#bitter-chocolate-stars

[somestorythoughts]

Radioactive Eldritch Jedi

Okay so when I say radioactive. The Force is primordial and eldritch and the jedi (and any other force users of a comparable level) resonate with the echoes of this primoridal of-the-world-and-yet-not-the-world energy like your body when you’re so close to a marching bacd you can feel the drums in your bones and they’re not the music or the instruments, they’re only the echo thereof, but the echo of something from the depths that bore the universe is still A Lot.

And when you look at them. There’s teeth that aren’t there the next minute, you could count them again and again for half an hour and never get the same number twice in a row. And that’s not mentioning when their teeth don’t fit in their mouth, don’t match each other, when there aren’t teeth in their mouths but claws...

That’s just one element of their face which is one element of their body.

You can smell them, even the species that don’t have particularly good senses of smell though it is far more distracting for them. Something fresh with light or rotting with dark, herby or sea salty or citrusy or floral and threaded with sweat or blood or sex to suit whatever they’ve been doing and it wouldn’t be remarkable except they smell simultaneously like their species and like something else entirely in a way that is clearly but indescribably not caused by soap or perfume or oil.

There’s a resonance in their voices. Something like there’s a drumbeat in their throat, like they’re speaking with the vibrations of a song you’ve always heard without knowing it, but always perfectly understandable. The sound of jedi singing in harmony with feeling has reduced cities to tears of joy or tears of pain, blood dripping from their ears in mirror of their tears.

Don’t get me started on their shadows, on the way they move in the dark

And they’d be leaking this strangeness 24/7 except they keep themselves so tightly shielded, not only hiding themselves so that they appear uncanny and not terrifyingly Other (they’ve been there time and time again and it is a problem. There are Consequences) but also keeping any of this force-energy-resonance leaking out into the world. Places where force sensitives have lived a long time thrum like a pulse, are touches with the energy of generations of force users relaxing enough to let their shields lower and their selves to leak and brush the walls and tables, etching their presences into the place like fire into wood, and when this touches people it changes them.

Not immediately. Not quickly. It can take months for anything to change and this is why jedi keep their shields maintained, because if you’re fully shielded nothing will happen, and this is part of why attachments are risky, because the emotion can affect the shields can change the one you love, because to say you love a jedi is not the same as accepting all that they are and being willing to change along with them because you can’t dodge that forever, and saying you’re willing to do this isn’t the same as being willing.

The changes aren’t quick, and not as Eldritch as the jedi, but they are permanent and definitely Other.

When shields crack or break, when a jedi lashes out with the force, it brushes an imprint on everything around them (those with any kind of vision skills can find this difficult or comforting to deal with, like a too-large gulp of hot tea) and a few times on the same thing doesn’t matter. Genuinely. Repeition is an entirely different matter.

War is hell. 

War is hell, and the jedi are holding on to each other for support, clinging interlocking arms, but they’re scattered around the galaxy and it’s so hard to actually reach each other.

Sometimes to know you’re supported isn’t enough. Not when you can’t reach their shoulder to lean on, for just a moment.

And the clones are going through hell with them, are dying around them, and they reach out to support the jedi who are doing their best not only to help them survive but to help them live in a war that wants them dead for a senate that doesn’t care and the jedi recognizes them as people so they reach out and the jedi can’t help but reach back.

The clones catch them when they fall, love them in different ways each as sure as the tides, and the jedi relax into it without realizing. Their shields crack over and over again because war is hell, but they also find them relaxing them, instinctively and unconsciously, because so little is certain but the clones’ willingness to go to hell and back for them is one of them and they feel safe.

And the echoes of the force that resonate in the heartbeats-nervepulses-bloodflows of the jedi leaves imprints on the clones that rises like paint added layer by layer and it changes them.

The clones don’t have a childhood of familiarity to fall back on, much less the shielding techniques to keep them looking “normal.” What they have is legions of brothers willing to support each other come hell or high water or unending clankers and jedi who at first beg their forgiveness for changing them (because it wasn’t supposed to happen and because they like how they are but everyone already sees them as strange and to beg forgiveness for making them like them is many jedi’s first instinct) then teach them how to hide it when they need to and the comfort of singing together, their voices ringing through their ships in tune with the thrumming in their blood, bone-deep.

[thresholdbb]

What in the pon farr is a Vulcan mocha?

[avawritesthings]

MY TUMBLR RECS !

disclaimer ! NONE OF THESE FICS WERE WRITTEN NOR PUBLISHED BY ME. please give these author’s a little bit of your love ! all fics are x reader, and some are nsfw.

ava’s note ! i have read and reread all of these fics at least twice, and i just wanted to show my love to them and so other’s can read these wonderful stories! some of these are also on ao3. take this as my apology for barely posting xx

formula one !

lando norris

call it magic - @444lec33

caught orange-handed - @mariahcarreyyy (+ oscar piastri)

slow down, be here - @katsu28

workplace distractions - @curiousthyme

life is like a box of chocolates - @dilemmaontwolegs (+ oscar piastri)

hazy days - @coff33andb00ks

charles leclerc

dime, ¿esto es lo que tú quería'? - @yazmarina (+ oscar piastri)

you wonder why i’m bitter - @moviecritc (+ alex saint mleux)

red flags - @holllandtrash

daniel ricciardo

sweet like grenadine - @scuderiahoney (one of my favs!!!)

picture perfect - @thef1diary

got drunk on you - @userlando

feels like home - harley_sunday (ao3)

oscar piastri

no more mister shy guy. - @jamminvroomvroom

dime, ¿esto es lo que tú quería'? - @ yazmarina (+ charles leclerc)

caught orange-handed - @ mariahcarreyyy (+ lando norris)

life is like a box of chocolates - @ dilemmaontwolegs (+ lando norris)

lewis hamilton

harmony - @curiousthyme

partition - @monzabee

jenson button

missed flights - @whorekneecentral

max verstappen

he must be lucky ! - @adventuringblind

little verstappen - @lxclerc

milk and sugar - @sunrizef1

in the mind of another - @pierregazly (author has a lot of great fics!)

masterlists i’ve binged:

lewisvinga’s masterlist

maplesyrupsainz’s masterlist

pucksandpower’s masterlist

theemporium’s masterlist

nhl !

matthew tkachuk (i am nothing if not matty t’s #1 fan)

baby it’s cold outside - @raysofcrosby

waking up in vegas (masterlist) - @doc-pickles

you say you hate me - @pucksnsticksnhockeyboys

praise you like i should - @senditcolton

want you to want me - @troubatrain

4 times you faked a relationship + 1 time you didn’t - @hockeywhy

love you like me - @heavenlyhischier

jerseys and dumplings - @hockeyboysiguess

four times you sat in Matthew’s chair + the one time they called him out - @ extratragic

jack hughes

saturday sleepies - @leaentries

jersey - @sydnikov

feels like home - @ quintinh43

always an angel - @wineauntie (technically hughes brother x sister!reader)

sidney crosby

sugar sugar (masterlist) - @ holy-pucks

home is where the heart is (masterlist) - @fallinallincurls

bubble wrapped (part of a series) - @myhockeyworld87

lovestruck, went straight to my head - @harlowhockeystick

andrei svechnikov

fake numbers and date numbers - @matsbarzal

gaslight - @comphy-and-cozy

high speeds - @thewintersoldierdisaster (so many great andrei fics!)

in five - @ sydnikov (so many great andrei fics)

quinn hughes

heavy heads and heavy hearts - @quintinh43

wiped away kisses - @theemporium

game night - @sc0tters

baevillier’s masterlist

marvel !

tony “iron man” stark

straight lines and sharp angles - nicky_writes (ao3)

kinds of love (series) - bartonstark (ao3)

james “bucky” barnes

sweet dreams - abovethesmokestacks (ao3)

these ties that bind - sweetascanbee (ao3)

druig (eternals)

three-part series - @ohcaptains

how could they not know? - @saintlike78

mark spector/steven grant/jake lockley (moon knight)

man in the mirror - @fettuccin-e

i’m getting to know someone - davosmymaster (ao3)

keep a secret? - cakealicoi (ao3)

matt “daredevil” murdock

dirty little devil - @courtforshort15

kate bishop/yelena belova

blank space - @ mrsyelena (ao3) (unfinished)

wanda maximoff/natasha romanoff

kidnapped - artemis_writes123 (ao3)

star wars !

anakin skywalker

save a spaceship, ride a starpilot - kkismygod (ao3)

jealousy - kkismygod (ao3)

patched up - kkismygod (ao3)

eventide - ohgodmyeyes (ao3) (more darth vader, less anakin)

the babysitter - ohgodmyeyes (ao3)

braids - sarcastic_bubble (ao3)

primal - lullows (ao3) (ft. obi-wan kenobi)

drunk confessions - oreosmama (ao3)

master + padawan knight senator = ? - darthtrek (ao3) (ft. obi-wan kenobi)

say my name - kkismygod (ao3)

the mandalorian

cold showers - cptnbvcks (ao3)

misc !

jj maybank (outer banks)

amnesiac - cherienymphe (ao3)

i know (5+1) - heathersmoonlight (ao3)

soul deep - heathersmoonlight (ao3)

art donaldson (challengers)

beyond the play - @sapphire-writes

and then there were three… - @kolsmikaelson

good luck, babe! - @sunsburns (ft. tashi & patrick)

the mikaelsons (tvdu)

patisserie - wickedlyemma (ao3)

carmen “carmy” berzatto (the bear)

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby - tinybluewitch (ao3) (the link literally won’t work im sorry)

david von erich (iron claw)

yellow rose - @daysofyellowroses

ransom drysdale (knives out)

rubber? i don’t even like her - @ whateveriwant

lip gallagher (shameless)

out of excuses - @ borntobewondering

billy loomis/stu macher (scream I)

jealous jerks - @ potter-imagines

bruce wayne (the batman 2022)

written in the stars - batsingotham (ao3)

*please let me know if you want me to remove any of these links or anything, i hope i didnt offend anyone <3 also sorry that i couldn't tag everyone !

** i WILL be adding more as time goes on. i have many many recs

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - afab!reader, non/con, implied drug use, breeding kinks, obsessive/delusional behavior, gojo talks about his ex during sex and you can't change my mind. happy valentine's day <3

“This is my first Valentine’s with somebody to celebrate with, y’know.”

Satoru’s slow, melodic voice was just barely outpaced by his idle movements – his hips rolling lazily against yours, each thrust more languid and lethargic than the last. His blunt nails dug into your skin where his hands had your wrists pinned over your head, and somehow, he’d managed to turn the feeling of satin sheets against your back into something rough and cutting. The taste of chocolate and bitter wine clung to the inside of your mouth, but you shouldn’t have been drunk enough for your thoughts to be this clouded, this muddled. A few hours ago, you’d been sure that amount of wine could ever get you into bed with Gojo Satoru, and yet, here you were, suffering silently underneath him as fuck you like he had all the time in the world.

“I mean, there was Suguru, but he wasn’t really the romantic type. I’d be lucky to get a box of chocolates, n’ I was still the one handing out most of the affection. To little thanks, of course.” Were you in his bedroom? You had to be. This was definitely his bed, and with your head lulled to the side, you could see scattered tea candles littered over dressers and bedside tables, forgotten clothes left in crumpled piles on the carpeted floor. You might’ve been wrong, though. When he wasn’t on campus, Satoru lived in a luxury apartment – the best money could buy. Luxury apartments didn’t have bars over the windows and locks on every door. “Not that I mind spoilin’ you,” he backtracked, his voice taking on the faintest notes of a teasing inflection. “It’s just—It’s nice to feel appreciated, sometimes. Suguru was always the selfish type. I’m sure you’ll be a lot sweeter with me, though.”

One of his hands fell away from your wrists, soon reappearing at your chin. Taking you by the jaw, he eased your head back, forcing you to face him properly. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, let alone a proper blindfold, and even in the dim light, his star-bright eyes were almost unbearable to meet. You tried to jerk out of his hold, to straighten your back, but your body refused to respond, your limbs little more than dead weight and numbing static. The only part of yourself that you could feel was your pussy – soaked and hot and vice-like around his cock. You wanted it to stop, to go dry, to make this as unpleasant for him as it was for you, but his public bone scraped against your clit and instead, you clenched around him. A low groan bubbled past Satoru’s lips, his eyes fluttering shut as he bowed his head and nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “Already bein’ sweet with me,” he babbled, now partially muffled by proximity. “Just wanna be my little sweetheart, huh? Wanna be good to me?”

His pace picked up, his hips starting to move against yours in earnest. The force seemed to knock some intangible block out of your throat, and suddenly, little whines and whimpers were flooding out of you, cracked moans trickling past your lips in little, stunted hiccups. You tried to spit something coherent out, to tell him to slow down, to get off of you, to stop, but your tongue was too heavy and your lips wouldn’t cooperate and all you managed was a string of pained gibberish, dented and beaten by pitiful, dazed sounds. Satoru only cooed in response, nipping at your collarbone, the curve of your neck. “So, so good for me.” He drew back, leaving just enough distance between you to slot his lips against yours. His tongue raked over yours, and by the time he pulled back, he was breathless and you were dazed beyond any hope of full consciousness. If he was bothered by your glassy eyes, though, your slack features, you couldn’t tell. He was smiling when he pulled away, his expression nearly as gaze as your own. “Hey, baby…”

If you were able to, you would’ve screamed.

“If I knock you up, think we can do this again next year?”

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Besotted

♡ featuring: yandere!ajax x f!reader

♡ summary: the love of your life knows you without asking, selfless and caring. however, you're slowly starting to realize the man you loved was a mask of the truth hiding underneath. wc: 12.5k+

♡ cw/tw: modern au, mentions of violence/blood, mentions of suicide, stalking, obsession, possessiveness, manipulation, rough sex, sideways sex, cockwarming, mating press, cunnilingus, drugging, overstimulation, praise, pet names (lots of them tbh)

notes: im so sorry i know it took me a long time but my time has been consumed by exams and its finals week soon so ahhhh. it's going to take me a little longer than usual until my semester is over, forgive me!! art by jam8366_dday on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

“Caramel macchiato for… Katheryne?” Your quiet voice deadens among the bustling crowd of businessmen, secretaries, and construction workers alike conversing through their morning wake-up. It’s incomparable to the serene appeal of a corner coffee shop—piled high with board games and books, the nooks and crannies decorated with some sort of trinket or knickknack you collected along the way, baubles that brought you joy and spread some to anyone that entered the cozy hole in the wall—“The Mad Hatter”. People are free to add stickers to the cash register, so convoluted with color similar to graffiti, including the pink-hatted cat Lyney glued to the top. Coffee tables share space with buoyant sofas, opposite of the display case viewing a multitude of extra sweet desserts and breakfast sandwiches. At night, the fairy lights bordering the wide veiled windows glimmered a dim hue that made feathery snow sparkle like stars during winter. You set the coffee under warm lights dotting the ceiling, emanating above the wooden interior. No one is finicky for your tastes; you are happy to see the familiar cheerful or grumpy faces entering the shop. You remember names, faces, and minute personal details they’d forgotten they shared over a steaming cup of latte left to warm because the art was too pretty to drink. They’re busy, but patient; they've acquainted you long enough to not be angry at the wait, and most times come to your defense against unruly customers. 

It's the worst—or for you, the best—in the afternoons, swarming crowds waiting for an afternoon pick-me-up. You and Lyney work to the best of your ability, serving up group orders with a quickness unparalleled by nearby chain coffeehouse’s. You regard it as your passion, although your parents were disappointed when you told them you and Lyney would be buying and renovating an abandoned property states over all for coffee; your delectable drinks have the potential to form long lasting relationships between you and other customers, and there’s a certain creative merit you relish whenever a guest takes pictures of the swan-like artistry foaming on the surface. The taste of bitter beans sparks moments of merriment, longing, and love—in some cases, it’s the best form of intimacy.  

Your best memories live in this shop; the ground powder that scattered everywhere and painted Lyney like a chocolate sculpture when he tried to push the inventory to the highest shelf or staying up after close in the middle of a blizzard to make flimsy homemade decorations for the grand opening with help from Lynette. 

It’s extra special that the very place you stand is where you found the love of your life. You met him at the register, loose curls dipped in autumn tones spilling over his long lashes. The void in his eyes motionless like the ocean before a low tide. You both stared at each other for a moment, taking in the lines and details of your flustering faces. You must’ve been staring for too long, as Lyney tapped your shoulder with a side eye that alerted you to the awkward silence and line heading out the door. You fumbled for apologies and took his order; the ginger boy chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck—Ajax—such a rugged name for a pretty guy. You prepared the Frappuccino with a drizzle of affection bespoken for him. When you gave him the drink, his hand grazed against yours, a kiss without lips. It left you breathless, and with an airy coyness he said, “I didn’t get your name?” You told him, and he tried out the sound on his tongue. You wished he’d say it over and over. With a rosy wash across his cheeks, “A fitting name for your beauty. Have a good day, (Y/N)” was all he said before he walked away, leaving you stunned and smitten. Lyney was the unfortunate victim that dealt with your wearisome fantasizing about Ajax. 

But Ajax already knew your name. And address, and friends.  

How could he not? When he saw you hanging lights in the windows on a particularly sunny morning that made your glowing face shine with pure radiance unrivaled by deities, he sunk endlessly. He vowed to walk at a distance at that same time every day to ogle your lustrous hair, your soft skin that didn’t break a sweat, the curve of your lips. You soon became an itch he couldn’t scratch, a plaguing thought that wiggled in the wrinkles of his brain and made it hard to sleep or work. You, you, you. Is your laugh a heavy snort or more lighthearted, do you have the same sense of humor as him? You’ll like what he likes, think what he thinks. 

You were constantly on his mind, he wondered if you were eating when he ate or how good you were sleeping as he drifted off to his. It’s not his fault that he snapped discrete pictures of your smiling face, you were too adorable to ignore. He valued coming home to kneel at the little shrine he made of your printed gaiety, surrounded by consistently fresh roses and citrus candles he thought you’d smell like. If he stood close enough, it was like you were right in front of him. The apron tied around your waist was a vibrant crimson—his favorite color. It's fate, the way the stars aligned and sent angels down to bless you with a pinafore of his approval. You had to know he was out there; he was already imagining returning to a cheerful home, and your swaying hips as you whipped up a glacé delight. He’d kiss you on the cheek, and you’d pop a tart blueberry in his mouth. Yes—it had to be this way, it must be what you wanted, too. 

Ajax coincidentally found himself rummaging through trash cans in the vicinity for an inkling of receipts from the shop. He stumbled upon it, of course—it’s not like he waited out until nightfall right before garbage day to have the highest chances of finding identification. The jagged fragment of a receipt led to your family, social media, and blogs you dedicated to your baking progress. And he’d monitor the sites on different screens with multiple tabs, an infatuated glaze over those dull eyes that kept him glued to the updates for hours. He made many accounts, liking your posts fervently with flimsy justifications of encouragement. You became reachable day by day. 

