#I left out the extra bizarre ones

[rekikiri]

aftg characters as things my brother has said

aaron: “the same day that I watched Netflix at work, my manager told me I have great work ethic.”

neil: “if you make me go in this store I’m going to cause a problem.”

wymack, sighing: “like what?”

neil: “i don’t know, I could just find a corner and scream into it.”

*andrew, in Colorado for a game*

matt: “how’s andrew?”

neil: “probably cold.”

*allison smacks seth*

seth: “allison, we believe in equality, don’t do this.”

seth: “if I had boobs I would be shaking them.”

aaron, playing video games with nicky: “those aren’t bandaids! bandaids are what you put on a child’s booboo. bandages are what you use when yoU GET SHOT.”

matt: “is that my bread??? oh, wait no, I ate my bread.”

wymack: *very loud, very exaggerated sigh from across the house*

nicky: “rain is god’s tears! that’d put a frowny face on just about anybody.”

neil, to kevin: “you know what your coffee could use? some mustard.”

seth: “I don’t have a big fat butt to flop up and down so no I can’t twerk.”

jeremy: “that mf’n bird is thicc with two mf’n c’s. thicc like water. wait, no, it’s wet like water.”

dan, to wymack and abby, about the foxes: “hey! no taco talk in front of the kids!”

wymack, pointing at a 5 year old boy in public:“neil, that little boy over there is acting older than you.”

neil: “well his life must suck then.”

aaron: “I need a nap. so i’m going to go play call of duty.”

neil: “hey, kevin, go steal something in front of that cop.”

*nicky, theorizing* “is ‘History’ 1D’s song about themselves and what they did?”

matt, walking into the dorm when only nicky is home: “what song is this? whY ARE YOU WEARING HEELS? WHATS GOING ON?”

nicky: *a glowing light showing through his pants* i saw it light up and threw it in my underwear." *takes out a light up keychain*

aaron: *pushes nicky*

nicky: *squeals* “HE PUSHED ME!”

*andrew gets in the car, looks at neil sitting in the drivers seat looking at exy highlights on his phone*

andrew: “how long you gonna just sit there?"

*neil looks up* "oh yeah I'm driving" *puts phone down and starts the car*

[carebearbussy]

𝙨𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙮 & 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩

ᥫ᭡ 𝙨𝙮𝙥𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝… 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙨 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙣𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨.

ᥫ᭡ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙧𝙖! 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

ᥫ᭡ 𝙘𝙬: 𝙋𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛 <3

ᥫ᭡ 𝙬𝙘: 1.3k

𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

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Your cravings have been going wild.

Ever since you had fallen pregnant by an absolute gargantuan of a man, you are forced to carry twice the amount of nutrients and food stored in your body. The local doctors had recommended that your usual meals be doubled in size, in order to support the extra weight it carried by having a child under Sukuna. And even Sukuna had chimed in, adding that maybe his diet would work for you. But you quickly declined the offer, taking into consideration the life growing inside of you. You did not want your child to grow up to be a cannibalistic monster, much like his father.

But your food choices have been much more bizarre as of lately. Things ranging from huge one course meals that could feed a family of 7, pickled everything, anything covered in cheese, and any regular foods you ate had to be made a specific way, or served in larger portions. Which is why you had decided to wake Sukuna up in the middle of the night, one of the cravings you had pondered on being at the top of your to do list.

Every now and then, your cravings would get really bad. To the point where it was now everybody else's problem. But you truly couldn't help it.

"Kuna, 'Kuna wake up!" You whispered, as you lay spooned beside him. You shook his body from behind you as you spoke, making sure he could hear you. You felt him stretch awake with a low groan, letting you free of his grasp. "Are you awake? Its important..." you ask, awaiting a response out of him. And to your avail, he is awake, but not with the attitude you were initially hoping for. He seemed annoyed that his rest had been interrupted, but those concerns were to be put to rest, as you stepped out of bed, sliding your slippers on by the edge of the bed. He looks at your standing form with half lidded eyes, clearly making the first of many signals of his annoyance with you at the moment.

"What is so important that you wake me from my rest, woman? Im giving you six seconds to speak." He says, as he props himself upwards, sitting at the edge of the bed. With you standing near him, he seizes your hips with his lower set of hands, forcing you into his proximity. "I'm not waiting all day." He ushers you on to speak, but as you think about his possible answer, you start to rethink telling him what you truly want. You look away, clearly starting to get nervous with the attention. But as you do, he grabs your chin, forcing you to look down at him, as he searches for answers. "Go on."

"Well... i've been having cravings lately, and I wanted to know if maybe the kitchen could make me something..." You say, fiddling with your thumbs, as you feel your stomach start to growl lowly. He looks down at your stomach, as you quietly protest his decision to be made. He closes his eyes for a couple seconds, before responding.

"If this is what you really need, then I will indulge this once, brat." He says with a low sigh, as he lets go of his hold on your waist, getting up from his spot on the bed. You look up at him eagerly, silently squealing to yourself as you jump up and down slightly. You wrap your arms around your husbands neck, as you reach up on your tiptoes to pepper kisses all over his defined face. He looks down at your cheerful form, looking unaffected by the attention you give him, but deep down is smiling on the inside. He knows that as long as you stay his sweet, happy wife, then he can get a good nights rest after this.

He picks you up by the back of your thighs, as you are lifted off the ground what seems suddenly. He hoists you on his left side, one hand holding your ass up, the other acting as a back rest. Letting yourself be carried, he opens the door with his right hand, walking into the large hallway to your favorite place since becoming pregnant, the kitchen.

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It seemed as if you had started a national crisis.

With the way you had Uraume, as well as a team of the estates chefs working like dogs in the kitchen. All that could be heard from the upper left wing of the estate was the clinking and clanging of pots and pans, as well as chefs scurrying to prepare the food you had requested. Because it was well known that any request of yours, was to be taken as seriously as if it were from Sukuna.

Uraume seemed to be the only calm one, with them being used to your shenanigans. They were the head of the kitchen, as they lead all of the preparations for the 'big feast', as they like to call it. That big feast being for your pregnant self, of course.

As the kitchen was torn shred by shred trying to prepare you the perfect dish, you stood by the entrance and watched, one hand on your stomach. Standing besides you was Sukuna, with lower arms crossed, as his upper arms conducted the kitchen staff with whats right and wrong. Your eyes lit up with excitement, as you watched all of these people cater to your needs.

"Kuna, how about... chocolate filled dumplings?" You asked, looking up at your focused husband. He was busy keeping an eye on everything, making sure not to mess up your multiple requests you had made in the past twenty minutes. He looks at you with upper set of eyes, his lower ones hyper focused on the kitchen staff.

"That sounds disgusting. But if that is what you wish, so be it." He tells you, scoffing at all of the ridiculous things you had said so far. He then watches as Uraume heads your way, a silver platter in hand, holding what seemed to be at least thirty pieces of bacon, covered in chocolate and sea salt. To any sane person, this would look downright vile. But to you? Sukuna watched as your mouth practically dropped. You squealed in excitement, looking at the dish in hand. "Please enjoy, my lady." Uraume says, still holding out the dish to you as you happily devour it.

But you pause as you look over at Sukuna, still looking down at you. And thats when a lightbulb flicks in your head. You grab a piece of bacon from the tray, as you step in front of Sukuna. He looks down at you, wondering what you're up to, when you reach up on your tippy toes to try and pry open his mouth. "Pleaseeee try it!" You say, pouting your lips, still trying to open his mouth with your fingers. He looks down at you as he furrows his eyebrows, curling his lip upwards. "No, that is repulsive."

Your pout lowers into a full frown, your eyes glossy with the want for him to try what you are offering him. He rolls his eyes, as he picks up the piece of bacon you are holding with two fingers. He looks at it, as he scoffs, swallowing it in one go. "See! Its good right?" You ask him, a smile crossing your face. He looks at you with a 'are you serious?' look, before ruffling your hair, amused with how happy you were that he divulged you.

"It was horrible. Never again are you going to make me do these kinds of things for you, brat."

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[attapullman]

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend. 

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps. 

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you. 

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix. 

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always. 

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation. 

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher. 

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar. 

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men. 

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin. 

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest. 

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after. 

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out. 

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor. 

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along. 

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock. 

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly. 

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck. 

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited. 

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers. 

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

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[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 8 (end)

1.6k | fluff The stray and his forever home (part 1)

“Bone apple tea.” You placed the cup of camomile in front of Simon.

“What?”

You pointed at your skull-printed shirt, the apple pie patch on his hoodie and the tea on the table. “Bone. Apple. Tea.”

He’d missed that brilliant smile too much. It was impossible to not want to kiss you. He chuckled as he pulled you to stand between his thighs.

That Sunday with your help, despite the pounding of his head, he packed the rest of his stuff and managed to move out. In the last few days he had before he left, he spent any possible moment with you, mainly eating his favourite Chinese takeout or cuddling on the couch.

Two months later when Simon came back, things crawled to how they were, with him visiting for dinner and leaving before midnight. Eventually, he stayed more and more nights a week, leaving more than a few of his shirts behind.

The divorce was finalised and his childhood home was sold. The city of Manchester didn’t mean gripping the straps of his backpack after school as he walked up the dreaded front steps anymore, nor sleeping restlessly lest someone barged in the door with another bizarre creature. The house was gone, along with the memories that breathed within the walls. He didn’t miss them.

His mum got a flat near Tommy’s and a job at a flower shop in the neighbourhood. ‘Not as nice as working with Ben’, she said. She had to buy her own bread, and none she’d found in the area tasted remotely close to how grand his were. She still cooked too much, but Tommy didn’t mind the extra whenever she dropped by. Little Joe always loved seeing his nana anyway.

Back from his next deployment, Simon held you at the door as he inhaled the warmth he’d missed terribly. After his shower, you showed him his shirts in their own drawer, not jammed between yours anymore. He smiled, pulling you in for a kiss.

In spring, he came with to visit your dad, insisting on wearing one of his dress shirts, even when you assured it was a regular lunch. He stood rigid on the porch, the neck of the wine bottle about to snap in his grip.

Your dad was taking too long. Was he arming himself before opening the door? Should he tackle and disarm him or take the shot like a man? He should have worn a tac vest.

“Si, relax.” You rubbed his back. “You’re already too tall. You’re going to scare my dad.”

Is that not a good thing?

Your dad (obviously unarmed) tried making small talk with him at lunch, but he sucked at it as much as Simon did, leaving you to do almost all the talking among the pauses. You only received short answers from the men who avoided each other’s gazes.

Also, who the bloody hell put the coriander in the chicken stir-fry?!

“Your dad hates me,” Simon declared as he drove home, the phantom taste of soap persisted on his palate despite the hours between.

“He doesn’t, I promise. He doesn’t even really like Chinese, but picked the place because I told him how much you love it. He really tried, but just doesn’t talk much with new people.” You stifled a laugh. “You should have cracked a few jokes.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “When we get home, I’m going to tickle you until you pass out.”

Home.

You’d made your flat Simon’s home too. You cleared another drawer for him, and another, and another, even when he didn’t have so many possessions. But you let him expand and take up the space he needed. He reordered a set of his ID discs for you to keep on your nightstand.

Things were… easy. Simple, like getting out of bed a little later on weekends. With his nose buried in your hair, arm around your waist pulling you flush to his chest, he held you in silence from dawn until you woke. Listening to your quiet breathing filled his chest heavy with warmth.

You’d asked multiple times if it bored him to be doing nothing, as if he didn’t lay prone behind rifle scopes for hours on end for a living. It didn’t, because being in your presence wasn’t nothing. You were real, and you were his.

You woke with a stir, a smile gracing your lips when you realised he was with you before your eyes opened.

“Good morning, my love.” He slipped the strap of your tank top off before peppering kisses on the nape of your neck down your exposed shoulder.

“Morning, Si.” You reached back to scratch his scalp.

He rolled you onto your back before crawling on top of you, kissing the column on your neck making you giggle with his weekend scruff. He pulled away to admire your eyes, always striking in the warm sun.

“Love looking at you.” You cupped his cheek, tracing the healed cut with your thumb. “You’re so beautiful, Si.”

He leaned in, and you stayed in bed a little longer.

In his shirt, you placed more toasts on the table.

“Two goldfish are in a tank…”

He handed you a buttered toast. “Don’t steal my jokes, luv.”

“It’s too lame to forget.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause I remember you howling at Tesco when I told it.”

“It was your first ever.” You smiled. “My favourite.”

“Why didn’t you tell me I was scary, luv?”

“I’m not sure they teach you to tell the scary bloke he’s scary in self-defence class.” You took a bite of the toast.

“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “Are you out of jam?”

“Forgot to grab some yesterday, but I didn’t forget your limes.”

Simon became a bit of a pie connoisseur. He figured baking was better than sparring with the intention of beating someone up to a pulp. He tried different fruits (even declared himself a pro at peeling) and techniques, and eventually other varieties. That late Saturday morning, it was key lime pie.

“Why’s the cat so small?” you asked as you tied your kitty apron around his waist.

“Why?”

“Because it drank condensed milk.”

He liked that you were becoming more like him. “You too, it seems.”

You mock gasped. “Rude! You know I can take you, Si.”

“Not in a fight.”

You slapped his chest playfully earning a hearty laugh from him.

Volunteering at the soup kitchen became a regular occurrence too, along with his sergeants. Sam ended up dating one of the volunteers’ daughters, the one he was introduced to. Unfortunately, his two other sergeants hadn’t had as much luck on their side. ‘Does your birdie have sisters or friends, sir?’ Eric joked, but it barely masked his hopefulness. You assured you’d ask around if they promised to keep each other safe while deployed.

It got hard at times, when things went sideways and the missions lasted longer, or when he had no way to contact you or wipe the tears off your face.

Somewhere along the way, Simon listed you as his emergency contact. You weren’t supposed to find out this way. Not this soon, not from his captain calling you about how he was unconscious, dying from blood loss from getting his leg slashed.

The first thing he did when he astonishingly woke was to call you. He could ignore the sear on his thigh, or the fact that his eyelids weighed like lead, but not the guilt that sank into the pits of him when you were in a mess of tears.

“I’m so sorry, luv,” he croaked out of his throat that felt like sandpaper. “I mean it. I’ll leave this all behind if that’s what it takes to keep you. You just have to say the word.”

“Si, you don’t... always have to bend yourself backwards for others. I chose you for who you are, and I will keep choosing you, as long as you don’t give up on this. On us.” You sniffled. “Please come home soon. I need you with me.”

Simon was glad you stood by his decision to stay, because that afternoon a year after, as the major pinned on the new insignia onto his uniform, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when the mass erupted in applause.

Captain Simon Riley.

Among the crowd, next to Tommy and Beth, her belly carrying his niece, you had your arm around his mum, Joe’s hand in yours. From across the room, your sincere eyes made him feel like a hero, the most desirable man. He knew he wasn’t, but you looked at him like he was sunshine, and maybe, he was to you a little bit.

Nothing changed. Simon was still fatherless, still missed out on the memories a child deserved to have, but was never granted. Still bound to a past that wouldn’t go, but he was more than that.

He thought his dad was the only thing standing in the way of happiness, whatever it meant. He knew now. It wasn’t what he thought he wanted, wasn’t what he imagined, but it was perfect. This was what it was supposed to be like all along.

“For you,” he mouthed.

Simon Riley never wanted to be an oil painting admired by many, but he was, and always had been, a love note sealed with a kiss.

Line art from part 4

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[beneathashadytree]

HI GUYS! LONG POST, MAKING A BIG ANNOUNCEMENT OVER HERE! I WILL BE ACCEPTING WRITING COMMISSIONS FOR A COUPLE OF MONTHS, DUE TO THE FACT THAT I LIVE IN EXTREME POVERTY… PLEASE REBLOG!!

Here are my commision prices:

1$-2$ —> an SMAU (depends on length)

5$ —> a drabble (around 500 words)

10$ —> a oneshot (around 1000 words)

20$ or more—> a ficlet (2000-4000 words or more)

What fandoms I’m willing to write for (the ones in bold are the ones I’m best at and hyperfixating on):

Attack on Titan

Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice

My Hero Academia

Haikyuu!!

Jujutsu Kaisen

JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure

Moriarty the Patriot

Tokyo Revengers

One Piece

Bungou Stray Dogs

Kuroko no Basket

Ikemen Sengoku

Ikemen Vampire

Ikemen Revolution

Ikemen Prince

Love and Deepspace (my current fav)

How do I request a commission?

Either contact me via my DMs here, or on my Ko-Fi! I’ll be linking my account at the bottom of this post.

What’s the commission format?

Tell me your name or your OC’s name, their gender & pronouns, describe them to me both physically and in terms of personality, then tell me which character you want me to write them with. I’ll be writing “character x reader” or “character x OC” fics, so I need to know what I’m working with! Any extra details will help a lot. Of course, we will discuss everything concerning your commission privately.

If you want to check out my previous works to have a rough idea of how things will look like, be sure to check out my masterlist, which is my pinned post! Of course, my writing improves over time, so it may not be precisely as it is there.

How do I pay you?

You can pay me via my Ko-Fi account, which is linked to my PayPal! Here’s the link to my Ko-Fi.

Please consider helping me out, whether by requesting a commission, or by sharing this post and my links as much as possible!! I’m trying my best to do all I can now that I haven’t got many options left.

As some of you might already know, I’m a dentist, but still at uni. Sadly, studying dentistry is extremely expensive, and I can’t rely on my parents to pay my fees for me for a few reasons.

The first being that my dad is a heart patient, and can’t work anymore. The pension he receives is literally less than the equivalent of 90 dollars. Of course, that doesn’t provide anything in terms of food and living (we usually can only afford a meal or two a day) except for some of his meds—not even all of them. His health is steadily declining.

My mother is extremely narcissistic and very, very abusive. I’ve gone through hell living with her because I have to, but even she can’t even afford to take care of us because no one wants to hire her at her old age, and she’s used up all her savings on my dad.

