” Gently. Again.

You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.

Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.

You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.

Joel slowly descended your body.

“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.

“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.

You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.

“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.

Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.

You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.

Love it you could—and would. Without shame.

Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.

“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”

“Joel.”

You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.

You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.

Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.

In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.

“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.

Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.

You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.

Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.

You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.

When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.

Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.

When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.

You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.

Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.

He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.

Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.

With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.

You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.

“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.

“Hm?”

He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.

“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.

“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.

No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.

He could do this.

He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.

Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.

He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.

“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”

“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.

Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.

Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.

“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.

He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.

Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.

“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”

Wait—the fuck?

That came out wrong.

You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.

Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.

“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”

“Miller. Spit it out.”

Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?

Joel winced.

Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.

NO! No. No. Just…fuck. Stay hard. Please, stay hard.

He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.

“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.

Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.

“Texted you back?” you scoffed.

“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”

Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.

“You never texted me, Joel!”

What?

Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.

“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”

“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”

Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.

“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.

At last, your expression dropped.

From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.

“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”

“Huh?”

“5 at the end, not a 9.”

“…No.”

“Yeah…”

Shit.

Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.

“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.

You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.

“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”

‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.

“What’s’at mean?” he asked.

You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.

“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”

‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.

Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.

A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.

“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.

You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.

“Mhmm.”

Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.

“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”

In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.

He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.

“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.

Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’

He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.

Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.

You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.

For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.

He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.

Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.

Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.

“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.

You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.

“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”

The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.

“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.

Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.

You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.

With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.

“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”

You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,

“So— so close, daddy.”

Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.

Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.

Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.

Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.

To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.

Thank fuck.

Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.

You grinned.

Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.

You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.

“Wanna try something fun?”

He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.

Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.

Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.

This was your idea of ‘fun.’

Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.

Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.

That would come later.

No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.

‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’

‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’

‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’

He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.

“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.

You froze.

Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,

“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”

Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.

One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.

“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.

“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.

Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.

“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”

Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.

“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.

And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.

Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.

Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.

You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.

‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’

You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.

You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.

Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.

‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’

All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.

You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.

You needed him whole.

Your Joel.

In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,

‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’

You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.

No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.

There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.

He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.

You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.

“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,

“—to the realization—”

“—that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”

Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.

The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.

A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.

Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.

Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.

As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.

Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.

It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.

Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”

You thought you might like to see him that way forever.

Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.

You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.

You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.

#C*MPLAY IS BACK IN A BIG WAY #IT NEVER LEFT #joel miller smearing it on YOUR FACE????? IN THIS ECONOMY??? #i would never shut up #i already never shut up but especially then #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dbf!joel

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

Realized something abt Dune Part 1. The scene when Paul first uses the voice at the breakfast table. Only our second scene with him in it and the first time we hear him speak. The camera cuts around to create suspense while he's building up to do it, and one of the things it lands on - twice I believe - is that fucking bullfighter painting. Which seems random if you don't know the lore about that, and a few scenes later when it's explained the earlier insert shots have probably already been forgotten about. But the bullfighting motif/metaphor. Arrogance that leads to self destruction, not wanting to be like your ancestors, choosing self indulgence over duty, believing yourself to be indestructible. The very first time Paul is shown demonstrating any kind of power - the voice - and they cut to that. This is our introduction to the main character. Between that and what loads of other people have mentioned already with Chani's opening narration ("who will our next oppressors be" cutting immediately to our first glimpse of Paul), his character arc is basically spelled out within the first few minutes of meeting him. Within two scenes and like 5 lines of dialogue, the movie is already telling us that this harmless seeming little dude is going to become really fucking dangerous, actually.

#dune #dune part 1 #dune 2021 #paul atreides #i am actually losing it

[hisui-dreamer]

we are one

Characters: Trey, Ruggie, Rook, Sebek

Synopsis: You shared a night of passion with your lover before you left for the other side of the mirror, but fate's cruel hands strike once again as you realise you have to raise his child alone in your original world. Thankfully, your child is incredibly drawn to magic, and they opened a portal...?

Tags: slight angst, fluffy end because im a sap, fem reader, reader gives birth to a child, reunions

Word count: 4.5k+

Notes: im sorry this took so long lol, but part 4 is finally here!!

Part 1✧Part 2✧Part 3✧Masterlist

A few months passed as you settled back into your routine at home. Eventually, with the noticeable changes in your body, it dawned on you that you were with child—his child, your lover from the other side of the mirror whom you could no longer reach.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turn into months. You had adapted to the trials and tribulations of parenthood. Juggling the responsibilities of work, childcare, and household chores was no easy feat, but you found solace in the small moments of your child's growth and development.

Your child was a true joy to behold, a mirror image of their father in many ways, and you often see the ghost of your past lover in them. Having inherited his magic, your child experimented with their powers, leaving you to support them with what limited knowledge of magic that remained from your NRC days.

On one such experiment, your environment started to shift as a wave of magical energy engulfed you. When you opened your eyes again, he was there, right in front of you—

Shizuka (靜菓) with 静 meaning "quiet, still, calm" and 菓 meaning "confectionery, sweets, pastry"

your daughter had silky green hair the colour of fresh matcha and golden yellow eyes that were reminiscent of fresh honey

you named your daughter after her father's dislike of noise and his culinary abilities that never failed to amaze the whole of Heartslabyul

she's rather a quiet child, not very loud but too quiet either

she gets along with other kids perfectly fine, and she doesn't mind sharing or taking a step back at all, always choosing to go with the flow and not get worked up over small things

honestly she's really a mature kid

also just really good at being a peacekeeper and stopping other kids from getting into big fights

buut she does have a mischievous side and may tease her friends when she's in the mood to

at home, she's pretty obedient and will listen to you, but there are moments when she sneaks around

loves helping you with cooking, and her eyes sparkle when she's baking with you

she loves sweets and desserts, but thanks to your warnings about her dental health, she does stop herself from eating too much sugar

is slightly freaked out about cavities so don't you worry, she'll never need any reminding about brushing her teeth or late night snacks

when it comes to school, she doesn't put in too much effort, but you can tell she'd be excellent if she cared more about her grades

which is clearly shown when fixates on learning magic, always so focused that you'll have to call her twice before she snaps out of her trance

you can't blame her for giving it her all though, after all, you've never seen her more excited than when you told her how amazing a person her father is, calm and soothing like a gentle summer rain

once she puts her heart to it, there's really no stopping her

so on another normal evening, as you were cooking dinner while she was studying on the kitchen counter, you found yourself enveloped by a soft light

when you open your eyes, you find yourself standing outside a charming bakery, the fragrance of roses engulfing your senses

and peering through the bakery windows, was the man you had yearned for all these years

It was just a normal day of running the bakery for Trey. With the sun on the verge of setting, he began preparations for closing, when the soft chime of the bell announced a new customer's arrival. He turned around, catching sight of you. His eyes widened in surprise, mirroring the disbelief in your own.

Before words could be exchanged, Trey rushed past the counter. The warmth of his embrace enveloped you as he pulled you close. The years melted away, and the two of you were transported back to a time when you always had each other.

"Is this real?" he wondered aloud, your hearts pounding in sync.

You nodded into his shoulder, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. He pulled back slightly, brushing away your tears as his gaze softened, a warm smile gracing his lips.

"It's been a long time," he whispered. "I missed you so much."

he's just holding you tight, crying as he thanks the heavens for being so lucky to have you in his life again

trey returned to his hometown after graduation, helping out and eventually inheriting the family bakery

he loved incorporating your favourite foods into the store's selection, adding some new desserts from your world that you taught him, and always reminiscing on those tender moments when it was just the two of you in the kitchen

he always knew you had to go home eventually, but that didn't stop him from wishing you could be his life-long partner, supporting each other through thick and thin

so he's beyond grateful and excited to know you and his daughter(?!) shared the feelings even though you were apart

he's rather surprised about said daughter, but there would be no denying how similar they looked

shizuka is a bit nervous, tugging your skirt as she stares curiously at her supposed father

but Trey very quickly makes her feel at home, his warm smiles and even warmer hugs melting away all her nervousness!

he closes the bakery for a few days to help the two of you settle down a bit

this involves reunions with friends and of course, the clover family, who welcome you and their granddaughter with open arms

the clovers are just really really glad their son finally has someone in his life and that he seems a lot more energised now

Shizuka is very quickly introduced to uncle riddle!! who is very surprised but delighted by the behaving little girl who seems to stick to him a lot

uncle deuce and ace also get along with her wonderfully!! especially when Shizuka wants to play around with riddle for a bit hahaha

don't forget uncle cater who flies instantly to meet his new adorable niece and show her off on magicam!!

the three of you settle into a nice rhythm and you help out trey at the bakery now

Trey is very very affectionate with you always, pecking you on the cheek or nuzzling into your neck any chance he can get

Shizuka loves helping out whenever she can too!! she loves learning from her papa and sometimes will just spend hours watching him work

all in all, a blissful, simple family that Trey had always dreamed of, but never would he have believed he was so blessed to have the two of you come back to him

Trey gazed at the young girl, her silky green hair catching the light in a way that seemed surreal. With a heart full of emotions, he approached her hesitantly, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"Shizuka, was it?" he spoke softly, the name lingering on his lips like a prayer. "It's so nice to meet you."

Shizuka's gaze flickered from Trey to you, seeking reassurance. With a gentle nod from you, she turned her attention back to him, her eyes studying him intently.

Trey knelt to her level, his heart racing. "I know this might be a lot to take in, but I'm your father."

She took a small step forward, cautious but curious. Trey extended his hand tentatively, offering a warm smile. Without a word, Shizuka reached out, placing her small hand in his.

A soft smile graced her lips, mirroring the warmth reflected in Trey's eyes. With a tentative but genuine embrace, Trey enveloped his daughter in his arms, tears cascading down his cheeks. Shizuka, feeling the sincerity in his embrace, wrapped her arms around him as well, a sense of belonging beginning to bloom within her.

Kenji (賢至) with 賢 meaning "intelligence, wisdom, cleverness" and 至 meaning "to arrive at, to reach, to come to"

Kenji (賢至) with 賢 meaning "intelligence, wisdom, cleverness" and 至 meaning "to arrive at, to reach, to come to"

your son had the softest hair the colour of wheat, and blue eyes that reminded you of cloudy skies

you named your son after how clever his father was, and his endless determination to reach his goals

he's a really sweet kid, always eager to help around and even others when he notices they're in need

you've heard about the many experiences his father had when he grew up, so you've tried your hardest to make sure Kenji wouldn't have to go through them, knowing it's what your hyena would've wanted

but even then, he's never complained about not having enough, there's a subtle wisdom to him that really mirrors his father

though he differs from him in that he's always willing to share, because he knows not everyone can be so lucky

he may not be too good at haggling prices, but his puppy dog eyes work just as well!

he loves doing chores with you, always smiling and laughing that familiar laugh as he helps you sweep the floor while he tells you about his day

he loves cuddles and kisses!!! his favourite part of the day is climbing into your warm bed to wrap his arms around you, asking you for a goodnight kiss and sometimes even bedtime stories

his ears and tails are a bit of a problem, so you keep his hair a bit long to hide the ears, or just say they're fun accessories

you've told him how his father's determination to support his family and community shined through even in unfortunate circumstances, the resourceful and intelligent man he became and you fell in love with

his blue-grey eyes almost resembled a clear sky when he listened to you, asking you more and more questions about this amazing person

he'll try learning more to be like him, but his kind nature stops him from being too schemey

he's not exactly academic weapon material, but he's pretty quick at absorbing information and putting it into practice

and with lots of determination and practice, he somehow manages to manifest the very thing the two of you wanted, and before your eyes was the man who never failed to make you laugh with him

As Ruggie's eyes adjusted, your figure slowly came into focus, revealing the very person who took his heart with them. "Prefect...?" He whispered, his voice a mix of disbelief and overwhelming joy.

His usually carefree expression shifted to one of disbelief, and then a bittersweet smile spread across his face as the tears welled up in his eyes. Without a second thought, he rushed towards you, sweeping you into a tight embrace.

"You're here... You're really here, right?" Ruggie mumbled, his voice choked with emotion.

You nodded furiously, comfort washing over you at his touch. "Yes, Ruggie, it's real. I'm really here."

His hand reached up to thread his fingers through your hair, cupping the back of your head. "I'm so glad... So, so glad..."

he's holding onto you as tightly as he can, so afraid that you'd disappear into the light if he let you loose for even a bit

after graduation, Ruggie followed leona to become his official attendant, what with him knowing how leona likes to get things done, and his ability to pick up etiquette cues

he's also a great information gatherer, so he's perfectly able to assist leona with his foreign affairs

it's leona's voice that finally breaks the two of you out of your trance, him rushing over to investigate that weird light

the two of you pull back and you almost wouldn't notice it, but leona's smile has softened a bit from the image you had in your memory

Ruggie never expected himself to be a father, and things are going a bit faster than he'd like, but there's no denying he's absolutely grateful to have you and your kid at his side

almost immediately the next day, he takes you back to his hometown so you and Kenji can meet grandma and the neighbourhood

grandma bucchi welcomes the two of you so warmly, she even gets a little teary eyed when she sees Kenji, with him looking so similar to the very hyena she raised

leona and Ruggie delegate a room for you in the side palace, where they also live, so you'll be able to see familiar faces often

Kenji loves following his father around, picking up his mannerisms and wanting to learn more about being more schemey

Ruggie's a bit conflicted his angel of a son wants to learn his ways but even he can't deny those puppy dog eyes

uncle leona and guard jack also love spending time with him! though one of them pretends it's annoying

leona shows him magic tricks and jack will teach him how to fight! he'll be getting great lessons all around

Kenji is very eager to learn more and explore this world, so sometimes you'll have to hold him back a bit just in case he gets hurt

but you suppose with the splendid man his father is, you don't have to worry too much

Ruggie's schedule can be a bit hectic and he pulls a lot of late nights, but he always tries to make time for his family

they're the most precious thing to him in the entire world, did you think he'd let them go that easily?

"Dad!" Kenji exclaimed, darting over to grasp at the fabric of Ruggie's pants. "You're my dad, right?"

Ruggie blinked in disbelief, shifting his gaze towards you. "Is... Is he?" he asked, hope saturating his voice.

You affirmed with a nod, and Ruggie redirected his attention to Kenji. "Yeah... I'm your dad..."

Instantly, Kenji wrapped his arms around Ruggie's legs. "Yay! I've always wanted to meet you, Dad!"

Ruggie couldn't help but marvel in awe at the bundle of joy now clinging to his legs, realizing that this spirited kid was the product of your love.

