#but this one i could like see on the street

[sukunasweetheart]

Sukuna, a middle aged man jaded by the harsh realities of his life. He steps outside for a smoke nearby a convenience store, completely bored out of his mind.

A lady is handing out flyers nearby, although nobody is bothering to look her way, including sukuna himself.

You approach the man who's getting irritated by the lighter that refuses to work in his hand.

"Hello there, sir. Would you be interested in taking up classes for arts and craft?" You offer the cute flyer up.

Sukuna scoffs. Is she serious?

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? You look like you could use a bit more colour in your life."

He's too exhausted at this point to get angry at a random woman on the street.

"...You're not too far off, i suppose," sukuna mutters, still trying to get the spark to stay on his lighter. "Even so, I'm not interested in the likes of arts and craft. Do i look like a child to you?"

You withdraw your offer of your flyer, and inspect him for a moment.

"Arts and craft can be enjoyed by anyone, regardless of age. But moving past that... you seem a bit down. If you'd like to confide in a stranger for a night, I'm happy to listen."

What a strange, persistent woman. Sukuna gives up on his lighter, and takes out the unlit cigarette in his mouth to think back for a moment. One thing does come to mind.

"I'm not feeling down. But i remembered something, now that i think about it..." he confesses, feeling weirdly compelled to tell you about it.

"Today is supposed to be my birthday."

Birthdays have never been special to him. Nobody celebrated his birth as a child, and in turn, he's never paid attention to the birthdays of others.

"Oh, happy birthday. Are you doing anything special for yourself today?"

"No. I've never cared for birthdays. And I'm getting too old for that anyway."

"Well, that won't do... Hold on for a second."

Puzzled, sukuna looks back at you but you've already gone inside the convenience store. Whatever you're up to now, couldn't possibly be more enticing than getting in a proper smoke right now. Sukuna begins to zone out.

He only snaps out of it when something mildly cold grazes past his cheek, leaving a ticklish and moist sensation on his skin as it disappears upon impact.

Bubbles. Bubbles are flying past him, and floating away into the sky.

For a moment, he gets mesmerised by the swirl of colours that are harboured in each one. Even just from the light of this dingy street, they fly up while holding a multitude of different colours inside them. Time seems to slow for a split second, and he doesn't understand why.

His gaze follows the trail to identify it's source. And unsurprisingly, it's you, standing behind him. You blow a couple more out, and then grin at him childishly. He finally looks at your face properly for the first time.

"Birthday bubbles. For the birthday man," you chuckle sheepishly, knowing that you probably look a bit silly right now. You put the bubble wand back into the small bottle of the soapy mixture, and screw it tightly.

"Here, you can have it. Next time you're feeling a bit antsy, why don't you try blowing some yourself? They're pretty, aren't they?"

You also hand him a different small item.

"And i also threw in a little something else, while i was at it."

He looks down, and sees that it's a new lighter. He slowly pulls his hand out of his pocket to take both of them from your hands.

"I hope you get to do something more special next year. Birthdays are supposed to be joyful, after all," you comment.

"Thanks for putting up with my nosiness. Farewell."

And then you leave him after a quick wave.

Sukuna stares wordlessly as you walk off, wondering what to name this ticklish feeling rising in the pit of his stomach.

The small bottle in his palm reminds him of a moment in his childhood. Kids in the park bragging about their bubble wands that were gifted to them. the laughs that resounded as they all ran off to catch the fragile spheres as they blew away in the wind. The tiny feelings of envy in his heart.

The item he tucks away into his pocket is the lighter. And when nobody is watching, he blows a couple more bubbles into the night sky.

-

Every time he passes by that convenience store, the thought of you comes to his mind. A flashback of your smile in the back of his mind. Every so often, he comes to this particular store. Despite having closer options, he comes to this specific one.

At times, sukuna regrets not taking one of the flyers that you were handing out. He wouldn't have had to mope around a convenience store in hopes of running into you again.

Today is a rainy day, and this calls for a hot piping cup of instant ramen. He doesn't usually enjoy convenience store food, but he wants a reason to stay around inside for a bit longer.

He needs to wait five minutes for the noodles to soften. In this time, he stares out the glass frame of the store, and watches the various rows of people walking past with their umbrellas opened.

There appears to be one anomaly in the crowd, however. Running without shelter from the rain, clutching her bag as if it contains something important in there. Sukuna realises that it's you.

Forgetting about his instant ramen, sukuna grabs his umbrella and dashes out the door.

You're mildly panicking about being stuck behind the red light at the zebra crossing without anything to save you from the rain, but the sensation of the droplets hitting your body come to a stop all too suddenly.

You look up, and there's a black umbrella sheltering you, big and strong looking. You spin around and recognise the stranger with pink hair and sharp eyes. Seemingly out of breath.

He signals to the light that has now turned green behind you, and ushers you forward to cross the road before you can say anything to him.

Now safely on the other side of the road, you begin to converse with him.

"It's you! Hello. Thank you for sheltering me. How have you been?"

"... So-so. Nothing's changed since the last time we met."

"I see. You look better than last time, though." You get the feeling that his eyes have a little more light in them.

Sukuna doesn't really get what you mean, but he moves on.

"What’s in your bag that's so important for you to be protecting it like that?" He asks, effectively changing the topic.

"Oh, this? I literally just bought some brand new origami paper... i can't risk getting them wet and unusable. The children would be disappointed."

"Origami, huh? How original."

"Hey! That's not all... there's a lot of options i offer them. They voted on origami this time."

"You got a lot of people signed up?"

"Not really... but I'm sure it'll start picking up soon. Slowly, one at a time."

You smile up at him hopefully.

"...is the offer still open?"

You cock your head to the side slightly, confused. Sukuna grits his teeth, feeling a little bashful about having to ask more specifically.

"You know. Lessons for grown adults."

"Oh! Of course, anytime! Would you like to come sign up today?"

"Do you offer one-on-one sessions too?"

"Yes, I do."

"Alright. Let’s go."

Sukuna can't fathom the words that are coming out of his own mouth. But fuck it, what's the worst that could happen? You've somehow intriged him, and he can't think of a better way to approach you.

You chatter his ears off along the way, and he nods along while his shoulder gets wet from the way he leans his umbrella closer to your side.

[thewidowsledger]

Toothbrush

© thewidowsledger 2024 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Pairings: Nerd!Natasha Romanoff x MILF!Reader

Word count: 5.2k

Tags | Warnings: +18, AMAB!Natasha, beefy and super nerdy Natasha, MILF!reader, reader is 39 and Natasha is 22, dating apps, Tony being a good and a bad friend at the same time, lying about age, reader has sons, dirty talk, switch r & Nat but more like a top!Natasha, breeding kink, mommy kink, breast sucking, riding, teasing, rough sex, creampie, squirting, overstimulation, fingering (r receiving), ghosting (kinda), unintentionally stealing clothes👀 (?)

Author’s Note: I know I said I am going to post this tonight but my daimonion is telling me to post this right now, lol. This fic is inspired from this request, but I changed it like a lot lot I guess...I hope it's fine for whoever requested it🥹 the title is inspired by DNCE's song: Toothbrush I am currently banging with this song for weeks now.

Navigation | Masterlist

⧗

“F-fuck please be bad Mommy.” Natasha whined.

“No mommy wants to be bad to their baby…”

⧗

“What do you want Tony?” Natasha chuckled as she saw her best friend on her apartment door at 7 o’clock early in the morning, standing there holding a pizza box. “Really? Pizza? Early this morning?”

Tony rolled his eyes and pushed his way inside, shutting the door behind him. “Well, thank you for the warm welcome,” he teased. “Before I go to my asshole of a father’s place, I want to do one thing. Something purposeful for you, my friend.”

Nat raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what would that be?” she asked, as she led him to the living room of her small apartment.

“Let me see your phone,” he said, taking it out of her hands.

“Hey, wait!” the redhead protested, but Tony was already fiddling with it. “What are you doing?!”

“Setting up an account on a dating app,” he replied, typing away.

“Wow. So this is your grand purpose? Setting me up on a dating app? I’m touched.” She said sarcastically. She watched him, a box of pizza on his left hand and her phone on the other, seriously typing whatever it is that is asked to fulfill the account—he is really serious about setting her up on a dating site.

“You gotta be kidding Tony…”

“Nope. Enough robotics Romanoff before you turn into one.”

Nat’s eyes widened as she suddenly realized that she told Tony her plans. And a wave of regret washed over her. She had meticulously scheduled out her entire summer break even though it hasn't started yet, she intended to spend time working on her robotics project every single day of the summer break. But now, with Tony in the picture with her phone in his hands, she could already imagine the chaos that was going to ensue.

The dating preference section came up and Tony immediately, with no hesitations, clicked women. It had been common knowledge among their friends that Nat had a strong liking for girls. He chuckled to himself, thinking about the kind of women the app would likely recommend for her.

“Let’s make things spicy,” he said under his breath as he set the age range for Natasha’s profile.

With a few taps, he set the age preference to 30-50 years old. “You’ll thank me for this, Nat,” he said with a sly grin on his face.

Every time he and Nat would pass some women on the street, Tony would stealthily observe Nat’s reactions. Whether it was a woman walking past them with her kids or a lady jogging in tight-fitting leggings who he was sure was around 35 to 40, the red head is drooling already. Tony had taken note of Natasha's undeniable interest in women—women who are old enough to be her mother.

The last step came, he only needed to pick a photo of Natasha and it's all done and set up, ready to swipe left and right. So he went through her gallery to find photos of her, but her gallery is just full of screenshots about freaking science.

As Tony sifted through Natasha's gallery, his mood grew more impatient and bored.

“Seriously Nat, you’ve got like a million screenshots of scientific articles and memes about space, and when you do actually take a photo, it’s of some historical artifact in a museum. This is like a grandma’s photo album…” He grumbled, scrolling further.

“Okay, that’s enough.” The redhead stood from the sofa but Tony backed away not even looking at her, too busy to smile like an idiot with whatever he saw on her phone.

“Damn, Nat,” he muttered under his breath, a smirk forming on his face. “I had no idea you were hiding this much muscle under those baggy clothes.” He came across a couple of mirror shots that Natasha had taken in the gym. In these photos, she was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top and some baggy shorts, showing off her muscular arms and strong physique.

Tony chuckled, his eyes still glued to the photos of Natasha’s flexing arms. “Yeah, definitely milfs will absolutely love these shots.”

Nat couldn't help but blush, both at the compliment and at the mention of milfs. “You really think so?” she asked, a hint of shyness in her voice.

“Oh yeah, they would swipe right in a heartbeat,” he said, chuckling. “These are juicy…”

“Okay, you sounded perverted. Gimme that…” Natasha was finally able to get her phone back and Tony raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just trying to get some good pictures of you in there. You gotta give the ladies something to look at, you know?”

Tony watched as Natasha went through the app, “You just need to click confirm, and it’s all set up…but it’s still your choice. And…I gotta go, mom’s gonna call me.”

Natasha paused and looked at Tony with relief and confusion. She was grateful for the break in the conversation, but she also didn’t want him to leave just yet. “Okay...go ahead. Can’t keep mommy waiting.” She said jokingly.

“Okay now that sounded perverted coming from you, Romanoff.” Tony pointed a finger at her while walking backwards towards the redhead’s apartment door.

“I’m just kidding,” Natasha let out some giggles as she walked Tony off her apartment, “Don’t kill your father, Tony.”

“I’ll try not to, I can’t believe mom wanted me to spend half of my summer with him. I love her so much that I’ll do anything she asks of me even though it’s spending some time with the man who hurt her.”

“You’ll be fine, just don’t get your hand bloody like last time.”

Tony chuckled and saluted her back, then turned to leave. “I make no promises, Romanoff.” He sighed, Natasha just gently patted Tony’s shoulder and when she was about to close her door, her best friend's foot stopped it from closing.

“Goodluck with the milf hunting.”

⧗

For the next few days, Nat found herself thinking about the dating app and Tony’s playful attempt to set her up. She would secretly open the app every now and then but couldn't bring herself to swipe in any direction. She thinks all these women are deserving to be dated, but she could only pick one of course.

Finally, one night, Natasha couldn't resist the temptation any longer. She sat on her couch to browse through the potential matches. She’d take her frustration out on her pillow, mumbling to herself about how ridiculous this all was. But she continued, her heart raced as she began swiping through the profiles. Her cheeks flushed with a hint of embarrassment as she came across various women who fit her preference—older, attractive milf, thanks to her best friend who knew exactly what her type is.

As she read the bios, she couldn’t help but be intrigued by some of their descriptions. They were confident, successful, and had a certain allure about them that made her even more flustered.

She should've swiped right to have more chances of winning like what Tony advised her, but Natasha continued swiping left through profiles. Yes, she noticed that the women she saw were undeniably beautiful, however, she wanted to see something different, that's why she started swiping left. It wasn't because she found them unattractive, but rather because they didn't quite match the image she had in mind.

She was so intimidated, all these women looks so powerful—like how women should be. So far she'd seen woman who's a pilot, CEO, business owners and many jobs that she for sure puts a lot of zeros on their bank accounts. Not that she didn't want that and she's definitely not opposed to the idea of being a sugar baby, but...she wanted someone who's simple, domestic yet can lead her.

Each profile she scrolled through brought a mix of excitement and anxiety, yet curiosity pushed her to keep searching for that one woman who would make her heart skip a beat.

“Y/N, 39 years old, mother of two, loves gardening, sketching…” she read to herself, trying not to blush as she looked at your photo. Most women she had seen in this app either had a picture with the Eiffel tower or a selfie inside the high premium car—no offense, she loved everything old women do but you, you had a picture of yourself in a beautiful garden she thought was in your place, surrounded by lush greenery. Your genuine smile and a sparkle in her eyes stood out to Natasha.

“Just 4 hours drive away from here…”

Natasha's heart raced as she nervously swiped right on your profile, her hand trembling a little. The moment she did it, she immediately slammed her phone shut and threw herself onto her bed, her heart pounding in her chest.

The thought of you potentially seeing her profile and possibly matching with her made her stomach flutter. The redhead buried her face into her pillow, unable to wipe the redness of her face.

She stood and immediately put on her glasses to distract herself from the constant nervous feeling of seeing a notification from the app, Natasha threw herself into various activities to keep her mind occupied. She deep cleaned her apartment, organized her cluttered drawers, and even got started on her robotics project.

Days passed, but there still wasn't any notification from the dating app. And Natasha actually forgot about it, the robotics project she's working on consuming and occupying every time she had for the day.

Natasha was deep in thought, working on her project, when the sudden notification sound from her phone jolted her from her focus. Startled, she picked up her phone, expecting it to be an email from the agency she applied for an internship or her sister asking for some 5$ on cash app.

However, when she looked at the screen, her heart almost jumped out of her ribs when she saw the dating app icon. She shakingly and immediately opened it.

You: Hi dear

Natasha found herself biting her lower lip, wrestling with her thoughts. She’d faced down debaters, cracked numerous codes, and aced countless exams and quizzes. But responding to a simple “hi” from an older woman had her completely flustered. It was a ridiculous feeling, but she couldn't deny the butterflies in her stomach at the thought of conversing with you.

She typed and deleted various responses, unsure of what to say, until finally, she decided on something simple yet respectful at least.

Natasha: Good evening, how are you?

You: I’m good, just finished cooking some dinner. You?

Natasha: I haven't eaten anything yet, I was working for a project.

You: That's not good for your health and for those massive muscles of yours.

Natasha felt her cheeks grow warm as she read your reply about her muscles. Tony was indeed right when he said milfs will definitely like those. She hadn't expected you to notice that detail, but reading it brought a smile to her face.

Natasha: Massive muscles? I think you're exaggerating a bit.

She typed, trying to downplay your compliment, yet secretly loving the attention.

You: Exaggerating? Not one bit, love. Your biceps are godly💪🔥

You responded, clearly amused by her attempt to deny your compliment.

Natasha felt her heart rate increase at your playful banter and the cute emojis you used. She couldn't help but feel the pain of her cheeks from smiling with your attention and the nicknames you’re calling her.

Nat: Thanks :)))

You: So…where exactly do you live in Brooklyn?

⧗

“Y-you should... probably stop that…” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I-I'm not... I'm not good at…”

You slowly start to grind your hips against Natasha, feeling her body tense up beneath you. Her eyes dilate, and she licks her lips nervously.

Despite her protests, you continue to grind against her, feeling her hips instinctively buck up to meet yours. Natasha’s face turns a deep shade of red, and she lets out a soft whimper as she feels herself getting hard beneath you. “P-please... stop…”

And you did, you pause, lifting your hips away from her but you were still straddling her—kneeling straightly where your tits were right in front of her. Natasha whines softly at the loss of the friction, her hips bucking forward as if seeking more. You smirk mischievously, leaning in close to her ear. “I’m stopping because my baby told me to. Mommy has to listen to what her baby says, mommy doesn’t wanna be bad.”

“F-fuck please be bad Mommy.” Natasha whined.

“No mommy wants to be bad to their baby…”

Natasha lets out a frustrated whine again, her hips bucking forward again as she chases the friction she was just denied. “B-but... Mommy... it feels so good…you’re so good…” she whimpers, her eyes filled with need and puppy-dog sadness. “Please... just a little more…”

You slowly unbutton your top, revealing your bra. Natasha’s eyes flick down to your chest, watching intently as you unhook the bra and let it fall to the floor. Your bare breasts come into view, you guide Natasha’s face to your chest, gently cupping the back of her head. Her mouth parts slightly, and you can feel her warm breath on your tits. “Be good and suck Mommy’s tits,” you whisper, your voice laced with desire.

Natasha like a good baby she is, eagerly obeys, pressing soft kisses to your breasts. She kisses and licks, her touch gentle and reverent. You can hear her breathing grow heavier, feel her body tensing as she gets more aroused.

“That's it, baby. Be so good for Mommy…”

Her mouth finds your nipples, and she begins to suck and lick enthusiastically. She moans against your skin, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. You can feel her hands gripping your waist tightly, her nails digging in slightly.

She continues to suck and lick your peaks, her cold glasses press against your warmth against the skin of your breasts, the temperature difference sending goosebumps across your flesh. You moan softly, your fingers tangling in her hair to keep her head in place as she paid attention to both of your tits.

After several minutes of shared attention on your tits, you guide Natasha's face back up to yours. You lean down and press a soft, passionate kiss to her lips finally settling back down to her lap feeling her hard once again.

Your hands gently stroking Natasha’s braided hair. You reach out and slowly move your hands towards her shorts, immediately feeling her hard cock through her boxers. Her eyes widened as he realized what you're doing. You then pulled out his cock spring free.

“Guess who’s being bad, hm?”

“Please…p-please mommy.”

You carefully shifted to position yourself on Natasha’s pointing cock. You guide her hands to your hips as you slowly lower yourself onto her. You can see the shock and pleasure on her face as you envelope her with your warm walls. “Y/N…” she stammers.

“That’s not my name baby.”

“Mommy, please!”

You bit your lower lip and began to move, taking her in and out of your warmth, Natasha’s head lolls back, her mouth opening in a silent 'O' of pleasure. Her hands on your hips tighten, her fingers digging in slightly. “It's...it's so tight, Mommy…you’re so…”

“Mhm, yeah?” You pant condescendingly, “Mommy’s what baby?”

“So good! So tight!” She cries.

“Oh yeah?”

You lean down, your breath hot against her ear. “That's because Mommy’s special hole is made just for my special baby. Only for you…” You punctuate each phrase with a slow thrust, taking her deeper.

Natasha’s breathing grows faster, her chest rising and falling rapidly against yours. Her hips buck upwards to meet your slow, languid movements. “Mommy...it...it feels…so good…” she moans softly, her voice barely a whisper. “I... I think I'm... I'm…”

“Are you good?” You asked, but the redhead didn't answer, her eyes shut closed behind her fogged glasses and was too focused on her pleasure and you loved it.

“Are you good, Natasha?” Now you calling her on her first name caught her attention.

“Y-yes…”

Your hands gripped her shoulders as you continued to ride her. “Then hold it, baby. If you're good you’re going to hold it until Mommy says you can come…” You increase the pace slightly, your own pleasure building as you feel him throb inside you. “That's it... just hold on…”

Her face scrunches up in concentration, her hands bruising your waist. “M-Mommy... it's...it's too much...I can't... I can't hold it…” she whines pitifully, his voice filled with need and desperation. “Please…”

“No, baby. You hold it. You can do it. Mommy knows you're strong…” You lean back further, grinding down onto her, your abdominal muscles flexing, “and you’re good, you can do it baby.”

Natasha lets out a high-pitched whine, her body trembling as she tries her best to obey. “I-I'm trying...Mommy...I'm trying to be good…” her body stiffens, her back arching slightly as she struggles to hold back.

You lean in close, your voice dropping to a low, soothing tone. “That's my baby... You're doing so well... just a little longer…”

Her face flushed with heat, her pupils dilating as she watched you with an agape mouth, riding her. Suddenly, her expression turns defiant.

“Fuck...maybe I wanna be bad,” she grips your hips tightly and begins to thrust up into you, ignoring your command. “Fuck, mommy I wanna be bad.”

You’re taken aback by her sudden defiance, your eyes widening in surprise. “Natasha... baby, no...oh! ” Your voice trails off as she continues to thrust into you deliciously.

“Shit baby, fuck you’re so strong!”

So now, it's you who's trying to hold back, but Natasha’s sudden burst of strength is overwhelming. She's too powerful, too determined. Her thrusts become brutal, pounding into you with relentless intensity. You're trapped, pinned on top of her dominant form, unable to escape the force of her desires.

“Natty…baby stop…”

“I can't stop, Mommy…” she moans, her body tensing as she reaches her limit. “I... I'm gonna...I'm gonna come...I'm gonna come inside you…” she throws her head towards your shoulder, her movements become erratic, her hips bucking wildly as she empties himself into you. You're left shocked, gasping, trapped on top of her as she finds her release.

“Turn around...get on your hands and knees…”

“Wha—”

Your shocked expression quickly turns into one of pleasure as Natasha’s dominant commands wash over you. You scramble to obey, turning around and dropping to your hands and knees. Natasha stands up, her hands gripping your hips as she holds you in place. “Good...my good girl... Now stay like that…”

As Natasha starts to move behind you, you feel a surge of emotion. Shock, awe, and a touch of humiliation mix together. You never imagined that she would take control like this, especially after she’d seem like the one to submit. Now, the roles are reversed, and you’re the one being taken.

Natasha's grip tightens around your hips as he begins to thrust into you from behind. The angle is different, deeper, and you can't help but let out a moan. “You like that, hm, Mommy?” she growls.

“You like being on the other end, don't you?” she thrusts deep, her hips slapping against your ass. “Answer me…” her hand reaches around, finding your most intimate spot. “Answer me or I'll stop…” she teases you mercilessly.

“Yesyesyes!”

Natasha suddenly pulls out, lifting you up and carrying you to the edge of the bed. She sits down, easily manhandling you over her lap. Your back rests against her chest as her hands held your thighs, keeping your legs wide open as she slides her cock back into your wetness.

She spreads your thighs wider, her knees pushing yours apart as she continues to pound into you. Her touch is unyielding, her rhythm punishing.

“Hold your thigh…” she took your hand and put it to keep your thigh up. “Hold...hold the other...hold both…” she commands, her breath hot against your neck. You comply, your hands gripping your thighs tightly as her strong hand comes down to string your throbbing clit.

“Oh God...Oh God, Natasha...Please... I can't...I can't take it anymore…” Your cries fill the room, your tits bouncing as she pounded inside you.

You threw your head back against Natasha's shoulder, exhausted from your struggles. She reaches up, her hand cupping your jaw and turning your head. Her mouth descends on yours, swallowing your moans. Her tongue slips past your lips, dueling with yours as she continues to pound into you.

You try to wiggle away from her relentless touch, but a strong hand wraps around one of your thighs, pulling you back. “Oh, no you don't…” Natasha's voice breathed in your ear, her hold was strong to keep your legs apart.

Her fingers never stop their relentless strumming on your clit and her cock pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come for me, mama…” she whispers in your ear, her voice dark and commanding. “Squirt all over my cock…”

Her words send you over the edge. With a loud cry, you laid your head on her shoulder, your body convulsing as you came undone. You squirt all over her, your juices gushing out as she continues to thrust into you.

“That's it…” Natasha's own release hits her hard. With a final, brutal thrust, she buries herself deep inside you, her body shuddering as she comes. Her hot seed fills you up, spilling out around her still-pulsating cock. You can feel her hot cum mixing with your own fluids, the combined liquid slowly leaking out of you. You can't help but moan at the sensation, your body continuing to spasm when her cock bumped accidentally in your clit.

“You’re so good for me, mama.”

⧗

You wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside. Blinking your eyes open, you find yourself alone in Natasha’s bed. You stretch, wincing slightly at the soreness between your thighs. A quick glance around the room reveals no sign of the girl.

You sit up, rubbing your temples as a wave of guilt and self-disgust washes over you. Post nut clarity hits hard.

“How could I have been so stupid?” You chide yourself, your voice barely a whisper. “I drove four hours just to...to sleep with a stranger on a dating app.”

“Am I really that desperate for a good fuck?” you whisper harshly to yourself.

Panicked, you start searching for your clothes, but they're nowhere to be found. “Where are my clothes?” You mutter, your heart pounding in your chest. Your gaze falls on a large, plain shirt draped over a chair. You grab the shirt, smiling as you read what was printed on it

“The physics is theoretical but the fun is real.”