I’m also physically disabled, and can’t move around often. I also have to have surgeries every now and then because of the chronic illness I have.

I am in serious, dire need of money, both for my tuition fees, and hopefully to be able to live. I have to keep us afloat until I can get married in a couple of years, since I can’t live alone. Besides, my dad doesn’t deserve to suffer with his heart problems.

I tried working with dentistry last year, and that worked for a while, but this year no one’s hiring due to the terrible state of our economy. I have no skills aside from my writing, so that’s what I’ll have to work with. I’m getting seriously desperate, so I hope you guys understand why I’m doing this, and hopefully feel inclined to offer any support you can—even if not financial, but just by reblogging this post!

[marragurl]

Ok so like…. Who makes Ratio’s statues? 

Because every possible explanation just opens up a whole new can of worms. 

I’ve been trying to go through as much info about him as I can, including his character stories, but I can’t find anything??? 

So I’m just left stewing in the dark, which usually leads to my humor coming into play. 

So like… are the statues of Ratio’s own making??

Because that would insinuate that he takes the time out of his busy life to constantly make new statues of just himself, including the multiple plaster heads. And if it’s not him physically and it is a manifestation of his Imaginary powers, he’s still making them right??? 

So he still chooses the poses! 

Why??? 

What is his thought process??? 

Physically made or Imaginary Powers made, it’s still his choice on what the statue should look like right???

And if it’s not a conscious decision, then WHAT DO THE JOJO AND CUTESY POSES MEAN

IS JOJO’S BIZARRE ADVENTURES FUCKING CANON IN HSR??

IS IT A SHOW THAT EXISTS??

ARE YOU TELLING ME ARAKI FUCKING EXISTS IN HSR??

AND RATIO IS A FAN?????? 

DON’T TELL ME IT’S JUST A FUN REFERENCE BY THE HSR TEAM, YEA IT’S META TO US BUT IT’S CANON TO THE REST OF THE UNIVERSE THAT RATIO HAS A STATUE OF HIMSELF DOING A JOJO POSE

On the other hand, if it’s not Ratio himself making them… who is it????

Is Ratio commissioning some artists?? Multiple artists? Only one?!?!? 

Is it some weird form of extra credit for his students???

(Student A: Hey wanna hang out tonight? 

Student B: Can’t. Gotta finish up this statue of Dr. Ratio examining his codex by Friday if I wanna get a passing grade in the class

Student A: You can sculpt???

Student B crying with 100 tabs of ‘how to sculpt’ videos and wikiHows pulled up and no sleep: I’m trying my best here Sharon)

Is he like those Renaissance time rich people who basically paid for their favorite artist’s livelihood in order to just make nice art in return??? Is there now a really well-off sculptor somewhere in the universe who is just constantly being paid by THE Dr. Ratio to make stone statues of the man??? Does the artist just put that down in their tax returns?? 

(back at it again with Topaz suffering from Ratiorine’s antics, she’s the one in charge of Ratio’s Sculptor’s taxes)

THAT STILL DOESN’T ANSWER THE STATUE POSE QUESTIONS

DID THE ARTIST ADD IN THE JOJO POSE AND HEART POSE AS A GAG??? AND SURVIVE RATIO SEEING THEM?? 

WORSE- DID RATIO COMMISSION THE POSES??? WHAT WAS THAT CONVERSATION EVEN LIKE??? DID HE HAVE TO POSE?? DOES THE ARTIST JUST HAVE AN ENTIRE SCRAPBOOK OF RATIO DOING DIFFERENT POSES FOR CONSTANT REFERENCE?

FUCK IT, DID AVENTURINE GET IN CONTACT WITH THE ARTIST AND PAY EVEN MORE MONEY FOR THE CUTESY POSES??

(Whole new thought process, the artist is making statues of Ratio for both Ratio AND Aventurine, and all the cute statues are actually commissions by Aventurine for his little Dr. Ratio idol crush shrine. There’s a constant slapstick comedy routine of Aventurine trying to hide them anytime Ratio comes over to his place and barely getting away with it. Does he ever come clean when they start dating? Do they start dating because Ratio finds the statues? Fuck it, if Ratio is the one making the statues and not an artist, does he teach Aventurine how to sculpt?? Does it become like something they do together to spend time?? Ok damn wait that’s kinda cute wait-)

WAIT ADDING ON TO THAT- DOES THAT MEAN FOLLOWING THIS THOUGHT PROCESS THAT AVENTURINE IS THE JOJO FAN???? HE’S A FUCKING JOTARO STAN???

(wait- brisk MC who’s rude to everyone but soft on those he cares about and has the muscles of a Greek god and eventually goes into academia, oh my fucking god Aventurine has a type)

PLEASE

I NEED TO KNOW WHERE ARE THESE STATUES COMING FROM

EVERYONE SEEMS TO KNOW ABOUT THEM, THEY AREN’T A SECRET

IS HIS HOUSE JUST FULL OF STATUES???

DOES HE HAVE A WHOLE-ASS GRECO-ROMAN-STYLE GARDEN FULL OF HIS OWN STATUES???

DOES THE ARTIST SEE A STATUE DISAPPEAR FROM THE GARDEN AND IMMEDIATELY KNOW RATIO USED HIS TECHNIQUE TO SLAM ONE DOWN BREAKING IT AND JUST GO “fucking hell man, I was just about to go on break! Now I need to start a new one!”

IS IT A HOBBY?? HOW THE FUCK DID HE GET INTO SCULPTING AS A HOBBY WITH HIS SCHEDULE???

ARE THEY GIFTS?? 

FROM WHO, STUDENTS??? ADMIRERS? FUCK IT, AVENTURINE???

DOES THE ARTIST BEING COMMISSIONED EVEN HAVE A LIFE OUTSIDE OF THE RATIO STATUES??? DO THEY EVEN HAVE THE ABILITY TO SCULPT ANYTHING OTHER THAN RATIO AT THIS POINT??? HAVE THEY SEEN ANY OTHER BEING OUTSIDE OF THEIR STUDIO AND THE HUNDREDS OF RATIO STATUES???

PLEASE I NEED SOMEONE TO ANSWER ME

[warmblanketwhump]

another beach vacation

inspired by those bizarre moments when it’s sweltering out and somehow you’re freezing with a fever (most definitely not inspired by my low-grade fever last week lol)

It was just another hot day at the beach during their vacation at the oceanside cottage, but B can tell something’s off. They’re all swimming, B a bit further out from A and C, but B notices that A’s out of the water more than they’re in, and they barely get in past ankle-deep water. After a few minutes and some wild gesturing from C, they get in deeper, and B goes back to swimming alongside the current.

But when B checks again, A’s left the water entirely, sitting directly in the sun even though they burn easily. When B gets out to investigate, they see A’s covered in goosebumps and visibly shivering, arms wrapped around their knees.

“A, what are you doing? You’re gonna get burned.”

A shrugs. “I’m cold. Like, in my bones. I don’t know what’s wrong.” A gentle breeze wafts through the air, sending a shudder rippling through them, and they hug their knees tighter to their chest. “I thought the sun would help me warm up.”

B wraps a towel around them and curls behind A, hugging them close. Contrary to A’s belief, they feel like a banked coal against B’s body, yet B can feel the small shivers that ripple through them as they rub A’s blanketed arms. “You’re probably just a little chilled from the water.”

“Maybe.” A’s voice is small, shaky, quiet. Not at all like themselves.

Eventually, A pulls on the dry t-shirt B offers and lays down under the beach umbrella, curling up in a ball with arms wrapped around themselves, while B pulls out a battered old paperback. Every so often, B can hear A’s teeth chatter, and eventually they drape one of the dry towels over them, even though it’s sweltering out.

C darts up dripping wet, starting to say something to B, but stops short when they see A laying down. “What’s wrong with A?”

“Not feeling well.” B glances down from their book to see A, still curled under the towel. “They got chilled and needed to warm up for a bit.”

C stops short, glancing down at A, then to B, face guilty. “I….may be the cause of that.”

B gives A a confused look. “What?”

“They…didn’t really want to swim, said they didn’t feel up to it. I nagged them, told them they were boring and never wanted to have fun, and then they finally got in.“ C shrugs, swiping their foot in the sand. “They shook so bad the whole time they were in the water. I thought they were faking to be dramatic.” C looks sheepish. “It’s just….it’s so hot out, and the water wasn’t that cold…”

C’s not wrong—the air temperature must be over 90 degrees, and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. But A’s visibly shivering, face pale in the shade of the umbrella, hands clutching the towel tightly around their shoulders like they can’t get the extra layer close enough.

“A, you feeling any better?”

A just moans, pulling the towel up to their chin. B reaches out a hand, and the mystery is solved the second their palm touches A’s feverish forehead. They’re even warmer now in the shade than when B felt them earlier.

Poor thing. “A, we’re gonna go back up to the house now and get you dried off and in bed. You’ve got a fever.” A moans again, softer this time.

C’s face falls at B’s announcement. “I guess I’ll…stay here a bit longer then. Meet you at home.”

B nods, hoists A up in their arms in a bridal carry, towel and all, and begins the trek up the winding path back to the coastal beach house.

Arriving home, B carries A up to the bathroom and persuades A to allow a quick shower to wash off all the sand and salty seawater. A shivers the entire time, knees tucked to their chest and arms folded to their body, head bobbing as they fight to stay awake, hands feebly rubbing at the goosebumps that skitter across their arms.

Eventually the two minutes of misery are over and B wraps a thick bath towel around A’s waist, and another around their shoulders. The rest of the home is frigid from the air-conditioning, and A hunches over to try and preserve warmth as they half-shuffle, half lean on B to their room. B helps them dress in a dry t-shirt and shorts and eases them under the light summer covers, and A pulls the top quilt tightly around their body.

“I’m going to run to the corner store and see if they have some medicine. Stay in bed, okay?”

B takes the single moan from the lump of blankets as a yes.

A half hour later, B returns with a plastic grocery bag full of medicines, expecting to find A still curled up in bed. But instead, A’s on their hands and knees by their suitcase, frantically rummaging through their clothes.

“A, what are you doing out of bed?”

“I need s-s-something, anything warmer.” A’s teeth are audibly chattering, and they’re clutching their arms close to their body as they shake with chills. “I tried to sleep, I tried, but the c-covers are so thin, and I couldn’t stop shivering, and I couldn’t figure out how to turn the AC down…” A’s lower lip quivers as they stare mournfully at their suitcase. “I didn’t bring anything warm. Not even a pair of socks. I’m so cold…”

B’s heart squeezes at the admission. “C’mon. Let’s get you back under the covers and I’ll see if I can find some of my stuff you can wear.”

After getting A back in bed, B goes to their room and begins tearing clothes from their suitcase, but it’s useless—the weather forecast had been for sweltering temperatures all week, so they just some lightweight T-shirts, shorts, an outfit for when they went to town for dinner….

“What’s wrong?” C must’ve gotten back after B, and they’ve now changed into regular clothes, hair still damp, with a half-eaten popsicle in one hand.

“A’s got bad chills and can’t sleep. And of course, none of us brought warm clothes because it’s so hot here.” A tosses another pair of shorts to the side. “We used up all the towels, too, so we can’t even have that as an option until I do some laundry—“

“I’ve got some sweatpants they can borrow.” C shrugs. “And an old sweatshirt, I think.”

“You? In the summer?”

C shrugs. “What? I hate the thought of being cold.” Their eyes flick to the carpet. “And it’s sort of my fault anyways. I shouldn’t have made them swim when they weren’t feeling good.”

“Hey. You didn’t know.” B gives C’s shoulder a squeeze, even though C doesn’t look absolved.

Within a minute, C makes it back to A’s bedroom with the extra layers, plus some extra blankets they found from the linen closet. B helps A dress, then wraps an extra blanket around their shoulders before tucking them back under the covers.

“Better?” B asks, rubbing A’s back through the blankets.

“Uh huh,” A says with a sigh, burrowing deeper into the blankets. “I thought I was gonna freeze.”

C’s at the end of A’s bed, scuffing their toe into the carpet, when they finally speak. “A, I….I didn’t mean what I said back at the beach. Heck, I shouldn’t have said it, even if you were feeling well. You’re not boring, I promise. I was just being stupid, and I’m sorry.”

“C, you were forgiven the minute you gave me these clothes,” A says, voice muffled from beneath the blankets. “But if you’re not feeling forgiven enough, making me a cup of hot tea will absolve you fully.”

“On it.” C darts away to the kitchen, and after giving A three different types of medicine, B settles in with their book on the bed next to A.

“Sorry I’m ruining the vacation,” A mumbles, quieter. “I’d much rather be out in the sun and swimming than in here trying to stay warm.”

“Nonsense. You’re just giving us a little break from the sun.” B smiles, giving A’s shoulder a little squeeze before tucking their blankets just a little bit tighter.

[perotovar]

baby, i'm-a want you — (ch 1) "session one"

gif by me

pairing: joel miller/dieter bravo (just this time. main pairing is still javi/joel) rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 3.5k content: swearing, joel and tommy's southern accents being cute af, dieter being a menace, joel being awkward af (but it's cute), cringey porn dialogue, male masturbation (briefly), one (1) handjob, one (1) blowjob (it's messy), lmk if i missed anything! dividers: @saradika-graphics beta: @qveerthe0ry (ily ♥)

summary: javier peña has been doing this a long time. he's really good at his job. joel miller? not so much. he started doing this to get some extra cash to support his daughters. what happens when they're supposed to do a scene together? aka, the au where most of the ppcu boys are gay porn stars~

(read this first ->) prologue | series masterlist

Joel never would have guessed he’d do something like this ten years ago. Hell, not even five years ago. He’s not even totally sure how he got here, if he’s honest with himself.

He just remembers an, admittedly shady, business-looking man coming up to him and shoving a business card in his face. He asked if Joel had ever slept with men before. Joel was taken aback and thought he was coming onto him in a really bizarre way. He had, but that was none of this man’s business as far as he was concerned.

“There’s no pressure, I promise. Here, my website is on the card. If you see what you like, you gimme a call, okay?” The man had winked, grabbed his coffee, and left. 

Joel was left sitting in the middle of that coffee shop stunned into silence.

Later that night, sitting in front of the laptop Sarah nearly forced on him, he clumsily typed (using only his index fingers) the name of the website from the business card into the search bar.

Love Bites

The name and the man, Max Phillips according to the card, and his invasive question should’ve told him everything he needed to know, but Joel wasn’t prepared for the absolute onslaught of nudity he was met with.

“Jesus–” Joel mumbled to himself, slamming the laptop closed. Not that that would take it away, but he could hope. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head to himself. “The fuck you get yourself into, Miller?” He grumbled.

Slowly, and with one eye closed, he opened his laptop again. Once he got both eyes on it again, the website wasn’t… too bad. Well, it was still a porn site, but it wasn’t anything he hadn't seen before. He started looking around some more and didn’t bother turning it down. He lived alone now, both girls having moved out within the last year or so. He missed the hell out of them, and frankly, found himself bored more often than not. He and Tommy still owned Miller Contracting, but Joel stuck to the delegating and organizing part now. He had too many knee and back problems to keep up on the actual building part.

His finger rolled over to the “profiles” section of the website. He raised a brow and clicked on the trackpad hesitantly. There were several headshots of the men that made content for the website. He felt his cock twitch in his jeans and cleared his throat awkwardly, exhaling heavily. Well, it… had been a while. What could it hurt, right? 

He did have a lot of options…

Dark eyes trailing over the men on the site, he smiled softly. They all had little biographies that explained what their sexualities and preferences were. He snorted a little at seeing two different cowboys; one gay and a little older than himself, the other bisexual and perhaps around the same age. The younger cowboy had a prominent mustache and had a preference for “tying people up”. Bit on the nose in Joel’s opinion, but there was something for everyone. The older cowboy tended toward more amateur-style, “romantic” videos. Joel’s heart softened a little, but decided he wasn’t really in the mood for that sort of thing. 

In his search, he found just about everything; a messy haired, self proclaimed “adventurous” sort, a masked man that liked to roleplay, a clean cut looking man that considered himself a “romantic”. You name it, they probably had it. But his eyes landed on a particular man…

He had deep, intense eyes and a thick mustache. His hair was styled like he walked out of the 80s and he was wearing a thin gold chain. He had a bit of a Burt Reynolds thing going on, and normally that wouldn’t be something Joel was into, but this time, well… 

Joel clicked on his – Javier’s – page and started browsing the videos he had available. His bio said he was “fluid and polyamorous”, but Joel didn’t know what that meant. Wow, he was… popular. That didn’t surprise Joel at all, but his eyes landed on one of Javier’s “solo” videos. It looked like it was filmed in his apartment, but it probably wasn’t from how well lit it was. The video started off like Joel guessed all of them did; a fancy graphic with the words “Love Bites” in the center of the screen before the sound effect of someone taking a bite out of something, and a faint moan. The tips of Joel’s ears warmed, but he pressed on, watching Javier walk onto screen and sit in the middle of the couch that was in frame. 

Javier’s jeans were very tight, but maybe even moreso because of how fucking hard he looked to be. Joel swallowed a lump in his throat, his cock twitching again. Javier had an easy smirk on his handsome face, but he seemed like he didn’t have the cockiness that Joel expected a pornstar to have. The video seemed like it was personally sent to Joel and that thought made Joel’s cock stand to attention almost comically quickly. Unzipping his own jeans, he groaned at the constriction leaving, allowing him to breathe easier. He squeezed his cock and looked back at the video, Javier already getting started without him. He was stroking his own cock slowly, almost teasingly, biting a plump bottom lip. Joel moaned and shut his eyes for a quick second as he took himself in hand–

Ring, ring.

Joel groaned, squeezing his cock harder, and dug his phone out of his pocket. Tommy. He sighed and paused the video on Javier’s blissed out face and big hand wrapped around his–

Ring, ring.

“Christ, Tommy, what is it?” He grumbled, pressing the too-new-for-his-liking phone to his ear.

“Jesus, who pissed in your oatmeal this mornin’?” Tommy’s easy voice filtered in, a chuckle wrapped around his words. “And why are ya outta breath? Ya okay?”

