#honestly just. anyone that makes a part of their brand about the love they feel … sus

[gleefullypolin]

The hypocrisy on fandom's reaction of "fell too soon" for friends to lovers

I find it very RICH on the fandoms reaction to S3 and the he "fell too soon" for Penelope. I mean honestly it is a bit spit in your face fantastic the way certain parts of the fandom are wretching on themselves to make that point.

"He didn't like her in season 1." I'm sorry, Can't hear you over "I'm to escort Miss Featherington to the floor" in EPISODE 1. That's what a friend does when a bitch spills her drink on a girl you were having a polite conversation with. Or how about hanging out with her laughing and gossiping like silly goofballs on the side of the dance floor, didn't see him doing that with other people either. Because they were FRIENDS.

"There was no build up previously to show there was a level of friendship there where he saw her any differently than a sister." Ok children...lets move to Season 2. We can talk about the race track and how they spoke about his travels which was very comfortable and very much NOT like a sister. They had an ease, like people who, oh I don't know, had been communicating personally all summer long via letters. And then lets go to Edwina's night where he shares with her that her letters allowed him to get in touch more with HIMSELF. something also so very personal he would not just share that with anyone. (I'll get to this in another point)

"He just suddenly likes her after he kisses her." Big ball of monkey shit here. Colin Sensitive Bridgerton was getting to know himself back in Season 2. He told Pen as much when he gave her the "You are Pen" line. And yes we all gasped and grabbed our pearls at the You are not a woman line, but it was not meant as an insult. Colin inserts his foot so many times throughout the seasons, you would think he could run a mile with his head. He simply means that she is such a dear friend to him he could not forswear her from his life. He has put her in a different category all together in his life. He makes this point when talking to her about Cousin Jack. He calls her constant and loyal and makes mention that their relationship has been so natural to him. He also just soooooo easily makes mention to HER MOTHER that he's been talking to her about things that would make other women blush. Like he doesn't even see it himself that she's just a totally different place for him. He didn't have to kiss her to like her. He already did.

"It all just felt too rushed." I could go on about how they had conversations about their purpose or lack there of, in season 2, more than once might I add, conversations that you would not normally have with members of the opposite sex. The fact that he has told her and proved that he would look after her, he has called her special to him. He has had feelings for her for seasons. Don't get started about the longing stares, they have been there since season 1. You have to actually open your eyes and look at them. Yes there was the whole infatuation of the Marina thing. Of course there was. But if you look at his mannerisms during the entire thing, it screams at you the difference.

But dare I say the biggest and most annoying hypocrisy of them all is that this build up of 2 seasons of them growing friendship, talking and learning about each other, developing feelings for each other regardless if they know what they mean... suddenly is rushed. BUT when compared to other seasons where a brand new face appears and we are to believe that in a weeks time our beloved character is now madly, deeply in love with this person and YOU BUY THAT WITH ALL THE SUGAR IT COMES WITH! Burning for you and Bane of my existence and all????

At the end of the day...live in your trope. I sat through those seasons. I cried through their HEA, I was happy for them. You can dislike the characters for other reasons. Dislike how they wrote parts of the season, don't like the plot points but don't make the excuses above that don't add up.

If you don't enjoy my trope, fine. But please, in the nicest possible way, shut the fuck up.

#polin #bridgerton #just don't make up dumb reasons to hate things

[sporkchildren]

The way that the one Try Guy who made his whole shtick loving his wife then cheating on his wife makes complete sense

#like. shit sucks but ALSOOOOO are we surprised? are we shocked? #ned fulmer #ariel fulmer #try guys #** don’t take this as a Don’t Trust Men statement #(I’m not that self-hating) #take this as a “Of course the Guy whose whole shtick was loving a woman was going to use that good-will for something else bc … 👀 #honestly just. anyone that makes a part of their brand about the love they feel … sus #because at a certain point it will INEVITABLY become a performance

[joelscurls]

feel it in your bones

next part

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 12.5k

summary: Two years ago, you finished your PhD and moved to Vermont. In the time since, you’ve gotten a job as a college professor, had your heart broken, and sworn off relationships entirely. Enter Joel, the father of one of your students, here for Homecoming Weekend – and too attractive to resist.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), alcohol consumption, fluff, smut, masturbation (f), mutual pining(?), sexual tension, grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cumplay / cum eating, some light biting, use of pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, etc.), reader has an asshole ex, no use of y/n

a/n: my first Joel fic! This is honestly a bit self-indulgent but I love fall and academia and Joel Miller so sue me okay. ty to my bby @caffeinated-validation for reading through this and offering your insight -- get you a partner who will beta your filthy Joel Miller smut for you lmao <3

You’ve gotten used to being alone. 

You don’t mind it as much as you had a few months ago, the breakup still fresh, every touch of your own fingers seering into your skin when you’d remembered the way he’d touched you, the sound of your voice almost unrecognizable as you’d convince yourself each day to get out of bed and go to work, where you’d inevitably run into him. It was painful then, having to come home to the quiet, always far too aware of the sound of your own thoughts drumming against the inside of your skull. 

Now though, you revel in that quiet. Sip your coffee in silence each morning. You’ve learned how to stay lost in your work, bringing home stacks of papers to grade and eating through texts to support your research while your dinner gets cold on the table in front of you. You’re well aware that this isn’t the healthiest way to cope, to just avoid it all, but it’s better than feeling. 

You’ve sworn off relationships entirely. It’s a silent promise to yourself – that you’ll remain married to your work. You will devote all of your energy to making sure your students excel and that your research is strong. That is your life’s purpose, to make use of the PhD you worked so hard to get – not to be someone’s girlfriend or wife. And you’re fine with that, really. You’ve become immune to loneliness – or numb, maybe.

Regardless, you welcome the independence. You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s thoughts or feelings when it comes to the way you spend your own time. You’re free to do whatever you want. You can draw yourself a bath, fill it with bubbles, sit in it while you drain a bottle of wine into your mouth until the water runs cold. You can eat an entire box of dry cereal in one sitting while you re-watch your favorite show for the twentieth time. You can make yourself cum at any hour of the night with your vibrator or your shower head or your hand – and then go to work the next morning without a semblance of guilt.

Really, you like being alone. 

Until you don’t.

It’s Homecoming Weekend at Sarah’s school. 

She had insisted that Joel didn’t have to come, that it was mostly an opportunity for the college to milk donations out of sentimental alumni. But he’d missed her for the month she’d been gone, the house far too quiet with just him in it. In previous years, Joel had busied himself following Sarah’s departure with home projects. Three years in, though, he’s updated just about every room in the house,  re-done the floors, built a brand new back deck. 

In other words, he’s fresh out of distractions.

So, he’d made the trek to Vermont,  with the excuse that he’d always wanted to experience a New England fall. It’s a lie, one that Sarah can probably read right through, considering he vocalizes his discomfort whenever the temperature drops below 70 degrees in Texas, but she goes along with it. 

Besides, he wants to see what his tuition money is paying for.

In truth, Joel had been nervous when Sarah announced what major she’d decided to pursue. She had just finished her freshman year, prerequisite courses all completed. When she’d said the word – anthropology – Joel hadn’t even been sure what it meant. Since then, she’s explained it to him many times and in truth, he’s still none the wiser. Really, he’s just happy that she’s happy. Her passion for it is evident on her face any time she talks to him about the courses she’s taking, how great her professors are. 

Especially you – she talks about you all the time – her mentor. 

You’re supervising her on her thesis project – a qualitative assessment on students’ views on feminism and gender politics in the classroom. This past summer, Joel swears Sarah had mentioned your name more than her own friends’. She’d told him what courses you teach, what research you’ve conducted, all the countries you’ve traveled to for fieldwork. And she gives the best advice – Sarah had said one night over dinner – she’s like, my lifeline at school. 

Joel doesn’t know you, but he’s thankful for you – for the guidance you so clearly provide Sarah.

There’s an Open House today for the Social Sciences college, which Joel tags along with Sarah to. He’s hopeful that he’ll learn something, come to understand the field and why Sarah loves it. 

A buffet table stocked with refreshments sits on one side of the lecture hall. Sarah grabs them both cups of water infused with cucumber while Joel saves them seats at the back. There’s a slideshow projected onto the white board at the front, the current slide reading: An Introduction to the Social Sciences College & Our Current Research Efforts. A group of professors gathers at the front, name tags stuck to their button-downs and blazers. Sarah spots you as she sits down, pointing you out as she hands Joel his water.

“There – that one’s my mentor – the one in the plaid pants.” 

Joel’s eyes follow her finger to the group at the front,  scanning down the line. There’s a man, short and stocky with noticeably small hands hooked by the thumbs in the belt loops of his pants. Next to him, is a woman, taller than him, wearing a bright turquoise silk shirt, gold bangles decorating both of her wrists. And next to her is you, in the plaid pants.

Sarah had told him a lot of things about you, but she’d never mentioned that you’re fucking gorgeous. You’re smiling at something Turquoise Shirt has just said to you, and it’s like your entire face is glowing. Joel has to take a sip of water to collect himself.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you for the entirety of the presentation. 

The dean of the college starts by briefly covering each department and what research efforts they have planned for the semester. Joel should be listening, he came here to listen – but he can’t get himself to focus on anything other than you.

You’re mostly focused on the presenter. Every so often, though, you distractedly toy with the buttons on your cardigan or twirl a strand of your hair between delicate fingers. And Joel is suddenly realizing how touch-starved he is after years of refusing to date – because just watching you, your hands – is about to send him into orbit.

You’re well-spoken too, he learns, when you take the microphone to discuss your current research project. 

“This semester, I’ll be delving into the presence of food deserts in Vermont, and the effects these are having on the overall health of youth in the state,” you say. “We have received a sizable grant for this research, and I am thrilled to get started in a matter of weeks. This project will span the better part of the academic year as I speak to locals and craft surveys that will provide qualitative data to support my findings from the field.”

You press down on the clicker in your hand. A new slide projects onto the whiteboard. It’s a photo of you against the backdrop of a jungle, lush, green trees stretching past the top of the frame. The wide-brimmed hat you’re wearing covers most of your face – but that damn smile radiates through the makeshift screen.

“This is me last summer, in Peru. My research here was much more self-indulgent – I studied the important role that food plays in the average family there – and ate wayyyy too many sweets.”

The crowd laughs. It’s the first reaction they’ve expressed this entire time. 

It’s entrancing, the way you command the room. You have such a calm confidence about you as you speak, words never once faltering as you stride back and forth across the front of the lecture hall.  Joel isn’t much of a talker – maybe that’s why he feels like he could listen to you for hours on end. He thinks that you could read the damn phone book and his focus would remain unwavering. That your voice, velvet-soft, could spellbind him without much effort.

When your portion of the presentation ends, he’s more than a bit disappointed.

Students and their families filter out of the lecture hall. You situate yourself in a corner of the room for the actual Open House portion of the event, at the ready to answer any questions or, more likely, offer directions to another part of campus.

You smile as familiar faces and strangers alike pass you, reach for your to-go mug on the table behind you, and take a sip. The coffee is pretty much ice-cold now, but you still gulp it down, only after the caffeine anyway.

You place the mug back down with a light thud against the tabletop. Suddenly, a voice you’ve come to know well rings in your ear. 

“Professor!” 

When you look up, Sarah Miller is bounding down the aisle, signature smile plastered across her face. And there’s a man behind her, you notice, moving much slower. 

He’s tall, broad shoulders pulling taut against the green flannel he’s wearing. He cradles a beige workwear jacket in the crook of his bicep,corded muscle visibly bulging against fabric. His other hand rubs at the scruff along his jaw, pointedly sharp in the patches where hair doesn’t grow.

He has a distinguishable nose, you notice as he gets closer,  strong – large and hooked at the center of his tan face. It’s complemented perfectly by his plush, pink lips that seem to be set in a permanent pout.  

In other words, he’s handsome – almost distractingly so, as he stands next to Sarah in front of you.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she beams – turns to the man next to her.

“Dad, this is my mentor,” She says your name. 

He nods. His eyes meet yours. They’re deep brown, almost black – and undeniably entrancing. 

“‘‘ts nice to meet you, Ma’am. I’m Joel.”

Ma’am.

It’s not like the word is foreign to you, given your profession. There’s something about the way he says it, though, that makes your head spin, his southern drawl dripping in honey-butter and bourbon. 

Joel outstretches a hand. You shake it – try to ignore the way it dwarfs yours.

“Joel,” you repeat, eyes locked firmly on the space between his eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.”

“That was a great presentation you gave up there. You’re a good, uh – talker.” His expression is unreadable. His hands fidget at his sides.

You offer him a smile. “Thank you – I think? My students probably wish I would shut up sometimes. Right, Sarah?”

“Oh please,” she scoffs, “as if you’ve never seen your rating on Rate My Professor.” 

She’s not wrong – you pride yourself on having pretty stellar reviews – but you also try your hardest not to let them get to your head. Sarah isn’t helping that, right now.

“Anyways,” she exaggerates the word, “what are you up to tonight, Professor? They’re holding an exhibition at the art center later, all student work – d’you wanna come with us?” 

Your reflex is to say no. After all, he’ll probably be there. Your ex, Quentin, works in the art history department. And even though you’re over him, you’re not exactly looking for an excuse to be in the same room as him. But you technically don’t have plans tonight, and you can’t even think of a good lie right now with Sarah staring you down. 

And then there’s Joel, standing in front of you, all broad shoulders and chiseled jaw – and you think, what a great opportunity to get to know him, you know, as the parent of your student. Definitely not as anything else, anything more. It is Homecoming, after all.

So, you say yes. 

“Cool!” Sarah smiles, “Meet you there at 7?”

You nod, tell Sarah that sounds perfect, and that you’ll see them tonight. 

Sarah starts toward the door. But Joel stands there for a moment longer. His eyes linger on yours, his wordless stare threatening to burn a hole in your head. You can feel the heat of it, beads of sweat beginning to form at the base of your neck. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying your hardest to conceal them. 

A beat passes. It looks like he might say something, his mouth opening then closing again.

He gives you a courteous nod, turns on his heels, and follows after Sarah.

Joel hadn’t remembered the food being this bad when he’d visited for orientation. He struggles to keep down a particularly rubbery bite of chicken and reaches for his water bottle, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he focuses on not vomiting. 

Sarah laughs next to him. “Hey man, at least you don’t have to eat this shit year-round.”

He grunts in agreement. “Gonna cancel your meal plan next semester and jus’ give you the money to buy groceries.” 

She hums. Cocks her head. “That means I’m gonna have to learn how to cook – do you think Student Housing has fire insurance?”

Joel wants to roll his eyes, but it’s definitely his fault – after all, he can barely fry an egg without setting off the fire alarm. Their freezer has always been well-stocked with TV dinners and tater tots. So instead, he just shrugs. 

“So what’s this art thing tonight?” He moves on to the salad on his plate, decidedly much safer. 

“I don’t really know – my roommate asked me to go, she has some pieces in it, I guess.”

He nods. “And your professor – that was nice ‘a you to invite her.”

Sarah nods, smiles. “Yeah – you like her, right? I mean, you’re sure you’re cool with me asking her to come?” She asks, a mouthful of lettuce.

“‘Course,” he says, attempting to keep his voice level, nonchalant.

“I know you’re not really one for meeting new people,” she teases.

He mock-glares at her. It quickly softens into a smile. “Nah – she seems cool.” It’s an understatement, but Sarah doesn’t need to know that.

She doesn’t need to know that her dad is attracted to her professor.

Joel thinks that he might not have been so great at hiding it, though, when a few hours later, in the middle of watching an unarguably bad student production of Macbeth, Sarah turns to him and whispers that she’s not feeling well. 

“Hm, is that right?,” he whispers back, unconvinced. 

“Yeah, must’ve been the food.”

“We ate the same thing, Sarah.”

There’s a shout on stage. The actor’s voice cracks.

“Well I dunno,” she continues, “My stomach just doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah, and what about that thing with your professor?”

He can see her smirk even in the dim lighting. 

“Shit, you’re right. And I don’t have her phone number, so it’s not like I can text her...” 

She groans. Joel thinks she should be on that stage right now. 

“We can’t just ghost her.” Joel has no idea what that means. He doesn’t bother asking. 

“Sarah-” he starts.

“Please. She’s such a nice lady, she doesn’t deserve to be stood up.”

He could say no. It’s not like he knows you, owes you anything. But in truth, Joel does want to see you again. And he’s well aware that Sarah might be trying to set the two of you up – ever-perceptive and hell-bent on her dad being happy – but he tries not to think about how embarrassing that feels, his daughter playing matchmaker for him. Because he wants to spend more time with you, get to know more about you, if you’ll let him.

He’s barred himself from forming any kind of real relationship with a woman since Sarah’s mother left. Not because she’d broken his heart, but because he’d needed all of his energy to go to Sarah. As a single father, he had always feared that he wouldn’t be enough for his daughter – wouldn’t give enough – that growing up in a broken home would leave her half of a person. That fear had fueled him to be the best dad possible – to work overtime so that he could provide for them, to never miss one of her soccer games or dance recitals. And so, he had never even considered dating, not seriously, anyway. It would take attention away from Sarah, and he couldn’t risk that. 

He’s found it difficult to shake this principle, now that Sarah has grown up. He often grapples with the fact that Sarah doesn’t need him as much anymore – that she’s her own person living her own life. He knows he could date now, could meet someone new, open his heart to them. But he’s so used to fighting that human need for companionship, that it feels almost unnatural to let his guard down.