Ayaka (斐佳) with 斐 meaning "elegance, beauty, grace" and 華 meaning "flower, splendour, brilliance"　

Ayato (斐斗) with 斐 meaning "elegance, beauty, grace" and 杜 meaning "forest, grove, woods"

maybe a part of you should have expected it, with how unpredictable your beloved hunter always has been, but you ended up having to raise twins

the two had luscious golden locks that rivalled sunlight and sharp green eyes akin to the forests in the summer

you named the two of them after their father's love for all things beauty and his love for forests and nature

the two are well-behaved children, though they can be surprisingly sneaky and mischievous

Ayaka is more outgoing and is always fascinated by the pretty things in her vicinity

while Ayato is more introverted and quiet, often silently following his younger sister and nodding along to her ramblings

he definitely appreciates beauty, but he's less vocal about it

and whereas Ayaka is more fascinated by gems and cute plushies, Ayato is more interested in nature, finding beauty in the moss, the trees and the insects

the siblings are just really really curious about the world and they love observing the little details, from catching beetles to keep as pets, to planting flowers they found on a hike

they really do reflect your hunter's wide range of appreciation

the twins love sticking to each other and they're rarely arguing

though they do fight a bit over who helped you more with chores or who you love more

they're very helpful and efficient, and though they may complain about not wanting to work because the other twin is lazing, they'll still get the job done

they love watching tv shows and dramas, often acting out scenes in the shows or in fairytales

and oh the way their eyes sparkled when you told the fascinating man their father was, a man who could control his own heartbeat, keep track of time so accurately, and with such incredible eyesight, who devoted himself to spreading joy and beauty

almost immediately they doubled their efforts in studying, wanting desperately to meet the man to learn his ways and see for themselves just how interesting he is

and just like that, the dazzling light gradually subsided, unveiling a world that you thought only existed in your dreams

you remember the villa, it's where he took you on vacation for the first, and supposedly last time

You hesitantly knocked on the weathered wooden door of the villa, the echoes of your anticipation mingling with the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. As the door creaked open, memories flooded back to the first time you entered this place with the man who had captured your heart.

Rook's usual stoic expression shifted, replaced by a mix of surprise and unspoken emotions. "Mon amour... You're really here," he murmured, his voice a tender whisper that hung in the air. Without uttering a single word, he enfolded you in an embrace, as though afraid you might slip away like a fleeting dream.

"I missed you so much," you whispered back the tears flowing freely now that you've felt as you savour the warmth of his touch and the comforting scent of his cologne.

He pulled back, soft brushes of his fingers wiping your tears, his eyes lingering on your face as if trying to capture the essence of the time that had passed. "I missed you too, so dearly..." he admitted as tears threatened to spill from his eyes, a rare vulnerability in his gaze.

this was the most emotion you'd seen from him, even when you said goodbye he kept a smile on his face

he's holding you so delicately, as if you were going to fade away if he applied just a bit more pressure

he's surprised by the children, but he instantly warms up to the idea!

he's remained a pursuer of beauty even after graduation, sponsoring artists while he makes a living through hunting and his film critique

he was taking a break in the family villa for old times sake, but it's almost as if the universe planned it all along

he's very affectionate with you, even more so than before, which you didn't even know was possible

always a warm hand on your waist, an occasional peck on your cheek, and every once in a while he'll feel the urge to pull you in for a hug

he tries to do everything for you so you don't even have to lift a finger, breakfast in bed, waking the children, even cooking and cleaning

he loves spending time with the twins!! teaching the two of them how to hunt and explore the forest safely

he'll show them pretty plants, and interesting fungi, all while explaining what properties they might have and whether or not they're poisonous

the twins are so fascinated by everything, their excitement and energy are seemingly endless

and who's a father to deny his children? he spoils them rotten

he also loves showing the kids a certain idol he's supported...

as well as films of vil!! occasionally talking over the movie to express how perfect a scene is or how flawless his acting is

and when the twins get to meet the vil schoenheit, they're beyond thrilled

asking questions, throwing compliments, all directed towards vil, but they're quiet the moment he tells them to shush

uncle vil loves talking to his niece and nephew, but only when they're... calm

uncle epel also loves popping by and giving the twins some apples so they'll get proper nutrition!

really, you'll have to step in to prevent your kids from being spoiled rotten

but you'll indulge Rook for a while, he's just blissfully happy with his family after all

"Are these...?" he began, his voice trailing off as he looked at the children with a mix of awe and wonder.

"Ours," you answered, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you delicately wiped away the tears that had welled up in your eyes. "Meet Ayato and Ayaka."

The hunter knelt down to their eye level, his usual face softening into a loving. "Ayato, Ayaka," he said, his voice gentle, "It's so nice to meet you. I'm your father."

The children exchanged glances before Ayaka stepped forward. "Hello father!" she exclaimed, throwing her tiny arms around him.

Ayato, the quieter one, followed suit with a nod, a shy smile on his face.

The hunter embraced them both, a warmth in his eyes that spoke volumes. "Such angels... Mon amour what a blessing you've granted me...," he sighed as he held them close.

Atsuki (惇貴) with 惇 meaning "sincerity, loyalty" and 貴 meaning "precious, valuable, honourable"　

your son had curly hair with the softest shade of light green, and piercing golden eyes with slits that reminded you of reptiles

you named your son after the chivalrous values his father had devoted his life to

he's a rather loud and excitable child, always forgetting to control his volume when he gets too emotional

doesn't really get along with other kids, but it doesn't affect him much, he's just happy to have his mama with him

if he's done something wrong, you don't even need to yell at him really, most of the time he's already holding back tears at the thought of disappointing you

very into sports and is also really good at several sports, he's earned a couple of medals and trophies already

he's not the best at magic, and you're also not too sure how his dark fae blood affects that, but he's still pretty good at making progress

he really is just a good kid who tries hard at everything and tries to make the right decisions, but he's quick to get disappointed when things don't go his way, and suddenly you're faced with a very familiar and endearing puppy dog face

so a lot of times, you'll just have to pull him in a hug, and remind him things almost never go the way we plan, and it's okay to accept defeat and learn from it

but there's nothing he's more motivated about than learning more about his dad, who in his mind, is an honourable, talented knight straight from the fairytales who devotes his life to protecting the people important to him

so much so, that you'll find him swinging around the toy sword you got him for training

he'll also start putting even more effort into learning magic, wanting to connect to his amazing papa in a way

and then on one night, you're not sure what triggered it, but he's incredibly emotional and crying about how he can't help you and you're always taking care of him and he just wants to have his dad in his life and it's all so unfair why his mama is alone and-

he starts emitting bright light, so bright you can't keep your eyes open, but you reach to hold him in your arms

when you no longer feel the bright light, you tentatively open your eyes, only to find yourself standing in the dark, spacious throne room of Briar Valley

and standing there, right next to the throne, was your knight in shining armour

Standing next to the grand throne, was your knight in shining armour, Sebek. He, along with Silver, stood in positions of defence, but the moment his eyes met yours, the mask of composure crumbled, and he rushed toward you with an urgency that mirrored the longing that had lingered in his heart during your separation.

He enveloped you in a fierce embrace, his arms securing you but also gentle to not hurt you with his armour.

"I thought... I thought I lost you," Sebek's voice was a shaky whisper against your ear, his grip on you tightening as if trying to confirm that you were indeed real.

"I'm here, Sebek. I found my way back," you reassured him, feeling the softness of his hair against your cheek.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he admitted, his words a whispered admission of the fears he had harboured, pressing his forehead gently to yours.

he's a mess the instant he sees you, and he melts completely when you're finally in his arms

malleus and silver are also immensely happy that you're back, calling lilia to join the family reunion

Sebek's pretty overwhelmed with your presence on its own, so silver and lilia have given him a gentle push to actually function and introduce himself to Atsuki

he's grown to be less awkward with his affection, and particularly with how long you've been away, he doesn't hold back too much

his hands are always inching closer to touch you, his forehead resting on your shoulder every once in a while, it's all really endearing

but his parenting style is a bit awkward

Atsuki really admires him, but that also makes him ever so slightly afraid of him

meanwhile, Sebek is nervous because he doesn't want to do anything that ruins the image of a perfect knight for his son

so they're a bit awkward, but with you as the middle person they can get along pretty well!

they bond over training, with Sebek teaching him sword fighting (with you reminding him not to push him too hard)

Atsuki also really enjoys sparing with uncle silver, who always lets him him, but Atsuki just wants him to fight for real, so it's just silver being "this is real??"

uncle malleus taking him out for gargoyle studies (Sebek is jealous lmao)

and of course, uncle lilia who cooks extremely nutritious meals that always end with Atsuki puppy dog eying you to save him

sebek's family is also very very happy to have you two!!

grandpa baul grumbles around a lot, but he keeps note of Atsuki's favourite foods to prepare them when he visits

also comments on his sword fighting and stance when he feels like it

mom and dad also adore you guys!! mrs. zigvolt loves giving you gifts and talking about sebek when he was younger haha

all in all, sebek's so incredibly grateful you could come back to him, and though he's still awkward with his affection sometimes, he'll never stop trying his best to love the both of you

Atsuki's eyes widened as he took in the sight of his father, the mythical figure he had only heard tales of until now.

Sebek's gaze shifted from you to Atsuki, and his breath caught. His eyes softened as he knelt down to be at eye level with the child who was undeniably his son. "Hello," he said, his voice trembling with a mix of joy and uncertainty. "I... I'm your father."

Atsuki's eyes flickered with a mixture of awe and excitement. "Papa?" he questioned, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sebek nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to gently cup Atsuki's face. "Yes, little one. I'm your papa."

The room seemed to hold its breath as father and son locked eyes for the first time. Atsuki, still processing the enormity of the moment, broke into a wide, joyful smile. "Papa!" he exclaimed, launching himself into Sebek's arms.

Sebek, overwhelmed with emotion, held Atsuki close, a mix of laughter and tears escaping him. "I've missed so much, haven't I?" he murmured, his heart swelling with love for the son he never imagined to exist.

Part 1✧Part 2✧Part 3 ✧Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #trey clover #trey clover x reader #twisted wonderland trey #ruggie bucchi #ruggie bucchi x reader #twisted wonderland ruggie #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #twisted wonderland rook #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #twisted wonderland sebek

[kaeyachi]

some kaeya facts that i want to remind everyone with because I miss him so much! (no angst this time i swear!!...but if you all want angst, I could also deliver hehehe)

1. Kaeya tells the children of Mondstadt some stories! Specifically, one that some forgot or didn't know of is that he has told the orphans under the church's care some horror story about the light in the lamp posts :D He had been shown to do a story telling to Klee while at the Veluriyam Mirage and he has also been reading to Klee her bedtime stories as well

2. Kaeya made Klee's survival rules! Kaeya has definitely done his part on preventing Klee from destroying Mondstadt before Celestia ever could (well, at least lessened the amount of times Mond gets bombed anyway). Anyone else think Kaeya purposely let Klee explode the Good Hunter's stove to avoid going to the Chasm? No? Ok-

3. He takes the attention when he dances! Depending on which language you hear it from, it is either a good or a bad thing. However, I am on team good thing simply because some mercenaries invited him to go dancing with them while he was in Sumeru ( very interesting information, Kaeya! Glad to know they found you so attractive that they did something they don't usually do!)

4. If you call him kind, he will attempt to look mean (and he fails at it lmao), and if he is not being mean, he will try to deny it. The traveler once listed down the kind things he had done for Captain Wu, a Liyue npc, and Kaeya proceeds to tell us that he records people who owe him (which is a lie. He forgot the person he helped TWICE. What he does have a record of is a well-detailed list of Treasure Hoarders and their rankings + patrol areas in Mondstadt). Another instance was during Jean's story quest where Kaeya planned the appreciation party for Jean where he gave the traveler all the credit

5. He is a great gift giver! (unless that person is Diluc because otherwise he will find the ugliest thing ever and gift that... arguably, that kinda sounds like amazing gift giving if we are talking about being an annoying sibling). He remembers passing commentary from friends and coworkers and gifts them accordingly.

6. He has his own intel network (and I'm theorizing that it is just a group of people he has helped before that insisted on paying him back in this way). Kaeya, after some heavy insistence from Captain Wu, asks him if he wants to be a friend or be part of his intel network and follow his commands no matter what. Vile, one of his known informants, also gave us a glimpse as to what it takes to be part of Kaeya's network, and that is the ability to decipher codes and read messages in between.

7. He is incredibly reliable as a knight! Not only do the people of Mondstadt agree that he is the more approachable cavalry captain between him and Diluc, but it is also a known fact that Kaeya has never failed to complete a mission to date (except the one during Diluc's 18th). Nearly every citizen of Mondstadt adores him and knows how reliable he is. Arguably, this success rate could be attributed to his "end justifies the means" mindset that not all find enjoyable, but he is definitely the person to ask if you want something done. Vile has once mentioned that she could just ask Kaeya to do the charming and convincing for her, dubbing him as a prince charming for it.

8. He is one of the people who spends so much time with Klee (potentially attributed by the fact that he also has more free time compared to others). He spends so much time with her that Klee mentions a few interesting things about Kaeya, such as the fact that Albedo draws Kaeya frequently (enough times that Albedo says Kaeya could be drawn by him easily. yes, it's that "three strokes" line lmao) and the fact that Kaeya has saved Klee from solitary confinement a lot. He is shown to be a very effective person when it comes to corralling Klee without making her feel bad as even when he was trying to berate her, he still ended up giving her a possible reward if she listens.

9. He is very meticulous. He willingly spends the time to get himself ready in the clothes that he is wearing, and he likes embellishments. He really is quite the perfectionist in his actions as well. (very Alberich of him!✌️) We can also see this in his handwriting that has been described as "beautiful" and again with his near perfect track record as a knight.

#kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeyachi back at it again with the kaeya talk because they cant be stopped

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ —let's play it again | geto suguru

wc: 1.6k

summary: you don’t see why this good thing should end, so you negotiate. 

contains: implied f!reader but no pronouns used, non-curse!au, fuckboy!suguru, vague descriptions of sex

a/n: a part 2 to fuckboy!suguru inspired by those reels/tiktoks of couples capturing confessions in photo booths 🥺 + an early birthday gift for @irisintheafterglow!! he's a lil softie in this one 🥺 i hope you like it my dear iris!!

part 1 <- you are here

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

There’s a reason why Suguru always wins—

At the slightest indication of a loss, he withdraws, slipping out at just the right time before it’s considered a forfeit. 

In this game with you, he removes himself quietly, like a ghost haunting your memories. It’s the day after the seventh time he’s spent the night when he cuts contact. Calls, texts, everything. 

You don’t understand any of it; what you had was good—messages you can’t stop replying to, scratches down the length of his spine, fingers threading through the silk strands of his hair; that kind of good. You don’t see why it should end, don’t want it to. 

So you negotiate. 

Bundled up in your favorite coat and the scarf he never returned for, you corner him in the crisp chill of an autumn afternoon. He’s wearing that damn leather jacket again, black turtleneck high to hide his skin from what you hope is the cold and not from you. 

His gaze continues to reel you in, obsidian pools you could sink into. He still smells of apple and tonka bean; you know the cedarwood won’t hit until he’s walked away, trailing the air he passes through. 

There is so much you know about the man in front of you, how he hides his surprise by clenching his jaw; Suguru’s tell is never his eyes, it’s his lips—its sudden movements, the lift of a smirk down to the constriction of his throat.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask, brows furrowed and arms crossed, a little anxious.

“Not at all.”

He swallows his lies every time he utters them, does it twice when he’s nervous. 

His Adam's apple bobs two times. 

(He doesn’t tell you your mistake: that you made it so easy to want mornings and nights spent entirely with you). 

So, you negotiate a rematch; a deal to go back to the way things were. 

If by the end of the next six months, neither of you want anything to do with the other, he wins and you’ll never speak to him again. But if you win—

He agrees.