“What–? Yeah, ‘m fine, Tommy. Why y’callin’?”

“Wonderin’ if ya could stop by tonight. Maria’s makin’ meatloaf and I know ya like it.”

Joel did really like Maria’s meatloaf. He sighed to himself and shut his laptop, his cock having softened considerably since hearing his brother’s voice. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat, trying to subtly zip up his jeans while he held the phone against his shoulder. “I’ll come over in a little bit, just gotta… gonna make a phone call.”

��Ooh, ya finally have a date, old man?”

“Can it,” Joel grunted. “‘M forty-three. Ain’t that old. And no, I was gonna call Sarah. See how her classes are goin’.”

“Send her our love, will ya? ‘N tell her she’ll have a cousin soon. Maria’s ‘bout to pop any day. ‘M scared to death,” Tommy sighed. The happiness was clear in his voice, though. Joel was happy for him, and smiled to himself. “How’s Ellie doin’, by the way?”

“Good. Think she said somethin’ ‘bout joinin’ a… roller derby team? Don’t rightly know, but,” he shrugged to himself. “Sounded like somethin’ she’d like, way she was describin’ it.”

Talking on the phone with Tommy always went the same way. He’d find a way to chew up a couple hours of your time, but Joel never minded. Once they said their goodbyes and their I-love-yous, Joel picked up Max Phillips’ business card and sighed, rubbing his thumb over the phone number.

What could it hurt, right?

That was two years ago. He’s been working for Love Bites for two years and had been avoiding Javier Peña as much as he could.

Joel’s never been good at… initiating conversations. Ellie would always give him shit for it. She usually went up to whoever had caught Joel’s eye and slyly made it her goal to get them to come over to him. 

But Ellie wasn’t here and she never would be. His girls knew what he did and even if they were a little concerned for him at first, they saw how much happier he’d been since joining. He was healthier, gaining a bit of “chub” as Sarah called it, and a healthier glow to his skin. He was on camera more often now, so he had to eat well and work out a little more. He didn’t do anything too crazy, and the audience that watched his videos had a lot of positive opinions and comments about his physique. It made him blush to think about it for too long, so he tried not to.

What was he saying?

Oh, right. Avoiding Javier Peña.

He’d had a huge crush on him ever since that first video he watched, and frankly, didn’t want to make a fool of himself if he talked to him. He’s filmed one video with him and it was the best Joel had felt in years. He almost came too quickly, and the video was supposed to be twenty minutes long. They had to pause so Joel could calm himself down, but Javier was patient and lovely with him. Javier had been doing this a lot longer than Joel had, so he wasn’t worried, which made Joel feel better. Just a little embarrassed. Afterwards, he had to leave, making up a story about seeing his girls for dinner that night.

“Javi!”

Joel’s eyes snapped up from his phone. He was in the middle of texting Sarah, saying that he’d call her when he got home from work. He had a scene with Dieter today.

And there he was. God. Joel’s cheeks flushed at the sight of Javier standing in the hall in his robe. He must’ve just finished his scene with Shane, the new kid. He couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the sound of Javier’s deep, commanding voice was enough to send a chill down Joel’s spine. Before he knew it, Javier was talking animatedly with Steve, another actor, as they walked off down the hall and disappearing around a corner.

He knew, realistically, relationships between porn actors could happen. Silva and Jake had been together for years. Joel’s problem with that was, well… Joel. His last real relationship was with Sarah’s mom years ago, and when the girls were in high school he had a relationship with this guy, Ezra for a while.

Smack!

“Jesus–!” Joel jumped, holding onto one of his ass cheeks protectively. Only one person would have done that.

“Hey, handsome,” Dieter grinned, sticking a hand down the back pocket of Joel’s jeans and squeezing. “Getting lost in Javi’s eyes again?” He winked.

“N-no! I am not,” Joel grumbled, finishing off his text and shoving his phone in his pocket.

Dieter snorted and rolled his eyes, then removed his hand to hold it out for Joel to take. “C’mon, big guy. You get to cum on my face today,” he smirked.

Filming with Dieter always felt good. He was a bit wild for Joel’s personal tastes, but he always made sure Joel was comfortable, and today was no different. 

Joel was playing a “plumber” that needed to work on Dieter’s “pipes”. This of course led to Dieter offering to “pay” in his own way. 

“Oh, come on, big guy like you doesn’t need money, right?” Dieter recited his lines expertly, running a hand down Joel’s t-shirt covered chest. “Bet it gets lonely doing this sort of work, huh?”

Joel had gotten a lot better at the acting part of things over the past couple of years. He was super stiff (and not in the right way) in the beginning, but now, he easily plastered on a smirk, eyes glued to Dieter’s lips. “Sometimes,” he shrugged, a big hand hovering over Dieter’s shoulder. Dieter saw the hand out of the corner of his eye and grinned, curling his fingers around Joel’s thick wrist and moving it down to his ass.

Joel smirked, squeezing the plump flesh appreciatively. “Bit forward o’ you,” he rumbled.

Dieter visibly shivered and bit his lip. “Sexy guy like you, of course I am,” he breathed. He leaned forward and kissed Joel messily, the hand on Joel’s torso moving down to unzip his jeans. Joel was already painfully hard and grunted into Dieter’s mouth when his pants were opened and lowered enough to pull his cock free. Dieter moaned and curled his fingers around Joel’s shaft, pumping rhythmically.

They stayed like that for a while; open mouth kisses, heavy breathing from Joel, and Dieter’s moans being picked up by the mics. 

Dieter pulled away to look down at the thick cock in his hand and bit his lip at the sight. “Fuck,” he groaned, his own cock twitching in his sweats. “Can I suck your cock?” He looked up at Joel demurely, eyes big and nearly black with desire.

Joel forgot he was supposed to be acting for a minute and grunted, hips bucking into Dieter’s grasp. “F-fuck, yeah,” he nodded, eyes glazed over. Dieter smiled and guided Joel over to the couch on the set. Technically, Dieter was supposed to get on his knees in the “kitchen”, but he knew Joel wouldn’t be able to stand for that long with his back problems. Sometimes Dieter’s improv classes came in handy. Max couldn’t complain too much, as long as Dieter sucked Joel off, then the video was still following the script.

Joel grunted as he sat, hard cock swaying slightly. Dieter giggled a little and happily got down on his knees, hands traveling up and down Joel’s thighs appreciatively. “Such a pretty cock,” he hummed, licking his lips as he watched it twitch in front of him, a drop of pre-cum gathering at the tip. 

“Why dontcha put that mouth to use, then?” Joel smirked, gripping the base and tapping the head against Dieter’s cheek. “Want your discount, right?”

Dieter smiled and opened his mouth wide, eyes shut in pure bliss. Joel gripped Dieter’s messy curls and held him still as he hit the head of his cock against Dieter’s tongue. Dieter moaned and opened his eyes, watching Joel’s face for any cues to stop. They never came, but it was something they all had to keep an eye on. When everything seemed to be going well, he happily wrapped his mouth around the head of Joel’s cock and started bobbing his head up and down.

He moaned, the vibrations traveling down Joel’s cock and up his spine, making Joel groan in return. “Mmm, knew you’d be good with your mouth,” he grinned, holding the back of Dieter’s head to set a pace Joel liked better.

Dieter heard a cameraman move to his right to get a better angle of his mouth, so he amped it up a little. He got messier, saliva dripping down along the sides of Joel’s shaft. Joel moaned weakly, resting his head on the back of the couch, but keeping one of his hands tangled in Dieter’s messy curls. Dieter started bobbing his head slower, eyes locked on Joel’s face as he moved further down his shaft, taking as much as he could down his throat. He choked slightly and pulled off, pre-cum and saliva covering his mouth and Joel’s cock. He smiled up at Joel and panted heavily, curling his fingers around the base to pump the thick cock.

Joel’s eyes rolled back and he grunted, hips bucking off the couch. “C’mere,” he breathed, heavy work boots landing heavily on the set floor as he stood. “Gonna fuck your face.”

Dieter shivered at the low timbre of Joel’s voice and nodded happily up at him. He pulled his sweats down and gripped his own cock in hand and started stroking himself rhythmically. Dieter opened his mouth for Joel obediently and nearly choked again when Joel shoved his cock down Dieter’s throat. He moaned weakly when Joel’s hips started moving, his heavy balls slapping against Dieter’s chin.

Dieter just had to take it, the lewd sounds of Joel fucking his face filling the otherwise quiet room. He fucking loved it because Joel was subtly massaging Dieter’s scalp and it sent shivers down his spine. His fist was almost a blur over his own cock and tears leaked out of his eyes, a blush high on his cheeks.

“Mmm, bein’ such a good boy f’me,” Joel grunted, biting his lip to rein it in a little. Dieter moaned at the praise, eyebrows downturned in pleasure. “Yeah? Like bein’ my good boy?”

Dieter whined and nodded as best he could, eyes completely glazed over. Joel slowed down his hips a little and let Dieter breathe for a minute. Dieter panted hard, a near-dopey smile on his face. “Come on my face,” he breathed heavily, extending his tongue for Joel. “Please.”

It was Joel’s turn to shiver as he slapped the head of his cock against Dieter’s face again. “Gonna have to earn it,” Joel smirked, reciting his lines as well as he could. 

Dieter whined and pouted up at him, his own hand slowing down a little. He didn’t say anything, letting Joel continue.

“Make me come, and I’ll paint this pretty face o’ yours.”

Dieter’s face lit up and he curled his fingers around Joel’s shaft. He watched Joel’s face while he wrapped his lips around the head and bobbed his head. His free hand held Joel’s hip and subtly moved to his ass and squeezed. He moaned around Joel’s cock and shut his eyes briefly before obediently looking up at him, big eyes wet and innocent. 

“Atta boy,” Joel grunted, cupping Dieter’s face lovingly. Dieter removed his mouth to kiss down his length as he stroked him, attaching his lips to one of Joel’s balls. “Mmm, fuck,” Joel breathed, tipping his head back. 

The hand on Joel’s ass moved slightly until one of Dieter’s fingertips prodded at Joel’s asshole. Joel grunted in surprise and smiled down at Dieter. “Really want me all over ya, huh?”

“Yes,” Dieter nodded, sucking one of Joel’s balls into his mouth. “Please.”

“Keep talkin’ like that and– ooh, fuck – Jus’ might get your wish,” Joel panted, shutting his eyes. He felt the build up in his lower stomach, his cock twitching violently in Dieter’s hand. “C’mere, baby boy,” he grinned, taking his cock back to stroke himself over Dieter’s face.

Dieter was buzzing, lifting Joel’s t-shirt to lovingly caress his hairy tummy, mouth open wide and obedient. 

Joel felt his balls draw up and his hips buck until– “Fuck–! Shit,” He moaned, thick ropes of come spurting out from the tip of his cock and landing on Dieter’s face and mouth. He caressed Dieter’s hair, thick fingers massaging his scalp while the other hand stroked himself until his balls were completely empty. 

Dieter happily licked his mouth clean, and hid his face in Joel’s stomach, whimpering into the sweaty skin. He moaned weakly, his entire body trembling as he came, completely untouched. Dieter was the only one in the cast that could do that, and he loved showing it off as much as he could.

“Shit,” Joel smiled, petting Dieter’s sweaty curls back and out of his face. “Ain’t you a sight.”

“Cut!”

Dieter deflated, a huge grin on his face. He started giggling into Joel’s stomach and smiled up at him. “Fucking love your cock, Joel,” he hummed happily.

“That’s what you always say,” Joel snorted, helping him up onto his feet. Dieter was a little wobbly still and cuddled into Joel’s side. He always got a little clingy after a scene, but Joel didn’t mind. As different as they were, Joel would probably consider Dieter one of his closest friends. It always worked in their favor, their natural chemistry and closeness coming through the cameras.

They were handed a couple towels and some water, the both of them taking them gratefully. Max came up to them, his usual shit-eating grin on his face. Joel always thought Max reminded him of a vampire, with that mischievous glint in his eye that always seemed to be there.

“Great show, boys,” Max started. “Dieter, d’you mind if I steal Joel away for a second?”

Dieter whined and clinged onto Joel tighter. Joel grinned and hugged him back. “Sorry, boss, looks like he ain’t leavin’ anytime soon.”

Max rolled his eyes, but continued anyway. “Fine. Meant to tell you earlier, but things got rolling, you know how it is–”

“What is it, Max?”

“You’ve got a scene with Javier tomorrow.”

If there were a record player anywhere, Joel would probably hear it scratching right about now. Dieter paused too, and looked up at Joel with worried eyes. He knew all about Joel’s crush, and was always telling Joel to just go for it. Joel froze briefly, but tried to school his emotions as best he could.

“O-okay, um. What time?” He asked shakily, gripping Dieter’s fluffy robe tighter.

“I’m thinking around noon? That way Javier can prepare, y’know?”

Preparing was always done before a particularly intense scene. Joel tried really hard not to think about Javier wearing a plug for a while before coming to set. 

“Right,” Joel nodded, cheeks going a little pink. “I’ll be there.”

“You’re the best, Joel!” Max snapped his fingers and walked off, talking to a couple of assistants. 

Dieter tapped on his chest and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “You really gotta say something, Joel,” he said softly. 

Joel sighed and nodded. He knew that. 

He just didn’t know what.

[entitled-fangirl]

Two idiots in love. (P8)

Joel Miller x anemic!reader

Summary: Joel makes his decision to leave Ellie. But what will he decide about the reader?

Warnings: crying, cursing, fighting, yelling, blood, guns

Author's note: I'm crying- this hurts my soul.

Masterlist

Part 1 and 9

..................................................................

Joel walked up the staircase of the little house that was now theirs.

Tommy agreed to take Ellie to the fireflies in the morning, and he was relieved. 

He carefully climbed up the stairs, opening the master bedroom door.

Y/N was sound asleep on the bed. Joel could tell from the way she slept on top of the covers with a tissue in her hand that she had fallen asleep crying. It broke what was left of his heart knowing that he was the cause of it.

He shut the door quietly and moved to Ellie's room.

Ellie was quite awake. And angry.

"Is this really all they had to worry about?" She asked while staring at a diary from before the breakout. "It's bizarre."

Joel nodded, "Listen-"

"-Why are you here? If you're gonna ditch me, us, then ditch me."

"What exactly did you hear?"

"'I have to leave her. You have to take her.'"

"I made this decision for your own good. You're better off with Tommy. He knows the area better than I do."

"Do you give a shit about me?"

"Of course, I do."

"THEN WHAT ARE YOU SO AFRAID OF?" Ellie sat in the silence, "I'm not her, you know. Maria… she told me about Sarah-" "-Don't." Joel growled. "Don't say another word."

"I'm sorry about your daughter, Joel. But, I've lost people too."

"You don't know what loss is."

"Everyone I have ever cared for has either left me or died. Except for you and Mom. So, don't tell me I'd be better off with someone else, because the truth is.. I would just be more scared." Ellie froze, realizing she had just called Y/N Mom.

Joel sat on his thoughts. "You're right. You're not my daughter. And I sure as hell ain't your dad. And I'm goddamn sure Y/N isn't your fucking Mom. Now, come dawn, we're going our separate ways."

He turned to leave, but Ellie spoke up just barely, "What about Y/N? Are you just abandoning her, too?" 

He stopped, turning around to face the girl again. "Y/N has enough in life that she won't miss us."

And he slammed the door behind him.

Y/N peered out from the doorway of her room with puffy eyes and messy hair. Her voice was soft and concerning, "…Joel?"

He left out a breath at the sound of her voice. "…what."

"Is everything okay? Is Ellie alright?"

"Ellie is just fine. She's leaving in the morning."

She tilted her head, taking another step out into the hall.

But Joel stopped her before she could go too far. "Don't. Just go back to bed."

He wished he wouldn't have seen the tears that filled her eyes as she closed the door once more.

…

The next morning, Y/N sat with Ellie on her bed, helping her pack her things. 

"You know," Ellie sighed, "Joel said something about you yesterday… while we were fighting."

Y/N shook her head, "Let's not talk about that. Let's just enjoy what we have left with each other, yeah?"

Ellie nodded, "Alright. I like that."

They continued packing the girl up, trying to make small talk about the trip ahead of her.

"Why are you staying? Why can't you come with me?"

Y/N stood straight, "I'll be extra weight. And… as much as I want to go with you, I can't leave Joel. He needs someone just as much as you do. And you'll have Tommy."

As if on cue, a knock sounded on the bedroom door.

Y/N held her breath to see Joel. 

But it was Tommy.

Y/N sighed and helped Ellie carry one of the bags, "Mind if I walk with you guys, Tommy?"

He shook his head, "I'd never mind that."

…

The walk was quiet and awkward. 

But what made it worse was the sight at the stables.

Joel was strapping a saddle onto a horse.

Ellie grumbled, "Come to say goodbye or something?"

"No," Joel immediately replied, "I came here to steal one of these horses and go."

Y/N felt her heart drop. He was going to leave her behind like that with no remorse?

"I woulda gave you one." Tommy replied.

"I know." Joel nodded. His gaze finally moved to Y/N and his shoulders slumped just barely, not thinking that she would be there. His gaze quickly shifted from her from the guilt he felt. "Anyway, that was 30 minutes ago and I guess…" 

He sighed as he approached Ellie. "You deserve a choice. I still think you'd be better off with Tommy-"

"-Let's go." Ellie replied, throwing her bag at him.

"O…Okay." Joel nodded. He sighed and turned to get the horse.

Y/N grabbed at his sleeve. Her voice was weaker than she would've liked, "What are you doing?"

He did everything he could to avoid her eye contact, "I'm taking Ellie, I guess."

"Bullshit." She reasoned, "You're gonna take me, too. You were gonna wake me up, weren't you? Before we left?"

"We?" Joel asked.

Y/N's mouth fell open and she took a step away from him. "You were… gonna leave me here?"

No one in the stable dared to say a word.

"Listen, I left you a note."

"Fuck your note, Joel Miller."