You quickly slip it on, the fabric swallowing you whole. It reaches down to your mid-thighs, the hem fluttering around your bare legs. You realize with a blush that you're not wearing anything else—just the shirt and your damp underwear.

You decide to take in the surroundings of the woman you slept with last night, it wouldn't be bad wouldn't it? The first thing you notice is how clean and organized Natasha's room is. The walls are adorned with intricate diagrams of solar systems, planets, and stars, each one meticulously labeled and colored. You spot a few custom-made lamps on the desk and shelves, their shapes resembling various celestial bodies that you thought she made herself.

The lamps cast a soft, warm light over the room, their glow mimicking that of distant stars. You see a bookshelf crammed with books on astronomy, physics, and electronics. A large whiteboard takes up one wall, covered in complex mathematical equations and diagrams.

Your gaze drifts downward, landing on a piece of paper on the floor. So you bend down to pick up the paper, smoothing it out on the table as you sit down. At first glance, it appears to be an application of some sort. Your eyes scan the page, taking in the details of information you see.

“Natasha...Alianovna Romanoff,” you smiled as her name tumbled out of your lips. “Beautiful name to moan to...”

“December 3,” you frowned, tilting your head slowly as you read the detail, “2002…” you felt your heart dropped to your stomach.

“22 years old?”

A sound of footsteps and a humming echo from outside the room made you alarmed. Panicked, you gripped the paper and rush towards the door, slipping out just as it creaks open. And there you saw Natasha who was cooking some breakfast.

She looks up as you exited her room, her eyes widening briefly as she takes in your appearance. Your hair was a mess and you're wearing her clothes—her favorite one, the oversized t-shirt clings to the curves of your breasts, revealing the outline of your hardened nipples. The hem barely reaches mid-thigh, revealing your bare legs—and your nude colored panties she herself took off last night.

You march towards her, barefoot, brandishing the application paper like a sword.

“You're 22?!”

“Wha—”

“Your bio says you're 28!”

“Wha—I-I didn't kno—”

“That's bullshit!”

“And I was like...God! I slept with someone who's the same age as my sons.” You mimic the same line you said as you recall the events of what happened weeks ago, sharing every detail with Thena, your best friend. She was in fact, the one who told you to try going on a dating app.

“At least you had a good fuck,” Your eyes widened with Thena's vulgar words but you hesitate for a moment before nodding, your face burning with embarrassment. Because, well, it's true...

“Yeah...it was…” You trail off, unable to meet her gaze.

“Good? Good?” Thena asks pulling the words out of you as she noticed you being hesitant.

“She was so gentle at first, almost shy...let me lead her but once she got going...whew!” You whistled softly, fanning yourself as you laughed.

“And you ghosted her…” You pause mid-laugh at your best friend's reply, you felt like she just slapped the reality across your face.

“I...” you raised your brows, palming your chest as you looked at her, “I didn't, okay, I just left. What would you expect me to do? She lied.” You defend, leaning down to your chair as you glance at your best friend who was eyeing you like she knows all your secrets. And she does though, but not this one.

“She's young, Thena,” you reason, “She'll move on. She'll meet someone new.” You dismiss the idea of Natasha being hurt by your not so sudden disappearance with a wave of your hand. “It's not like we had any emotional attachment or anything. Hell, maybe I am the third girl she had in her apartment that week. Who knows?” You chuckled humorlessly. You really wished you weren't.

“Hm, just fucking.”

“Exactly, just fucking,” you say, mirroring Thena's crude language. “We both needed that at the moment.” You nod confidently, convinced that's all it was—a simple physical need fulfilled, nothing more. But as you continue to talk, a small, secret part of you whispers that it was more than just a physical need. You felt a connection, a spark, something that went beyond the surface level. But you quickly silence that voice, deciding to keep your true feelings buried deep inside because there is no chance on getting back, you had deleted the app so there is no more way to contact her. But going to her place is a different conversation and there is no way in hell you're going to do that.

Sighing heavily, you rub your temples, trying to ward off the sudden headache that's formed.

“Besides, what would my sons think if they knew I was dating someone their age?” you muse aloud, looking at Thena with concern and embarrassment. “They'd probably be disgusted, Thee…I swear…”

“At least you're not robbing the cradle or y'know. It's not like she's underage or anything.”

“Okay, enough, stop justifying her age. She still lied, which I didn't like. I wouldn’t date someone who's the same age as my son and someone who’s younger, period.” You said with a finality making your best friend laugh at your now serious face, she’s really not used to you being like that.

“Gosh, they wouldn't even let me date anyone,” you sighed, slumping back in your chair dramatically, making Thena laugh even harder.

“You’ve got some overprotective babies there.” Thena chuckles between giggles.

You can't help but agree with your best friend, nodding your head in agreement. “Yeah, they are pretty overprotective. I swear, sometimes I think they forget I'm an adult too.” You smiled, remembering that your two sweet boys are coming home today for summer break.

⧗

You are excited and all jumpy thinking that every sound you hear is a knock on a door.

You started preparing for their visit, tidying up your home and making sure everything was just right and in place, especially with their bedrooms. The clock ticked by, and soon enough, finally, you heard a real knock towards the door.

With a quick glance in the mirror to make sure you looked presentable, you went to the door to open it. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves, and then swung the door open.

There they both stood, a cocky smile on their face as they greeted you with a casual “Hey, Mom.”

“Hello my babies.” You almost cried on the spot seeing your grown sons.

“Whatchu cookin’ mama?” your eldest, Mark asked, kissing your forehead before entering the house.

“Your favorite beefy creamy mushroom, baby!” You shout.

“I love you so much, ‘ma!”

Before you could even reply, an arm wrapped around you in a tight embrace, and before you knew it, you were being lifted off the ground, your feet dangling in the air. You squirmed playfully, laughing as you tried to put your weight back down.

“Put me down, you little devil!” You scolded lightheartedly, playfully pushing against your son’s broad shoulders, though secretly enjoying the sweet gesture of your youngest.

As he finally set you down gently, a wide grin still plastered on his face, he let out a sigh and looked at you affectionately.

“I missed you so much, mom.”

“I missed you too, Tony.” You cupped his cheek and pestered him with so many kisses making him giggle.

“I...uhh mama, I hope you wouldn’t mind, I am sorry for telling this to you right now. But I brought a friend over, if that’s fine?” you placed your hands on his shoulders, as he looked at you with his usual puppy-dog eyes, “I owe her big time, I was the reason she’s heartbroken and why her favorite shirt is stolen.”

“Yeah, yeah...” you nodded encouragingly to assure him that it's okay to have some friend over, and the mention of a stolen shirt made you laugh—it was silly you thought.

“Yeah, sure baby…you ca—” you trailed off, your world stopping as you saw the friend your son brought over, standing just few steps behind him.

The friend your son brought over was none other than the person who haunted your dreams every night, the same woman you shared a night with many weeks ago that gave you the most earth-shattering orgasm that not even their father could give.

And you found her looking back at you, her gaze trailing down the shirt you’re wearing that was in fact hers.

“Mom, this is Natasha.”

[hiraethwrote]

cw gn!reader but written with f!reader in mind, angst, no comfort, breakup, pining, minor clubbing wc: <1k an i'm on my period which is making me a little emotional, which resulted in this

ex!suguru will never truly be over you, convinced you’re the one that got away.

the breakup was “mutual”, emphasis on the quotation marks — it only meant you guys ended on good terms. it was a very quiet and tender scene. he holds your hands in his, slowly his thumb strokes across your knuckles, never letting his eyes leave your tear stained face.

ex!suguru who, despite disagreeing wholeheartedly with the decision, sees it’s for the best. he will forever hate himself for being unable to see it coming, unable to stop it — one day he suddenly notices how staying in the relationship brought you more turmoil than joy, and he didn't have the heart to hold onto you even though he so desperately wanted to. but he would ruin himself million times over for you

“it’ll be okay,” he says softly, letting himself indulge in the small acts that come so naturally to him one last time before he has to let go, hand reaching up to dry your tears and cupping your cheek. “i’ll be okay.”

with the quiet promise, he feels the stress leave your body and you rest against his touch, a sad smile painting your lips — you’re so beautiful, he thinks.

ex!suguru who lies because he knows it's what you need to hear. you had already stayed longer than you wanted because you didn’t want to hurt him. he wasn’t surprised. you were just so considerate, through and through. he had always thought the relationship was too good to be true anyways, never truly feeling worthy of you

ex!suguru who doesn’t cry, but that is because he feels numb. he can’t remember feeling a pain as intense as this one.

when your tears have stopped, only shy sniffles escaping you, he comes with one last confession. “i’m always going to love you.” he waits, hoping you would say it in return. it isn’t because you don’t love him anymore that you can’t keep going, it’s just because it isn’t working.

“i know,” you say quietly and his heart shatters.

ex!suguru who has his friends fooled because they think he is over the relationship already. he acts the same, eats the same and goes about his business the same — but that’s because it doesn’t concern anyone other than the two of you.

first weekend as a single man, gojo forces him to go out clubbing with him. he really doesn’t want to, but he can’t give his friend any excuses he will accept.

he hates every moment of it, rudely shutting down anyone that approaches him. no matter how attractive, no matter how charismatic, no matter how willing — they’re not you so what’s the point?

ex!suguru who hates the universe a little more than usual. despite his best efforts, he can’t seem to escape you entirely. and he swears he tries, but you somehow just appear every now and then.

he spots you in the grocery store, doing your daily shopping. he spots you in the line of the coffeehouse, ordering your usual drink (one he knows by heart). he sees you on every feed, posting pictures and updates of your life — you seem happy.

his heart screams for him to surrender to his desires, to approach you and hear your voice again. but he knows better, so after torturing himself by admiring you for a few seconds, he simply turns on his heel and leaves.

ex!suguru who after years still thinks about you as much as the day you left. he has tried to move on, but it feels like a betrayal, even after all this time.

has he healed? sure, a little. life goes on after all. with time he has been reunited with some sense of happiness. however it could never compare to the period of his life where he was so fortunate to be with you.

ex!suguru runs into you after nine years. and not like all the times he has simply noticed you down the street — no, you fully crash into his chest one day while walking out of a bakery.

to say he is surprised is an understatement. he has memorised all the places you used to visit so this exact scenario wouldn’t happen, and this had never been a chain you had set foot in before. but a lot changes in nine years.

“suguru, hi.” your voice is light, a rhythm in it that was not present at the end of your relationship. “wow, crazy running into you. how have you been?”

“good,” he croaks, eyes glued to your face. he still finds you as ethereal as the day you left. he wants to say more, but he is a little unsettled by how at peace you seem to be despite not being with him. “and you?”

it doesn’t go unnoticed how you present yourself as genuinely content with where you are in life. however, suguru goes through the entire heartbreak all over again — he has missed so much of your life. he used to think he would be along side you for every single moment of it. instead he is stood in front of you and feeling as if the walls are closing in on him.

his breath catches when you stretch out your hand to grab his forearm. “it was really great seeing you again,” you muse. it’s probably just wishful thinking, but he believes he hears a sadness in your voice that comes from missing him.

“you too,” he whispers, and you’re gone again.

ex!suguru who eventually comes to terms with just being alone again. before you, he always imagined this was how it would end, not the person made to share his life with someone.

you had obviously made him believe otherwise. with you by his side, waking up next to someone and sharing your meals didn’t seem so silly anymore.

but it turns out he only wanted those things if it was with you.

tags @sad-darksoul ﾉ @madaqueue ﾉ @toadtoru ﾉ @hiraethwa ﾉ @harperluvgojo

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ LABOUR ♡·˚

— [♡] ; souls tied by fate will inevitably cross paths again. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: endgame gojo satoru, afab!reader, slow burn, pregnancy, regret, hurt/comfort, angst, co-parenting, vulnerable gojo satoru, past suguru geto x reader, past rejection, longing, bittersweet, I'm dramatic so I write dramatic shit, chapter one of ten

wc. 2.7K

prologue | part 2

The decision settled in your heart like a stone—cold, hard, and undeniable. You couldn’t stay at Jujutsu High anymore, not after everything that had happened. There was nothing left for you here but the constant reminder of Gojo’s rejection, and the emptiness it left inside you. Suguru Geto had offered a new path, one that resonated with the bitter anger building in your chest. It was risky, dangerous even, but at this point, you didn’t care. What did you have to lose?

The world outside Jujutsu High seemed vast and unforgiving, but it was nothing compared to the loneliness you felt within its walls. Geto’s name was whispered among the students with fear and disdain, but you saw something different now. He had the strength to break away, to challenge the system that had let him down, and if anyone could understand the pain of rejection, it was him.

The first step was to find him, which was easier said than done. Geto was no longer a visible presence in the sorcerer world. He had gone underground, building his own network of cursed users and spirits. The whispers about his whereabouts were few and far between, but you clung to the faintest rumors like lifelines, searching for any clue that would lead you to him.

Your chance finally came one evening, as you overheard two upperclassmen talking in hushed tones about a recent sighting of Geto. They mentioned a remote area where cursed energy had been felt, a place known for being a hideout for rogue sorcerers. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

You left that night, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. You knew the consequences of what you were about to do—if anyone found out, you’d be labeled a traitor, just like Geto. But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was getting away from the pain that had consumed you and finding a new purpose.

The journey was long and arduous, taking you through unfamiliar streets and rural roads. With each step, the doubt in your mind grew louder. What if he didn’t want you? What if he turned you away, just like Gojo had? The thought of facing yet another rejection made your stomach twist in knots, but you pushed forward. You had to know. You had to try.

Finally, after what felt like na eternity, you arrived at the rumored hideout—a dilapidated building on the outskirts of na abandoned village. The air around the area was thick with cursed energy, almost suffocating. You hesitated at the threshold, fear creeping up your spine, but you steeled yourself and stepped inside.

The interior was dark, lit only by the faint glow of cursed energy radiating from various objects strewn about. You could sense the presence of others, though you couldn’t see them. Shadows moved in the corners of the room, watching you, but you kept your focus straight ahead.

And then, you saw him.

Suguru Geto stood at the far end of the room, his back turned to you as he spoke quietly with one of his followers. Even from this distance, his presence was commanding, the air around him heavy with power. There was something about him that felt both intimidating and strangely familiar, as if you were looking at the reflection of everything you had been feeling—the bitterness, the anger, the sense of abandonment.

He turned around slowly, his gaze landing on you with a piercing intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. His dark eyes seemed to see right through you, reading every thought and emotion as if they were laid bare before him. For a moment, you wondered if you had made a mistake—if this had been a foolish, reckless decision.

But you had come too far to turn back now.

“What do we have here?” Geto’s voice was smooth and calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. He studied you, his expression unreadable. “You’re not one of mine.”

You swallowed, your throat dry, and forced yourself to speak. “I came to find you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I’ve been studying at Jujutsu High, but I can’t stay there anymore. I’ve seen… I’ve read about what you believe in. And I… I want to join you.”

There was a flicker of amusement in Geto’s eyes as he raised na eyebrow. “You want to join me?” he repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. “And what exactly do you think you have to offer?”

Your heart sank at his words. You knew you were nothing compared to the powerful sorcerers that surrounded him. You were just a student, someone who had been cast aside by the very person you had admired most. But you also knew that your desire to serve his cause, to belong somewhere, burned stronger than anything else.

“I don’t have much,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I’m not the strongest sorcerer, and I don’t have any followers. But I understand how it feels to be abandoned, to be rejected by the world. I’m ready to serve your purpose, whatever it takes.”

For a long moment, Geto said nothing, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence was suffocating, each second stretching into eternity. You stood there, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for his judgment. In that moment, it felt as if your entire life hung in the balance. If he accepted you, you would have a new purpose, a new place to belong. But if he rejected you…

Finally, after what felt like na eternity, Geto’s expression softened, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re eager,” he said quietly. “That much is clear. But eagerness alone isn’t enough. My cause isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s dangerous, and it requires a level of conviction that few possess.”

You nodded quickly, desperation creeping into your voice. “I understand. I’ll prove myself, if you give me the chance.”

Geto regarded you for another long moment, as if weighing his options. Then, with a slight nod, he turned away from you, signaling the conversation was over. “Very well,” he said. “If you want to join me, go back to Jujutsu High. Pack your things. Leave everything behind. Once you’ve done that, come back. If you’re serious, I’ll know.”

Your heart leapt in your chest at his words—he was giving you a chance. It wasn’t a full acceptance, not yet, but it was something. You bowed your head quickly in gratitude before turning to leave.

As you stepped out of the hideout and into the cool night air, your mind raced with a mixture of excitement and fear. You had taken the first step toward a new life, toward leaving behind everything that had hurt you.

Now all that was left was to return to Jujutsu High, pack your things, and leave for good. There was no turning back now.

The night was unnervingly quiet as you made your way back to Jujutsu High, the soft rustling of leaves the only sound accompanying you. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows across the ground. Your mind buzzed with the events that had just unfolded—Geto had accepted you, even if it was only tentative. The prospect of belonging to something, of having a purpose again, gave you a strange sense of comfort, but it was wrapped in na unsettling realization.

To fully embrace this new path, you had to leave everything behind.

As you approached the school grounds, a wave of nostalgia hit you. The familiar hallways, the training grounds, even the library where you had spent so many hours—all of it felt like a distant memory, as if you were already na outsider looking in. These places had once held significance, but now they were nothing more than relics of a past life. You had made up your mind; you would abandon all of it for a chance at something more—something that could give meaning to the ache you carried inside.

The dormitory was dark and still when you returned to your room. Your belongings were strewn about, a quiet reminder of the life you had lived here. You hesitated for a moment, standing in the doorway and letting your gaze drift over the small space that had been your home for so long. It was strange how quickly it all felt irrelevant.

With a deep breath, you began packing your things. You moved with mechanical precision, folding clothes and stuffing them into your bag, taking only what you absolutely needed. As your hands grazed over small personal items, you realized how little they meant now. There was no point in holding onto these things—mementos of a life you no longer wanted to be part of. A gift from a classmate, a framed photo of your team during a mission, a charm you had once carried for protection—they all seemed to mock you now.

Your hand hovered over the chocolates you had made for Gojo, the same ones he had so casually rejected weeks ago. They had been sitting untouched for so long, the once carefully crafted gift now rotting and forgotten. A bitter taste filled your mouth as you stared at the box, the last remnant of your foolish hopes - now laying in your trashcan.

As you zipped up your bag, you felt a strange sense of liberation. You were finally doing it—leaving behind the person you had been, the person who had been too afraid to act, too afraid to take control of her own fate. You were stepping into a new future, one where you could be strong, where your pain had a purpose. Suguru Geto had shown you that.

You slung the bag over your shoulder, taking one last look at the room. It felt distant already, like a ghost of a life you once knew. Without hesitation, you turned and left, walking silently through the darkened halls of Jujutsu High. Every step away from the dorms felt like shedding na old skin, leaving behind the memories and emotions that had weighed you down for so long.

Your feet moved automatically, each step taking you further from Jujutsu High and further from Gojo, you didn’t dare look back, afraid that if you did, you might falter, might hesitate. You had made your choice. You had committed to this path, and there was no turning back now.

The night air was cold against your skin, and with every step, the familiar halls and grounds of Jujutsu High faded into the distance. There was na ache in your chest, a deep, gnawing pain that threatened to overwhelm you, but you forced it down, telling yourself that this was the right choice. That Geto would understand, that his ideals would give you the strength you needed to find purpose.

By the time you reached the outskirts of the town, the sky had started to lighten, a soft glow spreading across the horizon as dawn approached. You kept your head down, avoiding the few early risers who were beginning their day. No one paid you any attention. To them, you were just another traveler, just another person passing through.

Your destination was clear—the same dilapidated building you had found before, where Geto’s presence had been strongest. The cursed energy in the area was unmistakable, and the faint pulse of it called to you like a beacon, guiding you back to him.

As you walked, the reality of what you were about to do began to settle in. You were leaving everything—your friends, your teachers, your life as a jujutsu sorcerer behind. The people you had trained with, the ones who had fought alongside you, they would all consider you a traitor. But for some reason, that didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. You were tired of being invisible, of feeling like na outsider in your own life. With Geto, maybe you would finally belong somewhere.

After hours of walking, you finally reached the hideout once again. The building loomed before you, dark and foreboding, just as it had before. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there the first time, as if the entire area was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside.

This time, the space felt different. The shadows seemed heavier, and the cursed energy more oppressive. You could sense other presences here—Geto’s followers, cursed spirits lurking just out of sight, their eyes on you, watching, waiting. But you didn’t waver. You had already made your decision.

As you ventured deeper into the building, you found him in the same spot as before, standing with his back to you, his long dark hair spilling over his shoulders. He was speaking with one of his followers in a low voice, but the moment you entered the room, his attention shifted. Without turning around, he acknowledged your presence with a quiet, “You came back.”

His voice sent a shiver down your spine—not out of fear, but because of the power it carried, the certainty in his words. It was so unlike the doubt you had felt at Jujutsu High. Here, in Geto’s world, there was no room for second-guessing. Everything he said, everything he believed, had a purpose. You wanted to be part of that.

“I did,” you replied, your voice steady despite the nervousness you felt. “I left everything behind, just like you said.”

Geto finally turned to face you, his eyes sharp and assessing. He looked you over, taking in the sight of you with your bag slung over your shoulder, your expression determined despite the fear you tried to hide. A slow, almost approving smile curled at the corner of his lips.

“And why, exactly, should I take you in?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with a challenge. “What can you offer me that my other followers can’t?”

You had expected this question, but it didn’t make answering it any easier. You had thought about this moment the entire way back, rehearsing what you would say, but now that you stood in front of him, words failed you. What could you offer? You weren’t the strongest sorcerer, you weren’t experienced in battle. All you had was your conviction, your desire to follow him.

“I—I’m not the strongest,” you admitted, your voice faltering for just a moment before you regained your composure. “But I’m ready to dedicate myself to your cause. I’ve seen how the world works, how it doesn’t care about people like us. I want to change that, to be part of something greater.”

Geto’s eyes remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He studied you for what felt like na eternity, and you could feel the weight of his judgment pressing down on you. Then, finally, he spoke again, his voice softer, but no less commanding.

“Conviction is important,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “But dedication without strength is a liability.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, Geto raised a hand to silence you. “Still, you’ve come this far, and I can see that you’re serious. I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself.”

Relief flooded through you, though it was quickly tempered by the realization of what that might entail. Geto wasn’t someone who handed out second chances easily. Whatever he asked of you, it wouldn’t be simple.

“You’ll stay here, for now,” he continued, gesturing to the room around you. “Train with my followers, learn from them. When the time comes, we’ll see if you’re truly ready to stand by my side.”

You nodded, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. This was what you had wanted—a chance, a purpose, something to fight for. And now, Geto had given it to you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, bowing your head in gratitude.

Before you could fully process it, a voice rang out from the entrance of the hideout, sharp and commanding.

“So, this is where you ran off to.”

Your heart froze in your chest.

Satoru Gojo stood at the threshold, his blindfold gone, revealing his piercing blue eyes that glowed with a mixture of anger and something else—something deeper, more intense.

He had found you.

notes: thank you for reading the first chapter! if you wanna be tagged just let me know!

taglist: @username23345 @arminswifee @tomiokasecretlover @ffyona1214 @tojirin @eggrollforyou @ironicsss

©apollogeticx ⋆ all rights reserved.

[pretty-little-mind33]

ＳＨＯＲＴ ＡＮＤ ＳＷＥＥＴ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ

muggle au poly!marauders x fem!reader

Summary: You introduce yourself to the bookstore next door.

Warnings: none

"𝒪𝒽, 𝐼 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃"

The air is chilly as you pull your jumper over your shoulders, balancing your silver tray in one hand. You blow some hair from your eyes and close on the door to your small cafe, the bell chiming after you. While technically you don't officially open until 10 am for brunch this morning, you had planned an assortment of mini-drinks and pastries to bring to the neighboring businesses so you could introduce yourself to them. 

Your first destination is the bookstore across the street. It's an old red-brick building, accompanied by a worn-out wooden door and a wooden sign where the name, "Moony's Library" is proudly displayed in chipped white paint. It looks homey and antique and when you walk over and can see that the small plaque on the door says closed. You knock anyway.

You receive no answer. 

Biting your lip, you hold your tray tighter against your sides, frowning as you raise your arm awkwardly to try again. Still no answer. You try the handle this time. You could have sworn you saw someone in the window. The door opens with a creak as you tentatively push on it and hesitantly, you step inside.

Just as you do, your shoe hits the slightly raised step of the entrance, bending your ankle awkwardly as you almost fall over. You gasp, catching yourself just in time as none of your drinks spilled or pastries fall. 

Thankful no one saw you—

"Clumsy, aren't you?" a voice drawls from the corner of the room and you jump, almost dropping the tray again. When you turn, you see a man sitting in an armchair in the corner, his left foot bound in a medical boot. His crutches lay against the side of the armchair.

The man is strikingly handsome, with his round glasses resting on his nose and his messy dark hair curls framed around his sharp hazel eyes. He isn't smiling, instead he is simply smirking like he knows something you don't know. 

"You scared me." Your voice sounds more intimidated than anticipated, and you walk towards the counter, placing the tray near some old books. You're careful not to ruin them as your cheeks burn warm. "I knocked," you point out, afraid he'll accuse you of being a trespasser. 

"I heard," the man says with a chuckle.

Your eyebrows scrunch and he reads your mind. 