But now there’s you – your megawatt smile and your impressive intelligence and your care for his daughter – and suddenly he’s forgotten his own rules. 

“Okay; I’ll go.” It comes out entirely too enthusiastic.

He can practically feel Sarah’s accomplished, shit-eating grin burning into the side of his head.

You leave campus around four pm, once the last of the Open House participants have gone. 

You take a shower when you get home. Then you order sushi – stuff rolls of yellowfin and salmon into your mouth as you sit at the dining table still wrapped up in your towel, trying your best not to spill soy sauce on the half-graded essays that litter the tabletop. When you’re done, you retreat to your closet, treading on damp feet across the waxy hardwood floor.

And you definitely don’t think about Joel – not when you debate what to wear to the art exhibition, not when your fingers accidentally graze one of your nipples as you put your bra on, not when you get distracted while pulling your panties on by the pool of wetness that has formed between your thighs. 

You definitely don’t think about him – because he’s Sarah’s dad, and that would be wrong.

So it’s accidental when his name falls from your mouth, fingers pressed against your clit, visions of large, calloused hands flashing behind your closed eyelids. 

You cover your mouth with the curve of your palm to prevent it from slipping out again. Sink back into the mattress.

Then you press your fingers down harder. 

Joel feels like a first-year student, wandering aimlessly across campus in search of the art center. Sarah’s directions had been, well, brief. She’d insisted he’d be able to find it no problem. Now though, in the limited light of dusk, all the structures look the same, bleeding together like watercolors against the evening sky. 

He does find it, eventually, a three-story brick building tucked between the library and what looks to be a dormitory. Bright, artificial light seeps through the windows that line the bottom floor. The double doors at the front are propped open, people slipping in and out of them as he approaches. 

He looks for you outside, searching for a familiar head of hair, the brown cardigan you’d been wearing earlier. When he doesn’t see you, he reluctantly makes his way up the stairs and into the building.

He spots you almost immediately affixed in front of a painting, studying it intently.

You’re wearing a different outfit than the one you had on this afternoon – a merlot-colored slip dress and a cropped leather jacket. He struggles to ignore the way the satin clings to you, the curves of your body excruciatingly accentuated. He has to remind himself that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, shouldn't expect you to stick around for long once he lets you know Sarah isn’t coming. You’ll probably make an excuse to leave shortly after, and he’ll be back on Sarah’s couch within the hour. 

After all, why would you stick around just to talk to him?

You don’t see him when he sidles up next to you. He clears his throat and you startle. 

“Sorry,” he brings a hand to the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to spook ya.” 

You take a step back to face him and put a hand to your chest, your breath beginning to even. His eyes wander, for a moment, to where your fingers rest against your collarbone. 

“Shit – it’s okay. Where’s Sarah?”

“She wasn’t feeling well, but she said I should still come. Is that – uh – is that okay?” He’s suddenly worried that this was dumb, that he shouldn’t have come, should’ve just let Sarah explain to you on Monday.

But your features soften then, a small smile forming between rosy cheeks. 

“Joel, it’s fine; I appreciate you not ditching me.”

“‘Course,” he manages. He’s waiting for you to say something else – that you need to leave. But you don’t, and you both stand enveloped in the pregnant pause that lingers, bright overhead lighting and nerves giving Joel the start of a migraine he’ll have to ignore for the rest of the night.

He clears his throat. Turns to the painting in front of you. “So what’s this one, then?”

The painting in question is a mish-mash of shapes and colors. Joel can’t distinguish any one thing on the canvas. It’s all just a lot of…nothing. He knows it’s not for him when he thinks a preschooler with finger paints could’ve done this.

You bring your hand up to cradle your jaw, brows furrowed in contemplation. It looks like you’ll offer an actual, intellectual interpretation. So Joel isn’t prepared when instead, you say: 

“Looks like a bad trip.”

A laugh bubbles out of him, the corners of his eyes creasing. 

“Sorry,” you say, between giggles. “That was stupid.”

“No,” he says, swiping a hand over his jaw, trying to physically rub the embarrassing smile off his face. “You’re funny.” 

He means it. He’s not sure how it’s possible that you’re funny, when you’re also so smart and interesting and gorgeous. It’s almost unfair. He thinks, fleetingly, that you’re way out of his league – a boring, old man like him.

You continue to the next piece, Joel following closely behind. It looks like it must be by the same artist. The same variation of shapes fill the canvas, just in different colors.

“Alright Cowboy, what’s your take on this one?” 

Joel studies it for a moment – tries to find something he can pull out. Something tangible. Something funny, even. 

He comes up empty.

“‘ts interesting f’sure. Lots of…colors,” he tries. He realizes how ridiculous he sounds. Laughs. “Shit…art ain’t really my thing,” he admits, arm stretched behind his head.

“So what is your thing?” Your voice is tinged with something – Joel tries his hardest not to let himself believe that it’s flirtation. 

Your eyes are still fixed on the canvas in front of you. And Joel is thankful, because he thinks if you looked at him, let those eyes meet his, he’d break – tell you that right now, you’re his thing.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer either way, though, because he’s interrupted by a man’s voice behind the two of you. 

“Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here!”

You whip around to face him. Joel turns too. The man is taller than you, but shorter than him. He’s wearing round, wire-frame glasses that sit like a suggestion on his nose, and a full suit, with a tie that has some god-awful, ugly pattern all over it. It looks like the art here, Joel thinks.

Joel’s eyes flit back to you, and he watches as your hackles go up. You back up, bumping into the canvas behind you. You curse under your breath.

“Quentin. Hey.”

“Glad you could make it,” the man, Quentin, says. He swirls a cup of what appears to be red wine in one hand. He leans in closer, brings the other hand up at the side of his mouth to conceal his words. “I know this isn’t really your scene.” 

You shift uncomfortably. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m uh, venturing out, I guess. Trying new things.” 

He laughs. It’s an asshole laugh, Joel notes. Everything about this guy screams asshole. 

“About time!” The asshole puts a hand on your shoulder. You flinch. Joel’s hands instinctively bunch into fists at his side. 

“So proud of you,” Quentin says. “Finally letting yourself be a little cultured.”

This guy can’t be serious.

You scoff. Grab his hand and flick it off your shoulder. He looks wounded. Good, Joel thinks. 

“Yeah, because traveling the world has left me so very uncultured, Quentin.”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up. “Don’t take offense, baby. I know your little field trips are important, too.”

It’s the last straw.

In one movement, you’re pushing off the wall, shoving past Quentin, and making your way to the exit. Joel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even look at the asshole, just follows after you out the door. 

It’s gotten colder in the short time he’d been inside, he notices. A gust of wind nips at the exposed skin on his hands. He stuffs them haphazardly in the pockets of his jacket.

He finds you perched on the front steps, arms wrapped around your body protectively. He takes a few cautious strides forward. When you look up at him, you’re visibly distraught. 

You groan as he sits down next to you. “Sorry. That was embarrassing.” 

Joel wants to touch you, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, but he knows he probably shouldn’t – not right now. 

“‘ts not embarrassin’,” he says, instead. His warm breath materializes in the cold air. “Not for you, anyway. That guy was clearly an asshole.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “That was my ex-boyfriend.” You’re  both quiet, then. The two of you sit there, side by side on the stairs, in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass. Joel notices you chewing on your bottom lip, like you’re considering something. When you speak again, your voice wavers.

“Would you want to go for a drink or something? It’s just, I really don’t want to be here anymore.” 

For a moment, he can’t believe what he’s hearing – you’re asking him out? He takes a second to respond. You start to backtrack. “It’s okay if you don’t wan-”

“Hey,” he stops you. Makes sure you’re looking at him. 

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Great.” Your hand drops to your side, brushing against his. He expects you to move it. He’s thankful when you don’t.

“I know a place–” you continue – “one that won’t be full of drunk college kids.”

“Great,” Joel parrots you. He stands, extends a hand to help you up. You take it, letting your palm rest against his for a moment longer than necessary when you’re upright.

“Cool,” you say, clearing your throat. You pull up the Uber app on your phone. Joel watches you book a driver. Then you turn back to him with a smile. It’s different from the one he’s seen before. It’s smaller, shyer.

“Larry will be here in 4 minutes,” you say.

The bar is a twenty minutes’ drive from campus – fifteen with Larry’s lead foot.

It’s more of a lounge than a bar, really – leather armchairs accompanied by low cocktail tables arranged throughout the single large, open room. A brick fireplace sits on the back wall, currently roaring with warm orange flames. 

On either side of the fireplace are floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with vintage books, their illegible titles etched in gold along weathered spines. You can imagine that their pages are yellowed and dusty, and it’s so tempting to swipe one off the shelf to see, to smell.

The light in here is warm, a stark contrast from the bright white of the art gallery. It’s comforting, and you feel your body immediately relax when you walk through the entrance next to Joel.

The bar at the front is busy (it is Saturday night, after all), so you and Joel stand at the back of the crowd for a few moments, waiting for the people in front of you to get their drinks. When a group of men start forcing their way through right next to you, Joel immediately puts a large hand on your shoulder, turning your body towards his. He’s just being chivalrous, making sure you don’t get shoved, but it still sends a shockwave up your spine.

When a spot clears in front of the bar, Joel steps forward, bringing you with him. He orders a whiskey neat, then turns to you, asking what you want. 

It’s difficult to think with his hand still on you, so you go with the first words that come to mind. 

“Same as you.”

He stares at you for a moment, amused, like he can see right through you and the fact that you’ve never had whiskey in your life. But you hold his gaze, challenging him with your eyes, and he drops it. “Make that two,” he tells the bartender.

Once you have your drinks, Joel slaps a few bills down on the bar. You can tell he won’t let you do so much as offer to pay him back, so you don’t. You lead him through the lounge to a couple of chairs tucked away in the back corner, partially hidden behind an antique wooden partition – far enough from the main seating area, but still close enough to the fireplace that you can feel its warmth.

This is where you always sit when you come, usually with coworkers, once or twice with him. Quentin had been pretty critical of this place, like he is with everything. He’d complained that the wine selection could be larger – that they could have more French options. When you’d explained that most of their wines come from local vineyards, he’d just rolled his eyes.

You’re still reeling a bit from your interaction with him at the gallery, even as you settle into soft leather and feel a burst of warmth against your cheek. He was such an asshole, you think, taking a cautious sip of whiskey. You’re immediately repulsed by the taste of it, and you do a poor job of hiding the grimace that automatically spreads across your face in the crook of your arm.

Joe laughs across from you. “Not your thing? I can go grab ya somethin’ else,” he offers.  

“No,” you insist, “this is fine. Just need to get used to it.” It’s a lie – you both know it – but he doesn’t push it. 

Instead he leans back, swirls his own glass – which looks comically tiny in his grip – and lets out an exaggerated sigh. 

“So, your ex is a real dick, huh?”

“You can say that again,” you mumble. 

He quirks a brow at you. “Why’d you even date him?” 

It’s a fair question. Why had you dated him? Loneliness, maybe? You’d like to blame it on that, but it’s not the truth – not entirely. Quentin had been kind, at first. He had seemed so interested in you and where you came from and what you were passionate about. He was a relatively good boyfriend, all things considered – until he’d grown tired of hiding who he really was.

You’d gotten a substantial pay raise at the end of your second year at the university. When you’d told Quentin, he’d gone quiet – practically gave you the silent treatment for days on end. When you’d finally worn him down, gotten him to talk, the most he could utter was that he was happy for you; he just wasn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten a raise like that yet. 

It’s not like you were in competition – you worked for two entirely different departments, in different colleges. But it had been a constant losing battle nevertheless, to get him to stop comparing your successes. And when he’d found out you actually made more money than him – that had pretty much been the nail in the coffin. 

You tell Joel all of this. You’re not sure why you do – it’s not like you can blame the alcohol after one half-sip of whiskey. You feel comfortable with him though, here, like this. He’s a good listener, too, attentively nodding every so often as you ramble. 

When you’re done, he’s quiet. He stares at his drink, pursing his lips. 

After a beat, he looks up at you. 

“You deserve better than that, darlin’.”

You almost crumble under his gaze. His eyes are at least two shades darker than they had been a moment ago – and there’s something lingering behind them that you can’t quite place. Whatever it is has you feeling weak.

“You barely know me,” you joke. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I know enough, though. Could do much better than him, I reckon.”

You want to ask him if he has anyone in mind, if he would be better for you, but you can’t – not yet – not this sober. You take another sip of your drink, breathing through your nose as it burns its way down your throat. 

You talk for hours. He asks about your family; you tell him how you moved out here two years ago on your own after you finished your doctorate program. He’s impressed by that, says you’re brave. You tell him you’ve never felt very brave. 

It’s all so easy, talking to Joel in the dimly-lit bar you’ve been to so many times before. Sipping on whiskey as if you actually enjoy it. It’s never felt so much like home — not the bar, not this town. The thought is dizzying.

He asks about Sarah, too, how she’s doing in school. He insists that she doesn’t tell him much, and if she does, it’s about you and how great your classes are. 

“I had never even heard of anthropology before she decided to study it,” he admits. “But I’m glad she did. It’s her thing, f’sure.” 

You smile, knowingly. “Yeah, it is. She’s a great kid, Joel. You raised her well.”

He shakes his head humbly, but you don’t relent. You want him to hear this, really hear this. Because you get the feeling he hasn’t been told enough. 

“She’s not just smart, Joel. She’s good. She’s a good person. That’s kind of rare nowadays — especially among her generation.” 

Joel chuckles, his head hanging between his shoulders. 

“I mean, shit,” you continue, “she brings me pancakes from the diner just off campus whenever she knows I’m stuck in my office working late. My other students barely even ask how I’m doing most days.”

Joel hums in amusement. His eyes are locked on a wrinkle in the leather of the arm of his chair.

“Joel,” you say, pointedly. You wait for him to look at you. When he does, his gaze is uncertain. “She’s a good person —“ you repeat — “and that’s because you raised her to be.”

“‘ts just southern hospitality, is all,” he mumbles. 

“No Joel – it’s you.”

He stares for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. His jaw twitches. And then he breaks, finally, a smile pulling at his lips. 

“Thank you.”

His voice is so soft suddenly. It throws you off. It also turns you on – like, a lot, the gravellyness of it scratching your brain and your loins. You dig your nails into leather in an attempt to steady your quickening heart rate.

“No problem,” you mutter sheepishly.

Suddenly, there’s a buzz on the table – Joel’s phone. He picks it up, squinting at the bright screen.

“Sarah?,” you ask.

“Nah, ‘ts just my brother, Tommy.”

He types out a quick response and re-locks the phone, placing it back down on the table.

“Everything alright?” 

“Yeah, jus’ asking if I think hookin’ up with a client is a bad idea,” he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief.

You don’t know Tommy, but you like him already – seems like a fun guy. And clearly values his brother’s opinions. It’s telling, you think.

“That’s right – you’re a contractor. You and your brother work together?”

“Yeah, we got our own business back home.”

“And you like it?,” you ask. 

“Used to,” he laughs, “when I was more limber.”

You laugh too. You can feel the heat of slight intoxication, and something else, in your chest, your inhibitions dissolving in your bloodstream. And suddenly that horrible idea you’d had earlier to flirt with Joel doesn’t seem so bad anymore. 

“Still look plenty limber to me, Mr. Miller.” The words leave you before you have the chance to stop them.

Joel’s hands tense on either arm of his chair. Despite your buzz, you still have half a mind to worry that you’ve fucked up, that there’s a chance you’ve misread this whole thing.

But then he sinks back in the chair, the leather groaning under him. He rakes his dark eyes over you. And the way he’s looking at you is unmistakable. He looks hungry. You feel like your entire body has been set ablaze. 

Without thinking, you stand up, take a couple of steps toward him. Scan the lounge. Most of the remaining patrons are huddled by the bar, talking boisterously among themselves. Tucked in your little corner, the two of you might as well be in a different zip code.

“Whatcha doin’, darlin’?” Joel smirks up at you as you stand unmoving in front of him. He takes one of your hands in his and traces gentle, reassuring shapes along the back of it with his index finger.

Without a word, you hike your dress up to your thighs and straddle him, knees digging into the leather on either side of his legs. He hums approvingly as you sink onto his lap and cup his face in your hands. He places his own on your lower back, just above your ass. “This okay?,” you ask. It comes out breathy and wrecked.

“C’mere,” he says in that syrupy drawl, and then one of his hands is on the back of your head, pushing you gently against him, your lips slotting to his. 

It’s messy and all-encompassing. He kisses you with a fervency that confirms this hasn’t all been in your head –that he’s been wanting this too. 

The voices of bar-goers and the clinking of glassware are suddenly muted. All you can focus on is Joel — the way he tastes like whiskey and cinnamon gum, the way one of his large hands comes to rest at the nape of your neck, fingers tangled in the hair there while the other remains on your back, steadying you. The way he licks into your mouth after a few seconds with a groan, causing you to reflexively bare down on his lap.

You feel his cock swell underneath you and you grind against it, laughing low and quiet against his lips when his entire body tenses. He pulls back, blinking up at you with glazed-over eyes. Joel, all six feet of him, looks wrecked.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he pants. He looks down at where you’re hovering over his now fully-hard cock. “Gotta stop. Otherwise you’re gonna make me cum in my pants like a damn teenager.”