His jaw clenched. "You don't mean that."

"I fucking do. And fuck you."

"Calm down."

She scoffed and took a few steps back to give herself a moment to breathe. When her breathing went back to normal, so did her tone. "I don't understand."

"You have everything you need, here."

"But, you're not here."

Fuck, he thought. This was gonna be harder than he anticipated. 

"No," he reasoned, "But you can have a life here. A good one."

"How many times do I have to say it, Joel?" She pleaded. "I don't want any run-of-the-mill life. I want a life with you. I don't give two shits what we do. You… and Ellie… that's the only family I'll ever need."

If only she knew what she was saying.

Joel fought in his head how to tell her. What to say. 

If only he would've left earlier, and she would've woken up to the note.

The note that told her everything.

The one that was sitting on the coffee table in the living room, written in his scribbled handwriting- that note.

The one that said he loved her too much to make her choose. So, he was making the decision for her.

He knew she wouldn't be saying all this if she knew the truth.

But his heart was too damn selfish to tell her.

"Alright." He sighed, "Go pack your shit up. We leave in 30 minutes."

The small shred of happiness that broke through her face only tormented Joel more.

She placed a hand on his chest, "Thank you. Really. Thank you."

But Joel's eyes were looking at Tommy, whose was nodding his head slowly, taking in Joel's decision to hide the truth.

…

Y/N had never ridden a horse until here in Jackson, and she was nowhere near comfortable on one. 

Hence, why she was on the back of Joel's.

It was nice to be this close to him. Her arms were wrapped around his waist. She could smell that overwhelming scent of sweat and pine that he could never seem to wash off.

And she knew she made the right choice in pleading.

And Joel knew he made the wrong one.

He knew the second he said okay that he was being self-centered and foolish.

But he could never deny her.

He knew that he would have to hold this secret until they returned to Jackson.

Then she could scream and cry and curse him all she wanted. And turn to her own family.

But he couldn't help but be relieved that he could share just a little more time with her.

…

"Wide right. You're flinchin'." Joel smiled.

"The target's too small," Ellie tried to reason.

"That target is fucking huge," Y/N smiled.

"And I'm not flinching," Ellie continued, "rifles just suck."

"Just give it." Joel muttered.

"Okay, but it doesn't aim right."

Joel smiled with a low hum. "A deep breath in, slow breath out. You squeeze the trigger like you love it. Gentle, steady, nice and slow-"

"-You gonna shoot this thing or get it pregnant?" Ellie yelled.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, trying to mask her amusement. Ellie caught it and decided to keep pushing, "Is that how he fucking does it?"

It was Joel's turn to laugh as he watched Y/N's entire face turn a bright shade of red.

"Leave her alone," he finally said, still laughing.

"Alright." Ellie sighed, "But this isn't gonna work. It doesn't aim right."

Gunshot.

Perfect shot.

"You. Dick."

Y/N smiled again despite her red cheeks, happy to be with her little family.

She placed her hands on Joel's shoulders and leaned over him, giving him the lightest peck on the cheek. 

And he couldn't help but smile, too.

…

"So, I've been thinking," Joel mentioned as they rode through the university, "I don't want a sheep ranch, actually. I mean… if the deal is that I can do anything?"

"Yeah," Ellie said, "That's the deal."

"Well, when I was a kid, I wanted to be a singer."

Ellie began to laugh.

He turned to her on his horse, "Why is that funny?"

She straightened up on her own, "Well, you gotta sing something now."

"No."

"Oh, Ellie," Y/N smiled, "I've heard him. It's actually pretty decent."

"Really?"

Joel looked over his shoulder at the woman, "Respectfully, sweet girl, shut the hell up. Quit telling the kid stuff."

She laughed loudly, almost falling off of the horse.

…

As they rode through the university in search for the fireflies, they found it to be abandoned. 

Each guard station left deserted.

Finally, they tied their horses to trees and decided to take a bit on foot.

He helped Y/N down carefully, "You got your gun?"

She nodded in a worried manner.

They wandered through one of the buildings before hearing a noise.

Joel barely peaked out of the window to see four men wandering outside in search for something.

"Out the back."

The ran as quickly and as quietly as they could towards their horses. But due to their place out in the open, Joel knew they'd have to make a run for it.

"Ready?"

The girls nodded.

He led them out to the horses and began to throw their bags onto the them. But he was distracted. 

"JOEL!"

He ducked in time to miss the swing of a baseball bat from one of the men. The bat broke as it hit the tree behind him.

Joel grabbed the man and head butted him harshly before putting him into a chokehold.

The sound of his neck snapping was unmistakable.

Joel dropped the body and turned to the girls to check on them.

Y/N let out a soft breath and put her hands on his chest, "You alright?"

He nodded, letting his fingers go to her hair, "Yeah… yeah?"

"Y/N…" Ellie said quietly.

She turned to look at Ellie and saw the girl's concerned gaze at Joel.

Y/N turned back to Joel and followed his gaze too.

The broken bat handle was protruding from Joel's stomach.

"Oh, fuck…"

Y/N was frozen as she looked back up to his face.

He grunted and took a hold of the handle, pulling it out with a yelp.

"Joel.. get on the horse," Ellie reprimanded. 

Y/N saw the other three men approaching at a run, and it spurred her into action. 

"Get him on the horse, Ellie!" She yelled.

One they got him on, Y/N pushed Ellie onto her own before getting on Joel's and riding off in the nick of time.

…

While Joel steered the horse, Y/N was holding her hands to the wound from behind. 

She was grateful that his body was blocking the sight of his blood on her hands.

"I think we're good," Ellie finally sighed. "Joel.."

Y/N gently pushed against the man, wishing she could see his face, "Joel…?"

His pale body fell from the horse.

Y/N jumped down, as did Ellie.

They kneeled on either side of him.

Only then did Y/N see the bright red on her hands. 

The way it colored the white snow around them.

"I can't…" she cried, "I can't do this, Ellie…"

"Fuck!" Ellie yelled as she tried to wake Joel. "Y/N, c'mon. You gotta help."

"I can't, Ellie. I'm not strong enough…."

"Please," Ellie pleaded, "I need you."

Her words immediately struck something in Y/N because she began to move back to Joel with determination. 

She couldn't let her only family fall like this.

.........................................................

Tags: @lover-of-books-and-tea, @pedropascalfan221, @lottieellz101, @bambisweethearts, @hiroikegawa, @elliaze, @littleshadow17, @n7cje

[fandomfluffandfuck]

as someone obsessed with pussy steve, it drives me insane because i was doing my final exam today and all i was thinking about is "am i going to read the same pussy steve blog of S? yeah tf i am" and im here requesting from u some more pussy steve bc goddamn thats my obsessionnnnn. plus it's my first time asking u to write anything (i dont do shit but read things here and trying not fail school at the same time)

related to this pussy Steve ask

also... we're channeling this vibe shamelessly as we continue on from that last post, still set during WWII

Good job with your finals!! Let's dive in 👀

Steve can't fucking take it anymore, groaning as he flops back onto the squeaky, lumpy mattress that's supposed to be his bed. They've been holed up in this goddamn remote rubble city for what feels like years after clearing the town of HYDRA and Nazi agents with no action to burn off his excessive energy. The once standing city has long since been evacuated because of the air raids. The bombs have flattened almost half of it, shaking the other half immensely, but without orders to go elsewhere, the Howling Commandos are lying low, trying to plan their next move on their own. It feels like a waste just to march all the way back to camp but they don't have any other leads. Not yet.

And the Howlies have scavenged the area already, gathering any remaining, surviving food that isn't their shit MREs, plus having made sure no civilians were left behind before sitting down to talk and plan.

And talk and plan and talk and plan.

Steve can only strategize for so long, he can only play card games for so long, he can only draw on scraps of paper for so long; the serum has left him even more hot blooded than he was with all this vivacity he couldn't've dreamed of before, as thin and sickly as he was. So it's a fucking problem. Sitting still.

Waiting.

They should be doing something. Seeing action. Doing good. This is war. It feels so bizarre to sit between what they have just seen and what they're going to see. Bad things.

So, yeah, Steve is having a hard time unhelped by the fact that they're stuck in the one reliable structure that happens to be a small inn with thin walls. It's a blessing to have their own rooms and real beds, just enough rooms that they only have to pair up rather than sleeping in a dog pile together, but they might as well be together with these paper walls. Thus, Steve is being extra careful as he attempts to burn off some steam, alone while the others do... whatever... out in the main room (maybe a game of poker?) by stuffing the undershirt he's been wearing beneath his red white and blue uniform into his mouth.

The shirt tastes of salt and musk, balled up and packed between his teeth, filling his mouth, keeping his jaw open. Keeping the sounds he wants to make down. Most of the sounds. He can't help the sounds his body makes that don't come out of his mouth... wet, slick squelching sounds from between his legs, his fingers plunging deep into himself as if he's trying to get to his heart. In the scenario where he wanted to get off and be done with it, he'd be making tight, hard circles around his clit, pressing down against it hard, impatient and rough with himself, making himself a little raw with it but a lot sensitive--but that's not what he wants right now. He wants to burn through energy now. So, he has two fingers crooked inside his pussy, plunging them in and drawing them out slow enough that it makes him crazy. It's enough to feel good, so, so good, but not enough to get him off.

Steve's not wearing his uniform without the undershirt while he fingers himself. Well, he's not wearing it in full. He's kept his pants and boots on in case they need to get up and go, but... his pants are gaping open.

He's undone the long zip and aaall the latching buttons, ripping the taps as wide apart as he can get them without just taking his pants off. His hand shoved beneath both layers--pants and underwear.

His boxers are ruined. Wet. Soaked.

Registering just how sticky and wet he is, pulling his fingers out of his cunt to trace his puffy, swollen slit, he plays with his own wetness. He's dripping. He doesn't touch his aching clit directly, but he does put pressure on the legs of it, tracing the v down his vulva, spreading his legs wider, just a tiny bit, so his lips are out of the way as much as they can be, exposing himself, touching himself, and--

Choking on a whimper as electric pleasure shoots through him.

That's the closest he's let himself get to touching his clit in, in... however long it's been? An hour? Two? Ten minutes?

Steve doesn't let it last. Instead, blearily, he presses his middle and ring fingers back into himself. Back into the scorching, melted heat of his body. His foot kicks out, restless, needing something to do with the thick lust building inside him. Groaning softly through his shirt, Steve arches his neck, lifting his head off the bed just enough to let it come crashing back down heavily, giving his sweat-soaked blonde hair an impressively ruffled style.

As thoughts as he feels--his coherency consumed by pleasure--Steve suddenly flushes, wondering if Bucky will be able to smell it on him when he's done (if he doesn't already know what he's locked himself into their room to do). Once he's worn himself out, cumming on his own fingers after too much build up to be comfortable, leaving himself hurting with too much tension and desire, will Bucky know? Steve will button and zip up his pants and put his shirt back on and waltz back out there, but will it all be only for Bucky to corner him away from the other guys and maybe tip his chin up, fingers on his jaw, eye-to-eye, give him those dark eyes that say, I know what you did, maybe Bucky will kiss his neck and murmur to him hotly, or maybe he'll bend him over, their clothes still on, his cock a hot, thick line in his trousers, pressed against his slit, sweet talking him with his players voice, saying filthy things about how he can smell it on him like he's a bitch in heat with the most syrupy tone, crooning so Steve will get stickier, wetter, and gooey-er. Melted in the center like some kind of oozing, chocolate dessert. Hot and ready to be devoured.

Bitten.

Licked.

Swallowed.

Steve is thinking about his best guy's cock and he's thinking about his mouth, too, now. He's thinking about those sweet talking, wicked lips. He's thinking about his immaculately styled head of hair between his thighs, going to town. Not an ounce of reservation in the way he dives into him, in how he licks, how he slurps, how he fucks.

Jesus Christ.

Steve's jaw works around his balled up shirt, clenching. His throat contracts as he swallows thickly, praying that he doesn't wail like he wants to. The sound is in his chest, rattling around, building into this aching pressure. He can't fit anymore arousal inside himself. He's gonna burst.

Then, when he's weak and he just can't fucking stop himself, Bucky on his mind like always, Steve curls his fingers just enough to catch the raised spot inside him, spongy and sensitive. So fucking sensitive. His sweet spot that causes his hips to involuntarily buck up, searching for more, needing more. If he weren't gagged, he'd be moaning for it.

Moaning Bucky's name.

Bucky's on his mind already, so, of course, he wants Bucky on his tongue, too. Worse, he wants Bucky inside him. He wants him so bad that he's fucking aching, clenching around his fingers, hips squirming, toes curling, panting. He wants Bucky's cock in him so bad, slamming home so he's leaking around it, wetting his balls and smearing all over both of their thighs. He's a slippery mess.

He wants Bucky so bad that he has to stop thrusting his fingers in and out of his tight cunt to work a third finger into himself, chasing the girth of his dick. He can't get as deep as Bucky does, and it's just not the same to the point that, that--

Steve garbles out something of a sob. His eyes sting with tears. His head is so hot with frustration. Hazy and smoking. He can't think. He can't keep his rhythm. He's shaking.

Fuck.

When he pulls out to add another fingertip--stretching before he eases the entire length of his own finger in--he realizes he can smell himself. Already, he could smell himself wafting up from his unwashed shirt, sweaty, but now he can smell the hot, briny musk of his own arousal, carried on the sex-thick air of the quaint inn room. Humid and heavy.

He can smell himself. Sweat, musk, and leaking slick. It's an unmistable scent that turns Steve on more than it should, considering it's his own smell, twisting up in his gut and making him feel tighter, tenser, hotter. He can taste himself. Sweat, musk, and dirty, unwashed cotton coating his tongue, dripping down his throat, joining the lust already pooled low in his belly. He can hear himself. Slick, squelching, and lewd with his fingers curling inside himself. Muffled and drowning with sounds dying in the back of his throat before they have the chance to come out of his mouth. The soft snuffling, shuffling sounds of his pants folding and brushing against the bed sheets, fabric rustling and creaking as his thighs spread instinctively until the the seams groan. Every sound is another piece of wood added to the fire, burning hotter until it crackles and pops with the explosions of hot sap. Steve is feasting on these sensations as much as he's feasting on the slick, velvet feeling of the inside of his own pussy. He can touch himself. Smooth, wet inner walls that cling so tightly to his own fingers. If he could lift his head, the weight of his empty skull, so weakened, he could see himself, too--his hand moving in his pants, the veins running over his muscled forearms bulging with the effort of working his fingers so much.

God, he wants more in him.

His fingers work faster, curling a little harder, plunging deeper until he's erupting with another garbled cry.

He wants Bucky's cock in his pussy, throbbing with the pound of his best guy's heart, at the same time that he wants Bucky's thumb to sneak down between where their sweaty bodies collide with every frantic thrust, slicking the digit up with Steve's overpouring wetness until he reaches back, traces the sensitive, pink flesh between his legs to get to his asshole and pops it inside him, too, giving him something extra. Extra stuffing, his thumb in his ass, pressing back against his pussy. The thin wall between his holes. Giving him something more to clench down on while he wails, crashing over the edge as Bucky grinds so deep he can taste it, choke on it, so deep that his pelvis rubs on Steve's swollen clit and makes it impossible not to cum.

Guh.

Steve is drooling, soaking into his own shirt, thinking about Bucky.

Drowning in pleasure from his own hand.

Steve is rocking up into his hand, his hips with a mind of their own, or, rather, mindless in the pursuit of pleasure, instinctively rutting, humping, rolling, and just going. He's trying to swallow moans and gasps to varying degrees of success. He knows not all of them stay down in his tight, heaving chest, but he doesn't know how loud his noises are, his heartbeat is too loud in his ears.

Regardless of his noises, he keeps chasing his pleasure, his clit swollen and peaking out as much as it can from it's hood--leaving it vulnerable and draaagging just lightly against the heel of his hand. It's agonizing. With every feathered drag of his sensitive clit against his hand, it's making his sounds grow worse. He will be wailing soon no matter what he does. No matter how much he tries to keep it down.

It aches.

It hurts.

It feels sofuckinggood.

His jaw is working so hard that it feels like his teeth will rip into his shirt soon. Gah. Oh, ah, yeahh--

The temperature keeps going up and up in and all around Steve, fever hot, when the door swings open.

Steve is so tightly wound that he can't freeze. There is no way to stop the forest fire within him. It's going to have to come to its own conclusion when it has burned through everything he has, only ash left. Nothing can put him out.

So it's a damn good thing that it's Bucky that walks through the open door, hurriedly slamming it behind him when his eyes land on Steve's debauched, twitching form on the bed they've been sharing. A cold rush of air comes in with him, leaving all the hair on Steve's body to stand on end in salute. He quivers harder.

Bucky wastes no time. He is deadly, vicious in his pursuit--the sound of the door slamming hits Steve's ears, delayed with his mushy brain, and then Bucky is immediately on him like a predator pouncing.

His body is heavy on top of him, pinning him with the drag of his uniform against Steve's sensitive, sweat-glistening skin.

Real.

He's so real that it's visceral. It's not just Steve's heated, out-of-control fantasies as he approaches his orgasm without breaks.

Bucky cages him in with his body, one of his hands planted by Steve's head, steadying himself, while his other hand grabs ahold of Steve's forearm to rip his hand out of his pants.

Steve does wail then, through his makeshift gag.

The look on Bucky's face is evil, mocking him playfully, asking, oh, really, is that how it is?

After all these years, they read each other like open books. Steve knows he knows how turned on he is, and it's devastating. Bucky probably knows just based on how much he's blushing and how he can't keep his eyes open, how long he's been going at it for. He knows how much it aches to be untouched when he gets like this. Especially now. Post-serum. It's all he can think about. He can feel his heartbeat pounding in his pussy. He's hot and swollen and so wet that it brings stinging tears to his eyes. God.

He's so fucking needy.