The day Ajax decided to pursue you upfront, it was a dream he hoped never to wake. He’d rehearsed it obsessively until the moment he stood in front of the glass door, a tremble in his restless legs at the thought of looking ridiculous. Seeing you up close felt like a special occasion. His heart was beating off-kilter in his quaking chest, as if jumping free fall out of a plane, and he held his breath until it opened. The confidence he mustered up before he got to the register did little to suppress the giddiness rolling in his veins. His pulse paced the closer he got. Two more orders and there you were; the center of his universe, and you didn’t know it yet. Pictures didn’t do you justice—no, he needed to see your grace preserved in museums depicted in rich Renaissance paintings onlookers could only fantasize holding or loving, but you’d be for him, and him alone. He drew a blank. “May I get your name for the order?” His eyes flickered with a brand-new luster, it melded certainty and delusion.  

She wants...my name.  

My name.  

The sweet harmony of your words lulled Ajax to an addicting turbid spiral that swept fondness through the tempest and scattered infatuation in its aftermath. A feeling too tenacious, it must be love. The incessant burn urged him to protect and guide you to him. You need him. Now he watched compulsively with a winded jaw, your smile to other men who couldn't compare to his devotion. They don’t know you like he does. He could map out the corners of your house from the slim backgrounds of your blog posts or name every club you’ve participated in since middle school. Hunger spread where his fists craved contact, like sunfire corroding the taught skin on his knuckles. They’ve breathed your air and existed in your presence. It’s undeserved, they’re unworthy. 

How fucking dare they. 

How lost you must be without him, led astray by intruding greed; he selflessly assumed his responsibility. You are his, after all. So, he stalked behind cars shadowed by harsh streetlamps to ensure you got home safe and intercepted your packages to check for threatening substances. The accomplishment he felt whenever he completed his—in his words, “duties”—instilled exultation beyond any memory. Within the envelopes, he’d leave an elegant note embellished with hearts hinting at his infatuation and the care he put in to maintain your safety. One letter turned to two, then five, to the point where you’d receive a sleeve stuffed with increasingly unhinged letters from your secret admirer that fanned out when you tipped it. 

On Christmas Eve, a limitless cloak of frozen stardust decided to flurry right before your shift ended. You covered Lyney’s shift so he’d have time to spend with Lynette and Freminent; it wasn’t like you had anything to do afterwards. You counted the flakes of the storm through frosted glass, thinking about the wellbeing of your family back home. Mailed gifts couldn't console the grief you felt during the holidays. A knock on the door turned your attention to the silhouette of a man wearing a slouched beanie with a pompom on top. You unlocked the door, and it swung open from the whirling heft of wind and smattered white across the wood from empty streets. 

“Sorry, we just closed-” You looked up, no time to register the freckled face from months ago, that stole your heart with a smile. Icy grains kissed his cheeks, as red as apples, and fused to the wool scarf draped around his trench coat. “Oh! Hello, again.” You tried to play it off, but the crack in your voice teetered. You were suddenly nervous. Ajax grinned hard and shuffled slightly inwards to escape the chill.  

“Hi (Y/N)! I was really hoping you weren’t closed, it’s a good day to grab a hot chocolate, y’know?” 

“It is. You’re probably freezing, please come in.” You should’ve been home by now, but for Ajax, you could spare a few minutes. He unraveled his winter attire to reveal a tightly fitted turtleneck and took a seat at the chair closest to you. You wrap around the counter and start the kettle, struggling with what to do next at the gaze gripping your mind. “One hot chocolate, coming up.” 

“How much I owe ya?” he chirped, arms resting on the table while he watched you grab two mugs. “No worries, it’s on the house. Consider it your Christmas present.” 

“I appreciate that, thank you. You really are kind...Lyney left you by yourself tonight?” You wondered how he knew Lyney’s name when they hadn’t met, but quickly brushed it off. 

“Yeah, I wanted him to spend time with his family.” 

“And you don’t have any here?” You didn’t retain your usual weariness towards acquaintances. On this lonely night Ajax didn’t feel like much of a stranger. 

“Nah, moved away to start this.” Your hands gestured to the quaint interior. Ajax scanned his surroundings, marveling at the scenery before he spoke. “What you’ve done with this, it’s lovely. Your ambition and dedication are apparent from the way you treat the customers, I can tell you’re passionate about what you do.” Your body flared like summer and succeeded in hushing the breeze. You poured a cup full of thick cocoa and plopped a dollop of whipped cream on both. “It’s not much, but-” the mugs settled on the table, and you sat across from him. “It smells amazing, (Y/N). You’re an expert at this” he interrupted. You traced the rim with your finger and rested your head on the other hand. 

“Thanks...I assume you don’t have family here, either? Think you’d be ripping open gifts by now if you did.” He took another sip. “Yup, they live in a different country. I should visit them soon” he sighed and glanced at the jumbled wool scarf. “Did a sibling make that for you?” you asked. 

“Yeah, my sister. A parting gift.” 

“It’s beautiful, she’s very talented” you remarked, admiring the delicate fleece. The bittersweet smile in response stuck to your heartstrings. “She is.” 

You both drank in silence and occasionally met each other's eyes, only to turn away. Something unsaid hung in the air. "Winter has a way of making us reminisce. It’s so depressing” you confided. You hadn’t told Lyney, but you were terribly lonely these past months. You replaced your emotions with extra shifts, but they came crashing down in the darkness of your bedroom. Ajax gazed at you like he could see through you. 

“The sky appears magnificent under the snow's embrace. Its purity is like the moon's gentle radiance. I don’t think there’s anything like a world covered in snow" he soothed. His words flustered you, and you homed in on the white trails dancing in your lukewarm cup. 

“I’ve never thought of it like that. I used to hate snow. It feels...intruding, I guess.” 

“But if we don’t allow ourselves to be intruded, how will we love?” he blurted. It was comforting to hear in the moment, and you returned his smile. 

“Is the hot chocolate good?” you asked. 

“It’s perfect.... you’re perfect.” You chuckled at the notion, mistaking it for pity. “I’m not perfect.” 

“But you are. The way you carry yourself, your intelligence, your courtesy. You’re flawless, gorgeous inside and out and you don’t even notice.” The way Ajax looked at you, on the verge of his seat and studying your face, lips, and hair. You couldn’t deny the flattery that drowned you and dragged you the more he persisted. “How would you know from one encounter?” His mouth fixed to say it, the truth, but he tight-lipped and reached into his coat pocket instead. He grabbed a blue velvet box and slid it to you. 

“I wanted to give you this. Ever since I saw you.” It felt expensive under your fingertips. You unclasped the front, and it opened to a twinkling pendant. It was a cable chain dangling an oval sapphire gem, with 18 karat white-gold halo sunbursts surrounding it. It’s breathtaking, as if stolen from the tomb of a goddess. 

“Wow, this is...stunning. Ajax, I can’t accept this; it’s too much” you pressured. You’ve never received a gift of this caliber from anyone, it didn’t feel right to look at it. 

“Consider it your Christmas present” he repeated. You shook your head and held up the box to hand it back to him. “I can’t, I shouldn’t-” 

“Please” he pleaded. He clasped your hands, a reassuring thumb gently caressing yours. You were so focused on its extravagance that you didn’t notice the note stuck to the roof of the box. Refined script dotted with hearts; the same style as the hundreds in your closet. Your mouth gaped. 

“This letter...you...have you been the one sending me all those love letters?” You should've had your suspicions, or the urge to back away, but you weren’t afraid. You tried to string together his ability to find your address or mail, or how he knew Lyney, but your brain couldn’t clear the fog of feeling loved after so many years. It’s a warm hug to the blood that instinctively ran cold. Your heartbeat’s fast, half with anxiety and the other with desire. 

Ajax solemnly hung his head and retracted his hands. He fidgeted with his thumbs. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you, I thought about being upfront, but I was so scared of your response and I didn’t want you to hate me, so I thought maybe if I sent them anonymously you could start liking the person behind it or if I played my cards right you’d find out who it was...but that doesn’t make any sense now that I’m thinking about it, I just wanted to be near you. You’re so amazing and smart and beautiful, I just...s-sorry…I’m rambling. I hope you can understand; I-I didn’t mean to harm I just want to make sure you’re safe” he choked. The strained words tumbled over one another and broke in places, where they traveled off at the end. Ajax averted your eyes, pools of tears threatening to fall from the corners. The sudden mood change took you off guard, and you reached for his guilty hands. You were on the verge of divulging your entirety for him, be it the isolation of the big city or lack of attention. He didn’t seem like a bad guy; he might have been misguided. What’s the harm in giving him a chance? 

“It’s okay, Ajax. I’m not upset, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered” you giggled. “The letters are sweet, I read all of them. They make me feel a little better about living in a shithole apartment. Thank you.” He looked at you, bottomless intensity searching for more. “I’m interested in you, too” you added. 

“Then you’ll be my girlfriend?” It was phrased as a question but arrived as a proclamation. “...I would love that.” 

Ajax moved around the table. You rose to wrap your arms around his neck while he squeezed your waist with his head lying on your shoulder. The duping tears vanished like they didn’t exist, and his shameful expression morphed into a conniving smirk stretching unnaturally in his triumph. Your authentic touch, the smell of perfume wafting in his nose. It’s not citrus, but it’s you. You, everything is you. This is how things were meant to be. His eyes curved like arches from sheer elation, biting his lip to stifle the cackle. You’re together, at last. 

The snow stopped some time ago, but the blizzard was just beginning. 

Your relationship with Ajax progressed fast after that day. A weariness dulled within you after you came to your senses from your prior confession, and you weren’t sure about the stability of his neurotic nature. However, when Ajax showed up with a bouquet of the loveliest flowers you’ve ever laid eyes on during an exhausting shift, it shined above all else. He showers you with consistent love and attention and worships the ground you walk on with doting devotion. He's clingy and somewhat suffocating, but his sick adoration blesses you with rose-colored glasses; you’re divinity on a golden pedestal in his eyes, and if he fell hard, you fell harder. The considerate, caring, good listener he is makes the small hiccups go over your head. In the first few months you were unequivocally enamored, the kind that tied your universe to his. You patter about him to Lynette, who gives you half-concerned approval at the story of how you met and the “little things” you cherish.  

Like when he allowed you to move in without a second thought. The paint chipped around dodgy windowsills and fraying carpets, and your landlord wouldn’t pay for the fixes. Unfortunately, you needed a place to stay and couldn’t afford to speak up about the horrible conditions. You were used to your slumlord at that point, but the absence of working heat and busted appliances led you to the arms of your boyfriend, sobbing about the stress your landlord subjected you to. He scooped you like fragile glass as you faltered through shaky breaths grating your lungs and hushed your distress. Kissing your head, he rubbed your back and mumbled into your hair. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of it...I’ll take care of everything.”  

A week later you’d found out that your landlord died from a gruesome suicide, and all tenants had to leave the auctioned duplex. Ajax took you in, and you began adapting to his midtown townhouse. Though you felt like a mooch at first, the welcoming interior had you snuggling between his downy bedding in no time. He shouldered your burden, accepted your genuine self and lavished generous replacements of the items you couldn’t carry. You don’t lift a finger around him, and he readily cooks and cleans for your comfort. 

You’ve gotten accustomed to his presence. When you wake, he’s either watching you sleep silently or preparing food for you to take to work. Ajax follows you around like an obedient pet, smoothing your hair and highlighting how beautiful you look in your rough post-morning wake-up state. He’ll try to kiss you before toothpaste, and you playfully mush his disappointed face off to get dressed. He compensates by kissing in other places, your clothed knee as he ties your shoes or your hands when they interlock. Prior to departing, he attaches that sapphire elegance to your neck. You grab your tidy lunchbox and stroll together in the early hours of the morning for your opening shift. “Have a good day, baby” he says, and places sugary smooches from your lips to your forehead and back again. You’d stand there forever, embracing his warmth if your alarm didn’t notify you to start prepping.  

When Ajax isn’t around, and you’re busy piping frosting onto cakes, there’s a profound hole in your happiness that can’t be filled with buttercream. The way his nose scrunches when he laughs hard, and those hot honey strands tickling your cheeks when you sleep because his face is directly on top of yours make you crave his sight and touch. Sometimes you ponder what you’ve done to deserve someone so over the moon for you. Hell, you’d give him the moon if that’s what he wanted; it’d barely cover a fraction of the benevolence he’s evinced. For now, you blink distraction away, and there's spread sloppily piled over the cakes and countertop. You simper to yourself; such a handsome, tender handful. 

Your daydreams carry you through close, and you and Lyney remain as you wipe down tacky tables with rags lathered in disinfectant. You’re circling surfaces with vigor, quick to move to the next. You hear him laugh from another table. “Okay, speed cleaner. Missing your house husband?” he teases. You roll your eyes and pretend to throw the rag at him. “Hurry up, I wanna go home.” He fake cowers and throws his hands up in surrender. “Yes ma’am. Don’t waste all your strength, Lynette will be upset if you can’t dance with her tomorrow.”  

“I’m not some old woman, Lyn. I can party.” You force away the memory of sleeping on Lyney’s shoulder in the lounge area of a booming club. 

“Sure, grandma. Don’t forget your cane when I pick you up” he jokes. You chortle, and actually throw the rag this time. Too bad his agile form dodges it. “I gotta let Ajax know.”  

“...Right.” Lyney loses momentum and stares at the steaming bucket for a pregnant pause, stirring the rag to buy time. You glance towards him, and he shifts a peccant look. You turn on your heels and lean on the back of a chair. 

“Spill it” you demand.  

“Spill what?” 

“What you actually wanna say.” Lyney bites the inside of his cheek to physically restrain the itch that vents brutal honesty. “I don’t think you’ll like what I have to say.” 

You narrow your brows and sigh in disbelief. “So what? We’ve been friends since high school, just tell me.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and gulps a deep breath. “Lyney.” 

“It’s about Ajax” he exhales. “Oh.”  

“I’m worried about you.” You weren’t expecting the serious air, it sounds like an intervention. It's unnatural coming from your easygoing friend. 

“Really? Why?” you question. He blinks for a few moments, dumbfounded at the innocent audacity, or willful ignorance. 

“Some of the stuff you say about him...it creeps me out. How is it not creeping you out?” he stresses, gawking at the exorbitant gem. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure what you mean.” To you, Ajax isn’t the scary type. Mysterious maybe, but his affection prevents you from seeing him as anything but the missing half of your soul. 

“Okay. You don’t remember telling me how he kept that rotting coffee cup from when you guys first met? Or how he watches you sleep? He made your favorite meal first try and called it a ‘lucky guess?’” The more he goes on, the more disbelieved he becomes.  

“I think it’s romantic” you chide. He expels his frustration. 

“(Y/N), I'm not saying any of this to be a hater, but all of this is unhealthy. Unhealthy might be an understatement. I mean, the man acts like he can't live without you. What if you were to break up, can you be sure he won't lose his fucking mind?” The hypothetical calamity of separation sinks seeds in puddles of doubt. It’s not possible. 

“We love each other. That won’t happen.” 

“It’s been over a year, and you know nothing about him. He comes out of nowhere, sweeps you off your feet, love bombs you, and you take it at face value. Maybe he truly is the one and it’s love at first sight, but this whole situation is...odd. I care about you, (Y/N), and this guy scares me. He’s hiding something.” You attempt to formulate a fact you’ve learned about him, a detail to prove how close you’ve gotten, and come to realize there’s none in your reservoir. You know naught of his friends or family or wealth. Ajax tells you safe verities, like his favorite food and hobby. You don’t thirst for personal space or secrets when it comes to Ajax, and the stygian plunge in his eyes gives you no hints, but you believe the pleasing words that escape his lips either way.  

You glance at the empty Tupperware on the counter, that was once packed with a hefty sandwich and strawberries carved into hearts. He's effortlessly adorable, a small berry-stained note with a simple phrase: "you'll do great today <3". Your dream man, he wouldn't hide things from you, you won’t fathom the thought. “I-” 

Ding 

That dazzling toothy gapped grin spreads warmth across your chest and the room instantly feels a bit brighter. Ajax saunters like he owns the place, engulfing your frame in his stature and placing a kiss on your head. Lyney freezes though Ajax ignored his existence. “I’m getting ready to leave” you muffle into the musky denim jacket. He nods, but his action won’t follow his hands sturdy on your waist as you shimmy out. You make haste to the back room, past the pantry dry goods and collect your sweater and bag. 

You’re about to push open the swinging door when you pause, catching a glimpse of Ajax and Lyney through the oval window. They don’t normally interact in the same space, and you thought it best to respect their boundaries. Ajax is turned away from you, but you can see Lyney clear as day, a stone solid unease skipping on his skin that makes calculated breaths too obvious. It’s silent enough to hear a pin drop. His arms are stuck to the sides, and you observe the apron jumbled in his clutches shaking ever so slightly. He’s trained to the hickory grain of the floor, and from a small portion of Ajax’s visible face, it’s a dreadful expression unbeknownst to you.  

There’s an almost tenebrous loom towering over Lyney, and you feel an alarming shiver settle in your lower spine. Were his eyes normally this gloomy? Your heart rate palpitates when it shouldn’t. You want to look away from the swirling dark depths possessing your soulmate, shooting daggers at your friend. His jaw is clenched to popping, veins on his neck and hands chasing bone. He has a lethal grip on Lyney’s shoulder, and the rough tension pulls at the wrinkling undershirt. But he sneers—a twisted, coiling kind that doesn’t match his glare—an impersonation of affability. 

“Ajax” you mutter softly as you sway the door. He turns sharply, and it’s like a flipped switch. The rage decays to ash swiftly and he’s yours again, your adoring admirer. “I'm ready.” He waits for your approach and tangles your hands. You make your way out, freeing Lyney from capitivity. He holds the door open for you to leave, and you shout “Bye, Lyn! I’ll see you tomorrow.” A shell-shocked cast on his face, he doesn’t say a word. 

You sit at the dining table, feeling disconnected from reality while the kitchen rises with a clatter of pans and glass. You scroll through posts on your phone and occasionally peek over at the corridor to watch Ajax work. His passion shows when he cooks, rocking the skillet to upturn the veggies sizzling within. His broad back flexes with skillful movements, and he looks at you, winking with a teasing pucker on his glossy lips. You giggle. I was just imagining things. 

He slides the plates on the table and sits across from you. Ajax sits like a giddy child waiting for you to try their creation, and you take the first bite. The bountiful flavor dances on your tongue. “It’s really good!” you muffle through bites. A tinge of pink sets on his cheeks. “I’m glad you like it.” 

You chew haphazardly out of focus. You can’t help but notice how quiet your phone has been since you’ve moved in, it feels foreign in your possession. Not a single call from your friends came through, forgotten and invisible. You contemplate apologizing to Lyney tomorrow, it was wrong to get defensive towards compassion. Ajax interrupts his eating to track your fork picking at the meal. 