You pout at him, lifting your lower half off of his. You don’t stand up, though – not immediately, anyway. Instead, you take his head back in both of your hands. He lets you, blinking up at you wordlessly. 

You’d known when you’d first seen him earlier today that he was handsome, but right now, his face so close to yours – you’re seeing all of the little details – the scar indented in his forehead, just above his right eyebrow; the flush that stains his cheeks, which you can guess is partly from the alcohol, but maybe also from you. He’s biblically gorgeous, which makes it difficult to pry yourself off of him.

You do though, after a minute, smoothing down your dress once you’re back on two feet. You feel a bit breathless, suddenly. And exhausted.

What time is it? 

You retrieve your phone from where it’s been lodged in the cushion of your chair. 

You tap on the screen, waking it up. 

12:47?! When had it gotten so late?

Joel stands, adjusting himself in his pants. You can’t help but giggle at him — big, tough man looking positively ruined after just a few minutes of being under you. You feel pretty accomplished. He rolls his eyes at you. 

“Shut up — just get us an Uber.” You don’t miss the smile that sprouts between his cheeks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

You wait outside for your driver — John M.

The cold Vermont air is sobering. You feel almost normal by the time the car pulls up, save for the dull, throbbing ache between your legs. You will it away as you crouch into the back of the silver Nissan behind Joel. The sound of the radio playing soft rock hits is a poor distraction on the drive home.

“Wanna come in?,” you ask Joel when the car comes to a halt in front of your building. You watch him ponder it, eyes glued to the roof of the sedan. But ultimately, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” he says. “Gotta check on Sarah.”

You nod, try to hide your disappointment. “Right.” 

You open the door. Just as you’re about to get out, Joel stops you. 

“Wait,” he says. “Can I see your phone?” You’re confused, but you hand it over. You watch as he pulls up your contacts and clicks the ‘plus’ button in the corner, an understanding smile pulling at your lips. 

When he hands the phone back, his contact now in it, you grab his from off the seat next to him and do the same. 

“I’ll text you,” he promises as you step out. 

You turn back to him. “You better.”

He’s smiling when you shut the door.

You’re smiling when the car pulls away. 

It’s only when you’re tucked into bed, phone charging securely on the nightstand that the thought crosses your mind: you’re catching feelings for someone again. 

And then you feel sick.

Joel wakes up the next morning feeling giddy. It’s like he’s a teenager all over again – waiting by the phone for a pretty girl to call him back. Only this time, he’s waiting for a text.

He had messaged you almost as soon as he’d gotten back to Sarah’s apartment last night, asking if he could see you again before he goes back to Texas. He has no shame about it, he can’t – not when his entire mind and body are consumed by his overwhelming attraction to you. 

He’d found it difficult to sleep last night, and not because the springs in Sarah’s cheap couch were digging into his already-damaged back. It was thoughts of you, and the borderline-painful erection they caused, that had kept him up.

Now, with the sun seeping through the living room windows directly into his eyes, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to be awake. He checks his phone immediately, and tries to ignore the way his heart sinks when he sees you haven’t responded yet. You’re probably still asleep, he tells himself.

He tosses his phone aimlessly back onto the couch and stands with a groan. His legs feel worse than his back, if that’s even possible. 

Sarah still isn’t awake, so Joel meanders into her kitchen, in search of something to eat for breakfast. It’s pretty much what you would expect from a college student’s kitchen – bare bones. There are a few suspicious containers of leftovers in the fridge along with a Brita water pitcher and a package of cookie dough. In the freezer, several cartons of ice cream (all chocolate) and half a loaf of bread. And finally, in the cabinets, a few boxes of mac & cheese and an unopened jar of peanut butter. 

Toast it is, then.

Sarah appears just as he’s raiding her drawers for a butter knife. “Morning,” she announces sleepily behind him. 

“Hey, Kiddo,” he says, turning to face her. “Hungry?”

“Yeah. There’s a diner down the street. Thought we could get pancakes.” She yawns.

Joel grins. That must be the place you’d told him about – the one Sarah brings you leftovers from when you’re working late. 

“You buyin’?,” he jokes. 

“Only in exchange for the juicy deets from last night.” She pauses. “Okay, maybe not all the deets. There’s some things I don’t need to know – like why you got home so late.” 

“Sarah,” Joel warns, but she’s undeterred, smiling like a Cheshire Cat with every one of her unbrushed teeth on display.

“Just get changed,” she says, and skips out of the room.

You’ve been staring at the text for twenty minutes now.

Had a lot of fun tonight. Can I see you again before I leave? Let me know if you’re free tomorrow (today I guess). - Joel

You should say yes – you want to say yes – so why can’t you get your fingers to move? 

It’s a stupid question. You know why – it’s Quentin and your inability to shake the fear that someone  else will hurt you like he did. If you keep Joel at arm’s length – continue to ignore his message – he can’t do that. You can just take last night for what it was – a fun time, a hookup – and stop this before it goes too far, before feelings get involved.

Because it never ends well, once they do.

You get out of bed without responding, but you leave the text open on your phone. You attempt to busy yourself with housework and grading. Again and again though, you find your fingers hovering over the screen, your mind wandering to the way Joel’s lips had felt on yours, the way the bulge in his jeans had felt against your clothed heat, the sound of his southern drawl when he’d called you darlin’. 

Then you snap yourself out of it and place the phone face-down on the table.

This goes on for hours, a vicious cycle. You feel your resolve slipping more and more each time you pick the phone up.

The sun is high in the sky by the time you break, light bathing your kitchen and revealing all of the spots you’d missed when you’d dusted earlier. Your phone is heavy in the palm of your hand like a bomb – like if you don’t hit send right now, you’ll lose the motivation and it’ll detonate, taking any chance of you seeing Joel tonight and not self-sabotaging with it. 

You close your eyes when you press the button and toss your phone somewhere across the room.

Well – you think – no going back now.

Joel is sitting on cold, hard bleachers at the Homecoming football game when he sees you’ve responded, the shouts of people in the stands around him not enough to avert his attention.

Hey, yeah, that would be great! Do you want to come to my apartment later? I have a bottle of wine we can crack into if you’d like. And I can order pizza.

The announcer is saying something about player #72 over the loudspeaker. He doesn’t tune in. 

Joel types his reply and sends it:

Sounds perfect. I’ll come over around 7?

Sarah groans next to him. “You wanted to come to this game, dad. If you’re bored already, can we leave?”

His eyes shoot up. “No, uh – sorry. Just had to answer one text.”

Sarah narrows her eyes at him. They dart to the phone just as another message rolls in, your name flashing across the screen before Joel can hide it.

“Is that my professor?”

Joel doesn’t answer. His silence confirms enough. 

“I knew you guys hit it off last night! See, dad, even though you didn’t wanna tell me at breakfast, I still found out. I always find out. Because Sarah knows all.” She attempts a maniacal, Disney villain-esque laugh. 

Joel raises an eyebrow at her. 

“You done?”

“So you going out again later? Do I need to make your bed on the couch, or should I just not bother?”

He ignores her. Someone gets a touchdown and half the crowd goes wild. He doesn’t bother to check what team scored. 

He opens your latest message, instead.

Perfect. See you then, Cowboy ;)

His breath hitches at the nickname, at the thought of you calling him that again in person. The thought of kissing you again, if you’ll let him.

He doesn’t catch who wins the game.

Joel arrives at your apartment at seven o’clock on the dot. 

Punctual, you note.

He’s holding a bottle of wine, gripping the neck with long, calloused fingers. 

“Know you said you had some already,” he says as he steps over the threshold. “Just didn’t wanna come empty handed.” 

The sentiment takes you aback. You’re not exactly used to dates bringing you gifts, especially ones this expensive, if the minimalist yet fancy label is any indicator. 

“Thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the bottle from him. You can’t quite make out the name – something foreign, etched in cursive. 

“‘ts Italian, I think,” he mumbles, as if he can read your mind. 

Your eyes shift from the bottle to Joel, standing in front of you in his Carhartt jacket, brows furrowed, gaze trained on the floor at his feet. 

“Thank you,” you say more genuinely this time. 

Joel smiles appreciatively. You motion to the space behind you.

“Come in.” 

You lead Joel to the kitchen, just off the entranceway, and place the bottle down on the counter, gently. You tuck yourself in the corner, leaning back to rest your arms on cool granite. Joel mirrors you against the adjacent island. 

“How’s Sarah?” you ask. “Feeling any better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his scruff. “She was askin’ about you. Saw me textin’ you.”

“Yeah – guess you couldn’t exactly hide this from her, staying at her apartment and all.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Guess not.”

You pop open the bottle of wine. Pour glasses for both of you. Then you order pizza: one cheese, one sausage and pepper. The person on the other end of the line tells you it’ll be thirty to forty minutes. 

“Gonna be a bit of a wait,” you tell Joel when you hang up. “Busy night, I guess.” 

He nods, takes a sip of wine, and then places the glass down, his eyes unmoving from yours. 

You realize then that he’d been staring at you the entire time you were on the phone. The way he’s looking at you – gaze the same as the one from the bar last night when you’d straddled him – has you feeling suddenly nervous.

“What?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Can I kiss you again?” he asks.

Oh.

You breathe out a laugh. It’s not funny – really, the opposite – but you hadn’t been expecting him to ask that. “Joel-” you’re going to say yes – fuck yes – but he interrupts you. 

“Been dyin’ to since last night.” He’s so open, so earnest. It’s fucking hot.

“Joel,” you say again, louder this time. He freezes. His eyes widen, like he’s anticipating your answer. 

“Please.”

It’s all he needs to hear. In an instant, he crosses the distance between you. He places his hands on the counter behind you, framing your body with his. You peer up at him and, fuck – he looks ravenous. 

He kisses you – hard. His teeth crash against yours. It’s messy and hurried, but you don’t care – you want him closer, need him closer. 

Your head swims with memories of the feeling of his bulge against your clothed core. The need to feel it again is all-consuming. You’re greedy for it. And with the time constraint, you don’t want to wait another second. 

You pull back abruptly. Joel furrows his eyebrows where he looms over you, concerned.

“Joel,” you pant,  “I need you.”

It takes him a second to compute what you’re asking. And then he’s nodding furiously.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Okay, darlin’.”

You pull him back in with a hand at the back of his neck, digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue slips into your mouth with a groan. You’re minutely aware of him shrugging his jacket off, hearing the light thump it makes when it hits the linoleum. And then his hands are on you, wandering up and down your body like he needs to feel every inch of you. He tugs at the base of your t-shirt impatiently. 

“Off,” he mumbles against your lips. You pull back only to do as he’s asked, and then you’re right back on him, sucking a bruise into the skin below his ear, your body claiming him subconsciously. His head falls back momentarily, revealing his bobbing throat. You scrape your teeth lightly along the skin there, eliciting a groan from Joel. 

Your mouth continues exploring his neck as his fingers find the clasps of your bra, unhooking them quickly and tossing it aside. You don’t see where. You don’t really care – you’ll find it later.

He grabs your now-naked sides and steps back, pulling you with him. Then he turns you and pushes you back against the island. 

He slaps the countertop behind you. “Up,” he breathes against your neck. You don’t argue. You don’t want to argue. You’re so used to being the one in charge, the one in control — right now you’re happy to bend to Joel’s will.

You grip the edge of the island with both hands and hoist yourself up so that you’re perched there, legs dangling.

Joel’s fingers immediately go to the button of your jeans, popping it open before moving to tug the zipper down. And then he’s helping you lift your hips so that he can pull them down and off. He adds them to the pile at his feet.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear splayed out on your kitchen counter in front of him. You feel like you should be self conscious, maybe even embarrassed by your depravity. But you can’t find it in you to be either, not when Joel is slotted between your legs, his dark eyes scanning over you hungrily. Showing you he needs you just as bad as you need him.

He rubs his hands over your thighs and up the sides of your body, mapping your curves with great concentration. “God damn,” he whispers, what seems to be, mostly to himself. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

You whine pathetically. Your patience is growing thin.

He smirks up at you, likely seeing in your face how desperate you are for him right now. 

“‘ts okay baby, I got you,” he coos, suddenly sinking to his knees in front of you. His hands move closer to your clothed pussy, but not quite there, tracing light circles along your inner thighs. Then he replaces his fingers with his mouth, sending your hips bucking off the counter, chasing him.

The coarse hair of his mustache scratches the skin surrounding where he sucks and bites. You don’t care. You just want to feel it lower, against your dripping folds.

“Please,” you breathe, shakily. Through hooded eyes, you catch Joel’s satisfied grin. You realize then that he loves this — making you beg for it, for him. It’s a dizzying contradiction to the way he was practically begging to kiss you just moments ago.

He presses a chaste kiss against your skin, his lips infuriatingly close to where you need them most.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he purrs. The vibration of his voice just next to your core has you spiraling. 

“Need your mouth,” you cry. “Please.”

“Where?” He nips at you, half an inch closer to your swollen clit. You can feel his breath. Your cunt reactively clenches around nothing. 

“On my pussy, Joel” you plead. 

He pulls away from you completely, looks up at you with devilish eyes.

“Good girl.”

He dips one finger into the side of your underwear, pulling them aside to reveal your glistening core. “Damn baby, you’re soaked,” he drawls. You catch the hint of pride that tinges his voice. 

“Please,” you beg again, your voice wanton and broken.

Joel gently pets your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. The pressure he applies is feather-light, barely there. But still, after all the teasing, you can’t help the embarrassingly loud moan that escapes you.

He chuckles darkly. “Alright sweetheart, I know – enough teasin’.”

He hooks both index fingers in the top of your panties, pulling them down and off in one swift movement. And then his tongue is on you, exactly where you need it. 

He holds you open with fingers digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he licks long, languid stripes from your leaking cunt up to your clit, over and over again until you’re a whimpering mess underneath him. You struggle to hold your weight up on your elbows, watching him as he works you with his mouth.

He’s so good at this – too good at this. You tell him as much, between broken moans. 

“Sofuckinggood Joel – holy shit.”

You swear you can feel him smirk against your heat. 

He buries his face into your cunt then, nose pressed against your clit, and swivels his head back and forth, coating his mustache and beard in your arousal. He groans against you, like this is getting him off just as much as you. It’s all so obscene, so filthy.

You’ve never had a man go down on you like this – like they actually enjoy it. But then again, it doesn’t come as much of a surprise, not when it’s Joel. You’ve quickly come to learn that he’s attentive in every sense of the word. Knows just what you want, what you need – evident by the way his lips latch back onto your clit when you keen for him.

He keeps his attention there, switching between suckling on it – which is enough to make you see stars on its own – and lapping at it with short, shallow flicks of his tongue. He experiments with different angles, licking at different spots on the bundle of nerves until he finds the one that makes you cry out, your babbles of there Joel, yes, right fucking there, don’t stop, letting him know exactly where to focus. 

You feel yourself quickly hurtling toward the edge. You just need a little bit more to get you there.

“Fingers,” you pant. “Need your fingers in me.”

Two of his fingers are at your entrance before you can even blink. You’re so wet that he slides them in easily, curling them against your walls. He expertly finds your G-spot, massaging it as his tongue continues to lap at your clit.

You gasp at the combination. It’s so good – so much.  “Oh my god Joel, I’m so close,” you cry.

He doesn’t let up, doesn’t even look at you. His eyes are closed in concentration, fingers and tongue unrelenting. He’s lost in your pussy. You can tell he’s not going to come up for air until he’s given you an orgasm. 

And it doesn’t take much longer – one, two, three more strokes of his fingers and you’re cumming hard.

Your vision blurs and your ears ring in your head. You’re vaguely aware that Joel is pinning one of your thighs down with his free hand to hold you in place as you thrash against the countertop. 

He fucks you through it, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he continues to curl them against that spot, your clit throbbing against his tongue. 

It is – without a doubt – the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. 

He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down, eager to milk every last drop from your weeping cunt. The overstimulation is too much. Your grip tightens in his hair, weakly attempting to pull him off of you as you whimper nonsense above him. You manage to exhale his name, or something close to it, and he finally lifts his face.  

His eyes meet yours, dark and hooded. He looks absolutely pussydrunk.

The entire lower half of his face is soaked with your slick. His shiny, pink lips pepper kisses along your inner thighs, smoothing over the spots he’d marked with his teeth just minutes ago. You feel so sensitive – you shiver under his touch. 

His smile curves into your skin. He leaves one last light peck and stands up, grunting at the ache in his knees. You laugh, but you can tell by the darkness still looming in his gaze that he’s not done with you yet.

He helps you off the counter, steadying you with hands gripping your sides as you find your footing. Your legs feel like Jell-O, a welcomed side-effect of the earth-shattering orgasm you’ve just had. You lead Joel to your bedroom, leaving your clothes scattered across the kitchen floor.

He backs you toward the bed as soon as you’re in your room, lips latched to the side of your neck. The backs of your legs hit the mattress, and then he’s lowering both of your bodies onto it, cradling your head in his hand as you settle underneath him.

He sits back on his knees, pulling his t-shirt over his head to reveal his broad, tan torso. You’re pretty sure you’re salivating, lost in the slope of his shoulders and the wide expanse of his chest. Your eyes trail lower as he undoes his belt, followed by the button of his jeans. He shimmies them off along with his boxers, his large cock springing free, tip shiny with pre-cum, and hovers back over your eager body. 

He dips down and presses his lips to yours, prying your mouth open with his tongue. He’s remarkably patient for how hard he is, his erection pressing into your thigh as he kisses you, slow and wet.