"We're closed. Didn't want to stand and open the door when we are closed." The man shrugs and as handsome as he is, you don't like how he's practically making fun of you. His eyes land on the drinks and trays and his lips curl, his voice a little more lighthearted this time. He makes a guess. "You own Whisk and Whims Cafe?" 

You nod and walk over, holding one of your drink samples to him. "This is a Caramel Cappuccino. It's called Autumn Swirl," you say and then pause a moment. "My name is Y/n," you add quietly.

The man takes the drink and drinks it all in one go. He smiles and looks at you again. "Decent," he teases, wiping the foam from his lips. "Hint of cinnamon?"

You nod again as another voice interrupts you. "James. Be nice, will you?" The man, James, rolls his eyes at this and leans back in the armchair, adjusting his boot with a grunt. You look behind you at the newcomer and your heart leaps. It's another man, just as handsome as this one. He looks taller and lankier and he has deep scars adorning his skin, accompanied by faint freckles you can only see if you focus very hard. Which you are. His dusty dark-blond hair swooshes almost perfectly. He's breathtaking and you lose your train of thought. 

"Hi, I'm Remus," the man comes up and holds out his hand, "Ignore my friend here, he can be grumpy in the morning."

You nod, looking at Remus and then James.

"Shut up, Moony."

"Moony," you whisper, referring to the bookstore's name. You look at Remus directly and smile. "You're the owner."

Remus chuckles and hums, strolling behind the counter. He looks around the old-fashioned bookstore; the books are arranged on tall bookshelves all around, wooden ladders accompanying the slightly dusty shelves. The ceiling is painted mural style, adorned by golden trim. His hand smoothes over an old book and then he looks at your tray of pastries and drinks.

"And you must be my new neighbor."

You smile and point to one of the small sample cookies. "Chocolate chip," you say and smile at Remus, "you seem like a chocolate kinda guy."

"Couldn't have said it better myself, love," James interrupts from behind you. He's leaning on one of his crutches, his broad shoulders flexing as he rolls them. He's smiling at you, towering over you as he leans one of his arms on the counter. 

Your cheeks feel warm again. "Are you partners?" You ask. 

James laughs loudly, his pretty lips turning into a smile. "No," Remus answers, finishing the cookie as he wipes the crumbs from his lips. "Jamie here is just helping while he recovers from his injury."

Your gaze falls to James's boot and he catches your gaze, his jaw clenching as he captures your chin in his hand, keeping your eyes on him. Fuck, you think as you look at him and his touch sends a jolt of electricity, he's so handsome.  

"Eyes up here, darlin'," he grumbles. The boot is obviously a sour subject for him and your eyes snap up. 

You nod, entranced. James smirks and drops your chin, his hand lingering in the air. Remus clears his throat and your attention is pulled to him again. "Y'know, I was thinking we could do something fun with our businesses—" Remus offers, stealing your attention as James's smile disappears and he clears his throat, turning to look at some of the books on the shelf. 

You turn to Remus fully now, fiddling with the small sample cups. "Oh?"

Remus nods. "I mean, a cafe and bookstore? A match made in heaven," he explains his plan, "I'm thinking we could host some events. Perhaps an evening tea book club? And we could have opportunities to blend our businesses, for example, one book purchased here could earn them one coupon at Whisk and Whims and some bonus coupons if they read the book in your cafe. I could also have James build you a bookshelf, he's my personal handyman, with sample books from here to bring in more customers, ones they could buy potentially—"

"Who said I would build you the bookshelf— I'm injured—" James interjects.

"James," Remus sends his friend a glare and you smile.

"I'd like that," you interrupt, loving Remus's plan. You feel happy that you've found him and your smile widens. "Thank you," you say honestly.

Remus's heart leaps at that smile you wear and he has to shake himself, clearing his throat. "Oh, y-yeah, no problem," he says, his Welsh accent slipping out because he's nervous and James sends him a curious look.

When you return to your café, the interactions replay in your head. You switch the open sign, humming as the mental image of James's curly hair and Remus's smile causes you to feel an unfamiliar giddiness in your chest. The morning is slower, which you'd expected from your first day, but you don't mind as your mind wanders. 

Eventually, the clock strikes one, and that familiar bell rings. You look up from where you're rearranging the cookies in the window. There are only a few customers and you only have a few staff so you see him instantly. 

You jump up, rushing to the door to open it for him since he does have crutches at the moment. However, you almost slam into a doe-eyed redhead as she holds the door open for James. Your eyes widen and you stumble back, hand finding your apron as you suppress the embarrassment coursing your veins.

The girl turns to you, skin pale and eyes a shiny emerald green. Her cherry red hair is braided to the side and she looks behind her, smiling as James helps himself through the door. He lifts his head, staring at you.

"Y/n," he says your name, a little surprised to find you here and not behind the counter. Where you should be. He turns to his girlfriend—friend? And for the first time since you'd met him today, he smiles warmly, "Thanks, Lils," 

James looks at you again and this time, the smile stays. "Remus is still busy but I wanted to stop by and see how business is," he looks around the mostly empty room and his smile falters just enough for you to see the change. Your embarrassment grows. 

Lils interrupts him, "For your first day, it's quite good! It took Sirius months to fill out his store, right, Jamsie?" 

You look at her, grateful for the kind words, and unclench your hands from your apron. You push away the embarrassment and gesture to a small table near the window, "This one is free," you back away, your voice a little shaky as you ask them, "What can I get you?"

"I'll have another Autumn Swirl," James teases you as he staggers over with the girl's hand around his muscular arm. "Lily will have anything with matcha." He laughs and Lily rolls her eyes at him, but then she nods at you. 

"Thanks," she says and then smiles. Her smile is the prettiest thing you have ever seen and when you return behind the counter to make their order, you feel stupid. Of course, someone like James is already in a relationship! What were you thinking—developing a school-girl crush on a guy you'd met only hours ago? 

You shake your head, successfully diminishing the warmth from your cheeks but only worsening that pit in your stomach as you do your best to focus on the drinks instead of hearing James's, already intoxicating, laughter from across the room. 

tags: @nubigenouss

~ THANK YOU FOR READING! this is my first series. I'm nervous but hopefully you like this! very slow burn ;) ik Sirius isn't in this one, but he will be soon! ~

[sykoangels]

Taste

Pairing: fem!reader x spencer reid

warning: petty banter and toxic angry sex

author note: Hey everyone! I wanted to share that I'm starting a new fanfiction series inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's "Short N Sweet." This series will feature different fandoms, so there's something for everyone to enjoy! I got the idea from @thinkinonsense , so be sure to show her some love too! If you're not into Sabrina Carpenter, @thinkinonsense also created a fanfic based on Ariana Grande's "Positions" album, so feel free to check that out as well!

Working at the FBI can be quite challenging, especially when you have a history with one of the top profilers in the field. Dr. Spencer Reid is like a walking supercomputer, brilliant yet endearingly dorky, which happens to be your type. There's something undeniably attractive about Spencer – perhaps it's his unassuming appearance as if he's never been in the presence of a woman, or maybe it's his intellect, which could put a dictionary to shame.

Either way, that’s what attracted you to him at first, and over time you guys developed more of a romantic relationship. But through this romantic relationship came problems and slight differences. Spencer always pushed you away no matter what it was so confusing every time something was going well. You guys would go three steps back. Unfortunately, you guys weren’t deemed to be together so breaking up an inevitable. What surprised you was that Spencer moved on fairly quickly with someone who is a carbon copy of you or at least tries to be. His new girlfriend Maxine was you in a different font. Your mannerisms were the same. The way she walked was the same compared to you the way she laughed. It was freaky. It was almost like she wanted to live in your skin like she was some creepy stalker living your life like somebody's body double.

As you started to pay closer attention, you couldn't help but notice certain things. For instance, when Maxine started accompanying Spencer to FBI events as his plus one, you began to feel uneasy. At a recent retirement party for a coworker, You spotted Maxine wearing a red mini dress with her hair slicked back, and she was even wearing a pair of heels that you had left at Spencer's house and never got back. The heels were scuffed at the bottom, indicating that they weren't new. What's more, You noticed that Spencer started repeating jokes and phrases that you had previously shared with him. These incidents made you increasingly aware of what was happening.

Anytime you mentioned this to anybody else they just called you crazy especially your coworkers like Garcia and JJ. They didn’t realize it until today since we solve the case in California Rossi was taking everybody out for drinks at the local bar down the street from the office. It was a casual thing he always did, but spencer decided to invite his girlfriend as a plus one . Nobody really cared and happily let him bring his girlfriend. It wasn’t a big deal. But you knew this was the perfect opportunity to prove a point.

The dim, flickering light of the bar's coatroom cast long, dancing shadows on the walls, creating an ambiance that was equal parts intoxicating and intense. The air was thick with the rich scent of aged whiskey and supple leather, mingling with the faint aroma of stale cigarettes. You were seated at the table next to JJ, delicately sipping on your perfectly crafted peach mojito, while discreetly observing the movements of Maxine and Spencer throughout the room. Your keen eyes didn't miss a single detail, and your focus was unwavering, like a detective on a critical case. JJ, sensing your intense scrutiny, playfully rolled her eyes before speaking. "You know, taking a picture would last longer, Y/N," she admitted while sipping her own drink. "Knowing Maxine, she would probably try to extract my DNA from the photo, clone me, and create a skin suit out of it."

"I can see where you're coming from," JJ said, her touch gentle as she gripped your shoulder. "He did move on pretty quickly, but you have to let it go. I doubt that she's trying to be you." As JJ's words sank in, a heavy sigh escaped from the depths of your mind. Perhaps JJ was right. Maybe you had been letting your imagination run wild. But as the night wore on, the unsettling feeling of Maxine trying to imitate you resurfaced. You could sense her eyes fixed on you, and every time you glanced in her direction, she would meet your gaze with either a forced smile or a look filled with spite. Finally, the team gathered for a toast after a challenging case. Rossi expressed his love for the team, emphasizing that each member was a valuable part of the cohesive unit. As Rossi finished up the toast, Maxine stood up and proposed her toast, looking directly at you as she spoke. "I just want to thank you guys for letting me join you today. I can see why every one of you is a valuable part of the team. Well, at least some of you. I also want to thank my fabulous boyfriend Spencer for being my rock, especially when things are hard, and for loving me unconditionally even though there are a lot of bitter people in this world. Spencer will always love me unconditionally no matter what comes his way."

Maxine's words cut like a knife, a calculated and direct attack that made you glance over at JJ to see if she had also caught it. The look on JJ's face confirmed that she had. It was clear that Maxine's barb was aimed at you. JJ's expression silently pleaded with you not to react, but you couldn't help it. There was no way you were going to let someone who bore a resemblance to you but was less attractive talk about you like that, especially to your face. "Yeah, and knowing Reid and his eidetic memory, I know exactly who you're thinking about when he's with you, and it's definitely not you, Maxine. No matter how hard you try to wrap your head around it, you will never be the girl he thinks about. There will always be one degree of separation between all three of us, and you know why," you said bitterly before taking the last sip of your drink and getting up to retrieve your coat from the coat room.

Spencer sat there fuming but trying his hardest not to show it because he you were right unfortunately. The rest of the team awkwardly looked at each other then back at Maxine as she walked off to the bathroom to collect herself. Meanwhile, spencer was going to go look for you. He was annoyed with your behavior tonight and he needed to set some things straight with you well at least for right now.. You leaned against the cold metal of a locker ordering a uber when you heard footsteps coming from a converse sneaker scraping against the floor, making that weird squeak sound.

"Why do you keep doing this?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the muffled sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from the bar area. "Why do you keep pushing Maxine? What do you want from me?" You met his gaze head-on, your lips curling into a bitter smile. "What do I want? I want you to admit that she's just a poor imitation of what we had, Spencer. I want you to stop pretending that you're happy with her." Spencer let out an exasperated grunt you could see the vein in his forehead pulse he was fuming. "Stop playing games, Y/N. You left me. You walked away, and now you can't stand the thought of someone else being with me?"

You scoff in disbelief at his claims, feeling like he's trying to manipulate you. "I didn't walk away, Spencer. You pushed me out. You couldn't handle what we had, so you replaced it with a cheap knockoff." Spencer's eyes flashed with something dangerous. Before you could react, he locked the door to the storage room and placed a large step stool against it. Then, he turned back to you, staring into your eyes with a mix of yearning and regret. "Is that what you think? That I replaced you?" He said looking at you with that puppy-like gaze he always had.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "Isn't it obvious? She's everything I was to you—everything we were together. But it's not real, Spencer. It'll never be real." For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension between you almost palpable. Then, without warning, Spencer's lips crashed down onto yours, rough and desperate. The kiss was a mixture of heat and fury, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a hunger that left you breathless. You responded instinctively, your hands gripping his shoulders as you kissed him back with equal intensity.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled to steady his breathing. "Is this what you wanted?" he gasped, his voice raw and slightly whiny. "To see if I still want you?" You pressed yourself closer, feeling the hardness of his arousal pressing against your thigh. "No," you murmured, your voice trembling. "I wanted you to show me." Spencer a breathy groan slipped out his throat, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, lifting you effortlessly until your legs wrapped around his waist. The cold metal of the coat rack bit into your back as he pinned you against it, the sensation both startling and exhilarating

"God, you drive me insane," he muttered, his lips grazing your neck as he peppered kisses along your skin. "I can't think when you're around." You laughed softly, the sound shaky and breathless. "Good. Maybe then you'll finally understand how it felt when you shut me out." He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, you saw the vulnerability beneath the anger. "I'm sorry baby I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice reeked of forgiveness and arousal. "I never meant to hurt you."

You nodded, unable to find the words to respond. All you could focus on was the way his lips felt against your skin, the way his hands roamed over your body with a familiarity that made your heartache. Spencer's hand slid under your skirt, his fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties. You gasped, arching your hips into his touch, craving more. He groaned, his teeth nipping at your earlobe as he slipped a finger inside you, coaxing you open with practiced ease. "Fuck," you moaned, your head falling back against the locker as he began to move his finger in slow, deliberate strokes. "Spencer..."

"Tell me what you want, I will do it I want to make you feel good,” he demanded, his voice soft and whiny but commanding. "Tell me how much you need this." You bit your lip, resisting the urge to melt into his hands when he whines like that. "I want you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you, Spencer. Please”

He obeyed getting on his knees and slowly gliding your panties off slipping them off in one swift motion. He looked up at you with his big brown chocolate puppy dog eyes with that submissive twitch in his eyes before circling your clit and kissing it. It was so obvious he missed you, especially by the way he was eating you out. “Fuck~ you missed me badly huh?” You say gripping his greasy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy.

You can feel Spencer nodding agreeing to what you were saying he started sucking on your clit before placing two fingers inside of you stretching a lot slowly something he used to do quite often when you guys had a hard day at work to at least help put a smile on your face. Your eyes roll back as his slender fingers stretch you out. You felt yourself get close to an orgasm until Spencer stopped and looked up at you his face all wet with a pleading look on his face. He motioned you to face the wall so you obeyed his request. Spencer's hands skimmed over your thighs as he positioned himself behind you. You braced yourself against the cool metal, your breath hitching as you felt the head of his cock press against your entrance. "Ready?" he asked, his voice desperate and hoarse.

You nodded, biting your lip as you prepared for the inevitable intrusion. Spencer gripped your hips tightly, aligning himself perfectly before thrusting into you in one smooth motion. You cried out, the sensation both painful and exquisite as he filled you completely. "Fuck, you feel so good," he muttered, his voice laced with desperation. "Just how I remembered." He began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one hitting your spot with perfect precision. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed in the small space, adding to the intensity of the moment.

"Harder," you begged, your voice breaking. "Please, Spencer, harder." He obliged, picking up the pace as he slammed into you with renewed vigor. The friction between your bodies grew more intense, the heat pooling in your core as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of climax.

"Look at me baby," Spencer commanded, his voice whiny and desperate but with a hint of urgency. "Watch me fuck your brains out, baby” You turned your head, meeting his gaze over your shoulder. The sight of his face, twisted with exertion and desire, sent a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you. He reached around to pinch your nipple, twisting it between his fingers as he continued to pound into you.

"That's it, baby" he whimpers. "Take it. Take every fucking inch. You can do it” You screamed, your orgasm ripping through you like a tidal wave. Your muscles clenched around him, driving him over the edge as well. Spencer shouted your name, his release flooding you as he buried himself deep inside. Panting, he pulled out slowly, leaving you trembling against the coat rack. He leaned against you, his forehead resting on the back of your neck as he caught his breath.

"This changes nothing," he whispered, his voice raw and unsure. "We still have to deal with Maxine."

You turned to face him, your heart aching at the conflicted look in his eyes. “I don’t have to deal with anything you have to come to terms that you will never find a girl like me again Boy genius. You need figure out who you wanna be with. A botched copy or the real deal. I will see you at work tomorrow spencer and I will be expecting an answer. Just remember I leave quite the impression on men like you.

You quickly find your panties slipping them back on grabbing your coat and plants a kiss on spencer’s lips leaving a red kiss stain on his lips before walking out to catch your Uber

[lotus-lost-n-found]

Some Batfam Headcanons because the brain never stops;

Jason hates being called "Bruce's Son". But he hates it more when hes called "One of Wayne's Orphans/Wayne's child" because fuck you I'm his son-! wait no--

With the exception of Damian, they rarely refer to Bruce as "Dad/Father". Either it didn't occur to them/didn't see the need to/thought it would be strange. But when Dick/Jason/Tim/Cass are tired or injured it might slip out. And Bruce might just crumble a bit at it

Doesn't mean they don't say it to their siblings when Bruce is out of Earshot.

"Dad said you couldn't." "What do you mean Dad said I couldn't use that mug? It's my mug!" "You snooze you lose Timmy Boy-" "Jason don't be an asshole-"

That being said Bruce says "son/daughter/child" at every available opportunity he can after he knows that they have acclimated enough that they wouldn't be uncomfortable/know they can tell Bruce that they don't want to be called that.

First time Bruce called Dick "son" in a way that meant "You are my kid" and not in a "This police officer just called me son with a brow furrow" way Dick grinned and carried on with the conversation. Later he wondered if his dad wouldn't like someone else calling him Son; but Dick thinks about the life he was given because of Bruce and thinks maybe his dad wouldn't mind.

Calling Jason "son" is a hit or miss situation, even before he died. The first time it happened he was confused, he didnt think that was the relationship they had and it made everything change for him. He got frustrated--not angry--with himself and Bruce at this sudden emotional turmoil. Wasn't he just the kid Bruce picked up in an alleyway? Wasn't he just some street rat in bright Robin clothing? (He lets himself believe that he can be Bruce's son. If for only a little while).

Tim cries after Bruce is out of earshot, it would've been a year or so after his parents died and he was adopted. He didn't think he could have been wanted like that again. Even if you think the Drake's had A+ Parenting or not, I don't think he would have gotten a lot of confirmation of being wanted otherwise.

Cass smiles, emotions carefully concealed under her expression. She's grateful she found Bruce and he doesn't mention it if she leans a bit closer in a request for closeness.

Damian doesn't expect anything less, he only appears satisfied. But also relieved that he has gotten the confirmation that yes, Bruce wants and accepts him.

[mmogurl]

Dragonseed

18+ | 6.4k | Daemon Targaryen X Female Reader | dangerous, sex starved, raunchy Daemon | virgin reader, first time sex, first night / prima noctae, big breast reader, daemon is a boob man in this, non con, non consensual, P in V, much groping, lots of typical Daemon cussing, starts out rough but reader enjoys it in the end, I just woke up with this in my head and needed to get it out.

Daemon has not been satisfied with his wife Rhaenyra lately. Frustrated and sexually deprived, he goes searching in the village at the base of the Dragonmont for a woman that might catch his eye. That's when he comes upon you, a beautiful, young dragonseed, ripe for the taking, whether you like it or not. I came up with the idea for this after reading page 914 in Fire and Blood. In the show, they recruit Valyrian blooded bastards to ride the unclaimed dragons from King’s Landing, but in the book there is actually a fishing village at the base of the island where Dragonstone is located. The men of House Targaryen were known to seek pleasure among the commonfolk there quite often, claiming their ‘first night’ rights and sowing ‘dragonseeds.’ Leave a comment if you're interested in seeing me expand upon this story, because I could definitely see writing more.

Tags: @coffeebooksrain18 On AO3

Rhaenyra has been an insufferable cunt as of late. First she had wallowed in the death of her son, Lucerys, which he understood to an extent. They were at war though and Daemon could not excuse her absence at council. There simply was no time for mourning when the Iron Throne was at stake.

When Rhaenyra finally returned to the painted table, she was in shambles, a scared, frail shadow of the strong Targaryen woman he’d known and cared for. It had taken all he had to hold back the grimace that fought its way out at the sight of her tear stained cheeks. They were of royal blood, Valyrian blood, and she should be ashamed to show such weakness openly, especially as the future queen.

She spoke of retribution for her fallen boy, demanding the life of the Hightower bitch’s second mongrel son, Aemond. Daemon had offered to fly to King’s Landing right away to avenge his wife, but none would take any part in his plan. So he did as he often did, connived in the shadows, plotting murder so that a one-eyed Targaryen princeling might die to replace the son Rhaenyra had lost.

But, it seemed nothing was ever good enough for the so-called Realm’s Delight. No act of loyalty, nor obeisance, nor love, nor retribution would ever amount to anything in his wife’s eyes. She did not seem to trust a word he said lately, viewing him always with thinly veiled scrutiny and scorning him from her bed every night. Perhaps she had only been interested in using him to solidify her claim as queen after all. The irony was not lost on him considering how badly he’d wanted the throne in the past. It all left Daemon feeling restless, his blood running hot with the need to satisfy his carnal urges. Admittedly, there were not many women within the confines of the castle, save for the servants, who were not especially comely. So, he ventured forth to the village below the Dragonmont, where farmers and fishermen lived around the now thriving port. There he walked the streets, drank in the tavern among the commonfolk, hoping to chance upon a suitable woman. Any fair of face with a willing cunt would satisfy his needs, but he was hoping to find someone of note, a beauty worth his seed.

So far, he has found nothing but mediocrity and it does nothing to stiffen his cock.

As he exits the tavern already deep in his cups, given the position of the sun it’s sometime past mid-day, and there is a celebration underway. A flutist is playing a lively tune as men and women alike dance together in the square. His eyes dart around, taking the scene in slowly considering his relatively inebriated state, until he catches a flash of blue.

And that is when he sees you. You are ravishing in light blue silk, a crown of yellow wildflowers upon your silvery-gold head of hair. Daemon finds himself completely enamored as he takes in your fetching features; the big blue eyes, your proud nose, those luscious lips, and the full swell of your breast has him reeling.

Daemon finds you a sight for sore eyes, a vision of purity and class coupled most gladly with the bosom of a well coveted whore. From the look of it, you are the bride, clutching arms with some young pup who is likely to be your new husband.

It was well known to Daemon that the towns below the mount were seeded with Valyrian blood. Going back two hundred years when Aenar Targaryen first arrived with his dragons, when the house began to practice the tradition of ‘First Night.’ Whereas a lord or king has the privilege over the smallfolk, to bed any bride first on their wedding night. As a result, it was not uncommon to see pale hair mixed in among the common, many having been bred within the Targaryen line for generations.

Daemon has never claimed such a right before, but he is inclined to command it at the sight of you. A wicked smirk begins to work it’s way up his lips as he approaches. He can’t believe his good fortune, that such a shining flower of a maiden was waiting for him, so close by, and that he just happened to stumble upon you at just the right moment to claim you.

As the King-Consort to be closes the distance, many begin to notice his presence with a look of awe and excitement on their faces. For on Dragonstone, the Targaryens were considered closer to the gods than other folk, and were esteemed as such. Brides that were chosen were considered blessed and envied by all. Many of these women were taken care of well by their benefactors, being endowed with luxurious gifts of jewelry, fine silks, and even bequeathed titles for land.

The children born of dragonseed were celebrated on Dragonstone and it is clear to Daemon by the fine silk of your wedding gown that you have been attended well by your Valyrian patron, whoever it may be.

He walks purposefully towards your merry, dancing form and takes hold of your arm to still your movement. When you look up at him, he cannot help but feel disappointed when your face drops, a look of despair crossing your face as you intrinsically know what he desires of you. Daemon had hoped you’d be pleased to attract his attention, that you’d consider it a godsend as most would. It is merely a minor blow to his ego that won’t stop him from taking your maidenhead.

Silence hangs in the air and before words can even be exchanged, an older woman with dark gray hair advances forth to him. She claims to be your mother and apologizes for your insolence.

‘The blood runs too strong in her, m’lord,’ she grovels with deference, bowing her head with every word.

Good he thinks to himself I like them feisty. Daemon grins, glaring sideways at the young man next to you. He would be considered handsome by most standards, but he is green, just a silly boy without disposition to even protect his alluring little wife. He intends to ruin you for any other fellow tonight, so not even your juvenile husband will ever be able to satisfy you again.

He snickers with satisfaction as your mother offers to escort the pair of you to a suitable location where he might take up his rights. Daemon can’t help but soak up every curve of your face and body like a predator eying up his next meal as she speaks, but you look on the verge of tears, ready to break at the thought of being torn away from your silly little wedding festivities.

“Might I freshen up first, My Prince,” you say, your civility barely held in tact through grit teeth.

“King,” he reminds you, furling his brow. This girl will be nothing but trouble. It will be best to break her swiftly. He then shakes his head non-nonchalantly. “And there is no need. You are already quite pristine and lovely in your wedding gown. I will take my claim now.”