(If he nips it at the bud, proves there isn’t anything more to this feeling and gets over you before he ever has to, then it’s a whole world of pain he’s avoiding—a whole web of attachment he’s never been used to making). 

.

The rematch finds you learning a new side to Suguru.

He’s still charming, eyes dark and voice honey smooth when he speaks. His hands still know you best between your sheets, grabbing hold of your hips and molding you as he squeezes the flesh when you reach your peak.

There’s still freshly made tea sitting on the kitchen counter when you wake the morning after, its temperature the perfect warmth you know he’s mastered. Dinners are still your favorite, and he continues to lean in instead of asking you to speak louder.

Your contact is in his favorites, everyone else unanswered. 

He’s still the same Suguru, except—

The apples of his cheeks flush warm pink when you call him cute instead of handsome; he stutters the first time he sees you dressed up for the new year countdown. And when he lingers those few seconds before kissing you, you swear you catch the corners of his lips curve up into a small smile. 

He stays awake for a bit after sex. You know because you feel him next to you, finger feather light as it trails down the slope of your nose to your lips; then he kisses your forehead, completely innocent, pure, as if he wasn’t just inside you. 

It’s a softness to him he’s never shown you before, less mysterious and more genuine. 

You learn that he keeps mementos and photos all over his room, either aesthetically displayed or safely tucked inside boxes; that he holds onto the things that remind him of the people he’s let in his life, even when they’re gone—especially when they are.

He loves snacking, biscuits with tea especially, nuts second, and fruits third. When he reaches over one afternoon, cracker pinched between his fingers to feed you so casually, you freeze momentarily. 

But you shake it off quickly, biting it from his fingertips while you smile brightly. The Suguru you know always looks at you directly, but this one coughs before blinking one time too many. 

He swallows twice.

(The voice in his head tells him this’ll do the trick; he’s bared himself to you, mr. mysterious and cool signed out and replaced with none other than just plain Suguru). 

—you like him even more now, you think. 

.

On the fifth month of this whole ordeal, you bring Suguru to a photobooth. 

You figure that if he wins, at least he’ll have this remembrance of you.

It’s old fashioned, one of those booths that only print in black and white—a time capsule of nostalgia, a place that feels of love captured through stills in time. 

You tell him it’s a late birthday gift from you, a last hurrah for your cutest winter outfits. The end of a season before a new one begins. 

Velvet slips through your fingers as you push the curtain to the side, and you bow your head to step in with Suguru close behind. The set-up is fairly simple: a bench, the camera, a touch screen to keep it modernized. You can take a total of eight shots, to be printed later into two strips of four—one for you and one for him, you figure. 

It’s a bit cramped when you settle into the seat, soft cushion sinking further once Suguru follows next to you; for a man over 6 feet, dressed loosely in wide pants and layers of blazers, you’re surprised he even managed to squeeze himself to fit in this tiny space. 

You zip your jacket up until the collar, fleece tickling the corners of your fingertips. The earmuffs you’re wearing act as a perfect statement piece while simultaneously keeping your hair from flying.

It’s a bit unsettling, but Suguru’s been quiet since you got here—watching, observing. 

(Even while you’re setting up the timer, suggesting poses he’s nodding off to, he focuses on you entirely, tilting his head subconsciously.

You’ve been heavy on his mind lately—all the little things about you he can’t help but notice more intently. 

You must be the sun’s lover, how your eyes seem to reflect every beam of it, warming him even in the winter. He’ll never understand what you mean when you say you hate how your hair looks in the morning, baby hairs sticking up and curling around the edges of your forehead; to him, you always look lovely. There’s honesty, in every breath and word you give him—something he’s not used to, something he isn’t well versed in. 

Since giving this another shot, he’s tried to shake you off, put down his front to show you a Suguru so far from the one you know, from the one that first attracted you—all in the hopes of you dropping him. 

Of you conceding to make him win. 

But he’s realizing—

You call him cute when he’s only ever been handsome. And you laugh at his jokes, all the good but especially the bad ones too; you’ve been complicit to one or two pranks on Satoru. Sometimes at night, he clings onto your body, tucking you within him and draping his leg across your hip bone—he’s a human furnace but you let him engulf you entirely. 

He doesn’t expect you to remember that he loves soba, that he’s dreamt of perfecting all forms of martial arts since he was seven. He doesn’t expect you to remember that he prefers hot showers, so he can step out on the tiles to feel contrast so strikingly cold. 

You shouldn’t know this much about him, and yet you do. 

—there’s no one else he’s been this genuine with. 

So when you peer at him smiling, earmuffs resting cozily by your ears, his eyes soften, face relaxing as the corners of his lips curve up into a small grin. 

Flash!

He says it, mouth forming the syllables around his words. You tilt your head, confused, eyebrows furrowing because you can’t hear him. 

Flash! 

His hand reaches for you, pushing your earmuffs to slide down the back of your head. It lands to rest around your neck.

Flash!

“You win.” he says, loud enough to fill the space of the booth. 

You still don’t quite get it, brow raised in puzzlement. 

Flash!

So he grabs your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours before he repeats himself again.

“I said, you win.” 

And the look on your face when it registers, how your eyes glisten like glints on a sunshower; how you give him the prettiest smile that has his heart running for miles. 

He’s confident he’ll always remember this version of you, thankful that he has evidence of it as the camera goes off into another—

Flash!

Tears well up in your lash line; one blink and they’ll fall. You’re smiling so hard he wonders if your cheeks are hurting, if you’ll want him to massage them the way you smooth out the knots between his shoulder blades. 

Your hands remove themselves from his, only to replace the heat on his face.

Flash!

Then you kiss him, lips crashing onto his. you taste of pomegranate—the lip gloss he can’t resist. 

His hand finds its way around your waist, spreading itself to support your back as he dips you, pressing against you harder. While his fingers slot themselves in the junction between your ear and jaw, your hands fall to his chest, gripping the lapels of his blazer. 

Lips smacking, sliding. A breathy smile. 

Flash!

When you part, his forehead rests against yours, the proximity holding you nose-to-nose. 

Suguru’s never felt this kind of peace—he hopes the camera captures it, how contentment looks on his face in moments like this with you. 

Flash!)

.

You step out of the photobooth hand-in-hand, collecting the photo strips from the dispenser; it’s your souvenir after all, a tangible evidence to remind you of the deal you made—

—if you win, he’s yours.

thank you notes: @mididoodles for helping me through this 🥺 + @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for all the support always!! + @mysugu @soumies bc when i think of sugu i think of u both... 🤧

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #suguru x you #suguru x yn #suguru x y/n #geto x you #geto x yn #geto x y/n #suguru geto x you #geto suguru x you #rated #suguru #jjk #shotorus.workbook

[dinanikto]

Spoilers: Episode 4 of the Walten Files

I think people misunderstood Felix as a character?

I've seen so many fans WISHING that Felix would actually die?? Like, "if I was Jack, I would beat the shit out of Felix" or "Felix, do a flip".

I thought it was shown pretty well that he is not in the right state of mind.

Before reading this, please, gather all of your compassion and sympathy, and listen to what I'm about to say with a clear mind.

Let's speak chronologically:

1) Felix and Jack meet in college and decide to create animatronic-based restaurant. They are teens/young adults in the year 1958-1964 (not truly canon, but close to). According to Martin, they're very close, they love and trust each other.

2) Jack meets Rosemary, they start dating. She creates designs for Bon and other characters.

Felix is, presumably, left alone to himself, as he doesn't have anyone else.

3) They graduate and contact CyberFun Tech.

Felix meets and marries Linda, while Jack and Rosemary have their first kid.

4) october 30th, 1964.

Linda notes Felix's heavy drinking and his poor self image. She's stressed and scared.

Felix is close with the Walten family. Jack and Rose get two more kids, and they all call him uncle!

And yet, he doesn't feel welcome. He uses alcohol as a coping mechanism. "He drinks for the sole purpose of drinking!"

Please note, the year is 1964!! Even nowadays not many people can get help and cure their addictions. Not many people believe that they can, or that they deserve it.

5) december 25th, 1970.

Krankens and Waltens are so close they spend Christmas together. And yet, Felix is burdened with something.

Jack and Rose are lovey dovey, Felix and Linda are not. Waltens have three kids that love their parents deeply, Krankens do not. Jack is happy, and Felix is not.

He's still using alcohol to calm himself down.

He can't control himself anymore.

Linda tries to talk to him, but Felix doesn't respond. Or rather, it's how Linda frames it.

"He feels bad about it, but doesn't try to change."

Honestly? Sounds like he tries to communicate, but his depression isn't letting him do it well. Again, it's 1970, and I don't think anyone has ever truly tried to help him.

He's a man. Why can't he man up? Jack is doing fine, why can't you, Felix?

Or why won't you just tell everyone how you feel? It's not like men have been bottling their emotions for decades now, right?

6) april 1974.

The Bon's Burgers is about to be open in a few weeks.

Felix and Linda have a fight (verbal). He hurts her feelings.

Jack asks Felix to pick up kids from a school party. Felix says no at first, but Jack won't listen.

Eventually, Felix says yes.

7) morning of may 2nd, 1974.

Linda leaves Felix. Only thing left after her is a note.

No talking, no nothing. His wife of 10+ years left him.

Have you ever gone through a breakup? A breakup with your spouse? Were you in an intoxicated state of mind when your wife left you? Were you depressed when seemingly everyone have left you?

Wait, right, he has Waltens. So of course he's gonna get those kids home, that's the only thing left for him! Everyone are asking him of it.

7) evening of may 2nd, 1974.

The car crash happens.

8) may 3rd, 1974.

He's awfully drunk. He's depressed. He got almost killed. He tried to kill himself twice. He has no one to talk about this with.

He has killed two children. Children that he loved.

Jack is going to hate him. And he does! Jack DOES want to kill him, Felix knows it even before speaking to him.

Note that he's not afraid of Rosemary.

9) may 3-6th, 1974.

He hides. He doesn't sleep for three days, and gets hallucinations.

He's scared. But the fact he actually faced Waltens is surprising. He's trying to fix things as best as he can.

10) may 6th, 1974

He lies. What else can he do?

Jack disappears. Susan disappears. Rosemary and Charles disappear. Brian and Ashley disappear.

And THIS is noway near his fault.

Bon's Burgers close. He has no money, several murder cases. Everybody is dead.

_____________________________________________

And after all of this, people don't find Felix even a little bit likeable? But support an agressive, irrational Jack, who was blind to his brother's struggling and pain? Who was the only person to not notice Felix's drinking problem?!? I'm confused.

I feel like Felix almost constantly. The mentally ill guy with no support system, that has no one to talk to. Never the one to get any help, even when having a "family".

And it's not like he thinks that he deserves love and attention. He never goes searching for Linda. He tries to end his life multiple times. He's masking as a nice corporate guy, while suffering internally.

He suffers more than anybody else in the series. And why? What did he do? Did anyone teach him how to deal with these situations?

In conclusion: don't hate people. Never ever wish the worst for them, especially publicly.

And if you associate yourself with Kranken? Try to get help. Again, and again, and again. We live in a scary, but wonderful world. Your life is worth living, you deserve to be happy. Don't give up.

#muting this post. please dm me if you have any questions #twf #the walten files #twf felix #my thingies

[starchaserdreams]

Jegulus Instagram AU part 1

Part 2

-

Regulus dropped his phone like it was on fire and stared at it for a long moment where it lay upside down on his comforter.

He'd seen- well, it was burned into his brain enough that the picture not being visible anymore didn't matter.

James, in nothing but his shorts, with his thumb inside the waistband on one side dragging it down a bit. It hadn't shown anything really, but it was way too sexy for Instagram, that was for sure.

Regulus picked his phone up gingerly and looked closer. James' tattoo on his shoulder stood out against his skin, tanned golden from a summer outdoors. His hair was effortlessly tousled and his right hand was running through it. His eyes were closed slightly Regulus thought was the sexiest lusty expression he'd ever seen.

Regulus looked down to see what James' 3,000 thirsty followers had to say in response to the picture, and then- weird. There were no likes or comments. Not one person had responded in the 45 minutes since it had been posted. Regulus certainly wasn't going to, but he couldn't understand why nobody else had. It was easily one of the hottest pictures he'd ever seen.

Regulus very carefully did not hit the like button and killed the app. He tried to put it out of his mind, but he couldn't quite forget it. Not only was it weird that no one had liked it, but it was just too hot to forget.

-

By the time a week had passed, Regulus had pretty much put it out of his mind. But then it happened again.

Maybe the algorithm was glitching. Maybe it hadn't shown this picture to anyone but Regulus. For whatever reason, this one had no notes for four hours before Regulus saw it.

James, lying on his side on his bed, with a hand on his chest, caressing his pec. Regulus was instantly jealous of that hand, and it made him hot all over. James had no visible clothes on, just a sheet hanging draped over him from his hips down. It wasn't immediately obvious if he was actually naked, but it sure did imply it.

Regulus' mouth watered on the spot.

He couldn't figure out why no one had liked this. Why weren't half of James' followers begging him to let them into that moment?

And then it occurred to him: for this to happen once, it could have been a mistake of the algorithm. For it to happen twice seemed impossible. It seemed....intentional. Had James somehow made it so that Regulus would see this and no one else? Was that even a setting on this godforsaken app?

Regulus hit the create post button - after saving the picture as quickly as he could and trying not to think too hard about it- and looked at the settings. Clear as day, there was an option for showing only certain people your pictures.

Regulus killed the app once more and stared at his home screen for a long time.

Wow. James Potter was really something.

Slowly, ever so slowly, his face broke out into a grin.

James Potter was really something.

#marauders #marauders era #dead gay wizards #regulus black #starchaser #jegulus #james potter #sunseeker #instagram au

[azsazz]

Midnight Muse (Part 4)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3,556

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Notes: This story is so healing to me 😌

_________________________________________

A deep thrumming rattling the walls shakes you from your sleep. It vibrates through your chest, the ardent bass and pounding drums reverberating in your bones. The timber of the singer’s words swims in your head, throat and low, and you’re unable to pluck the words and make sense of them this early in the morning.

You blink once. Twice. Your eyelids feel like sandpaper and your head is stuffed with tiredness, a sharp pain settled behind your eyes despite the darkness of your room.

Night licks the walls, and you groan, rolling over. Shoving your pillow over your head, it does little to block the disruption coming from the other side of the wall. You don't know what time it is. If it is still night, it’s either too early, or too late.

Which means that the sounds on the other side of the wall have to be one of those rowdy boys.

After moving the vehicle when ‘Azzy’—as the final boy so lovingly said it—had finally moved that death-trap of a ride, you were beginning to think that things were starting to finally look up for the rest of your first night in your apartment. He had been gone and his roommates’ party seemed to be winding down, if the three giggling, drunk girls on the elevator ride down were any sign. They’d been gushing about one of the roommates, Cassian, she’d said. Some of her brunette hair was disheveled in her ponytail, as if someone had tried to run their fingers through their hair, or had wrapped said hairstyle around their fist. Gag.