One of his hands grips your jaw, the other pressed firmly against the mattress next to you. Minutes pass like that, you and Joel losing yourselves in each other. Then you remember that you don’t have all the time in the world – that your delivery driver could get here any minute. In truth, you’re not even fucking hungry anymore – not for pizza, anyway.

You snake your hand up to the back of Joel’s head, pulling at his roots lightly. “Joel,” you breathe when he lifts off of you, “please fuck me.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice.

“How do you want it, baby?” he purrs in your ear, his warm breath skating over your skin. “How do you like it?”

You breathe out a moan. No man has ever asked you how you like it. They usually just give you a few sloppy, ill-timed thrusts, whatever they can muster before cumming and leaving you unsatisfied. 

But Joel isn’t just any man. 

“Hard,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me hard.”

He growls, low and dark. “‘ts right, sweetheart.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, rutting against your folds a few times to gather some of your wetness with the tip of his cock.

Then he sinks into you, slowly, stretching your walls as he notches further and further in. There’s a sweet, stinging pain, one you hope, fleetingly, that you’ll be able to feel tomorrow – like a keepsake from him. 

You sigh when he reaches the hilt, his tip nudging your cervix. He stills, letting you get used to his girth and you have to dig your nails into his back to keep from writhing under him. You don’t mind if it hurts – you just need him to move. 

“Please,” you whine, unable to stop your hips from bucking any longer. “I can take it, Joel.”

“Know you can, baby,” he coos, beginning to rock slowly inside of you. The pleasure is immediate, washing over your body like a warm wave.

He picks up the pace when he’s sure it feels good for you, dragging his cock halfway out of you and thrusting back in, over and over again. 

He grabs both of your legs, bending them so that you’re spread wide open for him, and grips the backs of your knees tightly as he slams into you. He can get so much deeper like this, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t even know you had. You let out a labored moan, fingers anchored into his delts.

“Talk to me darlin — tell me how it feels,” he pants.

“So – fuck, Joel – so fucking good.”

Joel drops his mouth to your shoulder, nips at the skin there. 

His voice is in your ear, a low snarl.

“‘Better than that fuckin ex, I bet.” 

You’d be annoyed by his cockiness – if he wasn’t so right.

But he is, and so you parrot, “So much better.” And then, because it’s the truth, you add, “the best.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hips stuttering at your words. “Can’t say that angel, you’ll make me cum.”

He pulls out and slams back into you again, setting a new, devastating pace. He fills you up just to leave you empty, over and over again. You’re a babbling mess underneath him, couldn’t string two more words together if you tried. Luckily, Joel is happy to take over and do the talking. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, babygirl. Make the most gorgeous noises, too.”

You’re so fucking close, you can only whimper in response. You feel your walls tighten around him.

He presses your foreheads together, his sweaty curls sticking to your skin. His eyes bore into yours. 

“C’mon baby, show me – show me how pretty ya are when ya cum on this cock.”

He brings one hand down to your clit, rubbing sloppy circles over it as he continues spearing into you. You hike your newly-freed leg up over his lower back.  A white heat licks at your spine. You barely have time to tell Joel you’re about to cum, your warning coming out a single cry of his name. He gets it, though, bringing you over the edge with his words. 

“I got you, baby, I got you; you can let go.”

Your orgasm barrels through you, from the tips of your toes all the way up to your ears. Joel doesn’t let up his ministrations, talking you through it as you writhe under him. 

“Thaaaats it. Good – ahh – good fuckin’ girl.” 

The only word you can think of in your state of euphoria is his name, chants of Joel, Joel, Joel spilling from the back of your throat as you cum.

You’re squeezing his cock through your aftershocks, and you can tell he’s close by the way his thrusts become more and more uneven. 

“Fuck – where do you want it?” he braces both palms against the mattress on either side of you.

“Inside – please, Joel,” you beg. “I’m on the pill.”

He curses in ecstasy,  cumming seconds later with a series of low grunts. His hips stall as he spills inside of you. There’s so much of it – he’s nearly drowning your cervix, coating your walls with rope after rope of his spend. 

He softens inside you, staying there for a long moment as you both come down from your highs. You’re sweaty, panting messes, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent you both sound. 

“Good?” he asks, nosing at the space just below your jaw. It’s so soft, so gentle. Your stomach does a backflip.

“Yeah,” you say. “Really fucking good.”

He pulls out of you with a low, guttural noise. You sigh at the loss of him, your hand coming down reflexively  to feel where he’s leaking out of you. His fingers graze yours, and he bumps them aside to scoop up some of your combined fluids. 

He brings his wet, sticky fingers to your lips, humming when you immediately take them into your mouth and suck them clean, eyes unmoving from his the entire time. You bat your eyelashes at him, innocently as he pulls them out with a wet pop.

“Fuck,” he curses, “gonna get me hard again, angel.”

He lays down next to you, letting his head thump against the pillow, and flexes his biceps behind his head. You kind of hope he does get hard again, despite the fact that your whole body feels like liquid. Like if you were to try and stand, your legs would most definitely give out on you. They’re trembling right now, where you have them half-bent, heels dug into the mattress.

Your phone rings, then, snapping you out of your post-coital bliss. Fuck – the pizza.

You answer, trying your best to hide the undeniably fucked-out lilt of your voice as you tell the delivery person that someone will be right down.

Joel laughs next to you when you hang up. “I’ll get it – hold on.”

He jumps out of bed and dresses quickly. You’re gawking at him as he does. You can’t help it. This man – probably the hottest man you’ve ever seen – was just inside of you. You want to pat yourself on the back. He notices you staring as he’s zipping up his jeans and shoots you a wink.

Joel deadbolts your front door and disappears into the hallway. He returns moments later, shutting and re-locking the door, and strides back into your bedroom with both boxes. You can see the steam coming off of them through the cardboard. 

He sets them down by your feet.

“In bed?” you ask, sitting up against the headboard. 

“Well I’m not sure you can walk to the kitchen, darlin’.”

Your face heats. He has a point. But he doesn’t have to be so smug about it. You roll your eyes at him and mumble something nonsensical under your breath as you tuck yourself in under your duvet.

“What was that?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Long gone is the shy Joel from earlier this evening. He knows your body now, knows how hard he makes you cum. He’s a whole different man post-coitus – bolder. It makes you damn near melt.

And maybe you’re different now too. Because you’re pretty sure you’d give up your vow of solitude for him, if he asked.

It’s crazy, probably. You’ve only known Joel for two days, after all. But you can’t help the way that he ( and his dick) makes you feel. Like maybe there’s a promise of something down the line, however serious that something may be. You just know you want to give yourself the opportunity to experience it, no matter how it ends.

“Nothing.” You break, grin pulling tight at the corners of your mouth. “Just get me a slice of cheese.”

He lets his gaze linger for a second longer, the faux-threat of it heating you from the inside out. And then he’s vanishing into the kitchen, returning with two plates and a stack of paper towels. 

He dishes up slices for the both of you, climbing into bed next to you and handing over yours. 

He settles in with a content sigh.

You both eat in happy silence for a few minutes, Joel giving you a satisfied nod when he finishes up his first slice. “‘ts good,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food. 

“Right?” you retort. “It’s my favorite pizza around here.”

He hums in agreement. Pulls the box of sausage and pepper onto his lap to grab another slice.

“So,” you start, “you’re heading home tomorrow?” It’s more of a statement than a question. You know he is. But still, part of you wants Joel to say no, tell you that he’s canceled his flight, that he’s decided to stick around for a bit longer. 

“Yeah,” he says. You feel your heart sink. You silently curse yourself for being delusional. 

“Are you excited?” you try. “To be home?”

He doesn’t respond right away – his forehead wrinkling and his lips falling into a small frown. You watch as he thinks on it. 

“Not really,” he admits after a few seconds. 

“I know you’ll miss Sarah,” you say, letting your head fall onto his shoulder. 

He peers down at you with a heavy sigh. “So much…” His voice trails off, like there’s something else he wants to add, but can’t. 

The air feels thick, suddenly – heavy. You try your best to lighten it.

“Can’t stay a bit longer? Let Tommy run things for a while?”

“No,” he laughs. “Pretty sure he’ll just end up screwin’ every client we got.” 

“And you’d end up screwing every one of Sarah’s professors,” you tease. 

His mouth falls open in mock-offense. He grabs at both your sides, suddenly, letting the open box of pizza slide off of his lap and onto the bed. He tickles relentlessly just under your ribs, causing you to squeal and squirm under his grip.

“Joel,” you cry in between fits of laughter. “Stop!” 

“I don’t think so, darlin’,” he tuts. He removes one of hands momentarily, to toss your plate aside, and then he’s hooking one of his legs over your body, straddling you. He looks so big like this, his body hanging over yours. You feel content – safe. His hands release you, finally, coming to settle on either side of your head on your pillow. You blink up at him. He’s staring down at you with narrowed eyes. 

“What?” 

“Nothin,” he mumbles. “‘ts just, I wouldn’t, ya know. Sleep with anyone else, I mean. If you didn’t want me to.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You know that if you respond, it’ll come out way too eager. So you just blink at him again. 

“Would you want to keep talkin’ after I get home?”

Yes, you want to say. Please. I don’t think I could go on without knowing if I’ll get to see you again – fuck you again.

You swallow. Collect yourself. 

“Yeah. I would.”

You shimmy under Joel so that you can sit up. He straightens out, shifting his weight onto his knees. Takes both of your hands in his and pulls you up.

His eyes are still locked on yours. “I know we just met this weekend,” he says. “But I had a lot’a fun with you. I like you.” 

Your cheeks warm. “I like you too, Joel.” 

He smiles. “‘m glad.”

“Doesn’t have to be anythin’ serious,” he continues. Lets his fingers trace aimlessly along the inside of your arm. “We can jus’ see where it goes.”

“Yeah,” you nod, your heart squeezing in your chest. “See where it goes. I like that.” 

And it’s the truth. You do. In the stillness, your legs tucked under the covers, Joel caressing you, you feel, for the first time in a long time, happy to not be alone. And you know you will be again, very soon, when Joel leaves to go back home. But then again, you won’t – not really. His voice will be there, a phone call away, and his body will be there, in the divot he’s left in your mattress. And you’ll have the promise of taking this slow, seeing where it goes. 

You’ve never been so excited for the future. 

end notes: tysm for reading! I may turn this into a series if people want more of these two <3 lmk hehe

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel x reader #pedro pascal as joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #fiiyb

[saerins]

PREV: #003 THE FIRST RIPPLE 𖧧 #004 THIS SPARK, IS IT REAL? 𖧧 NEXT: #005 THE ICE SURRENDERS ꒰ series masterlist ꒱

꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ — there’s a lot you don’t understand about what’s going on with sae, but he can say the same about you. question is, once you both find out more about each other, will your growing feelings stay the same?

content: itoshi sae x female reader. fluff/angst. profanity, alcohol, reader is fairly straightforward here, pining, jealousy, misunderstandings. word count: 5.8k

༝༚༝༚ slightly shorter chapter this week ^_^ hehe we’re getting closer to the messier/exciting parts so bear with me heh :) mwah ily guys <3

you’re starting to learn that maybe you can’t get your hopes up with itoshi sae.

a week later, you don’t hear anything from him. you both haven’t spoken since that night he took you out. not that you’re entirely too bothered—it’s a first for you, trying to get to know someone as in-demand as sae. (you don’t count eita because you’ve known him since before the fame.)

it doesn’t help that you don’t really have anyone to talk to about this. you promised sae that you wouldn’t spill, and you’re keeping that promise. somehow, it makes you feel a little warm inside; thinking that there is some sort of intimacy you share with sae that only the two of you know.

besides, even if you could talk to eita about it, you don’t want to. 

is it too quick for you to think you might fall for him?

falling for someone isn’t really in your life plans yet, especially after your last and only tumultuous relationship, but maybe itoshi sae is different. he sure seems like it.

the next week rolls around, and you still hear nothing from him. which is fine with you; you’ve resigned yourself to thinking what’s yours will be yours and not to force anything… even if you spend most of your idle time wondering if sae is ever going to post anything on his private account. did he really just create it solely because you asked him to?

you can see that he logs in to it, judging by his icon on that little viewer list in your stories. but that’s the extent to which you see him online. he doesn’t reply, or do anything much. considering his normal account is probably mainly run by his team, you guess you shouldn’t expect too much from him.

still, maybe it’s a little pathetic of you to be wearing his cap so frequently. it’s sort of become a staple piece for you, somehow. to be fair, there’s hardly any dress code in place for you to follow and considering the bulk of your workwear is mostly casual, it fits right into your style. although, after sumi pointed out one day that it’s a luxury brand and that it costs more than you would personally ever spend on a cap (even if you had the means to), you try to wear it less often. (though that seems like a waste considering it was given to you.)

“you know, you gave the boss a really good scoop, enough to last for a few months,” sumi points out during lunch, taking a lick of her vanilla ice cream as the both of you sit out on the roof, escaping the cramped office. “so why do you look so stressed?”

honestly, you didn’t even realise you did. you thought you were being normal, but it has been a while since you had a normal crush on someone, and since itoshi sae is certainly not just a normal somebody, maybe you had been acting a little off, always waiting for a text, a call even, something.

“nothing, i just haven’t been able to get a good sleep lately,” you lie, hoping that sumi won’t pry.

she doesn’t.

“hm, it’s friday today,” she hums, pondering. “maybe you should find a few of your friends, get out, let loose, you know?”

later at your desk, the clock almost striking 5pm, you think maybe you should. because as much as you love your chill friday nights alone (mainly because your mom is barely home on the weekends), you don’t think it’ll do you much good if you keep mulling over the same old thing.

but just as you’re about to go pester eita again, he gets to you first, his timing impeccable today.

there’s an aching disappointment in your chest when you realise sae isn’t going to be there. maybe it’s just the glaring difference between the life of a celebrity versus someone normal like you. his schedule must usually be packed to the brim after all.

whatever, you’ll let him come back to you on his own time. for now, all you want to do for the weekend is to spend it having fun with the guys and settling everything you need to on saturday and spend sunday to yourself.

this possible thing between you and sae, whatever it could be, can wait. you’re not in any rush. at least, that’s what your head tells you.

your heart feels something different.

it’s only the second time you’re actually hanging out with eita’s friends, but you’re not regretting it one bit. even on the day of the event they’d been welcoming to you, and tonight is no exception.

they’re all sat around the wooden table on the balcony, a ton of beer cans and liquor bottles littered across the table. you sit on the long end, on the long chair, right beside eita, sides of your bodies always pressed close together that it makes a glint form in oliver’s eyes.

he’s still curious, not out of concern but just because, about you and eita and sae and how everything is going to tie together. it’s not everyday he sees eita being okay with a girl that close to him and not complain that she’s a bother. it’s also not everyday that sae creates a private account. oliver got bored and saw one day that you were the first person he followed.

you must really be something.

“where even is sae today?” you hear sendou ask, a hiccup following suit. “i finally come over and he’s not even here.”

he’s sitting on your other side, his profile strangely reminding you of the very guy he’s asking about. maybe it’s the way his hair is a lighter shade of pink, maybe even his sharp jawline. his eyes are different though, more expressive, and universally soft somehow.

you remember how sae’s can look soft, his teal eyes turning gentle whenever you try to approach him. but it wasn’t that way when you first met him, that’s a given.

“i don’t know, said he was too tired,” oliver sighs, stretching in his seat.

“wasn’t he just with bianca yesterday?” yukimiya asks, oblivious to oliver’s glee.

it kind of stings, but you stay quiet, the alcohol slowly seeping into your system. you can feel eita leaning against you a little bit more, and his presence has always been comforting, so you let him.

sendou hums, index finger tapping against his near-empty beer can. “is that still going on? how long has their relationship status been a mystery already?”

karasu snorts, nudging sendou on the elbow. “salty just ‘cause you tried to ask her out and she rejected you?”

as you sit quietly and observe, it seems that sendou was once at an event with her too—apparently, he had asked her for her number and she didn’t even want to give it to him. and then a month later she “met sae and was all over him”, according to karasu.

with the exception of eita, who sits quietly beside you, they start a debate on whether or not sae’s finally starting to see bianca in a different light. or, as sendou points out, “maybe they’ve been a thing all along and just hid it really well from everyone.” it’s not exactly something you want to listen to, even if you are the most curious you’ve ever been about a guy, so you block it out from your ears. 

but oliver leans forward, resting his chin on the liquor bottle in front of him, staring straight at you. you’ve never really noticed it but his eyes are really beautiful, the different shades of green and purple making him seem ethereal just like that. 