“You okay, sweetheart? You aren’t eating.” 

You awake from your trance. “Huh? Oh, nothing. Just feels kinda off.” Ajax’s back straightens, and he tenses throughout at a semblance of negative diction. “What does? The food? I’ll remake it” he stumbles. 

“No no, the food is great. It’s, I don’t know. I haven’t got a call from Tiggy in a while.” The corners of Ajax’s mouth contort. 

“Really...I heard he’s been hangin’ out with some new people.” His tone is dry, it strives to be nonchalant. His elbows rest on the table, and he carves his knife into bloody steak like struggling living bone. 

“So, I guess that means he can’t message me anymore, huh” you chuckle. He twists the knife deeper, as if it’s digging in his back. “He’s just a bad friend honestly. Not consistent, you even said he missed your birthday last year. Who needs a friend like that?” 

“I guess.” Meanwhile, you flip through your contacts searching for Tighnari’s name; come to find out he’s nowhere in your phone. In fact, a lot of messages and numbers seemed to have dwindled over time. Your own parents, vanished. Perhaps you were so overworked you’d forgotten they deleted. You start scouring for his profile, but it doesn’t come up. You can’t imagine Tighnari wiping out his entire presence, and it’s not just him. Outside him are the piles of male friends you seldom locate, and you become flustered at your blindness. You look at Ajax, and his eyebrows quirk up to inquire about your confusion. 

“That’s so weird. I should try calling him-” 

“Don't.” It’s not suggestive, its one note, stern demand. It rings in your ears, and when that mask slips for a terrifying moment, you hold your breath until it recurs. “’S not that I don’t want you to, honey. He clearly doesn’t care in the first place, that’s not a sign of a good friend. I’m just trying to help; you know I always have ou- your best interest.” There’s an unrelenting pit in your stomach telling you it’s wrong. “You seem tense since we left, Ajax. Are you alright?” He stops, it leaves you on edge when a formidable shadow casts over his eyes from his bangs that make them look as endless as the bottom of the sea.  

“I feel like...you’re straying away from me. You’re becoming more secretive. Have I done something to violate your trust?” You don’t consider how Ajax knew Tighnari, let alone how he’d find the password to your phone. It was your fault, it had to be. The solemn quiver of his lips clears your suspicion. You’d forget it all to see him happy again. You stand and sway to his side of the table, sitting on his lap to take his face in your hands. “Not at all, babe. My phone’s been acting up, I didn’t mean to accuse you. I just asked because you and Lyney looked high-strung. ‘M sorry.” You kiss him softly with reassurance, and he melts in your touch. The foggy residue shows on his blushing face, and you introduce another to his cheek. “I’m going to a party with Lyney and Lynette tomorrow, so I wanted to see if Tiggy would come.” 

“Ah...okay. Don’t worry, darling, it was a short conversation.” Vague and unassuming, but it didn’t matter now. Ajax can’t deceive you. 

The state you drifted off—lying on Ajax’s chest with his arms embracing your lax figure—is not how you awake. A piercing scream rises, and you jump out of bed in a drowsy stupor. “Ajax?” you addle. Metal clangs to the floor, and the sheets hang low on your hips before you dart down the stairs and through the dining room to discover the cause of the noise.  

He’s kneeling on the kitchen tile, compressing his forearm. Vermillion overflows between his fingers and palm and spatters his shirt. The knife, along with a clumsily chopped apple, is muddy with blood. “Oh my god!” You sprint for a towel and first aid kit crammed underneath the kitchen sink. When you return, Ajax is hissing from the sting, salty tears smeared on his eyelashes. You accompany him on the floor, ignoring the crime scene peppering the cabinets and gently glide his hands to get free view of the wound. “Are you okay?”  

“Yeah, now that you’re here.” It’s a nasty cut, not a gash but painful, nonetheless. You bring him to wash the excess blood, and pat it dry carefully. The fizz from disinfectant makes his arm jolt, but you hold him steady to apply. As you bandage his arm, he blinks away the twinge.  

“I’m sorry, baby. You have work in a few minutes, and you’re here taking care of me. Go ahead and get ready, I’ll do it.” 

“No way in hell am I leaving you like this. Don’t apologize” you insist, the end of your wrap stuffed to secure. You can’t conceive clocking in or partying tonight while Ajax suffers at home. “I’m gonna call out for a couple days so I know you’re well. Relax, I’ll be right back, okay?” He nods, and you rush to the bedroom to retrieve your phone. Ajax wipes his face on his sleeve, streaking insincere sorrow near the serpentine smirk. 

You spent the day cleaning the home, wiping the kitchen top to bottom and making dinner for Ajax. He rests in bed, and you often check in on him. Treating him like an intensive care patient might’ve been excessive, but he accepts your gentle touch and hand fed meals nursing him back to health. You’re lying in bed with him, and the load of his brawny chest forces yours into the mattress with your legs on either side. You massage the pads of your fingers into his scalp, and your breathing weighted blanket emits a groan. Dazed and fully lax, lulling from the rise and fall of your chest. 

The second day is the same, but the lack of pressure divides your dreary lids. It’s midnight, and it casts a fluorescent glow that permeates the room. You feel your way from walls to banister, and as you’re about to step down the stairs to get water, you pause before the living room. Crouched, peeking through the bars of the banister, you see Ajax on the couch in absolute quiet. Shade stands in place of his facial features, obscured besides the hazy veneer in his iris that bores into the journal in front of him. The collage catches moonbeams on the coffee table, crowded with tiny notes that peak out the uniform pages, and polaroid pictures glued to each sheet, stacked so thick it can’t close. He uses the pen you thought you’d lost moving in, running his tongue over the older bite marks on its base. Squinting your eyes fails at registering the specifics. 

You suck in a breath and take another step, hoping the unreliable foundation won’t give way to whining wood. He skims across the words as if they’re memorized, and crows to himself. Eeeeir. It conforms, and the minute you press into it and that haunting sound whispers through the house, Ajax cracks his neck to your position. You stiffen, a deer in headlights. He puts down the pen. 

“Oh, darling. I’m sorry, did I wake you?” he coos. You shoot to a stand, and Ajax meets you at the bottom of the staircase. “I-I just wanna get some water.” You feel meek and small, fairly avoiding his gaze. He enfolds your jaw with his bad arm like it doesn’t hurt, and pecks you on your forehead, light with anxious sweat. “I can get that for you, dear.” Before he can go, you interrupt. 

“Ajax.” 

“Hm?” 

“The book over there, did you make it?” He alternates between you and the book and glisters his pearly whites. He delicately hauls it to you, “I was going to wait for it to be done, but you can read it now if you want.” You hesitate. You aren’t sure if you want to read it. Regardless, you ferry it in your arms, hefty despite being incomplete. 

You unfurl the cover. 

Page after page, your pulse pumps sonorously in your ears, uncontrollable where goosebumps surge through ebbing limbs. Without a doubt, you’re frightened. Aghast, gaping mouth with eyes the size of dinner plates. Dating from your first encounter, poems and chaotic paragraphs of infatuation. Your sleeping silhouette, columns of reverence, strands of your hair taped like art—pictures of you you’ve never seen taken behind cars and lamp posts.  

The lengthy muddled captions emphasize how beautiful you are, how gracious you must be, because he hadn’t met you yet. On top of it all, written repeatedly in red and smothered in hearts, “I love you (Y/N)”. You don’t want to hold it. It’s broiling on your palms; you want it thrown in fire and scorched to shriveling. It almost reads as a manifesto, with jumbled threats sprinkled above overriding ink. Brutal crimes he’d commit if you were ever harmed, the gory actions he envisioned doing to your male customers. It’s incoherent and unorganized. The last page you flip to etches drought in your throat; A dried scrap of the towel you used to tend to his injury is taped inside. A new entry: 

“ (Y/N) takes care of me! without her I am nothing  my sun and star        ♡    my blood and bone           ♡  ♡ my goddess, my angel,   the very essence of my existence     ♡        ♡     my love is infinite and eternal   you are destined to be mine   ♡     ♡        forever, forever she is mine ”  

You peek up from the book, not prepared to face the source. Ajax ogles you with heart eyes that can’t contemplate the absurdity. They surround you, limit you from speaking undulating panic. Part of you is fearful, the other reserves pure love you still have for him.  

“Do you like it, honey?” No, you hate it. It’s scary and not the man you fell in love with. But those sonnets and odes dripping in honey—descriptions that trickle raw vulnerability and expose his truest intentions—are hard to detest when he treasures you earnestly. His expression, he’ll shatter to flecks if you devastate him. So, you scrape back the bile and oblige a strained smile. 

“I love it, Ajax. Thank you.” 

You’re excited to be at work, and relieved to see Lyney. His banter distracts you from the overbearing air at home. Ajax proceeds like nothing happened, or at least nothing for him. It’s fresh in your mind, torments your thoughts as you get ready for the day. His bare chest hugs you from behind while your brush your teeth and he trails groggy kisses from your shoulder to your jaw. It leaves heat on your ears, and dread in your stomach. The necklace going around you is a cage. 

Closing arrives, and you start wrapping things up. 

“Could you get the dark roast box?” Lyney asks from the bookshelf. 

“Heard” you reply, strolling to storage to find that unnamed box squeezed beside larger product. Balancing the contents, you swing open the door, and let out a gasp to your shock. 

“(Y/N)!” Hollers from the dining area. Collei, Tighnari, and astoundingly, Zhongli swarm near Lynette and Freminent. They’re removing their sweaters, but you don’t give Collei or Tighnari time before you charge at them with an immovable hug.  

“Tiggy, Collei! Oh my god!” She welcomes your embrace, and you hear a labored sigh from Tighnari as he tries to pry your arms. “You might fracture my ribs if you keep hugging so tight.” Collei chuckles, and you break the reunion. “I missed you so much!” she bubbles, practically doing happy feet to exert her enthusiasm. You move to Zhongli and greet him with a lukewarm “Hello.” 

Zhongli, your college boyfriend. The terms you ended on were neither good nor bad. He was a cold selfish player, who wanted to have his cake and eat it too. Unfortunately, he got clumsy with the surplus of women he juggled, and you found out you were a number among many. You shed misery in front of his dorm room, and he stilled a detached glare whilst you shouted through its paper-thin halls with unfiltered rage. It was one of the worst moments of your life. A couple years down the line, and you’ve learned to forgive him for his disrespectful, arrogant attitude.  

“You look well” he charms with silky bass. “I am.” 

The couple hours you spend catching up and playing board games goes fluently. Tighnari, Lynette, and Freminent rib about the rules they established mid-way through their card game, and you and Collei sit enchanted by the cozy villager simulation on her handheld console. One of her legs is on top of yours, and you’re leaning in her space. Zhongli can’t catch your sight, purposely projecting louder than usual as he enjoyed a drink made by Lyney. 

“She’s so cute! What’s that one called?” 

“Merengue, she’s my favorite.” 

“Hope Merengue helps you with your PhD thesis” Tighnari intrudes, followed by an annoyed sigh at the “+2” card Freminent puts down. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me!” 

“I didn’t know you were going for a PhD, that’s great” you praise. 

“I guess you wouldn’t know, since you don’t bother to call. Had to find out how you’re doing from Lyney” he jokes. You tilt your head. “Me? You have me blocked on everything.” 

“You don’t come up for me either. I’ve tried calling you a few times, but it went to voicemail. I assumed you had a new phone” Collei supports. You reply with a dry chuckle, and navigate accounts you blocked, evidence they were restricted. It concludes with blank lists where their names should appear. Nothing, not even a way to add them again. This whole ordeal makes you feel like you’re going crazy. You feel bile filling the chambers of your throat, accompanied by a distinct unsettling swell on your temples. Collei notices your furrowed brows and rubs your back. 

“Is everything alright?” Her voice is removed from static hammering your eardrums. 

“Uh, y-yes. I need some water.” You move to the register, where Lyney is wiping down the counter. He slides you a water bottle from the mini fridge. “Don’t throw up, I just cleaned this.” 

“I’ll do my best” you retort. He slants to you, whispering, “Sorry about Zhongli, they didn’t tell me he was tagging along.” You wave it off and take a swig.  

“We gotta talk later. You were right...he’s hiding something.” He gives a comforting nod, and a slender hand enters your peripheral vision.  

“You mind making another, Lyney?” 

“God, you’re insatiable” he complains, and takes Zhongli’s cup for a refill.  

“You both did an outstanding job with the café. It’s homely.” You snort, head resting on your hand. “Is that your way of saying it’s shit?” 

Zhongli frowns, “I’m being serious, I’m proud of what you’ve done here.” 

“Interesting. I’m surprised this isn’t a downgrade to you.” 

“Anything you contribute to is an automatic upgrade.” That sad attempt at flirtation makes you scoff. “Guess your post-college affairs aren’t as frequent if you’re stooping this low.” Maybe you weren’t over it completely. 

“How many times must I apologize?” 

“Until you die.” 

“I’m willing to do that, as many times as it takes.”  

You huff, “It doesn’t matter, Zhongli. I’m in a relationship.” 

“Are you happy?” You don’t have a quip for that question, and it rains on your emotions when you consider it. A flower struggles to bloom through intense downpours. 

“Of course I am.” His smile is frail, and he places a mellow hand on your shoulder. “Then he has all he could ever ask for.”  

The door abruptly opens. Collei’s holding it, and behind it, is Ajax. Dire tension hangs in the air, arid like the anticipation of disaster. Faint smirk and murky glower; the swirling spiral coaxes the same fear you felt last night, and the previous days. His face can’t decide what demeanor to convey, it forces gladness where darkness veils his stare. You tread away from Zhongli, praying he didn’t see the hand that was on you moments ago. Your friend's wave, but he doesn’t return the friendly gesture, instead firing a shaded cast of disgust. He saunters to you with wrenched posture, and each step makes your heart race. 

“Sweetheart, you didn’t answer the phone. I was worried.” He guides you to him by your lower waist. Zhongli watches as Ajax kisses the corner of your mouth, and you beam from the one that tickles your nose. “’M sorry, not feeling so good.” 

“You didn’t tell me you’d be at a party.” 

“It was a surprise.” 

“Ah, I see. These are your friends?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know. 

“Yeah, from back home.” 

“Hello” Zhongli chimes in, holding out his hand to shake. Ajax methodically turns his head to him. You swear you see a vein popping out of his forehead, a splitting stress on his teeth. “Who are you.” 

“Zhongli, I’m an old friend of hers from college. We had a few classes together.” 

“...Friend” he mocks with rictus, “I’ve never heard your name before.” 

“Emphasis on '’old’. I figured I’d stop by since everyone else was here, it’d be a shame to waste such lovely weather-” 

“You talk a lot” he states monotone. Zhongli sneers, “Some may say. I’m quite talkative during social gath-” 

“So shut the fuck up.” The room hushes. You feel the witnesses shrinking themselves at the crushing tension.  

“Excuse me?” 

“Why were you touching her.” He’s jittery, suppressing the turbulent urge shredding through him.  

“I didn’t realize she was your ‘property’” Zhongli scolds. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You put yourself between them, splaying your fingers across Ajax’s chest. His mood switches easily at your expecting gaze. “Ajax, baby, I’m tired. Can we go home now?” He pauses for a final glare at Zhongli. 

“Of course. Let’s go.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief and hold onto his arm as you storm out of the coffeehouse, no time for goodbyes from your friends. You center on leashing Ajax home. Blocks down, you hear the far-off patter of footsteps on stone getting louder. It’s too dinning to ignore, and as you turn around your free arm is snatched by Zhongli. You shriek, “(Y/N), wait, don’t go yet-” 

Whack! His head flies back and pushes him off balance before his feet find stability. It happens so fast, and you look at Ajax, who has a most terrifying dusk pouring on his livid features. Blood gushes from Zhongli’s nose, but he straightens up tall with his fists held in front of him. Ajax cackles, and jabs between the fists that barely have time to block. His movements are fluid, swinging effortlessly after they fall to his sides. Zhongli paces back, and Ajax charges towards him with quick solid blows that make his loafers scratch on the pavement. He plants a mean gut punch to his torso, and Zhongli doubles over until Ajax punches him in the eye with steel knuckles. He collapses, but his fighting hands linger, any chance to defend himself against your merciless boyfriend. That is, until Ajax sits above him, and begins beating him to a pulp. 

Whack! Whack! Whack! His hits are thundering and vicious, tracking blood to his skin from the momentum. You feel lost to time, lost on what to do to save this situation. It sounds like bone swimming in curdling clots and makes you sick. You dive to Ajax, gone by the dead visage. You snake your arms around his waist.  

“Ajax! Please stop!” you scream at the top of your lungs. It falls on deaf ears, but you continue to scream. You’re sobbing into his back and yelling to a hoarse end, when suddenly the punches stop. He gets off Zhongli mechanically and braces your faint legs to rise. It’d be wholesome if not for the blood splattering his hands. He notices your tears and wipes them away, streaking faint blood across your cheek. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m here now.” 

The entire walk home, he’s silent. You hate it when he’s silent. There are cuts spread over his hands and blood steadily runs from the top lip to his swollen bottom lip. He stares off in the distance, concentrated on something—rage, anger—stirring in his cotton-filled brain. You can't read him, and you wonder if you ever had that privilege. 

The pieces come together themselves in a puzzle you unconsciously rejected. You can’t recall the last time you spoke to your parents. His ability to know your favorite meals without talking or gifting you outstanding presents that surfaced memories you’d long forgotten. Collei, Tighnari, Lyney, it’s unmistakable. You beg to be naïve again, hopelessly in love and enraptured.  

You’d rather keep your eyes shut. The sinister rampage spilling out of him is miles apart from the Ajax who serves you breakfast in bed every day and places soft kisses on your body from head to toe. Love is enough, and you know how much he does to show it. Was there another way? Is it your fault this happened? You can’t focus either or organize your jumbled thoughts, and find yourself searching for reassurance within him, any inkling of affection to prove he still loves you. When you sheepishly reach out to grab his wounded hand, he curls around it, and the thump in your heart reignites. A pulse loud enough to subside the dread clamoring in your feet, warning you to run. 

You make it home, and Ajax goes to the kitchen sink to wash away his crimes. He watches red cyclone down the drain, and you lean on a counter close to him. 

“Ajax?” 

“Yea?” he chirps.  

“Zhongli...will he be okay?” you meek. 

“Mhm. I didn’t kill him.” The matter-of-fact reply renders a shudder in your bones.  

“Is something wrong?” The kitchen is small, and from the way you’re standing you’ve closed yourself off to him. 

“No baby,  nothings….nothings wrong” he says, that convincing tone, smooth like satin. 

“But I’m worried. You’ve never acted like this before, tell me what’s on your mind.” He shuts off the water, and the cylindrical pull seeps a guttural groan. He grips the granite, and even that seems to deform. He finally turns to you, a hurt expression colliding with fiendish somber eyes and taut lips. 

“Am I not good enough for you?”  