He needs Bucky. He needs--

Bucky sticks both of Steve's hands above his head, crossed at the wrist, and uses one of his own to pin them there. Steve could easily break away any time, but now. He's so worn down. He's weak. His brain has gone out of his head, and all of his super-strength has drained from his body out of his weeping cunt. He's depleted. He can do nothing by lay there, helpless and vulnerable, as Bucky shoves and pushes and shimmies his pants and underwear down. He barely gets them halfway down his thighs before he stops, and because of it, Steve sucks in a sharp breath through his balled up shirt. The air of the room is shocking against his soaked, sticky center.

Guh.

GUH!

Steve makes a fucking stupid sound when Bucky quits messing with his tangled up pants to instead mess with his pussy. He slips one, then two, then three inside him. Fast. A predator tearing through prey, no time to think, just do. His shit eating grin tells Steve that he's impressed with how sloppy he's gotten himself, and he wants to cry in embarrassment but also pride.

With three fingers inside him, Bucky curls them and grinds them deeper, deeper, curls, deep, curl, deep--

Steve's head is spinning. He doesn't even know what Bucky is doing to him. It just, it, it, ohgod, his eyes roll back so far, so hard it hurts, it feels so good. It's wrecking him. Whatever he's doing to him. Maybe it's Bucky's reckless thirst for him. Maybe it's the serum burning like venom in his veins. Maybe it's both of them mixing together into one harsh cocktail, so intoxicating it immediately makes him drunk.

The things Bucky is doing to his body make Steve want to shriek in pleasure. He's letting go of his wrists but it's not like Steve can move anyway and it's for good reason that he's not pinning him anymore because instead he's pressing down on his belly with that hand as he curls his fingers more, more, more, curling them towards himself hard, pressing so hard on that spot inside him that Steve doesn't even, he's not even sure he can comprehend the pleasure cutting through him, it's so much pressure building up inside him, taking more space than he realized he had even inside this bigger, stronger body, he can't, he's not strong enough, he--

Steve gasps and squirms, not understanding, wanting to babble, oh, oh, Bucky, what-I, I'm-! Wait! What is that feeling? Why does it feel like that? Wh--he can't, though, he can't say anything, his mouth stuffed.

He screams behind his teeth and--

Steve fucking whites out.

He's there one minute and then he's gone in a flash. Too much pleasure. Too much pressure. Too good. He's half convinced, totally out of his mind, that he's exploded or, or...

Oh.

As Steve returns to himself in bits and pieces, still shattered in the aftermath, he's almost sure he's lost so much control of himself that he's pissed himself. He's so fucking wet. Soaked down his thighs and down Bucky's wrist. If he has pissed himself, then he's given everything up to Bucky, his body entirely his lover's, every part of it, but then.

JesusfuckingChrist.

Then, Bucky's voice breaks through the ringing in his ears, and he's softly, quietly purring to him, mindful of their thin walls in a way Steve has not been while being stripped down to the bone in exhausting, overwhelming pleasure. Bucky's voice is all low and hot, too turned on as he works Steve through it, touching him much softer, nicer, lighter while he tells him how fucking hot that was, watching him, feeling him squirt around his fingers. And, holy shit, he's gonna make him do that on his dick. He will.

It's a promise.

Now that he knows he can make Steve squirt, he's gonna do it all. the. fucking. time.

Steve whines through his gag, his body trembling hard with his fading fever. Oh. It hits like a sledgehammer to the back of his head. He's going to die. Bucky is gonna kill him, making him squirt, making him writhe, making him want to crawl out of his own body, giving him too much gutteral, visceral pleasure.

Bonus:

I've had a draft sitting here on Tumblr for a while that simply says:

Lil pussy Steve domming big, beefy Bucky. Steve's wearing a pair of panties to a party, getting them messy in a closet or bathroom or... both... where Bucky fingers him until he cums, then, once they've finished and Steve is desperately wet, he makes Bucky put swap underwear with him. Bucky obeys because of course he's done--he's big and he falls hard. Steve's wet, dirty panties, though, they're much too tight and remind him for the next few hours (hours that Steve, the introvert, suspiciously makes them stick around the party for) exactly of what they did. How he made his dom squirt and make these panties wet and smell musky and hot like his pussy does. Ruin them. Ruining the panties, ruining Bucky.

Plus, the whole rest of the party, Bucky has to live with the fact that Steve doesn't have any underwear on because rather than put Bucky's boxers on, he shoved them into his pocket where he could take them out at any time. Fuck, they could fall out at any moment! Bucky can't focus on a single fucking conversation.

And it's not until they get home that Bucky gets to cum.

When they're finally, finally home, Steve pushes Bucky down onto the floor, mounts his lap, and grinds into his hard, hard cock bursting out of his teeny-tiny, too-tight panties. The underwear is so little and delicate, all wet lace, that Bucky nearly ripped them putting on his bigger body. Demanding him to cum and ruin them further, one of Steve's thin, bony hands constricts around his throat.

Oh, yeah, he owns this big, subby mess of a man.

So... do with that what you will 😏

[miraclemaya]

Fairy Quest

You have lived a rather lonely existence for the twenty years you have been alive. Without the company of friends or colleagues, you often spend your time in deep contemplation on a variety of topics. Today, your mother has asked you to leave the house and get some groceries from the grocery store. 

You decide to walk. The grocery store is far, but not so far that it is impossible to reach it by foot. The only problem is that the quickest route is through The Woods. You enjoy walking through The Woods, but it does evoke feelings of fear and discontent in you often. 

As you walk, the environment around you slowly shifts from the illusion of stability and control that the suburbs provide to the chaotic realm that is nature. The walk is nice, the cold morning air providing you a clarity of mind you often lack. Things feel as though they have an extra quality of truth in the morning air. 

This quality of truth is perhaps why you are not surprised to see a fairy lazily float its way towards you. 

“Hello.” The fairy says, waving a hand towards you. 

“Hello.” You reply, warnings of the dangers of the fey coming to your mind. 

“I don't have a name for you to steal. Sorry.” You add, hastily. 

There is a beat of silence, and you try your hardness to stop the tears from coming. 

“You don’t have a name? That's… well, that’s rather bizarre.” The fairy does not seem to believe you, and looks at you as if you're insane. 

“I gave it to another fairy.” You explain, embarrassed. 

“You…. How are you walking about freely? Surely you would be in that fairy’s thrall.” The fairy crosses its arms. 

You take a moment to decide whether it would be polite or not to talk about such a thing. Unfortunately for you, you don't really understand what it means to be polite. No one actually told you. 

“Well, she took my name after I offered it because she was sad. She was going to take me too, but….” You hesitate for a moment, but the fairy nods its head as if to say, go on. 

“I orgasmed the moment she touched me, and she was grossed out by that, so she left me there.”

The fairy floats a few inches further away from you, and you feel a rift of burning void open up in your chest. You ignore it because you are trying to have a conversation. 

“That's… That's kind of pathetic.” The fairy pulls a face which you are given to believe means it's disgusted by you. 

“Ah, she said the same thing.” You inform the fairy, voice approaching a sing-song tone.

“Do… are you like… okay?”

The question puzzles you. You are obviously okay, though you aren't quite sure what okay is. No one actually told you, after all. 

“I'm okay. I have to buy groceries.” You nod your head. That's right, you need to buy groceries. 

“I'll, uh, lead you out of here.” The words come out slowly, but the fairy gestures for you to follow it. 

“Ah, thank you, that's really kind.” You reach out to shake its hand before realizing that it is both too small and too disgusted by you to want to reciprocate such a gesture. You aren't sure what you are supposed to do in this situation, so you stand there for a moment, thinking really hard. 

“Are you coming?” The fairy sounds tired. You hope it feels better later.

“Oh, sorry.” You follow the fairy and soon enough you are in the grocery store. 

“Thank you again.” You give the fairy a thumbs up, which it doesn't seem to appreciate. 

“Just. Just grab what you need.”

You nod your head and go inside the store. 

It takes you twenty minutes to find what you need. 

First, whole wheat bread, thinly sliced. Second, four tomatoes. You spend three minutes making sure you pick the best tomatoes available. Third, tomato paste. Fourth, chicken breast. You remember hearing about how if the plastic is pushed up, that means the chicken has started to decompose. You spend some time pressing your hand to the chicken breast containers to see which one is the flattest. Fifth, you buy some oranges. 

You get into line, and soon enough you are standing in front of the cashier. You reach for your wallet and then freeze. 

You forgot to bring your wallet. 

You put away all the objects you have gathered and leave the store. The fairy is still there, but you don’t pay attention as you walk back home. It seems annoyed with you. 

When you get back home, your mom yells at you when she sees you don't have the groceries. Your mouth refuses to move, so instead you walk upstairs and go to your room. Your wallet is sitting on your desk, in perfect view. You grab it and leave the house. 

The fairy is still there, which surprises you. You were sure it was going to leave. In the absence of words, you show it your wallet. 

“You forgot to bring money? I could have just spotted you the money, you know.”

This is news to you! You were not aware that fairies carried currency. You want to question it further, but unfortunately your voice has seemed to have left you.

You get back to the grocery store again, this time at a much faster pace. Thankfully, no one has looted your hard chosen items, and soon enough you are standing outside the store, having paid for everything you needed. 

“Thank you.” You finally manage. 

The fairy nods slowly, and leads you back home. It waves at you, and you wave back and then go back inside. 

QUEST COMPLETE

[xxblairexxss]

Hunt Game (Charles Leclerc x reader) (p.3)

Series contain stalking, harrasment, sexual violence.

Word count : 5.5k

Masterlist

The first encounter.

Chapter 3

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You had never gone this long without going out of the house. You couldn’t even look out the window when you loved spending time on the balcony. Ever since you got the text messages, you have been living in constant fear. Fear of being watched, being stared at, being followed—but for some reason, you didn’t really want to tell Charles because it could be some kind of sick joke because, whether you liked it or not, your life wasn’t as public as you wanted it to be now that you had become Charles’ fiancée.

Charles, on the other hand, knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know how to bring it up without you shutting him off over and over.

"Hey, Charles! What’s up?" 

So, he opted to reach out to Lizzy and Martha because if you didn’t tell him anything, you would have told either of them. "Hey, Lizzy. I hope I’m not disturbing you?”

"No, not at all. Did you have a fight with Y/N?” It was unusual because she knew Charles and you would never get into a big fight. Lizzy would have described the relationship as all glitter and sparkles, as cliche as it sounded, because she knew both of you were just made for each other. There were a few silly arguments that you had told her, but never one that went so bad that it needed a third person to settle it down.

"No. I just wanted to ask if Y/N has ever told you anything recently. Anything odd?" He brought the phone away, being extra vigilant about every sound since he didn’t want you to find out about the call.

"No? As far as I remember, there wasn’t anything bizarre. Did something happen?"

"I’ll call you back. Thank you, Lizzy.” The call ended right away when he saw you walk out of the room all the way to him for a hug. "Hi, baby."

"Who are you talking to? You had heard him talking on the phone, but the call happened to end right when you were about to bother him, so you couldn’t catch what the conversation was about.

Charles rested his chin on the crown of your head, hands stroking on your back. "It was no one, baby. Do you want to go on a walk around town?"

"No, thank you. I just want to stay at home.”

"You don’t want to keep me accompany? I’m all alone." He smiled, seeing the way the ends of your lips lifted up as you touched his cheek. "What if someone hits on me?"

"Well, I’m sure my fiancé is a very loyal guy.”Charles didn’t say anything, but you knew that looked very well. It was the same look he had when he caught you trying to hide your plan to celebrate his birthday. The look that told you he knew you were keeping something from him. "It’s nothing, love. I just don’t feel like going out."

"Sure, then."

He was vexed; you saw it from the way he clenched his teeth, but Charles, being Charles, would never push you to talk if you didn’t want to. You felt bad because it felt like he was beating himself for not being able to do anything. He was ignoring you on his way out after grabbing his stuff, and you tugged on his sleeve when he was about to turn the door knob. "Can you wait for me while I go change?"

"You don’t have to join me if you don’t want, baby. It’s fine."

"No, wait for me. I’ll be quick. 5 minutes!" You left his side and quickly changed into proper clothes, at least without your Disney Princess-printed pyjamas.

Charles pinched on your cheek as you walked out in your matching pair of sweatshirts in brown, looking much more put-together. "I like you more in your mismatched socks."

"Shut up!" He laughed as you punched him in the chest. "Everyone’s going to make fun of me if I come out looking like that."

"No one’s going to look at you except me, baby. He followed behind, locking the door on his way out. "And so what if you come out looking like that? People are free to wear whatever they want.”

"Okay, sir. Don’t think too deeply about this.” You chuckled, seeing the way he was so serious about it as both of you walked past the emergency door. Charles felt the way you grabbed his hand, clutching it so tight, but didn’t say anything.

Your grasp on him stayed throughout the time, and he just thought it made you look much more adorable clinging to him the whole time. Contradictory to the last time you walked on your own, you had a very fun, chill time with him. He kept on pulling a joke, poking fun, and it erased all those scary incidents you had a few days ago.

"Baby, what do you call a small mother?” He was already in a fit of laughter before you could come up with an answer.

"Stop laughing! I’m trying to think!” He was stumbling and still laughing, which cracked you up as well. "I don’t know. What is it?"

"A minimum." He was expecting you to throw your head back, but you were too stunned to even react. "What? It’s funny!"

"You are so lame! How is that funny?” He looked offended which made you felt bad for not giving him the reaction he was anticipating, but you ended up laughing as he looked so cute, pretending to be hurt from being called dull.

"It’s funny, okay? It’s my kind of joke."

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"Baby, wanna join me?"

"No." You stuck out your tongue, and he tugged on your hand, pulling you back towards his body, where he had nothing but a short pant with a towel draped along his broad shoulders. "They are interviewing Margot Robbie in 1 minute! I need to catch it live."

"Are you seriously choosing that over taking a shower with me?"

"Yes! Let go! I can’t miss it.” He rolled his eyes and smiled at the way you ran out to the living room, hurriedly turned on the television and folded your legs, feeling giddy from the intro alone.

10 minutes into the interview, your phone wouldn’t stop ringing. The text tones rang within every second, pulling your attention away. Lizzy must be getting into another fight with his boyfriend again because the only time your phone would go off this bad was when she got her boyfriend forgot to close the toilet lid or Martha complained about her life as a mom.

Your blood ran cold. It was a picture of you and Charles walking out of your apartment. He was there. He was actually there, but you were too abstracted and unaware of your surroundings whenever you were with Charles. Deciding to ignore the text again, you put the phone away and try to take your mind off it when the text tones turned into an upcoming call. The number on the screen was the same one as the one who had been texting you this whole time. It rang, your phone vibrated for a minute, and it turned back to a black screen. Then it rang again and again, this time without any gap in between each call. You eventually picked it up, hoping it would stop, but you regretted it almost immediately.

"Stop calling me!"

The other end of the line was silence. You would have expected them to go off judging on how urgent the phone calls came in, but all you heard was the sound of someone breathing.

"……."

"Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"……"

"Please stop calling me."

"I miss you.” They spoke in a low voice, sending chills running up and down your spine. You were about to end the call when they started to sob. "I can’t go on a day without seeing you. Please open the door."

Then came a knock. It wasn’t a loud one full of urgency. It was a soft, gentle one, but eventually turned into an aggressive one; the door handles moved up and down in a forceful way, making you tremble as you stepped away.

"Open the fucking door, Y/N.” They whispered and you heard them started laughing through the call, and the knocking stopped.

When Charles walked to the living room, he saw you leaning against the wall. He heard the sound of something dropped hard from the living room which he assumed was the sound from your phone which was facing down on the floor as he saw you in the state. His brows knitted when you came running and threw yourself against him, making him stumble back before hugging you back. "I’m scared. Please tell them to stop. You need to help me, honey.”

"Woah, slow down, baby.” He cradled your head against his chest while trying to catch you blathering against him shirt. "What’s going on?"

"Someone —" The knock on the door came again, and it made you shudder with horror. Charles was quick on his step to open it, but you pulled him back, shaking your head persistently. "Don’t open the door."

"Why?" The knock came again.

"No, please, don’t open the door.” Charles looked back as the sound of knocking came again. "Please, please, don’t open it!"

"Okay, okay! I won’t."

"I don’t feel safe.” You muttered. For once, the home you had been living in for years—the home that had been the witness to the growth of your relationship with Charles—became frigid, cold, and unfriendly. "I don’t feel safe, Charles."

"Baby—" 

"I don’t know what they want." You felt tears well up in your eyes as Charles cupped on your cheeks.

"Who are you talking about? 

"I don’t know.” Your words became a mumble when you clung on to him, too tired to talk about it even more. It was tiring because you badly needed him to make it stop. You knew he would be someone who could put it to an end, but how would you be able to get him to help you when you didn’t even know where to start? You were only able to say, "I don’t know," because that was all you knew. How do you explain to him that you had been living with a constant feeling of being watched, and it all happened all of a sudden? You were doing fine, living in your colourful bubble of life last week, and then it all went down the graph without notice.

It was exasperating as well, because you didn’t even know what they wanted. whether it was something serious or if it was all just a sick prank. You did get a number of messages from Charles’ followers at one point in your life where they said some nasty stuff, but it eventually stopped without you having to tell your fiancé about it. It made you think that maybe this could be one of them as well,

that maybe it will stop.

So the calls and messages remained as your surreptitious secret.

Charles wanted to push further because none of the words you said made sense. He had never seen anyone. He didn’t know why you went frantic over a knock when it wasn’t anything new. The delivery man would always leave a knock or two to confirm that they left the packages in front of the door because pressing a bell would cause too much fuss, especially if there were plenty of packages being delivered at different times.

Later on the day, when you were trying to distract your mind by working on a puzzle piece in the room, he went to get your phone that was left and forgotten. He didn’t turn it on, though you wouldn’t mind it. Just like how you were free to check on his phone. He didn’t feel the need to check on it at the moment, so he put it aside. He even went to open the main door, and just as he expected, there were plenty of packages placed outside, meaning the knock from earlier had to be from the delivery man.

Were you losing it? What was going on? But he didn’t tell you. He didn’t say anything about the knock or the packages because, though he hadn’t seen anything absurd, he knew something was bothering you.

