#g: blue Horizon

[slapthebass]

DIR EN GREY - CAGE - LIVE

[thef1diary]

One Last Night | G. Russell

Summary: As you finalize your divorce from George, he convinces you to spend one last night together in the home you once shared, leading to a night filled with intimacy and emotional complexity.

this one is for @chilling-seavey the sole reason why George is in the top 5 of my fav drivers, I hope you like this one 🤭

masterlist

warnings: 18+ smut, angst, unprotected sex, a bit of hand kink, choking, fingering, oral, lots of emotions

wc: 7.1k (I got a lil carried away with this one ngl)

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

The sun sets over the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow over the house you once called home. The day’s emotional exhaustion weighs heavily on you, the act of signing papers and exchanging awkward glances, finalizing the divorce that both of you knew was inevitable yet difficult to accept. You sit on the porch steps, wanting a breath of fresh air while your eyes lingered on the small garden you and George once tended with care. The flowers, once vibrant and full of life, now stand shriveled and faded, mirroring the love that once flourished between you has since withered away.

George’s voice breaks the silence, a gentle intrusion on your thoughts as he calls your name, his tone devoid of the pet names he once used. You lift your head to see him standing there, his face a blend of sorrow and nostalgia. He takes a step closer, before lowering himself to sit beside you, a few inches too far away.

The space between you feels like an insurmountable chasm, filled with all the words left unsaid, all the efforts that fell short, and the moments you can never get back.

He speaks again, his voice softer and if your heart didn’t already ache with the necessity of leaving him, it would’ve when he said your full name, emphasizing your maiden name. The sound of it, spoken by him, sends a shiver down your spine, a bittersweet reminder of the life you lived before becoming George’s wife, before dating him.

“It’s been a while since I called you by that name,” he murmurs, his bright blue eyes searching for yours with an intensity that seemed to pierce through the silence. You find yourself unable to resist, drawn into his gaze as if pulled by an invisible force. The familiarity of his eyes, the depth of longing ensnares you, like it always did.

“Yes, it has,” you reply, your voice a mere whisper, barely breaking through the hush of the evening. The weight of his words lingers in the air, filling the space between you with a poignant nostalgia that tugs at your heart. The simple utterance of your maiden name, once so familiar, now feels like a delicate thread connecting you to a past filled with both love and loss.

Even though there’s a physical distance between your bodies, your hands find each other, resting lightly on the porch. Slowly, your fingers inch closer, making a tentative connection that speaks volumes without words. The warmth of his skin, the familiar feel of his touch, sends a ripple of emotion through you, a vivid reminder of the intimacy you once shared.

You try to keep your thoughts clear, reminding yourself that you’re no longer his, no longer Mrs. Russell. The weight of that truth hangs heavy in the space between you, a stark contrast to the intimacy of your touch.

The tenderness in your fingers grazing his is a reflection of what you once had, but also of what has irrevocably changed. You feel the echo of old feelings stirring, the ones you had just begun to push down, but you hold onto the reality that this moment, this connection, is all that remains. The warmth that used to be a part of your everyday life now feels like a fleeting memory, a bittersweet echo of a love that has transformed into a shared, yet separate, past.

“So, what’s next for you?” he asks, his voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and sadness, a reflection of the weight of letting you go from his life. The question hangs in the air, imbued with a sense of finality and the unspoken acknowledgment that this might be one of the last times he will ask about your future. A future that you’ll be spending without him.

“I’ve decided to finally open that bakery I’ve always dreamed of. It’s something new to look forward to.”

His eyes lit up with a hint of the old George you remember, a small smile playing on his lips. “Will I get any special treatment whenever I visit?”

You shake your head, the smile fading slightly as reality intrudes. “You probably won’t have time to stop by with your busy schedule.”

An awkward silence descends, punctuated by the weight of unfulfilled promises and unmet expectations. The stillness is heavy with the echoes of unspoken regrets and the haunting reminder of what could have been. The conversation stirs a whirlwind of memories, each one a testament to how, over time, George’s career began to overshadow your relationship.

The subtle shift began with small, seemingly insignificant changes—dinner dates frequently postponed, weekend getaways cancelled, and conversations that once flowed effortlessly now reduced to hurried exchanges. His passion for racing, which you once admired and supported, gradually turned into an all-consuming force that claimed more of his time and energy. The promise he made to never let his work come between you gradually eroded, like a fading echo in the vast expanse of his ambition.

You initially accepted the demands of his career, understanding that racing was his first love and the source of his greatest fulfillment. You saw it as an inevitable part of his life, one that you could accommodate as long as it didn’t overshadow your shared moments. But as the months passed, the imbalance became increasingly unbearable. The distance grew, not just in physical terms but in emotional connection. The shared dreams and future plans you once held close began to dissolve, replaced by a solitary sense of longing and disappointment.

Each missed milestone, each neglected promise, built a wall of isolation between you. What started as an occasional inconvenience became a persistent source of heartache. The intimacy you once shared, the spontaneous affection and deep conversations, gave way to a routine marked by George’s relentless pursuit of success. The career that once bound you together now stood as a formidable barrier, leaving you feeling like a secondary consideration in the grand scheme of his ambitions.

You don’t allow your thoughts to linger on the past for too long, on wondering what could’ve been if you both put in a little more effort instead of watching it play out like a movie

You break the silence, your voice trembling slightly as you ask, “and what about you? What’s next for you?”

George’s gaze drifts to the horizon, as though the future is mapped out in the darkness of the night. “I’ll be back on the track as usual. Flying out next week, you know how it goes. It’s a busy schedule but it’s what I do.”

His words are matter-of-fact, yet there’s an undercurrent of melancholy in his tone. He turns his eyes back to you, a flicker of something almost wistful crossing his face. “I’ll miss having you there,” he adds quietly. “Your support, your presence—it made a difference. I always looked forward to seeing you in the stands.”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at something deep inside you. You nod, forcing a smile. “I’m sure the races will be just as thrilling without me. You’ll have plenty of fans cheering you on.”