“You are more than enough” you hearten. Ajax rebuttals a bitter laugh and spouts the candor he’d been gnawing on. 

“I tried. I tried ignoring your kindness. I tried being pitiful, hurting myself so that your eyes were only on me”, he creeps towards you, and your feet move on their own backpedaling. The echo of his self-inflicted scar produces beads of sweat, distracting so that the back of the wooden chair presses into your back and you almost topple over. Nowhere to go, and now he overshadows you with delicate fingertips slithering across your paling cheeks and behind your jaw, “but you’re surrounded by love. People love you.” 

His words drag and descend further, “Ohh, and it’s not fair at all.” 

“Why are they allowed your attention. It should be me. Only me. Don’t you want me?” Laced with love, but you can’t taste it. His dilated orbs ping-pong as they scan your face for confirmation. You bring your palms over his and muster fading courage in timid waves. 

“I love you Ajax. So, so much. But the way you’re acting scares me. It’s my fault and I could’ve gone home, but I haven’t seen them in a long time. I didn’t think things would end up like this.” He pauses, and engulfs you in an ardent embrace, his hand on the back of your head and another on your lower back. Oh, sweetie muffles through strands of your hair as he sways your bodies. You’re mannequin-like in his stifling sight. 

“Nononono, it’s not your fault honeypot. You’re too pure for this world, so kind without thinking. So perfect” he mumbles, absurd drivel seeping through the coherent parts in formidable notes—how he loves you, needs you, can’t live without you— “but they’re leeches. They try to taint you, show you horrible, disgusting things. That piece of shit was looking at me, he was asking for a fight. And he tried to put you in the middle. You could’ve gotten hurt, or God know what. I’ll protect you, my sweet, at any cost." 

“Ajax, I don’t need your protection.” It’s silent, profound when he retracts. You forget how to breathe or talk as he slides to your shoulders and holds them in place. His voice lowers. 

“You don’t need…me?” 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying-” 

“So let me help, let me be yours” he pleads. You don’t respond—you can’t. Each explanation you formulate sticks to the roof of your mouth and swells like a spell drunk in your throat. Ajax tenses, clinging to your skin. He reflects on a thought, and it blooms with a twinkle. 

“What if I just...lock you up?” 

“...What?” you say, hardly above a whisper. It’s arid to swallow, and shivers ripple under sweltering heat prickling your limbs. 

“I wouldn’t put you anywhere bad. It’d be a pretty place; I’ll take good care of you like I always do. Wouldn’t you like that?” He has a hopeful grin on his face, and when he lets you go for a second you jerk away from his reach. Your back hits the opposite wall, nauseous and lightheaded, shaking your head aggressively to push away the existence of the idea. He wrenches his neck, and you glimpse the deluded flush on his face. “No... I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Ah, sweetheart, I know it sounds scary. Can we try it first?”  

“You’re not gonna put me in some fucking cage like an animal” you assert. His eyebrows furrow, offended at your assumption that he’d trap you somewhere unpleasant. 

“I’d never do that to you. I love you.” He inches towards you, and you inch farther. The keys are in front of him, you can’t leave on your own. The steps you take feel critical. 

“Let’s sleep on it, we can discuss in the morning.” No. No no no no. You pan to the staircase, and Ajax curiously watches your paranoid glances. Before he can grab you, you sprint for the stairs. Wind travels in your ears and settles at your graceless movement catching hold of the banister, leverage used to leap. Adrenaline flows steadily in your veins, and your senses feel muddled to mush, focused on pushing your legs to proceed. There’s no room for thinking past the will of your body. You hear airy tsks coming from the dining room, and a singsong “Don’t make me chase you, baby.” 

Suddenly, the creaking floorboards succeed at a roaring parade marching behind you. Closer and closer, a sound you didn’t know he possessed. You don’t dare turn around; the squeak waltzes with your deafening heartbeat. You change direction, making haste to the peaceful bedroom you share, now eroding under his hearty stomps. You clash with the door, and barge in. Slamming it shut, your shaky hands promptly lock the knob. Ajax stops in front of the door and lets his fingertips dance along the wood, “Open the door, please.” 

The knob shakes aggressively, rattling in the socket and threatening to pop. It’s pulling against the edges of the door that rive at his harsh yanks. He perpetually pulls and twists it, “Darling, c’mon open the door, my sweet.” You’re sure if you don’t, he’ll axe his way through instead.  

“Please let me in, baby. Please, I’m dying without you.” 

“I don’t wanna fight anymore... please”, his tone barely lifts above the depth of wood, but you hear the faulty voice keeling in cracks. You know you shouldn’t open the door, but his sorrow beckons you as it often does. He wails so hopelessly, as if you’re punishing him for an unavoidable inevitable. It’s an innocent sob peerless to the ruthless violence he displayed hours before; the harrowing glare of the man you thought you knew was all too terrifying. But he’d never do that to you, would he? You’re his darling sweetheart, his infinity now and forever. You filled his divergent heart and sutured it anew. He needs you.  

Though your hands fidget to stay at their sides from common sense tucked in a forgone crevice of your headache, you force your hand up, and turn the knob. Maybe you should’ve never let him into the shop on that cold night, instead bidding him farewell and trudging in the snow to your crumby apartment. You’d continue running the shop as usual with Lyney. Things would’ve been different, wouldn’t have been so complicated to cut loose from tangling lies knotting the more he consumed you.  

But no, that couldn’t have happened. He would find you, it’s destiny that you’d never part. Stalking in bushes and narrow alleyways until the perfect moment he could walk towards you and catch your eye again, and you’d fall for another pass of courting words.  

Ajax stands there with sparkling sadness streaming down his cheeks that mingle with his quivering lips. He drops to his knees instantly in prayer and looks up at you with doey puffy eye bags that nearly make you overlook everything, about Zhongli, about the red flags that grow green the more you squint. It’s just you and him, that’s all it had to be. In times like these you reminisce about the sweet boy you cuddled and confided in, and things feel as they were. The messy-haired Ajax you remember pulls your lower half close to him with large hands that latch onto your waist the more you adjust. His face is mushed to merging in your stomach, and he sighs heavily, taking in your scent like the last breath he’ll ever have. They snake around you, and you meet eyes again. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I love you angel. So much I’d rip my heart out and put it in your hands…. you control me” Desperation clings to Ajax, and you urge to console him. You intertwine your fingers through his hair. 

“Ajax, this can’t happen again. Okay?” you caution, a warning dripping with compassion. 

“Mhm. Okay.” Unexpected warmth blooms over his cold aura, but the light doesn’t reach his eyes. His hands travel the contours of your hips and thighs, occasionally squeezing with an appreciative huff. He parts your legs and dips to your inner thighs to mold the doughy fat as his lips traverse your lower abdomen, decorating it with wanton kisses. “Love you so much” he utters. His touch is impassioned and fluid, he softens underneath your bottom and circles his thumb like a masseur. Ajax takes his time navigating your sensitive points, and switches between fluffy and solid pressure that licks down your back.  Skin to skin contact wasn’t enough, he wanted to crawl in your ribcage and live in your lungs so he could sense your steady breaths. He wanted to bask in your existence, feel the radiance of your touch and ethereal voice curl and melt into him, to make him nothing and all in your eyes. 

Your digits tangle in his hair, and when he nips your tummy, you tug his scalp. “Fuck” Ajax groans, strained through his lips. The peachy wash draping his cheeks is cherubic, appeased by the rhythmic kneading. One hand slinks under your shirt and guides a fingertip vertically on your spine, the other sculpts your rear. It’s dizzying how easy it is for Ajax to captivate you, a trance that turns your knees to jelly and leaves you at his mercy. You ignored the impulse igniting your muscles to push him off. You want him closer, suffocating you so deep the clouds of his scent dismantle your fear. You take his chin and redirect his attention, and he waits for order like a loyal dog.  

“Ajax.” 

“Whatever you want, princess” he toys, that boyish simper releasing butterflies through your body. 

“I want you.” He hoists you up without a word and carries you to the bed. He brings you down, a priceless vase above the pillowy cushioned bedding. “You comfortable?” You nod, blushing from the way Ajax gawks at your half-hiked shirt, and shorts hanging low on your hips. “Good.” He’s breathless, restraining his impulse to pounce and devour you. No matter how restive he was, Ajax usually prevented himself from indulging beyond your comfort; but tonight is different. It's starving while a succulent meal taunts you, only satiated by the sight of it. He hastily removes his shirt and pants, freckled muscles flexing as he discards them to the floor. It’s hard to avoid the growing spot staining his stretched white briefs. Spreading your legs, he crawls between them. He regards you for a second, but when you reach behind his head he plunges into a longing kiss.  

A longing kiss followed by hungrier ones. It’s abruptly rough and needy against your bruising lips, some skimming the corner of your mouth and tracking to the main course. He frees you for a breather, but the space doesn’t subdue the dull ache thrumming in your core. His nose brushes against yours, and you pull his flyaways back to get the full scale of his feral demeanor, sweating and reddening in the unshakable heat.  

You collide again, hands behind your head through the wild exchange. You can’t keep up; he bites your bottom lip and relieves it with the glide of his tongue. Your slow and steady lover begs for entry with a ravenous push, and you allow it to ruin you. The wet appendage invades your senses, explores your mouth in nonsensical shapes and withdraws with a filthy sound before returning. “So. Fucking. Good” he exhales through your intertwining tongues. You’re moaning into each other, lasting in the moment, forgetting everything. His hips start to grind against you, practically dry humping your clothed lower half. You wrap your legs around him and steer his twitching length to roll into you, nudging the inseam of your shorts to your neglected clit. He engulfs your moans, and retreats with strings of spit connecting your tumid lips. 

Ajax descends to your neck, and places damp and eager kisses along it. You feel the piercing remnant of a bite accompanied by sucking. His fangs pinch and snag and make you whimper. A budding purple and blue blend blotches to your collarbone--draining you like a vampire. His hands stay busy committing your curves to memory in greedy gropes. Ajax doesn’t notice his low rambling, “yea, you’d never leave me, right? I’m all you need”, to “you're mine.” It’s overstimulating, and so is the hammering pulse in your clit.  

Your abused neck is exposed to the delicious sweep of cold air, and he hurries to your shirt. In one swoop, it comes off with the impatient unclasp of your bra. He submerges a stiff peak in warmth while he works the other. His tongue swirls around the nipple, pushing in with a stiff tip and trading it for sucking. It elicits a moan where teeth graze and tweak the bud. “My pretty girl” he murmurs and delivers attention to the next. Ajax massages your spit-soaked tits firmly and diligently in fondling motions. His passion renders him shameless, and it encourages you to fold. You find yourself swerving your hips to his bulge to goad his thirst. He responds with languid nudging, and glances at the space inside your shorts, coated with slick film from your panties. Whine caught in his throat, he salivates and unconciously holds your legs apart. You impel him downwards, and he nuzzles the line to the hem of your shorts.  

“Can I taste you, princess?” It had to be hypothetical, since he was already unbuttoning them with his teeth and tearing them off. “Please?” he pants, a half-lidded mess itching to immerse in your desire. Before you can answer, a rrrip shreds through the room; the culprit of your mangled underwear remains, and you shriek. “Ajax!” you scold, but he’s not bothered when he rips the rest of it to display your arousal. “I’ll get you new ones, I’ll buy you the whole store” he sighs, forcing your thighs rearwards with his hands. He angles himself like a sniper and submerses in your pussy. 

Ajax doesn’t rush, he lazily trails his tongue around the outside and plays with the folds shlicking against him. He outlines the clit and meticulously weaves his skillful tongue, caring for the spots that make your back arch; paying special attention to your entrance, as he teasingly delves in just enough to coax a moan, then laps a flat tongue over your wetness. Ajax’s  ministrations are torturous, rapturing all while ignoring your release. He parts the labia and plashes the juices covering his chin and glossy lips. Your heart is in your ears, winding and coiling at the flicks of his tongue, his fingertips forging red indents on your thighs. Ajax begins to rock himself into the mattress, a fleeting friction comforting his sore erection. His leisurely grinding matches the pace of his mouth making out with your pussy. Mmmf he groans, and the vibrations oscillate. He gently slurps your lips, gasping for another mouthful and lapping at your clit. Your back levitates, and you tug his scalp. It only earns another growl, and faster swipes over the sensitive bud. 

“O-oh fuck” you moan, watching Ajax lose his composure and rut himself into the bed like an animal. He’s panting with a quiver, whimpering some rendition of your name until he sputters. He jolts from the material emptying his balls and soaking the sheets, but his energy doesn’t deplete—It seems to motivate him as he hoists you to his mouth. Ajax always prioritizes your pleasure, but it’s difficult to stop him once he’s invested. And he isn’t done feasting, sloppily eating you up with little concern for your fluttering senses. He rides out his orgasm and brings you to yours, and you hardly realize the intoxicating slide over your clit spelling his name. Ajax, Ajax, Ajax, marked into you; It brings you to a chant as you come undone. Ajax doesn’t waste a drop, avidly cleaning up the juices pulsating out. “Thank you, fuck, thank you so much” he whispers. He swills the bud, and you spasm and squirm from ecstasy in his iron grip. “Ajax, p-please.” 

“I got you.” He gives one last French kiss before exiting tranquility. A combination of spit and arousal blankets his mouth, and he smiles like the happiest man alive. “You okay?” Not a thought in fruition, tender mellowness smothering you. You wince from the prolonged position, and he immediately puts you on your side.  

“Need to feel you.” He wrings his underwear down, and reveals his pulsing shaft adorned with beads of come dribbling down the rosy pale tip. He’s above you, trapping one leg over his shoulder, and aligns himself with your sex. “Perfect tits, perfect pussy. You’re so beautiful, all for me.” The bulb slips in effortlessly, and he sighs at the muscle clenching around him. Each inch drives seamlessly into you, stretching your unadjusted frame. He lulls on your ankle, absorbed by the coziness enveloping the base until he bottoms out. Then it’s unmoving. Agonizing, even, the way you feel him twitch inside. “Y-you can move now.” 

“Let’s just stay like this for a little.” He rubs your leg, savoring the serene patter of rain smacking the wide windows and toasty light dusting your dazed appearance. It’s intimate and placid minus the rise and fall of your bodies, and you’re surprisingly shy. You rush to cover your face, but Ajax grabs you. “Don't hide, pretty girl. You’re stunning” he flirts, kissing your hand. 

“Do you love me?” His blinks are exaggerated, confused that you’d ask such an obvious question. 

“Of course.” 

“What do you love about us?” He brings your hand to his cheek. “You complete me. You’ve forgiven me, loved me, and accepted me for who I am. I can be open around you.” He kisses your wrist, silken as to quell the trivial thoughts resurfacing. 

“I’ll love you until the end. I’ll find you in the next life and start all over, even when this universe collapses. I won’t let anyone get in our way, so love me forever.” Ajax pulls out to the tip, and you whine at the loss of wholeness. Then, he drives his sticky cock unhurriedly to the hilt. You mewl, and he palms your chest. “Shh, ‘s okay.” The milky translucent trail links you and erupts obscene syrupy noises. “What are you thinking for baby names?” You can’t focus, the swinging strokes graze your g-spot. You’d say anything to him at this point; you need him deeper. He casually thumbs your clit and continues at a sluggish tempo. “I really like the name Aleksei” In and out, veins embellishing your walls. You meet his thrusts and shudder, though he stops occasionally to redirect the sopping length. 

“A-ahn, you’re so wet, it keeps slipping out” he moans. He picks up the speed, squelching stirring with whimpers. “I love you, honeypot. Sosososo fucking much, just wanna breed this pretty pussy every second of the day. Ah- you wanna be a mommy, yeah? We can have a big family, hah, just you me and the kids. Wouldn’t you like that, darling?” He’s drilling into you, stuffed to bursting. You feel yourself approaching and seize his wrist. “’M close!” 

“Give it to me, fuck, please” Ajax whines, and you climax under him, juices saturating his balls. You don’t get time to recover; he fucks you through your orgasm. You’re reeling, clawing at his forearm when he puts you flat on your back. “Wanna come inside. Can I, please? I want it so bad” he pleads. He adjusts you to a mating press with brute force, and plummets inside.  

It’s vicious, staggering plap’s and squelching audible from outside. The headboard bangs on the wall while he pummels your pussy. A sheen of lust shrouds his eyes, and his heavy balls smack against your ass as he wrecks you. More, more, more drowns him in senseless fucking, precome frothing at the base. You convulse around him, and he burrows full throttle. When his tongue finds yours, you interweave through the sloppy pumps. His balls tighten, and he chases his high frenetically bobbing. “O-oh, fuck, you’re gonna make me come.” Harsher, meaner strokes hit you quick, and Ajax melts into endless whimpers striking his climax. Ropes of thick white paint your insides, teeming to globs where they crowd your pussy and leak to your ass. Ajax bucks into you, and you milk him dry. The shakes eventually stop, and he goes limp on top of you. You feel him softening, his steady inhale. He smiles at you, showering you with affection you couldn’t resist.  

“I should use the bathroom” you suggest, patting his back as a signal to get off. “Sure. Wait here, I’ll get you cleaned up.” He returns after an eternity, with cloudy water and a tepid towel. 

“Here, drink this.” You take the cup and sip. Ajax tips it a bit, urging you to gulp. He wipes you down lovingly while you swallow the contents. He disregards your vulva, however, collecting the come on his fingers and pushing it in. Oddly, you’re leaden—insanely leaden, so much so that your head tilts to one side and threatens to give up entirely. Your knees are wobbly, and your bones are lost in a dreamlike state. Ajax passes the towel under your chest.  

“You know, I didn’t feel bad about it, when I strung his guts across the wall. I only thought of you.”  

No. It can’t be true. 

You can’t scream or fight, and simply gape at the words hulking through your numbed rationale. The towel cools your sweat, but the fear persists.  

“I met him behind your complex. He was bitching about rent, sleazy fucking scum. I asked him if you live there, and he went on a rant about it. Saying nasty stuff no one should ever say about you. I couldn't help it, (Y/N), I had to see his organs carved out of his body.” Your jackhammering heart doesn’t compare to your sloth behavior. You want to run, move in with your parents again and pretend; pretend like your life hasn’t been propelled into disarray, pretend that the ginger boy caressing your face didn’t butcher a man.  

“Ajax, let me go” you cried, a teardrop coursing across your temple. He wipes it, “I’m not holding you, dear. You can’t stand on your own right now, but the effect will wear off after you sleep. Rest for now, okay sweetie?” 

“What did you put...in my...” You’re swooning, ferried by the effect of the unknown medicine sprinkled in your cup. With no will to combat, your eyes reluctantly close. His pupils are desolate and obscure, the night of a severe blizzard. 