You fluster, your cheeks growing impossibly red with embarrassment at not just the mention of his intent, but your own indignity as well. “My King,” you acknowledge his correction. “Allow us to ready the chambers for a man of your caliber. My marital bed is far too simple…” you continue prattling on. He isn’t really listening anymore though, instead focusing on the plump of your lower lip and how it might feel wrapped around his cock.

He also can’t help but notice how you sound much more proper than your mother, than most commonfolk really, and wonders if your Valyrian contributor has paid for your tutelage as well. You strike him as someone who has been overindulged in your life, treated as a lady of distinction. It would certainly explain your bratty attitude.

“I am not against the amenities of the commonfolk,” he offers indifferently. “As long as there is a clean surface, it will do.” It’s not like he hadn’t fucked in some of the filthiest brothels on the Street of Silk back in King’s Landing. At least there weren’t many rats in Dragonstone.

‘Oi, aell take ye to me own dwelling, m’lord,’ your mother is spouting now. ‘It aes clean, Ae wash the linens m’self.’

“Nonsense.” A man with well-kept clothes is now stepping forward and Daemon believes he recognizes him as the innkeep. He offers his finest suite for the union of Daemon and his freshly wed dragonseed maiden.

Gods, it’s good to be king.

Daemon can’t help but chuckle smugly at the look of absolute dread on your face. You think you’re so special, too important to be fucked by a king apparently. He was going to enjoy showing you otherwise.

His grip has not left your upper arm and it now tightens as he nods to the innkeep, accepting the proposition for a room. The man leads the way and Daemon follows, dragging you along with him and reveling in the way you peer back with sad lamb eyes at your newly minted husband. There is something so deliciously satisfying in tearing you away from that whelp of a lad, in taking what belongs to another simply because he can. It spoke to the primal side of him, the dragon within that would snatch up whatever it pleased without concern for morality.

He desires you now and he would soon have you whether you liked it or not. Rhaenyra had cowed him for far too long and now he’s going to reclaim his manhood, his brutal nature, by taking your bloody virtue on the head of his cock. For the bedroom was just as fierce as any battlefield and Daemon was a seasoned veteran of both arts.

Daemon’s stride is long and resolved as he jerks you closer to his side. You’re reluctant to be close to him, but finally heed the warning and match his pace as you both enter the tavern which also serves as the inn. Upstairs, the balding innkeeper opens the door and ushers Daemon into his freely provided chambers, with his unwilling maiden shuffling in beside him.

The room is quite nice for what it is. Accommodations for peasant folk were typically a mix of ramshackle furniture and blankets with patched holes in them, if the mattress had linens at all. This chamber is simple, but the furniture looks as though it were hand-crafted in town. The bed is very obviously carved by a skilled carpenter and topped with a red blanket as though it were actually a fine establishment.

“This will do nicely,” he nods to the innkeep. Even though Daemon knows he is not expected to offer compensation as an esteemed guest, he let’s you go from his grasp momentarily to fish a coin from his purse, and places it in the man’s hand. “My thanks,” Daemon offers plainly with a dismissive nod, declaring his desire to be left alone with his prize.

“My pleasure, My King,” the innkeeper says with an overzealous bow as he closes the door behind him, finally leaving Daemon alone with you.

You stand there looking like a stunned baby bird who has just fallen from the nest. Your hands are clasped together in front of your stomach as though that might defend you from his designs.

He smirks at you with a pointed laugh as he draws close. Daemon apprises you thoroughly, circling you like a beast as he takes in every sign of weakness, every swallow, every carefully withheld whimper.

“You know what will happen, girl?” he finally breaks the silence as he comes to a stop right behind you.

“Y-yes,” you answer unenthusiastically. The tremulous tone of your voice both excites and amuses him.

Daemon’s hands reach out to your waist then, finding the laces that hold your bodice tightly in place and he begins to untie them. You turn rapidly on your heels to face him, trying in vain to halt his advances. He can’t help but growl at your defiance as he tugs you against him, his grip like a biting jaw on your pliant body.

Grinning wickedly, he glares into your eyes, leaning in so closely that his forehead is against yours and his hot breath is in your face.

“I’m going to take you, little one,” his voice is filled with violence, his tone rough and dangerous. “You will give yourself readily or we can take the difficult path. But, I promise you would not like how brutish I can be. Especially considering how sore you will be once I take your maidenhood.”

Your expression contorts with hatred and insubordination as resignation tries to take root, but ultimately you refuse to budge. He has not broken your spirit yet, but he knows he soon will. Daemon hopes to avoid being truly cruel to you, that is unless you remind him of his fucking wife by being so gods damned obstinate. Then he might just be forced to take his impotence out on you.

“Or maybe…” he continues with a sardonic twitch of his brow. “Maybe since you’re behaving like such an ungrateful bitch, I’ll just fuck you hard and deep until I spill seed in your unspoiled little cunt. I might even keep you here all day, perhaps all night. I have not wet my cock for at least a moon’s length and I am wont to gorge myself in you.”

Your breath hitches at his menacing coercion and tears begin to well in your eyes. It doesn’t bother him, in fact he thinks you might look even more attractive when you’re crying. Most importantly, you nod subtly as you finally understand the truth of your situation, that he has conquered your rebuffs and brought you low before him. You should be much more compliant now.

Daemon presses a kiss against your cheek, relishing the taste of your fear and the way your body tenses in his arms. “Good girl,” he states in a calmer voice.

He swiftly turns you around again, his fingers moving deftly to work the laces of your corset free. You are sobbing quietly and even though he relishes the idea of making you submit, of seeing your eyes red and swollen as you take him to the hilt, it’s becoming tiresome to hear as he undresses you.

“Would you cease with all that incessant blubbering?” he chides you with palpable irritation. He pulls at your laces, then the fabric of the bodice, going back and forth to loosen it enough so he remove it from your body.

“I’m scared,” you peep. “That you will hurt me.” You’re reminding him of a bird once more, perhaps a little chick with no wings to fly, sniffling and pathetic as you accept your fate.

Daemon lets out an exasperated sigh. He would almost rather you be angry and spiteful than sniveling like this. He should have known to use a different tact, but he’s been out of practice for quite some time. He now sees with clarity that you’d be far more susceptible to seduction rather than brute force, but his anger with Rhaenyra had him on edge.

He places his hands on each of your shoulders and cranes his neck forward until his lips meet the spot below your right ear. You jump as he presses a gentle kiss against your skin, his fingers reaching over and caressing along your collarbone. He can feel you relax considerably with his shift in behavior and takes the opportunity to slide the sleeves of your dress down your arms.

“You need not be scared, little bird,” he whispers into your flesh as he leaves another kiss wet against the base of your neck. “I have bedded many a maiden in my time, and I assure you that I am a far more experienced and skillful lover than that untried boy you call husband.”

You swallow with difficulty and then your whole chest heaves upward as you let out a shaky breath. He is not sure if you’re still apprehensive about the pain involved in the act itself or if you dislike hearing him speak ill of your new spouse. It matters not, for Daemon knows he is best suited to tend to your needs on this day, and he will deliver you swiftly from your pain if you serve him well. He could also make it much worse than it has to be if you don’t.

But for the moment, you’re obliging him, not even resisting as he slips the sleeves of your dress off of your hands and they fall to your side. He groans at the pale skin bared to him, feverish at the thought of groping those large tits of yours without the restraint of any bindings.

“I know how best to alleviate your discomfort, my dear,” he continues, his breath tickling your skin. “I know how to hasten you to pleasure.” Daemon sucks teasingly at the lobe of your ear and delights as you shiver and goosebumps break out across the exposed flesh peering out from your low neckline. He is getting so eager now, craving the way you’ll squirm beneath him as he touches you, as he claims you.

He rocks the slackened bodice down over your waist, wiggling it from side to side until it clears your hips and the entire gown finally falls to the floor in a heap. You still don a sleeveless cloth chemise underneath that goes down past your knees, but the fabric is so thin that he can see the outline of your figure right through it.

Daemon feels the hairs on the back of his neck bristle as his cock bulges painfully against his breeches. He’d been so caught up in taming you, so fervent at the thought of plundering your shores, that he hadn’t even realized how much he was aching for you.

With a surge of fist and cord, his trousers are on the ground and he practically tears his braies off so he can press his throbbing length against you sooner. Being liberated from his smallclothes leaves his member free to prod the valley of your arse, and he yanks you back tightly against his chest with a grunt that makes you chirp. You are his sweet, helpless baby bird, ready to be devoured by the fox.

As though pulled by an invisible force, his hands are already snaking around to your front catching your breasts, one in each hand as he kneads them forcefully. You let out a strangled cry of distress as he tweaks your nipples firmly and Daemon’s eyes roll up at the supple, yet dense give of your breasts.

“By the old gods,” he rasps out, looking over her shoulder at the beautiful sight below of cleavage and ample bosom turning in his grip. “These are surely sacred treasures befitting a king.”

He has to feel you without the interference of meddling fabric, needs to see your breasts in all their splendor, to touch-taste-suck them until you cry out. A growl erupts through his nasal cavity and he abruptly yanks your shift down your shoulders, ripping the straps in the process of revealing your remarkable tits.

Seeing your exposed bosom, Daemon grinds his cock into your arse with arousal, his restraint faltering with the promise of you. He spins you towards him, walking backwards to the bed and drawing you by the hands with him. He glances up to see the uneasy expression on your face, the blush in your cheeks as you allow him to lead you. His cheekbones rise and his brow furrows slightly, regarding you with discernment and maybe a sense of pride as you walk bravely forward.

Daemon decides after brief consideration, that he likes you this way: vulnerable, yet courageous. The thought is fleeting as he hits the edge of the bed and sits down without hesitation, tugging you close until you are standing in the space between his parted thighs. Your tits are right in his face now, just where he wants them.

With an aggressive pull, he wrenches the shift from your body, laying you completely bare to him. He doesn’t even know where to begin, so much pale and youthful skin to take in that it makes him absolutely ravenous. Daemon’s hand reaches behind your back, holding you in place as he practically inhales your breast into his mouth. You writhe in his embrace, trying to back away from the intensity of his hungry maw to no avail as his strong arms keep you effortlessly in place.

He nips at the stiff peak, relishing the way you jump in response. Daemon’s hand slides downwards, cupping your round, tight ass with a squeeze. He leans back, taking in the view for a moment as he licks with the point of his tongue around your pale pink areola. He switches to the other beautifully pliant tit, tracing a line with his tongue across the valley of your breasts.

Daemon sucks hungrily at your nipple, palming the other with fanatical tenacity. He can feel your body wanting to withdraw, the way it pushes for more and pulls back at the same time, yet your feet remain firmly planted. He’d praise you for being so mannerly if his mouth weren’t full with your delicious tit at the moment.

He can feel his pulse pounding throughout his cock, standing erect between his legs and starving for any attention it can get from you. He relinquishes his grip on your breast, daring an attempt at getting you to relieve his torment as he clutches your hand and brings it down. Your hand retreats backwards, not wishing to participate, but Daemon is firm with you, guiding you to wrap your little bird wings around his engorged member.

Tepid, featherlight fingers graze against the sensitive skin of his too-fat-with-blood cockhead, and he lets loose a growl against the slope of your chest. “Fuck,” he hisses, sucking air through his teeth as you reluctantly touch him. At this point, his sexual deprivation paired with the immense lust he feels for you makes even your untrained pawing feel flawless in execution.

He’s quickly reaching the point of no return, his carnal urges so great that he knows he must have you soon. Daemon’s fingers lower to your tight little cunt, checking to see how ready you are for his impending intrusion. A knowing grin spreads across his cheeks as he feels the silken wet state of your folds.

“Mmm,” he pulls off of your nipple, peering up at you with violet eyes full of mischief. “Are you holding back how much you desire me, little bird? You naughty thing. What will your husband think?”

You flush red and while he was hoping to see indignation, he’s not displeased with the look of yearning present instead. Had he actually managed to ensnare you with the capable way he handled your body? Had he charmed you into his grasp when it seemed impossible you might actually enjoy yourself? Your silence is complicity as far as he is concerned.

Daemon smirks up at you deviously before switching back to your left breast, his tongue dancing across the tender nub as his fingers test and prod at your entrance. He doesn’t feel a solid membrane, but one that has already been teased on multiple occasions, likely coaxed from the efforts of the wanton little dragonseed herself. He could take her virtue with very little pain and she might even find pleasure in the act.

Dragging creamy nectar up from your heat, he holds your hood back, pressing his middle finger to your swollen pearl with a light, circular motion. You jolt into him, leaning forward as though your knees might buckle with even the slightest of coaxing from his touch.

He does not relent, continuing his attentions to both of your breathtaking breasts as he caresses the peak of your sex with practiced grace. You begin to whine, flinching your shoulders with every nip and suck of your tender nipples, your body becoming overly sensitive with his continued ministrations.

Daemon can feel the tension in your body rising and knows that you are ready for him. And not a moment too soon, he muses to himself, lest he lose his fucking mind with desperate need of you.

He stands up suddenly, gently walking you back a couple steps. He then picks you up into his arms with one fluid motion before depositing you with careful precision onto the bed. You look up at him with big eyes, dilated black with arousal as he climbs on top of you.

“You are a sight to behold, dear girl,” he says hoarsely, his voice heavy with desire. “I will not regret this joining and nor should you.” You look bewildered, a flurry of emotions all rolled into one, acutely aware and fuzzy at the same time.

For the first time, Daemon kisses you, and the feeling is like molten lava blazing through his heart and pooling in his gut. His cock is hard and threatening against your thighs, seeking entry with every jerk and twitch. His tongue sinks through your parted lips, dipping into the heat of your mouth, wanting to consume you whole.

He parts from your lips with an intake of breath, declaring gruffly, “You know that you belong to me now?”

With your quiet acceptance, Daemon positions his head at your core, pressing in just enough to fit snugly against your entrance. Leaning down once more, he cradles your back in his arms and presses another kiss to your lips. He needs to keep you distracted, his tongue dancing with yours, keeping you from dwelling too long on unavoidable pain. Gods knew, the feel of your passionate kiss was enough to divert his attention away from all meaningful thought besides the easing of your hurt.

Without warning, Daemon thrusts into you, breaking through your virtue as he holds you tightly. You cry out in startled agony as his length enters you, tears welling in the corners of your eyes at the sudden flash of pain. He holds position within you, soothing you with hushed whispers and gentle kisses through the worst of it.

As he thought, you are not upset for long, within moments already wiggling your hips around his swollen cock and hungry for more. He can’t help but grin with smug satisfaction at the way your body begs for more without speaking any words. Daemon will give you exactly what you crave. In fact, he loves how quickly you’ve become his little bird, his sweet harlot, forsaking your new husband for him in no more than a hand’s width of daylight.

He winces as he begins to move again; the way your cunt clings to his intruding cock for dear life is almost too much to bear. Daemon pulls back slightly to take you in and is not disappointed by the way your pretty lips are spread and panting out quick breaths of ecstasy. He had not lied to you, he’d certainly been with his fair share of maidens. None have come close to matching the beauty of your deliverance from chastity. You take to his girth with aplomb, to the act of love-making with a passionate, melodious abandon.

Daemon would watch your blissfully lurid expression, listen to your dulcet of sinful delectation, all day if he could. But, it’s not long before he can tell that your little cunny is going to give him trouble. If it hadn’t been so long since the last time he knew a pleasure better than his fucking hand, he might be able to deal with you. But, you are so fucking tight and he’s so wound up, that he opts to go out with a clash of smacking flesh. If he cannot make you peak this time, then he most certainly will on the next try, and he will most certainly take you again.

Your lilting moans drive him closer to the edge, pushing him faster than he’d like. Rearing up onto his knees, he clutches your hips tightly and spreads you across his lap. Daemon desperately tries to push you along to your climax, knowing it will be a race that he is likely to lose. He’s not expecting the intense response you give him or the way your hips buck as he coaxes your pearl to completion.

His eyes widen in disbelief, wincing as your pelvis seizes and you clamp down on him with a force so powerful it undoes him. “Fuccccking Hells!” he growls out sounding like a gruff animal as your walls milk his seed forth. Daemon’s member pulses violently, your muscles finally letting up only to begin rolling in waves across his length. “Gods fucking damn, girl!” he steadies himself against the bed, almost falling on top of you in the process.

His release lurches through his body, demanding and powerful as he erupts into you. He is faintly aware of the way your chanting with delight, muttering something incoherent while your small hands remain fastened to his back, holding onto him. The overwhelming rush finally passes and he is left feeling weak, breathless, but oh so fucking good.

Daemon wilts onto you, pressing a contented kiss against your lips. He’s not entirely surprised, but is still pleased when your hands find the back of his neck, deepening the kiss with vehemence. He feels the musculature of your inner lining contract upon his cock again and shakes his head as he parts from your lips.

“No. No more of that,” he gripes, still too sensitive to take that kind of abuse.

He recoils as he withdraws from you, unable to believe how big his cock looks, not fully hard, but still excessively fat considering. Daemon lies down beside you, wrapping his arm behind you and pulling you close.

You come willingly, cuddling into the crook of his arm as your hungry fingers roam about his jerkin.

And then it dawns on him, that in his impatience, he never even bothered to fully disrobe. He dutifully unfastens the clasps on his leather vest, displacing you for a moment as he tosses it aside and tears off his doublet.

“There,” he says with confidence. “Now you can have the full show.”

You laugh, a mirthful sound that makes his heart ache in a good way. Gods, he had really needed to get in a good plowing. He can feel all of his anger and tension melting away as he takes you back into his arms.

“So? Was it all bad?” he asks, fishing for compliments because he loves to hear them. He’d especially welcome them from a stubborn creature such as yourself.

Quietly, you shake your head, seeming at a loss for words. He could understand. A lot had happened in such a short amount of time. He’d essentially stolen you from the path you’d been traveling, plucked you up for himself without your say so. Daemon wouldn’t prod you to talk about it now that his appetites were sated, wouldn’t tease you about your husband now that he had claimed you fully.

He raises a brow as you speak unexpectedly, listening intently for your first real words since he’d imposed himself upon you.

“It was enjoyable,” you answer respectfully, your lusting eyes betraying your true feelings as your hands rove over his now bare chest, eager for more.

“Only enjoyable, little bird?” he decides to tease you a little bit, just for fun.

That mellifluous laugh returns, making him smile genuinely as he gazes upon you. Daemon strokes your back, relishing in the warm plushness of your skin as he settles into bed.

“Why do you keep calling me little bird?” she asks instead of padding his ego. “I am a dragon just as you… Am I not?”

His whole face lights up with a self-satisfied smirk. “Oh, are you a dragon now? I thought you were just a little bird.”

“I am a seed,” you contend with him, far more seriously than he expects you should. “I am of your line too.” You run your fingers into your disheveled hair, twirling cornsilk strands as evidence.

“Well, yes, but you are not quite a dragon. It’s true you have wings and the means to fly, but that does not make a dragon, my delicate little bird,” he cannot help but say it with a mocking tone, enjoying your reactions too much to let it go.

You dare a fearless smack at his chest, indignant and pouting. He would normally kill someone for laying hands on him in any manner of disrespect, but Daemon does not mind it from you in this moment.

“Perhaps, you do have some fire in you yet,” he taunts you with amusement. You look at him wide eyed as though he’s about to admit that you are a dragon just as he is. You make this too easy. He chuckles as he continues to rib you, “I’ll call you my firebird then. I think that suits you nicely.”

Daemon’s brow winks with humor as you take another swing at him. He holds your arms down to your sides as he pulls you on top of him. He let’s you go as your annoyance settles, regarding you fondly as he tucks loose tresses of silvery hair behind your ears.

“I hope you know that I’m going to come back for you again and again, my little firebird,” he utters in a lower tone, his voice taking on a more serious quality now.

You give him a twisted look of both gladness and remorse, your mind unable to decide whether this is a good or a bad thing.

“Do you care for your husband?” he asks earnestly, not pleased with the idea of another man laying hands on you. “I can conscript him to the queen’s army if you wish to free yourself from him. You need only ask.”

You look torn, but he can tell you’re considering his words carefully. “He is not a bad man as far as I know. The marriage was selected by my mother, my husband earns a living well enough to pay my way.”

It bothers Daemon to hear you call the man your husband, even if it’s true. He considers killing the man masquerading as your groom for you should undoubtedly belong entirely to him and no other.

“Paying your way will no longer be an issue. I will ensure that you are financially supported from this day forth, but I will not give you up,” he hears the words spilling from his mouth and feels like an old fool. He’d celebrated too many namedays to be spewing this lovesick shit? He couldn’t help it though. You stoked a fire inside of him that made him feel alive and vibrant, he needed to keep burning with you.

“I appreciate that,” you offer with a small, but hesitant smile. “I’m sure my mother will be thrilled. She has always tried to make sure I’m well looked after. It’s unfortunate you could not find me a day sooner. I’m not sure how to face him now,” she says with a trembling lip. “He will expect to bed me. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to. It would make me nothing but a whore.”

“Hush,” Daemon says disagreeably. “Don’t say such things.” He finds himself cradling your sweet head against his chest, hating how true your words are and that he is the one responsible for your situation. He must make it his own responsibility to free you from it then.

“I’ll pull you to castle staff then,” he offers, grasping at possible solutions. It would not be wise to tempt Rhaenyra’s wrath under her own roof, but it would be a means to separate you from your husband at least temporarily, until something more lasting could be devised. There were many positions that would keep you far from his wife’s vicinity as well, if she would even notice that he had taken a lover to begin with.

He might also simply murder the bastard and be done with it, but it might be nice to have you close by in Dragonstone too for opportunistic dalliances.

You begin to protest the idea of going to work at the castle, but he won’t hear any of it and interrupts you. “I will give you a choice then, in recompense for what I’ve taken from you. Will you stay with me, little firebird, or with your husband?” He peers at you with thoughtful bluish-red irises, waiting to hear your answer. He has already decided that he will abide by whatever ruling you make, at least for a time. If you wish to bed your husband as well as him, then that will be your prerogative.

“I do not wish to stay with my husband,” you say quicker than he anticipated.

“Well,” he practically gloats with a mischievous grin. “You’ll be coming home with me then.” Daemon presses a happy kiss against your lips, the sight of your bosom sinfully crushed against his chest sends a pang of desire to his cock, signaling it for action. “But, we might as well make good use of the room first. It was graciously afforded to us after all.”

Daemon reaches down to grip your hips, letting forth a hiss of air as he positions you on his already rigid length. You, his little firebird, would be keeping his flame kindled all this day and perhaps all night as well, with many more to follow. You were his now, born from a threat and remade into a promise that he intended to keep.

[lyinginmeadow]

Shadows will guide you home | Azriel × reader

Summary: Some fae don't like the idea of the Archerons turning into high fae and reader being one in unfamiliar city makes a perfect opportunity for an intervention Warnings: acotar related violence, not super descriptive, language, slight angst Word count: 1.4k a/n: Hii, this is my very first fanfic, please remember to be kind. <3 Also English is not my first language so it may be a bit rough.

Being another Archeron sister was quite exhausting. The constant comparison between you ever since you were born created a dark place deep within you. After years of being poor, starved, and uneducated, the family regained their riches back thanks to Feyre. The cost left you empty, breaking your heart into a million pieces. You wanted your sister back more than anything, you would return your newfound lifestyle to have her with you again. Taking lessons together, sharing laughs, and pretending as if everything is normal. As if she never left and their father hadn't left them to starvation.

Instead, the Gods were laughing in your face as you with two of your sisters were changed and thrown into the world of high fae. While you got your sister back, there were matters to be taken care of. Leaving you alone in a city and with species foreign to you. You had met the inner circle while you were still human. They were nothing but kind to you then, but you assumed that was because you were Feyre's sister. Now they haven't paid you much mind because their hands were either full with court business you didn't understand or your sisters. You were left scarred inside while pretending it hadn't affected you as much.

''Are you listening?'' Asked a pretty blonde in a red dress, Mor. ''I'm sorry, I just spaced out a little. What were you saying?'' You smiled, red creeping up your cheeks. ''You are free to explore the city, you don't have to feel caged inside.'' She returned your smile. ''Oh, I don't feel like that. I...I guess it's kind of strange to be here. Is there an apothecary around here?''

''Yes, it's in the square just next to the bridge you can’t miss it,'' Mor replied. ''I must go, but I will see you during dinnertime.'' She smiled for the last time as she disappeared into thin air. She came by just to invite you as per Feyre's request. Your sister knew you were too polite to decline any offer and without it you would probably not show up.

''Right.'' You mumbled under your breath as you looked out of the window. In the reflection, you caught the sigh of a shadow. You whipped around to see nothing. Signing, you turned to the window again thinking about certain Illyrian familiar with shadows. When you first met him, he was like a rock that you could lean onto while the queens invaded your home. You talked, feeling an instant connection and thought he felt the same. You didn't remember what happened during the changing process, your brain blocked the memory altogether. But after waking up in Velaris, he didn't seem to notice you, rather seeking the company of your older twin sister.

You knew it wasn't rational to feel hurt by this, but that didn't stop your heart from throbbing. Exhaling a deep breath you went to explore the city as Mor suggested, feeling sick of your little pity party.

After hours spent in the city, it was starting to get dark. Nights here were magical, but your fear of them only amplified during years spent in the dark streets trying to provide for your family by any means necessary, so you tried to hurry back to the house. Taking a turn into an ally wasn't a choice you wanted to make, but panic started to take over every action your body made. Looking around you knew you were lost and didn't know where to go next.