He smiles faintly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not the same,” he says softly. “There was always something special about having you there, cheering me on. I’m going to miss that.”

The honesty in his confession stirs a pang of regret within you. You both know that his career, while a source of pride, has become the very thing that separated you.

George sighs, his thumb brushing lightly against your fingers, reminding you that his hand never left yours. “I never wanted it to end like this,” he said, his voice filled with regret. “In fact, I never wanted it to end at all.”

He clears his throat, the raw emotion evident in his next words. “I thought I could balance everything—my career and us—but I failed. I’m sorry for making you feel like you were never enough. The truth is, you were and still are everything to me.”

Tears prick at your eyes, threatening to spill over, but you blink them away with a deliberate effort. Drawing a deep breath, you muster the strength to respond. “It’s not entirely your fault, you know,” you say softly, your voice quivering with the weight of your emotions.

“You don’t need to apologize. I suppose I should apologize for intruding on your well-laid plans. You always wanted a world championship under your belt, and I genuinely hope you achieve that soon, without having to worry about me.”

As he begins to shake his head in protest, you turn away, pulling your hand gently from his grasp before standing up. “I should’ve realized sooner that your trophies would always hold a higher place in your life than I ever could.”

You made the mistake of glancing at him after your words, and saw him visibly flinch, the impact of your parting words etched clearly on your face. The pain in his expression mirrored the ache in your heart, a stark reminder of the mutual suffering this conversation had caused. The intensity of the moment made it clear that any further discussion would only deepen the emotional wounds.

Deciding to end it there and spare both of you more heartache, you turned away and headed towards the porch steps. You had already planned your leave with a sense of reluctant resolve: you would spend the night at a nearby hotel before flying out the following morning to stay with your sister, seeking comfort and a fresh start in her home.

As you begin to walk down the steps, George’s voice reaches out to you, filled with a mix of urgency and regret. “Where are you going? You’re supposed to leave tomorrow, please, stay here for just one more night.”

You pause, the sincerity in his voice making you hesitate. Turning back, you see the raw vulnerability in his eyes, and something in you shifts. The weight of your decision presses heavily on your chest.

George steps closer, his face pleading as he gently cups your cheeks in his hands. “I want to make it up to you,” he says softly. “I know I should’ve valued you more, I could’ve balanced my life better, I would’ve done everything to keep us together if I’d realized sooner.”

You feel the weight of his words, the sincerity evident in every syllable. You placed your hand atop of his, and for a brief moment, he braces himself for you to push him away. Instead, you simply hold on, a gesture that speaks of the lingering affection between you.

“Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve,” you repeat softly. “It’s too late to blame our past selves for the consequences we face now.”

“Please, stay,” George’s voice trembles, his eyes pleading as he grapples with the reality of your departure, even though the papers are signed and the decision is final.

The raw emotion in his eyes, the vulnerability of his plea, makes your resolve waver. With a sigh, you nod slowly, feeling the tight noose around your heart loosen, giving it a chance to beat. “Alright,” you agree softly. “I’ll stay for one more night.”

In an instant, you close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him. You cling to him tightly, the familiar warmth of his embrace bringing a flood of bittersweet memories. Despite everything, despite knowing that the circumstances could never change, the love you still feel for him is undeniable.

George holds you just as tightly, burying his face in your hair. “Thank you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for giving me this one last chance.”

You stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the silence speak for the love and regrets that words can’t fully capture. For tonight, you can forget the world outside, the signed papers, and the impending separation. For tonight, it’s just you and him, holding on to the remnants of what once was.

George leads you back into the house, his hand warm and steady in yours. Inside, a calm, almost sacred stillness envelops you both. You hadn’t known what to expect, but this quiet comfort is a relief. As you step further in, your eyes fall on the photo frames carefully placed around the room. Each one tells a story of you and George, moments frozen in time, even a few from your wedding day, radiant and full of promise.

Your breath hitches as a thought crosses your mind, a pang of uncertainty mingling with nostalgia. You wonder how soon George will clean up, scrubbing away the memories of your relationship. Part of you knows he still loves you and wouldn’t simply discard them. Yet, you also know the ache these images must bring, a constant reminder of what was and what could have been.

You don’t ask him. The question lingers unspoken between you, too heavy to voice. You can’t bear to hear his answer, whether he’ll keep them or not. It’s easier to pretend, to let the silence hold the unknown.

He glances at you, his eyes following your gaze to the photos. The sadness in his expression mirrors your own thoughts, a silent understanding passing between you.

“Would you like some tea?” he asks, his voice gentle, pulling you back from your reverie.

“That sounds nice,” you reply softly, following him into the kitchen.

The initial awkwardness lingers as you move around each other, carefully choosing your words, mindful of the delicate peace. But as you start to talk about random things, the tension begins to ease. George makes a conscious effort to avoid mentioning racing, and you appreciate it, finding solace in the mundane topics that once filled your conversations.

As hunger sets in, you decide to cook dinner together. In the kitchen, it’s like clockwork. You move around each other with ease, falling back into old routines.

George chops vegetables while you stir a pot on the stove, the familiar rhythm soothing your frayed nerves. You pass utensils and ingredients back and forth without a second thought, your movements synchronized like a well-rehearsed dance.

“Can you hand me the garlic?” George asks, glancing up at you with a familiar warmth in his eyes.

“Sure,” you say, passing it to him. Your fingers brush, sending a jolt of electricity through you. You catch his eye, and for a moment, the tension is palpable.

As you continue preparing dinner, the air thickens with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. The scent of sautéing garlic fills the room, mingling with the warmth of your shared history.

At one point, you reach for a spice jar on a high shelf. George steps in behind you, his body just inches taller than yours. He places his hands gently on your waist, his fingers barely grazing the bare skin beneath the hem of your shirt, steadying you as you stretch to grab the jar.

You open your mouth to question the unexpected intimacy, but before you can speak, he steps away, his touch lingering like a ghost. He moves to another task, his presence still wrapped around you even though he’s no longer at your side.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart, and continue cooking. The moments of contact are electric, charged with the sexual tension that neither of you dares to act on yet. The unspoken connection between you simmers, waiting to boil over.