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It felt like breathing fresh air from your hotel room.

You badly needed this change of scenery. While Charles needed to be in the paddock early in the morning, you chose to stay behind and spend some time alone. Just like any other race week, you would bring your journal book and go to a random cafe that Google suggested. It wasn’t anything new, and Charles knew that too.

He perceived it probably had something to do with you being in a different country, but he was glad that you were still sticking to what you loved to do, even after what happened last week. Not saying that it all had ended, though he wished it had, but at least you weren’t being anxious all the time.

"Have you brought your sticker set? 

You chuckled. "No, I don’t need them. I just wanted to write on the page, so I only need,” You picked up a few pens and highlighters from the table. "this!"

"Why not?" Charles put on his watch and walked towards you, hands placed on your waist.

"Because I feel like writing today.” His lips on your shoulder lines made you giggle.

"Call me if something happens, alright? Spam me with pictures and texts." He left more trails of kisses on your neck, making you laugh on purpose, as that was all he needed to hear before he left.

"I know! Go now or you’ll be late, honey.” You whined, pushing him towards the door. He should have been at the paddock by now but still taking his sweet little time. You could never get how he never felt anxious about being late.

"If I don’t pick up your call, then just —“

"Call Joris. I know! Good luck, honey!” You tiptoed and pecked his cheek before shooing him off. He would spend another 10 minutes lecturing and reminding you about the same thing over and over if you didn’t stop him.

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"Here’s your double chocolate macadamia cookie."

You had been sitting at the cafe nearby your hotel, updating your journal and trying to draw a few random things you could think of when the waiter placed a plate of cookies on your table, one that you didn’t order. "Oh? I think you got the wrong table because —"

"I don’t think so. Someone paid and asked us to give it to you. Enjoy!"

You had been staring at the cookies since the minute the waiter walked away. Anything with macadamia had always been your favourite, but you weren’t sure if you should just take what was given to you. Even if it was given for free.

"That looks good.” You looked up from your table and saw a guy dressed up in a black jacket. He casually took the empty seat by your side and placed his sling bag on his side. The way he acted so relax made it seem as if you had made a plan to meet up with him beforehand. You were taken aback, and it was very obvious from your expression because he cocked his brow, waiting for you to say something.

“I—um," You kept on looking at his seat while trying to figure out the most acceptable words without coming off rude, but it seemed like he had gotten the idea off from your expression.

"Oh, is this seat taken? I’m not going to be long. You write?"

He looked at your journal, and you realised his iris moved and trailed the lines of words you had written, as if he was reading it so you subtly moved your hand across the page before closing it. No one has ever read anything in it except for Charles, and you certainly didn’t feel comfortable having a random stranger invaded not only your space but your privacy.

He realised you weren’t comfortable because, just like your fiancé, he had actually analysed your body movement for weeks, but it was his first time seeing you up close without the paddock barrier.

and without Charles.

"I write too.” He bent down and took out a green notebook with a striped marker pen, placing it on the table. "I thought you liked macadamia; why don’t you eat this?” He lightly pushed the plate of cookies and you looked away, feeling painfully unbearable from his way of approach.

You didn’t reply, and you hoped he would leave you alone, but he stayed, eyes glued on you, as if he wanted you to know he was looking at you and wasn’t gonna back down though you had been ignoring him. You saw he tried to come up with another topic as he straightened his back, but before he could say anything, your phone rang.

"Hi, baby. Where are you?” Charles’ voice came on the other line.

"I am at a cafe near the hotel.” Your voice almost came out as a whisper.

"I got a few hours of break before P2. You want me to come pick you up?"

You wanted to stay longer, but not when there was a stranger who happened to sit at your table, staring at you with his fist clenched, as if he were ready to throw a punch at someone, so you said yes, though you didn’t actually want to bug him.

"Are you leaving?” He asked when you took your pens, which were scattered on the table. "Stay with me."

"Leave me alone!" You winced when he suddenly grabbed on your wrist.

"What is wrong with you?!” He had a wrathful voice, the same one you heard on the phone last week. You should have trusted your gut. Right after he sat by your side, you smelled a very distinctive smell, the same one from the elevator incident, but you tried to play it cool because you might be exaggerating to think that there was only one person in the room with the scent, but it was all connected when he raised his voice as he pulled you back on your seat.

"Let me go, or I’ll scream.” You went back, and he let go right away, but you didn’t miss the disgruntled look. It was the look that made you feel like he was capable of doing something more.

Charles brought you back to the paddock where you stayed in Ferrari’s hospitality, away in a place where no one could come in except if you were part of the invited guests or you worked for the team. You felt much safer in here, wishing for the rest of the week to pass by without any other scary encounters, but little did you know, there were a few pictures taken by someone when the man sat by your side.

Someone he had asked for help and came prepared with a camera.

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Like always, you would always arrive at the paddock with Charles early, as he had a busy day ahead with the media before the actual race. While your fiancé got caught up in his schedules, you had been spending time with Kika at the restaurant. She was Pierre’s girlfriend, and you had met her earlier this year when they both started dating. Though she wasn’t someone whom you would meet at least once a week, both of you would always be together every race week.

"I met a creepy guy last Friday.” You gave in. You wanted to keep it hidden and sealed in your little box and get it buried under the sand until it eventually faded away, but it was hard because until you shared it with someone else, it would keep on lingering in your head.

"Who?!" Kika’s eyes widened.

"I don’t know. I don’t want to assume things, but I felt like he was the same guy who had been following me back in Monaco.” You replied while tracing your fingers on your wrist, recalling the grip he had on you.

"Did Charles know?"

You looked at her perturbed face and bit your lips. That was enough of an answer for her, because she looked at you with incredulity. "I don’t want him to be worried about me."

"You are his fiancée. He’s always going to be worried about you, even when you tell him nothing.”

You heaved a sigh. "It’s okay. It will probably stop soon."

"What if it doesn’t?"

"It will." You reassured her. No, it was more like you tried to remove your own doubts that it would get better soon.

If only you knew what he had planned for you, you wouldn’t actually wait a second to tell Charles about this.

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When the whole catching up session came to an end, you were walking back to Ferrari’s hospitality when someone yanked on your arm and forced you to follow them somewhere secluded. 

The small, narrow area in between the buildings.

"Scream then. I would love to hear you scream my name. Stay still!”

You squirmed in his grip, brows knitted together, trying to perceive his words. You didn’t have to get a clue from his scent now that you recognised his face. His deep brown eyes bore into yours, one that sent chills to your body even if you only caught a glance from it. The deep smile lines that developed around his cheeks when he smiled at you, the kind of smile that made you shiver. The way he looked at you was the same way as a lion salivating over a deer. You felt naked. He traced his tongue across your neck and you felt disgusted. He was so close, glued on your body that you could feel the way his chest rise within every breath he took and he was so, so calm.

Before you could do anything, he pushed you aside and walked away, mixing in with the rest of the strangers.

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"See you in a few hours, baby. Wish me luck?”Charles gave a cheery smile and engulfed you in a hug.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he kissed you on the cheek. You had only seen him for a few minutes when he occasionally dropped by to pay you a visit in between his rests, and you were thankful because it was so short that you weren’t having a hard time trying to hide your shaken state, therefore it wouldn’t distract him from the race that was less than two hours away. "Good luck, honey. Come back to me in one piece. Promise?"

"Promise." He locked his pinky with yours and brushed his lips on your finger before leaving the room. "I love you."

Unknowingly, his phone had received two pictures from an anonymous number as soon as he handed his stuff to Andrea. One that would cost him the race if the text came a minute earlier.

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When the race ended, Charles was required to change into a much more comfortable outfit before the post-race press conference, and that was when he finally checked his phone. As soon as he saw the pictures, he felt paralysed. It was a picture of you with another man, seeming to be holding hands at a cafe, while the second one was a picture of you hugging the man, which seemed to take place before the race as you were wearing the same clothes. There weren’t any other texts that came along. No other clarification. It was just a clean snap and sent.

"Oh? Have you done with the press conference?" You looked up as he walked in, assuming that the scheduled plan ended earlier or it was postponed.

"Would you mind explaining this?" He handed you his phone, and the prominent cheek apple on your face vanished right away.

"Where did you get this?"

"Oh, so that’s much more important? The first thing you could think of was not what happened, not to clarify who the man was, but where I got it from." He was in such utter disbelief that he couldn’t form any other words and just let out a chuckle. "If you need time to come up with an explanation, then I’m giving you time.” He stormed out, leaving you unnerved.

After the press conference, he walked back into his room to take his stuff, and you sat there, feeling invisible because not only did he not say anything to you, he didn’t even spare you a glance.

You were on a call with your parent with no earphones or AirPods in. Though he wasn’t in the camera as he walked in, your mom saw it when you looked up from your iPad, your head moving left and right as if you were looking at someone behind the camera.

"Is Charles back, honey?” She asked.

“N — not yet, mom.” You glanced at him as he put his phone charger into a small bag and a few other things on the table while playing deaf.

"I haven’t talked to him for a while. Is he doing fine?"

"He is doing fine..” He then walked pass your side and left. There was no trace of him in the driver’s room anymore. All there was left was your stuff. Your hair clip, your phone, your jacket, and your handbag. Everything that belongs to you that you have yet to pack.

Since you had lied to your mom that Charles wasn’t finished with the press conference, she went on to talk about a different topic, seemingly to think that you were in no urgency to end the call while you, on the other hand, were so sure that Charles would have been at the hotel already. The only thing that stopped her from continuing her next topic was when you told him you were running out of battery.

"Bye, mom. I’ll get back to you later. Take care of yourself!”

"You too, darling.”

You pressed the end call button and made haste to gather your stuff right away, putting them all in your cute tote bag while your lipstick, lipgloss, and any small makeup products were in your small handbag. You had always been someone who could never do anything in a rush, and Charles was probably resting in the hotel room by now, so you didn’t see any point in chasing the time because you still needed to grab a cab.

That was what you thought until you opened the door and saw Charles standing outside, playing with his phone while he was leaning against the wall. He put his phone away when he saw you in the corner of his eyes and took a step closer to take the stuff you had in your hand.

"I thought you left..." You mumbled.

"I’m upset, but you are still my responsibility. I’m not leaving you here all alone.” Charles replied, yet it felt so distant. It was dry and monotone, which was enough to tell you that he wasn’t done yet with the issue. "Stay here." Just as he thought, you would always leave something behind no matter how many times you checked, so he always had to go into it again, regardless of how bothered he was. And there he saw, your hair clip on the couch and slipped it into his small bag before walking out, leaving you to chase after him.

"Did I leave anything?" 

"No, you didn’t.” He couldn’t help but to grin a little when he saw your slight smile, feeling a little proud that you weren’t being careless this time without his help.

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As if the steaming hot water could wash away those burning feelings on your skin, you spent what felt like hours in the bathroom scrubbing every part of it without realising that it was reddened and irritated until you looked at yourself in the mirror. You felt strong emotions towards resentment then you were afraid of him. It felt like you allowed him to have the upper hand for being too weak, and baulked at yourself for making it worse now that it entangled with your relationship with Charles.

When you were done with the last step of your skincare, you walked out of the bathroom to see that your phone and iPad were all connected to the charger. Charles must have checked them while you were in the shower, though he hasn’t been talking to you.

He was well dressed, standing in front of the mirror, and combed his fingers in between the curls of his hair while you remained seated on the bed, hugging your legs against your body.

"I don’t want to go." You muttered, breaking the cold air in the room.

He remained still, eyes still locked on his reflection, while you waited for his reply, which didn’t come.

You scooted a little further on the bed and tugged yourself under the cover. You didn’t have to look back to know he was already gone to the post-race party when you heard the door close. That was when the tears you had been holding in the whole day came rushing all at once, and you didn’t have to hold back every sob now that you were left alone.

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"Charles!" Pierre arrived at the lobby to see his friend alone, sitting in one of the fancy armchairs, with arms resting on his legs as he played with his phone. "Where’s Y/N?"

"She’s in the room.” Charles’ reply was short and stiff.

"Okay…? I smell a fight.” He replied, joining him. "Was this about the creepy man?"

Charles’ fingers stopped scrolling on his Instagram feed as he looked up at the other guy. "What creepy man are you talking about?"

Pierre’s mouth formed an ‘o’ when he got the slightest idea of what was the issue here just from the question. "She didn’t tell you?"

"She told me nothing, dude. Literally nothing. She probably think I was incapable of helping her.” He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

"Kika told me Y/N felt like someone had been following her. It could be the same guy she encountered back in Monaco.” Pierre grasped his friend’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "I don’t think she’s not telling you had anything to with your incapability. She probably thought it was a right thing to do and wanted to figure it out on her own.”

If Pierre had the ability to see what was in Charles’ mind at the moment, he would have seen those lines from dots to dots of him trying to think of any correlation from what Pierre had told him with the way you were acting last week and the pictures he got from an anonymous number.

It couldn’t be from the same guy, right?

"Oh, there’s Kika. Wanna tag along?” Pierre stood up as his girlfriend joined the group.

"Oh, I’m not going to the party, actually.” Charles gave a smile and shook his head, declining the offer.

"Then what are you even doing here?”

"I’m waiting for my food delivery. Y/N hasn’t eaten anything.” He turned his phone back on and clicked on the food delivery apps to check the estimated time of arrival.

"What?" Pierre stared at his friend in disbelief. "You are waiting for your food delivery looking like that? Like, I get it, you are the Charles Leclerc, but you kind of went overboard. Just join us, dude."

He rolled his eyes and straightened his white shirt. He was indeed dressing up as if he were ready to get drunk, but you only told him you weren’t going at the very last minute, so his actual purpose of leaving the room was to order your favourite food and wait for it to be delivered down at the lobby. "I’m not going if Y/N’s not going. You know that. You two have fun."

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The sound of the door unlocked made you flinch in your bed. Charles walked in with a few paper bags in his hand, and you sat up in surprise, seeing him coming back only after an hour. He took off his watch, placing it back where it was before he left the room. "I thought you were asleep.” He blurted while rolling up his white shirt sleeves up to his elbows.

"You are not going to the party?” Your voice was small, a little quivering as you tried to hide your sobs.

"No.” He saw you wiped the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand, obviously lacking the courage to react or act on your true self in front of him after the disagreement. The tear-stained cheeks looked more obvious now that he sat down in front of you. Though it had only been a few hours since the argument, he felt like he hadn’t seen your beautiful face since forever. You felt his eyes on you as you sat up, giving him a tiny smile that you could master after you patted on your damp cheeks. The smile that gave his heart an ache, making him feel bad for blowing up on you like that. "Come here, baby."

When he pulled you in for a hug, you would have wished you hadn’t put on any skincare that night because another round of hot tears streamed down your face, and you squeezed your eyelids shut in the hope your tears would stop while you clung to him.

"I’m sorry." You wept in his arms, choking up on your tears.

"It’s okay, baby. It’s okay." He ran his arms up and down your back as you cried in his arms for as long as you wanted, until your sobs ultimately subsided. "We are not talking about it tonight, okay? I know you don’t feel like telling me yet. It’s fine. And I don’t need you to cry again because,” He rested his hand on your chin. “your eyes are puffy enough.” He chuckled along with you before standing up to get the paper bags. “Let me show you what I got for dinner.”

You gasped at the huge amount of selection as he bought out one after another. The paper bag didn’t seem heavy as he walked in with it, so you weren’t expecting the table to be full of food. It could feast a group of people. "How did you get this? They don’t do delivery?”

"It wasn’t that hard.” He replied, taking the cutleries from the paper bag and handed a pair of fork and spoon to you. It was actually hard. He called the restaurant and he was denied at first. He had to arrange someone who could drive 40 minutes all the way to the restaurants and prepared a list of order on the side so it would be easier. Not to mention that he had to change the order a few times as some of them were not available. It was a whole workout he had down at the lobby.

Charles’s coming back to the hotel wasn’t in his plan. He had been standing near your room, thinking of a way to get you out of the room without looking suspicious on the surveillance camera, but the driver had to come back and ruin everything for him. It didn’t seem like the pictures he sent were enough to cause a storm in the relationship but that should be fine. He had a lot of things planned.

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @xcinnamongirl @boiohboii @formula1mount @judespoision @alwaysclassyeagle @scenesofobx @mrsmaybank13 @vildetry06

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader | p. 5

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

a/n -> This chapter goes along with the next. As promised, the second part will come out within the hour of this one being posted.

-> <-

September 1982

“I hate boys.”

You let yourself into the Munson household by using the spare key "hidden" underneath the 'Welcome' mat on their front porch. It's become a little habit of yours to barge into their home.

Wayne sits on the couch with the television on far too loud for anyone with a normal hearing range. Unfortunately for him, Eddie has left him nearly deaf with all of that noise coming from his room. It would have been a quiet evening by himself with Eddie out at band practice, but Wayne should know better by now that you'll show up like you live here.

When you plop down next to Wayne, he doesn't hesitate to offer the plate of food he's just dished up for himself. He wrestles with his age to get off the couch, then walks through the kitchen to find a new plate.

“Thanks,” you chew through a dry biscuit. Wayne says he likes the outside crispy, but you’re sure that he will be down to nothing but gums when these rocks break his teeth off soon.

Wayne rounds the kitchen island with a brand new plate of food for himself, and an extra napkin for you to hold under your chin. Although he knows very little about clothes, he can see the shine still on that new blouse of yours. He would hate to see you ruin it with some gravy and a bucket of fried chicken.

Wayne sits down again next to you, “Eddie isn’t here.”

You sniffle over the pile of mashed potatoes, “I know.”

Dressed up like you’ve got somewhere to go and you have no one to take you there, Wayne can make a guess of why you might be here.

“What happened?” Wayne nudges you.

You’ve got on the nicest pair of pants you own with a bright blue top and a pair of kitten heels. You’ve taken your mother’s jewelry, which Wayne is sure she’s not pleased about.

“Isn’t that your mom’s necklace?” Wayne asks dumbly.