“you’re a girl, y/n, what do you think?” he asks you, a lazy drawl in his tone.

mirroring his actions, you bat your eyelashes at him, looking innocent as ever when you answer him. “i think you guys should stop talking about that her behind her back like that,” you say, earning a raise of oliver’s brows in return. he’s surprised, to say the least, but not in a bad way.

it’s not even that you don’t want to hear about her. you’re wantonly curious, especially since you’re beginning to realise your small hint of emotions towards sae, but something tells you that these guys wouldn’t be too kind with their words if you egg them on.

karasu gives you a nod of approval that you miss before he leans back in the chair, whispering to yukimiya, “at least we all know shidou won’t totally hate y/n.” but it’s too soft for you to hear, and you probably won’t even be able to make sense of it even if you did, not with the gradually increasing level of alcohol in your system.

between intentionally drinking to not be a pathetic mess who keeps thinking about her potential love life and having to drink because you’re usually good at drinking games but not when oliver is around with the way he keeps beating you at everything, you happen not to notice a lot of things.

at one point, oliver has replaced sendou next to you, whispering snarky comments in your ear in between games. he’s not the flirting kind, at least not to you, and he doesn’t push your boundaries physically either—he’s more akin to a friend you’d love to gossip with. that’s why you don’t even think much when he tilts his camera towards you, taking a selfie with both you and eita in it.

just a normal picture of friends hanging out, oliver leaning against your legs, propped up on the chair, your own head leaning into the crook of eita’s neck, all of you evidently tipsy from the dazed look in your eyes.

what neither of you notice is oliver’s smirk as he posts the picture onto his private, betting on his target audience of one to see it.

and now, he’ll just have to wait.

one hour later, the doorbell rings and yukimiya’s eyes glance over to eita, comfortable with an arm around you, and he takes it as his cue to open the door. eita’s probably too reluctant to move and he’ll let whoever it is at the door keep at it for hours before he’ll answer the poor guy.

he’s expecting some random food delivery, maybe from karasu because he’s been whining about wanting some chicken with his beer, or maybe even shidou showing up at the last minute from his other party. but this? the person he’s staring at in the eyes right now, is the last person he expected to see tonight. 

“wait, i thought you weren’t coming?” yukimiya asks, but oliver’s already shouting from the balcony.

“hey, sae, what the fuck are you doing here?” he asks from the balcony, taking a swig of his beer.

beside him, you hear sae’s name and your head immediately whips around to look at the door. there he is, looking tired as ever but he’s there, in the flesh, dressed in all black, jacket and sweats, teal eyes finding you from all the way across the house.

sae wordlessly walks past yukimiya, the latter following behind him, still shocked that he’s even present. sure looks like sae always means it when he says he wouldn’t come to gatherings like these.

when he gets to the balcony, earning a cock of oliver’s brow, sae tilts his head, “i was invited, wasn’t i? what’s so surprising about that?”

oliver snickers at sae’s blatant avoidance of the question. deciding he wouldn’t get anything out of him anyway, he shrugs and accepts it. besides, he can already see that sae’s too busy trying to calculate if there’s enough space for him to sit beside you, with the way his eyes are scanning your surroundings. maybe it doesn’t help how eita’s so clingy with you, his arm still around you even when you’ve already straightened up.

both sae and eita are just staring blankly at each other, and everyone is aware of it except for you, because your head’s a little dizzy and you’re still thinking whether sae popping up here is a figment of your imagination.

you’re not that drunk, are you?

you get your answer when a shadow looms over your body, the familiar scent of his cologne wafting into your nose. he smells the same he did that night you kissed him.

“what, this seat taken?” sae asks, and you dumbly look down at the small edge of space beside you.

no, it’s not, but you’re probably going to have to squeeze between him and eita if he sits there, no more legroom. you shift anyway, eita making space (albeit reluctantly), the way sae ends up being so close to you enough to send your mind into overdrive. you’re still wondering why he showed up.

you, and everyone else. not oliver though. he knows why. and it’s not like he wants to intentionally make you cough out your feelings but it looks like the other guys who are oblivious to your feelings are steering in that direction. 

“no bianca today?” karasu asks, a mocking tone in his voice.

sae doesn’t show an ounce of emotion, though. “wasn’t with her.”

“why not? scared we’re gonna make you two make out again like last time?” yukimiya asks, finally relaxing back in his seat. he says it jokingly, although you know the sentence at hand probably isn’t a joke.

“wait wait wait, you two made out?” sendou asks, incredulous, mirroring your exact thoughts. 

a jealousy creeps up your spine, engulfing your alcohol-riddled distractions. some part of you wants to know what it’d be like to be kissed by him. you purse your lips into a firm line, wondering if you were being an accidental homewrecker by kissing him that night.

“it was just a game,” sae responds, making no moves to drink the beer handed to him.

eita pulls his arms away, moving in favour of getting you a drink. it’s not that he even knows anything that’s going on between you and sae, but he can tell by how you’re stiffening up that you’re probably a little affected. he slides a shot over to you, and you down it with ease.

ignoring the way the other guys keep harping on the topic, sae turns his attention to you, flicking the tip of the cap he gave you, and you shift your gaze to look up at him, the small smirk he gives you when you do making your heart flutter again.

why is it so easy for him to do that to you?

“haven’t sold my cap yet?”

you thank the heavens you’re not too tipsy to be normal. “i’m holding out for higher bids, actually,” you quip, grinning. “you can offer one too if you want it back.”

sae hums, head tilted again as he ponders while staring at you. slowly, he leans down to your ear, whispering so only you can hear him, “how much do i have to bid for you to keep it?”

maybe it’s the liquor, but you feel your cheeks heat up. it can’t be his close proximity. it can’t be the way he’s so close that you can see the beating pulse on his neck. it can’t be the way you think you look more intimate here than you should. definitely can’t be the way all the guys have noticed and are giving each other looks.

why does he even want you to keep it? is this some sort of abstract way that he’s using to tell you that you’re not an accidental homewrecker?

you make a mental reminder to yourself to never get drunk in front of sae. you don’t want to end up blurting out some less-than-decent thoughts of yours.

“what’s wrong? too tipsy now to talk back?” sae asks, and you can only pout at him, not in your usual condition to think of smart comebacks. it makes the corner of his lips tug upwards just a little bit more than usual, his hand coming up to teasingly push the cap down further—in that seemingly affectionate way he does.

and maybe it isn’t such a good idea to agree to continue to play games, not when you got roped into never have i ever and karasu, to the delight of oliver, said he has never fucked anyone at this table. seeing that only you and eita put a finger down, everyone can tell there’s probably a complicated history between you and eita. not that you owe them any explanation, though you kind of do feel the urge to tell sae that it was in the past.

you steal a glance at him beside you, the mild look of surprise befallen on his handsome face. you wonder if he thinks badly of you now. you wonder if he’ll think badly of you when he sees what your life is really like. will he think you’re just going to be a stain on his fancy life that it’ll be better off not knowing you?

or maybe… maybe he has a complicated past too. with bianca.

funnily enough, eita loses after yukimiya says he’s never had sex with more than five girls. the disappointing part is you didn’t really get to know anything interesting about sae.

“hey, you feeling okay? you can stop playing if you wanna,” sae tells you later on, after god knows how many minutes have passed and you’re already onto the next game. you don’t even know why you agreed to play two truths one dare in the first place when you know it’ll just be a shitshow for you. 

over the course of x minutes, you’d managed to learn many things, some of which being that karasu and eita had shared a girl in bed, that yukimiya dared to do a body shot on oliver, that sae would consider bianca an important person to him, and that you really can’t make up your mind to go big or go home because oliver had just dared you to spend seven minutes in heaven with anyone of your choosing.

of course, you can safely choose eita and trust him not to do anything if you told him to. but on the flip side, you can choose who you really want. even if you’re not so sure he’d want to anymore.

“you can always choose me,” oliver jokes, lifting the mood. although the smirk on his face makes you question it. “i’ll definitely show you a good time.”

while you’re having an internal dilemma, karasu and sendou are in the background teasing oliver for being fake, saying that he shouldn’t be offering that if he’s already interested in miss manager.

but you snap out of it when the irritated sigh you hear out of sae somehow feels like the world is sending you a sign. in some way. you’re not sure if you’re reaching—is he bothered by oliver’s comments? and why does oliver look so smug all of a sudden?

you’re beginning to regret not being sober, you can’t figure this shit out. but what you do figure out is what you want to do. why think so much about tomorrow when the present is right here?

so you don’t pay it any more thoughts, getting up and dragging sae with you by the shirt, ignoring all the commotion left behind by the guys, save for eita who only stares blankly at you as you drag sae into his own room and lock the door.

“oh shit, sorry dude, didn’t mean to—”

“for the last time, just friends,” otoya snaps, cutting karasu off, although not even sendou believes him. for someone who doesn’t even care to treat people nicely, sendou can at least see that eita treats you a fair bit better than anyone else.

in the room, sae can only watch blankly as you stumble over your feet before finally settling on the edge of otoya’s bed. the envious, green side of him can’t help but wonder how many times you’d been here, in his room, with him. though it’s kind of amusing how you chose to bring sae in here now.

from what sae can tell, you’re probably a little more tipsy than you should be in these types of situation, and a part of him is relieved that you’re not here with anyone else. if you were here with otoya, would you be fooling around by now?

“so, thought you were too tired to show up—what happened?” you ask from where you are on the bed, body swaying slightly, eyes threatening to close.

the moment he takes a seat next to you, you lean close, your head coming to rest on his shoulder, and sae has no doubt that you’d already drank a lot before he came. proximity this close, he can smell the shampoo in your hair, can feel how soft it is.

“i couldn’t sleep, got bored, that’s all.”

your shoulders vibrate slightly as you giggle, pulling away, a suspicious glint in your eyes. “damn, and here i thought you came for me.”

even when you’re intoxicated you still have such a smart mouth. sae shrugs, his gaze turning ever so soft, like every time before when he looks at you. there’s something about you that he can’t quite place, something that makes him act so differently than he usually does, and for once he doesn’t hate it. “did you want me to?”

not taking the bait, you keep up your casual demeanour, even if your eyelids feel heavy and you’re about five seconds away from just passing right out on the bed.

“you know, it’s fine to say you missed me and wanted to see me,” you tell him, grin wide as ever, almost infectious. you’re only surviving on liquid courage right now, the way you unashamedly try to flirt. though, if sae isn’t moving away, does that mean he doesn’t mind?

he looks off to the side, pondering for a while before turning back to you with a straight face, “i missed you, wanted to see you.”

for a moment, you feel like your heart might stop.

“is that what you wanna hear?”

almost instinctively, you grab the stray pillow lying on the bed and fling it at sae, earning an amused laugh from him but you barely realise it, too caught up in the frustration that his words were just strung together to entertain you as opposed to his actual feelings.

crossing your arms, you look away, the exhaustion of the day coupled with the dread of tomorrow nipping away at your consciousness. “don’t patronise me, itoshi sae,” you huff, and you miss the way he looks at you with a smile on his face.

will you remember any of this tomorrow? you’re not drunk, but you’re not exactly thinking straight either.

“were you… very busy this past week?”

your question is voiced so softly, almost like you’re afraid to ask, and sae realises maybe he should’ve at least told you he wouldn’t be able to make it as early as he thought he would.

“yeah, i was.”

technically, he isn’t lying. he was back in japan last saturday, but maybe he had been too wrapped up in his thoughts to do anything else.

“with bianca?”

it’s even softer this time, and for some reason, sae’s almost kind of relieved you’re asking. he just doesn’t know what it is.

“no, not really,” he tells you. it’s complicated, and you don’t even have context; he wouldn’t even know where to begin talking to you about it.

you put your legs up on the bed, hiding your face between your knees, and sae’s left wondering whether alcohol really makes that much of a difference. you seem bold, shy and teasing all at once. his hat is still on your head, your thoughts coming out into the open.

“are you… involved with her?” your voice is muffled, but he hears you loud and clear.

a small smile dawns onto his face, safe from your view. he doesn’t really know the implications of you asking the question, but he likes how you don’t beat around the bush. it’s nice not having to constantly guess what you really mean.

and maybe it’s you rubbing off on him, but he doesn’t answer it straight.

“curious, y/n?”

when you lift your head up to look at him, you see the widest smile he’s ever given you, objectively much smaller and way more subtle than everyone else, but it’s a smile all the same and it makes your heart beat faster in your chest.

“yes,” you answer honestly, because you’re not sure when exactly you’re going to pass out but you have a feeling it’ll be soon and eita’s bed is just so soft.

sae is only mildly stunned by how straightforward you are, so he decides to do you a favour. he doesn’t usually like divulging things like this; topics that bring gossip and are undoubtedly going to come back to him if it gets out. what’s more, you work for a sports magazine so you can totally use this against him, but it isn’t even that you’re intoxicated right now, but more so that he feels he can trust you with it.

slowly, he reaches his hand over, and for once he tips the cap upwards a little so he can see your eyes when he tells you, “stupid, i’m not involved with anyone.” is that clear enough for you? he’s not sure why but he hopes it is.

what does he even want with you?

the moment you hear it, you break out into a wide smile, genuine and actually infectious this time because sae feels the corners of his lips threatening to pull upwards even more. what the heck is this feeling?

“really? i’m so relieved,” you exhale, voice a little airy, looking a little too pretty that sae immediately pulls the cap back downwards. “so,” you move on, adjusting it back in position, daring to move closer to him, face so close to his own that he has nowhere else to look except straight into your eyes. “we have four minutes left. will you grant me whatever i want, itoshi sae?”

you have a habit of calling him by his full name. he makes a mental reminder to get you to change that. not tonight though, he doesn’t want you to forget.

it’s weird how he feels around you; why does he feel so overwhelmed yet want more both at the same time? he swallows the lump in his throat, keeping his composure, “depends, you’re pretty demanding, tell me first and i’ll consider.”

“itoshi sae, i’m not!” you refute, punching him playfully on the arm and he has to hold your arm to stop you from falling off the bed. “i don’t know. the guys outside are probably expecting us to fuck or something.”

there you go, unfiltered and he kind of likes it. his fingers are still around your wrist.

but the answer is crystal clear to him.

“no.”

“huh?” it takes you a while to process. given that the only thoughts in your head as of right now are only: what does sae think of you and eita? and bianca is important to him. “what if it was just a kiss?”

he hums, then shakes his head. “nope.”

“wait, am i not pretty enough for you or something?”

you’re whining and sae finds it cute of all things. you have a tendency to misunderstand, so maybe he needs to adjust how he talks to you. he’ll see. but before he can even say anything else, your head falls into his chest, your regular breathing the only sound that fills the room after. he’s perplexed and amused all at once; how did you manage to fall asleep so quickly?

contrary to your thoughts, sae has always thought you were pretty, ever since the first night he met you. even in your private account where you post yourself in hoodies too big for your body and no makeup, clad in sweats—still pretty.

sae sighs, his fingers stroking your hair now that you’re asleep, and whispering in your ear only when you’re not able to hear him.

“if i do that, i think i’ll end up wanting more.” and you’re drunk and that’s not what he really wants.

but he does give you what you ask for, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

that’ll have to do for now.

“so, nothing happened?” sendou asks, bored, as sae carries you on his back as he comes out of the room.

you’re passed out and drooling on his shoulder and he doesn’t really care about that.

“it’s sae, c’mon, did you expect something?” karasu laughs, all of them coming in from the balcony because in the seven minutes both of you had spent in the room, it managed to start raining. “maybe if it was bianca, y’know, then maybe.”

sae ignores all their passing comments, choosing to walk over to otoya, “hey, she passed out, i’m just gonna take her home.”

as much as sae isn’t particularly fond of otoya, he’s probably your closest friend here and he doesn’t want him to think he’s just going to take advantage of you.

otoya’s green eyes flicker to the clock on the wall before he shakes his head, speaking softly so the others won’t hear. “nah, just put her in the guest bedroom. i’ll send her back in the morning. you can head back first.”

there’s an irritation that builds up inside him, but sae maintains his emotionless expression, remembering that otoya knows you much more than he does. “i could just—”

“she doesn’t want to go home tonight,” otoya cuts in, a warning glare in his eyes. “trust me.”

suddenly, sae remembers the last time he met you, your swollen cheek and the way your eyes were glazed over. and he wants to ask otoya what it’s all about but this is about you, and he really shouldn’t ask someone else.

“fine,” sae concedes. if whatever’s at home makes you miserable, he won’t bring you there. “i’ll put her in there before i go.”

there’s a lot more otoya would like to ask sae, because oliver’s not the only one curious at sae’s seemingly odd behaviour. he wants to know what exactly he thinks about you, but everyone’s still around and it’s not a good time, so he sucks it up and lets it go for tonight.

as sae puts you down on the bed and pulls the blanket over you, he gets a brief flashback of the night he set bianca down in her hotel room. you’re both so similar, and yet not at all.

and when he’s about to turn and go, your fingers reach out to tug at the hem of his jacket sleeve, almost effectively making sae’s heart leap out of his chest. your eyes are still shut, so there’s no chance you’re actually conscious right now. still, your mouth opens.

“stay with me?”

sae stills. do you know it’s him? or do you think he’s otoya? either way, you and bianca really are similar, even when you’re not completely awake. so why… why are his reactions so different?

it’s not like he has anything on tomorrow, so it’s really no imposition.

before he knows it, he’s sitting on the floor, right next to where you sleep on the bed, your fingers enveloped in his palm, his head propped on the mattress, his own exhaustion catching up to him.

it’s been a messy week; trying to gather his thoughts about you every single time he’s free, having to talk to bianca and thinking about that, and then coming back just to see oliver and otoya so close to you that it bothers him a little. finding out about you and otoya takes the cake, though.

how special is otoya to you?

the question lingers unanswered as he drifts to sleep, both of you subconsciously finding comfort in the other’s innocent warmth.

the next morning when you wake up, you’re half shocked half happy to find sae where he is, sleeping there peacefully, the previous night’s exhaustion dissipating from his face.

did he take care of you last night? you can only hope you didn’t puke in front of him. that would be embarrassing.

you’d like to stay, wait for him to wake up and talk to him and make sure you didn’t say or do anything too out of line because your memory’s a little foggy, bits and pieces that you can’t quite piece together or even tell if they’re real or dreams.

but you can’t.

you remember what day it is today and reluctantly get out of bed. though, feeling a little cheeky, you quietly grab a small black marker out of the drawer, suppressing a grin as you scribble on sae’s palms, hoping he won’t wake up from this.

a couple hours later, by the time sae gets up, the bed is cold and still undone. it’s already noon, and somehow the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up is you—are you already home? did otoya send you?

but the question that pops up in the forefront of his mind when he sees otoya lazing around on his couch later on is none of that.

and to be fair, otoya has the very same question in his head.