As you both move through the kitchen, old jokes and new stories begin to flow. The dinner preparations become an unexpected dance of nostalgia and bittersweet reality, each touch and glance filled with meaning.

As you and George finish cooking, the comforting aroma of the meal fills the kitchen. Together, you set the table, your movements in perfect harmony.

Though you sit across from each other, the table is small enough that if either of you were to stretch your legs, you’d touch. That closeness adds a layer of anticipation, your legs brushing occasionally as you both take your first bites. The flavours are rich and familiar, but the food is secondary to the charged atmosphere around you.

“Remember the first time we tried making this?” George says, his smile tinged with nostalgia.

You laugh softly, nodding. “How could I forget? We nearly burned the kitchen down.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and comforting. “I think we’ve improved since then.”

As you share this moment, you can’t help but graze his leg with your foot under the table, a fleeting touch that sends a thrill through you. George’s eyes flicker with something deeper, a response to the subtle contact. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his, the warmth of his touch grounding you. His thumb gently strokes your knuckles, and the simple act feels intimate, rekindling the connection you thought you had lost.

As he holds your hand, you’re acutely aware of the difference in size. His hand, though not drastically larger, envelopes yours with a comforting presence. You watch as his slender fingers wrap around yours, their familiar warmth a stark reminder of the countless times they explored every inch of your body—especially around your neck, constricting your airway, or on your thighs, gripping tightly as he held them spread open.

George brings your entwined hands to his lips, pressing a tender kiss on the back of your hand, letting his lips linger on your skin for a few moments too long.

A playful impulse overtakes you. You let your foot drift up from the floor, lightly tracing its way up his leg. The touch is feather-light, a teasing caress that sends a thrill through both of you. Your foot slides slowly up his calf, over his knee, and eventually finds its way to his thigh, lingering there.

George’s breath catches, and you feel the tension in his body tighten as his grasp on your palm loosens. His gaze locks with yours, a mixture of surprise and desire flickering in his eyes. You keep your foot gently resting on his thigh, savouring the intimacy of the contact, watching his expression shift from playful to deeply affected.

He mutters your name, “what are you doing?”

Your eyes twinkle with mischief as you shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

George raises his eyebrows, a sly smile painting on his lips as he decides to play your game. “Oh really?”

You maintain your playful facade, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Really,” you reply, trying to keep your tone innocent despite the heat building between you.

George’s hand slips from yours, moving with deliberate slowness to rest on your leg, his fingers lightly brushing against your ankle, pressing it deeper against his thigh.

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “And here I thought you wanted me to be a gentleman tonight,” he murmurs, his voice a sultry whisper that makes your pulse quicken.

Without breaking eye contact, you let your foot inch higher, sliding it delicately between his thighs. It comes to rest over the zipper of his jeans, the contact making you both shiver. His reaction is immediate—his breath catches, and he whispers your name, the sound slipping from his lips with a sinful sweetness that sends a wave of heat through you.

“You thought wrong,” you reply swiftly, a sultry smirk playing on your lips.

George’s breath hitches at your words, a shiver running through his body as you maintain your foot’s gentle pressure, knowing you can feel his hardening cock straining against the denim.

He extends a hand towards you, his fingers curling in a beckoning motion, deliberately mimicking the way he would caress you in more intimate moments. The gesture sends a shiver down your spine, making your breath catch, and instinctively clench your thighs, fighting to control the rush of sensations.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice husky and insistent.

You can’t resist the command, the raw magnetism of his presence pulling you towards him. You stand up slowly, the chair scraping softly against the floor as you move. George’s eyes follow your every motion, his piercing eyes remaining on you as you near him.

As you stand between his legs, he pushes his chair back slightly, creating space needed for you to be close. He reaches out, his hands grasping your hips gently but firmly, drawing you nearer. His hands slide up your sides, a touch both tender and possessive, as he gazes up at you with a look that promises more.

He’s quick to pull you on his lap, earning a gasp from your parted lips. George’s grip tightens around your waist, his touch a mix of possessiveness and tenderness. He pulls you closer, his body pressed against yours, and you can feel the fierce need in his actions.

“You have no idea what you’ve started,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “No matter what papers we’ve signed, you’re still mine tonight.”

“This,” his fingers hold your left hand, grazing his thumb over the ring still adorned on your finger, “stays on. Just for tonight.”

You close your eyes, letting the weight of his words sink in. The reality of your separation fades into the background as you allow yourself to sink into the fantasy of being his again, if only for a few hours. His touch is intoxicating, a heady blend of past affection and present desire. You give in to the moment, your body responding to his with a familiarity that is both thrilling and deeply comforting.

George’s lips trace a burning path down your neck, leaving kisses that deepen into marks. His lips press against your skin with an almost reverent touch, a dark bruise forming beneath his kisses, a parting gift of sorts that will serve as a reminder of what you shared tonight. He smiles against your skin, satisfied with the mark he’s left, knowing it would evoke memories of tonight whenever you see it over the next few days.

His kisses drift lower, his hand subtly pulling your shirt lower, exposing more of your bare skin to his hungry lips. The heat of this touch, and the slow, deliberate exploration of your body made you shiver, your head tilting back instinctively as you gasp his name. Your hips shift, seeking the friction you crave, driven by the intense need building between your legs.

When George finally pulls back, he chuckles softly as the whimper that escapes your lips. “Look at you,” he murmurs with a teasing edge to his tone. “So desperate already.”

He shifts slightly, his hands sliding up your sides to cradle your face. The tender yet firm grip draws you closer, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. Suddenly, you feel a moment of hesitation, a thought flitting through your mind about the intimacy of kissing him. You almost speak, wanting to tell him that perhaps this was too much, too close for a night meant to be a parting. But the look in his eyes, the sheer depth of his need, pulls you in, rendering you speechless.

In a heartbeat, his lips meet yours, and you lose yourself in the kiss. It’s a fierce, consuming connection, full of all the love and desire that has simmered between you for so long.