“I’m sorry, but I won’t make the same mistake twice.” 

tags: @zhochikennugget (if anyone else would like to be tagged, dm and i'll tag you on the next one :)

[buddierecs]

idiots in love buddie fics

all explicit rating - 18+ only!!!!!! make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

short circuit by: hauntsorchards "buck and eddie see who can go the longest without jerking off" word count: 10k important tags: fluff, sexual tension, phone sex, dirty talk, light dom/sub, plot what plot, anal sex bring the bitter taste to a halt by: penofpisces "after an unfortunate mishap, buck needs some help. eddie is partially responsible, so he offers his help. or the viagra chocolate fic" word count: 5.3k important tags: aphrodisiacs, first time, blow jobs, breeding kink, hyperspermia, love confessions i can see you (up against the wall with me) by: champagne_for_breakfast "another cowboy hat fic inspired by ryan guzman and his appearance in everybody wants some!!" word count: 9.3k important tags: jealous!eddie diaz, riding, cowboy hats, praise kink, oblivious!evan buckley, first time, bottom!evan buckley, top!eddie diaz chafe the skin (you know i like it rough) by: honestlydarkprincess "the stubble fic." word count: 5.9k important tags: mutual pining, getting together, anal sex, praise kink, rimming, blow jobs, dom/sub leading with the left by: letmetellyouaboutmyfeels "when buck said he was a "bartender" in "south america" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "mexico." and when eddie said, "what's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?" in other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about buck. or eddie. or buck and eddie's relationship." word count: 84k important tags: stripper au, emotional slow burn, miscommunication, light dom/sub, anal sex, blow jobs, public sex, lap dances courtship behaviours of southern coastal husbro by: mad_lori "buck and eddie decide to become platonic domestic partners and co-parents. they are 100% super normal about it and absolutely nothing is awakened in them, except a mutual annoyance at being referred to as "husbros." word count: 49k important tags: slow burn, domestic partners, co-parenting, demisexual!eddie diaz, eventual smut, oral sex, frottage care for a helping hand? by: znks "sometimes you just gotta help your best friend jerk off" word count: 4.1k important tags: mutual pining, love confessions, hand jobs, praise kink, fingering, porn with feelings without ever touching his skin, how could i be guilty as sin? by: champagne_for_breakfast "the one where buck comes out, realizes he is in love, gets an inappropriate tattoo and has to live with the consequences of his actions" word count: 17k important tags: tattoos, feeling realisation, dom/sub, blow jobs, face-fucking, daddy kink, possessive!eddie diaz, praise kink it's not right (but it's okay) by: weewooforever "buck and eddie fuck nasty after tommy disappoints buck again." word count: 8.9k important tags: infidelity, drunk sex, moustache!eddie diaz, anal sex, blow jobs, hand jobs, first time hot stuff by: colormeparanoid "the one where a romantic evening together goes awry because of some red hot chilli peppers (and by that, I don't mean the band)" word count: 3.7k important tags: fluff, sex gone wrong, anal fingering, established relationship except everything by: underhung_aura "buck and eddie become friends with benefits, get high, and confess their love in the stupidest and most endearing way possible." word count: 26k important tags: friends with benefits, pining, boys in love, soft!buddie, pet names, hand jobs, blow jobs, praise kink

chase the pain (i'd do it again) by: buckalmighty "eddie keeps kissing buck while they’re drunk and buck kinda can’t stop thinking about it" word count: 10k important tags: drunk kissing, pre-relationship, dom/sub undertones, anal sex, top!evan buckley, bottom!eddie diaz stars by the pocketful (you wanting me tonight feels impossible) by: champagne_for_breakfast "buck and eddie accidentally get married after chimney's bachelor party in las vegas." word count: 27k important tags: las vegas wedding, friends to husbands to lovers, minor buck/tommy, anal sex, praise kink, didn't know they were dating

[hitomisuzuya]

bodyguard x overworked fem ceo reader person here lol

I’ve got a smut version I’d love to share

thinking of reader (who’s not overworked this time) to just have an amazing body. Like her body is the epitome of attractive, she’s js hot like that🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽

she’s wearing tight fitting office clothes (blouse, blazer, tights, and ong the sluttiest little tight putting black pencil skirt.) and scara walks in seeing her bending over to get a file

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Fingering. Degradation.

This request😳 I'm sorry this took so long to get to😭

Scaramouche was on his way into your office with cups of coffee and hot chocolate for the both of you. He nearly spit out his bitter, black coffee when he saw you.

The sight of you bent over, reaching down to pick up a file you'd dropped next to the cabinet made him start to feel hard. Your ass looked defined and grope able. He swore that if he tilted his head a little, he could see a peek of your panties.

Your black stockings hugged your thighs in a way that was impossible for Scaramouche's greedy hands to resist. He set the cups down on your desk, his eyes trained on your ass as he walked over to you.

You looked so breedable bent over like that. Were you trying to tease him?

He reached out and groped your ass, smirking when he heard your shy squeak. "Scaramouche, it's still office hours," You said, blushing in embarrassment feeling his hand squeeze your ass again. It appeared he hadn't heard a word you said.

"Hmm?" Scaramouche purred, his hand travelling from your ass to your thigh. He hooked his fingers through the band of your stockings, snapping it back against your thigh.

Any other protests from you died, quickly being silenced as his hand cupped your cunt. He rubbed and teased your clit outside of your panties, quickly making you wet as you squirmed. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips watching you grind into his fingers, a string of shaky moans emitting from your parted lips.

Scaramouche took his time stroking your swelling clit, reducing your panties to soaked mess clinging to your cunt. Every sweep and stroke of his thumb made your clit throb, the fabric of your panties creating friction against it.

"What a slut I have for a boss," His eyes followed the moments of hips as you grinded into his fingers, "so wet and eager for her bodyguard's fingers," You mewled in protest when he took his fingers off your clit.

He bunched your skirt up around your hips, his eyes getting the perfect view of how wet you were for him. It made him lick his lips, not being able to resist smacking his hand across your ass. You yelped softly, your pussy clenching around nothing from his degradation.

You reached down with a shaky hand to pull your panties aside for him. He smacked your hand away, hastily pushing them aside with two fingers. Your toes curled as his connected with your clit, your legs shaking as he pressed his thumb in slow circles on it.

"Sc-Scara, please," You moaned needily, all rational thoughts crumbling in your mind. Your hole quivered around the tip of his fingers as he teased them at your entrance, gliding his fingers back up to flick your clit.

He knew very well he could make you cum by rubbing and playing with your clit, but he wanted to make you cream on his slender fingers.

A loud gasp of pleasure tore from your throat as he plunged his fingers into your wet warmth. They curled and nudged into your sweet spot. Your fingernails clawed into the wall, grinding your hips back into his fingers. Jolts of pleasure went straight to your throbbing clit, making you see stars.

"Fuck you are so tight," He groaned, scissoring your walls apart. He made sure you felt every drag of his fingers against your sensitive walls as they clapped around them. "You'd suffocate my cock with your slutty cunt."

Your orgasm curled tighter and tighter inside of you. His eyes were trained on the slick that oozed out around his fingers, squelching sounds accompanying your shameless moans.

The pace of his fingers increased, hitting into your sweet spot more firmly when he saw your body twitching and tensing with your approaching orgasm.

"Be a good girl, and cum like the slut you are," He pumped his fingers as deep inside of you as he could, sweeping them up to play with your clit before plunging them back inside of you.

You whimpered before crying out loudly for him, your body shaking as your orgasm tore through you. His cock was straining in his pants watching you twitch and make a mess on his fingers.

[shadowmaat]

Shatterpoint Shuffle

I decided to have a bit of fun with @bitter-chocolate-stars's cracky idea about time traveling clones and tiny Obi-Wan, as aided and abetted by @krazykupidspoems.

-

Padawan Mace Windu entered the Kybuck Clan crèche. scanning the tiny initiates currently engaged in free play. He stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of one initiate, who was offering their sippy cup to the air.

His Master bumped into him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Is something wrong, Padawan?" Master Myr asked.

Mace pressed his back against her, wanting to get out of the room.

"That initiate," he said, swallowing a wave of nausea. "They... The shatterpoints. They're made of shatterpoints!"

The initiate in question was talking to an imaginary friend, oblivious to Mace's discomfort. They pulsed in the Force, surrounded by fracture lines and shards of barely-glimpsed potential. Shifting, twisting, changing; Mace pressed his thumb into the base of his wrist, trying to suppress the dizziness.

"Is that so?" Master Myr leaned over his shoulder, looking at the initiate. "How interesting."

The initiate's head whipped around, locking eyes with Mace, who tried once again to back away. They scrambled to their feet and ran over, beaming up at him.

"Gen'ral Windu! Ponds says he misses you!" They held their arms out. "Up!"

For a heartbeat one of the shards grew bigger, giving Mace the impression of... eyes, maybe. Or blood.

"Ponds?" He echoed, stooping to pick them up. He didn't want this walking nest of shatterpoints anywhere near him, but some imperatives were too big to override.

"General," his Master murmured behind him.

"Uh huh!" The initiate flopped against his chest, thumb inserted in their mouth, talking around it. "He says s'not your fault, it was that b-" They broke off, glancing aside. "Huh? A bad word? Oh, okay! It was the bad lady's fault."

Guileless grey-blue eyes stared up at him. A flicker, and they were older and filled with grief. Another flicker and they were younger, dancing with humor. Another flicker.

Mace blinked to clear it away, swallowing his queasiness.

"Thank you for telling me, initiate," he said, trying to sound sincere.

"You seem very knowledgeable, little one," Master Myr said. "Do you know my Padawan well?"

"Uh huh!" They paused mid-nod, glancing aside. "Uh uh!" They shook their head. "I will someday? That's what Cody says!"

"And who is Cody?"

He could feel Cyslin rubbing small circles against his back, but while he tried to take comfort from it he still felt as if he was cuddling a bomb.

"He's- oh right! I need to int'duce myself!" Removing their thumb from their mouth, they held their hand out over Mace's shoulder. "I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi! And some day I'm gonna be a Master!"

The named echoed in the Force, a susurration.

The crèchemaster saved him at that point, coming over to whisk Obi-Wan away for a nap.

"I hope Obi-Wan didn't trouble you too much," Master Tlah said, once everyone had been settled. "He has a very active imagination, even for a human toddler."

"That's quite alright, isn't it, Mace?" Cyslin elbowed him.

Mace bowed. "Yes, of course. It was fine, Master Tlah," he lied.

The two Masters chatted for a bit before he and Cyslin finally left the crèche.

"So," she said, in a tone Mace had come to dread. "Young Obi-Wan seems very interesting."

"That's one way of putting it," he muttered.

"Perhaps this is the Force's way of giving you a hint."

He side-eyed her, wariness prickling between his shoulders. She caught the look, grinning as she ruffled his braids.

"My poor, suspicious Padawan," she teased. "All I'm saying is that if he's still 'made of shatterpoints' by the time he comes of age, he might benefit from having a Master who understands what that means."

He turned to stare at her in open-mouthed horror, making her laugh.

"Absolutely not," he said. "I'm still a Padawan! I'll probably still be a Padawan by then!"

"We'll see, my little General, we'll see."

She continued down the hall, leaving Mace to wallow in a sense of impending doom. A flicker of possibility off to one side, carrying the suggestion of laughter.

"Absolutely not," he repeated, hoping the Force believed him.

[cosmerelists]

Rosharans Rate Foods Not Native to their Planet

As requested by @makothedorito :)

@makothedorito wanted to know what would happen if Stormlight characters encountered food not native to their planet. Here's what I think!

1. Szeth reviews Mountain Dew

Szeth: Horrible. Szeth: A bright, unconscionable green color. Sickly, horribly sweet. Like acidic poison in my throat. Szeth: Also made me feel, strangely, as though even without powers, I could fly. Szeth: ... Szeth: 3/5 stars.

2. Lift reviews Mountain Dew

Lift: Actually,SzethonlytooklikeonesipbeforeItookitfromhim. Lift: IsawthecrazylookhewasgettinginhiseyesandIwaslikenosir. Lift: Luckily,IdrankthewholebottleandI'mnotbeingaffectedatall! Wyndle: [crying]: Mistress, PLEASE use Regrowth I think you're dying!

3. Shallan reviews chocolate

Shallan: Oh, 5/5 for sure! Shallan: Radiant likes the dark chocolate because the "bitterness adds to the sweetness," apparently. Shallan: Veil likes milk chocolate coating other things--so like sugar with another, harder layer of sugar. Shallan: I gotta say--I like the bars! Something about being able to crack off pieces and eat them is so satisfying. Adolin: So the 19 wrappers I see around our room... Shallan: Head's up, I may never sleep again!

4. Rushu reviews coffee

Rushu: My research indicated that this drink is supposed to make you alert and eager for action! Rushu: But...my thoughts have never BEEN so sedate. Honestly, I could take a nap right now. Rushu: Odd. Rushu: 4/5, I suppose.

5. Nomad reviews hot 'n' spicy wings

Nomad: [a single tear running down his face] Nomad: Finally...some good fucking food...

6. Renarin reviews steak

Renarin: You would think that "well done" is the opposite of "badly done" but Renarin: ... Renarin: I suppose I know what it is like to eat leather.

7. Bridge Four reviews pizza

Lopen: Man, it's great! Look at this one--so thin and droopy you have to roll it up to eat it! Rock: What is your insanity? This one that is so thick you must cut into it with a large knife is the way to go. I want my pizza to be as deep as my fist. Lopen: Thin is better!! Rock: Thick is superior!! Skar: I can't say why, but I'm partial to the one cut into squares. Really crackling crust, too. It just feels right, somehow... Rock: Skar, friend, I respect your opinion even though it is 100% wrong. Kaladin: Isn't all pizza just a tad...greasy? Lopen: Ha ha! You say such weird things somethings, Kaladin! Lyn: Ooooh....this one with ham and the sweet yellow fruit is AMAZING! Best pizza of all time hello?? Lopen: ... Rock: ... Skar: ... Kaladin: ... Lopen: I can't believe we have to kick Lyn out of Bridge Four. Lyn: HEY

[lesservillain]

eddie munson x reader cw: smut, established relationship, mental deterioration, death, the afterlife, advanced technology a/n: based off of the black mirror episode titled san junipero. thank you @ali-r3n for reminding me to reupload this. 3.8k words

You’d been watching him all night. Dark curls bouncing every time he laughs, hands squeezing around the neck of his beer bottle. He was making friends with a group of similarly dressed individuals, other metal heads of the 80s clad in leather and worn band tees. They weren’t hard to find in a place like this. Some of them may have even made a name for themselves once. But, in this town, things like fame didn’t matter much. 

Eyes like melted chocolate meet yours, a devious smirk forming on his lips. A wink. Acknowledgement of the game the two of you were playing tonight. You watched as he called the bartender over, yelling something that you couldn’t hear over the loud bump of 80s pop music. The bartender nodded, and after a few moments of mixing was walking your way. 

“From the guy at the end of the bar,” he said, sliding the drink to you. But you already knew, smiling to yourself as you sip your signature drink. It went down quickly after years of drinking it. The bitter alcohol taste didn’t bother you like in the past. You popped an ice cube in your mouth before jumping off the bar stool, looking back for just a moment to see him quickly down his drink, getting up to chase after you. 

The end of your dress billowed lightly in the breeze,  chilling your skin as you stepped out into the busy nightlife. The sun had set, and the sky once filled with blues and pinks was now a deep purple with stars mixed in. You could see the moon reflecting over the glassy waves of the ocean from the deck of the bar. 

“Beautiful, isn't it,” you ask as he leans next to you, his back against the rails. The tendrils of his hair flutter with the salty air, reaching out to you where you stand. It’s tempting to take one and wrap it around your finger but you decide against it, just in case it may be too intimate for the facade you’re trying to keep up. 

“Sure is,” he says, his eyes fixed on you, looking you up and down. You feel the heat rise in your cheeks under his gaze. 

“You’re not even looking,” you shake your head. His teeth show this time when he smiles at you, leaning into your personal space to whisper in your ear.  

“Wasn’t talking about the beach, sweetheart.”

If he was any other guy you wold have told him to fuck off by now. He knows that, too. Which is why he does all that he can to push your buttons as the two of you talk. Teasing and joking around, being his authentic self, putting you in laughing fits that bring you to tears. 

And when he gets you in his bed, he’s making you moan his name. He tells you that the way you say his name is better than any chorus of devils that would have been waiting for him if the two of you hadn’t been here. Your bodies meld together like they belonged to the other in this weird fucked up place you’ve found yourselves in. His hips roll into yours, wet slapping of skin on skin filled the room, loud enough to rival the waves hitting the shore just outside your window. 

“Eddie, please I’m so close,” you huff, on the precipice of another orgasm, your senses heightened by the air of this place. His hand slides from your hip to your bud, moving in calculated circles from the years of working your body how you liked it. Your hand in his hair tugs at the base of his neck, fingers tangling in his curls as your body goes stiff. White hot heat washes over you and the stars in your eyes are so bright they blind you for a moment. For a second you panic, having to remind yourself where you are as his face becomes clear again.

His features are contorted as he finishes inside you. Brows pinched and nostrils flaring as he breaths through it. You’re suddenly reminded of the first time you two had spent together like this. In the back of his old beater van at Lover’s Lake. His face looked just like this, it was crazy to see it again. You wondered if this place gave him the same nostalgia. 

The two of you settle in post orgasmic bliss, bodies tangled in each other despite the sticky sweat on each other's skin. You wished it didn’t have to end. For him it didn’t, not anymore anyway. He could stay like this all the time, but you…

The sound of the clock beeping brought tears to your eyes. It was the worst sound in the world. His grip on you tightened as he shushed in your ear. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll be right here waiting for you when you come back.”

“You promise?" You choke out, feeling less and less of his touch as you start to fade. 

“I always am, aren't I?”

This was your favorite look of his. Sure, you couldn’t deny the way he made you feel back when you first met, but this decade was some of the best years of your life with him. 

“I don’t get it,” he says as he swings your hands together. The two of you walk along the city streets. Music you haven’t heard in nearly 4 decades can be heard playing in every building you pass. “This is when I started getting grey hairs. You sure you don’t want to-”

“No, Eddie,” you laugh, “I told you that I like the seasoned rock star version of you. Sure, you were plenty cute back when we were young-young, but this you?” You tuck a curl behind his ear, kissing his cheek where it sat. “This is the sexy dad version of you that I love. Good thing you got that vasectomy because we probably would have had way more kids back then.” 

His laugh is like an old song to your ears that gets harder and harder to remember. You wish you could capture the sound in a bottle to keep with you when the two of you aren’t together. His ring clad hand squeezes yours, bringing it his lips to skin there. 

“How are they? Any updates you can think of?” The way he phrases it doesn’t get past you, but for the sake of argument you let it go. 

“Leah and David are going to be grandparents again. A…little girl this time, I think,” you try and wrack your brain for the information. “Bella is due in, um, December. Right, yeah, because it’s close to Christmas.”

“That’s awesome! Bella was a peach when she was little, so I’m sure Leah and Connor were excited when they found out Bella was having a girl after three boys.”

“Three boys?” You look at him confused. 