“do you like her or something? y/n.”

otoya is the one to ask, eyes still glued onto his phone screen, typing something out. sae can’t help but wonder if he’s talking to you. 

“what’s it to you?” sae asks. he can hear the snores of the other guys coming from otoya’s room.

otoya shrugs. “just curious. she’s my best friend after all.”

there’s a certain possessiveness in the way he says it that rubs sae the wrong way. still, sae supposes that if otoya’s your best friend, he shouldn’t be too impulsive with his words.

“maybe i like her,” sae says, the tension in the air getting thicker.

“in what way?” otoya still hasn’t looked up from his phone.

“same way you do.”

“i don’t know what you mean.”

otoya scoffs, both of them acting coy with one another. “bianca and y/n, huh? busy guy,” otoya sighs, tossing his phone aside and getting up, walking towards sae, hands in his pocket. both of them are staring the other down, feeling the situation out. “i think i suit y/n better, you can have bianca.”

now it’s sae’s turn to scoff, sharp eyes piercing through otoya’s own. “why don’t we let y/n decide for herself, huh?” he quips, before grabbing his car keys out of his pocket and leaving through the front door.

as he settles down in his car and turns the engine on, it’s only then that he realises the black marks on his palm. 

thank you ᡣ𐭩

somehow, just one look at it is enough to ease the tension on his shoulders.

you really can do wonders.

extras !

otoya’s hostility towards sae was intentional.

sae didn’t try to wash your writing off—he let it fade away naturally.

if yn was sober, she would’ve not been as straightforward as he was in the room with sae. but she definitely would’ve flustered sae a lot more with her playful personality.

the whole time, oliver was live recounting the events of the night to miss manager, all of which are left on read.

if bianca had been there, sae would have been a lot more cautious about his actions and probably wouldn’t have acted too close to y/n.

random fact #1: otoya plays bass, used to perform in a band back in university. part of how he got so many girls interested in him but he was always with y/n which made a lot of them unhappy.

random fact #2: sae has never really been jealous before so now that he’s feeling it, he’s a lot more sensitive to it than normal people.

taglist! @yuzurins @saeskiss @raphsimp @lust4rin @mxplesyrvp @chieeeeeee @yumekolovesyukimiya @kunirayuna39 @auranny @sereniteav @gskill @saesgrl @riseena @rikijbol @sagejin @shironagi @veecynii

#bllk x reader #sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #bllk x y/n #sae x y/n #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #sae x you #blue lock x you #itoshi sae #itoshi sae imagines #bllk imagines #blue lock imagines #itoshi sae fluff #૪ aeri’s fics !

[moremaybank]

For the vampire Mikaelson’s, what part of their lovers body is their favourite place to bite? Neck, wrist, inner thigh etc and how likely are they to ravish them or make it a more intimate experience? 🖤

vampire!mikaelson's favourite place to feed from you...

a/n: i didn't include finn because ik he hated being a vampire and i honestly don't think he'd really enjoy it. also, i'm lazy. oops. 18+, sort of sexual content/sexual themes (not full smut but explicit mentions of it)

mikaelson siblings masterlist

elijah

i think elijah would love drinking from your wrist

i feel like his biggest fear would be hurting you, especially after how he learned that he was the one who killed tatia

he often doesn't trust himself when it comes to the women he loves. in turn, he will pierce your wrist as he drinks from you, one hand pressing it to his mouth while his other hand cups your face gently, holding your gaze on him. his eyes remain open, and they're fixed on you as a silent reminder not to get carried away and draw more blood than he should

i also feel like the eye contact makes it so much more intimate and makes the experience more special

if the two of you are making love and you ask him to feed on you, he has mixed emotions. he doesn't want to cause you any pain, but the feeling of feeding from you while he fucks you is wondrous

and so he hesitates

but all it takes is a whole lot of love and encouragement to get him there. you tell him you know he wouldn't willingly hurt you, and that you trust him more than you've ever trusted anyone

"please, 'lijah. i want you to. i want to satiate every one of your carnal desires. let me do this for you."

he is now putty in your hands

klaus

klaus loves sinking his fangs into your neck

99.9% of the time that he feeds on you is when you're in bed

the man is kinky, we all know that

once he gets a taste of you, he's going full on feral

he can truly feel you everywhere and he's so obsessed with you that it just gets him excited

he'll have one hand bracing the side of your neck he isn't drinking from, keeping you in place

he'll litter wet kisses over the skin, nibbling here and there and leaving behind small love bites if he's in the mood to mark you a little bit more

he begins to pound into you rougher as he feels the satisfaction of your blood sliding down his throat

it's hot, and tingly, and you

the man simply cannot resist

your cries are getting louder and it's spurring him on even more

he pulls back from your neck and you see the blood dripping from his lips, and he kisses you

you taste the savoury, metallic flavour of your blood

it's so sexy you lose your mind and fall apart as he pounds into you

is it hot in here? i just started sweating randonly. wonder what that's about

kol

kol, kol, kol

our cheeky little bastard

he's obsessed with feeding from your inner thighs

his large hands are kneading and squeezing your flesh, fingers brushing and trailing over your skin and getting you all worked up as he inches closer and closer to where you yearn for him the most

"kol, stop teasing"

he draws his fangs out

"all in good time, darling. i'm enjoying you"

he's such a fucking tease it's torturous

but you can't lie about the fact that it pays off in the end

also, not to be crude, but...if you have a uterus and happen to be on your period...

man is straight FEASTING

this is just so on brand for him though, not gonna lie

he's a psychopath in the best way possible and he's down for anything

"i can smell you from here, love, but i'd much rather be tasting you"

like babes, you can do whatever you want

"did i mention that orgasms help soothe menstrual cramps? no? well, they do. i'm just saying"

rebekah

i feel like our bex is a tits person

i can just imagine it

you're walking around in a low cut top and her eyes land on the bite marks adorning the ample flesh of your breasts

and it sends her off the deep endddd

she does her little smirk as her eyes trail down and you're blushing

"bex, stop. i can't focus"

"i'm sorry, love. i just thoroughly enjoy seeing the marks i've left you with. it turns me on"

and then you guys are back in bed

you're both insatiable

in-sa-tia-ble

or a back-of-the-shoulder person

you're both sat in front of a mirror

you're in front of her in between her spread legs and she's feeding on you as her hands roam all over your body

she may or may not be toying with your clit softly as she soothes you from the slight sting

rebekah just give me a chance

pLS

i beg

~

mikaelsons tag list (join here!): @princess-charming-01 @maybankslover @darkmoonbloodshake @kittyqrt @techlipse @the-kaya-aa @catmikaelson20 @hopesdadswife @amournoir @skydisneylover @iluvniklaus @diyabhanushali1 @your_best_hoe @ijustlovetoread @lyn07 @elenavampire21 @theesexystallion @dudenhaaa27 @alexxavicry @@kenzi-woycehoski @elijahssuit @shawnspoems

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson headcanon #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson smut #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson headcanon #klaus mikaelson imagine #klaus mikaelson smut #kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson headcanon #kol mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson smut #rebekah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson x female reader #rebekah mikaelson x reader #rebekah mikaelson headcanon #rebekah mikaelson imagine #rebekah mikaelson smut #the originals #the originals x reader #the originals headcanons #the originals imagine #the originals smut #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diaries headcanon #the vampire diares imagine

[marsprincess889]

Me getting political

🇬🇪🇪🇺

So, I know I mostly only really talk about vedic astrology here, but I'd like to speak to the very same audience who found and followed me because of that about what's going on in my country. So, followers, dear mutuals, those couple of ppl I know irl who are on here, or someone who randomly found this_please, read and interact. (!!!please)

For context, the vast majority Georgia, mainly gen z, has been protesting a "foreign agents law", which is almost identical to the law that russia passed in 2012 and that has resulted in significant restriction of the freedom of its citizens. So, eurovision, met gala, whatever.... this is the reality my country lives in.

I had no idea so many people from other countries were this misinformed about georgia(in general)? People thinking photos from our massive protests were not from here because we have "police" written in english and not "policija"(which is not a fcking georgian word??????)?

People thinking america funded, I repeat, MASSIVE protests that have been going on for a month(and have also taken place in the march of last year for the same reason), just because some of the protestors wrote signs in english? Like, the sheer idea of that is honestly infuriating.

I don't think anyone who has not lived in Georgia will understand the situation clearly. The government is ordering to beat up peaceful protestors, is using pepper spray on them.... and most of the protestors are teens and young adults, trying to make a better future for themselves and for generations to come, tired of fighting the same fight that their parents and grandparents have fought.

When you are born georgian, patriotism is instilled in you like vow. I was born in 2002, a decade after my country exited the soviet union, fresh out of the notoriously hard and dark 90s(full of poverty and crime), six years before I started school and russia invaded the city of Gori. We learned all the poems and novels of our great writers, learned the stories of them fighting for freedom of speech, for the freedom of our country, our teachers would explain every detail of their astristry and their importance. At some point I think we all got tired of it, no matter how loving and full of care they were, but then I remember the presentation my class did in sixth grade about february of 1921, how Georgia exited the russian empire in 1918 and how the brand new(at the time) constitution was implemented just a few days before the red army came in 1921... MY PARENTS were born when Georgia was in ussr, my mother had to spend her years as a young student in the 90s in constant fear of danger on the streets, our parents saw the worst of it and did everything in their power for us to live in a better environment. But we're first generation in georgia who grew up with internet, who is fluent in internet slang and is way more informed, with a completely different mentality, for whom the decades of oppression is more distant. We know russia is an enemy, we know what our country has gone through, but we are the first gen with the freedom to speak up when yet another attemp to control is made.

We have a very long and rich history and one thing that is clear from it is that we are supernaturally resilient, and our refusal to be subdued has protected not only ourselves, but countries that lie west from us, the countries that make Europe, that we consider ourselves a part of.

My friends know I'm the quickest to say that I feel like I don't belong here(georgia), that I never really connected to what I saw, generally, in my country, but maybe there are thousands like me here. Maybe(100%) the men in power haven't been paying their due respect to my generation and how persistent we have been in our actions and convictions. And maybe, the rest of the world(western countries) have significantly undervalued our importance. We deserve our due, and to me, the least that others can do, is to educate themselves before typing or speaking about us.

We are not a "former soviet country", we are an ancient civilization with an extremely unique culture that has survived to this day, that has protected its customs, identity and the right for freedom, and has been under almost constant threat for losing them. And, once again, if there was any doubt, we are not our government.

I sincerely hope for this to get as many notes or possible, or at least, to reach the right people.

#vedic astrology #eurovision #astrology #nakshatras #astrology observations #sidereal astrology #astro notes #astrology tumblr #aesthetic #esc #switzerland #finland #tbilisi #georgia #sakarvelo #saqartvelo #russian law #foreign agents law #georgia is europe #photography #doctor who #northern lights #aurora borealis

[aechii]

₍⁠₍ OF LOVE AND FASHiON ₎⁠₎

A/N ?! last fic for the day booooo 😥 i dont know if i will be able to post any tmrrw, but i hope i can. anyways enjoy my lovelies

p.s. there's a little written part in this but it's abt 500-600 words

-

-

[y/n]'s heart's racing. every palpitation hammers against her chest with much force, so much so that her full-upon-entry water has decreased to less than half left in just 30 minutes. the heat still fused with the air, but as the sun begins to sleep, it loses its energy, leaving a cool undercurrent that presses into the skin of all the attendees. she's so glad about the cooler weather, finding it completely unfathomable how she would've coped if the heat joined tham at night as well.

but the man seated beside her crashes all of her composure, and her body begins to feel hot and strangled.

she hasn't seen such a visually blessed male specimen in all the years of her living, and the fact that his body was so close to hers because of the crammed seating made matters worse. she can't think, breathe or concentrate on the influx of dressed models that come and go non-stop.

"you look disgusted."

the voice comes from right beside her, and her head whips around, startled. the man that has enraptured her entire conscience smiles goofily at her, and her heart wavers.

"what? me?"

"yes," he chuckles softly, "you."

his eyes turn back to the show before them, yet he continues speaking before [y/n] can justify herself, "i don't blame you, though. some of the outfits are... questionable."

his facial expressions are priceless, and [y/n] falls into a bout of laughter, "you're sick!"

he looks on seriously, eyes flashing with extreme judgement, "i'm not lying! how does anyone find pairing a skirt and baggy trousers aesthetic?"

the combination, that [y/n] had, most likely, missed from being consumed by her thoughts, makes her grimace, "yeah, that wasn't a good look at all."

he turns back to face her and, god, he stares so intently that she has to look away.

"speaking of outfits, what brand you wearing? 'cause i know it's not lv for sure, i'm not seeing any," he thinks of the right words, "over exposure of the logo."

"that's one way to put it," [y/n] snickers, looking down at her outfit, "i made it all myself... apart from the shoes of course."

the boy is taken aback, mouth agape and eyes wide, "no way!"

she begins to feel flustered by his reaction and just smiles.

"that's so cool, honestly. i would take more pride in that than wearing a slutted out luxury brand."

"slutted out?" [y/n] can't believe her ears; he's going to kill her, she's sure.

"how the hell did you come up that?!"

the boy purses his lips, looking smug, "i'm just that amazing."

"you're delusional."

he pretends to think for a moment, "delusional enough to think i'd get your number?"

[y/n]'s eyebrows shot up, "you want... my number?"

he doesn't hesitate to nod, "i don't think i'll be leaving without it."

jobe, who had been painfully listening in on their conversation, decides to make himself apparent, "don't do it, you'll regret it."

she turns around, coming face to face with a younger boy who looks almost identical to the one she had been speaking with for the past 15 minutes.

"you two brothers?"

the older one responds, "yeah, he's a cockblock though, don't listen to him."

"cockblock? jude, i'm trying to save her life!"

ah, so that's his name.

"clear off, jobe," he rolls his eyes, turning back to the girl sitting beside him, "sorry about that- so, your number?"

"don't do it!"

and much to his dismay, she does.

-

y/n_l/n

liked by judebellingham and 23,899 others

y/n_l/n paris photo dump !! met some cool ass people there lowkey

view comments...

judebellingham was lovely meeting you, such a vibe 😆

y/n_l/n you too!! <3

yfn__ best time of my life honestly

y/n_l/n paris at night is a sight to see

user1 you look GORGEOUS

user2 i really missed pfw just a day after i left france </3

user3 JUDE????

user4 I'M ACTUALLY SO SHOCKED

user5 😮

user6 WE FOUND HERRRRR

user7 and jude beat me to it already 😐

-

-

-

judebellingham

liked by y/n_l/n and 899,231 others

judebellingham ❤🇫🇷

view comments...

y/n_l/n love the after party candid, send it to me plz xx + tell jobe i'm sorry but not sorry

judebellingham you look so pretty in it ofc + he'll see it anyways xx y/n_l/n @/judebellingham stop plz 😭🛑 jobebellingham @/y/n_l/n buy me croissaints and maybe i'll forgive you

jadonsancho freshh 🔥

user1 who's that girl in the last pic????

user2 someone who he met at the lv show, got her number and everthingggg 😭

user3 AND SHE KNOWS JOBE TOO? that's my chance stripped unrightfully away from me </3

user4 icel, she's gorgeous AAAAA

user5 this is my 13th reason

#work de aechii 🫧 #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham romance #jude bellingham #jude bellingham headcanons #jude bellingham fanfic #borussia dortmund #football imagines #footballer x reader #footballer x you

[cherry-pop-elf]

How the Weasley siblings would react to you getting a tattoo inspired by them

Don’t forget, I take writing commissions! Don’t be shy!

William: Bill

He was shocked you even took his advice, but happy regardless. He was still trying to convince his family to get protection ruins tattooed on. They genuinely work. He’s alive after all, is he not? He’s so happy you got it. He is able to sleep FAR more soundly now, knowing you’ll be safer. He also, now, had more ammunition to convince the rest of his family to get one as well. There was also the fact it warms his heart to you it was him that inspired you to get it. That what he said really did matter, to you. You listened, and that meant the world to him. That alone was what made him feel flushed. Ah, his Habibi.

Charlie

He was waiting for the day. He’s drenched in his own. Often teasing that anyone who gets to close to him leave with one, like some kind of pox’s. Yeah, Molly never found it funny. But it seemed you did, since you got your own dragon around your arm. He can’t deny it. He’s a sucker for matching tattoos. There is something so beautiful about it, after all. So, it tugs on his heart strings. Knowing that the two of you matched. That a part of him was with you, constantly. But you never heard that from anyone. Shhhhh

Percy

He shocked, and rather curious. Now why would you go and do such a thing like that? He always found them rather unprofessional looking. Often sighting his own siblings as such examples. Like he was somehow better than them, because he had none. Yeah. You are totally cooler than a Curse Breaker, or Dragonologist, buddy. Keep dreaming. However, knowing why you got it has changed his views. Just a little. To see that you had a simple word on your wrist. His name. Simple, modest, sweet, and to the point. He still hated tattoos, but maybe he just hated them on certain people.