As you kiss him, you’re painfully aware that your actions now will likely lead to regret and heartache for your future self. But in this moment, you’re allowing yourself to enjoy the intimacy and closeness, even as you recognize that tomorrow’s pain is a consequence of tonight’s decisions. You surrender to the moment, letting it erase the boundaries the divorce created, allowing yourself to be his once more, just for a few more hours.

His tongue slips in between your lips, teasing and caressing with a gentle insistence that makes your knees weak.

Your hand lingers on his chest, fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, a silent plea for him to remove it. But he’s so absorbed in your kisses that he barely notices. You pull back just enough to murmur against his lips. “Mm, take your shirt off, baby.”

With a low, breathy chuckle, he pulls away just enough to slip his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. As his bare chest comes into view, you can’t help but trace your fingers over his skin, the muscles beneath your fingertips tensing with every caress.

Before you can place your lips on his skin, his hand gently rests against your throat, holding you back with just enough pressure to make you pause. “Your turn, sweetheart,” he commands.

The return of the pet name makes a blush creep up your cheek. With a slight nod, you move back, your hands reaching for the hem of your shirt. Your eyes stay locked on his as you slowly pull the fabric up and over your head, letting it slip from your fingers and fall to the floor.

George’s gaze roams over you, drinking in the sight of your exposed torso. He pulls you back towards him, his hands sliding up your sides, tracing the curves of your body with utmost care.

He leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to the hollow of your throat, the spot where his hand had just been. The warmth of his lips sends shivers through your body, and you feel a surge of anticipation. As he kisses your skin, his hands move with practiced ease to the clasp of your bra. In one fluid motion, he undoes it, and the flimsy material falls away, landing softly in your lap, leaving your upper body fully exposed to him.

George pulls back slightly, his gaze roaming over you with unabashed desire. His eyes darken as they take in the sight of you, the soft glow of the kitchen light casting a warm hue on your skin. He reaches up, his fingers tracing the curve of your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts, his touch light but electric.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, his voice thick with admiration and lust. The words send a rush of warmth through you, making you feel both cherished and desired.

His lips return to your body, this time trailing down from your throat, licking each darkening mark he left earlier, to your collarbone, then lower. Each kiss is slow and deliberate, as if he’s savouring the moment, etching each inch of your body into his mind. When his mouth reaches the sensitive skin of your breast, his tongue flicks out to tease, eliciting a soft moan from you. He takes his time, worshiping you with his lips and tongue, making you arch into his touch, seeking more.

Your hands find their way to his broad shoulders, gripping him tightly as the pleasure builds. George’s fingers dance across your skin, exploring every inch exposed to him, while his mouth continues its maddeningly slow descent. He pauses to take one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently before grazing his teeth lightly, as his other hand kneads your other breast. The dual sensations make you gasp, your head falling back in pleasure.

As he continues to lavish attention on your chest, you feel the heat pooling in your core, your body responding to his every touch. You grind against him, seeking friction, feeling the hardness of his cock, still strained underneath his jeans.

George lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, filled with a mix of tenderness and hunger. “I want you,” he whispers.

You nod, breathless and needy. “I’m yours,” you reply, “just for tonight, I’m yours.”

Without another word, George lifts you effortlessly, his hands strong and sure as they grip your waist. You wrap your legs around his torso, feeling the heat of his body against yours as he carries you upstairs. He pushes the bedroom door open with his shoulder, his lips finding yours again in a hungry kiss.

George sets you down gently in the middle of the bed, placing a tender kiss on your lips before moving down your body as you lie back. His touch is both reverent and teasing, his fingers trailing down your skin, igniting a trail of fire in their wake. He stops at your breasts, giving each nipple the attention it craves. He circles his thumb around the peak, teasing you, before pinching the bud sharply between his fingers, earning a needy whine from your lips. He envelops your nipple in the heat of his mouth, easing the sting with a filthy, wet kiss, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. Moving away, he repeats his actions on your other nipple, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

George continues his journey down your body, his lips leaving a trail of kisses and love bites, sucking as many marks as he wishes. Each bruise is a reminder of his presence, a mark of possession that makes your core throb with desire. He reaches the hem of your pants and glances up at you, his eyes widening when he realizes you are already watching him, your gaze intense as he drives you to the brink of madness.

“Please, George,” you mutter, your voice already raw from the moans you’ve let out. The plea is filled with desperation and need, your body aching for more of his touch.

He slides his fingers below the waistband of your pants, his touch electrifying. You lift your hips to help him remove the fabric, making it easier for him to pull your pants away from your body. He parts your thighs, settling himself on his knees between them. His eyes glaze over with desire as he takes in the sight of your soaked panties. You might have felt embarrassed by how wet you are, but the way his eyes darken with hunger reassures you. He licks his lips, his gaze never leaving your covered pussy.

He reluctantly shifts his gaze to meet your eyes again. “You’re dripping, love. Glad to know I still have that effect on you,” he states, dragging his thumb over your cunt, causing you to instinctively push your hips up, but it’s no avail as he moves his hand away, leaving you aching for more.

You roll your eyes at his words. “You always have that effect on me, don’t act like you didn’t know that.”

He chuckles, sitting back on his haunches, bringing his thumb up to his lips. Your mouth drops open as he licks your wetness off his thumb, humming delightfully at the taste.

“Ah, mouthy now?” He shook his head in faux disappointment. “By the time I’m done with you, the only word you’ll speak is my name.” He leans over you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before properly settling between your parted thighs, his face near your covered cunt.

With a sudden rough motion, he grabs your panties and rips them off, the fabric tearing easily in his hand. The sheer force of it sends a thrill through you, a gasp leaving your mouth as you mutter his name.

He tosses the shredded material aside, gaze remaining between your legs. “There’s my pretty cunt,” he mumbles, his voice low and filled with desire. He barely sticks the tip of his tongue out as he notices the glint of your wetness coating your folds.

You clench involuntarily at his words, not going unnoticed by him. He glances at you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Yeah? It’s mine isn’t it?” His voice is a seductive whisper, egging you on, as he watches your reaction.