''Looking for something?'' You whipped around with shock in your eyes. ''No, but thank you. My partner is just around the corner.'' You smiled politely your instincts kicking in as you lied smoothly. A shadow caressed your skin as if to soothe your worries and disappeared. You didn't have time to think about it more as the man standing in front of you stepped closer. ''Are you sure? We could help you, Y/N.'' Another dark figure from behind you said so near you could feel his breath on your neck. ''I don't know who you think I am, but that is not my name. And I do not need help from strangers. So let me pass.'' You tried to will your voice not to tremble, but it was of no use. You were starting to give in to the panic rising within you. ''And we don't need humans becoming high fae and highjacking our court. But here you are.'' Said a male in front of you while pulling out a knife. “This will send the message." Continued another one next to what you pressumed was the leader. One againts three were not the odds you prefered.

You had no idea how they found out your name or how they knew of your fate of becoming fae. "Feeling threatened by a female?" You knew getting a rise out of them was not the smartest idea. But maybe it could gain you valuable time for someone, anyone to notice. Velaris was supposed to be peaceful after all.

"You think you're funny, huh? We'll see if you'll find the knife just as entertaining." The male behind you pulled your hair harshly earning a scream from you. You didn't understand how they could blame you for something you had no control over. “Watch the alley, will you?” The male infront of you ordered the one standing next to him as he lifted his hand to your face. The knife danced lightly on your cheek leaving you defenseless. "Just so you know, maiming your face will be a pleasure." He whispered to your ear as he increased the pressure on the knife drawing blood.

The whole alley turned pitch black. You had fae senses, but the dark was completely impenetrable yet familiar. You could only feel your hair being released, knife falling to the pavement, followed by screams and scratches on the stone. You were paralyzed, terrified, and unable to move. The dark had you in its claws and you could feel your breath getting more and more quick. ''How dare you hurt her ?'' A deep familiar voice took you out of your panic. There was no answer to his question. Only whimpers.

The shadows slowly dissolved letting in light from the main streets. There was no one here anymore. Only blood and scratches deep in the stone indicated a struggle.

Azriel appeared in front of you his hands gently grazing your untouched cheek. ''Don't look at it.'' His voice hoarse. You inhaled his scent making you instantly relaxed. ''Are you hurt?'' He asked worry lacing his voice. You gave him a shake of a head not trusting your voice. ''Lies. Shaken. Blood.'' Hissed hushed voice, startling you. ''I am not lying. I am just fine.'' You pushed Azriel away looking around for the source. ''You can hear them?'' Azriel frowned examining you.

''Look, I am sorry you had to bother with this. I know there are a lot of things to be done and I should have known how to protect myself-'' He stopped you from rambling with a thumb to your lips. His previous question forgotten. ''No one has a right to assault you. It is not your fault. Velaris is supposed to be safe. I promise that no one will harm you ever again.'' He left you completely stunned. ''Now, could you please show me where they hurt you, so we can heal it?'' Azriel asked slowly removing his thumb from your lips. Leaving you wishing it could stay there for a bit longer. You pushed back the hair that was covering your healing cheek. ''It's already healing. My abilities do come with very fast healing. As long as I don't use my powers much. I am just a bit shocked, that's all.'' You admitted looking to the stone path. ''Let's get you home then." He offered his hand which you gladly took your heart threatening to jump out of your chest.

''Look, Nesta started training with Cass and a few priestesses joined her. It is a way for them to regain their power and help them with their struggles. I was thinking that maybe it could be something you would give a try?'' Azriel asked as he led you through the house to your bedroom. ''Oh...I think I would like that.'' You smiled. Silence enveloping you again.

''Thank you, Az. For today and the offer.'' You looked down standing infront of the door to your bedroom. ''There is no need to thank me. But you should get some sleep.'' He looked at your door and then down the hallway. ''I will be right next to your room if you need anything. So please, let me know.'' He gave you a look of urgency and you gave him a nod even if you knew you would not. He probably knew it, too. ''Goodnight.''

"Goodnight."

[jellyfishbug]

SEATBELTS FIRST

pairing. chris x reader genre. smut with plot ! this is part two of pop the hood f'me not proof read.

content; mechanic!chris, smut, oral (f recieving), fingering, p in v, unprotected (wrap ur shit or ill catch you), spit, slight dumbification, creampie, praise, dirty talk, use of pet names, swearing this one is shorter because theres less build up. anyway, sorry for edging you guys, heres pt 2 :)

I got the call around six thirty the next day.

I was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter island in the center with an apple in my mouth when my phone started to buzz in my back pocket. I set my belongings down and struggled until I finally tugged it out of the tight sleeve and glanced at the screen, an unknown number displayed at the top.

I swiped my thumb to answer, pressing it up to my ear and taking the apple out of my mouth to speak, "Hello?"

"hey, it's Chris," I feel my eyes go wide, the apple that was once in my hand dropped onto the counter with a thud. "your truck is good to go- I can drop it to you when I get off."

I swallow, my mouth now paper dry as I reach to stop the apple from rolling off the counter. "Okay- yeah, sounds good. Thank you,"

I could hear the smile in his voice as he laughs lowly before replying, "can't wait."

The line went dead, indicating that he'd hung up. I lowered my phone away from my ear and placed it on the counter next to the apple and stared at it, momentarily averting my gaze to the clock a couple seconds later. He gets off soon .

I'd felt nervous about picking up the car; the night before, when I'd had to reluctantly deny his advances in the backseat to get home on time, he understood and said something along the lines of ''S okay, its not the last time i'll see you, m' sure of that."

But regardless, I felt even more awkward when I had to make him park at the end of the street so i could walk up and make it appear like I'd taken the bus to my dad, rather then have him watch me pulling up with a random kid in a car he'd never seen before. Chris just laughed and nodded at my request, pulling over near the sidewalk at the end of my street and leaning over to press a kiss on my lips, smiling at me when we parted. He opened my door for me with the other hand and said, "I'll call you tomorrow,"

And he did.

About an hour after he called, I saw my truck roll up through the kitchen window above the sink. Chris sat in the driver's seat, and I watched like an idiot as he popped open the drivers door and hopped down, running his hand through his hair mindlessly.

He was wearing a black t shirt that hugged him, partnered with a pair of light wash levi's. His hair wasn't hidden by a bandana this time; it hung loosley, some strands hanging on his forehead and eyes.

My keys were firm in his grip as he walked up the stone pathway. I almost forgot I needed to answer the fucking door, too busy watching him duck his head to avoid the part of my roof that hovered over the front porch, tooth pick in his mouth as he pressed two knuckles to the door and knocked lightly.

The noise of his hand meeting the wooden door startled me back into reality - I shuffled around in the kitchen for a second before I walked up to the front door, taking a deep breath as I twisted the knob and opened it.

His head snapped towards me, a smile appearing on his face whilst he looked me up and down. I did the same, sizing him up with a nervous expression before finally turning it into a grin to match his.

"Hi," he said softly, taking the tooth pick out of his mouth and leaning against the doorway. Before I could even respond, he opened his palm, and I glanced down to see a pair of keys.

I took them from his grasp and grinned, pressing my bottom lip between my teeth. "Thank you," I paused, "For fixing the truck and for bringing it."

He nodded. "Not a problem."

I look away momentarily, glancing between him and the setting sun behind him. I turn around to look at the clock again; 7:34. My dad isn't home for a couple more hours, and I really don't want Chris to leave yet.

He raises his eyebrows at me once my eyes were back on him, like he already knows what I'm about to ask.

"D'you wanna go for a drive?"

A grin is back on his face, this one open-mouthed so I can see his teeth as he licks his lips and nods.

"Absolutely,"

I drove this time. Chris sat in the passenger seat, grinning stupidly with his hand out the window resting on the roof from the outside. The windows were rolled down, and as a result the wind was blowing through the car loudly, leaving no room for any sound between us besides laughter.

Finally, we started to approach a red light. Once we rolled to a stop, a he turned to look at me, toothpick still resting in his mouth. I kept my eyes ahead, nervous to look back, but once i realized he wasn't going to look away until i did, I finally glanced over at him.

His grin was still there, cocky as ever. He took his hand of the roof and let it back in through the window, resting his chin on against his palm.

"Whatch'ya thinkin about?" He asked, his voice soft and curious.

I leaned back against my seat with my head hanging off the head reat slightly, pausing for a moment before answering honestly;

"Yesterday."

He swallowed thickly, and my eyes followed the movement in this throat. He turned to face the road and dropper his head slightly to huff laughter through his nostrils, "Oh?"

I felt my stomach flip, and an excited feeling flooded my gut. I nodded slowly and Chris shifted in his seat, a flustered expression on his face at my words. It wasn't flirting - it felt too lewd to be flirting. But whatever it was, It was fun.

The silence was sharp enough to cut skin. I almost wanted to jump out of the car and leave it running in the intersection with Chris in it, but instead, i felt a pang of satisfaction when Chris raised his eyebrows and asked, "What time do you need to be home?"

The clock on the dash told me it was already 8:30. At this point, It wouldn't make sense for me to go home anyway, and I didn't plan on ending this conversation anytime soon. "Whenever,"

He nodded, a simple acknowledgment of what i said, but he didn't say anything else. The light turned green, and we were moving again. The wind blowing was loud, but quieter now; quiet enough that i could still hear him.

"D'you remember what i said yesterday?" He finally said, turning to stare at me.

I thought for a second, all the words - both filthy and sweet - that we'd said the day before. "One thing specifically?"

He nods. I want to remember, but considering the sheer amount of possibilities he could be referencing, I shake my head.

He licks his bottom lip. "I said I was gonna get you off- but you had to be home . ."

My breath hitches in my throat, and my grip on the steering wheel turns knuckle white. I nod my head. He hasn't looked away, and his gaze is starting to feel like it's burning my skin with every glance.

"You don't have to be home now,"

It came out breathier than he meant it to - I'm sure of that.

Immediately, my mind goes to how uncomfortable shuffling around in the backseat is going to be, especially when theres still daylight and someone could see us, but as if Chris is reading my thoughts, he takes the toothpick out of his mouth again to speak. "Pull over- ill drive."

I nod, not wasting a second to pull over once we're out of the intersection. I pop the drivers door open, leaving it open and walking around to the other side to switch seats, closing the passenger door loudly.

Chris steps up into the driver's seat and shifts the gear, "My place, yeah?"

I'm nodding before he's even done talking.

We're moving again, and he makes no effort to hide his excitement, my eyes darting to the speed tick on the dashboard as he swerves dangerously through and across lanes.

I'm almost nervous my car will end up back in the shop before we even get to his house with the speed we're going, but if it means I get to see him again, it doesn't sound so bad.

His hand moves to rest on my leg, the other carelessly gripping the steering wheel with occasionally glances in the rear view mirror, as well as occasional glances my direction. I pretend not to notice, but the anticipation is burning in my core at the feeling of his eyes grazing my frame.

Before I even noticed we were in a neighborhood, we pull into a driveway. Chris pushes the gear into park and twists the keys in the ignition until the truck is off and glances at me, a knowing smile on his face.

"You good?"

I must've looked red and flustered, and part of me knew that because of how hot my face felt, but embarrassment still lingered in my thoughts as i nodded.

"Yeah,"

He shakes his head and laughs lightly at my response, turning to open the door and step down. I watch as swings around to my side of the car to open mine, reaching a hand out to help me step down, smiling once my feet are on the concrete and the door shut behind me.

As we approach the front door, he fiddles with the keys on his carabiner before finding an orange one with "house" written on it in black sharpie. He unlocks the door and opens it with a small creak, glancing on either side of the living room before turning back to me, signaling me to follow him inside with a tilt of his head.

We walk up the stairs and down a small corridor before reaching the room at the end of the hall, wooden and covered in stickers. He opens it and waits for me to enter behind him.

Once i'm inside, i glance around to take in my serroundings; his bed is in the right corner of the room, neatly made with a handful of pillows carelessly thown against the headboard. Theres a small desk at the other end of the same side, and a handful of license plates carefully hung up above the window. Theres sports memorabilia too, some hockey sticks in a pot and a framed jersey hung near the closet.

I step closer to the frame, tracing my fingers along the glass to examine the fabric. "You play hockey?" I ask, glancing back at him with my hand still against the hung jersey.

He laughs, walking closer to me with his hands in his pockets. "Used too- haven't really played much since I graduated,"

I nodded with a hum of understanding, letting my hand fall back to my side as i walked back towards him. He studies my movements, and once i'm in front of him, i reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind is ear. I purse my lips, eager to fill the silence thats suffocating the both of us. "D'you street race?"

He makes a puzzled face, evidently surprised at the random question, eyebrows furrowed as he tilts his head at me. "Uh, yeah. I mean- sometimes with friends, or on roads in the middle of nowhere for shits and giggles. Why?"

I shrug. "You just... go really fast," my hands are still running through small strands of his hair. "And you swerve- but it's controlled and clean, like it's really familiar to you, or like you do it a lot - so I was just curious."

He grins, raising his eyebrows and stepping ever so slightly closer to me to peer down at me through hazy vision. "You starin at me or somethin?"

I feel my face flush pink and I roll my eyes, my hand finally falling away from his hair. "Maybe."

One of his hands leaves his pocket to draw circles on the waist of my jeans, still eyeing me mischievously. "I don't necessarily like racing for money," he says, his tone honest. "I just like the adrenaline of it- feeling your heartbeat in your throat n' shit. Its fun."

He gently drags one of his hands down my lower pack and puts it into my back pocket, pulling me closer to that we're pressed together completely. "Maybe I'll take you sometime,"

Before I can respond enthusiastically and tell him how much i'd love that, he hooks his other hand on my face with his fingers grazing the back of my neck, pressing his lips against mine.

I'm alarmed for a second until finally kissing him back, my hands on either side of his head, brushing against the stubble on his face. He's kissing with intention; almost impatient, like he's been thinking about this just as much as i have.

It's not long before he's sliding his tongue into my mouth, tilting his head to kiss me deeper, the taste of marlboro red's strong and tangy on his lips. He groans against my mouth, the sensation making a hushed whimper escape me.

He's so fucking cocky with everything he does, the smirk on his lips condescending and teasing as he bites down on my bottom lip in between kisses almost hard enough to bruise. His hand slides out of my back pocket to rest against my back, pushing my lower half against him.

I pull back for a split second, eyes opening to glance into his momentarily, "you're a really good kisser."

He raises his eyebrows, and in an arrogant tone he responds, "oh yeah?"

I nod, a whiny noise building in my throat, growing tired of the absence of his pink lips and leaning back in quickly to kiss him again.

Faces still attached, he spins us around so that my back is facing my bed, walking us slowly towards it until my legs hit the frame and i plop down, frowning at the loss of the kiss.

He tugs at the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head before lowering to place one more kiss on my pouting lips, chuckling when my hands start to fiddle with his belt. "Lie down, sweetheart."

I furrow my eyebrows, "But I-"

He shakes his head, "No," he says, lowering to his knees in front of me. "It's my turn, isn't it?" His fingers trail along the waist of my jeans, fingers fiddling with the button. "Told you i'd get you off, didn't i?"

I lower my back against the bed, propped up on my elbows to eye him as I nod slowly. He grins, dragging my zipper down and wrapping his fingers beneath the fabric of my jeans, tugging them until they're completely off and forgotten on the floor next to him.

He leans down to trail open kisses from my stomach to directly above my core, then on the inner plush skin of my thigh, biting his teeth down lightly into the sensitive skin and swirling his tongue against the mark.

My fists curl against the sheets as I whine from the feeling of the bite, watching as Chris glances up at me with wild eyes through his eyebrows. He lifts his head and wraps his hands around my upper thighs, tugging until i'm resting directly at the end of the bed with my legs on either side of his head.

He tugs at the lining of my underwear, glancing up at me. "This okay?"

I nod quickly. "Please,"

He impatiently pulls them off me and tosses them to the side before continuing the previous action of kissing at my legs, and I start to squirm below him, impatient and restless.

"Patient," he says lowly. "We're not in a rush anymore, remember? 'Wanna take my time with you."

It's sweet; it is, but when he's hovering above where I'm aching the most lazily pressing kisses anywhere but where i need them, it just feels like torture.

"Chris, please, i don't care- jus' need you-" I'm cut off with a slight yelp as he's biting down again, harder this time, savoring the feeling of the soft skin in his mouth before pulling away and all but shoving two of his fingers into my mouth.

I swirl my tongue around his digits, the length of them causing them to brush against the back of my throat harshly enough to gag slightly, but i maintain composure as he slides them back through my lips.

He prods them at my entrance, lowering his head again to finally lap his tongue against my neglected clit. My head knocks back with a whine, lower lip between my teeth as he messily plays with the bundle of nerves.

He's cruel with his mouth, occasionally licking stripes up my cunt messily and groaning. My eyes roll into my head at the feeling of his stubble brushing against my inner thighs, feet shaking against his back as I dig my nails into the cotton sheets beside me. "Wet jus' for me, huh, baby?" he grumbles, his words muffled by me.

I part my lips to answer, but my jaw goes slack as he presses his spit covered fingers into my entrance, his mouth still latched to my slick folds as he pumps them in and out an agonizingly slow pace.

"Fuck," I hiss, one of my hands flying up to grip his hair. "Oh m' god, Chris." My back arches up slightly, but Chris firmly presses his free hand down on my hip, forcing me back against the bed and pressing his nails into the flesh to keep me still.

His fingers speed up the pace, and be grins against me as I whimper pleadingly. He lifts his head for a second to speak. "Yeah? Feel good?"

"So good," I babble, tugging harshly at the roots of his hair as he wraps his lips around my clit, swirling his tongue aggressively as his fingers continue to pump at a stupid pace, whimpers and desperate cry's of his name flooding out of my mouth.

"close?" He taunts, watching as my legs shake on either side of him. He replaces his tongue with his thumb and rubs circles on my clit. "gonna cum for me?"

The lewdness of his words makes the knot in my stomach get impossibly tighter, and I nod helplessly. My legs are aching to close as i chase the high, but Chris keeps them open effortlessly.

I finally snap as his fingers curl against a specific spot inside of me, a loud cry ripping from my throat whilst he continues to sloppily thrust his fingers and mutter praises. He finally stops when i grip his wrist tightly, squirming and whimpering in discomfort from the overstimulation.

He licks his fingers clean and extends back to his full height to lean down and kiss me, "You good?" he asks genuinely, the palm of his hand pressed against my stomach as he rubs his thumb back and forth soothingly.

"Really good," I respond, a warm feeling in my chest when he smiles cheekily. "Good," he says, standing back up to unbuckle his belt and push his jeans down to his ankles, stepping out of them and leaving them bunched on the floor.

My lower lip mindlessly rests between my teeth, my expression flushed as i watch him palm himself through his boxers. He takes them off too, stepping closer to place his hands on top of my knees and glance down at me.

He wraps his hand around my wrist to gently tug me up, his fingers tugging at the end of my tank top a a silent request. I lift my arms and he pulls it off an throws it next to me. He leans down to kiss me again, his finger on my chin to lift my head up. "You're really pretty," he hums. I flush pink, the feeling of his eyes glancing over my frame stirring unfamiliar and needy feelings in my gut.

He cups his hand below my mouth, and when I glance between him and his palm dumbly, he clarifies. "Spit for me, sweetheart."

It felt almost dirty; too dirty. But when you compared it to me knee deep in the driver's seat of his car with his cock halfway down my throat and ducking to avoid the steering wheel a mere day prior, it felt like light work.

I pooled spit at the front of my mouth and spit into his palm. "Good girl," he hummed, eyes shifting down to his cock as he pumped it with his saliva coated hand.

He stepped closer, parting my legs and aligning himself with me before glancing at me. "Tap my thigh if you want me to stop, 'kay?"

"Okay," i say, bracing myself as he slowly starts to push himself inside me. My grip on the sheets turns my knuckles white, wincing at stretch, my walls clamping down around him.

Chris digs his teeth into his lip, and he pauses, glancing at my pained expression and my bottom lip that is also snug between my teeth, brows furrowed. "I know, baby. S'okay-doin' so good for me,"

I whine and shift below him as he finally bottoms out, his pressed firmly against me with his dick buried to the hilt. I want to squirm away and tell him its too much, but the painful stretch quickly turns to the pleasure of being full to the brim, and i dig my nails bluntly into his forearm.

"Fuck, so big," I gasp, looking at my lower stomach to see the clear bulge. Chris grins, and i know i'm boosting his ego, but the brain fog flooding through me isn't allowing me to bite my tongue.

"Takin' me so good," he groans lowly, hands still gripping my thighs as he starts to move, and i moan breathily at the feel of his cock dragging against my gummy walls.

He starts to pick up his speed, his grip on the sheets on either side of me tightening as his head hangs to watch my blissed out expression as moans escape my swollen lips, the grip i have on his arm turning animalistic. "S'good, fuck,"

He pulls his arms away to wrap around my legs to go faster, "Oh my god- Fuck," he grunts, and I mewl when he presses his hand down on my lower stomach to feel himself, applying just enough pressure to make my back arch, his dick pounding relentlessly into my gut.

"Yeah? You like that? 'Like how deep I am, baby?" He asks in a way that makes it so rhetorical when he watches my hands brush against his lower stomach mindlessly with pitful hiccups and whines escaping me. I want to answer him, but no words will form.

I'm starting to feel glad he didn't flip me over to fuck me from behind - the view of his pretty face and lips with his jaw dropped in a gasp was too good, and it only made my squeeze around him tighter, desperate to be filled.

"Too dumb on my cock?" he teases at my lack of response, letting his hand fall against my aching cunt to rub lazy circles on my sensitive clit. I squeeze my thighs together with a loud mewl, the pleasure raking through me like a wave.

"so close," I choked out.

It only encouraged Chris to press my knees closer to my chest, dropping his weight against me to fuck deeper. My mouth drops open silently as my legs begin to shake, the twist in my stomach snapping with a loud cry. My body trembles beneath him, his movements not halting as he fucks me through the high. I go limp below him, still whimpering as his thrusts turn sloppy. "Fuck, gonna cum," he rasps, pumping slower but deep. "Where d'you want it, baby?" i wrap my legs around his torso, muttering a 'inside, please.'

He curses under his breath. "Inside you, huh?" he chuckles, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. "S'that what you want?"

I nod rapidly, "Please, 'need it."

That seemed to be all the confirmation he needed as he presses his hips firmly against me, coating my walls in thick spurts of white. His nails are digging into my legs, panting heavy while he presses lazy, tired kisses to my legs before leaning down and doing the same on the side of my head.

We stay like that for a second, catching our breath. I feel an ache growing in my legs as they lazily lower onto the bed when he leans off of me slightly, glancing down through hazy vision. He strokes his hand on my stomach affectionately, his touch soothing and sweet as he slowly pulls himself out, whispering apologies when i wince at the sudden soreness.

"You okay?" He hums. My arms fall to lay against my flushed face as i nod, swallowing to aid my dry throat before answering a small "yeah," He brushes thick strands of my hair out of my face with his index finger before lowering his fingers to cup my chin, "Gonna get somethin to clean you up, 'kay? Hold on."

He disappears for a minute into his bathroom, coming back moments later in a fresh pair of boxers with a clean, damp washcloth in hand. He gently parts my legs, carefully cleaning the mess we'd made off of me, his thumb rubbing circles on my upper outter thigh with his free hand.

When he's finished, he tosses the towel on top of his hamper, and then turns back, smiling at my relaxed expression. He puts his hands on either side of my frame, leaning down to press a kiss on my red, bitten lips. When he pulls away, he hovers just a couple inches above my face, the chain around his neck brushing against my chest.

"Next time you have truck troubles," he murmurs, his gaze flicking up to mine. "Don't come to the shop - jus' call me, ill come pop the hood for you."

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :) reblogs, likes and follows are appreciated! ! criticism is also appreciated, its how i improve, but please be nice. links below . . . masterlists ! guidelines / info !

[bpmiranda]

Tangled (Hugh Jackman)

A/N: fluffy, purely fictional, young!hugh(35s), 18+ f!reader, dog being man’s best friend

It wasn’t a secret that Hugh Jackman had begun to see someone. The paparazzi were always humming around in wait, waiting to catch the slip of a cap that revealed your face, a telling shot of your hair or your eyes. The media had speculations, that was all, and you knew they would be disappointed when they finally came to find out that you were no one special. No one of interest, really. You were his dog walker in New York. Someone he only occasionally spoke to when he was in the States, someone he grew close to from pure necessity. Your shared chats started off completely professional, setting dates and agreements on payment. Then you had begun to update him on the things his dog would do, it was innocent enough, and he appreciated how loving and dedicated you were to caring for his best friend. And then the conversation would shift away from dogs and professionalism to personal questions, nothing more intimate than how long you had lived in the city or what your favorite coffee shop was for a quick afternoon pick me up. Sure, he could’ve googled most of his queries about food or transportation in the city, but why do that if he could have the personal opinion of a local?

“Take 5th, then? Not 6th?” He asked you on the phone, already at the location he had been searching for, but simply not ready to end the call with you.

“Not unless you’d like to be harassed into buying subpar tourist souvenirs by street vendors.” You laughed and he couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face. “Did you find it?” You ask him, returning his attention which had drifted into the other sounds you make that often captivate him.

“Uh, yes, found it.” Hugh looked around at the little French bakery he was sitting in and nodded to himself. “Quite lovely. Won’t you join me?” He asked, throwing caution to the wind.