“He kept calling me baby,” she gushed to her friends, who were both squealing with excitement. You could hardly contain the desperate urge to roll your eyes at their annoyance, how they were openly talking about the lines of muscle cording his body or the length of his cock with a complete stranger inside this tiny metal box with them. It’s not as if they were whispering, and you’d cut a glance at the girl swooning over one of your rude neighbor’s appendage. 

Her piercing green eyes were clouded and shiny with drink. Her cheeks pinkened with a blush that looked permanent. Her lush lips swollen and top button of her shirt still undone, she looked everything beautifully fucked. 

Your mouth turned into a sour line, wondering which of the boys had been the one to claim her tonight. 

With each passing day, the dilapidated elevator seemed to work slower and slower. As if it was your destiny to be stuck in the confines of this metal contraption with the worst possible people…or trapped outside of it, anyway.

Eventually, the doors had screeched open, but even the shrill noise didn’t deter the gossipping girls’ conversation. They stumbled out of the elevator with a cheerfulness only alcohol and dick could conjure, giggling their way down the quiet streets.

It was a miracle that you didn’t have a parking ticket clinging to the window of your rental. You’d moved it both easily and quickly, something you would’ve been able to do if that bastard Azzy had given you the damn space when you’d asked him to move his sleek motorcycle. 

And of course, as you cursed his name for the umpteenth time of the night, he’d appeared.

Cloaked in a worn leather jacket that clung to the curve of every muscle, he’d shown up. There was a tight line to his mouth, deep eyes reflectant of the nighttime sky, caressed by equally dark, thick lashes. He nearly looked as tired as you felt, slight rings around his eyes. His helmet, that, when he shucked off pulled his hair up in the most perfect directions, even more so when he ran his gloved fingers through it with that damned smirk on his face.  

He hadn’t let your gaze linger on the handsomeness of it as a streak of mischief streaking across his eyes like a star as he taunted you. Azzy’s tone was deep and dulcet, unexpected for the jeer falling from his lips. It took your tired mind to shear through the thoughts of that mouth and hook onto his words, and the asshole’s smile only widened when you scoffed and retaliated. 

Oh, how he had gotten on your nerves. 

Again.

And now this, music flowing through the wall at Mother knows what hour.

You’re so exhausted, you could cry. Your body is sore with the efforts of moving, mind a muddled mess. Tears prick the back of your eyes, tightening your sinuses as you grit your teeth, trying to contain them. If the fabric of your pillowcase wets with a drop, you would never admit it.

How has the day from hell somehow managed to turn into the night from hell too? What the fuck have you done to deserve this? 

Even more so, how do the other roommates deal with this? Are they all awake and listening to the music, long bored after the party has died down? Or do they delight in the fact, knowing you are their neighbor and have already complained about the noise once. Why not bother you again, when any normal person would be asleep?

Frustration courses through your veins like a lance, hot and unforgiving. The rush has those tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and you push to your knees, channeling every ounce of burning hot ire and rotting tiredness into your fists, pounding them against the thin wall. 

Your chest heaves, labored with irritation. You don’t smash your fists against the wall again, hoping that the once will have gotten your message across to the boy on the other side of the wall. There’s something that niggles at your brain, telling you that you know which one is fated to be on the other side of the plaster. 

There is no response for one breath, two. Then, a thump as loud as your own, answers. Just one, like you had done to him. The music rings a touch louder, and it sounds nearly clear as day, like you’re standing in the front row to a rock concert. 

Prick.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Sighing in frustration, you tear another sheet from your drawing pad, crumple it up with all of the pent up rage and annoyance, charging it with all of your ire. So much so, that you fear it might burst into flames. You want to tear it to shreds and stuff those tiny pieces of paper right up your douchebag of a neighbor's ass. 

Instead, you throw the paper over your shoulder and let your head collapse in your hands. 

Music pounds loudly through the earbuds you’d stuffed into your ears when it became clear that the raging music next door would not be turned down. You’d considered marching over there to give him a piece of your mind or punch a hole through this very wall, but instead opted to blare music so loudly you can’t make out the lyrics. 

Art had been your next attempt at blowing off some of the steam turning your cheeks red. You’d pulled out the well-worn sketchbook from your bag, along with the colored pencils you always had stuffed in there, and attempted to allow your mind to unleash whatever it wanted across the creamy pages.

Except, everything that came out was trash. Lines heavy with exhaustion and anger, deep and dark, nearly tearing through the pages. You’d broken the tips on four of your pencils and couldn’t find the sharpener you swore you’d put in the front pocket of your bag.

It’s as if your body didn’t know what to draw. The beginnings of sketches quickly turned into shapes of madness and sleep-deprivation, things you couldn’t even make out. A bat that had turned into a gruesome image, flesh tearing from its bones. A cloaked figure atop of a black stallion that made your stomach clench. A few soft strokes of a pair of lips with an incredible smirk. Your shoulders had begun to loosen as you worked through this, but once you realized what you had begun sketching subconsciously, you’d torn away that page too.

And that had been the last page in your sketchbook, the black of the back cover taunting you, laughing at you. 

It didn’t matter anyway, because your stomach had soured at the thought of your last attempt. You’d shoved yourself away from your desk, spine rigid and bones vibrating with tension. On one of the scrap papers you’d written a list of supplies to get while out shopping; pencil sharpener, new sketchbook, earplugs.

You’d even managed to unpack most of the boxes in your room before the sun had barely licked the sky. Terrible, you know, because you’ve only gotten a little more than an hour’s sleep since moving into this hell hole of an apartment. You curse Feyre’s sister, Nesta, who had claimed that this was her favorite place to live all the years she’d gone to school here. 

At least you have been productive in the hours since.

Now, you’re trailing down the roads in town, headed to the small art supply store. 

You’d waited until it was late enough for stores to be opening, and the town is quiet on this mildly sunny morning. You bask in it, shoving your earbuds into your pockets as you waltz, coffee in hand and fresh air coursing through your lungs.

You might’ve been able to fall asleep even with the sun peeking through your blinds, but you’d been determined to purchase the supplies you need for classes in a few days. Not even the sight of Azzy’s empty parking spot could turn you around. 

Something you will probably regret later.

Feyre had been dead asleep by the time you left, and you figure someone should be getting sleep even if you can’t. At least, that’s how your thoughts are now, who knows how you’ll feel if this shit is a nightly occurrence. You might just have to persuade her to switch rooms with you.

The bell at the shop rings when you enter, but there’s no one at the counter to greet you. This, you don’t mind, because you aren’t in the mood to pretend like your morning hasn’t been one of the shittiest ones you’ve had in a long time, and you’re not even hungover. Whoever is on duty is probably stocking the shelves or something anyway.

Your gaze wanders around the store, stuffed full of art supplies. It’s heaven. Painted lined up by color, a rainbow bursting with life. There’s an entire aisle dedicated to sketchbooks and papers of all sorts, canvases larger than your body stacked against the back walls, spray paints, pencils, ink, carving tools, clay—any and all supplies for most artists can be found here, and that is no easy feat.

The scent of the store draws the tension from your shoulders, settling you to your core. You can feel the recharging of your creative energy, your artistic inspiration opening her eyes to take in the view.

Maybe you can talk to the owner and convince them to let you move in here.

You take your time, shuffling up and down the aisles, taking everything in for all its glory. Pristine tubes of paint, swollen like plump berries, not yet crusted with colors. Pencils with graphite of all weights and strengths. You pluck a new HB pencil from its container and slip it into your basket. And maybe you grab a few more. 

A kneaded eraser is added after that, and ah-ha, the sharpener you need. A kit of watercolor pencils catches your eye, but you pass them up, instead heading to the sketchbook area, to linger in the scents of fresh paper.

There’s the shuffling of noise in another aisle, and you gather that it must be the associate on shift. Music begins playing through a speaker by the front, and it’s much less grating than the kind that had awoken you. The chill indie music fills the space with even more life, and combined with the streams of sunlight sliding in through the glass windows, you think your day may be starting to brighten. 

You end up with three sketchbooks in your basket—a feat in itself not to choose one of each—and continue trapezing through the store. You pass by the sculpting section and pause for a moment, wondering if you should take a class. Then, at the thought of clay thick against your skin, caked under your nails and embedded into your clothes, you decide against it. 

You grab a can of fixative for when you take your drawing class uses charcoals, another messy medium you don’t care for. You don’t like the feel of the dry chalk against your hands, sticking between the creases of your fingers. It takes forever to get out.

You may not know what type of art you want to stick with, but you know that those are out.

And there are so many different types of art to try that it’s almost overwhelming. Well, anything in your current state of fatigue is overwhelming, but you haven’t found the one thing that you can see yourself doing everyday. You don’t even have an artistic style yet, and you’re still fresh enough in college to take all of the classes you want to, weed out the areas of art you don’t care for and narrow down what you do like.

Surely, you’ll figure it all out. Someday.

You take the longest in the paint aisle. Tubes upon tubes of color scream at you, and you admire each one. From oils to acrylics, gouache to watercolors, it surely is the biggest section. Not to mention the plethora of brushes hanging above. You’d added a painting sketchbook to your cart, small enough for quick and simple paintings. You don’t want to put too much pressure on yourself yet, but you’ve always wanted to try it out.

Reds of all shades, ochres that remind you of autumn, phthalos and umbers and titanium white stare up at you, waiting for you to take them home, squeeze the life from them so their colors burst on your canvas. You gaze even snags on a unique color, and you lean closer to read the name: dioxazine purple. 

You forgo that, instead grabbing a tube of the most important colors, colors you can mix together to create any other color on the spectrum. It’s almost like a super power, being able to mix such colors from only a few, and you love it.

After adding a few brushes to your basket, you head towards the front of the store to check out, halting in your tracks when you see who is behind the counter.

No, thankfully it isn’t Azzy, but it is one of his roommates. 

He’s leaning against the counter, swiping through his phone. His dark hair looks surprisingly neat, brushed back with dampness still clinging to it from his morning shower. He’s clad in a black t-shirt that leaves a patchwork of tattoos on display. There’s an over-the-top cup of coffee on the counter that puts your simple one to shame. His posture exudes an effortless confidence, and when he looks up and catches sight of you, a dimple deepens in his cheek.

“Fancy seeing you here, neighbor.” 

You bite back the groan at the base of your throat, moving closer. All you have to do is pay for your things and leave. You don’t have to talk to him outside of the necessary cashier talk, and maybe he won’t even try to taunt you.

Yeah, right.

“Hi,” you grit, placing your basket on the counter. He peers into it and you tense, feeling judged. You have no idea what kind of art he’s into, if he even is at all, but you don’t like him knowing this part of you, not when he and his roommates have been nothing but rude to you. It feels too personal.

His eyes flicker back to your face, taking you in, and the color reminds you shockingly of that tube of paint you were just looking at. You don’t balk from his assessment of you, taking in your tired eyes and the downturn of your mouth. You want him to stop looking at you and ring up your things, but instead, he smirks.

There goes your lighter mood.

Surprisingly, the first thing out of this one’s mouth isn’t a taunt. “How are you this morning, darling?”

Darling? That thought makes you want to grimace, but you swallow it down in favor of trying to get out of here without your state of mind plummeting further.

“Lovely,” you try for a smile, but it feels forced. His lips twitch higher as he clocks it as well. “And yourself?”

“Fantastic.” 

You nod, pinning the sour remark to the roof of your mouth. Yes, I’m sure your party was just lovely, unlike my night of unrest.

Jerk.

“Right…” you trial off, eyes flicking down to your basket in an attempt to tell him to hurry the fuck up without so bluntly saying hurry the fuck up like you so devastatingly want to.

“First year here?”

“Second,” you answer flatly, praying he starts moving. The muscles of his arms flex where they’re on display, and he reaches into your basket, examining the first tube of paint he pulls out. Ochre. 

Not for anything specific, maybe say, eyes. 

“I’m a junior,” he replies, picking up the check out gun as slow as possible. 

“I didn’t really ask.”

That mirth-filled gaze sweeps over you again and you try not to duck your head, to fight off the fire of both a blush at his attention and your irritation at his slowness. 

“That’s right,” he muses, and the ring of the scanner going off makes you blink. “I’m Rhysand. I think we’ve met somewhere once.” 

It’s what you’ve been waiting for, the teasing. How he’d answered the door after sensitive Azzy had and slammed it again in your face. You remember him perfectly.

“Are all three of you always this insufferable?” You ask, cutting to the chase. It’s a rhetoric question, one you already know the answer to, but he’s responding anyway. 

“Most call it charm,” he shrugs, grinning. 

You don’t hold back the urge to roll your eyes.

“So, your roommate is pretty cute,” Rhys drawls, scanning another tube of paint. That’s two in the span of a minute. He should be fired for such things. You glance at the door, praying that his roommate doesn’t waltz right in, because that, you think, would mean that you actually have the worst luck ever. “She got a name?”

Your gaze cuts back to him, eyes narrowing. “Don’t we all?”

“And yet, I didn’t catch yours.” He cocks his head and flips another paint tube out of the basket. 

You grit your name through clenched teeth, the grip on your coffee cup tightening. Your already thin patience is now threadbare. Only a few strings holding on to your sanity, but Rhysand is quickly sawing through.

“Nice name for a lovely girl, I’m sure,” he teases, but there’s nothing funny about it. These boys might be having their fun, but to you it was never something to laugh at, and the situation has only gotten worse. “And what’s your roommate's name?” 

“Sorry, she’s not the secret fuck type,” you bite. Though, she might be, after her breakup with long-term boyfriend, Tamlin this summer.

Thankfully, your basket is nearly empty. You set your coffee on the counter, pulling your wallet from your purse in haste. The quicker you can pay and leave, the quicker you can hole back up in your apartment. Maybe take a nap on the couch.

“Trust me, darling. It wouldn’t be a secret.”

You can’t help but splutter the laugh that bubbles up your throat. You stare at him, incredulous. “That usually works, doesn’t it?”

His façade falters and you lift your chin with pride. Clearly, you’ve caught him off guard. “What?”

“The whole ‘darling’ thing. You just expect women to swoon at that, huh?” His smile is hesitant, and he takes the card you hold out to him. “That’s what I thought. Can I have my supplies now, darling?” 

Rhysand takes your card without complaint, running your total. His mouth is set in a firm line now, shoulders tense. The aura in the entire shop has changed, but you don’t have the ability to care right now, itching to get away. 

He hands you your card back and nearly shoves your bag off of the counter with a grumbled, “Az was right.” 

It’s your turn to question him. “What?”

“You are grumpy.”

The hot sheath of ire is torn away. Your fingers curl into fists around the handle of your bag, the other around your coffee cup. The bite of heat only fuels the irritation sliding up your spine, and you are unable to keep the cadmium red staining your cheeks as you glare up at him.

“Tell me you’re shitting sunshine when you haven’t slept all night because of your roommate.” Rhys answering smirk is cutting, suggestive. It makes you blind with rage. Spinning on your heel, you shove yourself out the door before he can answer your anger with another sly remark.