You nod, a whine escaping your lips as you meet his gaze. “Yes, it’s yours,” you admit, the truth of your words resonating in the heated space between you.

George’s smirk deepens, satisfaction evident in his eyes. “Good girl,” he praises, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

He dips his head, his tongue finally making contact with your pussy. The sensation is electric, your back arching instinctively as your hips lift from the bed. His hands press you back against the mattress, splayed wide on your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you spread open.

His tongue flicks and circles your clit, driving you wild with need. George takes his time, savouring every moment as he gathers your wetness with his tongue, moaning against your cunt, the vibrations adding to your pleasure.

Your hand finds its way into his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you hold him close. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, your body arching into his touch as he brings you closer and closer to release.

George’s eyes flick up to meet yours, the intensity in his eyes sending another wave of pleasure through you. He moves one hand from your thigh to your cunt, collecting the slick between your folds. He coats his finger before sliding it inside you, the sensation making you gasp.

One finger quickly turns into two, pumping them in and out of you, matching the rhythm of his tongue. His fingers, long and skilled, find that perfect spot inside you, making you see stars. The pleasure builds rapidly, each thrust and lick driving you closer to the edge.

When he adds a third finger, your body reacts instantly, a cry escaping your lips. “George,” you moan, barely able to utter a warning before your orgasm crashes over you. Wave after wave of pleasure washes through your body, your muscles clenching around his fingers. You call out his name, your body trembling as he continues to work you through your climax, his relentless tongue and fingers not stopping until you’re completely spent.

He finally eases his fingers out of you, his mouth trailing kisses up your body, tasting the sheen of sweat on your skin. He reaches your lips, pressing a gentle kiss there, tasting yourself on his mouth.

You’re breathless, your body still tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. “I want you,” you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse from the intensity.

George’s eyes darken with desire, his own breath coming in shallow gasps. “I want you too,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. He leans back, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes, the sight of his naked body stirring a fresh wave of arousal within you.

George leans over you, positioning himself between your legs once more, but this time his hardened cock nudges your pussy. Sliding it between your folds, he slicks up his length with your cum, nudging your clit a few times with the tip, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Please, George,” you plead, your voice breathless with desire. “Stop teasing me.”

With a deep groan, George finally slides into you, filling you completely. He pauses for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the sensation, then almost pulls out before thrusting back in, taking your breath away. The sensation is overwhelming, your bodies perfectly in sync as he sets a brutal pace. Each thrust is powerful and deliberate, hitting the perfect spot inside you.

The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you intimately connected, lost in the moment. The room is filled with obscene sounds—gasps, moans, the slick sound of skin slapping against skin. Every thrust sends waves of pleasure through your body, each movement driving you closer to the edge.

George’s movements become more urgent, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he loses himself in the heat of your cunt enveloping him over and over. “You feel so good,” he mutters, his voice strained with desire and pleasure.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving marks as you cling to him. Your only response is a moan, your voice filled with raw need. The pleasure builds rapidly in your core, your body tightening around him, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

George brings his fingers to your lips. “Open,” he commands, his voice deep, his accent more prominent. You obey him, sticking your tongue out and taking his fingers into your mouth, sucking on them and muffling your moans.

His fingers, now slick with your spit, leave your mouth and travel to your clit. He pinches it between his fingers, then begins rubbing tight circles, the added stimulation making your body tremble. His other hand finds its way to your throat, applying just enough pressure to restrict a bit of oxygen entering your body. The combination of sensations makes you clench down on him, your body responding to every touch, every thrust.

George’s thrusts become even more frenzied, his grip on your throat tightening slightly. The pleasure is overwhelming, your body on a brink of another release so soon. His fingers on your clit, his hand on your throat, his cock filling you completely—it’s all too much.

“Cum for me,” he demands, his voice rough. “Cum for me, love.”

The command sends you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out his name, your body trembling as you cling to him, your nails digging into his skin.

George follows you over the edge, a deep groan escaping his lips as he reaches his own release. His thrusts slow down as he fills you with his cum, his body shuddering.

Pulling out, he collapses on top of you, his body spent but his arms wrap around you, holding you close. Your breaths are ragged, your bodies covered in a sheen of sweat but you stay entwined, savouring the closeness and intimacy of the moment.

After a few moments, George lifts himself off you, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead. He leaves the bed and returns with a warm damp cloth, carefully cleaning you up. His touch is soft and soothing, a stark contrast to the raw intensity you just shared.

As you lie there, your eyes drift to the clock, noting the time with a heavy heart. Only a few hours remain before sunrise. Though you keep your thoughts to yourself, a mental countdown begins, marking each fleeting minute as the fantasy edges closer to its inevitable end. For now, you push those thoughts aside, unwilling to let them intrude upon the closeness you’ve been granted.

George settles back into bed, drawing you into his embrace. His body is warm and reassuring, and he holds you close, as if trying to anchor you both in this fragile moment. His fingers gently stroke your hair, and his murmured words are soft, a soothing balm against the emotional rawness you both feel.

In his arms, you allow yourself to savor the love and tenderness that had been absent from your relationship, even though you know it comes too late. You stroke his cheek with your thumb, pulling him in for a kiss that’s slow and filled with an aching sadness. This kiss is not driven by the fiery passion of earlier but is instead a testament to the longing and melancholy that now defines your connection.

George tries to change the pace, his hands cupping your face as if to draw you back into a passionate kiss, but you resist, determined to let this moment linger. Each touch, each kiss, is a memory you wish to imprint deeply into your mind, a final, bittersweet echo of what might have been.

When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, eyes closed as if to shield yourself from the inevitable morning. The silence between you feels dense and heavy, like quicksand pulling you both deeper into an emotional mire. It’s a silence that speaks volumes, a quiet weight that settles heavily on your hearts.

His voice breaks through the silence, soft yet resolute. “I love you,” he murmurs, the words wrapped in a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

You take a shaky breath, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyelids. “I’ll always love you too,” you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper, yet filled with a depth of emotion that words alone can scarcely capture.