You bite your lip as you muse over the proposition. “What about the paparazzi?” You ask as you nervously wring your hands on the leash handle tethering you to his dog.

Hugh can’t help, but tease. “No, I don’t want to have lunch with them. I want to have lunch with you.”

Another laugh echoes through the phone line and his heart swells at the melody of it. Lord, he is in the deep end about you. “I think I should just drop him off at your place. I’d hate to get you caught on some TMZ tabloid over dating your dog sitter.”

Hugh chuckles softly, aware of your trepidations and unbelievably taken with the sense of privacy you think he’s got now. “We’re not that far apart in age, darling. It wouldn’t be the scandal you think and I assure you, I’ve got no problem getting a few pictures taken, especially of us together.” He says and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“I would say a decade is about as large as is socially acceptable.” You quip, trying to mask the fact that you’re incredibly flustered with him.

But his laughs tells you he knows you’re more anxious of him than of the cameras. “Tell you what. Let me grab you a coffee from here and I’ll meet up with you in the park? It’ll seem as if I’m simply picking him up, no possible misconceptions. Yes?”

You couldn’t very well say no to that. It would seem innocent enough, so you agreed. It was incredibly difficult to keep things casual in public when all you wanted was to kiss him, touch him, hold onto him as you made out on some park bench. But it would have to wait until you were no longer in the public eye. “Thanks again for taking him to the vet.” Hugh says as the two of you stroll around the park. “You know you don’t have to keep doing this. I’m happy to hire someone else. It could free us up to do other things.”

You give him a warning look and he simply grins at you, that ever so charming grin. “Then what would my excuse be for hanging around with you?”

“You don’t need an excuse, darling.” Hugh’s eyes scan over you, noting the way your leggings cling to your thighs and ass, your sports jacket snug against your breasts and your waistline. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep my hands off you.”

“Hugh,” You whisper as he suddenly stands in front of you. His deep green eyes look down lovingly at you as he tries to take the leash from your hand, he dips his head down, and you feel his lips brush the apple of your cheek. “The cameras.” You urge, aware of the few men following you at a respectable, but obvious distance since you met up.

“It’s not like they don’t already suspect us.” He reasons, his other hand coming up to your waist and you still cling to the leash he is taking from you. “Let me kiss you.” He more orders than asks and you look up at him warily. “I love to spend time with you. I can’t keep sneaking around.”

Before you can answer, his dog barks loudly and tries to make a run for what you believe was a squirrel or some other dog. His leash tangles around yours and Hugh’s legs and you’re forced into his embrace as he catches you while you fall into him. The two of you laugh as you untangle yourselves from the leash and you playfully scold his dog before Hugh suddenly wraps an arm around you and brings you into a kiss. Your body melts against his as you return the gesture and you find yourself smiling as you hear the incessant shuttering of cameras in the distance. “Guess it’s out there now.” You whisper as you pull away, breathless while you look up at him dreamily.

“Guess it is.” He grins almost triumphantly as he refuses to let you go and leans down to kiss you again. More sweetly and slowly and you think you might faint from the romance of it all. Before you continue your stroll, Hugh bends down and caresses his dog’s head. “Good boy.”

This was based on a request! I love bf!hugh🥹💕

🏷️: @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @peterparkernotfound @httpsells @evasmlp @ayatotiddies @thatlittlered @seasonofthenerd @littlemisscantloveyouback @scorpiosaintt @simpingfor-wakasa @spencerswh0r3 @thatweirdtheaternerd12 @shybluebirdninja @iamburdened

[austinswife]

there’s a video where Tom Holland and Zendaya are at a premier and Zendayas dress strap slips or something similar happens, and Tom instinctively steps in front of her to block photos. I though this would be a nice thing to see from Austin and reader in a confirmed relationship

OOPS WARDROBE MALFUNTION — Austin Butler

SYNOPSIS — In the glittering world of Hollywood, walking the red carpet is nothing new. But tonight’s premiere is different—this time, you're not just stepping out as an actress promoting her movie; you're stepping out alongside Austin Butler as an official couple. As the night unfolds and the cameras flash, a minor wardrobe malfunction turns into a moment that solidifies your bond in the public eye, with Austin stepping in to protect you both physically and emotionally. The world may see two stars, but what you and Austin share goes deeper than the glamour.

WARNING(S) — Fluff , public attention, slight wardrobe malfunction, protective boyfriend behavior, slow burn, a little anxiety.

𝜗𝜚 ALL FEEDBACKS, IDEAS SUGGESTION — TO AUSTINSWIFE

The car’s engine hummed softly beneath your feet as the black town car cruised through the LA streets, its tinted windows offering you and Austin a brief moment of privacy before stepping into the storm of flashing cameras and prying eyes. The street outside the theater was packed with eager fans, reporters, and photographers. You knew the routine well, but there was no shaking the nerves fluttering in your chest.

Austin’s fingers were warm as they interlaced with yours. He could feel your tension before you even said a word. Glancing over, his piercing blue eyes met yours. His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, grounding you.

"You look like you're a million miles away," Austin’s voice was soft, yet it easily cut through the hum of the car’s engine and the bustling energy outside.

You smiled, the curve of your lips not fully hiding the anxious knot twisting in your stomach.

“Just thinking about everything,” you admitted quietly, shifting slightly in your seat as you glanced down at your dress. It was a breathtaking creation—black lace, bold, and daring, yet elegant. The way the fabric hugged your curves and the intricately sheer panels gave it an edge, but there was always that little voice of self-doubt that crept in during these moments.

Austin’s gaze followed yours, and a small smile tugged at his lips as he admired the gown. “You’re going to blow them away tonight,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet certainty. His hand left yours for a brief moment, only to gently lift your chin with his fingertips, coaxing your eyes to meet his again. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right there with you.”

There was something about the way he said it, the way he always managed to quiet your inner storm with just a few words. Austin had always been that way with you—steady, reassuring, a constant in a world that often felt like it was spinning out of control. It was one of the reasons you’d fallen for him so deeply.

“I know,” you whispered, a genuine smile tugging at your lips this time. His calm confidence worked like magic, settling your nerves, at least for the moment.

The car rolled to a slow stop as you reached the red carpet entrance. The crowd outside surged forward, camera flashes beginning even before the car door opened. The sound of excited fans calling out your names filled the air. Despite your usual composure, the reality of being in the public eye as a couple for the first time hit you like a wave.

The door opened, and Austin was the first to step out. His tall frame emerged from the car, instantly commanding attention. Dressed in a sharp black tuxedo with a hint of daring beneath—a sheer black shirt that revealed just enough of his skin to make headlines—he looked like every bit the Hollywood heartthrob he was.

And yet, to you, he was still just Austin—your Austin. The one who left sweet notes on your pillow before he left for early morning shoots, the one who made coffee for you every morning just the way you liked it, the one who always knew when you needed a quiet night in instead of a glamorous evening out.

He extended his hand to you, his fingers gently grasping yours as you stepped out of the car and into the frenzy of the red carpet. The moment your feet hit the ground, the energy of the crowd surged, a cacophony of shouts and camera clicks echoing around you. You straightened your gown with a subtle motion, feeling the weight of the night pressing down on your shoulders.

Austin’s hand remained steadfast in yours as you began your walk down the carpet together. The two of you moved like you were made for this—he with his effortless grace, and you with your practiced elegance. You could feel the eyes of everyone around you, the cameras capturing each shared glance, each soft smile. The world had been waiting for this moment—your first official appearance as a couple—and they were devouring it.

The lights from the cameras were blinding, but you had grown used to that over the years. What you weren’t used to, however, was the pressure of being in the spotlight *together* with Austin. The public had speculated about your relationship for months, but this was the moment that confirmed everything. This was the moment where you both acknowledged the world was watching.

And while the thought made you anxious, it also made you feel a surge of pride. Pride that you were with Austin, that you had someone so supportive by your side on one of the biggest nights of your career.

As you posed together, turning slightly for the cameras, your arm slipped naturally around Austin’s waist. The photographers shouted your names, urging you to turn in different directions, their voices blending into a chaotic hum. You followed their instructions, the two of you moving in perfect sync, your connection palpable even in the midst of the madness.

But then, just as you turned to face the cameras head-on, you felt it—a shift in the fabric at your shoulder. In an instant, you knew something was wrong. The delicate strap of your gown had loosened, the intricate lace slipping off your shoulder and threatening to expose more than it should.

Your heart skipped a beat, panic rising in your chest. In front of you, the cameras continued to flash, oblivious to your distress. Time seemed to slow as you hesitated, unsure of what to do without drawing attention to the malfunction.

Before you could even move, Austin was already there, his body instinctively moving to shield you. With a smooth, effortless motion, he stepped directly in front of you, his tall frame blocking you from the view of the cameras. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you close as if the two of you were simply sharing an intimate moment in front of the cameras.

But you knew better. You could feel the tension in his body, the protective instinct that kicked in the moment he saw your discomfort. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”

His voice was low, calm, and full of reassurance. The panic that had gripped your chest began to loosen its hold as you took a deep breath, grateful for Austin’s quick thinking. You managed to subtly adjust the strap of your gown, fixing it before the situation could escalate.

To the outside world, it looked like nothing more than a tender moment between two people deeply in love. The cameras continued to click, capturing Austin’s protective stance, the way his arm wrapped securely around you, the soft smile on his lips as he whispered something in your ear.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude and affection. “Thank you,” you breathed, the words barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

Austin smiled down at you, his eyes filled with warmth. “Always,” he said, the single word carrying a weight of promises.

Once you were sure your dress was secure, Austin slowly stepped back, his hand still resting lightly on your lower back as you both turned to face the cameras again. The moment had passed, but the intimacy of it lingered between you. You could feel the curious eyes of the reporters and photographers, their attention now more focused than ever on the two of you. They sensed that something had happened, but they didn’t know exactly what. And that was the beauty of it—the moment belonged to just you and Austin.

As you continued down the red carpet, posing for more photos, you couldn’t help but glance over at Austin, the love you felt for him nearly overwhelming. He had always been your protector, your rock in a world that often felt chaotic and unpredictable. Tonight had been no different.

As the two of you reached the end of the carpet, you paused just before entering the theater. The lights from the cameras still flashed behind you, but in that moment, it was just you and him.

Austin turned to you, his eyes searching yours. “You alright?” he asked softly, concern flickering in his gaze.

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I am now.”

He chuckled, his hand reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You handled that like a pro,” he said, pride evident in his voice.

“Well, I had you looking out for me,” you replied, your voice soft with affection.

Austin’s smile widened, and for a brief moment, the world outside faded away. It didn’t matter that the cameras had captured every second of the night, that the headlines tomorrow would be filled with your pictures and stories speculating about your relationship. What mattered was the bond you shared—the trust, the love, the quiet moments in between the chaos.

Leaning down, Austin pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Let’s go steal the show, shall we?”

You grinned up at him, your heart full. “Together,” you said softly, the word carrying a promise of its own.

And with that, the two of you stepped inside, hand in hand, ready to face the night—and whatever came next—side by side.

[dumblilb]

I Could Be Enough

Vi x Fem!Reader

(Synopsis: They weren’t super close as children, but running around in the same crowd kept them in the know of each other. But years later she might be all Vi’s got left.)

(Warnings: drunk!vi, alcohol, mentions of physical violence ‘ not towards reader’, it’s mostly fluff, a little bit of angst, no mentions of physical attributes, just she/her pronouns, not proof read)

(Requested: yes)

(Words: 1,585)

* ・゚☆ 。・ * ・゚★ 。・ * ・゚☆ * ・゚☆ 。

You don’t even know how it got to this point. Sitting at the booth in a gross, sticky, and dark club, watching over a girl you didn’t think you would ever see again. And maybe you were right. Cause she’s not the same girl you remember running around the streets of the under city as a child. The one who always had a bright look in her eyes as she tried so hard to live up to her father’s name, and keep her siblings safe.

But one thing was the same behind those, now dark and sad, slate grey eyes. She was a fighter. In the most literal sense. She couldn’t keep her fist off a jaw if she tried. Night after night she would cover her distinct tattoos and red hair with dark paint. Disguising herself from the public who claimed her strength as a prize. Or maybe even hiding from herself. She wasn’t to sure anymore.

But as the nights carried on the paint got messier and the drinks were getting stronger. And it was hard to watch. But here you were. Watching. So hard you thought your eyes might bleed from all the strobing lights and smoke filling the air. Any other night you might have gone to bed. Ignored the aching feeling you had, and left her to party the rest of the night away. But you couldn’t. Because there she was also watching you. As she sloppily got up with a bottle in her hand and started to walk towards the exit, the urge to follow consumed you. Because you knew she wanted you too. She was practically begging. And so you did. Meeting her by the stairs leading to her small apartment.

“Thank god you came, I thought I was gonna have to drink all alone tonight.” She slurred and you sighed resting your hip against the wall, propping yourself up.

“What would you do without me.” You smiled at her. Trying not to be angry with how fucked up she sounds. Slyly taking the bottle from her and helping her steady by the waist you walk her home.

“You know you’re so pretty when you’re mad at me.” She sighs as you push her door open. You just roll your eyes. She’s been doing this for months. Ever since her first pit match. You were hired as a sort of nurse for the ring. Patching up the people who were getting their shit rocked, and the people doing the punching. Making sure they were healed enough for their next match. And the second you saw her step in that ring you knew it was her. Sure she looked a little different. But her deep upper cut. You could never forget that.

So you causally brought up growing up in the lanes while bandaging her fists that day. How you were pretty shy but always friendly with a boy named Ekko. And he had introduced you to his friends a few times. You could tell she remembered you. But she didn’t say anything. Which was okay. You could tell she didn’t really want to be known at that point. But as time went on she spent more time talking to you after matches. Sitting at the bar just trying to figure out how life got both of you here.

But she also found alcohol along the way. And that concerned you. She would always assure you she was fine. And you chose to believe her. Even though it sometimes seemed she would look right through you. Like she wished something else was there.

But even before the alcohol, the casual flirting was always there. Comments about how attractive you looked and how nice you were to her compared to the other fighters. Claiming you made her feel ‘so special’ and not just because it was coming from a beautiful girl like you.

So as you sit her down on her small bed and pull out some supplies to remove her makeup you can’t help but shake your head at her.

“Your dumb fake flirting isn’t going to get you out of this one vi. You’re a mess.” You sigh pushing her hair back with one hand, removing her makeup with the other.

“It’s not fake and you know it.” She rolls her eyes. “I want you. Please.” She says griping the hand with the cloth in it. Rubbing her thumb across your knuckles softly. The difference between her ruff scared hands and yours now glaringly apparent.

“You’re drunk and exhausted, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a bit of a concussion after today’s match. I haven’t seen you get hit that hard in a while.” You say ignoring her advances. As you’ve done before.

“I’m fine. You know I’m fine.” She reassures you. But the wavering of her eyes says otherwise.

“I know you think you’re fine-“ you remove your hand from hers and finish wiping her face. “But I see you, Vi. And this isn’t fine.” You say pointing from the bottle resting on her little table to her bruised fists.

She groans tossing her head back. And you gear up ready for a fight about how you don’t know what you’re talking about. But she rubs her eyes a little, her breath slowly becoming unsteady.

“You’re right I’m sorry.” She breathes out looking at you. The small bit of light roaming the room makes the wateriness of her eyes sparkle. “God I’m so tired and I don’t know what to do.” She cries.

You don’t even know how to respond. She’s never really cried in front of you before. She’s always been so tuff. But as she sits before you, even her toned and muscular body couldn’t make her look strong.

“I’m so lonely. All I have at this point is you. And you don’t even want me.” She continues and your face softens. Kneeling down in front of her you softly stroke her hair, pulling her in for a hug. She cautiously wraps her arms around you. Like just her touch might scare you away.

“You have me. You do. I think you have for a while now. I just didn’t think you were serious.” You reassure her. Her head nuzzles into the crook of your neck, and you can hear her breathing steady slightly.

“I’m always serious about you.” She says softly, it being a bit muffled by her position. She pulls away from the hug, resting her forehead to yours. “Can you stay please. I don’t want to be alone.” She asks quietly. Her warm breath hitting your lips.

“I’ll stay.” You grin and she moves to get up and grab a blanket. You help get her ready to lay down, removing her thick boots and setting aside the dirty cloth.

She props the blanket in your lap and she lays down. At first you just smile at how dainty she looks compared to how you usually see her. But her strong arm pulling you down next to her snaps you out of it pretty quickly.

Pulling the blanket over you both, you run your fingers through her hair. Analyzing her face one feature at a time. Her eyes seem a little more blue in this lighting. And you can finally see the small freckles adorning her skin.

“Are you trying to seduce me.” She asks with a soft laugh. “Cause it’s working.”

“Don’t get any funny ideas. That’s not happening. At least not tonight.” You say and you could have sworn her cheeks got a little pink.

“Well then you’ve got to stop staring at me like that… At least not tonight.” She jokes rolling over. Making you smile.

With her back to you, you place an arm around her waist holding her firm. You could feel her body stiffen and you try to remove your arm but she stops you. “No wait. This is good.” She whispers. “This is good.” And she holds your arm tight to her. Rubbing circles across it with her fingers. Her whole body relaxes against yours and you smile against her neck.

“You know I’m not that same girl anymore.” She sighs a little out of no where. But you get it, she’s trying to give you an out. A chance to run. You hum in response. “I’m different I think. I’m not as strong as I used to be.” She continues and you know she’s not talking about muscle, or brawn. She used to be a leader. Someone people looked up to. And now… most people didn’t even know her real name.

“That might be true. But that’s okay.” You say pressing a soft kiss to the base of her neck. “You’ve been through a lot. I think you’re holding on to a girl who didn’t know what life was yet. And you’re grown up. It’s normal to not be the same. Or feel the same.” You continue and she turns to face you. Caressing your cheek softly.

“I think maybe I can be okay. With you.” She muses. Placing a light kiss to your lips. Making you smile.

“Good cause I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t know if tomorrow she would go back to drinking. Or if she would get her ass kicked in the pit. But tonight she was safe. And she was with you. And as she fell asleep to your heart beating against her, you couldn’t help but hope it could stay this way. Cause for you. This was enough.

[requiemforthepoets]

Would you be interested in writing something for Oscar? I feel like he would be the perfect guy to have your firsts with, so understanding and cute like imagine having your first kiss with him. He would be so understanding and would kiss you with so much care and ugh I need me a man like him☹️ would you be down to write something like that?

in a world full of wrong, you’re the only thing that’s right 𖦹 OP81

PAIRINGS: oscar piastri x female!reader

SUMMARY: the idea of falling in love scares you, but at the same time, you long for it. wanting to experience how it feels like having someone by your side.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: thank you for your request! i’m sorry that this one took days, i had already finished the original version of this one, but i was not happy with it so i scraped it off and decided to write a new one. i had also took some creative liberty if it’s alright with you. i hope that this one is up to your expectations. enjoy! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, no use of y/n, traditional upbringing, reader is an only daughter, overthinking, anxiety, fear of falling in love, and some fluff

You had never been in a relationship before Oscar. In fact, you had no idea what being in love was even supposed to feel like at all. So when your friends came to you, venting about their partners or asking for some advice, you would just sit there, nodding along, and pretending to understand everything that they were saying. But the truth was that you were clueless. You had never experienced the ups and down that they spoke of. No fights over silly things, no making up with heartfelt apologies, no lingering fear of being left behind. Part of you had always wondered what it would feel like to have someone special, someone to lean on, but another part of you was terrified–utterly terrified of the vulnerability, terrified of the idea that maybe one day, that person you end up with could hurt you.

You had been raised in a traditional household, the kind where dating wasn’t just for fun, but that is meant to last with the intention of marriage. Your parents always told you to be very careful, that relationships were serious and sacred. It doesn’t help that you are an only child as well, so your parents can be really overprotective of you. So, when you found yourself daydreaming about having a boyfriend, the thought would always come with a sense of guilt. You’d see your friends with their partners and wish, even just for a second, that you could have that too. But then again, these fears would creep in–what if he cheated? What if he wasn’t who you thought he was? What if you weren’t enough? The doubts swirled around in your head constantly. But then, everything changed when you met Oscar.

You met him in a way that you never expected you would. It was during a vacation in Monaco with some friends. The week had been loud and chaotic–late night dinners, laughter, and a bit of madness here and there. Needing some peace and quiet, you decided to stroll around by yourself. The streets of Monaco were breathtaking, and you let yourself get lost in the gorgeous scenery, with your thoughts floating somewhere far away. So far that you didn’t even notice the guy speeding towards you on his bike. Before you knew it, he swerved, narrowly avoiding a collision, but you lost your balance and tumbled to the ground.

“Shit! Are you okay?” The voice was concerned but soft, and when you looked up, you saw a pair of worried eyes staring down at you. He had already jumped off his bike and was holding out his hand to help you up. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Oscar said, pulling you to your feet gently. His touch was warm and cautious, as if he was afraid you’d break.

“No, no, I should have been paying attention,” you quickly brushed it off, though your heart was racing for more reasons than just the fall. Up close, he was…well, you weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline or something else, but he was strikingly handsome. You didn’t know if it was love at first sight or from the shock of falling, but something inside you shifted in that moment.

“You sure you’re okay? I feel terrible about this.” He frowned slightly, scanning you for any sign of injury. “Let me take you to a hospital, just in case.”

You laughed nervously. “I’m fine, really. There’s no need for that.”

He didn’t seem convinced at all, but after some insistence, Oscar backed off. “Alright, if you’re sure. At least let me make it up to you. How about some coffee? My treat.”

Well, that’s pretty much how it all began. One coffee turned into another, then into long conversations about everything and nothing. You couldn’t quite believe how easy it was to talk to him. Usually you’d find yourself nervous around guys, but he was kind, thoughtful, and never made you feel uncomfortable and pressured. Slowly, those coffee dates turned into something more, and before you know it, Oscar had asked you to be his girlfriend. Though you couldn’t help but cringe when you thought back to the moment you said yes to him. You had never been so flustered, unsure of how to respond, that instead of a kiss like a normal person, you just gave him a hug. A damn hug. You had felt his arms wrap around you tightly, his laughter vibrating in his chest.

“So I take it that it’s a yes, then?” he had asked, his voice teasing but soft.

You had nodded into his shoulder, very embarrassed beyond belief. But Oscar being Oscar, he didn't care. He hadn’t even brought it up afterwards, as if he’d expect nothing more than that simple embrace–and that’s what you loved about him. Oscar never pushed you, never made you feel like you always had to rush into anything. He was patient and understanding in a way that felt comforting. Sometimes, late at night, you would lie next to him, just staring at the ceiling, wondering how you got so lucky. The fears you once had, the doubts that plagued your mind–none of them seemed to matter anymore every time you are with him.

One evening, after spending the day together exploring the city, you found yourselves sitting on a park bench, watching the sunset. It was quiet, the kind of comfortable silence that you loved and felt like home.

“Do you ever wonder if this is all real?” you asked him, your voice barely above a whisper. Oscar turned to look at you, his expression gentle. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know…sometimes I just can’t believe this is happening. I never thought I’d be in a relationship like this. Felt overwhelming and surreal sometimes.” he smiled, reaching out to take your hand in his. “I get it. I never thought I’d meet someone like you either.”

You blushed at his words, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, squeezing your hand lightly. “You don’t have to worry, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

At that moment, you knew. You knew very well that all the fears you once had, all the time you had spent overthinking and countless anxiety–they didn’t matter anymore. None of it matters anymore. With Oscar, you felt safe, loved, and secured in a way you had never imagined. He wasn’t just your first boyfriend, he was your first in everything–the first person to show you what love really felt like.

Six months into your relationship with Oscar, you had managed to avoid what most people would consider a natural part of being a couple–kissing him on the lips. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to, hell you definitely do want to kiss him so badly, to the point you had daydreamed about it plenty of times, thinking about how his lips might feel against yours. But every time you thought about it, your mind would spin, and your nerves would take over. You’d never kissed anyone before, and the idea of messing up, of completely not knowing what to do, terrified the shit out of you. Sure, you had kissed him on the cheeks, hugged him endlessly, but never once had your lips touched his. You couldn’t help but wonder how Oscar was so patient with you, how he never complained or pushed for more, he was very understanding in a way that made you feel safe. Sometimes, you even questioned how he could be satisfied or survived with just a few cheek kisses.

Yes, you had been raised in such a traditional household, but Oscar was special–so incredibly special–that the pressure you put on yourself to make the moment perfect felt overwhelming. Still, you knew that at some point, you’d have to gather the courage to just do it. But every time you tried to psych yourself up, you’d just freeze, thinking about it drove you crazy. There would be times where you’d hear people joke about you being a prude, or wonder aloud how anyone could go long without kissing their partner on the lips, but the truth was, you were just terrified.

Then came Baku. It was Oscar’s second win at the Baku Grand Prix, and you had traveled to the race with his family to cheer him on. The excitement in the air was evident as you stood by the barricades at the Parc Fermé, anxiously waiting for him to climb out of his car. Your heart raced as you watched him pull into the P1 space, his car coming to a stop, and pulled himself out of the cockpit.

Your heart nearly stopped when he stumbled slightly as he got on the top of his car, and you had to suppress the urge to vault over the barrier to make sure he was okay. But Oscar quickly steadied himself, he then pulled off his helmet and balaclava in one smooth motion, his hair a sweaty mess, but his eyes bright with victory. Oscar spotted you instantly, a wide grin breaking out across his face as he ran quickly towards you, and before you knew it, you were wrapped up in his arms. You held him tightly, feeling the energy and adrenaline coursing through him as he hugged you back.