Fucking assholes, all of them.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Midnight Muse Taglist: @going-through-shit @honeycriess @natashachelsea @thisisew @kennedy-brooke @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @magical-mischief-makers @reiincarnatiion @ccucumbers @secret-ly-here @throneofsmut @cami26cami @torchbearerkyle @a-frog-with-a-laptop @sevikas-whore @endless-worldss @vellichor01 @bangtans-jagiya @kalulakunundrum @pinksmellslikelove @sakurafrost3-blog @imxnotxhere @bookishbroadwaybish @justdreamstars @i-am-infinite @whichwitchisthebitch @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @sia-r @acourtofbatboydreams @hannzoaks @judig92 @ilikefictionalmen @harrystylesfan2686 @dr4g0ngirl

#azriel acotar #azriel au #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #art school au #acotar modern au #midnight muse

[see-arcane]

OJ and JJ: Why Jean Jacket Let the Haywoods—Especially OJ—Get Away with More Than Anyone Else in “Nope”

I’ve seen Nope twice now. While everyone I saw it with enjoyed it, I heard a few cries of foul when it came to OJ and the others’ improbable good luck with all their near misses interacting with our favorite terrifying gulch-haunting UFO. I call foul back and say plot armor had nothing to do with it. Some luck, yeah, otherwise we’d have no protagonists. But that was hardly all.

Spoilers for Nope below

To be clear, I am absolutely not painting this as the same delusional ‘friendship’ Jupe assumed he had with Jean Jacket. Neither he, nor OJ, nor anyone else is a miraculously endowed animal/alien tamer with an automatic ~*~special bond~*~. It’s one of many points Nope goes out of its way to illustrate. You can only train (or disrespect) an animal so far before they lash out, especially predators, and especially island-sized UFOs with the munchies. But, insomuch as there is any ‘safe’ way to coexist in close proximity with something like Jean Jacket, OJ Haywood is shown to have pulled it off with flying colors. And he did so almost entirely unaware to begin with by dint of his character traits.

That and a combination of Jean Jacket’s own instincts are what likely put him and the people around him in the tiiiny pocket of special allowance JJ deigned to give them over the course of the movie.

Let’s roll back to the first scene with the Haywood Ranch and the death of Otis Sr. A death by falling nickel that happened six months before the present-day events of the film. Just before this, father and son were curious about the screaming in the clouds—a fresh snack of hikers about to be squelched—followed by the rain of inedible bits. We can assume this was Jean Jacket’s first time flying in the gulch, and he chose the Haywood Ranch as The Spot for Purging; just like the hills next to the ranch were chosen for his ‘nest’/hiding place/resting spot.

While Jupe was methodically feeding JJ fresh horses and imagining the big guy trusted him, Jean Jacket kept going home to his actual favorite spot right next to OJ and his horses—a man and his big juicy animals out training in broad daylight, day after day, without ever pestering them. No missing horses. No missing OJ. Despite JJ clearly having opportunity and a taste for both species by that point. Why?

The obvious answer is that OJ kept his head down. Literally. Eyes always on his work, under the shade of his hat bill, maybe glancing at the clouds now and then…but always too far away to agitate. For all that time, he was unconsciously respecting Jean Jacket’s rules. Plus, he was in JJ’s purging/nesting territory first; yes, Jean Jacket was calling dibs on the whole gulch, but if the locals already there aren’t bothering him, fine, sure, they can stay.

The place’s importance to Jean Jacket, OJ’s head-down habits, and the amount of time spent coexisting with each other sans trouble all combined to put OJ and the alien into as close to a neighborly setup as could ever be expected. Don’t fuck with me, I don’t fuck with you.

Then things start picking up. Too much activity, too many new skyward glances from OJ, too many hackles raised with the Star Lasso Experience. And yeah, JJ did almost vacuum OJ up—he infringed on their ‘arrangement’ and looked! The nerve! And after JJ let him get away with hiding under a roof the night he stared up at the dust devil that took the fake horse! How ungrateful!

…A move that, in hindsight, plays almost like a Strike 1 offense, paid back by slurping up the actual horse. OJ’s staring at the Star Lasso arena was likely Strike 2. After snapping at OJ and causing the accidental knockout against the ceiling, JJ flies off without him or Lucky.

Off JJ flies to the Haywood Ranch again, full of screaming people and detritus and huffy extraterrestrial chest-pounding. And what does JJ do? He drops a big bloody purge waterfall directly onto the Haywoods’ house—OJ’s territory-within-JJ’s territory—like the giant alien version of an animal hiking its leg and marking all over a lower-tier animal’s spot.

This is a warning. This is my place. I rule here.

Then, as if holding onto the statue for last (hell, that may have been the real Strike 1), he moves his big flying Roomba self over to OJ’s truck—which I’d bet JJ definitely recognizes after six months—and just hovers. Hovers. Hovers.

Making sure OJ is paying attention. Then he hacks the statue out like a bad loogie right into the windshield. Assuming it didn’t kill his ‘neighbor,’ it would be a fine lesson:

You are on thin ice. Do not cross me again.

Come morning, what do we find out? Not only is Jean Jacket smart enough to know the humans will react when he moves enough to let the electricity fizzle back on, he immediately moves back overhead to stare down at OJ. My guess? It was a test.

You know better, neighbor. What do you do when I am here? What very smart thing have you done in all our quiet time side by side?

And thank God, it does dawn on OJ in time. Do Not Look. No Eyes On JJ.

So he ducks his head. And, even though he caught a very obvious peripheral glimpse, Jean Jacket still lets that slide. Jean Jacket lets OJ, his sister, and Angel—probably his family/pack in JJ’s POV—scurry away in their silly rolling box. We can’t even say it was because Jean Jacket was still full; the big guy looks like he has whole miles of gut to chow down with.

No, he lets OJ and company off with a few warnings, because the arrangement renewed. And off he goes to settle in his cloud again.

Cut to the run.

I sincerely believe that if it had been any other person on the horse, any other person goading Jean Jacket along the run, they would not have lasted a minute. No, not even with their head down. We’ve seen by now just how fast JJ can move, how quick he can flip from zero to I-Will-Knock-You-Back-Like-a-Shrieking-Tic-Tac. And nobody can say they didn’t clench up when they, like OJ, realized Jean Jacket was hovering right behind him like the world’s most ominous frisbee. Ditto the part where JJ slurped up the TMZ jerk barely a yard away from him and Lucky.

Thiiis close to sucking him up. But no. The dust devil got Mr. TMZ with the precision of a straw.

Then we get to the run—OJ on horseback, JJ being JJ, going fast…but almost at his version of a canter. A brisk walking pace.

That much might be owed to the fact that, unlike all his other prey, the people/horses have gotten a good look at Jean Jacket, then turned to run. With OJ’s staring hoodie, he’s retreating while still looking at/challenging JJ. That’s new! That implies Jean Jacket’s neighbor has his hackles up even as he moves away!

So Jean Jacket gives a comparatively leisurely chase. Then, just when he gets fed up and goes for the vacuum maneuver—surprise! Flags everywhere! Jean Jacket freaks out as expected, twisting away rather than risk gulping up another bad meal. What the hell, OJ, why didn’t you warn JJ you were a statue this whole time?

And, finally, the climax.

OJ looks at Jean Jacket dead on, still sitting on the flag-strung Lucky. This is when Jean Jacket has completely unfolded into what looks like a full intimidation display. These tiny two-legged things have turned into a big flag-covered, barbed wired headache for Jean Jacket. Perhaps even a threat. It’s down to a fight for the territory in JJ’s perspective. Someone has to go. And OJ, the one he ‘knows’ best, the one that had respected and been respected by Jean Jacket most, like two sullen predators in the same cage mutually agreeing not to bother the other, is the one metaphorically baring his teeth first.

Even as he flexes all his freaky jellyfish anatomy, Jean Jacket hesitates.  

Does he think this is OJ warning him away? Or is he really instigating a fight to the finish? …Is there a chance OJ could win?

Even when, finally, OJ does begin drawing him along, away from Em’s bike, we never see JJ strike out with his appendages or make another dust devil. He’ll match OJ’s staring contest, he’ll creep closer, but he does not lash out.

It’s only when Em revs up and takes off for Jupiter’s Claim that Jean Jacket gambles on pursuing what he (mis)takes for the less worrisome Haywood. Simply because she looked at him and fled? Because JJ wants another warning to spit up for OJ later? No way to know.

All we see is that OJ, by a mix of hair-thin good fortune and animal training experience, managed to live with, counter, and psych out Jean Jacket enough to earn the man-eating megafauna’s tolerance and enough respect that it edged near worry.

tl;dr: No, OJ was not a magical horse/alien whisperer. But he did gain enough of Jean Jacket’s esteem to give him the best odds of survival, cohabitation and manipulation, simply by being himself, being respectful of the ‘rules’ once he knew them, and being cool as hell while everyone else fell apart or got slurped.

#hope you like text walls #anyway I love it when directors don't spoon-feed the details but leave them there for you to pick up yourself #OJ Haywood #Jean Jacket #Nope 2022 #Nope #horror #jordan peele #spoilers

[sketchguk]

part time lover (moodboard)

➳ pairing: investigative journalist!jeongguk x daycare teacher!reader. alternatively, spy!jeongguk x assassin!reader

➳ genre: smut, fluff, angst, fake marriage au, dad au, spy x family au

➵ word count: 465 (teaser) / 30.8k

➳ summary: there is no crime more perfect than marrying jeon jeongguk. your relationship is nothing more than a ruse - while your friends pester you for being perpetually single, jeongguk desperately needs a wife to complete the pristine image of a family, fooling his way through the parent interview at the nation’s most prestigious private school.

only time will tell how deep your lies will run as you find home in one another’s minds. because untangled in the moonlight, he is but a spy, exposing a secret world of corruption, and you, an assassin, ridding the streets of danger one hit at a time. 

➳ warnings: themes of parenthood, raising a child, reader and jk are both orphans, reader has a past where she struggled with financially supporting her family, eldest daughter trauma, reader is insecure, fears of abandonment, mentions of violence and m*rder (but not explicit), mention of weapons (guns, knives, grenades, poison),  jk has a bruise from boxing, descriptions of an explosion, blood is drawn twice (via kitchen knife and shrapnel from aforementioned explosion), (1) mention of weight loss, jk changes his appearance in an attempt to fit in, mention of a minor car crash, social drinking, scars (surgical/knife, bullet wounds), characters are liars for the sake of the plot, side characters are misogynists (satire), food descriptions, pet names (hers: angel, good girl, princess his: love). 

➳ publish date: saturday, october 14th 8pm EST

➳ a/n: thank you for all the love you've shown on the teaser. i really didn't expect so much support >.< i hope you're all as excited as i am though !! once again, this is part of the “industry baby” collab! please look forward to all of the other fics in the masterpost 💛

smut warnings below the cut!

➳ smut warnings: virgin reader, sexual tension, body worship, nipple play, marking, oral (f receiving), fingering, hair pulling, unprotected sex, jk has a big dick, praising, stomach bulge, spitting, use of the word slut, marriage kink(?) he loves his wife so much, reader wants to be bred, cumshot

“You can touch me if you want,” he offers. 

You’re not as confident as Jeongguk, but oh, how you wish you were. 

“Do you want to?” He senses your hesitation, yet you nod your head, affirming.

“I do,” you bite the inside of your cheek. “I want to touch you- feel you.” 

Jeongguk wraps his fingers around your wrists, bringing your hands to rest on his broad shoulders. They’re muscular beneath your touch. You curse yourself for letting your mind wander and for letting your panties soak with arousal ー neither of which you can control. 

Somehow, you resist the urge to look down at his physique. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to the elbows, revealing his strong forearms, adorned by the dark tattoos that coil up his muscles. Your gaze darts across his features, struggling to focus on the starlight in his eyes. You switch between the edge of his jaw, the dip of his neck, and the plump of his lips. 

“My eyes are up here, angel.” The corner of his mouth draws into a smile ー so bright and devastatingly beautiful. He hooks a gentle hand beneath your chin, guiding you to meet his stare. “Tell me what you’re thinking about. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” 

Your voice is soft, just barely above a whisper. It’s nearly inaudible. “Thinking about what it would be like to kiss you.” 

The innocence of your words makes Jeongguk blush. He’s never been the type to be so easily affected. After all, he’s the bold one in the relationship ー confident, decisive, dominant. But you make him weak in the knees.

“You don’t have to ask permission to kiss me.” Jeongguk inches closer, considerate hands squeezing around your waist. “You’re my wife.” 

Why does the thought of belonging to Jeongguk make your heart stutter? You’re certain that this is nothing but pretend, yet the only thing that makes you believe this could be real is the soothing circles that Jeongguk draws onto your skin. He’s present. He’s willing. His lips are right there, right in front of you. You could take the leap of faith and close the distance, leaning forward to kiss him. 

So you do. 

.

.

.

Your eyes are half lidded as you murmur a quiet confession, “I want to kiss you again.” Normally, you wouldn’t dare to be so bold, but you feel drunk on his taste.

“You can do whatever you want to me.” Jeongguk draws you closer, dragging your core onto the apex of his thighs, thick and sturdy. “I like anything that you like. Kissing you. Holding you. Just looking at you,” he shrugs. “And if it wasn’t obvious enough… I like you.” 

Jeon Jeongguk makes you absolutely breathless. “Ar- are we still pretending?”

check it out here!

#jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenario #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts fanfic #bts fan fic #bts fanfiction #bts fan fiction

[novalizinpeace]

In the season of love I’m curious to know, how the other critters show their love?

We have already seen that Callem kind of shows his affection through physical touch, more specifically caring for the others hair (Braiding Albas mane, and brushing Nell’s fur).

But what do the others do or what kind of affection is most affected for them to be shown they are loved?

this question is simple, 'cause you can divide the gang in two groups

the ''touchy'' groups are the first to go hug someone after thinking they we're in danger, the first to jump over you to play fight, the ones that don't think it twice when someone wants cuddles. As you said, Callem specific way of show this if with grooming others, while with Amara she like to cuddles, her favorite cuddle buddies been Mommy and Bebe.

and Alba tend to be really physical with anyone that she knows it good with it, most of the time without noticing it.

on the other side with the ''no touchy'' ones, each of them have their way to show feelings. Charlie for example likes to write, a lot, and he like to let others knows he's listening when they speak to him, so he show them in a... big way.

(the kicker here, he doesn't even like the cartoon, but took the time to watch it and writte 43 different fanfics to keep them happy for a while)

On the other side, Nico likes to show and give new things to others, specially those things that she find resemble more the one she's giving it. Alba is the number #1 fan of her collection.

Samina isn't really a big show off of affection, but the way you can see she cares is when she take care's of the heretic's food: Even when using ingredients like rotten meat, dead rats, mushroom, mold and expired food in general, she likes to make a good presentation when is food time, she had even cook the roaches for Nico and Callem to prevent them from eating them raw. She may not be a good hugger or a good speaker, but she put her heart in her food.

Now, Nell is in the middle 'cause he doesn't like physical affection due traumas (both in his pastlife and in his actual life), but had become comfortable enough with some in the gangs to allow it (like Callem's hugs). But about how he show his feelings...

He don't, that his big problem: any time someone try to become closer with him, he back off, he hide, he run, something in his mind prevent him from go deeper in a relationship, telling him that they all can dissapear in any moment or that he could mess everything up and fail them, make him retreat and even become aggresive if someone try to force a social situation on him, and the only reason the gang still see him as their friends is because they know he's like that and isn't doing it on purpose, they know he actually care for all of them, so they don't force him, that's also why Callem isn't honest with his feeling or try to take the inniciative, 'cause he doesn't want to force Nell in any way and end up with a friend hiding from him.