In that fleeting, fragile moment, you hold onto each other, letting the intimacy of your shared silence and the echo of your promises wrap around you like a bittersweet embrace. The world outside begins to stir, but within this cocoon of quiet, time seems to stand still, allowing you both to savor the final fragments of a love that was beautiful but not enough.

As the first light of dawn begins to creep through the curtains, a soft glow starts to illuminate the room. George remains close, his breathing steady and calm as he sleeps beside you, but you lie awake, your mind awash with the bittersweetness of the night.

The silence is no longer just a weight; it’s a space where every unsaid word and unresolved feeling seems to echo. You trace patterns on his chest with your fingers, savoring the warmth and the closeness while feeling the sting of impending farewell.

The morning light casts gentle shadows across the room, highlighting the contrast between the intense passion of the night and the tender, almost fragile peace of the morning. You take in the sight of George, his features softened in sleep, a small, wistful smile playing on his lips. It’s a reminder of the affection you’ve longed for, now tinged with the realization of its fleeting nature.

You let your gaze linger on him, the hurt and longing swirling within you. The memory of his touch and his kisses will linger, a beautiful ache that will accompany you as you face the day ahead. Each moment shared is a precious token to be cherished, even as you prepare to confront the reality of your separation.

Gently, you begin to disentangle yourself from his embrace, careful not to disturb him. The softness of the bed and the warmth of his body seem to hold you in a tender cocoon, but you rise, moving with a quiet grace. You dress in the dim light, each movement a silent farewell to the night that has just passed.

With one last look at George, you take a deep breath, trying to memorize the calm of his sleeping face, the last remnant of the passion and intimacy you’ve shared. You leave the room, stepping into the dawn, where the world is awakening and the day is ready to begin.

The fantasy of the night dissolves into the morning’s reality, but the memory of his touch and the echoes of his love will remain with you, a haunting yet beautiful reminder of what once was.

Taglist: @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @namjoonswaifu @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @wobblymug @bokutos-babyowl @chilling-seavey

[sweetpascal]

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 — 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

gif by: @richardgrimes

pairing: perv!stepdad!joel x fem!reader

summary: when you do the unthinkable, joel takes it upon himself to let out all of his anger and frustration onto you. the punishments that follow are ones that officially tear you apart and turn you into an unrecognizable girl.

warnings: MINORS DNI. DUB-CON. BIG AGE GAP [18/52], joel is VERY VERY VERY mean in this chapter, face slapping, hair pulling, hella manipulation, finger sucking, spanking as punishment [with his hand and belt], TW: isolation as punishment, TW: emotional abuse, joel spits on your face, oral [m receiving], TW: forced asphyxiation, joel has a very big dick ok, masochism, sadism, dacryphilia, kinda angsty ??

wc: 7.3k

notes: i felt kinda blah about this series cause i feel like i'm not making joel mean enough compared to how some writers write dark!joel (´•︵•`) so i got really sad and put all my emotions into this chapter as a coping mechanism and made joel REALLY fucking mean and just... a horrible and nasty man. trauma ?? i think so. ENJOY. ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

edit: i posted this later than expected UGH. expect two updates in one day.

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By the time you awoke, the space beside you in bed was vacant. You have no recollection of drifting off in Joel's embrace. As you rise, the fluffy blanket cascades down, gathering around your hips. Joel must have draped it over you once you had succumbed to sleep. The absence of his clothes on the floor and the chill of his side of the bed leave you questioning whether he stayed the night at all, stirring a sense of unease within you. He had done something new, something that made you feel good, and he wasn't here when you woke up. Why? Why wasn't he here? Why do you feel so cold all of a sudden? Was this something normal that men do? Embarrassed by the series of events from last night, you pull on your discarded panties and shorts.

The sunrise had not yet begun. Looking out the window, the sky displayed an almost purplish tint with the sun barely cresting the horizon. It was a cloudless sky, yet the faint chirping of morning birds could be heard from their respective trees. Unsure of the time, as Joel had confiscated your phone and you lacked an alarm clock, the day's start remained ambiguous.

As you tiptoe out of your room, you notice the house is completely quiet. Joel usually wakes up before dawn, but today, a faint snore drifts from his and your mom's bedroom. Moving down the hall, you gently push the slightly open door further. In the dim blue light filtering in from outside, you can just make out Joel's form. He's sprawled on his stomach in the center of the bed, clutching his pillow while your mom's lies abandoned on the floor. Shirtless, the sheets are drawn just below the dimples of his back. The bedside clock shows 5:22 AM.

"Daddy?" you whisper faintly into the darkness, pausing for an answer. Only his soft snores, muffled by the pillow, meet your ears. Drawing nearer, you notice Joel is lying on his good ear, the other affected by partial hearing loss. The urge to rouse him is strong, yet you hesitate, knowing these moments of peaceful rest are few for him.

The rumbling of your stomach makes you whimper. Joel usually prepares meals for you when asked. Your mother, however, rarely agrees, often reminding you that you're old enough to cook for yourself. But Joel always protests, saying, "I don't want your pretty little hands to get all cut up and burned." Perhaps he wouldn't mind if you made breakfast just this once. It would be a sweet gesture to surprise him with breakfast in bed. You wonder if your mom ever did something like that for him.

"I'm going to make breakfast for us, okay, Daddy?" you whisper, a bit louder this time, your hand hovering just above his broad back. You can feel the warmth radiating onto your palm. When he doesn't respond, only emitting another snore, you quietly tiptoe out of the room and gently close the door, cringing when it makes a loud noise at the last moment.

Descending the stairs, a sense of unease weighs heavily in your stomach. Alone, with dark blue hues filling patches of the vacant house and shadows stretching across the walls, you almost feel an invisible presence. You find yourself wishing Joel were awake to fend off the lurking shadows. Rushing to the kitchen, you flip on the light, blinking against the sudden brightness until your eyes adjust.