Fred

Loves it. He’s over the moon. He found it so sweet, and teases you about it constantly. How you are his, by law. Of course that’s not true, but you kinda knew what you signed up for. That ever teasing nightmare, the second that purple ink touched your skin. But, you got your revenge. Once you saw something familiar zipping across his arm one day. Oh the war you two had from it all.

George

He’s flustered, and flattered. He found it so sweet, and pretty adorable. That he had you inspired so much. He loves touching it, whenever you two are together. Tracing his fingers over the orange skin. He just found it so sweet. He had to return the favor, and now you two match. As him a blushing fool whenever you kiss his. Expect yours to be smooched in return. He just couldn’t get enough of it. He felt so special, and kinda different. He had something Fred didn’t, and now it was a nice reminder that they weren’t as identical as the world said. He had you.

Ron

He was wondering why you were so giggly, for a while. It all made sense, when he saw it. You were waiting for him to finally notice that damn flying car. It was one time-! Course now it’s the damn guardian of the woods, and makes sure kids get returned home safely. That was kinda nice. Deep down, he does like it. Loves that you loved his story so much, you wanted to remember it forever. Made him feel special. He deserves it, and you made sure that Ron knew he was special. Just like everyone else.

Ginny

Honestly, she kinda beat you to the punch. You both couldn’t stop laughing, when you saw each other’s tattoos. Seeing that quidditch broom flying was making her laugh that Weasley laugh. There was a reason you two dated, after all. Didn’t even have to say a word, and you two found a way to have matching ink. Didn’t even try, and it had you both in stitches. The hugs didn’t stop, as you two admire your brand new works of art.

#harry potter magic awakened #harry potter #hpma #magic awakened #weasley siblings #bill Weasley #bill weasley x reader #Charlie Weasley #charlie weasley x reader #Percy Weasley #percy weasley x reader #Fred Weasley #fred weasley x reader #George Weasley #george weasley x reader #fred and george #Weasley twins #mr weasley #Ron Weasley #ron weasley x reader #ginny weasley #ginny weasley x reader #hp #harry potter headcanon #tattoos #harry potter x reader #Headcanons #hp headcanon #x reader #my commissions are open

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Surprise Guest Star

Summary: Actress Wanda has to record a short makeup tutorial/interview for Vogue, but while doing so a certain redhead makes an appearance

Authors note: I know absolutely nothing about make up or get ready with me type of things lol, so hopefully this all sounds right

Authors note 2.0: Hopefully I did your idea justice @aliearte (I'm sorry its so short 😭)

Word count: 622 Marvel Masterlist Works Without Reader Masterlist

   Wanda situates a small camera on her vanity before making sure she has everything she needs. Satisfied she has everything she sits down and presses the record button.

   “Hi Vogue, Wanda Maximoff here to walk you through one of my favorite looks. But first it's important to do some skin prep”

   She starts to walk her fans through the proper steps, making sure to mention each product she uses by name along with how long she's used it and how it benefits her skin before she moves onto the next product and step.

   Honestly, she feels a little self conscious doing this for an audience to enjoy, as she knows she tends to make some odd faces while applying things. But she supposes that a little bit of light hearted teasing wouldn’t be a bad thing.  

   “Okay, now we’re ready for the actual makeup part” she chuckles, “And hopefully I’ll pull it off without embarrassing myself”

   She starts off with her foundation, again being sure to once again mention the product by name along with why she likes it as she applies it. Next she moves onto her concealer and repeats the process. This continues for several minutes as she goes through the various steps of her routine until she's ready to move on to her eye makeup.

   “I’m going for a bit of a smokey eye look today” she explains, refraining from adding that she's doing so because Natasha goes absolutely wild for it.

   She continues on, telling her fans what brands she uses as she starts appling and pretty soon she's so focused that she doesn’t even register the faint sound of keys jingling in the distance. Meaning she also doesn’t register Natashas footsteps as the redhead makes her way back towards the bedroom 

   “Hey detka(baby)” she greets as she enters, oblivious to what she had just interrupted. She doesn’t even register the camera as she wraps her arms around Wanda and places a kiss against her lips

   Wanda can’t help the large grin that takes over her features now that Nat is there, “Hi dorogoy(sweetheart), I missed you today”

   But before Nat can say anything in response she notices the small blinking red light, indicating that her girlfriend had been in the middle of filming something, “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

   Natasha takes a step back, intent on giving the brunette time and space to finish up whatever she had been doing, but Wanda had immediately missed the warmth of her presence and had quickly grabbed a hold of her hand to prevent her from retreating further

   “You aren’t interrupting, I can finish this up after I see you”

   Nat gives her a sheepish smile, “But I’m in your footage now, which means you’ll have to do some editing before sending it off to them”

   “Or, I could always just leave it in. Let all my fans see my beautiful girlfriend”

   “You don’t have to do that” she stresses, trying her best to ignore the way her cheeks were burning at just the mere thought of everyone finally knowing they were together

   “I know I don’t have to, but I want to” she reassures, “I’d love for everyone to know who has my heart”

   Natasha feels her heart swell as she sees the sincerity in her girlfriend's eyes, “You're sure? I mean, I doubt everyone will be happy with the news”

   “I’m happy with you. So I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Well, anyone other than you of course”

   “I’m happy with you too, and I don’t care what they might think either. I love you”

    Wanda smiles, “I love you too, and in a few days, everyone will know just how much.”

#natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #wandanat #wanda x natasha #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #marvel #fanfic #marvel fanfiction

[yuri-is-online]

This might just me being tired and dumb, but I kind of get how Ace having a more supportive family would lead to isolation? Like. People who have no family to rely on form their own, and that kind of bond can be beat by very little else. There's not only possibly shared trauma, but there's probably also a shared understanding that "we all we got". It gives a weird sense of hope to see someone else in your situation, someone who relates to you even a little bit, and you want more anything in the world for them to make it out and thrive, and you can trust that they want the same for you.

So with Ace, who's trauma (that we know about) mainly comes from association and the iverblot fights, it's a bit harder to make that bond. He (assumably) got all the love and support that he was supposed to get from his family. And yeah! Sure! He can still seek it out elsewhere! But it's a thing he already has, he already has somewhere to go at the end if the day for comfort.

This is actually a theme that I'm gonna play with in my 80s fic, Deuce is lower middle class, while Yuu is just a slightly glorified version if homeless. Ace is squarely middle class, if not upper middle, he never has to really want for anything. Not like Deuce and certainly not like Yuu.

Learning how to pinch for pennies and find deals are things that makes Aces life more convenient, but it's something that Deuce and Yuu need. And that's where the divide is.

He wants to take care of his friends (he's still in denial) more than anything, but he also feels like there's this weird line he can't cross, with him on one side and Yuu and Deuce on the other. It honestly doesn't help that Yuu has a separate, small friend group outside of him and Deuce that are all in the same "Shit is completely fucked right now but by God are we gonna make it out" boat. A boat that Ace will probably never be in. Ace loves his family and is grateful, and knows exactly how much he lucked out. But he still wants to have that bond. That "the world feels like it's ending but atleast we'll be going down together" type of bond. Comforting Yuu while they cry about not having heating in the winter will never be the same as having to suffer alongside them and know they were in this together. Trying to find the cheapest possible version of a food products with Deuce and discovering knock off brands that Ace would never imagine existing (who the hell made knock off cheerios?) Will never be the same as actually having to rely on those knock off and part time sales, and feeling a sense pride that they were able to save enough money this month that they could actually buy something nice. Ace probably won't ever be on that side of the invisible line.

He'll bring them to his side though. Ace wants to take care of them more than anything. He wants them in his life more than anything. And he'll have them. No matter what he has to do to make that happen.

Sorry if I missread your post and just dropped a huge angst bomb in your inbox! I just have thoughts and there are a lot of AceYuu and ADeuce moments in chapter three and one or two of them digs into this a little.

You didn't misread my post at all I swear we are sharing custody of a braincell because this is just *chef's kiss* exactly what I was thinking.

Having that solid middle class stability and parent's who genuinely love you and each other is nothing to be ashamed of, not that I think Ace has enough humility for that, but it does mean that he has a gap in his understanding for Deuce and especially Yuu's situation. I keep thinking about how he ended up eating those tarts because he skipped a meal over worrying about Yuu and their circumstances, he cares. He is crass and rude with it but he cares! I love how you say he'll bring them to his side of the line, that's exactly how I see him thinking about it.

Ace's isolation (in my view) seems to come from how much more he values his friendship with Yuu and Deuce over literally anyone else in the school. He'd benefit from talking to Jack and Epel more, they also have solid home lives and Jack at least I think has financially stable parents, but those guys aren't his people. For better or worse, for sickness or health, Yuu and Deuce are who he is sticking it out with. He'll never say it in game, but he really does love you both, in what way is of course up to the interpretation of the player.

but you know which one we both prefer frfr

#<3 asks #talking w a friend #twisted wonderland #ace trappola #ace is such a HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH i have so many thoughts #like he seems to really admire both his basketball club seniors (floyd and jamil) #but not trey #he prefers to look up to riddle #but also could you imagine ace trying to have a heart to heart about his feelings with floyd #i feel like it would be a disaster #but i also feel like floyd 100% knows about ace's feelings for deuce and yuu and thinks he has good advice for him #(he doesn't)

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

Hey! This is extremely late but I feel like you'd adore this prompt.

Character study: Ed's beard caused sensory issues, required tedious upkeep, and was a source of performative masculinity. Finally, he's shaving it, and seeing "Ed" for the first time in decades. Super healing, cute, positive 💜

You're right, I absolutely adored this prompt!! This took a minute because I wound up going in a completely different direction at first, wasn't satisfied with it, and it sat in my drafts, and now I actually fuckin' love it. This one's set in a modern AU with a trans Ed, because that's a delicious little wrinkle. Bon appétit.

(Never too late to send me prompts for 1k word fics, by the way! I can't promise they'll all get done but if they inspire me, I'll do 'em eventually. These are great for writer's block)

--

No one could accuse Ed Teach of disliking hair care.

That was something his mama had instilled in him from a young age. His hair was also his pride in his heritage, in where he came from, and taking care of it was an important way Ed could take care of himself and stay true to himself. His worst argument with Stede, to date, was over which of them was taking up too much space on their shared bathroom counter with all the hair care products (they’d wound up putting up more shelving). The first time he’d let Stede help him wash his hair, after Stede had listened through Ed’s explanations of his hair care, was probably one of the most intimate moments he’d ever shared with another man.

His beard, though. That was a different story.

Ed didn’t hate the beard, most days. It had started out as a band-aid solution when he’d been struggling to be taken seriously with his baby face, and he’d wanted to prove he was as much a man as anyone.

Then he’d grown up, and he’d stopped looking like he’d just glued a few random hairs to his chin, and it became…him. It was big and striking and masculine.

“You know,” he’d confided in Stede a few nights ago, cuddled up under the covers together, one thigh and an arm thrown over Stede’s middle while Stede traced little patterns over Ed’s bare hip with a forefinger, “I don’t even like the beard.”

Stede blinked down at him. “You don’t…like your beard?”

“Honestly?” Ed ran his fingers through it. He liked how soft it was, liked putting little bows in it, liked how everyone saw him and knew without a doubt he was a man. “It’s itchy, and it’s easy for things to get stuck in it, and it makes my face all hot, and hair gets in my mouth, and -”

“Hm,” Stede said, shifting his hand up to scritch his fingers along Ed’s jaw, and Ed leaned into the touch. “You don’t have to keep it.”

It was Ed’s turn to pause in surprise.

“But I’m Blackbeard,” he said, a bit lamely.

“You can be whoever you want to be, beard or no,” Stede shrugged. “I’ll love you just the same, with or without it.”

Huh.

This morning, Ed woke up early, plugging in Stede’s electric razor and locking the bathroom door behind him. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted Stede to be part of this moment, but…he hadn’t seen his whole face in literal decades.

He wanted his reaction to be his and his alone.

Ed hesitated before he could touch the razor to his face for the first time. What would everyone think? He’d literally named his entire brand after this thing.

He took a deep breath. It didn’t matter what everyone else thought. It was about what Ed wanted. He could do what he wanted with his own body to help himself feel more himself and more comfortable.

At the very least, he told himself, it would save him time in the mornings. You don’t keep a beard that big looking that good without a very time-consuming beard care regimen. 

He used a hand mirror as he worked, looking at himself at too close an angle to be able to see his full face before he was ready for that. When he splashed water on his face, he shivered at the coolness of it against his sensitive skin.

He swept up all the clippings, taking care to avoid looking into the mirror over the sink. “Bye-bye, Blackbeard,” he whispered, tipping the clippings into the trash can.

Ed took a deep breath. Stede had said he’d love him, no matter what. He lifted his head, and he saw -

Oh.

His first reaction was that he looked a lot like his mother. He’d started trying to grow his beard out right after he’d first started taking T, and he hadn’t even realized how scared he was that he’d shave his beard off and see his dad under there until he got to see the opposite was true. He had a sharper jawline, but the rest was all her.

And he’d been scared he wouldn’t look enough like a man without it, too, but he looked…pretty, actually, and literally fine. He’d probably want to keep at least some stubble, because he really did just like how affirming facial hair was, but this was proof that he didn’t need the full beard to look like a man. He was a man, no matter what he looked like - the beard had just been his way of daring anyone to tell him otherwise.

“Hey, Ed,” he whispered, watching in the mirror as he brought his hands up to feel, tracing new wrinkles, soft skin, birthmarks and little freckles he’d long forgotten.

It shocked a quiet giggle out of him when he realized how nice it would be, to eat food without worrying about something getting into his beard. How nice it would be to feel soft things against his cheek, to -

There was an idea!

Ed darted out of the bathroom and practically launched himself back into bed, grabbing Stede’s hand to hold it against his face. He shivered in delight - Stede had touched his face before, of course, but he’d never felt it so clearly, his soft palms and warm fingers against his cheek.

“Mmf,” Stede mumbled, burying his face in the pillows in protest against being woken up.

“Babe!” Ed collapsed down onto his side so he could snuggle close and rub his clean-shaven cheek against Stede’s.

“Wh-aah!” Stede yelped as he opened his eyes to see Ed like three inches away. “Your beard fell off!”

“Shaved it,” Ed corrected, looking away. He hadn’t expected Stede to fucking scream at him -

Stede reached out, gently, cupping Ed’s chin to tilt his face for a better look. “Oh, Ed,” he whispered. “Aren’t you beautiful?”

Yeah, Ed thought with satisfaction. He sure fuckin’ was.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fic #my fics

[yandere-daydreams]

artifical idol venti? hold on this is making me think a little. out of the other possible roles that mentioned so far, this is the first i think that really public. not saying that the other ones aren't but a idol makes me wonder how the whole 'companion android' part works out. like, imagine getting a venti as a misguided gift because you had liked some of his songs. or!! working as a tech for one if he is still doing idol stuff(since that maybe unpopular to stop depending on he was received)

tw - unhealthy relationships, possessive behavior, and slight codependence.

just to be clear, i do think he's been retired as an idol and, since Teyvat's shift into all sex dolls all the time, he's only ever been sold for commercial use, even if he's still retained his angelic singing voice and idol charm. he even performs at special events alongside more recent androids like Xinyan and Yunjin, but he hasn't had any concerts since released as a companion droid. just to avoid diverting attention away from the main focus of Teyvat as a brand, or whatever their publicists decided to say.

all of which you already know, obviously. you've been a diehard fan since he was an idol, even served as a repair tech on his last few tours, so when he was officially retired, it only made sense that you were the one to take him home - even if he did have to have his memory card wiped, first, and his stage-outfit replaced with something a little more... uh, appropriate for daily use. the first few weeks were just as awkward as you'd expect living with your long-term celebrity crush would be, but by the end of that month, you'd gotten used to the way he'd splay himself out on your lap or littler feather-light kisses across your neck, and you started to see him as something more akin to a very eccentric, very affectionate roommate than a world-renowned performer you only ever got to interact with when he managed to tear his synthetic skin or knock one of his ball-joints out of its socket. he's not much for chores, but he likes running errands with you, and you honestly prefer it when he cuddles against your back while you're washing dishes or whines and tugs at your clothes as you're finishing up a few projects you didn't have time to wrap-up while you were at your workshop. he's cute, and eager, and just as attention-starved as he was when he still needed a stadium full of people to fawn over him. and, of course, you wouldn't have him any other way.

although, you are a little worried about just how much attention he seems to want. it's toned down from his idol days, made into more of an ever-present neediness than a constant lust for adoration, but there are still some undertones there, a certain spark in his glass eyes that reminds you of the way he used to look backstage, grinning to himself, more than ready to sing for a crowd that'd leave most people too scared to spit out a few shakey notes. you can see it when in bed, as he grinds against your thigh and holds your hands to his chest, and hear it in his voice as he introduces himself to anyone you bring over - always so proud to claim you as his user and himself as your favorite and only companion. he likes to sing for you, hum little lullabies as you're falling asleep or play a few of his songs while he's watching you work, but you can swear, he's changing the lyrics, twisting the words to make them less loving and more love-sick. it shouldn't bother you as much as it does, but it feels like he's been putting more and more effort into staying close to you, into sneaking into your bed at night long after you've told him to go to his charging port, into prodding at your feelings and playing with your sympathy until you're willing to take him anywhere you go, until you just can't bring yourself to tear him away from your side. you know he's just a little clingy, but you can't help but worry about him, sometimes. you know it's just the way he was programmed, but...

you can't help but wonder if he'll be the only thing you're allowed to pay attention to, soon enough.