But at this point in his life, even he's tired of it.

#poppy playtime #smiling critters #smiling critters arg #ask #nova say

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

Rumor has it - Tom Riddle x reader - Part 1/2

...i-i dont even know, enjoy this fic that I've been giggling and kicking my feet over Afab reader, has a last name, she/her reader

=

There was a rumor going about school-that apparently had started from a Slughorn party-after party. It was quite outlandish-many didn’t believe it-others hoped it was true and they were the one involved in it.

What was that rumor? Tom Riddle had a crush.

Who was he crushing on? No one knew, all anyone got out of him was the word ‘yes’ when asked if he liked anyone during truth or drink. It had been the first time anyone had seen him blush-his pale cheeks and ears during apple red, his cheeks puffed slightly as he sunk into his chair and sipped at his butterbeer.

Many wondered who started this rumor, and if it was true or not; because Tom had never shown any interest in romance before-boy or girl. He had flirted once or twice-then usually abandoned that tactic when he got what he wanted-which garnered him a playboy title. He really wasn’t; a playboy by definition was someone who didn’t care for personal feelings and had many sexual relationships.

Tom didn’t care for sexual relationships, before now(as the rumor suggested) he hadn’t even had a crush before.

The great hall was a mess of voices, many of them whispering about the rumor and Tom felt eyes on him as he tried to study. It was bloody study hour after all-that usually meant ‘be quiet’ or at least be respectful to those who are trying to study.

“Who do you think it is?” one voice whispered from the Ravenclaw table-which right now had several Slytherin and Hufflepuff sitting at it-since house tables were really only assigned during dinner. “I dunno, I know Olive Hornby hopes it’s her heh-did you see her face when she first heard the rumor?”

“yeah, her eyes lit up like Christmas had come early,”

Tom sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose-heavily regretting not taking a shot when he had been asked that question during the after-party. He had thought-possibly, maybe, it wouldn’t spread about. He had thought what happened at a party-stayed at a party. But he had been wrong, and now his secret was out and being spread like wildfire.

Yes-Tom Riddle had a crush, and he had had it since 4th year. Who? He would never tell; he had hardly admitted it to himself this past summer when he realized why this particular person plagued his thoughts like no other had before-they had even overtaken the chamber and horcruxes in his mind.

Tom was 16 years old, and dealing with liking someone for the first time.

He detested it(he didn’t), he just wanted them to disappear from his mind and life and never have to think of them again(a lie, he wanted nothing but to be around them all the time).

“Honestly, you’d think Tom Riddle is the only boy in existence with how they talk about him,” Tom glanced up from his potions work, seeing Viktoria Klopstock arm In arm with (y/n) Alexander; the two talking about the rumor swirling through the school. (y/n) snorted at Viktoria’s quip and shook her head, catching Tom’s eye for a split moment and smiling at him like she always did.

Tom couldn’t help but stare.

“Well, he is the heartthrob of the school, or did you not say that only a few months ago?” (y/n) teased back, laughing as Viktoria sputtered and glared at (y/n) with flushed cheeks, her pale complexion stark against her dark brown hair. “You-I was simply making an observation!“ (y/n) just hummed in response to Viktoria’s sputter, sitting down with their other friends, Walter Deville and Lucy Billington, and laughing as Viktoria attempted to defend herself over her past comments on Tom.

“Keep telling yourself that Viv, we all know you fancy him,” (y/n) teased and Viktoria just kissed Walter in protest, who chuckled and shook his head, brushing back his dark curly hair. (y/n) tossed her head back while she laughed and Lucy shook her head at her friends, returning her attention to her divination book.

Tom tore his eyes away when (y/n) glanced back at him, swallowing harshly against the dryness of his throat.

Yeah, Tom Riddle had a crush all right, and no one would ever know who it was.

But…

Tom glanced back up-seeing (y/n) still looking at him, seemingly lost in thought and Tom had to look away as he felt heat buildup in the tip of his ears.

He had a feeling it wouldn’t stay a secret for long.

-

“Hey Tom!” Tom forced himself to stay perfectly calm as he turned on his heel to face (y/n), who was walking up to him with her broom in hand-clad in her Slytherin quidditch uniform. “Alexander,” Tom greeted, mentally patting himself on the back as he forced down the waver of his voice. “is there something you need?”

(y/n) shook her head, just smiling, a strand of her hair falling into her eyes. “Not really, just wanted to know if you’ll be at the game this Saturday?” Tom shrugged, he had never been one for quidditch, it was a brutal game that always resulted in pointless injuries. But when he looked at (y/n), who seemed so excited at the prospect of him being at that game(her first game actually, a chaser had gotten injured and she was finally coming off the bench after being on the team for a year), he caved.

“I’ll be there,” Tom said instead of saying he was going to be busy, and (y/n) beamed. Tom couldn’t help the flutter of his chest at the sight of it, meant for him. “what time? I’ve never been to a match, not since first year anyway,” Tom asked and (y/n) happily told him what time the match was, it was Slytherin against Ravenclaw, and he nodded, taking a step back as she went off to practice, giving him one last grin.

“Oh I’m so doomed,” Tom breathed, feeling that now familiar heat travel to his cheeks and ears, catching a glimpse of his apple-red face in the reflective glass of a window. “so doomed.”

To this day-he had trouble figuring out why he was attracted to (y/n), it wasn’t as if she had come out of nowhere, they were in the same year, and same house-and she was a high-class halfblood(pureblood father and halfblood mother), from one of the richest families in the uk-right behind her friends, Deville being the richest of the four.

Tom had noticed her from the start really, while he was walking down the cars of Hogwarts Express, seeing her with her three friends laughing away with her head in Deville’s lap, a chocolate frog in hand. She had seen him and smiled, waving at him shyly.

Tom had just blinked-the socially awkward child he had been-and carefully waved back, then continued down to find an empty car.

Then she just kept showing up, sitting next to him in class, being partnered with him in assignments; always smiling at him and greeting him with a wave. Tom simply got used to her, almost began expecting her really, she was probably the only person in Hogwarts that didn’t annoy him to all hell just by existing.

He supposed that’s how she slipped through the cracks-by not being one of the several banes of his existence.

But then the calm expectancy became heat rushing to his face when she sat down with him in the library to study, butterflies in his chest and gut when she glanced at him, trembling hands when she smiled at him, sharp intakes of breath when her hand rested on his shoulder to pass by him in a busy hall.

Tom was utterly infatuated with her and he had no idea how to handle it, but he dreaded the idea of disappointing her(agreeing to come to a stupid game just so she would be happy), felt the burning pit of jealousy in his gut when someone got far too close to only want friendship(he had never wanted to fist fight someone before then), and had the desperate need to just-hold her hand.

He had never wanted to hold anyone’s hand before.

But then he wanted to be around her all the time, just to stare at her freely, curl his fingers into her hair, touch her lips with his thumb, and bring her into a kiss.

Tom groaned at the thoughts going through his mind, his face burning against his palms as he rubbed his eyes. He was really so doomed, here he was-attempting to unlock all the secrets of the chamber of secrets and become one of the greatest wizards of all time-and he was constantly plagued by thoughts of (y/n) Alexander.

He remembered only a few days ago, after he had been researching horcruxes and the chamber-they had been the only thing resounding through his mind as of late. But with a call of his name and (y/n) asking him if he was okay(he was visibly distracted) Tom had just nodded, feeling his lip quirk up without his control. And for the rest of the day, the only thing he could think of was (y/n) Alexander.

Tom sat down in potions class, getting out all his things, but still-the only thing in his head was (y/n) Alexander. Her eyes, her lips, the curve of her jaw and cheeks, the way her head tossed back when she laughed particularly hard, the curl of her nose when she snarled at Black during practice because he had made one too many comments.

“So doomed,” Tom muttered to himself, getting out his quill and ink well, looking up at Professor Slughorn as he greeted the glass.

Oh to be young and to be in love.

-

The wind from the quidditch pitch threw his hair around-his scarf tucked tightly into his jacket so it didn’t fly away. It was loud, very loud, something Tom expected considering he could hear the crowd from the bloody library sometimes.

“Hello, and welcome to Hogwarts' sixth match of the season! Today’s game, Slytherin vs Ravenclaw!” The respective houses roared with support for their teams, and Tom saw the Slytherin team soar high above the pitch, his eyes drawn to a particular player.

Alexander; 3

She had a wild grin on her face-the wind curling her hair and flushing her face, she zoomed past Black and settled with her teammates as they all gathered in the air. The referee stood at the bottom and said something Tom couldn’t hear and opened the box that sat at her feet; in an instant-the bludgers flew up, along with the snitch.

With a blow of a whistle-the quaffle was tossed into the air and the game began.

(y/n) had snatched it before anyone else could grab it-flying up and over the Ravenclaw’s heads, laughing as they gave chase. She was quick-a blur to the naked eye, but that was the same for the other players, however- there was something about her speed; flying just fast enough to keep out of reach.

She easily made the first score-throwing her first up in victory as the bell rang to announce it. “(y/n) Alexander makes the first score of the game! Ten points to Slytherin!!”

Tom couldn’t keep his eyes off (y/n), her smug smirk giving him those silly butterflies as she flew back into the game, avoiding bludgers and other players with graceful ease. Tom’s knuckles cracked as a bludger came soaring right for her-but she quickly noticed and hooked her elbow around her broom, swinging around, under, and getting back on top within a split moment as the bludger zoomed right where her head had been.

“Holy shit! She’s good!” someone yelled from behind him, the Slytherin crowd cheering loudly as someone scored once again, (y/n) laughing heartily as she caught the quaffle from her teammate and flew off-her grin turning to a glare as she nearly crashed into one of the Ravenclaw chasers.

“It's odd seeing you here!” Someone yelled over the noise of the crowd and Tom spared a glance to see Abraxas-who almost seemed nervous. Tom just shrugged, looking back up and searching for (y/n), who had disappeared from his gaze the moment he looked away.

 “I think I get sports now,” Tom just said(which made Abraxas sputter in confusion because Tom had loathed quidditch before now), finally locking onto (y/n) again, his lip quirking as she snatched the quaffle mid-air, suddenly flying up as two Ravenclaw players tried to slam into her on either side-only to get each other and fly off their brooms.

“oooh!” Nott laughed from behind Abraxas, the crowd watching in tense anticipation as (y/n) continued flying up, and then suddenly-she started free-falling, the quaffle and her broom still tight in hand. Tom tensed-wondering what was going on-but he relaxed as he saw the grin on (y/n)’s face.

Just as she passed by the horde of Ravenclaw players that had been trying to get back the quaffle-she straightened out and headed straight for the pitch, faking out the Ravenclaw keeper and scoring another 10 points.

“That’s another 10 points to Slytherin! They lead Ravenclaw 30 to nothing!”

Tom squinted at the roar of the crowd around him and quickly planted his hands over his ears-it was far too loud for him now, but he didn’t want to leave early-it might make (y/n) disappointed that he left.

At that moment-(y/n) spotted him and she looked overjoyed to see him, waving eagerly. Tom grimaced back and she laughed, tossing her head back like she always did. Tom felt that now familiar heat burn at his ears and he sighed-glad he was covering them at the moment.

No one could say (y/n) Alexander wasn’t a brilliant chaser-through the next half hour the match played-she scored more than half the points Slytherin gained, and snatched the quaffle mid-air as the Ravenclaw chasers attempted to pass it multiple times.

She was quickly becoming a threat, grinning while bludgers and other players tried to knock her off-but she easily dodged each one, even jumping off her broom at one point to avoid a collision.

At one point she went high up-avoiding any players or bludgers and wiped her sweat-soaked face with her jersey, allowing all to see her stomach-which made Tom’s face flush with both jealousy and something else as the crowd whistled at her, some of the boys cat-calling her.

Tom never wanted to hex someone more.

But she caught his eye as she brought down her shirt and grinned, and Tom had a feeling she had done that on purpose-which made him think; why would she? unless she either just wanted to rile him up or…Tom swallowed down the hope in his throat as he thought; (y/n) might’ve done that to get his attention.

Well, she had it-if that’s what she wanted-and Tom doubted she would lose it.

“Rouge bludger!” someone yelled and Tom tore his eyes away, only to comically widen them as a bludger came rocketing towards him-right at him-all of the beaters were on the other side of the field, and Tom wondered how they had hit the dammed thing over to the stands. He felt hands on his shoulder-most likely Abraxas-that tried to pull him down and away-but the bludger was fast and Tom had a feeling he would be spending the next week in the hospital wing.

But something flew right where the bludger had been heading and snatched it out of the air-only feet away from where Tom was standing. He let go of the breath he had been holding and looked over the edge-seeing (y/n) with the bludger in the crook of her arm, it struggled to get out but she had a tight grip. Her face was set in anger-her eyes saying ‘murder’ as she threw the bludger right back at the ones who had accidentally hurled it at Tom-unfortunately being her own team.

She yelled something and even Black seemed to curl under her words-nodding sheepishly with the rest of the team.

Tom felt his stomach flip-flop, his mouth going dry and his face blooming with red as she pointed back towards him and continued to yell-the match being put to a halt while the referee took the rogue bludger and checked it(it was supposed to be bewitched to redirect the moment it went towards the stands)-“you nearly hit Tom!” she yelled over the roar of the wind and crowd, her lip curled into a snarl.

“You all right, my lord?” Abraxas asked, his hands still on Tom’s shoulder, and Tom nodded-eyes locked onto (y/n), who glanced back at him and drew her eyes all over him-nodding when she saw he was perfectly fine.

“Just fIne,” Tom said, ignoring the way his voice cracked like it did when he hit puberty. Abraxas frowned but nodded, the match soon resuming.

Tom really understood sports now, he really did-because that was really really hot.

The crowd started to chatter-all about (y/n), about how she caught a bludger(which-Tom learned just now-were made of IRON?!) going full speed and continued to hold it with one hand-even as it attempted to escape.

Tom realized that’s maybe why Black looked so sheepish-(y/n) had caught and held onto a 150-ish pound iron ball with no injury(to his knowledge), she was not a witch to be trifled with.

And Tom’s heart and stomach did another flip, his eyes once again on (y/n) as she used her anger to score three more times, and finally; the snitch was caught by the Slytherin seeker-ending the game.

Slytherin had won by a landslide, 240 to 60.

The Slytherin crowd exploded into cheers as the other houses booed or left the field in defeat, and from the stands-Tom could see Black hold out his hand to (y/n), and offer her the main chaser position. She grinned and took his head, her eyes turning a bit sharp as she tightened her grip, and Tom’s stomach did one last flip as he saw Black wince.

“Oh I'm so bloody doomed,” Tom muttered to himself over the blaring cheers of the crowd-turning on his heel as he saw the Slytherin team make their way off the pitch.

He didn’t even bother to look behind him to see if Abraxas and Nott were following-they always did. He made it down the rickety stairs in record time, panting slightly as he caught his breath-seeing (y/n) with the team making their way back to the castle.