“Yeah, remember? Liam, Markus, and Jay. And this baby will be their first girl.” 

“Oh, yeah, I knew that” you say quickly. 

“Sweetheart,” he sing-songs to you. You wipe your eyes on the strap of your dress before looking at him. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry? I only know these things because you tell me. I wish I could be there to see them.” His voice trails off, a somber look in his eyes that he tries to disguise with a weak smile. “Have they, um, changed their minds about…”

You shake your head. You didn’t blame them for not wanting to come here. The only reason you were even here is because of him. As real as they try to make this place, it still feels like living in a film or a music video. Eddie says it feels more authentic for him now. Maybe you’ll feel that way one day.

“Oh fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop, please, don’t stop!”

Your thighs shake as Eddie’s tongue does wonders between them. He’d been edging you since you woke up, pushing you almost past your limit just to pull away. 

“I don’t know baby,” he says mere inches from your mound, “Do you still have doubts about me? Wouldn’t want to do all of this just for you to think I’m trying to fool you.”

“No, no, you’re real, fuck, you’re so real,” you say as you grip his hair, desperately trying to ride against his face as you feel your orgasm approaching. 

“Damn right I am,” his fingers pick up their pace as they curl into that sweet spot in your walls. “They can’t fake the way I know you inside out. Know exactly how much you can take, how you like the way I…”

His tongue moves meticulously on your clit, the combination with his fingers finally pushing you over the edge as your eyes squeeze shut, moaning his name. He slows his movements, letting you come down from your high before pulling away. 

Your eyes blink open, shifting down from the ceiling to where Eddie was between your legs. Except it wasn’t Eddie whose eyes were looking back at you. You shift up in the bed, pulling the covers over yourself as you scream, “Eddie? Eddie!”

The man jumps up, confused. “Baby, what's wrong? I’m right here.” Your eyes don’t leave him, terrified of what will happen if you look away. 

“W-what? Where’s Eddie? Who the hell are you?”

He moves towards you, causing you to flinch. But when you open your eyes again Eddie’s the one standing in front of you. His hands cup your face, shushing you to calm you down. He climbs in the bed with you, holding you close as you cry and whispering reassurances in your ear. 

“He looks so real,” you shout to Eddie, eyeing the very real looking Kurt Cobain playing on the stage in front of you. 

“Maybe it’s just because we’re so far back. He died way before they could have uploaded him here, so he’s gotta be a hologram or something,” Eddie shakes his head as he shouts back to you.

“Maybe they used people’s memories to make him?”

He shrugs, taking a sip of his beer, offering it to you when he catches you looking at him. You wave him off, resting your head against his arm. A memory jumps to the front of your mind, like deja vu. 

“Eddie,” he looks down at you, “We’ve seen them before, haven’t we?”

His face lights up, nodding excitedly. “Yeah, back in ‘93! You remember that?”

“Kind of. It feels like we’ve done this before,” you bite at your lower lip, a nervous habit you’d picked up in your life. 

“Well, we’ve been to a lot of concerts. Do you remember standing on the side stage to watch them in Portland?”

“Side stage? Why would we have been on the side stage?” 

He blinks at you wordlessly, dark eyes becoming misty as he looks into yours. You feel a guilt creep in. You should know the answer, but you don’t, and the feeling eats you up inside. What else have you forgotten? How many times has he asked you if you remember something, only to break his heart over and over again?

How much longer before you forgot his face?

“Grandma, please.”

“No, I don’t want to take those damn pills!”

You smack the man’s hand away, sending pills flying across the floor. A sharp pain shoots through your shoulder, causing you to cry out in pain. 

“Grandma, those pills are to help with the pain. I promise I’m not giving you anything else.” The man before you looks familiar, his dark loose curls and deep brown eyes that feel safe are the only reason you even let him in your house, even if he insists that he lives there. 

“Well, damnit, if you had said they were for pain I would have taken them,” you say through gritted teeth. Eddie sighs, placing his ring clad hand on top of yours. It doesn’t look like your hand. The skin looks too withered and bruised to be yours, but the feeling was there. “Eddie, can you bring me something to drink?”

“My name is-” Eddie looks at you for a moment. Defeated, he sighs, “Yes, grandma, I’ll be right back.” 

The man comes back a few minutes later with a drink and helps you take a sip from the straw. “Do you want anything to eat?” He asks, hope in his eyes as you ponder for a moment, only to be dashed away when you refuse.

The man gets you cleaned up and ready for bed, and you only give him a little bit of shit as he does, your body too tired to fight tonight.

You watch as he fiddles with a little round device on your bedside table. You’re not sure what it does but you know in the back of your mind that it makes you happy when it’s working. 

“Uncle Dustin called to check in on you today,” the man says as he presses a button, bouncing his head happily as it turns green. “I told him you said hi.”

“Why the hell would you tell your friend I said hi?” You grumble, feeling the sleep start to take over your body. You eyelids are heavy, the room going dark as you drift off.

“Goodnight, grandma.”

You wake a moment later to the feeling of Eddie’s hair tickling your nose. Slowly, you blink your eyes open, brown eyes staring down at you from where you lay on his chest. The soft up and down of his chest is missing, not that he needs to do that anymore, a sad reminder of what this place is for him.. 

“Awake so soon, sweetheart,” he asks, his hand rubbing up and down your arm. You nod, shifting your body so you can stretch out next to him. “You know I’m not going anywhere,” he sighs, eyes flicking between yours. “I don’t want you to miss out on anything.”

“I’m not,” you say with a smile hoping that it would be enough to put his mind at ease. He pulls you in for a kiss and holds you close to him. Even if this place isn’t your home, Eddie always makes you feel like you belong. 

“Hey, Eddie,” you whisper into his neck, and you can feel him hum on the top of your head where his chin rests. “Who’s Dustin?”

It's still for a long moment. His lack of response has you worried. The heave of his chest has you pulling away, sitting up next to him in the bed. Tears roll down his cheeks and you quickly wipe them away with your thumbs. 

“E-Eddie I’m sorry, I-I don’t know why I even asked.” It’s true. The name sits in your head but you don’t know why. It's a hollow thought, with no meaning.

“You really don’t remember?” His voice is strained. For some reason his question made you angry. Like he was calling you stupid for not remembering. Why does everyone get so upset when you can’t remember something?

“No,” you say sternly. “And I don’t want to remember!” 

You throw the blankets off of you, getting out of the bed and storming out. The hem of your dress tickles your ankles as the breeze blows down the beach. The further you go the more you start to forget where you’re at.

Now you’re running, panicking with no one else around to help you. You trip, hands hitting the sand as you fall to your knees. You feel helpless, confused, wailing into the empty beach that you don’t remember coming to. You hear your name being called. A man with long, dark hair approaches you, attempting to put his arms around you. 

“Don’t touch me!” You push him away, trying to get up on your own. “I don’t need your help, young man!”

The look on his face is nothing short of mortified. “No, no, this isn’t right,” he says, shaking his head, hands grabbing at his hair. “Please don’t forget me, please! Something isn't right!”

Suddenly your ears start ringing. The ringing gets louder and louder until bells and alarms swirl around you, and vision starts to spin. You try covering your ears but the sounds are coming from inside your own head. It feels like you’re screaming but you can’t hear. The man's hands are on you a moment later shaking you, and his mouth is moving but you can’t hear him either. 

Your vision starts to go white and you feel your body becoming heavy. Everything feels cold, then nothing. The last thing you feel is the man’s lips on your forehead. 

“I think this is the best chicken you’ve ever made. Swear on my life, sweetheart.”

“That’s not much to swear on, Eds.” 

He gives you a knowing look from across the table, continuing to dig into the dinner you made for the two of you. He was right, it did taste almost as good as your own grandmother had made it when you were young, but that seemed to be how things are in San Junipero. Something you’re sure they built into the software when they made this place. 

“Do you want to walk to that new ice cream place on the pier? I heard it’s amazing,” you ask as you grab your plate to place in the sink. “I bet they have that gross pistachio ice cream you like.”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it,” Eddie says with a mouth full of food, handing you his dirty dishes as you start to clean up.

“I did try it. Fifty years ago, remember?” You laugh as you clean the dishes, handing them back to him to dry. His smile reaches his eyes as he looks at you. 

“Yeah, it was our second date. How could I forget? I got ketchup all over your new dress, too. I don’t know why you agreed to another date with me after that.”

“Hmm, I don’t know either. Maybe it's because you’re, oh, I don’t know, really cute or something?” He shoves you playfully and you shove him back. Shoving turns to grabbing, and grabbing turns to groping. His hands all over your body as you pull him by the belt loops into your bedroom.

It was amazing to feel this again. For it to feel real. To be intimate with Eddie after he had been gone for those seven long, lonely years. 

You thought your time was limited when he got the diagnosis. That the cancer would take him and you would have an empty hole inside you that you would never recover from. Rock star money could buy a new car for all your family and friends or a last family trip to Rome, but you couldn’t pay enough for cancer not to spread so rapidly in the body. 

Money could, however, get you early access to a new experimental technology that may be able to save your person hood to a cloud. 

“Fuck, Eddie, I miss this,” you moan as you bounce up and down on his cock, “Missed you.”

Eddie's eyes were glued between you, watching as he disappeared inside you over and over. He pulled you down to press your bodies together, letting his hips roll into your as your lips locked in hot passion. You weren’t sure if it was because the two of you hadn’t had bodies like these in so long or if it was just the effect San Junipero has on you after death, but as the two of you lay breathless you can’t help but think that it’s the best sex the two of you have had in a long time. 

“He really does look like me, doesn’t he,” Eddie says. You follow his gaze to a picture of your great-grandson, Micha. He was almost a clone of Eddie with the same long curls and dark eyes. And thanks to a recent 80s revival, they even had the same sense of fashion. You’d let him go through yours and Eddie’s shared dresser after he passed, letting him take whatever “vintage” pieces of Eddie’s wardrobe he wanted. “I hope he washed that vest though, I’m sure that thing stinks.”

“You think I was going to give him your vest without washing it first? God you should have seen how brown the water was when I first let it soak,” you cringe thinking about how many times you had to clean the tub after that.

“Damn, he really must have been your favorite if you did that. You wouldn’t even wash that thing for me.”

“Oh, shut up,” you roll your eyes, “I think you’re forgetting that you wouldn’t let me clean it. “Too many memories” or something like that.”

He looked at you in faux offense, but broke character when you didn’t back down. You use the last bit of sunlight to talk about the other pictures that now adorned your shared bedroom. Pictures of young family members he never got to meet, seven years worth of memories with friends and family he didn’t get to share after he had passed.

There was a picture that someone had taken of you and some of your friends that had been able to come out for Eddie’s funeral. You didn’t want to put that one up, but Eddie said it made him happy that all of his friends still cared so much even after he was gone.

It was bittersweet for both of you as your memory had started to rapidly fade in the last year of your life. You barely remember the time you spent here with him. Thankfully you had the memories from when you were awake regularly uploaded into the cloud just as they started letting the living enter San Junipero. 

“I wish they could be here, too,” you sighed.

“Me too,” his hand squeezed yours, “But, I get it. Maybe by the time they get to our age it will be safer for them.” You nod and break away from him, standing up from the bed. “Where are you going, miss ma’am?”

You pick up your dress from the floor, slipping it over your body. You look over to him, the man who gave you one of the most amazing lives that any person could have ever lived. The freak of Hawkins High turned rock star, never forgetting those who were most important to him in his life. The man who you made two beautiful children with, who never felt like their dad put the rock star life before them. He was the love of your living life and now you got a second chance to love him for as long as this place would allow it. 

“I think someone promised to get me some nasty pistachio ice cream.”

thank you for reading!

[missannwinchester]

Plaything, Joel x Reader SMUT

Thank you for the moodboard, @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog 💕

18+

adults only

SUMMARY: You're Joel's pretty doll.

part 2 here

Stars shining bright above you

WARNINGS: creepy behaviour, Joel dresses reader up like a doll, sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship mentioned, oral sex, sex, rough sex, hair pulling, pet names (baby, doll, darling, etc.), spanking, age gap (reader is in her late 20s)

You sighed in your sleep when Joel opened up the blinds. The sun was shining straight at your face and you rolled over, facing away from the window, but Joel didn’t give up. You heard him walk around the bedroom and fiddle with his old, beloved record player. He always corrected you, “it’s a gramophone”, he would always say, but you didn’t really care.

You smiled when you heard the song, hiding your face in one of the pillows.

Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"

Joel walked up to the bed and sat on the edge. His calloused fingers stroked your hair, gently, almost hesitantly. You hummed to encourage him to keep going. It was way too early to get up, but you knew you didn’t have much of a choice.

The thing with Joel was that he liked his routine. He was strongly set in his ways and some people found it bizarre, but it never bothered you. Before every work day he needed to prepare his clothes for the following day. He always ironed what had to be ironed, and folded what had to be folded… or more like he folded even the things that you would never bother to fold. After that, he always poured two glasses of water and brought them on a tray to your nightstands. In the morning he liked his coffee strong and bitter, his toast crispy and with butter. For you, however, he was willing to scramble eggs or even make something as extravagant as chocolate chip pancakes. There were days though, when his routine looked different. Like today.

Birds singing in the sycamore tree

Still stroking your hair, he started humming the song, admiring your soft smile and barely noticeable, shallow wrinkles. He leaned down and kissed your cheek, making you finally open your eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he encouraged you and pulled down the comforter.

He was very strong, never had problems with lifting you up. Sometimes it made you wonder how that was even possible because most men his age couldn’t stop complaining about back problems.

“I wanna sleep,” you argued.

“Not now,” he said and grabbed your shoulders to pull you up to a sitting position.

“Get up, I need to get you all ready,” he said, holding you by your chin and you reluctantly got up.

Was Joel a weirdo? Most definitely. You tried not to think about it because it creeped you out too much. At first you thought of it as a deal breaker, but you quickly realized that it was actually one of your favorite things.

“Get in the shower, I’ll be right there,” he instructed and you nodded before kissing him on the lips.

He smiled and watched you go. You left the bathroom door open and you knew he could see how you stripped from your pajama set and turned the water on. After a short while he joined you in the shower, and placing his big palms on your hips he turned you around to face him. You were both standing under a wide stream of water, watching each other’s bodies, tracing water droplets down your shoulders and chests. Joel’s cock was semi - hard, and your fingers traveled so far down his chest you could now brush your thumb along his length. Joel took your shampoo and poured a generous amount on his hand, getting ready to wash your hair. Your eyes closed as soon as his hands touched your head. His fingers rubbed the shampoo into your hair, applying just the right amount of pressure. He massaged every inch of your head and you’d lie if you said you didn’t enjoy it. When he was convinced that your scalp and hair had enough, he directed you gently under the stream of water again. He made sure to leave no foam, rinsing your hair thoroughly. Then, he put some conditioner on and you had to wait. It was a well practiced routine by now. You knew exactly he didn’t want you to be idle. He helped you kneel down on the slippery shower floor and he took his bar of soap and started cleaning himself.

Your greedy hand rushed to his balls, caressing them, feeling every inch. Your other hand grabbed his cock at the base. He sighed, loud enough for you to hear it over the running water, when you took his tip into your mouth. You sucked on it, still massaging his balls. He grew harder under your touch and you smiled, licking water off Joel’s shaft with your tongue. The bitterness you tasted came from the soap and you grimaced. You waited a short while for water to rinse the soap residue from his body, using your hand to pleasure him. Then, you licked the side of his length again before taking him into your mouth as deep as it would go. He let you control this experience so you picked your own pace, taking breaks to suck his balls too, pressing your nose into his pubic hair as you did. After a while his hips started rolling into your face uncontrollably and you knew it was a sign that he’s close. You focused all your attention on his balls for a little longer and then swirled your tongue around the tip to tease him just a little. Then finally your mouth slid down his length and the tip brushed your throat. You bobbed your head, picking up the pace until he grunted, grabbed your head pressing you into him and spilled his cum inside your mouth. Some of it ran down your chin, mixed with your saliva and water, but you managed to swallow most of it.

You stood up and Joel ran his thumb across your chin in an attempt to clean it. He turned water off and wrapped you in a towel before drying himself.

“Head,” he muttered and you bent over.

He wrapped another towel around your hair and let you straighten up.

“Upstairs now,” he ordered before kissing you softly on your lips.

Upstairs. The upstairs was a part of the house that the two of you would never ever want anyone to know about. You walked up the stairs slowly and as always you felt as if you were flying backwards through time. You knew you could open a museum here. You walked through the dark corridor towards one particular bedroom. You opened the door and walked up to the windows and started opening the old fashioned drapes, letting the sunlight into the room. Everything here wasn’t just old. It was historical. From the carpet to the chandelier. You unwrapped your hair, letting it fall down your shoulders and you took off the towel covering your body as well. You hid those under the bed just in time for Joel to walk into the room.

“So beautiful,” he admired you.

At the beginning of your unique relationship it bothered you that Joel wasn’t a talker. You couldn’t get out of him what he liked, not even his favorite color. Even though you were very uncomfortable the first time he took you upstairs for this, you really appreciated how he could open up here.

“Come here, my doll,” he requested and you took a few steps to get to him.

He was wearing the clothes he had prepared for himself last night - dress pants and a shirt. The sleeves hugged his bicep perfectly and stretched dangerously when he grabbed you and pulled you against him, kissing you passionately. He could still taste himself on your tongue.

“Come on, let’s get you all ready,” he whispered and walked up to a chest of drawers.

He pulled a pair of white underpants, the kind that women used to wear sometime in the past, and kneeled down to your feet. You grabbed onto his shoulder and lifted one of your legs, sliding your foot into the underpants. Then you did the same with your other leg.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he praised you and ran his fingers up your legs before pulling the underpants on.

“Now something for the top,” he told you, stuffing you into something that resembled a corset, but wasn’t as restrictive as you imagined a corset to be.

“Beautiful. Who’s my most beautiful doll?” He asked and you knew he expected an answer.

“I am, Joel,” you said and reached out to caress his cheek.

“Yes, dear. Sit down, I don’t have much time,” he said lovingly and you let him lead you to the most extraordinary vanity in the whole world (at least according to you).

The carvings in the dark wood were very detailed, gold elements around the edges looked like the most thoughtful embroideries. You looked at yourself in the framed mirror of the vanity, completely unbothered by a crack in the top left corner. You remembered asking Joel why he never replaced it, but he told you that it just wouldn’t have been the same vanity.

“When do you have to be at work?” You asked.

“At 9,” he sighed. “I think it’s gonna be a really tough day today, you know?”

Joel reached for a vintage perfume bottle that you knew had been filled with your very modern detangling spray. He sprayed your wet hair with it and grabbed a hair brush. Gently, starting with your ends, he slowly brushed through your hair.

“Why, what’s going on?”

“The boss is coming over, you know how he is,” he explained.