You cross your arms. “Rodney ditched me.”

“Who?”

Kids these days and their drama. Wayne can hardly keep up with Eddie, and now he’s got you here crying on his couch. You’re hardly a bother anymore. It’s more bizarre when you’re not here eating his food, watching his television and napping on his couch.

“Rodney said we’d go out Friday at seven,” you tell Wayne. “It’s Friday. It’s eight. No Rodney.”

Wayne could not imagine disrespecting a young woman like that. You've got to be out of your mind if you think making a promise like that can just be tossed out of a window.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” he pats your knee. “Want me to kick his ass?”

Wayne’s become a father figure to you in a way, since you don't have one. Your mom refuses to tell you anything about the man that got her knocked up. That's a direct quote from what she says. You're not being rude.

“No,” you let a soft laugh sneak past your sorrowed heart.

Wayne's television hums. You watch the wheel spin onto one hundred dollars, and the contestant cheers as she gets to guess another letter.

“Brook Shields,” you guess the answer.

Wayne cocks his head at you, “how did you get that so fast?”

You shrug, “I’ve seen Endless Love.”

“Endless- what?”

“Keep up old man,” you joke.

Wayne grunts, “not you too. I get enough of that shit from Eddie.”

You sit with Wayne that evening with dry eyes, except for the occasional tear falling from laughing a bit too hard at his bewildered expression when you fill in nearly all of the answers to the game show he loves so much.

“What are you going to do with that brain of yours?” Wayne asks as the program nears the end, and the screen begins to dim.

You shrug your shoulders, “I don’t know.”

“You’ll go to college though, won’t you?”

“I can hardly afford groceries,” you reply.

It is an honest answer. Your mom is out of a job, aside from her new night time prowling. She tries to sneak out while you’re tucked into your blankets in your bed. It doesn’t always pan out that way. You’ve heard the heels clicking in the kitchen, before she leaves into the night time.

She’s back before you wake up. And, she’ll take you off to school before she goes to bed for most of the morning. You can only assume this by the way she’s dressed in pajamas without any makeup when you come home.

Wayne watches from afar. Your mom has been stepping back in their friendship recently, and he wonders if everything is okay at home. When he does catch glimpses of her through the living room window, she's a bit gray and a bit dull. Her usual cherry cheeks are sunken. Her eyes are swollen. Her clothes are scandalous in her own definition.

A flood of headlights break through the blinds in the Munson trailer. If the lights aren’t enough to warn you that Eddie is about to plow through his front door, then the absolute deafening sound of bass and guitar blasting through the speakers in his van would give you enough of an inclining.

Kicking his boots off in different directions outside the home, Eddie stamps out his cigarette on the porch railing, and he flicks the nub somewhere into the night.

Dancing his way into the trailer, Eddie first catches you sitting next to Wayne in a bright blue get-up. Isn’t it a bit much to be that done up for some boy? Yes, he knows about Rudolph. That silly little boy from one of your classes. He’s been following you around like he’s got a leash tethered around that funny little sweater vest he wears to school. Really? A sweater vest? It’s a bit pompous if you ask him.

Randy has got to be the most snot-nosed booger-eater that Eddie has had the misery of meeting. He’s got these judgy little eyes that squint in Eddie’s direction any time you hang around him at lunch. Not to mention how bushy his eyebrows are. If you like caterpillars that much, Eddie can find you one around the trailer park that you’ll like much more than - what’s-his-name.

“How was your date?” Eddie hesitates to hold back to venom corroding his teeth. It’s silly to be jealous of some guy. Eventually you would be with someone, and Eddie would find his someone. It’s just strange to not have you at band practice. You haven’t missed a single one - well, now you have.

Your face falls at the mention of Rodney.

In the past few hours, you forgot about the ache in your chest that Rodney never showed at your front door. The absent sore on your heart reopens. Your throat closes a bit.

There was a pinch of hope that you held onto that he might show up with a reasonable excuse. Or, he’ll at least be bold enough to show up and to beg for a second chance. With the time approaching midnight, the odds are withering away into nothing.

“Good,” you fib.

Naively, you lie to Eddie.

“How was practice?” You ask secondly.

A spark lit his bottom on fire and he was bounding about the trailer like a wild animal. Excitement radiates off of his skin.

“You won’t believe what happened tonight!” He yells a bit too loudly for old Wayne, who wiggles his pinky into his ear. “We got a call back from the Hideout! They want to see us perform!”

“That’s great, Eddie!”

“Congratulations, kid.”

Wayne has to stand and clap Eddie on the back to congratulate his nephew. The pair of them look to each other adoringly, before either of them remember that you’re still there on the couch.

“I should go,” you know how late it is, and your mother - er - she would be shivering in worry by now. Probably. “I’m really proud of you, Eddie. Can I come to the show?”

“There’s no way I can perform without my best girl,” he wraps you in a strong hug, “Tuesday at seven! I want both of you there!”

“You got it,” you punch his chest a bit awkwardly.

When you do leave, Eddie takes the spot you once sat in on the couch. He switches programs because whatever game show Wayne is watching is not to Eddie’s taste. Eddie prefers something that will make his skin crawl.

“Ed,” Wayne clears his throat, “I think we should talk.”

“Talk?”

Wayne stands in front of the television blocking Eddie from flicking to yet another channel.

“Your little friend got stood up on her date,” he teeters back and forth, unsure if you want Eddie knowing this. But, you’re his best friend as far as Wayne is concerned.

Eddie frowns, “what?”

“She’s been with me all evening,” Wayne sighs. “The poor girl is rattled. I mean- you know you cannot do that to a woman, right?”

Wayne begins to turn everything into a lesson. As he lectures Eddie, the lines of reality begin to blur. You’ve been stood up by this douche? Nothing gets past Eddie like that. The ridges of his knuckles turn whiter than snow.

“Eddie,” Wayne scratches his forehead, “I need you to promise me that you’ll never treat a woman like that. You know better, right?”

Eddie hasn’t brought a girl by the house yet. It doesn’t occur to Wayne how horrible the people treat Eddie at school. He assumes it’s just a bit of play and a bit of teasing. Eddie can handle himself for the most part.

“Yeah,” Wayne snaps out of his head when Eddie finally speaks up, “I got it, Wayne.

-> <-

[Sep 1982 . . . again]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst

[zer05trange]

Roaring Sea

II. Sharlotka

⋆｡°✩ (childe x fem!reader)✩°｡⋆

⋆｡°✩ premise: Tartaglia comes over to learn how to make apple cake. But is that really why he's in your bakery?

⋆｡°✩wc: 2.5k

⋆｡°✩warnings: fluff

⋆｡°✩ series masterlist

The dreaded moment had come. The day that you told Tartaglia you’d teach him how to make your apple cake, to get him to leave you be just two days ago. 

Though really, you concluded that he wasn’t necessarily a nuisance. You may or may not have realized you have the tiniest, little, minuscule crush on the guy. The night before, you could feel how hot your face was once Tartaglia left the shop, and how you were ever-so-slightly flustered the rest of the shift.

It was nothing, you tried to convince yourself. All that happened was that you’ve seen him twice, he has some bizarre interest in you, and he’s just a pretty boy. Archons, you feel like a middle schooler, saying you kind of “like-liked” him, but you wouldn’t even go that far.

The first stage is denial.

You took some extra time to prepare during your morning routine, even donning a nicer outfit than usual. It's not that you look bad most days, you just decided to put in more effort. Even Ivan commented how nice you look you felt yourself getting sick.

This isn't you! You're business and success-oriented, wanting to be the strong and independent woman that you grew up reading stories of, like the one that ruled your nation. But, even the Tsaritsa has her harbingers.

You continue to stay in the mindset that this wasn’t going to be anything serious, you barely even know the guy so it’s not like this is going to become an actual thing. It goes against what you want.

What you’re pretty sure you want.

It’s 6:50, 10 minutes until closing time, and you take one final look at yourself before rushing downstairs to your bakery.

“Ivan!” You yell as you get to the first floor, “Do not turn anything off, I’m making some stuff after closing.”

He stares at you, wide-eyed, as he just shut off the oven for the day, “Sorry.”

“It's fine, just take all the tips and scram,” You say jokingly.

“What are you up to?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowed, “Are you expecting someone?”

“You’re getting nosey,” You remark as you put your apron on, “But, yes.”

You say the latter phrase more deadpan than the other, and that sets Ivan off, apparently.

“If this person gives you any trouble, just know I can wield a frying pan better than the Captain can wield a sword,” He exclaims in a jokingly prideful, yet brotherly tone.

His bold statement shocks you, “I’m pretty sure you could get put on a watchlist for saying that... but thanks.”

You shoo him out before 7, giving you a few minutes to yourself before anyone else was going to be around. You gather the needed ingredients and set out all your tools so you don’t have to fish them out as you go, and to keep your mind off of what disaster may ensue.

The knot in your stomach is too big to ignore now, and you want to hit yourself with how childish you were being. This isn’t you, you have to be possessed or something, you don’t

“Well, Ms. Y/N, you look nice,” You jerk your head up at the sudden voice.

You look ahead to see Tartaglia, the anxious knot in your stomach growing bigger by the millisecond. He isn’t in his usual get-up, but a grey button-up covered by an oxblood-colored scarf and black pants. His hair is slightly tousled, and his eyes appear brighter than usual. He’s so damn handsome, and this time you can’t just blame it on your bakery’s lights, not with your new-found revelation on this little crush you have.

“Hi,” you spit out as a result of your brain short-circuiting as it ran out of witty remarks.

He makes his way closer to you, this time instead of standing across from you, he comes around to where you are.

“So this is your domain of expertise, where you hone and master your craft,” He says, sparking a dismayed look on your face, unimpressed at his phraseology.

“Yes. Now, first, I want you to dice these apples,” You brush off his odd statement and hand him three red apples from your baking counter, “Then, you need to integrate the apples with this cinnamon mixture.”

“We are getting right to work, aren’t we?” He says as he takes the apples, “It’s like you want me out here as fast as possible, hmm.”

You chuckle as you get him a cutting knife, “You catch on really quickly.”

He laughs back at that, and your cheeks heat up further at his laugh.

“I’m going to mix all the powder now. Flour, baking powder, the good stuff,” You say as you move your ingredients closer to his working space.

You begin to tell him what you’re all pouring into separate bowls, meanwhile explaining to him exactly what you’re doing.

“So now, you are going to manually beat these eggs for a few minutes,” You speak up as you hand him a whisk. He gladly takes it and begins working, which shocks you. Most people would be reluctant to mix something for 7 minutes straight, but he was oddly compliant. Odd, or, you just can’t take the hint.

“You must have strong arms to be doing this for a living,” He remarks with a chuckle as he whisks the contents of the bowl efficiently.

“I do,” You say as you flex your biceps and forearms, half-joking.

You observe his actions, noticing that even through his shirt, you can see his arm muscles flex with each stir he makes. You suppose a toy maker could have built that much mass in their profession, but you’re too hypnotized focused on his actions to think much of it.

“Done! What do I do next?” You look up at his face, which dons a smile as he hands you the bowl, which was mixed well. And somehow, his cheek had a smidgen of flour on it. 

“You uhm have flour on your face,” You say as you point toward his left cheek, wondering how it could’ve possibly gotten there. He begins rubbing his hand on his face, but seems to be missing the small part of flour on him. 

“Did I get it?” You shake your head in disappointment. “Can you just get it for me?” He asks, causing you to sigh exasperatedly. You grab his face to pull it down with one hand, and you softly brush off the flour on his cheek.

While you're focused on his cheek, he is brazenly looking down at your face with a smile, almost waiting for you to look back at him. But as soon as you got your hand off his face, you went back to working on the cake.

“Right, So next we’re going to lay a layer of the batter down, then a layer of the apples, and repeat,” You bring the cake pan in front of you, “So you pour yours then I’ll put mine on top of it.” 

He begins to pour a thin layer of the batter, and you then put a layer of apples on top of it. The process repeats for a while in a focused silence, and before you know it, you’ve placed your final layer.

“Do you want the honor of putting this in the oven?” You turn to him with the pan in your hand.  

“Absolutely,” He takes the pan from you with a smile, and proceeds to place the pan in the oven. You turn around to begin cleaning up the space when you hear a hiss coming from Tartaglia. 

“Are you okay?” You ask with an undisguised worriment in your voice, quickly turning around to look at him.

“I must’ve burnt my hand on the oven rack,” He brushes off with a chuckle.

“You didn’t use the mitt? The oven mitt right next to you?” You scold him, not hiding your concern. 

You close the door to the oven and start a timer for 60 minutes, then rush over to the sink. You wet a nearby washcloth and bring it to him. You hold it on his burn, firm yet gentle, with a disappointed look on your face. 

“Idiot,” You murmur, “You need to be more careful.”

He chuckles while looking at you while tending to him. You don’t find anything laughable about his recklessness, so you look up at him to express your disagreement with his mood.

As you dab down on his hand, you notice how he has two scars on his right hand alone. One sprawls across the back of his palm, and is lengthy, yet skinny. The other is so long that it disappears into his long-sleeve shirt, yet is thick in width. You don’t know him well enough to ask about it, but it does bother you how much care, or lack thereof, he put toward himself.

“Now we wait 60 minutes for it to bake,” You speak up, still focused on the burn spot on his hand. You take the washcloth off after a while, and go toward the main area of the bakery toward the stools in front of a counter, where you take a seat, “Are you going to stand for an entire hour?”

He follows you and plops down on the stool to the right of you, staring ahead at the wall. 

“Who’s that? Is that your boyfriend?” He sings in a jokingly nosey tone.

“No, that’s not my boyfriend,” You scoff, “ That’s my friend from Inazuma. He taught me a few Inazuman recipes.” 

“Ah,” He sounds almost satisfied with the answer you gave him.

“You’re pretty good at some of the techniques,” You look at him through the sides of your eyes, “Do you bake often?” 

“I like to help around at home,” He answers, “My skills are nowhere near yours, and that's no small feat.”

“Thanks,” You respond sarcastically at his brag. 

“What’s your favorite thing you make?” He asks, which actually causes you to think.

“To make or to eat?” You look at him.

“Both,” He says, with his eyes not leaving your face and form.

“To make, probably just plain cake, it’s not difficult and many customers enjoy it,” You gaze back at the oven, “I don’t know what’s my favorite to eat, I prefer to eat what others make for me.” 

Tartaglia beams up at you, “Next time I’ll bring my favorite for you, my mother makes it so perfectly.” 

“Next time? You’re bold,” You respond with a laugh as he still looks at you in adoration.

You cut the small talk and replace it with silence, as much silence as Tartaglia would allow, and fiddle with a decorative fake glaze lily in front of you. He just taps his finger on the counter top, almost impatiently. 

You suddenly stand and make your way to the oven. You take a toothpick and check how baked the cake was, and you must’ve wasted a substantial amount of time, because the cake is almost completely cooked. You, unlike someone else you know, put on your oven mitt and set it down on the counter to cool.

You turn around to tell Tartaglia, but he’s already right behind you. A gasp of shock lets out, considering how stealthily he must’ve gotten right behind you. 

“You are so " 

“You’re so pretty.”

That got you to shut up. He smiles at how stiff you got from his sudden words as if that wasn’t a completely normal response to what he just said. And the way he said it so endearingly, without a hint of his usual teasing tone, sent a heat wave throughout your entire body. But, like everything else, you shut it down for your protection.

“If that’s your way of taking this cake home, you already have it. Share it with Teucer, and Tonya, and "

“No, Y/N, that’s my way of telling you that you’re the most beautiful woman in Snezhnaya. Or all of Tevyat, for that matter,” He responds with a serious, and slightly frustrated, tone.

“What?” Your voice becomes smaller, almost timid, at his sudden designation. 

“You’re not serious, are you?” He asks, then pauses for a moment, “Y/N, why am I here tonight?”

“You wanted to learn how to make a cake,” You respond.

“You are so difficult, Лисичка, it was never about the damn apple cake!” He cries. By then, the two of you were just an inch away from each other, your exchange of exclamations causing you to get closer and closer. Your eyes narrow at his, physically questioning his statement. 

“ just need to ” He cuts off his statement by placing his hands on your face and bringing it closer to his, before connecting his lips to yours.

Oh.

You return the favor though, and kiss him back. While still pressed together, he takes one of his hands and places it on your back, pushing you even closer to his body. He keeps kissing you, and you keep reciprocating, and that exchange continues. It continues while he walks forward, takes you with him, and presses you up against the closed oven.

He takes his hand out from your back and returns it to your face, caressing your soft cheek with his thumb. Your hand finds itself on the back of Tartaglia’s head, holding onto his thick hair as the other finds itself braced on his chest. 

If you weren’t so lost in the moment, you would’ve freaked out at how toned his abdomen felt through his shirt, but you were too gone to focus on that detail. You let go for a moment, trying to get a breath of air.

He pulls away as well, not for long, and huffs out a breath of air as if he had won some sort of battle. You suppose he had, you didn’t play easy until you let him kiss you so abruptly, but you didn’t care right now. He begins peppering your face completely, from your cheeks to your nose to your forehead, before finding your lips once again and pressing his to yours yet again. You let out a quaint whimper, which he chuckles at through his mouth before you begin to guide him down a small hallway.

To hell with the plans you have. Fuck the loneliness and the walls you’ve built around you for the sake of business. This can’t hurt you too badly.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” You ask out of breath. He nods his head like an excited child, which you smirk at before grabbing his wrist and running upstairs hand in hand.

The cake could wait to be iced in the morning.

⋆｡°✩a/n: can you tell I hate writing slow burn >:))) I just cannot keep them apart!! Thank y’all for reading :) also! I finally learned how to work my inbox so if you have any comments, ideas, or just wanna chat, please feel free!

⋆｡°✩tag list: @inlovewithlondonn @zamorazz @ay4tou @kur0melon @boomie-123 @esthelily @i-simp-for-giyuu @itsflowerdomethings

[ilovetheriddler]

yandere riddler of your choice with a reader whos into the whole stalking thing? thank you and have a good one!