Tom swallowed harshly, seeing McLaggen waltzing up to her, looking all too smug for Tom’s taste. “Alexander!” Tom called out right when McLaggen opened his mouth-both (y/n) and McLaggen looking shocked to hear her name from Tom’s mouth.

From behind him-he could feel the bewilderment from Abraxas and Nott. But (y/n) smiled at him, her hair wind-swept and cheeks slowly cooling back down, sweat drying on her face and neck. Tom licked his lips, feeling his ears start to burn as she waved off her team and walked towards him-broomstick in hand. “Tom!” she said, grinning still, leaning on her broomstick as she stopped in front of him and tilted her head. “How’d you like your first game since first year?”

“Good-great-you,” Tom cleared his throat-suddenly very nervous, his throat dry and ears burning, his usual calm and collected behavior nowhere to be seen. (y/n) bit her lip a bit-something that made Tom’s brain fumble and he paused in his words.

Oh, yes, he was gone for this girl.

“You-you played great, can’t say I’ve seen a better chaser,” Tom finished his sentence, breathing slowly as (y/n) just grinned, her eyes twinkling.

“Thank you, but you also don’t have many other chasers to compare me to, for all you know-I could be dog-shit.” Tom found himself snorting and shaking his head at (y/n)’s lack of elegant words, waving his hand towards the pitch. “Believe me, I saw enough from your teammates and the Ravenclaw chasers-you were the best on the field.”

(y/n) laughed, her head tossing back with the action and Tom found himself staring, his gaze softening as (y/n) continued to giggle as she calmed down, shaking her head as she bit her lip. “Honestly Tom, you’re funnier than others give you credit for,” Tom just hummed, he thought he was hilarious.

Thankfully, (y/n) seemed to think so too. Tom opened his mouth again, glancing around-seeing McLaggen staring daggers into him-but he quickly looked away when he caught Tom’s eye. “I just wanted to say, thank you for catching that bludger, I would probably be in the hospital wing right now if it weren’t for you,” Tom said with his usual charming grin, patting himself on the back for returning to his normal behavior.

(y/n) nodded and clapped his arm once, sending fire through his veins at her touch-his mouth going dry again. “Like I was gonna let it hit you, but, you’re welcome Tom. What would the world be like without your pretty face?” (y/n) teased and Tom’s mind went blank.

“You think I’m pretty?” Tom asked, his voice cracking slightly as his jaw went slack, the flush on his ears growing towards his cheeks as (y/n) nodded with a grin, her eyes sparkling still. He knew most of the students of Hogwarts found him attractive-but to know (y/n) thought he was pretty-wow…just-wow.

“Yeah, I do,” (y/n) breathed out, her eyes traveling his face and Tom didn’t mind being looked at like that for the first time. Usually, he hated being studied like he was just a pretty thing to look at-but-if it was (y/n)? he wouldn’t mind being studied all day.

“uh-cool,” Tom muttered back-shaking his head. Cool? Cool?! Just-cool? ugh, how lame was he?! “um-did, any chance you would like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?” Tom asked, eyes going wide at what tumbled out of his mouth, where did that come from?!

He could feel the shock and disbelief from Abraxas and Nott-considering Tom had not shown interest in anyone ever, and now was suddenly asking out (y/n) Alexander.

And then they realized; this was the girl Tom had admitted to liking at the after-party, and they grinned at each other while they watched Tom practically make a fool of himself in front of his crush. (y/n) seemed to come to this realization as well, and she stuttered for a moment, blinking quickly before she nodded, stepping closer to Tom. “I would love to, um, three broomsticks? I know a corner in there that’s nice and quiet?”

Tom nodded-he really didn’t go to Hogsmeade often, he found nothing of interest there. But he supposed now there was someone of interest there worth going for-especially if she already had a place for them to go that was quiet and secluded, just how he liked it. “Sounds good,” Tom breathed, a smile growing on his face that had (y/n) staring at him, and her smile grew, reaching to her eyes.

God, he never stood a chance, did he?

“Great, I’ll-I’ll see you then,” (y/n) said, her voice wavering with excitement and Tom nodded, his hands behind his back as (y/n) skipped back with a grin, waving goodbye and then running towards her friends who had been waiting for her, and Tom couldn’t help his smile when she screamed and jumped into Viktoria’s arms. “Tom Riddle asked me out!!!”

“You just asked (y/n) Alexander out,” Abraxas said from behind Tom and Tom whirled around, very aware that his face was bright red and he was grinning like a madman. “yeah-I did….I have no idea how to go on a date,” Tom said after a short pause, still grinning-he couldn’t stop.

Abraxas just laughed and Nott stared, unsure of how to handle any of this. “We’ll help, my lord.”

-

The next week passed by both quickly and all too slowly. Nerves jumbled about in Tom’s gut as the weekend came ever closer, he could hardly focus in classes-all he could think about was (y/n). God, he had actually asked her out-after nearly two years of staring and (unknowing) yearning, he was going on a date with the first person he had ever felt attracted to. His stomach had been doing somersaults all week at the thought of her, of their upcoming date-and the idea that it might turn into…something more.

The Chamber and his Horcrux research had been pulled off the stove-only (y/n) Alexander remained.

His followers were-no help. They just made him more nervous will all the “advice” they gave him.

“Don’t be overbearing,”(duh?)

“Don’t only talk about yourself, girls hate that,”(also duh)

“But don’t ask about her too much she’ll get overwhelmed,”(Tom was beginning to doubt these knuckleheads had ever gone on a date)

“make sure to order for her, girls like it when a man takes charge,”(yeah he wasn’t going to take Black’s advice)

“be cool and aloof-like you always are really,” (Tom thought (y/n) liked it when he fumbled a bit honestly, she seemed charmed when he was making a fool of himself asking her out.)

But really, Walter Deville had the best advice for Tom when the time came around for the date-he took Tome aside as he passed by him in the hall, giving a stern look to Tom’s followers who were ready to protest. “Look, Tom, I’m going to give it to you straight, (y/n) is a lady, you must remember that, but she is not judgmental, she does not care for your background nor your status.” Tom felt some of the nerves in his gut decrease a bit-but Walter wasn’t done. “She likes you, Tom, she really does like you, but she has a very high standard-not out of training from her mother or the family, but for herself, if you do not treat her with kindness and be a false version of yourself around her; she will drop you quicker than a basilisk can kill. Treat her well, and treat her kindly, or you will regret it.”

Tom swallowed at the last bit-very much hearing the seriousness in Walter’s voice. It wasn’t a ‘we will hurt you if you hurt her,’ it was ‘she will hurt you if you hurt her,’ and Tom didn’t doubt she would. “Clear?” Waler asked, grinning as Tom nodded. “Crystal,” Tom muttered, stumbling forward as Walter laughed and slapped Tom’s back.

“Oh don’t be so grim! I have faith in you, Tom,” With another pat on Tom’s back, Walter walked off, and Tom was just as nervous as he was before.

-

Tom had very few outfits, he had his uniform and its extra pants, shirts, and vests, his uniform from the orphanage, a suit(a gift from the Malfoys for a Christmas party from last year), and very little extra. He ended up wearing the suit because he didn’t think anything else fit the situation.

He hoped (y/n) wouldn’t be put off by the lack of casualty, but he had an inkling she wouldn’t mind at all.

She didn’t, her eyes traveling his well-dressed form with appreciation and a heat that made Tom’s ears burn, coughing slightly into his fist. “hi,” she said quietly, stepping closer to him as he waited for her by the carriages to Hogsmeade. “hello,” Tom said back, his lip quirking. (y/n) Alexander looked-breath taking, her skirt flowing gently in the late fall breeze.

“You look very handsome,” (y/n) said with a soft smile, her hands moving up to tug at his suit jacket, holding each side with both hands and getting a better look at what lay beneath the jacket. “Thank you, you look-“ Tom could hardly finish his sentence, just letting out a slow breath that had (y/n) giggling, her smile growing.

“let’s get going, shall we?” (y/n) asked, taking Tom’s arm as he offered it and he nodded, leading her to a carriage and helping her inside like the gentleman he was; taking the seat from across her-the two falling into a comfortable conversation as the carriage went off to Hogsmeade.

(y/n) indeed had a quiet corner for the two of them, hidden away from the noise and tucked away from sight, letting them talk quietly and share small smiles and glances they didn’t have to worry about others seeing.

Tom, quite honestly, had never expected to have such fun on a date; he never expected to go on a date ever really. But here he was, on one with (y/n) Alexander, at the three broomsticks; drinking butterbeer and sharing an appetizer.

Tom could hardly keep track of what they talked about-but he felt himself grow more comfortable and his nerves almost disappear the longer they sat there. Tom chuckled at something she said and she stared-smirking a bit as Tom cleared his throat at her gaze-his ears burning. “I like your laugh,” she muttered, leaning on her arm, her eyes burning into his soul.

“Thank you,” Tom muttered, licking his lips nervously, which were quirking up into a smile that mirrored (y/n)’s gentle one. “You don’t laugh often, do you? At least not genuinely.” (y/n) asked, tilting her head a bit and Tom shrugged.

“Not much that I find genuinely funny, really,” Tom muttered, rolling his jaw a bit but (y/n) just laughed, biting her lip. “Suppose you find me funny then? Good, wouldn’t do us any good if you didn’t.” Tom laughed gently again, but nodded in agreement.

“I do,” Tom mumbled, hiding his slight flush behind his glass of Butterbeer. (y/n)’s soft grin widened and Tom’s blush darkened a bit, drifting his eyes away from (y/n)’s gaze. God he was absolutely gone for this girl, he really never stood a chance.

They talked for a bit longer, and (y/n) eventually gave him a look that made him go quiet, tilting his head in curiosity. “this is your first date, right?” she asked and Tom slowly nodded. “yes, I’ve never been interested in anyone else,” Tom said honestly and (y/n) glanced away with a chuckle, hiding her grin in her shoulder.

“I don’t suppose it’s yours though,” Tom said, glancing down at his hands. (y/n) nodded, but then shrugged. “Yes, but this is the first date I actually wanted to be on though, so-you’ve already made top marks.”

Tom frowned, glancing up at (y/n) who was shifting in her seat. “Wanted to be on?” Tom asked curiously and (y/n) nodded, glancing down at her watch.

“Yes, my mother likes to set me up on dates hoping i'll find a suitor that adheres to my tastes-but I have yet to find one in the ones she sends. Usually, they’re all pompous bores who couldn’t care less about me other than my money and what status they’ll gain by being with me,” Tom slowly nodded, hoping she didn’t think he was doing the same thing.

Honestly-half the time he forgot (y/n) was an Alexander, or was more well known as Lady (y/n) Alexander, and not the amazing girl he had been crushing on since 3rd year and had only realized it the previous summer.

“Why is she setting you up on dates?” Tom asked, leaning back in his chair, his face set into a perfect calm. (y/n) sighed, leaning into her palm, her eyes distant. “She wishes for me to marry by twenty, something about heirs and my duty as Lady Alexander,” Tom swallowed the pit in his throat, his eyes drawing down. He knew (y/n) did not care for status and money, but her parents most likely did, and Tom was not a man of status-even if he was descended directly from Slytherin, and from his limited research, his father was of the high class.

But Tom had no money, and his father had no knowledge of him-besides, Tom had no want for that acknowledgment.

“Tom,” he looked up, and swallowed again as (y/n) reached across the table and took his folded hands with a smile. “things like status and money do not matter to my family, my mother just wishes for me to be taken care of if anything should happen to the Alexander fortune. Most of all she wishes for me to find love, to be treated kindly, and be held dearly; if I married a poor man with nothing to his name-if all he could give me was his heart and soul-my family would be overjoyed that I had found a man like that.”

Tom just stared, that pit in his throat only growing heavier as he blinked back a burn in his eyes. “Oh,” Tom breathed instead of responding, his cheeks flushing as (y/n) smiled at him. His heart was beating out of his chest-trying to hop into (y/n)’s hands and be kept.

He was so-fucking-doomed.

-

“Is-is he smiling? Actually smiling?” Black asked quietly as he, Abraxas, Nott and Mulciber all watched as Tom walked through Hogsmeade with (y/n) Alexader tucked into his side, the two holding hands and talking quietly-both of them smiling.

“Yep, he’s smiling…” Abraxas muttered, leaning against a wall and watching as the two new lovebirds walked past, (y/n) tugging Tom into honey-dukes with shining eyes as Tom chuckled fondly.

“He is gone gone for her,” Avery said as he walked up, hands in his pockets. The other boys nodded; they had a feeling certain planned things had quickly gone down the drain all thanks to (y/n) Alexander.

Oh, the things Love can change.

-one year later-

 Tom was very sure he was deeply in love with (y/n) Alexander, for one year after they began dating-she stood with him in the chamber of secrets, discovering his past, all his darkest desires and wishes-and was not deterred by any of it. If anything-her affection towards him seemed to grow, for as he spoke to open the chamber, she stepped closer, carefully watching his lips as he spoke parseltongue. She immediately closed her eyes and let him guide her as he summoned the basilisk-putting her utmost faith and trust in him as he placed her hand upon its scaley nose.

Tom had never felt more love for her and had never felt more love from her for him, he had trusted her with his deepest secrets over the last year as they dated, even his wish to become immortal, even his fear of letting love into his heart.

And she never shied away, she never shunned him, she only took his hands and held him close-guiding him through the pitch-black maze of his mind. He even told her about his plan for Horcruxes.

He ended up with a dead stare and a long sigh. “That’s-quite honestly Tom, so stupid.” She muttered and Tom frowned, taking a step back but she stopped him and took his face, giving him a smile that was slightly strained. “I do not think of you any different, but dark magic such as that is not worth it, yes your soul will live on but it will be shattered and disfigured, leaving you with ultimately a cursed life and weaker magic because it is so strained across the separated souls. If you wish to live forever-I will be by your side, but horcruxes are a stupid and simply bad idea.”

Tom…honestly couldn’t argue with that. (y/n) smiled and pecked the corner of his lips, which made Tom want to tilt his head slightly so he could kiss her properly-but at that point they hadn’t had their first kiss yet. “Promise me you’ll drop the idea of it? Horcruxes?” (y/n) asked gently, still holding his face, looking into his eyes.

Tom nodded immediately, he would do anything for (y/n), anything. She smiled and kissed his cheek again, moving her hands down to grab his and guiding him from the chamber and back up to Hogwarts. Tom only felt a slight pit of guilt in his gut, since last year, just before school ended-he had attempted to create a Horcrux by using the chamber, but it had eventually slipped his mind as (y/n) took over all thoughts of his plans for it.

But he had never truly opened the chamber of secrets-and he would keep his promise to (y/n), he would find a way to become immortal, and he would share it with his (y/n) Alexander, so they would be together forever.

-

Tom took a deep breath that rattled in his chest as he stood before (y/n)’s father's office doors in the Alexander mansion, it was the spring break of their final year, and Tom had been invited over since he was dating the heiress to the fortune. In his pocket, he had a small box that contained a silver ring with a small obsidian piece mounted atop-it was all he could afford with the money he scrapped from his last year of stipend from the Hogwarts fund.

It helped that (y/n) had insisted on buying him new robes and taking care of this year's curriculum items-as a gift for becoming head boy. He had tried to deny it all but with a stubborn huff from his beloved (y/n) Alexander, Tom relented with a soft smile and sigh, following her around as she bought his books and whatever else he might need.