He took a hairdryer from a drawer and plugged it in and you remembered the first time you saw it. You laughed hysterically at the absurdity of all of it and life flashed before your eyes because you were sure that your perverted sugar daddy would choke you to death with a medieval pillow and bury you in the backyard. Since that hadn’t happened, you convinced yourself to just go with it until you started enjoying it probably as much as he did.

Joel finished drying your hair leaving it damp and hid the dryer meticulously. He gently ran a brush through it again and then clipped a section at the top of your head. He took a basket with rag rolls he made himself and started carefully putting them on your hair.

“Your hair is so soft,” he commented and you caught his gaze in the mirror. “And so shiny,” he said and leaned down to smell it.

He slid his lips down a strand of your hair before putting it in a rag roller. It was things like that that used to make your skin curl, but you got used to them. Sure, if you thought about it it was still creepy, and even though your mind was telling you to run and never look back, your heart always gave you excuses to stay.

“It’s because of all those fancy conditioners that you use on it,” you say with a smile and the corners of his lips also lift up.

“Anything for you, my pretty doll,” he hummed in your ear, brushed his stubble against the soft skin on your neck and left a sloppy kiss on your pulse spot. 

You had been wet since the shower, but feeling his lips on your neck awoke the desire in you again. The desire you knew you had to repress for now. Joel’s thick fingers were surprisingly skilled and he quickly managed to curl the whole bottom section of your hair and unclipped the rest. He was humming Dream a little dream of me.

“I’m gonna be thinking about you all day, you know? I’m gonna be thinking of your hair and your lips and your thighs and your breasts, all of you, you know that, darling?” He told you when he was done.

“I’m gonna be thinking about you too,” you confessed and he kneeled next to you.

Joel put his hand on your lap and rested his forehead on your shoulder. You would have turned to face him, but the massive chair you were in didn’t allow it.

“I know, my doll, I know,” he said and brushed his fingers against your clothed clit.

“Please, Joel, I need you to touch me,” you told him huskily, but he shook his head.

“Not now, now get up,” he instructed and you bucked your hips to chase his hand. “Up!”

You reluctantly obeyed and walked up to the bed. You crawled on top of the embroidered blanket and sat, looking at him with a pout.

“Now, be a good doll and wait for me,” he said and kissed your forehead, stroking your cheek. “I’ll come play with you at 5.”

You nodded and watched him leave the room. You heard his heavy steps  on the creaking stairs and you lied down, waiting for him to leave the house.

Your days always looked the same. You ate breakfast, cleaned up a little, watched tv, and listened to music. When you didn’t have anything in your hair you could go to a mall or on a walk, but today you just read a book in the garden. You kept checking the time so that you didn’t disappoint Joel. You wondered what he might do if he didn’t find his doll where he left her, but you decided not to check. Not today, probably not ever. He was a peculiar man and you thought he was fairly docile, but you knew his rough side and you certainly knew how strong he was. So, you made a compromise with your brain to at least be obedient if you chose not to run away.

You heard the creaking steps before Joel opened the door to the bedroom. He looked tired and you knew that his day was just as bad as he had predicted.

“Good afternoon, darling,” he muttered tiredly and crawled onto the bed to kiss you.

“Hey.”

“You’re such a good baby, waiting here for me,” he whispered in your ear and grabbed your hands, pulling you off the bed.

You let him lead you towards a big closet, the one you were told not to open under any circumstances because the heavy door had a tendency to fall out of hinges. Joel opened the door carefully and you took a few hesitant steps. You reached out to touch a collection of old dresses, well to be fair some of them only looked old, but were made for you by Joel who had a few hidden, pretty unusual talents.

Joel chose a dress of his liking and started dressing you up. Corset, ribbons, lace inserts, tiny buttons. He looked like he was in a trance and you didn’t dare to interrupt him, just wanting him to relax. Next, he sat you on a stool to put on your stockings. He gently caressed your legs while putting them on, and kissed both of your knees. Your least favorite part was the uncomfortable shoes, but it wasn’t like you had to do a lot of walking anyway.

“My prettiest doll,” Joel said and looked at you with a shy smile. “Go sit in front of the mirror, darling, look how pretty you are.”

You did your best not to wince with every step, but soon you made it to the vanity and sat on the massive chair in front of it. You knew that now, Joel would take your rag rollers off and he did. One by one, they were gone, being put into a basket you held for him. He pinned half of your hair up, leaving the rest of the curls intact and took a dark green ribbon to tie it on top of your half updo. When he was satisfied with the look, he grabbed the massive chair by its armrests and turned it towards him. He kneeled in front of you and wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his nose in the crook of your breasts. His hot breath tingled you and sent a wave of arousal down your body. The corset had your breasts pushed upwards and Joel rested his face on them as if they were pillows. He moved his head to the sides, scratching your delicate skin with his graying scruff, making it red. He pressed his clothed crotch into your calf with a grunt and looked up.

“Almost ready,” he panted.

You wondered if he didn’t take more pleasure from this than from sex and you thought about asking him, but you weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer.

Joel searched for something in a leather bag and a while later he pulled out a lipstick. He put it on your lips with precision, then he colored your eyelids and he glued on fake eyelashes.

“Perfect,” he gasped, still on his knees in front of you.

“Am I your prettiest doll now?” You asked, stroking his cheek.

“You are,” he nodded eagerly. “You are my prettiest doll, darling, you always are.”

Even though Joel was a fan of routine, he still managed to surprise you. This time you didn’t expect him to grab your head and kiss you as passionately as he did, smearing your red lipstick all over you. One of his hands made its way up your leg, under the long dress, the other was behind your head, fisting your curls, pushing your face into his with unprecedented strength. He pressed his thumb against your clit over the underpants and your hips rolled in search for some friction. Joel reluctantly pulled his tongue out of your mouth and started rubbing your lipstick down your neck. Still assaulting your neck, he nestled himself between your legs and wrapped them around his waist.

“Hold on tight,” he instructed and you clung to him.

Joel lifted himself up from his knees and carried you to the bed. He laid you down only partially so that your butt was still in the air and kneeled down again to pull the underpants down. Then, he lifted both of your legs to rest them on his shoulders and hiked the dress up, covering you with it. Your arms freed you from under the dress, but it was so big that you could only see your feet swaying in the air as Joel ate you out like a man starved.

He made a dozen new hickeys on the inside of your thighs and nuzzled your wet heat with his nose, inhaling your arousal. His tongue slid between your folds and he lapped at your wet pussy humming contently from time to time. You were horny all day long and waiting finally paid off. You squirmed on the bed, desperately trying to stop yourself from pressing his head into your crotch. Joel’s mouth was now on your clit as one of his thick fingers slid inside you. Your pussy was making obscene sounds as he finger fucked you, the vibrations from his muffed moans were sending waves of pleasure through your whole body. You started whimpering, tossing your head left and right, fisting the sheets beneath you and then, finally, you let out a husky moan and your legs trembled around Joel’s head as you came hard on his tongue. Joel brought his wet fingers to your lips and you sucked on the greedily, tasting your own juices.

“Perfect little doll,” he commented.

He let you sit on the edge of the bed and he stood up, your face level with his crotch. He pressed your face into it, and your cheek pressed into his considerable hardness. Your tongue nudged at the side of his still clothed cock and he guided your hands to his belt. You quickly took off his pants and he slid his boxers down his legs, freeing himself finally. He grabbed you by your hair, pulling lightly, then forcing you down on his length. Tears streamed down your face and saliva dripped down your chin as he face fucked you for about a minute. Then, he pulled out of your mouth and wiped the tears off your cheeks. You unbuttoned his shirt and he tossed it behind him before climbing on the bed. You followed, moving to the center of the mattress. He never fully undressed you. This time the only thing he took off were the underpants.

“Turn around, all fours,” he instructed and you obeyed, struggling to move in the layered dress.

When you finally managed to assume your position, he pushed your head into a white pillow and hiked the dress up. He pulled your hands behind your back for leverage. One of his strong hands was holding your hands behind your back by the thick material of the sleeves and the other was slapping your butt, with each slap your buttcheeks jiggled harder. You whimpered into the pillow, the white embroidery was scratching your cheek. When Joel was satisfied with your rosy butt cheeks he entered your wet pussy, bottoming out with a grunt. You moaned as his big cock split you in half, but he probably couldn’t hear you. Now, both of his hands were squeezing your wrists, using your own body as something to hold on to as he fucked you relentlessly. You could feel his tip so deep inside you you thought you might come any second. He didn’t show his rough side very often, actually probably just in the bedroom. You knew it was pointless to try and match his rhythm so you didn’t move, letting him rut into you, moving your body further up the bed with each powerful thrust.

“Fuck so tight!” He panted. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well, pretty doll,” he praised you.

This position was your favorite, it really allowed deep penetration, nudging spots inside you you never even knew about.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby, so fucking deep, fuck! Yeah!” He gritted through his teeth.

Next, he let go of your hands and they fell, limp on your sides. He dug his fingers into your waist and literally fucked you on his dick, moving you effortlessly as you lied, being a whimpering mess, unable to move as another orgasm shook your whole body. Joel felt your walls fluttered around him and it only made him more feral. You could feel that his movements were becoming more erratic, less rhythmic and you knew he was close. His stamina was incredibly impressive, but it didn’t surprise you anymore. Finally, he bent over, pressing your body into the bed, you now laid flat on top of it, under his pressing weight. You couldn’t feel him as deep inside you anymore, but his strong movements rubbed your clit against the tactile bedding. His nose was buried in your hair, he was grunting right into your ear, a little too loud, but there wasn’t much you could do about it. The next thrust pressed you under the bed for a longer while and you knew Joel was cumming deep inside you. You didn’t know if it was the thought of his cum inside you or the harsh bedding under your clit, but you came again, just as strongly as before.

Joel was panting on top of you now, but a moment later he rolled off you, his softening dick sliding out of you and you whimpered quietly. You lied like that, with Joel by your side, his heavy arm draped over your worn out body. He kissed the back of your neck and sighed. When your heart finally calmed down a little, you rolled over on your back. You brought your hand to your face to discover that one of your eyelashes fell off and the bow that was once in your hair was now just a dangling ribbon, sticking to your sweaty forehead like the majority of formerly perfect curls. Joel’s face was covered in your lipstick and you could only imagine what your face looked like. Even your corset came loose and somehow got a bit twisted to the side. Both of your stockings were pooled around your ankles and one of your shoes fell off and was nowhere in sight.

Joel moved closer to you and his hand moved all the sweaty hair off your face before leaving an open mouthed kiss in the corner of your lips. You lazily caught his lips and slid your tongue along his bottom lip.

“Look at you, little doll…” he muttered, still panting heavily.

He picked up the lash from the bed and shook his head with disapproval.

“Did I play too hard with you, little one?” He wondered.

He sat up and looked at you with a sigh. He reached out to pull your stockings up.

“All broken now…” he muttered, looking for your shoe.

You supported yourself on your elbows and looked at him, his hands running through his disheveled hair.

“Let’s get you fixed up, pretty doll.”

PART 2

Thank you for reading

~missannwinchester

[rileyslibrary]

Meal, Under-the-Stars

Summary: Simon’s inability to show affection irritates you. Until Valentine’s Day arrives.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,360

Notes:

angst/fluff

*sighs* it’s almost Valentine’s so *gestures aggressively at the fic*

i made sure it’s the least amount of cringe, pinky promise

Want more?

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You collapse in your bus seat, travelling home after another long day at the office. The chair feels too stiff, and the ride is too bumpy. That’s what you get for missing your bus and taking a different route. Damn it. Your neck is tense from the hours of hunching over the computer, and a pulsing pain has settled behind your eyes, threatening to rip your skull apart. As if your physical agony wasn’t enough, the bus’s noises aren’t helping. Without your headphones, you’re left to suffer in silence and listen to the people around you.

The two women in front of you talk nonstop about their upcoming Valentine’s Day plans. The first, with a smug look, reveals how her boyfriend has planned a romantic getaway to Europe. You can almost hear the silent “aren’t I lucky?” that hovers at the end of her sentence. Her friend humbly brags back about her partner taking her to a jewellery store where she can pick out whatever she wants. You suppress a groan and roll your eyes instead.

You turn to your left. Your attention is drawn to a man whose face is concealed by a towering bouquet of flowers. The sight of him and the enormous gift next to him makes you wonder. Could it be chocolates? The package seems too bulky for that. Lingerie maybe? It looks too heavy for delicate lace. Perhaps it contains the embodiment of his love for his significant other, ripped from his soul and transformed into a tangible form, you ponder sarcastically.

The image of Capitalism, dressed in a three-piece tailored suit and hat, sitting on a throne made of kitschy teddy bears, comes to mind. He sips a glass of wine made from rose petals and sneers at the spectacle before him: people spending their hard-earned money on unnecessary gifts and experiences, all in the name of love. When did a simple and sincere “I love you” become insufficient? When did it become necessary to spend a fortune on extravagant trips, sparkling diamonds, and wrapped boxes filled with empty promises? Did your grandparents go to such lengths to express their affection, or is this just the plague of your generation?

And why does this all bother you so much? Could it be that Simon’s inability to express his affection for you is causing your bitterness? You recall Aesop’s fable about the fox and the grapes. Like the fox, you cannot grasp what you want, so you try to convince yourself that what others have is, like the grapes, sour. Admit it: you’re envious of those who are happily celebrating Valentine’s Day, surrounded by love and affection, while you’re on your way home to a strained relationship, where love is shown through practical acts like fixing the thermostat or reminding you to take an umbrella on a potentially rainy day.

You knew he was reserved and guarded the moment you met him. “A mystery wrapped in a balaclava”, you used to jokingly call him. It took months of building rapport and earning his trust before he finally revealed his face to you. But, despite this, you find yourself wanting more. Wasn’t this enough? Get a grip, sweetheart; Valentine’s Day is for the rest of the world, not you two.

As the bus pulls to a stop, you rise from your seat and step off, feeling heavy and reluctant as you make your way home. The weight of your expectations slows your pace as if you are afraid to face reality—that the love you seek may not be the love he is capable of giving...

You reach the front steps, the cool metal of the key turning in your hand as you unlock the door. You push it open, the emptiness inside greeting you like an old friend. Something on the floor catches your attention; military bags and tactical gear are neatly arranged near the entrance. You look across the kitchen table to see a map with checkmarks on it. Has he been summoned for a mission and forgotten to tell you? No, it cannot be; this is far worse than you expected.

As you make your way down the hall, the noise coming from the bedroom fills the silence. The door is slightly ajar, and you push it open to find him standing before you, freshly showered and wrapped in a crisp white towel from the waist down. Droplets of water cling to his damp hair, with strands hanging over his forehead. His towering stature is imposing, his muscles resembling those of a Greek statue carved by a master artist. Like faded memories of battles fought, scars are dotted across his body, each telling a tale of modern warfare.

He smirks as you enter the room, but you can’t help the flare of anger that rises within you.

“You’re late,” he says, continuing to dry himself.

How dare he.

“Traffic,” you respond, trying to steady your voice. “Where are you going?”

“We are going,” he corrects you nonchalantly.

Huh?!

“W-we?” you stammer. “Simon, where are we going?”

“Out,” he says with a smirk.

You frown at him. You’re exhausted—tired of work, tired of the long trip back home, tired of his mysterious demeanour. You need answers—complete, coherent, straightforward answers—and you need them fast. Now.

“Care to explain further, Simon?” you ask, trying to compose yourself.

“We're going camping,” he says as he starts putting on his gear.

Your heartbeat quickens. Suddenly the grapes are not sour anymore. They seem sweet again.

“So, camping, huh?” you ask with a cheeky grin. “Why?”

“Don’t make me say it,” he says sternly. “I’ve seen enough atrocities to know what today is.”

“You never struck me as the romantic sort, Mr Riley,” you reply.

“Oh, but I am romantic, my love,” he corrects you. “Just not the cliché type.”

But, of course! That’s why you fell for him in the first place. He’s not your typical guy. He may not serenade you, but he’ll fix things with his own hands. And he won’t kneel on one leg to recite poetry, but he’ll ensure you’re warm, safe, and fed.

Fed. Food. Did he think about food?

“I’ll prepare something quick to take with us,” you tell him.

“No need to,” he replies. “I’ve prepared an outstanding variety of MREs for us.”

What a guy.

“What about me?” you ask pointing at his gear. “I don’t have the appropriate clothing for this.”

He looks amused. “That’s weird,” he comments. “I’m sure I saw something at the entrance earlier today.”

You stare at him, confused, dash to the front door, and inspect the gear you saw earlier. To your surprise, it’s all your size.

You slip into the gear, feeling its weight and texture against your skin. The material is rugged yet flexible, allowing you to move easily. You run your hand over the pockets, checking to ensure everything is in place, before returning to the bedroom.

As you enter, Simon looks up from his bag, and his gaze travels down your form. You stand tall and proud; sure, you’re still tired and in pain, but at least you’re happy. You twirl for him to get a better look.

He nods his approval with a smile. “You look like a proper camper,” he says jokingly. “I had no idea you had it in you.”

“Come on, Simon!” You shout, fists clenching at your sides as you stand in the doorway. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” you implore, your voice growing softer. “At least say something nice.”

He regards you, his lips curling upward in amusement. “Alright, alright,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “You want something nice?” He asks, and you nod, smiling.

“You got it.” He steps closer, towering over you, and gazes down with warm and tender eyes. “You look beautiful,” he says. “Absolutely stunning.”

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[1domegaverseficfest]

OMEGAVERSEFICFEST MASTERPOST

Dear beautiful Readers,

The first round of our lovely fest has officially come to an end. Below you can find all the amazing works that have been created this year.

We can't wait to see you all again next round.

So, for the last time, let's give some love to these lovely fics.

First week Masterpost

The Checkout by @silverstuff50 You Just Be Yourself by @lululawrence Tossing Round Like Coins by @letthemusicmoveyou28 Take My Hand, Dumbass by @londonfoginacup Sweeter than I Ever Knew by @mandylynn4

Second week Masterpost

I’m Sticking Around by @tommokat мое солнце by @houisminou Nerd or (K)not by @super–noah Little Love by @sunflouervol-6 The Cottage by @holdingontochaos

Third week Masterpost

frightened by the bite, no harsher than the bark by @voulezloux You Are The Fever (What A Lovely Way To Burn!) by @yoursolosong Lost But Won by @2tiedships2 The Capillaries In My Eyes Are Bursting by 5secoflarry Scarred by @allwaswell16

Fourth week Masterpost

If you let me by hssatellite28 On a starlit night by @lunarheslwt You Control Me (Call This What You Like) by @cc-horan28 back where we belong by ashisinlove Here Where Life Beats by @marwritesstuff

Fifth week Masterpost

Alone Together by @loveyourmum, niallinjapan_13 Little loon, To Love is to Obey by @neverforpickles In the Daylight (I'm Defenseless) by @pissoff-wanker Coração selvagem by @nooradeservedbetter

Sixth week Masterpost

Smooth Like Chocolate by @silverstuff50 I’m Fine Without A Man (But I Wouldn’t Mind His Protection) by @goldensweetmemory Bitter Ends Turn Sweet by @mandylynn4 behind the scenes of us by Ashisinlove Part Time Lover (shattering your illusions of love) by @wifeloue

Seventh week Masterpost

Unbonded by @jacaranda-bloom Vein: Heartbeats and Hideaways by @littleohs we could be enough by @hellolovers13 Whatever words I say, however long I stay by anditsonlyforthebrave Just Two Stars Passing By by @becomeawendybird I've been here for daysI've been here for days by @justanothershadeofblue

[joeyalohadream]

Little angsty, pining!Gale fic

Sat down to right something and wrote this instead. I don't usually write anything that's not at least somewhat fluffy, but it's the mood I'm in lately, I guess. LOL. Sorry, I'll be out of my funk soon, hopefully!