Opening the fridge revealed a lackluster array of dinner leftovers, several half-empty condiment bottles, an empty milk carton, and a bag of grapes beginning to rot. It was disappointing to find nothing inspiring to cook with. A glance at the stovetop clock showed it was 5:30. The local market would open at 6, and it was only a half-hour walk away. However, the prospect of walking that distance didn't appeal to you, dramatic as it might seem. Your eyes then fell upon Joel's truck keys and wallet in the bowl on the kitchen countertop. Surely, he wouldn't mind if you borrowed them for a quick shopping trip.

Right?

By the time you returned home, it was nearly 8 o'clock. The neighborhood had fully come to life. The groceries in the truck's backseat jostled with every gentle turn. A sinking feeling emerged at the thought of Joel's anger over you borrowing his truck without asking and taking some of his twenty-dollar bills. Yet, it stemmed from a desire to do something kind for him in gratitude for his good care during your mother's absence. An excitement bubbled within you, eager to burst.

You hadn't planned to be out this long, but losing track of time and procrastinating on your tasks is a frequent issue. Joel often chides you for this, playfully urging you to get your head out of the clouds and to come back down to earth. Your only hope is that Joel remains asleep, unaware of your absence. However, the missing money from his wallet, the extra miles on his truck, and the depleted gas are sure to give you away.

As you park the truck in the driveway, you notice the porch screen is wide open, though you remember closing it before sneaking out. Your heart sinks at the sight of Joel's daunting figure in the doorway, his gaze piercing through the windshield. It's a wonder the glass doesn't crack under the weight of his stare. Your pulse quickens, a flurry of nervous butterflies takes flight in your stomach, and your palms dampen with sweat as you clutch the steering wheel tightly.

Joel points at you and then to the ground at his feet, silently mouthing, "Now." He then vanishes back into the house, clearly pissed off. Fear grips you, making it daunting to leave the truck's safety. After six agonizing minutes, you gather enough bravery to step out, your breath hitching in your throat and almost making it difficult to breathe.

After hoisting the grocery bags into your arms and nudging the back passenger door closed with your foot, likely leaving a mark on the polished metal, you make your way to the porch with unsteady steps. The door stands slightly open, and you gently push it wider. As you spin around to close it, a hand reaches over your shoulder and slams it with such force that the house seems to shake. Startled, you yelp loudly as Joel grabs your arm firmly and pulls you into the kitchen, his long strides causing you to stumble over your feet.

"Sit your fuckin' ass down," he practically barks, pulling out a kitchen chair and slams it down. He pushes you toward the chair so forcefully that the grocery bags tumble down around you. As you land on the wooden chair, the impact from Joel's shove nearly expels all the air from your lungs.

He stands over you from your seated position, towering and nearly trembling with fury. Joel's hands are clenched into tight fists, his knuckles whitening under the strain. He scratches his jaw and paces, a low growl emanating from deep within his chest as the intensity in his eyes burns fiercer. You close your eyes, sitting motionless, bracing yourself.

"Are you out of your GODDAMN MIND?!" He bends down to scream in your face, his face contorted in a way that makes him look scary and so different from the usual angry Joel you normally see. This Joel was drowning in rage. His eyes were nearly black and the lines on his face deepened as he snarled in your face. "You fucking ANSWER ME!" One hand grabs the back of your hair and yanks your head back so fast that your nerve spasms, a shrieking cry escaping your lips. His other hand grabs your face and squeezes your jaw so tightly that pain blossoms throughout your gums.

"Stop, stop, stop, please, stop!" You're babbling in his face, thick tears sliding down your cheeks from the intense pain in your scalp, neck, and jaw. You could barely catch a breath from how hard you're crying. "Da-Daddy, p-please!" You're grabbing on both of his forearms, nails digging deep through his long shirt, no doubt leaving indentations.

Joel only grunts lowly, his breath heavy and fast. His hands squeeze tighter, and he roughly shakes your head, loving the way your face scrunches up at the pain he's causing. Then, he forcibly pushes your head away, releasing his hands from your knotted hair and your already bruising jaw. Tears streaming down your face, you draw your knees up to your chest for comfort and hesitantly reach for the back of your head, while your other hand softly caresses your jaw. Your eyes are wide, reflecting a state of shock and fear. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, his frown growing more pronounced as you quiver uncontrollably.

He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and flings it towards you. It strikes your knees and tumbles to the floor, unfolding just enough to reveal its barren interior.

"You take my fuckin' truck," Joel says in a low voice, trembling with anger. He steps back, his boots thudding on the floorboards. "You take my fuckin' money." At this point, you're nearly hyperventilating, silently cursing yourself for such a foolish act and expecting him to accept it. He goes on, his tone grave, "And you sneak out without telling me, huh? What, you want more freedom than what I'm giving you here?"

The anger that Joel feels is indescribable. It's coursing through his veins like heroin, poisoning his blood and gradually taking over his body. He doesn't know what to do, or even think. All that he can do is react. How stupid of you to think this was okay. How mind-numbingly idiotic it was of him to expect you to follow his rules and obey him like a good girl. As he looks down at you like smeared shit at the bottom of his shoe, there seems to be only one option left.

Before you can react, Joel has seized your arm and pulled you up from the chair, nearly dislocating your shoulder. His footsteps are long, resounding, and forceful. Tears continue to flow as he hauls you up the stairs. You stumble on each step, crying and sobbing, while you try to keep pace with him. Your knees are banging against every edge as Joel practically drags you up the steps.

"Da-Dad-dy!" Choking on your tears, you can barely see anything. Your vision is blurry, and your hearing is muffled. Every nerve in your body is on fire. "Pl-Please, Jo-el!"

"Get up, girl! C'mon. Get your fuckin' ass up!" He grunts through labored breaths, jaw clenching tightly as he drags your body by the arm up the last step. "I've had 'nough of you."

Suddenly, he kicks your bedroom door open, your heartbreaking cries falling on deaf ears. Your body is shoved into your room with enough force to make you collapse onto the ground. You're gasping for air, your fingers slick with sweat as they frantically claw at the rug, desperate to find something to hold onto.