Thank you! Oh, this is an interesting idea! It took me a bit to decide which Riddler would work best with this.... but then I decided that Edward Nashton would be a fun choice since I haven't written for him yet! I hope this is what you wanted! 💚

Obsessions.

(2022 Batman) Edward Nashton/The Riddler x F!Reader.

(Declaimer: I don't condone or approve of the actions taken in this story. It is purely a work of fiction.)

Word Count: 682.

Contents: Stalking, Obsessive Behavior.

Edward could still perfectly recall in exact detail the first day he met you. It was a memory that had burned itself into his mind, and that made his very heart race whenever he thought of it. You had walked into KTMJ, looking for someone to help look over the accounting for your place of employment.

The moment his eyes landed on you, he nearly felt his heart stop. You were perfect, ethereal even, to him. The way your hair framed your face, the brilliant shine in your eyes, the sweet and caring smile you always had, all things he absolutely adored and obsessed over.

"Hello there! Um.. I'm looking for whoever I need to speak with... the place I work at needs someone to look over our finances and our profit records?"

He just simply stared at you silently for a few moments until it finally dawned on him that you were actually speaking to him. He nervously adjusted his glasses slightly.

"...Um... I C-could take a look at that... for you... if you wanted?"

"Thank you! I'd really appreciate it!"

You sat down near his desk. Over the next hour, he looked through the reports and informed you of any discrepancies that your place of employment should be aware of and concerned about. He kept stealing longing glances at you while he worked.

Soon enough, you thanked him for his assistance and left. He felt a mixture of things once you had left. Frustration, disappointment, and an overwhelming need to bask in the warm glow of your presence again.

So, of course, that's why he's currently following you home, staying a decent distance behind you so that you don't notice him, He wouldn't be able to handle it if you found out what he was doing and were disgusted with him, no. He just couldn't risk it. So he always took extra care to not be seen.

Unbeknownst to him, you were actually already aware of the fact that he has been following you home every day. You knew that you should have probably either reported him or confronted him about his behavior. But strangely enough, a part of you didn't really mind.

Maybe he was just shy? At least, that's what you told yourself to justify your bizarre comfort with the situation. You were kind of hoping that he'd eventually work up the nerve to just ask you out. You thought he was quite cute, and he seemed fairly nice, outside of the whole stalking you thing. So you wouldn't mind going out to eat with him or perhaps just seeing a movie even.

But it went further than just him following you home every day. Late at night, you could almost swear that you heard a clicking sound, like what a camera would make. It made your skin crawl slightly, but you kind of liked it for some reason that you couldn't quite pinpoint.

That same clicking was currently going on just outside your window, Edward knew that it was wrong and really creepy of him to be taking pictures of you, which, as far as he was aware, was without your consent. Even though you honestly didn't mind that much, however, he didn't know that. He truly believed that you were none the wiser of his stalking and photo taking.

Eventually, a few hours after you had gone to bed for the evening, Edward slowly made his way back to his apartment, he needed to get these photos printed off so he could put them in the album he had made that was just entirely pictures of you. He loved to stare at them whenever he wasn't able to follow you. They brought him such comfort and joy. There was finally something outside of his riddles that he found joy in within this city.

He printed the pictures out and put them nice and neatly in the album. Before changing and laying down in his bed, he cradled the photo album to his chest, hoping to dream of the one who had stolen his heart so effortlessly.

[laura1633]

I can't stop thinking about 8. with Omega Max and Alpha Charles, except that it's not slick but milk. I'm just a little obsessed with his chest and the thought of him lactating around his crush, oh my

First up for the omegaverse prompt game (I do have lots of your prompts and I will pick through as many as I can)

This was a wonderful adjustment to the prompt anon 😍. I do firstly have to apologise because this did turn into lactation kink which I have no idea how to write 😂

These omegaverse prompts are mostly just going to be rough and ready rather than fully fledged fics so hopefully you will all forgive me for that and still enjoy them for what they are (this one was was a little longer than intended)

Tags: Lactation kink

The first time it had happened Max had assumed it was a coincidence. 

He had been chatting to Charles in some fancy bar when his nipples started tingling and his breasts felt as if they were slowly starting to swell. It was strange. Not strange enough to concern him immediately though. Charles always made him feel funny. Butterflies in his stomach. Slick in his panties. It was only when noticed that there were wet patches forming on the front of his shirt that he had squeaked and scurried off to the bathroom to clean himself up. 

He’d been expecting his top to be damp with sweat so the discovery of milk trickling from his nipples had set off a whole array of alarm bells that resulted in a mad dash down to a late night pharmacy to get his hands on a pregnancy test.

It had come back negative which he really should have known. Other than letting one of his pit crew go down on him after his win in Vegas he hadn’t engaged in any sexual activity for at least the last nine months.  Still, he’d only ever heard of omegas lactating when carrying or nursing a pup so it was worth ruling the possibility out. 

He’d hoped it had been a one off. A bizarre experience that he would laugh about one day, but it kept happening. Over and Over but always around Charles. The Monegasque would only need to smile in his direction and Max would feel slick dripping from his pussy and milk leaking from his tits. He may as well have been melting into a puddle on the floor, it probably would have left less mess. 

He had tried his best to get things under control by himself.  He’d taken to wearing extra layers and using nursing pads to soak up the worst of it. It was only ever masking the problem though,  Charles was still making him leak even if it was now happening under four layers of clothing. So, after much deliberation Max had hauled himself off to a doctor’s to get check out.

He had been expecting a complicated diagnoses. What he had received was an elderly beta doctor looking him square in the eye and asking him if the alpha in question was one he would like to be bred by.  Max had of course, like any self respecting omega, shook his head vigorously in response but the flush of crimson on his face was seemingly more convincing an answer.

It was true. The image of Charles breeding him was one he’d conjured up many nights whilst laying out in bed with a silicone knotting device pushed up inside him. He’d just never expected his fantasies to make his breasts leak. 

The official diagnosis:  On set lactation resulting from an urge to be bred by a particular alpha.

The cure : to talk to said alpha.

The prognosis : Not good. There was not a single chance in hell Max was going to tell Charles that his tits leaked milk whenever he came close. 

And so Max had tried his best to carry on as normal. He joked around with Checo in the garage. He played padel with Lando in Monaco. And he leaked fucking milk out of his tits around Charles.

It had been absolutely fucking fantastic. It had never been as bad as right now though. 

Max fidgets around trying to make himself comfortable as he tries to ignore the fact that he’s been placed right next to Charles at the FIA gala ceremony. Despite all of the omega’s successes he really was starting to feel like the universe hated him.  There seemed no other logical reason why his white shirt was darkening against his nipples as he waited to go up on stage and collect his trophy. 

It really didn’t help that watching the ceremony was about as interesting as watching paint dry.

“You okay?” Oscar leans in from where he’s sat on the other side of Max and gives the Dutch omega a look of concern. 

“Fine. Why?” Max tries to keep his eyes focused on the stage ahead. He’s almost certain that he’s blushing but right now the colour of his cheeks are the least of his problems, Charles’ alpha scent is filling his nostrils and making his tits feel like they’ve swollen to the size of footballs. If it goes on any longer Max’s chest is going to feel so heavy he’ll probably tip over if he tries to stand up. He supposes he will at least have two pillowy breasts full of milk to cushion his fall.

“You’re whining” Oscar says gently as he lets a hand rest on Max’s thigh and gives it a reassuring squeeze, “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Just nervous” Max tries his best to smile. If he was going to speak to anyone about his little problem then Oscar wouldn’t be such a bad choice. He doubts the younger Omega would make any huge dramatics out of the situation.

“What’s going on?” Charles leans right across Max to join in the conversation, his earthy scent flooding Max’s nostrils once more and Max is sure that the fabric of his shirt stretches in response to his expanding chest.

“Nothing, just nerves” Oscar gives Max’s thigh another reassuring squeeze before turning his attention back towards the stage.

“This never gets any more interesting does it?” Charles giggles. The alpha is so close that Max can feel the warmth of his breath as he laughs, “We have another hour before it’s our time.” Charles inches himself back in his chair much to Max’s relief. Most of the damage has already been done though, Max’s panties are soaked and he can feel milk trickling down his chest all the way to his stomach. As he chances a glance down he realises that his shirt has turned see through where the material is damp. 

The omega pulls his jacket around himself and tries to hold it across his body. He has at least had the foresight to bring a spare shirt with him to change into before he gets up on stage but he’s determined not to slip into it yet or that will also be drenched by the time his moment in the spotlight arrives. 

It’s starting to feel uncomfortable though. His nipples itch as his shirt rubs against them and his breasts feel heavier each time Charles talks to him. As much as he was hoping to avoid the indignity of having to try and milk himself in a bathroom stall he’s not sure he has much choice. If his breasts swell any further his shirt is going to rip at the seems. 

“We should maybe go for some food or something afterwards?” Charles mumbles quietly against Max’s ear. Unfortunately Max’s response is a lot less discreet, the omega keens happily but his happiness is short lived as he feels another gush of milk leak from his left breast and he’s quickly brought back down to reality. He can’t sit opposite Charles in s restaurant in this state. 

He’s pretty certain that other people must have noticed something odd going on. The milk doesn’t have the strongest smell but there is something rather soapy about the aroma and the scent is starting to spread outwards. The omega jumps up from his chair and sprints out the room as quickly as he can as he bolts towards the bathroom and shuts himself away in a stall. 

Shit.

When Max slides off his jack and looks down to see what the damage is he finds his shirt soaked at the front. None of this seems remotely fair.

“Max? Are you in there?”

Max yelps as he hears Charles’ voice and his breasts tingle and expand on cue like some unwanted new party trick.

“Did I upset you? Sorry I didn’t mean to. We don’t have to go out, I just thought - “ Charles trails off and Max realises its because he is whining loudly from where he has shut himself inside the toilet cubicle, “Max I think you need to let me in or I need to go get Oscar or - “ 

“No” Max whimpers, “Please, it is  just - “ The omega sighs as he tries to work out what he can possibly say that will explain this all away. There isn’t anything though.  He’s a complete and utter mess. There is one thing he is certain of above all else, he can’t go on like this. The thought makes him want to sob. The omega steels himself before opening up the door and coming face to face with Charles. 

“Max -“ 

“I had a sort of accident.” Max mumbles. His jacket and bowtie still hung on the back of the door leaving his crinkled wet shirt on full display as it stretches wet across the broadness of his chest. 

“Oh my god” Charles immediately shuffles himself into the stall and closes the door behind him, “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“It’s milk” Max keens helplessly.

“You’re pregnant?! Who got you pregnant?” Charles’ eyes darken as his chest puffs out. 

“I’m not pregnant!” Max reaches out and runs his hands over his stomach to show how flat it is and then, because he can’t hold it in any longer, he blurts out the secret he has been trying to hold in for so long, “This is because of you.”

Charles freezes. He looks surprised, startled, confused. 

All of which Max thinks are perfectly valid repossess to an omega telling you that you are the reason they are currently lactating. 

“Me?” Charles’ mouth opens and closes a few times as if he’s trying to elaborate on his question. Instead he just settles on repeating himself “Me?”

“I always do it when you are close to me. Always with the milk and the swelling and the tingling,“ Max pauses before starting to babble to fill up the silence once more, “My body wants you to breed me.”

It’s not an eloquent explanation. Nor is it the way Max had wanted to explain his little affliction to Charles. 

“You want me to breed you?”

“My body wants you to breed me?” Max tries to draw some sort of distinction between his brain and his body. In reality they are both pretty much on the same page, Max goes all mushy brained whenever Charles is close and he’d quite happily let the alpha fill him with one or two tiny Leclerc pups if Charles was up for it.

“I don’t understand.” 

“Whenever you talk to me or smile at me or come near me this happens” Max looks down to the ever growing wet circles around his nipples, “It is because I want you.”

Max’s breath catches as he hears the low rumble coming from Charles. The alpha’s scent has shifted again, it’s not sour notes this time, it’s thick and warm enough to make Max want to melt right into Charles’ arms.

And Charles - 

Well, Charles doesn’t look immediately put off by all this. 

“Does it hurt?” Charles lifts his hand and reaches towards Max’s chest but stops short of actually touching the omega much to Max’s dissatisfaction. Max lets out an unhappy little sound and tries to push his chest towards where Charles’ hand is lingering. It’s in that moment that Max finally accepts that when it comes to Charles he has almost no control over what his body does. He’s just a walking ball of hormones falling apart every time he is close to the most handsome alpha he has ever seen. 

Charles cups his hand against Max’s breast and the omega tries his best to bite back a desperate whine as his shirt rubs agains this erect nipple. 

“Shhh it’s okay” Charles coos softly, “You want me to help you get cleaned up?”

Max nods meekly as he lets Charles slowly start to unbutton his shirt. There is a steady rumbling coming from the alpha now. Louder and louder. The vibration like an engine revving. Max is sure that the only time he’s ever made an alpha rumble this loud before was when their cock was inside him.

“Fuck” Charles growls as he eases the shirt off and soothes his hands over Max’s breasts . There’s still milk trickling down, his skin sticky and wet. Yet far from looking disgusted Charles is licking right across his lips. Max tries not to let himself get carried away by trying to work out what exactly that means.

“This is all because of me?” Charles growls again, low and possessive. The alpha’s hand cups and squeezes against Max’s right breast and the trickle of milk starts to build in to a stream. 

“For you” Max mumbles but the words come out as little more than a breathy moan as he sees the milk dripping down over Charles’ fingers and hand, white liquid splashing against the Monegasque’s jewellery. It feels so obscene yet Charles’ eyes are just widening in fascination and he’s bringing his own fingers to his mouth to lick them clean.  

Max holds his breath. The milk tastes sweet. Sugary even. Max knows because he tasted it in one of his weaker moments. Charles’ tongue licks over his fingers again, lapping up the last few drops that have dripped down to his knuckles. 

“You taste beautiful” Charles looks up, his eyes flickering as they meet Max’s gaze, “so good.”

Max feels his skin tingle. His chest tight. Body vibrating. He tries to hold as still as possible. Nothing feels real.  The lactating. The sight of Charles licking milk off his fingers. The sound of clapping and cheering filtering in from the room next door. It’s like a fever dream. 

Charles puts his hand back on Max’s tits, massaging and cupping the flesh and watching the way the drops of milk form and then drip down. 

“This is - “ Charles squeezes again and watches another bead of milk form, “Fuck you’re so pretty. Such a pretty omega.”

Max’s legs shake as Charles leans closer and starts to lap up the milk that is falling down over the curve of his breast. The alpha’s tongue is warm and wet against his skin. 

The omega arches his back and pushes his chest closer to Charles’ mouth. He has never been an overly dominant omega when it comes to sex, he prefers to encourage rather than demand but his hands are twitching by his side as he considers tangling his fingers into Charles’ hair and pulling the alpha down on to his nipple. 

“All for me?” Charles looks up and grins excitedly as he runs his tongue around where Max wants it. The movement slow, deliberate, in control. 

It’s too much. Not enough. Max isn’t even sure anymore. He’s leaking from more than just his chest, his panties are soaked and there’s slick racing down his thighs. 

“Please” Max’s voice is breathless, his cheeks burning red as he watches Charles’ mouth close around his nipple. The alpha latches on and Max groans happily at the sudden rush of relief and pleasure he feels. 

Charles sucks the nipple in his mouth and pulls off with a wet slurping popping sound, his lips now glistening wet. 

With milk.

With Max’s milk.

With Max’s milk that he’s just sucked out of his body. 

“Alpha!” Max whimpers and arches his back as Charles dives back in, this time massaging his hands against the flesh as he purses his lips and sucks more firmly. Over and over until Max can feel the milk spurting right into the alpha’s mouth. 

It makes him feel light headed. His nipples seem to have a direct line to his pussy. Each time Charles sucks and flicks out his tongue Max feels the sensation go right through his body until there is more and more slick gushing out of him. His tits throb. His clit throbs. His toes curls in his shoes. The sight of Charles attached to his tit - lapping, sucking, wet and filthy - makes him whine unashamedly. 

Charles pulls back to take another breath, the alpha panting, milk dripping down off the roughness of his stubble. When he goes back in he goes for the other breast, mouthing around the area before wrapping his lips around the nipple and sucking it into his mouth.

Max almost buckles this time, his legs barely keeping him upright. 

Charles is growling around him. One of the alpha’s hands cupped to his breast and the other - 

The other is - 

Oh 

Max moans and throws his head back as Charles’ hand dips below the waistband of his trousers and down into his panties. The alphas fingers brush lightly against his clit. The faintest and briefest of touches before Max is coming, his whole body spasming as he feels another spurt of milk shooting into Charles’ mouth and sees it drip down from side of the alpha’s lips. 

His body feels lighter. Floaty. Wet. So, so wet. 

Charles groans as he pulls back. His pupils blown. Face damp. He look stunning. Hair ruffled. Cheeks red. 

Max lets his own instincts take over as he gets his hands into Charles’ hair and pulls the alpha into a kiss. It tastes sweet as he licks up and into Charles’ mouth and tastes his own milk. 

Charles is hard, the alpha’s cock pushed against Max’s leg. Nice and big as it presses into the fleshy part of the omega’s thigh. Max can’t help but wonder how much bigger it gets when it knots. The thought alone makes his breasts tingle. 

“Forget going for dinner” Charles tugs at Max’s bottom lip with his teeth, “Come back to my hotel with me.” 

Max nods without hesitation. His body is already dripping all over, his pussy slick wet and ready to take the alpha’s knot, milk still dripping down over the curves of his breasts and down the contours of his body. 

He’s not ashamed anymore though. How can he be when he sees how much it’s turning Charles on. If anything he realises that maybe it’s been some sort of courting ritual all along. His body providing something his alpha wants. Because Charles is surely his now. Fully and completely. 

“Perfect little omega” Charles praises, his eyes wild as he goes back to smothering Max’s chest with warm wet kisses. 

Max closes his eyes and purrs as he hears the low possessive growl Charles makes as he continues to lick up the milk made solely for him.