Takes place in England, vague-timeline, but before Regensberg.

AO3 Link

“I was so busy this afternoon, I didn’t even have time to eat a thing. This wine will go straight to my head.”

Her voice is musical, her laugh bubbles after it in a charming cadence. John’s eyes crinkle at the corners and the skin of his face stretches with the force of the smile he directs at the woman nestled under his arm in the booth. 

Gale had started his night nestled under that same arm, in that same booth. 

John laughs with her, a quiet, fond chuckle, and tells her that food is an important thing to make time for. He pinches her chin between two fingers and makes her head move to where he wants it to go, whispers something in her ear that makes her cheeks flame and then he turns away to laugh at something Curt says. Gale’s palms are sweating.

Two days ago, after interrogation, John had watched him, concern heavy in his blue eyes, as Gale had pushed the food around his plate. He’d kicked him under the table and nodded at the untouched food in front of him when he’d drawn Gale’s gaze and then he’d lectured him on taking better care of himself on the walk back to barracks. He’d also given him a chocolate bar that he’d pretended to pull from behind Gale’s ear. And smiled at him with fondness in his eyes as Gale savored the entire thing, refusing even a bite for himself.

It made Gale feel important in a way not much else did, having John’s focus, his care. It made him feel too much and crave more. It was dangerous. 

John hadn’t gone out that night. He’d stayed in with Gale when he’d said he needed a quiet evening and they’d played gin rummy and talked about everything except for the war. His attention hadn’t drifted from Gale once until they’d finally called it a night and gone to bed.

Gale had laid awake wondering if he would star in John’s dreams and then fallen asleep feeling foolish. 

Now, Gale watches this beautiful woman watch John and he recognizes the look in her eyes. She wants his attention back on her, doesn't want to share it with the other airmen. He wishes he couldn’t relate. 

“You know, I have a friend, still sippin’ her drink with the girls, waiting for a handsome pilot of her own.” She says the words too loud, but her goal is achieved as John’s head turns to follow the sound of her voice and just like that, she has John’s attention while Gale has everyone else’s. 

She eyes Gale with a smile, red lipstick making her teeth look bright white. Gale wants to tell her that John isn’t hers. That last week it was a different woman sitting in her place and tomorrow it will probably be another. He keeps his face impassive.

He tries not to squirm even as he chooses to stay silent instead of outright balking at the idea of entertaining a woman all night. The pretending is harder to stomach than solitude. The toothpick in his mouth needs to be replaced. It’s too saturated and frayed from the extent he’s been worrying at it. 

As always, John comes to his rescue. 

“Buck here has a beautiful girl back home.”

He doesn’t. 

“He won’t so much as dance with anyone that's not her.”

He says it like he always does, like he finds it endearing. Gale hates the way he wishes his voice held some kind of bitter emotion. But as always, it is just warm affection in his tone when Gale is the subject that colors his words. It had started making Gale’s chest flutter somewhere around the time of their first promotion.

And he’d desired that tone and the man it belonged too long before they were assigned to the 100th. Ignoring it hadn’t worked, so accepting it and letting it consume a part of him that would never be shared became the solution. 

It's why he broke it off with Marge before shipping out, though he didn’t tell John that. Didn’t tell anyone that. She still writes to him, still wants to be his friend, and it’s easy for the men to draw the conclusion that he is loyal to a sweetheart back home. 

The woman under John’s arm rolls her eyes and then forgets about Gale immediately. 

She’s laughing at all of his jokes. 

Even when John pulls out his best material, Gale makes sure to give him nothing more than a smile. He’s been unable to help himself and has allowed soft huffs of quiet laughter on occasions that are becoming less rare. But Gale has never given him a full bellied laugh. 

Maybe he should have. He knows it’s a goal of John’s, to make Gale smile, to make him laugh. 

She’s touching his chest, the side of neck. 

Gale allows himself to be touched by John. Not at first. Physical contact hadn’t been a part of his life in a positive way before he met John. It took a lot to get to the point where his best friend’s method of expressing friendship didn’t make him want to recoil, didn’t make him flinch. It took a lot, but it didn’t take a long time. By the third week in flight school, he was craving the soft touches and starting to hate himself a little for it. 

He hardly ever initiates the contact himself. He’ll give John’s shoulder a squeeze. Let his hand linger in his grasp for too long when they greet each other. 

Maybe things would be different if he let himself touch with the freedom in which John did. But affection was something he soaked up like a sponge when it was from John and wilted at when it was from others. And it was something he’d never learned how to give or take. Thinks maybe John could teach him but he knows he’ll never ask him to. 

But things wouldn’t be different. 

Because he watches John’s hand trail from her shoulder, down her back and to her hip, fingertips grazing the soft curve of her body on its way down. He watches John smile into her hair and whisper something into her ear again that makes her cheeks flush to match her lipstick and then nuzzle behind her ear. He looks away as John’s fingers trail the hem of her skirt. 

And he imagines doing that to Marge or the girl across the room and all it does is turn his stomach. 

So, nothing would be different if he were able to touch freely or laugh loudly. He’s different and John’s not, so he’ll settle it all back down in his chest and try to think about all of it less. 

But he doesn’t have to torture himself by watching where this night will lead his best friend, so he slides out of the booth and heads to the bar to pay. 

“What’s got you so glum, Buck?” Everett Blakely’s effusively kind voice sounds off as Gale pockets his change and he gives the other man a raised eyebrow. 

“Pretty sure this is just what my face looks like, Everett.” 

“Nah, sometimes you smirk a bit.” Everett grins at him. “Besides, it’s all in the eyes, and you’ve got sad eyes tonight, Major.”

“Think we’re all entitled to bad nights once in a while, given the circumstances.” Gale plucks a fresh toothpick from his pocket to replace the one he’d ruined, catches John leading the woman onto the dancefloor and can’t help but follow his movements with his eyes. 

He wishes he was normal enough that the lives of the twenty men they’d lost two days ago was what was twisting his insides. Instead, it’s watching his best friend do a perfectly normal thing - flirt and twirl a girl around. Both realities of his reasons for hurting live heavy in his chest, like they’re located in different chambers, blessing him with the opportunity to feel different types of agony instead of just your average layer of pain.  

“Gonna head out,” he says, nodding at Blakely, who lifts his glass in response. 

John is in rare form this evening, giving up on dancing quickly and already guiding the girl towards the back door without a glance in Gale’s direction. 

Because he’s normal. And normal men don’t think about their best friends when there’s a pretty girl hanging on their arm. 

Bucky probably expects Gale to be waiting for him when he’s finished. Waiting to walk back together at the end of the night. 

Or maybe he’s not thinking anything at all about Gale. 

He’s the first one back. He’s always the first one back. 

The shower room is vacant, and he takes his time, but he’s still alone when he makes his way back into the barracks. He’s still alone when he changes into his sleep clothes and lays in his cot. 

And he is still alone an hour later when sleep refuses to sink her claws into him and drag him to some kind of relief. 

Men slowly stumble in, and Gale closes his eyes, giving the illusion of slumber. He listens to the nightly routines of the men around him as they prepare for sleep, actions audibly clumsier than most nights in their inebriated states. 

But drunken movements disturbing a quiet room are something Gale’s been hearing since he was a boy, so he finds them familiar and ignores the way they make his stomach tighten unpleasantly in anticipation. 

More time paces, everyone settled into bed and Gale still can’t sleep.

Shuffling footsteps, intentionally quiet in their movements are the only thing that alerts him to John’s return. His cot is within arm’s reach of Gale’s own, but he’d thought it would remain empty tonight. The feeling of satisfaction that bubbles up in him is ugly and bitter, but he lets it boil under his skin as John returns to his side in the end. 

Heavy, scratchy wool glides up the length of his torso until it rests under his chin. Strong hands tuck it under his shoulder blades and his hips. He tries to keep his breathing deep, feigning the same familiar pattern of sleep he listens to from John’s bunk each night to lull himself to sleep. A moment later, calloused fingers brush the product-less bangs off his forehead and run through the length of his hair. 

The tender gesture almost forces his eyes open. That aching, craving hunger for more of what John will give him is a living thing in his chest. Those fingers ghost over his hair one more time and Gale uses every bit of strength in himself not to push up into the touch, not to whine when it’s gone.

He hears John let out a sigh that sounds mournful and he doesn’t understand what any of it means. 

As John moves, most likely to turn away, Gale can smell her perfume. 

If he opened his eyes he’d probably see her lipstick stained on his mouth, his neck. Knows with a gut-wrenching certainty that it’s probably stained in more intimate places, and he wishes John wasn’t too drunk to go take a shower. 

Wishes it wouldn’t linger on him. Wishes it wasn’t on him at all. Doesn’t want to see the red of her lips on John’s when the new day dawns. 

Imagines if it had been him under John’s arm leaving the pub, there wouldn’t even be a visible trace of him in the aftermath. 

He’d be forgettable, inconsequential. Easy to forget. Easy to regret. 

He keeps his eyes closed and wishes John hadn’t come back at all. Is so glad that he did. 

A softly whispered “goodnight, Buck.” is breathed into the stale air of the barracks, and Gale lays awake for a long time after John’s breathing evens out into sleep, wishing he could join him in more ways than one.

[scene-pup]

100 AgeRe Questions

Credit: pickledratinajar

1🐝 What Age(s) Do You Regress To ~

2🍯 Do You Pet Regress As Well / What Animal ~

3🥮 How Long Have You Been Regressing ~

4🐌 Is Your Regression Voluntary, Involuntary, Or A Mixture ~

5🐻 What's Your Personality Like When Regressed ~

6🐴 How Often Do You Regress ~

7☕ What Helps You Get Into Headspace ~

8📜 Are You A Baby, Toddler, Or Big Kid Regressor ~

9🦇 Do Your Likes Change When Regressed ~

10⏳ Do You Have A Baby Voice In Headspace ~

11🍪 What Makes You Instantly Small ~

12🧋Why Do You Regress ~

13🌙 Pink Or Blue ~

14⭐ Dragons, Unicorns Or Fairies ~

15☁️ Dinos, Princesses, Space Or Safari Theme ~

16💫 Neon, Pastel, Neutral Or Dark Pallets ~

17🐮 Favorite Regression Clothes ~

18🌸 Favorite Color ~

19🐭 Do You Collect Stickers ~

20🧁 Coloring Book Or Paint By Numbers ~

21🍧 Playdoh, Legos Or Slime ~

22🦄 Finger Paint Or Brushes ~

23🧼 Crayons, Colored Pencils Or Markers ~

24☀️ Do You Have A CG / Name For CG ~

25🌻 Do You Have A Baby Sitter ~

26✨ Do You Have Any Sibbies ~

27🧺 Do Your Parents Know About Your Regression ~

28🧋 Favorite Nicknames / Pet Names ~

29🍕 Ideal Playdate ~

30🐱 Sleep In Crib Or With CG ~

31🍼 Favorite Snack ~

32🧸 Favorite Juice ~

33🍪 Favorite Icecream Flavor ~

34🩹 Favorite Type Of Milk ~

35🐶 Sweet, Sour, Spicy, Bitter Or Savory ~

36🍰 Favorite Dessert ~

37🍦 Favorite Type Of Chocolate ~

38⏳ Mac & Cheese Or Nuggets ~

39🎒 Favorite Movie ~

40🍬 Favorite Cartoon ~

41🚀 Favorite Game ~

42🎀 Favorite Disney Princess ~

43⚾ If You Could Have Any 1 Superpower What Would It Be ~

44🍄 Anime Or Cartoons ~

45🍓 Favorite Carebear ~

46✏️ Shows Or Movies ~

47🐛 Do You Believe In Fairies ~

48🐸 Do You Have A Comfort Character ~

49🌱 Do You Like Rain At Night ~

50🦕 Are You Easily Scared ~

51🧃 Are You Also A Carer ~

52🌵 Are You Independent Or Dependent ~

53🍃 What Pulls You Out Of Headspace ~

54🍏 Are You Scared Of Bugs ~

55🦝 Favorite Toy Series ~

56🚛 Do You Use Pacis ~

57🦴 Do You Use Diaps ~

58🦈 Gear Wishlist ~

59🍵 Favorite Regression Item ~

60🐾 Sippy Cup Or Bottle ~

61🦊 Oldest Stuffie ~

62🎃 Do You Sleep With A Stuffie ~

63🔥 How Many Stuffies Do You Have ~

64🍂 Newest Favorite Stuffie ~

65🏵️ Build A Bear, Amusement Park, Or Disney Store ~

66🥧 Stuffed Animals Or Dolls ~

67👽 Do You Have A Bedtime ~ 

68🍭 Do You Keep An AgeRe Journal ~

69⚡️ Do You Have Rules ~

70🍥 Blankie Or Paci ~

71🌈 Night Light Or Glow-In-The-Dark Stars ~

72🌿 Bedtime Stories Or Lullabies ~

73🎩 Favorite Thing To Do Outside While Small ~

74🐵 Favorite Thing To Do Inside While Small ~

75🦋 Blanket Fort Or Bouncy House ~

76🐯 Stroller Or Walk ~

77🔮 Dress Up Or Tea Party ~

78🦜 Do You Like The Playground ~

79💖 Early Bird Or Night Owl ~

80📝 Indoors Or Outdoors ~

81💕 Warm Or Cold Weather ~

82🦢 Dogs Or Cats ~

83☎️ Do You Have Any Pets ~

84💌 Favorite Animal ~

85🍒 Favorite Holiday ~

86🐇 Favorite Season ~

87❤️ What’s Your Big Age ~

88🌼 What’s A Nostalgic Place For You ~

89🐳 Playdoh, Legos Or Slime ~

90🐙 Do You Collect Anything ~

91🐠 Bubble Baths Or Bath Toys ~

92🍑 Are Your Agere Interests More Fem Or Masc ~

93☔️ Do You Stim More While Regressed ~

94🎨 Favorite Place To Regress ~

95🧵 Favorite Regression Youtuber ~

96🌈 Favorite Site/App For Regression Community ~

97💐 What Do You Wanna Be When You Grow Up ~

98📒 What’s The Most Nostalgic Electronic For You ~

99📀 A Toy You Always Wanted But Never Got As A Kid ~

100🪐 What Is Your Favorite Thing To Learn About In Headspace ~

ASK ME! :D <3

[lovelywetdreamer]

Prompt 3: Dick teaching you to suck dick

"Can you pretty please teach me how to suck dick, Dicky?"

"Say what again?"

"You teach me your beautiful girlfriend to suck your dick. Please bae?"

In the first place in his life, Dick is out of words. His brain must be having a kick at his expense. That have to be it. You are like the most innocent person he knows. You never curse. For example, you called him a Moby Dick when he is acting like a dick sometime.

Now that he thinks about it, you stuttered everytime you try to make a dirty joke. With all the information he had collected about you, you can't blame your boyfriend for being shock from your lewd request. Dick's rub your soft, squishy cheek before pinching it. "Are you really my Y/N?"

"Don't be silly, of course it's me.", you put your hand on his chest and made him sit in a chair, "I just want to be a good girl that please her man." Your soul left your body. You can't believe you said that with a straight face; you couldn't say that to youself in the mirror without blushing.

"So are you going to teach me or not?", as you say while your knees are hitting the floor, your brown eyes are looking up into his piercing blue eyes. Now the second time in Dick's life, his mouth cannot search for words. His pant was becoming tight of the sight of his beautiful girlfriend on her knees for him. Dick's dick twitching and begging to be touch.

"Shit baby! You're going to melt my brain you that dontcha? Of course, I'll teach you babygirl, but I need to make sure you are okay with this. Do this for yourself not for me, okay?"

"I want to do this."

"I'm all yours then princess.", he says with a smirk as he unzip his pant and rub his thumb along your soft juicy, plumpy lips. "Before we start tho, can you bring me the chocolate syrup from the fridge?"

"Okay, but why?"

"Don't question your teacher."

When you came back retrieving the chocolate syrup from the fridge, Dick was spread eagle in the chair. He is a robin but how he looking at you, you would had thought he was wolf starring at his prey. You were on your knees before your brain could processed the action. "Hand me the chocolate syrup."

The moment you hand him the chocolate syrup he poured some already on his leaking dick. "I know you hate sour and bitter thing in your mouth."

You have the most sweetest boyfriend in the world, literally. He rubs his hand through your braids, "Please goes at your own pace and don't tries to force the whole thing down your throat. I know how greedy you can get."

"I'm not that greedy now", you say with a toothy grin. You wouldn't scared as you were nervous. Dick is suprisely packing. You are wondering now how he could hide this meaty six inch monster in that tight leather costume. You place a kiss on his red swollen, leaking precum tip. Experimental licks up and down on his length. You read in a book to make sure get a man's dick wet before putting it in your mouth.

Withdrawaling your tongue from his dick, whimpers escape Dick's mouth. You open your mouth wide enough to slowly put his tip inside your warm wet mouth. You don't want your teeth to gaze him. Inch by inch enter your mouth at the best of your ability. Dick has to keep running his hand through his hair. That's the only thing keeping him under control from thrusting upward into your hot little mouth.

"Try to bob your head up and down like bobbing for apples."

His hand were now on the back your head as you bob up and down on his length. "You're such a good girl for me." News to you his praise making you form a wet spot in your panties. You tried to shove his member down your throat, to no one suprise your gag reflex turn against you. Dick quickly remove himself from your mouth. "Are you okay?!", Dick say as he is rubbing your back.

"I gotten too cocky. Sorry, I'm good. Please let me continue."

"Okay, but remember you are a beginner."

You guys continue where you left at. Dick's moans and groans fill the room when you moved a little faster around him. You even moan around his member; Dick accidentally pulls your hair and say," You're gonna be a good whore for me right?

Sadly within ten minutes, Dick was tapping on your shoulder, "I'm gonna cum babygirl. You should probably get off my junk right now baby." He wanted to last longer for you. Little dick follow his own rules not big Dick's rule. You kept going on his dick waiting hungrily for his cum. Your mouth was full of his chocolate flavor cum. The chocolate syrup couldn't hide the true bitter flavor of his cum. At least he tried to hide the flavor for you.

He gave the biggest and wettest kiss on your lip.