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered against his shoulder, the words almost lost in the noise of the crowd. “You were incredible.”

Oscar pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands finding their place gently on your cheeks. His thumb brushed your skin softly, and for a brief moment, the noise of the world around you seemed to fade away. He gazed at you with so much love in his eyes, the kind that made your heart flutter. Oscar had always been patient, understanding, never once pressuring you into anything you weren’t ready for. He knew about your fears, about how you hadn’t had your first kiss yet, but you had never told him why. Even without knowing the full reason, he had always respected your space and waited for you to feel comfortable.

But something was different today. The way he looked at you was different, and you felt it too–a shift inside you, a calmness you hadn’t expected. You weren’t scared at this moment, not with him. Somehow, Oscar seemed to sense that change too. He smiled softly, his hands still cradling your face as he leaned in just slightly.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, giving you the chance to back out if you needed to.

Your heart raced in your chest, feeling like it was gonna leap out from your chest, but for the first time in months, it wasn’t out of fear. It was out of love, out of excitement, out of knowing that this was the moment. You smiled up at him, nodding gently. That was all he needed.

Oscar’s touch remained as gentle as ever, his hands caressing your face as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It was familiar, comforting, something he’d done a thousand times before. Then, he kissed the tip of your nose, making you giggle softly, your nerves starting to melt away. Then finally, he leaned down and kissed you on the lips.

The world seemed to stop as his lips met yours, soft and warm, and everything you had feared about this moment vanished. It wasn’t awkward or overwhelming like you had imagined–it was simple, perfect. Oscar kissed you gently, not rushing, not pushing for more than you were ready for. It was the kind of kiss that made you feel safe, like he was letting you know that this was just the beginning, and there was no need to rush. When he pulled back slightly, his forehead rested against yours, both of you smiling softly, sharing a private moment amidst the chaos of the race celebrations around you.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Oscar teased you lightly, his voice warm and full of affection. You laughed softly, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I guess not,” you whispered, hands still resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Oscar smiled, kissing your forehead again, and you knew in that moment that no matter how scared you had been before, being with him made everything feel right.

Later that evening, after all the chaos of the podium celebrations, press interviews, and flood of congratulatory messages, you found yourself in a much quieter setting with Oscar and his family. The energy from the race still buzzed in the air, but there was a sense of calm now, a comfortable warmth that filled the room as you all gathered around for a private celebration. You felt so at home with his family, like you were part of the family, and in moments like these, you couldn’t help but think of how lucky you were to have Oscar and this incredible group of people who treated you with so much love.

Dinner was simple but perfect, the conversation flowing easily between stories of the race and light-hearted teasing. You were sitting beside Oscar, with your hand resting comfortably under the table, something that felt so natural now, like an unspoken connection between the two of you. He would glance over at you every now and then, giving you that boyish smile that made your heart skip a beat every time. The moment you shared earlier at the track still lingered in your mind–your first kiss. It felt surreal, but in the best way possible.

After the dinner, Oscar had asked if he can spend the remainder of the night with you alone, to have some private moment. His family agreed and a few teasing had been made as well, but you and Oscar just laughed. By then, you decided to return to the hotel, to have some private and alone time with each other. Oscar sat beside you on the couch, his arms draped casually around your shoulders, pulling you close. His fingers played lightly with a strand of your hair as you leaned into him, your head resting on his chest. The bustling noise of the city seemed to fade into the background as you focused on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about that kiss all night,” Oscar whispered suddenly, his voice low so only you could hear him. Your cheeks flushed, and you turned slightly to look up at him, your lips curling into a shy smile. “Yeah? What about our kiss?”

He grinned, eyes twinkling with amusement. “It was worth the wait. I’ve been waiting for that moment since the day I met you. Being it during my win made it more special.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes playfully, though the butterflies in your stomach refused to settle. “You’re just saying that.” Oscar chuckled softly, his thumb brushing gently over your shoulder. “I’m serious. I’m not sure you realize how patient I’ve had to be. But you’re worth every second.”

You felt your heart was about to combust at his words, and you felt yourself melt a little more into his side. There was something about the way Oscar always knew how to make you feel special, how he could say the simplest things and make you feel like the most important person in the world.

You smiled up at him, your voice soft as you said, “I’m really glad it was you. I’ve always been scared of what it would be like, but you made it…perfect.”

Oscar’s expression softened, his eyes full of that warmth and affection you had come to adore. “That’s all I wanted. For it to feel right for you.” Leaning up slightly, you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, feeling a surge of affection as you did so. “Thank you for waiting.”

“I’d wait a lifetime for you if I had to.” he smiled, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

For the first time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: All of the distractions in the world couldn't keep you from worrying about the potential fallout from your web of untruths--until a bigger issue arose. (5.5k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, anxiety, parental conflict, poverty, brief religious zealotry, insecurities, secret relationship, public displays of affection, sexual fantasies, idiots in love, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

A/N: This chapter contains a scene I had imagined in my head and became the catalyst for this series--what would happen if Eddie encountered one of the NYC street preachers?

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter thirteen: street smarts

You were supposed to be doing something. Checking the guest log, organizing the bills by due date, making a list of repairs that still needed to be made…something. Anything besides just standing behind the desk, watching Eddie’s biceps flex as he hauled the overfilled trash bag out to the Dumpster. 

At this point, it was all busy work. Taking out the garbage, changing light bulbs, dusting furniture…all scraps of chores to keep him here. The moment he felt like he was being pitied—or worse, like he was being a burden—he’d leave. His pride was too strong and too loud to allow him to stay if he wasn’t working, even if that work was as interesting as watching paint dry. 

That’s what it was. 

“I need you to spackle a hole in Room 9,” you told him as he walked back into the lobby. “The guy staying here last night punched the wall, and it looks like he won.”

Eddie grimaced, flexing his own hand like he could feel the man’s pain. “Jesus. Yeah, sure.” He slid a rubber band off of his wrist and tied back his hair. The sleeves of his t-shirt had been cut into a tank top, though you weren’t sure if he’d done it or the shirt had been designed that way. “Where do you keep the spackle?”

You jabbed your thumb towards the supply closet behind you. Eddie started in that direction, but made an abrupt turn towards you. His arms snaked around your waist, his lips easily finding the crook of your neck. 

Instinctively, your shoulder jerked upwards, protecting you from any further tickling, but Eddie only doubled down. His kisses became less of a whisper and more of a shout, each punctuated with a smacking mwah!

“Ed-die!” Your giggles broke his name into its syllables. “Quit it!”

He paused for a moment and pretended to consider your plea before continuing his barrage of kisses. “Hmm, don’t think I will.” His words were muffled, the vibrations sending tingles through your bloodstream. “What’re you doing after your shift?”

You scoffed. “Um, curling up under the covers and passing out?”

“What if…” He moved his lips to the back of your neck. “You curled up under my covers?”

The suggestion garnered a dual sensation of desire and dread. You wanted that more than anything: the intimacy of laying next to him, his body curled around yours, the rhythm of his breathing lulling you to sleep. The first night he was here, he wore only boxer briefs. If you slept beside him, would he wear more? Less? If he awoke with that natural, involuntary stiffness between his legs, would you feel it?

But then, despite everything within you leaning towards being with Eddie, reality set in. Your room was the closest to the lobby; how could you possibly skip over it without Dad noticing? Even if he didn’t notice, how could you sneak out of Eddie’s room without Mom seeing? Dad might be oblivious in the way that fathers so often are, but Mom was like a hawk. She could probably sense that you were considering disobeying her orders to keep away from Eddie.

“I’d have to sneak through your window. And then sneak back through my own window in the morning,” you mused. 

“Or,” Eddie countered, spinning you around so you were facing him, “you could tell your parents that you couldn’t resist the cute handyman’s charming advances.”

His brown eyes gleamed with mischief as his hands dipped lower, squeezing your ass through your jeans. It took all of your willpower not to change the sign to read “NO VACANCY”—despite your many empty rooms—and drag him into his bed by the worn collar of his t-shirt. 

“I will.” You wrinkled your nose. “Well, maybe not in those exact terms, but I will tell them we’re…y’know.”

Eddie took a small step back and crossed his arms. “We’re…what?” His tone was somewhere between perplexed and demanding, like he couldn’t believe you wouldn’t define the relationship while also hoping you would define it for him.

You had no idea what the answer was. ‘Friends’ was far too casual for two people who had been sucking face in the middle of Flushing Meadows Park just last week. ‘Dating’ seemed too formal for only having been on two dates, the first of which hadn’t even been officially stated as a date from the onset. ‘Fooling around in the laundry room every chance we get’ was more accurate, if not a little wordy.

“We’re getting to know each other. Intimately.” You added that last word in an attempt to show him just how much you cared about him. Whatever relationship limbo you two were in would only be temporary. 

“Hmm.” A smirk tugged at Eddie’s lips. “Just how intimately are we talking here?” He tucked his forefinger into your belt loop and pulled you towards him, so close that you could feel his belt buckle through your shirt. 

Glancing around to ensure no one was walking by, you pressed a small kiss to his lips. “I’m gonna tell them. I promise. Just give me a little time.”

Your heart ached when his shoulders slumped. You wanted to fix it all now, to face your anxiety head-on and tell your parents about Eddie. Tell them that you were together and that it could be something serious—without holding your breath for their approval. 

But then there was that knife twisting in your gut, the one that echoed the same statements time and time again: 

You’re a bad daughter You’re disappointing them You’re negating every sacrifice they’ve made

But now a new one joined them, just as unwelcome as the others:

You’re going to lose Eddie if you keep being a coward. 

Eddie held your gaze for another beat before he broke it. His head tilted to the side, a slight pout forming on his lips. “Well, if you promise…” In one swift motion, he swooped in and kissed your cheek. When he pulled back, you wrapped your arms around his lithe waist and drew him back in. “Is that a yes for sneaking through my window?”

You gave him a gentle, playful shove and rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the fluttering butterflies that came with the idea. “Go spackle the wall.”

“Yes, dear.” He started towards the supply closet once more, calling out over his shoulder, “what time are we leaving for that college thing tomorrow?”

Everything he said and everything he did encroached closer and closer into relationship territory. Going to Admitted Students’ Day with you was something a boyfriend would do. 

But he hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend—not that it would make much of a difference. It wasn’t as though a label would suddenly afford you the freedom to show off your relationship. Besides your parents’ disapproval, that pesky news story about Death’s Echo’s new lead singer kept nagging at you. You technically had information about Eddie’s life that even he didn’t know, and you couldn’t figure out how to tell him. 

“Noon at the latest.” You tried swallowing the lump in your throat, but it stayed put, so you just spoke above it. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I know school isn’t really your thing, so…”

Eddie poked his head out from the closet. “Noon it is.” When he emerged, he held the small spackle bucket and a wide putty knife. “By the way, I won’t, like, break out into hives or burst into flames if I go to a school.”

“I know.” Your body relaxed as his humor snaked through the crevices of your anxiety. “And I really do want to tell them about everything. About us, about NYU. It’s just…”

Goddamn the mist clouding your eyes. It was shameful, really, the pity party you were throwing for yourself. But how could you approach your parents and say, “Hey, by the way, I’m dating our de facto handyman. But don’t worry about the relationship affecting the business, because we’ll have to close the motel once I start graduate school in two months anyway. Also, I’m studying social work, not hospitality. Surprise!”

“Hey.” Eddie’s voice was soft, his thumb swiping over tears that fell despite your efforts to hold them back. “Look, if you don’t want me to go, just tell me.”

You shook your head. “I want you to go.” To emphasize your point, you kissed his cheek. The beginnings of stubble tickled your lips. “We can make a day of it. Grab some lunch or something.”

Eddie didn’t look wholly convinced, but he managed a smile. “And then I get to show off how smart you are.”

There was no point in arguing that everyone at Admitted Students’ Day was just as smart as you, if not smarter. Instead, you watched as he padded towards room nine. 

What you wouldn’t give to cave to your desires and climb into his bed beside him. Whether you fell asleep immediately or spent the entire time with him firmly buried inside you was practically irrelevant. You were tempted to follow him right now and have sex with him in the vacant room.

But you didn’t want your first time together to be something you rushed through. Maybe it wouldn’t be the rose petals and naked guitar playing scenario that Ben and Nora had teasingly suggested, but you didn’t want to do it just to “get it over with.” 

So you stayed put, drumming your fingers against the desk’s wood paneling, trying to ignore the heat pooling between your thighs. Someday, you promised yourself, Eddie would be the one to quell that need.

You left your room at noon the next day, armed with a smile and an alibi. Your usual excuse of running errands wouldn’t explain why you were wearing a black button-down dress and your Mary Jane heels. 

The door to Eddie’s room creaked open as you passed by. Without wasting a moment, one tattooed arm darted through the gap and pulled you inside. 

“Eddie!” You hissed at him, bringing one hand to your chest as your heart rate soared. 

His lips were on yours before you could ask why he felt the urge to spike your already sky-high anxiety. Like a miracle elixir, the kiss blunted the day’s sharpness and turned your racing thoughts into drifting clouds. 

Your hands found his biceps, fully on display in the t-shirt that had been altered to be a makeshift tank top. The same one, you realized, he’d been wearing last night. The pads of your fingertips were met with resistance at the muscle that was even more defined than it had been a month ago. 

“Just needed to do that before we left.” His palms smoothed down the back of your dress, lingering for an extra moment on your ass. “Ready to go?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nodded. All of the air had been knocked from your lungs; from the scare or from the kiss, you were still unsure. 

Eddie’s fingers brushed yours as the two of you left his room in a silent plea to hold your hand. You wanted to accept the offer, to proudly display your affection for him. You wanted it more than anything, so much so that you almost let your guard down. Almost took his hand in yours and paraded out into the lobby without a care in the world, subtly announcing that you were his and he was yours.

Almost.

A pang of anger flashed in your chest; not at the situation, but at Eddie himself. He knew you hadn’t told your parents yet. He knew you would face some consequences for dating a motel guest and for sneaking around behind their backs, especially if you brazenly flaunted the relationship without any notice.

Eddie huffed at your rejection. “Oh, right.” Was that disappointment or frustration? Or some lethal combination of both?

Dad immediately noticed the departure from your typical attire when you walked past; he’d already finished skimming the newspaper when you walked in. “Where are you off to?” 

“Hanging out with Ben and Nora.” The lie rolled  off of your tongue, just as you’d practiced in the mirror this morning.

“Double date?” Dad’s question was rhetorical, of course–he certainly wasn’t expecting you to actually go on a date with Eddie–but your breath still caught in your throat.

A cough, hopeful not too conspicuous to draw attention, delayed your response. “Uh, no. Just, uh, friend stuff.” Friend stuff? Christ, were you incapable of lying without extensive rehearsal?

He nodded, not even flinching. Thank God he was at the desk and not Mom, who definitely would have interrogated the truth out of you by now. 

“Have fun, be safe, make sure to ask Ben how his parents are.”

You promised to do all three and dashed out the door before he had time to ask Eddie any questions. 

You reached for Eddie’s hand the moment you were out of sight, relishing in the safety of his calluses and strong grasp. 

“So, friend.” Despite his playful nature, hurt tinged Eddie’s tone. “You sure we’re in the clear? Maybe someone down the street will see us holding hands and report us to the authorities.”

His words formed a pit in your stomach, anchoring you to the sidewalk. “This isn’t just for me.” You face him and take his other hand, too, wrapping his arms around your waist. “If my parents want to, they can kick you out. I need to tell them in a way that keeps them from absolutely losing their minds.”

The lines at the corners of Eddie’s eyes softened. “I know,” he conceded, kissing the tip of your nose. “Was it like this with other guys you dated? Or is it just because I’m staying at the motel?”

Shame washed over you for the second time in as many minutes. “I’ve never actually told them about any guys I’ve dated,” you admitted. “I mean, I’ve been on dates and had some short-term…relationships, I guess you could call them. But nothing serious enough for me to tell my parents.”

Eddie let out an anxious breath before asking his next question. “What does that mean for us?”

There it was: us. One unit, something more substantial than being separate individuals who happened to share a space. 

“Eddie…I really like you.” The confession was a weight off of your chest; you felt your body fall closer to his. “And if they know about us and they don’t approve, they’ll make sure to keep us apart. At least now, we can sneak around without them being suspicious.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else; if not to protest, then to ask for further clarification. But he swallowed his words, opting instead to kiss you. 

His lips tasted like disappointment. You pretended not to notice.

The forty minute train ride to NYU eased some of the tension. With no seats available, Eddie kept one arm tight around your waist, the other hand wrapped around the overhead pole. His thumb caressed the small of your back, fingernail dragging over your cotton dress, as you leaned into him. 

The subway car was hot, but neither you nor Eddie were deterred in the slightest. Not even as that first bead of sweat crept down the back of your neck and dipped below your dress collar. 

If Eddie noticed the perspiration trickling down your spine, he didn’t comment on it. 

The tip of his nose tickled your temple as he loudly whispered, “I didn’t realize I was supposed to dress up for this.”

In addition to his tank top, Eddie wore black jeans ripped at both knees and his signature scuffed Reeboks. It was a stark contrast to your more professional attire—borrowed from Nora, of course—but you didn’t care. Couldn’t even bring yourself to care, not when…

“You look hot.” Your lips lingered on one exposed bicep, leaving a light lipstick print in their wake. “Ridiculously, unfairly hot.”

A bashful grin bloomed on his face. He stood up a bit taller, your compliment replenishing some of the confidence that had been lost. Eddie had certainly taken his share of ego bruising over the last few months: leaving Death’s Echo, the subsequent breakup with his girlfriend, sleeping in a struggling motel just to keep a roof over his head. And on top of it all, he was now with someone who refused to acknowledge the relationship in front of her own parents. 

That settled it. You were going to tell your parents tonight. No more hiding or sneaking around. If they lectured you on their disappointment, you’d take it. You just couldn’t fathom bringing more insecurity into Eddie’s life. He deserved more than that.

He deserves more than you, that irritating voice snarled. It curled itself around your ear like a wispy smoke trail from one of Eddie’s cigarettes, but did not dissipate as quickly. It lingered even as Eddie pulled you in closer to kiss you.

Your response was to slip your hand into his back pocket and curving it around his ass. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to grab onto, but it still woke up something slumbering within you. Something that had remained dormant since you’d gotten caught during the picnic last week. 

Longing stirred, carving out imagery of him atop you, your fingers grasping that sacred flesh without the burden of a denim barrier. You needed to know how he’d treat you in bed. Would he pounce like an animal capturing its elusive prey? Would he take his time and savor you like his last meal on Earth? Would he lovingly gaze into your eyes, or take you from behind to satisfy that primal need?

“What’s our stop again?” Eddie’s voice shook you from your lust-entrenched trance. 

“Oh, uh…” You fought to keep your train of thought on a more productive track. “West Fourth Street.”

He nodded and gripped the pole tighter as the car screeched to a halt. “Then this is us.”

Thank God he was paying attention. You were embarrassed at the mere notion of missing your stop because you were too lost in the idea of having sex with him. How would you even explain that to him?

“Nervous?” He asked as you exited the train car.

You shook your head. Surprisingly, you weren’t nervous about meeting other admitted students. They’d be a group of people just like you, reaching out a hand to help those in need. A group of people like you and Nora who shared a common goal of being positive forces in a world desperate for kindness.

The climb from the platform up to the street level brought with it a burst of fresh air—fresher than in the station, at least. You and Eddie made your way down Waverly Place, fingers loosely intertwined. He let you guide him, a half-step ahead, your knowledge of the city far exceeding his. 

You were only two blocks away from the school when you heard an obnoxious voice bleating through a megaphone. 

“Repent now or face damnation! You are all sinners who will burn in the fires of Hell for eternity!”

A middle-aged man wearing an off-center toupee stood in the middle of the sidewalk, shouting at passersby. 

“Revelations 21:8–But the cowardly, unbelieving, abominable, murderers, sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars shall have their part in the lake which burns with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.”

You kept walking and ignored the man’s incessant preaching, expecting Eddie to do the same. 

That, you supposed, was naive on your part. 

Before you could stop him, Eddie let go of your hand and whirled towards the offender. His forefingers pointed upwards in mock devil horns, and the noise that came out of his mouth resembled something from The Exorcist. 

The preacher nearly keeled over at the sight of Eddie’s satanic display, sending you into a fit of cackling laughter. 

“Eddie!” You managed to hiss through your giggling. “Let’s go!”

Eddie took your hand once more and let you whisk him away from the dumbfounded man, the megaphone now hanging limply at his side. There was no doubt he would once again be spewing vitriol soon enough, but witnessing his temporary stunned silence was delicious. 

“I can’t believe you did that.” 

He shrugged. “I told you—I single handedly caused Hawkins’ own Satanic Panic. It’s not my first rodeo with these fire-and-brimstone assholes.”

“C’mon.” You tugged him along, shaking your head. “Let’s get out of here before he sics his disciples on us.”

Admitted Students’ Day at NYU’s Silver School of Social Work wasn’t fancy; just some hors d'oeuvres spread out on a white tablecloth to give an air of elegance. Really, it was nothing more than a few fruit and vegetable platters, finger sandwiches, and some pigs in a blanket. You helped yourself to some strawberries and a cucumber sandwich, watching as Eddie piled the crescent-wrapped mini hot dogs onto a paper plate and topped them with a hearty spoonful of spicy mustard.

A chipper young woman wearing an NYU t-shirt welcomed you and Eddie, ushering you both towards a pile of stick-on name tags and permanent markers. You scrawled your name in blue ink and Eddie did the same, though he added “just here for the food” in smaller letters below his name. 

“Okay, everyone!” The woman took to the microphone at the front of the small conference room. “Welcome to Admitted Students’ Day! My name is Ashley, and I’m a recent alumna of our wonderful MSW program.” She beamed and paused for the smattering of applause. 

Ashley brushed a brunette curl from her eyes and continued. “We’ll get started in just a moment, but until then, please mingle and get to know one another.”

When you looked over at Eddie again, he was dabbing at his shirt with a paper napkin. “Dropped some mustard,” he mumbled. Sure enough, a dollop of yellow stained the black cotton fabric. “Guess we’ll need to make another trip to the laundry room tomorrow.” 

You swatted at him, though you couldn’t deny having the same thought. “You also have some right here,” you lied, poking at his cheek. “Here, I’ll get it.” You leaned in and pressed a kiss to the spot you had just touched. His skin warmed beneath your lips, and it took all of your restraint not to kiss him again.

A second woman sporting a name tag made her way over to you, accompanied by a man dutifully trailing behind her.

“Hi!” The woman chirped, flashing a smile far more genuine than Ashley’s. “I’m Alexis, and this is my boyfriend, Peter.” She gestured to the man. “It’s nice to see another couple here.”

A couple. You and Eddie were a couple, recognized as such by other people in a relationship.

Peter pointed to the message on Eddie’s name tag. “I see you’re also here for moral support,” he said with a grin. “The things we do for them, huh?”

“Please.” Alexis rolled her eyes, though a playful smile suggested she wasn’t annoyed in the slightest. “I went with you to your boring grad school orientation last week.”

You perked up, latching onto the information so you wouldn’t perseverate on the notion of couplehood. “What are you studying?”

“Mechanical engineering,” Alexis answered for him. “He’s brilliant, but just listening to the course descriptions had me falling asleep.” She turned her attention to Eddie. “What do you study?”

The telltale hue of embarrassment bloomed on Eddie’s cheeks. “Oh, I, um…I didn’t. I mean, I went to high school–finished high school–but I didn’t do the whole college…thing.” 

“He’s a musician,” you offered, if only to quiet his stammering voice. “A really talented one, too. He plays guitar and he sings.” You took his hand in yours in silent reassurance.

To her credit, Alexis didn’t let on that she’d picked up on his nervousness. She just smiled and asked him about the type of music he plays, swiftly shifting the conversation back on track.

The small talk continued for a few more minutes. You’d learned that Alexis and Peter had met in college; they’d both gone to Columbia, which was where Peter would be continuing his graduate studies. Alexis wanted a change of scenery and chose NYU, though Peter mentioned she’d also been accepted to their alma mater.

She went to an Ivy League university? The notion soured in your stomach. It was unrealistic to think that Alexis would be the only member of your cohort to hold a degree from an esteemed school; how would you be able to keep up with them? There was no way your meager city college education could even compare.

Mercifully, Ashley took to the microphone once again, this time with a gray-haired woman by her side, to begin the informational portion of the event. You and Eddie sat side-by-side, and you scooched closer when his arm instinctively draped over the back of your folding chair. The ease was a privilege; you could rest your head on his shoulder without being on alert. There was no threat of being caught, no guilt from sneaking around. The two of you were just another couple sitting in a sea of strangers. The idea was so enticing that you had to force yourself to focus on the course offerings and expected responsibilities. 

You definitely wouldn’t be able to keep up with your peers if you couldn’t even pay attention during orientation.

Two hours passed before Eddie’s stomach audibly growled; apparently, consuming his weight in miniature hot dogs was not enough to satisfy his appetite. You were starting to get hungry, too, and you’d spent the last thirty minutes saving off your hunger pangs.

“Wanna grab something to eat?” You whispered.

He nodded emphatically. “You’d think that one of these snobby rich-people schools would splurge for more food,” he said, thankfully under his breath. If someone had overheard…

Not to mention you’d be attending that ‘snobby rich-people school,’ and you were neither rich nor snobby. At least, you hoped you weren’t snobby. But did Eddie see you that way? Did he think you were keeping the relationship underwraps because of a deep-seated shame?