Tom took another deep breath-nerves settled deep in his stomach and knocked on Lord Alexander's office door. “Come in, come in,” He called and Tom opened the door and stepped inside, giving a polite nod to John Alexander-the father of his girlfriend(and hopefully soon to be, fiancée)

“Tom, how nice to see you, how can I help you son?” John said with a grin, putting down his quill and setting his intertwined hands on the desk, giving Tom a warm grin. Tom opened his mouth a few times, and then shut it-unsure of how to say anything. The Alexanders were one the top families of both the muggle world and wizarding world, the Deville’s being the top dogs really, was Tom really going to soil their family line? To bring a bastard son into their practically royalty family?

Yes, yes he was-because he loved (y/n) and he didn’t want to let her go to some-rude rich boy who didn’t know how to love her correctly. “i-I was hoping,” Tom started, clearing his throat as his voice cracked. John’s smile only grew, seemingly knowing what Tom was about to ask. “if…” Tom took another deep breath, straightening his back and looking Lord Alexander in the eye. “I was hoping you would approve of me asking for your daughter’s hand in marriage.” Tom got out in one breath, his jaw clicking as Lord Alexander just stared at him, that warm smile still there-but a twinkle in his eye that made Tom nervous.

“i-I love her dearly Lord Alexander. I do not have money, and I have no status to offer her, nor do I have a proud lineage or background, but I would love her for the rest of my life, and beyond it. I know there are many men who you would prefer her to marry but-“ Tom was stopped with a hand to a shoulder, and he hadn’t realized he had been staring at his shoes. Tom looked up, seeing John-beaming.

“I would be honored if my daughter married a good man like you Tom, you love her dearly and that is all I could wish for my little girl, as does her mother. You have my blessing Tom Riddle; you’ve had it since we first met.” Tom, actually felt like crying-staring wide-eyed at John, who chuckled and opened his arms for a hug-knowing Tom didn’t like to be touched without permission. Tom stepped into his arms and squeezed, a few tears escaping his closed eyes as John hugged him tightly. “Welcome to the family Tom, I cannot wait to call you my son.”

Tom smiled into John’s shoulder, sniffing slightly as John patted his back and took a step back. “Thank you sir, I’ll cherish her forever,” Tom said quietly, smiling still as John nodded-patting Tom’s shoulder again.

“I know you will, now come on, I think the girls are outside having lunch.” Tom nodded and turned on his heel-unable to keep the smile off his face as he walked outside to the patio to see his girlfriend(hopefully soon to be fiancée) sitting under the sun with her mother, Viktoria, and Lucy, the four sharing a plate of snacks and tea by the pool.

“Tom~” (y/n) sang, holding out her hands to him and he quickly walked over to her-giving one last thankful smile to John before taking his beloved (y/n)’s hands, stepping close and moving his other hand to her shoulder as she leaned against him. “How nice for you two to join us! We were just talking about you,”

“Good things I hope,” Tom joked, obeying (y/n)’s tug as she made him sit down with her on the chair, his gaze and smile softening as she chattered away John mirroring Tom’s position as he sat with his wife. “of course,” (y/n) said with a tone that meant she was lying and not trying to hide it, and Tom sighed shaking his head fondly.

Oh, how he loved (y/n) Alexander and had never expected it.

Perhaps it was a good thing he had let it slip he had a crush at the Slughorn after-party last year. If he hadn’t-he didn’t think he would’ve gained the courage to ask (y/n) out after that fated quidditch match.

-end-

Part 2 - its just fluff lol

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagine #Tom Riddle #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter #fluff fic #Tom redemption #no voldemort au

[rae2velaris]

Azriel's ongoing theme is to find...

PEACE. WITHIN AND AROUND HIM

To realize that he is:

Worthy of love

Loved by his family for WHO he is as a person

Not defined by his traumatic past and actions

Allowed to fight for who or what he wants

This male has been:

Locked up in a cell for ELEVEN years by his stepmother, only being let out an hour a day and an hour a WEEK to see his mother

Burned ruthlessly by his half brothers at the age of eight, resulting in burns on his hands that didn't fully heal, leaving scars (which he's STILL extremely self-conscious about after 500 years)

Surrounded by darkness and shadows for years without sunlight as a child

Forbidden to train and fly while he lived with his father, something that's taught to Illyarians as a BABY

Shipped off to an Illyarian camp when his father found out he was a shadowsinger

Mocked as a bastard child alongside Rhys and Cassian

Hated by the Illyarians for his immense power due to being a bastard child (Illyarians valued patricharcy more than anything)

Separated from his friends for seven years during the war. (Rhys' father was FEARFUL of the bat boys being together because of their power)

Assigned as the spymaster by Rhys' father and was forced to do all his dirty work (we don't know what ALL Rhys' father made Azriel do during the war, and he was a ruthless male)

Pinning over Mor for over 500 years, even finding out Cassian slept with her

Thinking he is only of value to his friends for his work as a spymaster

Almost killed twice (once when trying to save Elain from Hybern and second when he was pierced by an ash arrow)

Finally able to move on from Mor, finding solace and peace with Elain (who is interested in him as well) only to be ordered to stay away from her due to Lucien being her mate ( even though she doesn’t show interest in Lucien)

Azriel needs some all-around PEACE in his life.

What about a love interest?

The fandom seems to debate on this topic, but one thing for sure is that he doesn't need to be "challenged" by someone... Where do we even see THAT being anywhere in the books?

Here's what we are shown...

1. Where do we find him most at peace/relaxed?

With Elain

Even Feyre states that Elain would find PEACE and QUIET with Azriel... and liked the idea...

2. Who do we find Azriel's focus on?

Elain

3. Where do we find the IC being the most surprised by Azriels reactions/actions?

With Elain

4. Who does Azriel ALWAYS try to beat Feyre to greet/assist?

Elain

5. Who does Azriel always volunteer to help?

(Omg I hit my limit with photos 🤣)

But I strode to my seat—nestled between Amren and Mor—in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.” Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me. But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.”

Elain

6. Who stills Azriel's razor-sharp thoughts?

Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike."....

Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, "Put it on me?"

His head went quiet.

Elain

7. Who was Azriel willing to give up his LIFE to save?

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Elain

8. Who openly accepts Azriel's scars, one of his BIGGEST insecurities?

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks,

Elain

9. Who actually SEES him and notices his needs?

“I had Madja make it for me,” Elain explained. Azriel’s brows narrowed at the mention of the family’s preferred healer. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.” Silence. Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.” Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

Elain

10. Who is Azriel thinking about every night?

He had only allowed himself these thoughts in the dead of night. Had only allowed his hand to fist his cock and think about her then, when even his shadows had gone to sleep. How that beautiful face might appear as he entered her, what sounds she'd make

Elain

11. Who does Azriel want to kiss and have a lovely pussy eating feast on?

Wrong -- it was so wrong.  

He didn't care.  

He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like. Her breasts. Her sex. He needed her coming on his tongue --

Elain

ELAIN IS THE ANSWER TO HIS PEACE...

TO HELPING HIM FIND PEACE WITHIN AND AROUND HIM.

#elain acotar #elain archeron #elriel #elain x azriel #azriel #elriel supremacy #azriel acotar #pro elriel #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acofas #acosf

[talesofliia]

They can scream that Byler will never happen all they want, but the facts are the facts:

Mike Wheeler cares about Will Byers very much (shown throughout the whole series). They have a strong bond and connection (even just as friends).

Mike puts Will above his other friends (“Dustin, Lucas, and Max are great – but it’s Hawkins – it’s not the same without you.”)

Will is canonically in love with Mike, making Byler semi-canon.

Mike behaves differently with Will, especially when they’re alone. His face shows a gentle expression many times he looks at Will, proving that he cares about him a lot (even in just-a-friend way).

Will and Mike have shared many emotional, intimate, and heartfelt moments throughout the series (official scripts and captions explicitly used these words to describe their scenes). In fact, almost all of their 1-1 interactions have been incredibly tender and heartwarming (especially in S2 but in the other ones as well).

They have a lot in common: their hobbies and interests (e.g., D&D), interrelated passions (drawing+writing = comics), a shared trauma (related to the Upside Down as well as bullying).

Will and Mike understand each other without words (“Oh, I didn't say it.” – “You didn't have to.”)

Asking Will to become his friend was the best thing Mike’s ever done (his monologue to him in S2) whereas meeting El was “simple dumb luck” (Mike’s words to Will in S4).

Mike is frustrated and heartbroken at the thought of losing Will (shown in the whole S1 & 2 + him saying “I felt like I lost you” in S4) and wants them to be “a team”/best friends again (their heart-to-heart in Will’s bedroom in S4).

It was Mike who never gave up on looking for Will. It was Mike who cared about Will as much as his mother Joyce (“I'm the only one that cares about Will!”; “All I know is Will is alive. Will is alive! He's out there somewhere. All we have to do is find him.”) It was Mike who always had to make sure Will was okay (S2 & 3).

It is Will who Mike goes to apologize to after their fight and not El, who was also waiting for Mike’s apologies (twice).

It is Will who desperately tries to make Mike feel loved and save his relationship with El.

Will and Mike have been, are, and will always be an important part of each other’s lives no matter what happens. Even as best friends, their bond is too strong to be broken, as proved and reinforced in S4. Friends or lovers, these two will always care deeply about each other.

#byler #byler tumblr #byler nation #byler is canon #byler endgame #will byers x mike wheeler #will x mike #will and mike #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things

[kuroshika]

[ sorbet, 01×07 - long analysis below the cut. ] || [ tags: @lesbian-hannibal @shatteredlesbian @7x16pm ] || [ tumblr has refused to post this twice now and im giving up after this attempt. ]

—————

this episode, we're introduced to franklyn. he seems like a one-off side character who introduces us to the next villain, but his character seems to be a little bit more than that. he's eager to be hannibal's friend, and the rejection he feels when hannibal pushes those professional boundaries is a reflection of hannibal's actions towards will.

franklyn finds hannibal interesting. he thinks they'd be great friends, and is actively trying to form a relationship. this is a direct mirror of how hannibal feels about will — he finds will interesting, and thinks they'd be great friends, so he's actively trying to push will's professional boundaries. this rejection that franklyn feels is the same that hannibal feels.

hannibal's pause and redirection here is interesting. though he may not be getting paid for will's visits, it definitely might be sad to think that will is only seeing him as mandated - it makes hannibal upset that will sees him only because he has to (as shown when poor hannibal sits in his office and pouts when will is late for his session near the end of the episode).

he has intimate knowledge of will, and wants to be his friend because of it - an opposite (but reflection) of franklyn's attempts to be his friend. looking at franklyn, speaking to him, is sort of like speaking to himself. franklyn seems to be a less fine-tuned version of hannibal.

"tobias is my best friend, but i am not tobias's best friend". this sounds pretty similar to our weak relationship with will — hannibal sees will as his friend, will doesn't see hannibal as his friend, and will did take a higher interest in the ripper (and by extension, hannibal). i think here is where hannibal begins to realize the parallel between franklyn and tobias's relationship, and his and will's, as observed by the question he asks. "have you put him on a pedestal?"

in recognizing the reflection of the relationship he's chasing with will, hannibal is using his own therapy for himself - things make more sense when you tell someone else about them, out loud. he can help himself under the guise of helping franklyn if all goes to plan - and it does. franklyn agrees that he does, but also that he (and tobias) hold hannibal on a higher pedestal.

"i am a source of stability and clarity, franklyn, not your friend". this is the first time in the show hannibal adamantly refuses that he's someone's friend. he does the chasing, not the running. having such a reflection approach him to further their already precarious relationship is nothing but a problem.

franklyn assures him that he'd be a great friend, before swiftly changing the subject. the michael jackson tangent seems kinda kooky, and i skipped over it on my first watch-through, but i think i can make some deeper connections now. "you know what i think makes me the most sad about him dying? i will never get to meet him". ever since hannibal was introduced to will (or, rather, the exterior of his mental curtains), he's known there was something lurking beneath the surface. he's taken it as his mission to draw whatever will hides behind those curtains out, to see underneath his mask — to show him his becoming (as referenced in 1×05 "coquilles", when the angel maker tells will "i couldn't bring it out of you," to which will agrees "not all the way" (which feels like a callback to 1×02 "amuse-bouche", when hannibal only manages to draw will out half-way and have him admit that he enjoyed killing hobbs), and the angel maker offers "i can give you your becoming".). hannibal knows that the longer he waits to approach will, the closer the shadow behind the curtains comes to being repressed completely — the closer it comes to dying, in hannibal's mind, dying before he can meet him.

franklyn obviously has a savior complex, yet another reflection of hannibal — as shown in his prolific identity as a surgeon, and his tableaus as the ripper. his words are very familiar to hannibal, who feels that if will allows him to be his friend, he could stop him from killing part of himself. hannibal can see the correlation and prompts him on gently — how is franklyn's efforts returned? how will his own be returned?

franklyn's fantasy ends with him being the one to touch greatness, very much how hannibal's ends with him getting close to will — whom he already knows is great. he gets to be the one who draws will out into the light, he gets to be the one who sees will for who he truly is. he gets to touch greatness.

skipping over bedelia and hannibal's visit (mostly because i have a longer analysis for that scene and im already rambling), we cut to hannibal and will.

here we have hannibal, yet again, asking if they're friends. usually, will is unhesitant in assuring him they aren't, but here, it's a little different. he's gotten too familiar with whatever relationship he and hannibal have, and that part of him behind the curtains strains for more. if he says they are, there's a sense of intimacy that will isn't prepared for (especially not with someone he can't feel). if he says they aren't, however, he feels like he'll lose that sense of codependency they have. hannibal won't need him, won't want his company any longer (though it's reassured in 1×08 "fromage" that he appreciates his company). he'll be a professional curiosity— the same thing he is to alana (as, again, instated in 1×08).

so, instead he says yes to both. in agreeing that their relationship is not professional (and establishing their friendship), will is avoiding that sense of intimacy that comes with being someone's friend while still profiting off of their codependent relationship.

will reasserts control of the conversation by assuring that they're just having conversations. hannibal has been established as will's friend, and asserts himself as will's friend here — by repeating that he is a friend, and reminding will that the two share an intimate bond that has begun to blur the line between friendship and family.

whether will likes it or not, he's established that he's hannibal's friend. he's already intertwined with hannibal in a way that no one else is — he can feel the ripper strain under hannibal's person suit (or, as bedelia more aptly calls it this episode, his veil). he can sense what hannibal is, and part of him wants to get closer and wrap itself around whatever lays beyond the veil. i think this scene also offers the tipping point for hannibal's qualms about murdering franklyn — they are nothing alike anymore. will is his friend. the chase is over. he cannot help himself by helping franklyn - his death will be no loss.

#im crying please post this #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy #hannigram #hannibal parallels #hannibal tv #hannibal will #hannibal x will #hannibal meta #meta #hannibal analysis #long analysis #analysis #1×07 #sorbet #1×05 #coquilles #1×02 #amuse bouche #1×08 #fromage #hannibal season one #hannibal series #[ this is all i've ever wanted for you ] #kuroshika.txt