#genshin sex doll au #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere prompts #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin impact #yandere genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #venti x reader #yandere venti #yandere venti x reader #yanderecore #yancore

[pseudophan]

idk if this is confirmed or if im insane but i feel like dan in his why i quit youtube video was talking about how he felt like there was Dan content and Dan And Phil content and how he felt like he was split between them....i wonder if hes trying both to see what he still likes to do. he had his internet show and now danandphilgamws is back like. i have a feeling he's trying to figure things out rn

i think dan ultimately wants to do his own thing and has a lot of ideas and aspirations, specifically he wants to be a stage comedian like his passion is clearly for live performances and while the comedy bit is still being fine tuned (i'm not saying he's bad, in fact he's kinda good ngl, but he definitely has a way to go if he wants to be Great) the performance part he's got DOWN like say what you want about that man but he ooowwwnnnsss a stage. also he's weirdly great at audience interaction lmao? that was my main takeaway from we're all doomed, both the pre show and the show itself, he deals with heckling like.. AMAZINGLY well. he's genuinely hilarious responding to an audience like i never thought i'd say this a few years ago but i think he might actually have a future in live comedy lmao????

but i also think he.. needs money LOL like he's said many a time he doesn't really love being a full time youtuber, but also he does enjoy making youtube videos! just, you know.. not full time. but while on his own channel making Daniel Howell(tm) videos he puts a lot of pressure on himself, and then if he does a slightly less high pressure series or whatever (dystopia daily) it's relatively well received and the videos are good enough but like.. it's not the traction he wants, nor the traction he needs

ultimately dan knows that if he wants to keep and potentially build an audience online that lies in Dan And Phil. it always has and it always will. and i think for a long time he struggled with that, and as much as people gave him shit for it i completely get it. like, lmao, of COURSE he wants to be recognised for his own abilities and not just the dynamic and chemistry he's got going with... his literal partner. honestly it would be one thing if dnp were just comedy partners because there are a lot of comedy duos on the world who've made it big, but i think there's something about it being him and his full time actual real life boyfriend/life partner that kinda makes it weird. and as much as i love the dnp dynamic i still do get that feeling so much like honestly who can blame him ?? if your entire professional life is just.. your personal life but on camera ? that's weird. it's gotta feel weird and it's definitely unfulfilling for someone as aspirational as dan and i can't blame him at all for it

that being said, dan clearly does really enjoy making videos with phil. which yeah of course he does, he gets to just turn on a camera and talk shit with the guy he talks shit with all day long anyway. and i think what he's now realised is 1. if he wants to keep/build an audience, the dan and phil branding is where it's at and 2. he needs an income while he works on whatever solo projects he's got going on, and dnp makes a loooot of money

basically my point is - dan seems to really enjoy making videos with phil but he knows that's not really a life long career choice. as much as i'd love them to, it's not really an option for them to be playing sims when they're like, sixty. and while phil is relatively chill and seems to just take things as they come, which tbh is probably the healthiest way of doing things, dan is very overthinking and wants to get ahead of everything and also in general just like.. he wants to build a career! he wants to build something on his own and i can't fault him for that at all. dan knows that one day he's gonna need something more than just Dan And Phil if he wants to keep working, and he's laying the groundwork right now to be able to do that

again, though, i don't want anyone to take this as like 'dan is only doing dapg to make money and rebuild a fanbase' because as much as that is definitely a big part of it... just look at the man. in these videos. he's having a great time. and also, as annoying as we are, he does kinda love us. sometimes. maybe. <3

#answered

[star-quill]

so, okay, i saw ur post about wanting to write some owen stuff and im totally here for it so i was thinking-

owen asks reader out on a date, and it goes great and they back to his place and the reader tells him that shes actually not that experienced and he just guides her through it-🫦🫦

I LOVE UR BLOG SO MUCH LIKE THANK U FOR EVERYTHING U DO FOR US I LOVE U🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

me when this is my whole brand !!!!!!!!!

(also mwah mwah ty i cant believe writing has made me so happy again 🥺🫶)

(kinda setting this during jw1 btw)

you honestly don't know why you said yes to the date with owen, he's probably only doing this to get into your pants. which a small part of you wouldn't actually mind, but you don't want to just be another girl in a long line of the ones he's slept with "just because". you know his reputation but neither of your friends have been out with him, so maybe it's slightly to brag about him having asked you instead of them.

there wasn't many options for date night on the island but you were just happy to be with him no matter what. he ended up taking you back to his place, starting a fire and cooking over the heat. it felt very him, he was totally in his element right now. and the food was delicious.

the sun was setting and watching it through the trees with him was so much better than you could ever imagine. and he was so much more charming than normal, his words laced with flirty undertones. you were having so much fun with him, you didn't want the night to end. then he nudged you off him and he stood up, holding his hand out for you to take. the fire had died down and he led you inside his bungalow. he left you standing in the middle of the joint bedroom/front room while he went over to the speaker on his coffee table. he pressed play and came back to you.

"may i have this dance?"

"of course.."

he was absolutely laying it on thick with you, but to be fair, you were letting him in so easily. he slow danced with you for a few songs, his eyes never leaving yours as he sang along to whatever was playing out the speakers. you stop moving for a second and he stumbles slightly when you stop, but still asks you if you're ok when he regains his balance. you don't say anything, you just lean up to kiss him and his hands immediately cup your face, pulling you upwards even more. considering his front room had his bed in it, you didn't have far to go before you felt the back of your knees hit his mattress. you broke the kiss only to lay down before he knelt down on the bed and hovered over you, searching for a sign in your eyes to kiss you again.

"i've uhm.. never really.. done this part.."

"you never fucked anyone?"

you shook your head. he just smirked.

"'s ok, baby.. i'll guide you through it.. you got nothin' to worry about.. ok?"

you nodded this time and he gave you a soft peck on your cheek. he adjusted your body a little, letting you wiggle out of your pants before he let your legs drape over his thighs. you immediately shoved your shirt off, discarding it on the floor near your pants. he brushed some stray hairs out of your face and noticed your eyes, looking at him hesitantly.

"you ok? need you to stay with me, ok?"

you nodded.

"need you to tell me.."

"i'm with you.."

"good girl.. any point you feel uncomfortable, you let me know, ok?"

you nodded again and he leaned down to kiss you again. he was treating you so good, maybe a little too good. you suddenly feel a little afraid you'll get attached and he won't, remembering his reputation. but then he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone and you forget all about that. his only intention right now was getting you off and making sure you felt good. and that you did.

you felt good when his mouth was all over you, leaving little marks on your neck and on the inside of your thighs. you felt good when he had his head between your legs, his tongue going deeper whenever you whimpered and tugged on the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. you felt good when he kissed your neck afterwards, asking if you were still ok, still with him. you hadn't even noticed he'd undone his zipper until his dick was nudging against your thigh when he kissed your neck. then you really felt all of him, how big he was and you whimpered.

"you ok?"

"s'not gonna fit.."

"that's why i'm guiding you here.. we gotta work you up to make it fit.. i got you, ok?"

he took it slow, whispering sweet praises in your ear while he adjusted himself, the head of his dick already inside you.

"don't focus on anything except for how good it feels, ok?"

"mmhm.."

"good girl.."

he could call you that a million times over and you'd melt every time. he only got halfway inside you before your hands flew to his wrists, whining and squeezing your eyes shut.

"hey.. hey.. s'ok.. i got you.. just breathe.."

you exhaled, writhing against him and digging your head back into his pillows.

"gonna push deeper, ok? you ok?"

you nodded, feeling him slide deeper until his hips met the back of your thighs. he moved his arms to beside your head, leaning down to kiss you. your hands wrapped around his forearms, moving up to tug on the sleeves of his shirt. he got the message and leaned back, tugging it off and discarding it on the floor. his hands went back to beside your head and he leaned down once again to kiss you. he slowly dragged his hips back, then pushed back towards you, rocking into you slowly.

"you doing good? feeling good?"

"mmhm.."

"use your words, honey.."

"feels.. oh.. feels so good.. i feel.. mmf.. feel so full.."

his hips were grinding against the backs of your thighs and you could feel all of him. you felt so stretched out but in a good way, making you see stars. you were so close already, and you whined out.

"you ok?"

"so.. mmf.. so close.."

"let go, baby.. it's ok.."

you've touched yourself countless times before, had sex a few times too, but nothing compared to this. your whole body shuddered when you came, your hands gripping onto his forearms again. your legs writhed against his sides and he just laid a hand on your stomach, rubbing his thumb gently over your skin. he continued rocking into you, gently helping you through your orgasm. he wasn't far behind you and he pulled out just before, letting out his release onto your stomach. he leaned in to kiss your cheek, then your jaw and neck.

"was i good?"

"so good.. wanna do it all over again.."

that one time became a few more times. he had you in different positions every time, showing you more, teaching you more. and he took care of you every time. guiding you, checking in on you, telling you what he was going to do. his voice made your brain go fuzzy before he'd even touched you. he had you wrapped around his finger, knowing whenever he'd call you, you'd drop everything to be with him.

#brain shuts down when i think of owen #this request was my absolute fav thing ever fr #owen grady #owen grady drabble #owen grady headcanons #owen grady smut #owen grady x reader #jurassic world #jurassic world: fallen kingdom #jurassic world dominion #✎ owen grady #answered #anon

[wannaeatramyeon]

Okok so I read in another post a hc of all the lookism boys (+ Yenna) living in a house together and i thought what if 👀 there was a den mother of some sort. Like an older little hispanic lady that sees them in her house and just decides that yes these are her kids and she will help them find their way back. Obviously Yenna is her favorite ans she can do no wrong. I haven’t caught up with Lookism completely (just htf and mk) but i feel like the unacknowledged mommy issues have potential. Only if you can of course if this isn’t something you can vibe with i totally get it.

Oh anon, you mean THIS PIECE OF ART from Ying/@mymxnfgh?

Anon, you really asking for WWIII with all these boys vying for your attention huh. Let's give this a go, I think I may be waaaay off the mark.

Lastly, I really wouldn't be able to write hispanic well. British? Yep. East Asian? Sure. So... just casually skipping over this part of the ask.

Lookism Boys living together + vying for your attention dynamics

Platonic. From least chaotic to most. Based on this hc from Ying/@mymxnfgh

Daniel Park and Jay Hong don't really have any mommy issues, so they stay away from the general chaos. They're the 'quiet' ones (especially Jay). You make sure to keep an eye on them so they don't get left out.

Honestly, absolute sweethearts. If you want anything done, then you know you can count on these two. Low-key your faves as they don't cause any headaches.

For Eli, Warren and Yenna, family comes first. And family is Hostel. They're initially guarded, but ultimately they're still children looking after a child. You have a lot of patience for them and take them under your wing, especially Yenna.

You spend a lot of time with Warren trying to help him with his speech, and you absolutely forbid Eli from cutting anyone's hair. You threaten if he so much as touch a hair on Yenna's head then he's dead.

DG is too cool to make any overt bid for your attention. Makes a lot of sly comments to try and sow dissent, but just gets on with his own thing. He gets more enjoyment out of watching the general chaos.

The subtle rivalry of Vasco and Zack would return. Vasco, thinking Zack is a bit of dick, and Zack would of course think of Vasco as an idiot.

Their rivalry is relatively harmless, but causes a lot of headaches day to day. They would fight over washing the dishes, but somehow break everything. Doing the laundry and everything is pink. Cook to impress you but nothing is edible. You appreciate their intentions but your life would be so much easier if they just left it to you.

What can we say about Johan. We all know what this guy would be like. He is THE mommy issues. Jealous that he doesn't get your undivided attention. Clingy and needy, constantly around you. Sulks and throws tantrums if he doesn't get his way. Luckily you have Zack, Jake and Daniel to tell him to be reasonable, and Gun who threatens to beat his childishness out of him.

Having you around as a constant, comforting presence eases Johan's psyche over time. It doesn't completely undo all the hardships but it's healthy for him to realise he has someone there for him.

Goo would absolutely try and pull rank over Samuel over who gets to spend time with you. Sammy is all smiles and 'Yes, Sir" but as soon as Goo turns his back, Sammy would be immediately sucking up to you.

They never seem to fight, but they constantly snipe at each other. The insults escalate from barely veiled to full blown expletives and cursing. It's surprisingly creative. "Samuel it's a good job you killed you dad and he's looking up at you from hell because you are a disappointment." "Goo, the smell of bullshit coming out of your mouth is putting Y/N off their dinner."

(Jake and Gun loves these exchanges)

Jake and Samuel would be politely smiling at each other one moment, and then trying to kill each other the next. It's less to do with you, and more to do with their own brand of communication.

Jake, on his own, you find simply lovely and Samuel has his charms. But together. JFC.

You do try and help them work out their differences. All this mess with Gangsters and Gapryong Kim but turns out that they would fight over anything. Even something as mundane as how to cook something the 'correct' way. It's easier for them to just duke it out. They always make up in the end... but inevitably will be fighting again in the next hour.

Gun and Goo are surprisingly helpful to have around to help keep some of the others in line. And it's not like they really have any mommy issues and they can be respectful.

Peace doesn't last though. They have a short fuse, and will use ANY excuse to fight each other. Jake and Samuel throwing punches is one thing. But you worry about Gun and Goo literally blowing up the house to spite each other.

Of course this is when DG decides to speak up and egg them on.

BONUS - Seo Haesu is the stray scruffy kid that seems to always be hanging around outside. You disapprove of his dirty clothes, his overgrown bangs (No, Eli. No scissors!), and feel bad for how he's constantly hungry. You offer him free meals and somewhere to sleep.

He's wary af as first. Uses the excuse that he wants to suss you out to hang around.

Would get on well with Zack, Goo and Jake. 'Well' might be an exaggeration, but these 3 have teasing big brother vibes. Their lively ways would help to draw Haesu out of his shell... or he might strangle them.

#lookism #lookism hc #lookism headcanons #lookism webtoon #lookism x reader #lookism manhwa #daniel park #jay hong #seo haesu #eli jang #warren chae #lookism yenna #lookism dg #vasco #euntae lee #zack lee #johan seong #samuel seo #jake kim #goo kim #gun park #wannaeatramyeon

[haunted-pool-noodle]

DISCLAIMER i have not worked my way through all the eris dialogue yet so if she says something that contradicts all of this uhh. ill explode or something idk

anyway i feel like eris and hypnos actually have the potential to become besties when you think about it! like at a glance it does not seem like they'd vibe (and maybe wouldn't for a while) but i absolutely think they could

they both stand out to me bc (and honestly are both my faves bc) they don't really follow the same adherence to rules and responsibility that p much every other god does, particularly in the nyx family. hypnos constantly slacks off at work in hades 1, and the only reason he starts putting in effort is basically bc he wants approval from than and nyx. eris criticizes mel all the time for being so uptight, as well as nyx and than for being such strict rule-followers. they could both really connect over having someone else who is similarly opposed to that workaholic mindset (worth noting for eris, she refers to than as "brother number i dont even know anymore" and specifically doesnt care about him bc he's uptight like everyone else iirc, so i think she'd really appreciate having someone in the fam who isn't that way)

also, like. yes eris can be pretty cruel to mortals but hypnos is also pretty callous towards them most of the time? like he's pretty comfortable with the topic of death (which does make sense, given his job) but he just doesn't take it very seriously at all, like with natural causes he's just like "wow! sucks to be a mortal lol." plus that whole bit when he just suggests that thanatos just kill everyone all at once so they can hang out more like his ass does not care 😭 so i dont think he'd really care about eris tormenting humans, and in turn i think she might really like someone finally just being chill about it rather than looking down on her basically for being strife. also she'd probably find it funny how nonchalant he can be abt this, and in turn hypnos would enjoy her particular brand of chaos lol

thematically though, part of eris' whole thing is about how she feels ostracized from the rest of the fam bc strife is literally in her nature, while hypnos is shunned bc of his constant sleeping. both are pushed out bc of their very natures. but where they differ is hypnos prioritizes his relationships to the rest of the family and is willing to fight against his nature in order to do his job at the House and thereby impress/appease nyx and than, restoring his relationships to them at the cost of his personal happiness. meanwhile eris believes in being true to herself above all else, and if that means severing ties, then so be it. she mentions at a few different points that she's not going to change her nature for what anyone else wants, and that they shouldn't be surprised at how she acts, given that she's literally strife incarnate (an argument I've seen plenty of people give wrt hypnos sleeping at the job while being sleep incarnate). i think if they interacted more they could actually learn a lot from each other and maybe both move closer to the middle of that spectrum

also hypnos is usually seen as the childish one throughout hades 1 but eris is specifically stated to be one of the youngest in the nyx family so i would love to see some older brother hypnos content 🙏

#i fully hc that eris has curly hair but it's just cut too short to tell rn #bc with hypnos the fact that he's the only one in the fam with curly hair #is meant to show how he's the odd one out #eris is absolutely an odd duck amongst the siblings too #so i think they ought to be together in that camp #anyway i am unwell about them and rambling #hades game #hades 2 #hades 2 spoilers #eris hades #hypnos hades