You bade your new friends goodbye, shot a shy smile at the professors who had spoken during the information session, and did your best to make an inconspicuous exit. 

The nearest bodega was just down the block, its shelves stocked with soon-expiring candy and various snacks. Eddie perused the aisles and stared at his options. You were much faster in your decision-making, grabbing a Crunch bar and chowing down as soon as you paid the cashier.

With Eddie still glancing between a bag of barbecue potato chips and a stick of beef jerky, you plucked the latest copy of Star from the rotating magazine stand and leafed through it. There’s no earth-shattering news–stories published in the tabloids rarely are. The most exciting story was about the upcoming Spielberg flick, one where dinosaurs roam the Earth in some sort of prehistoric zoo. You can’t help but wonder if Eddie would take you to see the movie for your third date.

You were about to close the magazine and tell Eddie to hurry up–or just buy both, and you’d foot the bill–when the bolded words in the news briefs section caught your eye.

Caleb Dalton, the lead singer and guitarist of Death’s Echo, checked into rehab after various alcohol-fueled encounters with the law. The band’s management states that they “hope to proceed with the tour” next month, though there is no word about finding a replacement.

Your mouth went dry, and you started choking on the bite of milk chocolate that hadn’t yet melted onto your tongue. Eddie looked over at you, concern etched between his drawn brows at your sudden coughing outburst.

“Wrong pipe,” you managed, closing the magazine as nonchalantly as you could and placing it back on the rack. “You ready to go?”

“Yup.” Eddie fished a dollar bill from his pocket and placed it on the counter. He was already digging into the bag of chips, blissfully unaware of what you’d just read. 

How would he react if he knew? Would he find it amusing that his replacement had already screwed up the tour? Infuriating that he’d been replaced by someone so unprofessional? Would it haunt him or would he consider it to be normal tabloid fodder?

A gut instinct told you to break the news to him—not here, but somewhere private. Somewhere he could process it without causing a public scene. The only thing worse than him finding out is him knowing that you already knew and hadn’t told him. 

Tonight, during your shift. And you could follow it up by letting him know that you were ready to tell your parents the truth. Selfishly, you were glad to have some leverage on them: Eddie would already be upset by the band’s news, so they couldn’t add to that stress by kicking him out, right? 

If only you could tell them about him accompanying you today, just to prove how serious this new relationship truly was. 

One step at a time. 

You savored every moment spent together on the trip. The beginning of rush hour had the train too crowded to find a seat and to hold onto the pole, so Eddie held you by your waist to keep you steady. You felt his lips on the back of your neck every so often, his way of reminding you that he was there amidst the chaos. 

He trusted you, and he trusted you to trust him. 

It had come innately, the way you had divulged your secret to him. Yes, he had grabbed your book and questioned your alleged hospitality studies, but you could have shut him out. Put up a wall and told him to mind his business or hit the road. 

But you didn’t. And neither had he, choosing to divulge his saddest memories to you. Had given you a friendship and then something more. His presence was something you awaited at the start of every shift, the shared conversations now far more welcome than the quiet you once craved.

He always arrived at the desk by ten o’clock, sometimes getting there before you did. You’d find him making Mom laugh or listening to one of her many stories about the plethora of bizarre guests who stayed at the motel over the years. Mom liked him–you knew she did. All you needed to do was pivot her mindset in the right direction.

So tonight, when 10:25 rolled around and Eddie was nowhere to be found, your first instinct was to knock on his door and make sure he was all right. As soon as the thought popped into your head, you dismissed it as ridiculous. He was probably tired from schlepping through Manhattan and fell asleep. He’d probably planned to take a quick nap and promptly slept through his alarm, though you didn’t hear his clock radio bleating through the paper-thin walls.

Maybe this was a sign that you shouldn’t tell him about Death’s Echo and their troubled lead singer. You’d already kept quiet about the televised arrest that you watched at the bar; what was one more secret?

But that would sabotage your plan to pander to your parents with sympathy. You couldn’t exactly take the poor Eddie route without him knowing. Maybe you could–

Eddie’s door opened, yanking your attention from your running thoughts. Your heart beat double-time. This was it. You were going to tell him about Caleb Dalton’s rehab stint, tell him everything you knew.

But the voice you heard coming from his room wasn’t his. In fact, it wasn’t even a man’s.

“Promise me you’ll think about it?” A woman asked, a slight whine in her tone.

“Y-Yeah.” Though you couldn’t see him, you could tell from his hesitation that he wasn’t completely enthused about whatever he was supposed to be thinking about. “I promise.”

A soft mwah had you seeing red. It sounded like she’d only kissed his cheek, but maybe you were only fooling yourself. If she’d kissed his lips, those same lips that you’d been kissing earlier today…

“You’re the best, babe.” Jealousy raged in your core as she spoke, and you fought to keep it from exploding throughout your body. “We’ll get you out of this shithole in no time.” She punctuated her insult with a giggle. “Call me when you have your answer.”

“Mhm. Yeah.” And then his door closed.

Who was this woman? What was she doing here? Why didn’t Mom tell you that Eddie had brought someone to his room?

You got one answer once the mystery woman walked through the lobby, not even acknowledging your existence. She wasn’t wearing the heavy makeup that you’d seen in her photo, but there was no mistaking the owner of that blonde pixie cut, heart-shaped face, and piercing blue eyes.

They belonged to none other than Death Echo’s drummer.

Who also happened to be Eddie’s ex-girlfriend. 

--

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98

@squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia

@kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock

@ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975

@yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts

@mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank

@sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles

@the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl

@fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

[myzticbean]

Cat!Dad Series: You're My "Maine" Squeeze

Pairing: Qin Che | Sylus / MC (fem! reader) Tags: Super fluff, established relationship, cute cats, domestic bliss Can also read at A03

Previous posts in the Cat!Dad series:

Zayne: Quit kitten around - let's celebrate

Title: You’re My “Maine” Squeeze

Wrapping my arms around Sylus, I rest my hands against the motorcycle’s tank as it rockets down the dark street. I slip a hand under his leather jacket as we both lean into the tight corner, disappearing into the condo’s underground private entrance. The motorcycles that had been following us blew past, unaware we had already made our getaway. 

I laugh, a little giddy from the rush of adrenaline at the chase and successful escape (ahem, joyride), hugging his broad back and resting my helmet between his shoulder blades as he slows and parks the bike. 

“I told you it would be fun,” Sylus says calmly after he pulls off his helmet. I tug mine off as well, my bun squished to my head and tangled flyaway hairs sticking to my face, but I know I’m still grinning from ear to ear. 

“Another successful mission with my criminal mastermind partner,” I chuckle, shaking my hair out of the hair tie before throwing it back up into a ponytail. I swing my leg over and hop off the bike, and he stands as well, wrapping me in his arms in a quick hug. 

We wear matching black leather jackets, my curb stomping boots laced up over black jeans, and a custom thigh holster holding my (not-quite-legal) gun. I lean into his embrace, lifting my face to smile smugly at him.

“Admit it, I definitely helped you a lot this time.”

“You literally started a fight and got us thrown out -- of my own club,” he answers sardonically, tightening his grip around my shoulders and waist. But he can’t hide the lip twitch of amusement and the softness in his gaze as he stares down at me. 

“You needed to hire better help anyways,” I say airily, stepping out of his embrace and flicking a strand of my ponytail back over my shoulder saucily. “That they didn’t even recognize their boss…tut.”

“You do realize most people shouldn’t recognize me, otherwise it defeats the purpose of being the mysterious leader of an underground organization,” he responds dryly, locking the steering on his bike and grabbing the straps of our helmets in one hand. 

“That they didn’t even recognize your dark, dangerous, and sensual aura and let you do whatever you wanted is just a crime against nature,” I answer cheekily. I open my mouth to continue my teasing despite his grimace, when the hissing and howling of cats interrupts me.

As we neared the elevators, I saw a couple of cats brawling, two smaller dark colored tomcats wrestling a dirty, fluffy, absolute monster of a cat. Even while clearly outnumbered, it was holding its own and about to turn the tide of the fight when another cat appeared, intent on jumping into the fray. 

“Oh no,” I say, taking an unconscious step forward. I wasn’t sure how to intervene without getting scratched to holy hell when an empty can was suddenly thrown from behind, clattering as it pelted one of the dark cats on top. 

It screamed, not that it was actually hurt, but more in surprise as it backed off of the giant cat on the bottom. Without waiting, the big cat sprang to its feet, roaring like a tiny lion and racing forward aggressively. 

The tomcat didn’t bother waiting around to see if it could take the big cat on - it scrambled to its feet and raced away, the other cats following close behind. The bigger cat stopped, sitting on the ground in exhaustion, bloody scratch marks on its face, back and ears. 

“You poor thing,” I murmur, squatting down to try to get a closer look. It would probably be pretty skittish, especially if it has been a feral, unneutered male used to roaming the streets of the N109 zone and surviving. 

It turns to look at me at the sound of my voice, its tail flicking back and forth as it surveys me from where it sits on the cold concrete. “I wonder if he’ll let us take care of his wounds,” I say to Sylus who stands behind me, his hand propped casually on one hip as he looks between me and the cat.

“It’s a tom, probably not,” he answers.

“I tamed you,” I say a little tongue-and-cheek as I glance at him slyly over my shoulder. 

“Hmm,” he hums thoughtfully. “I might argue it was the other way around, kitten.”

“Here kitty, kitty,” I whisper, flicking my fingers at him. I moved to kneel down on one knee, not moving closer, but holding my hand out in case he wants to come over for a sniff.

The cat didn’t deign to move closer, but also doesn’t seem afraid or inclined to scamper away from us. He just peers at me with intent yellow eyes, his fluffy tail flipping back and forth as if to lure me in with the promise of touching it.

I can’t help myself -- I shuffle forward a little bit, my hand still outreached, wanting to see if he’ll let me get close enough to at least take a better look at his scrapes. He’s certainly not afraid - his watchful eyes are flickering all around. 

“Look at this handsome boy,” I croon, voice pitched a little lower, trying to entice him to take a step towards me. I wish I had some food for him. 

Sylus just sighs behind me. 

“Ignore him, kitty,” I suggest, trying to stifle a giggle when I see the cat’s yellow eyes briefly dart behind me before locking back onto mine. “You are definitely the biggest, most handsome cat on the block. If you come juuuust a little closer, I want to make sure you haven’t been hurt.”

The cat yawns, his sharp teeth on full display before he licks his nose and gives me a blink. 

“That’s right, big guy. You know I won’t hurt you.” 

Sylus suddenly chuckles behind me. “Let’s do this a little faster, shall we?” Without pausing, he activates his Evol, wrapping the cat in red and black swirls of color and lifting it into the air. It yowls in immediate displeasure, thrashing and kicking.

“Oh, don’t-” I try to say, before Sylus deposits it in my arms, though still wrapped up and held immobile by his power.

It freezes, looking up into my face, while I peer down at him. “It’s okay, kitty, I won’t hurt you,” I say soothingly. I resist the urge to pet it - it’s trapped and can’t escape, and my touch could do more harm than good. Instead I hold him close against me, cradling him gently in my arms as Sylus guides me towards our private elevator. 

We ascend to the penthouse as I’m trying to look over his wounds - with his thick hair, it doesn’t seem like he sustained too much damage, but I wouldn’t be sure until I could investigate more thoroughly. He is, however, extremely dirty and covered in fleas, which I can see crawling through the dirty fuzz. 

“He needs a bath,” I say, looking him over. “Do you think we should take him to a vet instead?”

Sylus scoffs quietly behind me as we enter our private floor. “I’ll make a call.” 

“My rich boyfriend is so strong and powerful,” I laugh, walking further into the condo and heading towards the bathroom. 

“Do we have any of that blue dish soap?” I call out as I settle the cat down in the shower. I need to grab a towel, and with Sylus’ Evol still activated, he won’t be able to move too much. I kick off my shoes and socks and grab a few fluffy dark towels from underneath the sink, whispering to the cat as I reach for one of the handheld shower heads. Since the shower is big enough for 10 people, the cat is safely outside of the spray as I test out the water and let it warm up.

“What a good boy you are,” I croon, kneeling down by the cat once the temperature has been adjusted, gently allowing the warm water to soak into his fur. The cat gives a grimace and gnashes his teeth, but otherwise doesn’t fight it. 

“Yes, you’re so smart, what a sweet kitty you are. You were definitely going to win. It was three-on-one, and look how strong and brave you were…” I ramble on and on as I soak him from the neck down, gently carding my fingers through his fur to try to get him completely wetted. 

Sylus walks in with a bottle of the dish soap, rolling his eyes a little at my running commentary. “I’m worried about you, sweetie,” he says lightly, squatting by the shower entrance and setting down the soap bottle. 

“Hush,” I say, fighting back a smile as I throw a mock-glare over my shoulder. “Squeeze me,” I say, holding out one palm.

“I wish,” he mutters before he obliges, squirting a heaping handful of soap.

I soap my palms together and get to work, thoroughly (but gently) cleaning up the poor, battered cat. His cuts and scrapes aren’t bad, but I’m careful to avoid getting too much soap in those areas to avoid any stinging. I keep speaking to the cat, voice low and calm, and he doesn’t otherwise flinch at being doused in water and soap.

“I wonder if he was someone’s pet?” I question thoughtfully. “He’s too well behaved for a feral cat.”

Sylus just hums but doesn’t say anything, his Evol still containing the cat though it’s obvious the animal isn’t fighting it. I make sure to wash off as much of the dirt and fleas as I can, rinsing and repeating one more time, and the amount of dirt pooling beneath the two of us turned the pale gray tile completely black. 

But as the cat emerges, clean and victorious, I’m astounded to see a pure white beauty in its majestic display. “He’s so handsome,” I gasp, gently drying him off with a soft towel. 

“I know, you’ve already mentioned it many times,” Sylus says dryly, but the humor glinting in his ruby-colored eyes is obvious. “I always knew you’d be a cat person.”

“You call me kitten often enough, I thought it was obvious,” I say, smiling playfully. 

It’s quiet again for a moment as I finish drying the cat off, before noting, “I don’t think he’s seriously hurt, but he had fleas and could use a check up.” 

As if waiting for my remark, the doorbell chimes, announcing a visitor. I look over at Sylus, who has climbed to his feet and casually strolls out of the bathroom. 

I reach out, cradling the cat in a new clean towel and exit the bathroom and into the living room where a man with a black kit is waiting for us. Without much expression and with almost no conversation, he takes the cat from my arms and begins his check up, and the cat -- who is still held by the black strands -- immediately begins to meow and scream non-stop.

“Oh, poor baby,” I whisper, clenching my hands but unable to help. I look on in concern, trying not to react as the impersonal vet quickly doctors the cat’s wounds and gives him a few shots. 

“He’ll be fine in a few days. I’ve given him his vaccinations, and a pill that will help kill off the remaining fleas.” 

“What kind of cat is he?” I ask, the cat looking even larger as the fur dries.

“I’d guess Maine Coon based on his size and features,” the vet says. “You can do a DNA test if you want to know for sure.”

“Will he get bigger or is he fully grown?”

The man lifted the cat’s lips, checking his teeth. “He’s a young cat, maybe still under a year old, so I would guess he’s still growing. Maine Coons can keep growing until they are around two years old.”

He gives me a few instructions on how to continue caring for the animal, and without much fanfare, leaves. 

“Let’s let him free now,” I murmur to Sylus after setting him down on the floor. Sylus releases his Evol, and the cat slowly stands, taking a few steps and sniffing the air. 

“He’s so cute,” I sigh, watching him tentatively explore his new surroundings. 

“He better not pee on anything until we can get him neutered,” Sylus mutters. “We’ll never get the smell out.”

I reach out, wrapping my arms around his waist and nuzzling into his chest. “You’re so wonderful,” I say, content and a little tired. The doorbell rings again, and I lift my head off his chest to look up at his face, puzzled. 

He motions for me to go, saying, “Get in the shower, I’ll get him settled. The twins brought some supplies.”

I smile in relief, giving him another squeeze, and silently beg for a kiss as I stand on my toes and lift my face. He cups my chin, brushing warm lips over mine in a chaste kiss. He gives me a second kiss on my forehead.

“Go on,” he murmurs. “I’ll join you soon.”

More than a week has passed since we rescued the cat. I’ve had to travel to and from Linkon for work, but Sylus never asks if I am going to take the cat with me or drop it off at the shelter. Instead, the cat seems to settle into the plush penthouse as if he had never lived a life on the outside, his kingly attitude right at home in the dark, romantic surroundings. 

After arriving a little later than I expected, I put my overnight bag away in the bedroom before I grab one of the new cat toys lying about. It’s a stick with a feather dangling from a string, and I flick it around on the floor and up in the air, laughing aloud as the cat makes a daring leap trying to catch it. 

“You can do it, Junior,” I cheer as he stretches out his paws, dagger-like nails exposed. Mephisto caws angrily in the corner, pacing back and forth on his stand as he watches the playful cat. They’ve been sassing each other all week, with the kitty missing chunks of hair and Mephisto decidedly more ruffled looking with mechanical feathers lying twisted on the ground. 

The door opens and Sylus walks in just in time to hear me, raising his eyebrows as he comes towards me carrying a couple of shopping and garment bags. 

“Please don’t tell me that name means what I think it means?” he sighs.

I start giggling and the cat takes a flying leap, tackling me to the ground. I ooph out a rush of air, his heavy body colliding with mine as I clutch him to my belly and roll backwards. Sylus drops the bags into the couch and strides over, grabbing the cat by the scruff of the neck and tossing him (somewhat gently) onto the coffee table. He reaches down, helping me to my feet as I fight off a giddy laugh. 

“It’s exactly what you think,” I answer, a sly smile twisting my lips as I reach down to pat Junior on the top of his head, his large, fuzzy ears twisting to catch our voices. “He looks just like his daddy, after all…”

“I did not, in fact, sire a cat. But if my little kitten is so inclined to have her own litter, I could be persuaded.”

I burst out laughing, pushing at his shoulder (he didn’t budge). “I’m not ready for a baby right now. Baby making, however…”

His eyes glint in the light, strangely dark as he locks his gaze onto mine, tugging me closer and into a tight embrace. He leans down, nuzzling his face into my neck, arms wrapped around my waist. “Let’s go practice now,” he suggests, teeth nipping gently at my skin in blatant invitation. 

I sigh, languid from the pleasure that courses up my spine as he trails long fingers down my back in a slow caress. He kisses me tenderly, tongue tracing the seam of my mouth before I open to let him in, our tongues pressing against each other in unhurried exploration. We’ve kissed hundreds of times, but each press of his lips to mine brings a fresh wash of affection and excitement.

I lift my arms to wrap around his neck, falling deeper into his kiss, but a demanding howl from the coffee table shatters the moment. I look down, meeting the irritated eyes of the cat staring back at me. “Sorry, Junior. You shouldn’t be watching mommy and daddy like this.”

Sylus stifles a long exhale before he reaches down, adjusting himself, and steps away back towards the bags. I follow along with interest, trying to peek into the bags, but he covers it up. 

“You can open this one now,” he says, holding out a shopping bag. “I’ll show you the others later.”

I look with interest at the other handful of bags and garment bags, but don’t press. I’ve learned that any surprise from Sylus is well worth the wait. Instead, I tear open the bag and read the brand name on the box. “Evol CommuniCollar?” I question, looking up at him in surprise. “Aren’t these ridiculously expensive?”

He scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “Maybe if you’re not me.”

I roll my eyes. “You are such a snob sometimes.” I eagerly read the description. “It says here that it can translate everything your pet says into human language. This is so cool!”

I sit down and start fumbling to open the box, tearing off the flap corners in my haste to get it open. “Oops, I hope we don’t need to return this,” I say. He looks completely unconcerned as he settles on the couch next to me, as Junior perches politely on the coffee table near my knee, tail swishing back and forth. 

Reading the instructions, I open my phone and download the app as Sylus checks the battery charge on the collar. I fill in Junior’s information, noting his suggested breed and age in the settings. While Sylus isn’t watching, I set the AI voice to one of my favorite male celebrities that is (surprisingly) available in the list. 

Sylus gently adjusts it around the cat’s neck, making sure his fur isn’t being pulled or tangled, and gives him a single pat on the head.

Junior is still watching Sylus and gives a tiny meow, and the collar suddenly beeps, a deep, masculine AI-voice is clearly projecting from the collar. “Father.”

I gasp, practically swooning on the couch. “He knows you’re his dad,” I squeal, covering my mouth to hide the huge grin. Sylus looks taken aback, one eyebrow raised as he stares down at the cat that is still looking up at him. He obviously recognizes the voice when I see his sidelong glance at me. 

I hurriedly continue reading the instructions. “While animals may not experience the same family bonds, environmental stimulus, language or emotional capacity that humans do, they’ve been able to map the closest electrical triggers to feelings that we can understand.”

I laugh a little. “So I guess he knows you aren’t his birth father. Maybe you’re his step-dad.”

The kitty looks at me chuckling on the couch, attention flicking back and forth, and as he looks at me directly, he gives a single, long blink. “Wife.” The masculine voice is low and rumbly as he purrs a little.

My mouth drops open, and I don’t dare to look at Sylus. I’m trying desperately to stifle a cackle of mischievous delight, and I reach out to stroke my hand along his back. 

“No,” Sylus says, reaching out to catch my hand. “Don’t reward him for bad behavior.”

“How is he being bad?” I ask, choking on my laughter. I’m trying not to cry, eyes welling up as I gasp for breath.

“This collar is defective. Let’s throw it away,” he says resolutely, reaching out a hand to unclasp the collar from the cat before I bat his hand away.

“Don’t you dare. This is priceless.” I try to be stern, but my quivering lips and definitely giving it away.

He looks slightly irritated but does take his hands away and folds his arms across his chest. I turn back to the cat, giving him a little scritch behind one fluffy ear, and he closes his eyes, rumbling in pleasure. 

“Feels good. It’s itchy,” the cat collar says in its low, dulcet tones. “Wife. Wife.” The purrs get a little louder when I switch to the other ear.

“No, I’m your mom,” I correct, and the collar gives another little beep with tiny rumbling noises as if to translate what I said.

“No, not mother. Wife,” the cat collar responds, and the cat blinks up at me again, holding eye contact. 

I cover my mouth to hide my laughter when I see Sylus stiffen up beside me. “No, I’m your mother. And this is your dad,” I say, pointing to Sylus. “I’m his wife.”

I pretend I don’t see Sylus whip his head around to look at me. I’m trying to make a point to a cat, and this is the easiest way to get it across. How would a cat understand human dating behavior? 

The cat looks obviously disgruntled as the collar makes more translation noises. His tail lashes angrily back and forth, and he turns his head away from me, obviously not agreeing to my words. 

I lean forward, giving him a little kiss on his forehead, ignoring his mew of unhappiness. “I love you so much, my handsome little guy. You’re the bestest boy, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, I’m the best cat. Better than the bird,” the collar agrees, and the cat turns to nuzzle his head into my chin.

I pepper little kisses all over his cute little cat face. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes, I’m hungry. I’d like dinner, please. I want the fish one. The wet food, not the crunch food.” 

“Oh, you like the tuna more than the chicken? You should really eat the kibble too, it’s better for your teeth if you can eat some crunchy food,” I say, and we walk into the kitchen, chatting together. 

Sylus leans back against the couch cushions, sighing as scrubs one hand over his face before climbing to his feet and going to store away the bags.

Junior and I chatter back and forth, his sentences slowly becoming longer and more in-depth the more the collar was used. 

He finally finishes his food and I ask to gently wipe his face and whiskers with a clean towel, and he happily obliges, purring loudly as I clean him up. We walk together back into the living room, where Sylus has once more taken a seat on the couch, the fireplace crackling and the low throb of classical music coming from the record player. 

“Father,” Junior murmurs, leaping onto the couch and then clambering into Sylus’ lap (uninvited, but also undeterred). I smile, nestling into his side as he raises an arm and pulls me in closer. 

“Father, play with me. Play with me,” the cat begs, raising one paw and tapping it against Sylus’ chest. 

I try to bite back a smile, shifting away slightly so I can quickly snap a photo. Sylus resigns himself, reaching down to flick one furry ear before he tugs gently at a whisker. The cat grows ever more exasperated as he tries to bat away Sylus’ hand, who snaps his fingers and conjures up a handful of black feathers dusting along Junior’s head and back. 

“You wanted to play, and now you’re mad?” Sylus asks, listening to the cat muttering profanities (with the help of the collar) and hiding a small smile. 

Finally the cat huffs and flops down, and the feathers immediately disappear. We both look down at the large cat stretching himself along the length of Sylus’ thighs, Junior’s head resting closer to his stomach. I reach out, giving him a scritch as I nuzzle into Sylus’ broad shoulder.

Sylus presses a tender kiss to my forehead as he sweeps one long-fingered hand down the back of the cat in a soothing, absent-minded stroke. He drops his head, feathering kisses across the bridge of my nose and cheeks, before pressing a deeper, sweeter kiss to my lips. 

“So about that litter of kittens you mentioned…” I pull away to whisper into his ear as Junior finally settles and little snores start to emerge. 

Activating his Evol, he carries that cat over to his bed, settling him into the cushions lightly while he stands and hefts me over his shoulder. “Practice makes perfect, sweetie,” he purrs, striding into the bedroom and shutting the door while I try to muffle my giggles.

Junior licks his lips, snuggling deeper into his bed and drifting off into an even deeper, satisfied sleep.

Cat image source