Joel stands motionless in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you without a trace of emotion. Thoughts flood his mind, overwhelming him like a tsunami. Make her hurt. Make her cry. Make her beg for mercy. He retrieves a key from his front pocket and observes as you pathetically curl into a ball on the floor, your shoulders shaking violently while you cry into the carpet. His hand rests on the doorknob. Before leaving, he speaks in an unexpectedly gentle tone, "Until I believe you've learned your lesson, you're going to stay here, and you're going to think about what you did."

Then, he departs and forcefully closes your door. Amidst your heavy sobs, the sound of the bedroom door lock engaging is audible. Glancing over your shoulder weakly, you notice the doorknob has been altered from before. Gone is the twist lock, replaced now by a keyed lock mechanism.

The epiphany strikes with overwhelming force. Enclosed by a door that's locked and windows sealed shut, you find yourself imprisoned with no means of escape.

Unaware of how much time has passed, you stay on the ground, curled up, emotionless. The tears have stopped, leaving behind an empty stare. The night has already set in, shrouding your room in darkness from top to bottom. Joel's footsteps are audible everywhere, hardly silent. Whenever he approaches your door, there's a halt, a moment of stillness, and then the sound of his steps resumes. Undoubtedly, he was listening with his ear against the door. Each approach brought a heaviness to your heart and a sinking sensation in your stomach.

The aroma of garlic sizzling in oil drifted from the kitchen, prompting your mouth to water and your stomach to knot with hunger. You hadn't eaten since the night before. The clatter of pots and pans, either being used or stored away, brought tears to your eyes. "Stupid, stupid girl," you chide yourself. It was foolish to attempt a kind gesture for Joel, only to have it go horribly wrong. It was a rash and impetuous move. Now, he'll never forgive you for this. This realization has you weeping once more into the spit-soaked, tear-stained rug.

Engrossed in your thoughts, you fail to notice the door has come unlocked and now stands ajar, the hallway light spilling in and illuminating your huddled form. Joel pauses in the doorway, a plate of food in hand, and tuts softly at the pathetic sight before him.

"Sit up," he commands, making his way deeper into the dimly lit room. The sound of his rough voice had your entire body tensing and your quiet cries immediately halting. When you remain still, Joel becomes irritated and prods your hip forward with his muddy boot, leaving a mark on the pristine white dress you wore especially to surprise him. "I said, get your fuckin' ass up, little girl. Don't make me tell you again."

With trembling limbs, you gradually unfold yourself, grimacing as your muscles burn. Your scalp, jaw, neck, knees, and arms feel as though they are on fire. After hours of immobility and neglecting your aching body, the pain strikes you with overwhelming force.

Joel squats before you, emitting a soft grunt as his knees pop and his lower back tightens. In silence, he extends the plate of food between you both: parmesan garlic chicken, green beans, and red roasted baby potatoes. The aroma and appearance make your eyes widen, your mouth water, and your stomach rumble.

The moment your fingertips graze the plate's underside, Joel pulls it away and sets it on the ground. Your faint smile vanishes, replaced by a frown as you meet his stern gaze. He remains silent, his stare unwavering. Looking down at the plate, it dawns on you that there's not a fork, knife, or even a spoon in sight.

"Eat," he commands, his voice a quiet murmur. Joel's gaze is fixed on you, his eyes unblinking, his facial expression shifting subtly. The softness and tenderness that were once reserved for you have vanished. He never used to look at your mom the way he looked at you. But now, his gaze is identical. It leaves you feeling sorrowful and heartbroken.

Confused and very much embarrassed at not knowing what to do, you hesitantly reach out to grab the chicken with your bare hand. Joel's hand roughly clamping around your wrist and shoving it away prevents you from doing so. There was a surge of panic that shot through you like a shotgun blast.

"No," he snaps, his eyes narrowing and his scowl deepening. It's clear he's losing patience. Joel has no time for games. "Bend down… and eat," he commands.

There's a tense, heavy moment of silence as you thoroughly think about what he's telling you to do. Warmth spreads throughout your neck and rises to your cheeks before settling on the tips of your ears. Your heart plummets to your stomach. So, like an obedient little dog, you lower your head down to the plate on the ground and begin eating.

Joel smiles at your obedience, one hand gently petting your head and tenderly massaging the tendrils of hair connected to your scalp that he viscously yanked. He softly quiets you when you flinch and unintentionally whimper. He maintains the gentle, affectionate strokes of his hand through your hair, even gathering it into a ponytail to help you eat more comfortably.

"That's a good girl," he softly praises, settling onto his knees in front of you and using his other hand to gently stroke your jaw. "See how easy it is to obey Daddy? You just needed some of Daddy's tough lovin', huh?"

Is this what it was? Some tough love? You've never encountered that before, much less experienced it. Since you were never a problem child, discipline was seldom necessary. Maybe this is exactly what you needed to be a good girl for Joel. Maybe this tough love is what will help you do better and learn from your stupid mistakes.

As you continue eating, Joel finds himself slowly loving the sight of you eating like a fucking mutt in front of him. Knowing that he can push you so far as to do something like this excites him. His hand tightens in the makeshift ponytail he has your hair in, and his eyes darken. Letting out a whimper that was muffled from your food, you make sure to not complain about it to Joel. He was already upset with you from earlier and you really don't want to push it further.

"That's enough," he declares, his hand in your hair stopping your movements while his other hand takes your plate away, leaving half of the food untouched and uneaten. His hand pops you on the cheek when he hears you protesting, a pained yelp escaping your slobbered lips. He forces your head up to be eye level with his. "Listen to me, little girl. From this moment forward, Daddy will decide what you eat, when you eat it, and how much you can eat. Have I made myself clear?" His voice's tone is so authoritative that it holds no room for argument, not that you could muster one even if you wished to.

Nevertheless, you find yourself nodding within his grasp. Choosing not to protest was wise. Should this behavior be part of your punishment or his version of tough love, you certainly wouldn't want to witness him at full strength. Merely the thought was enough to make you shudder with fear once more. Joel was an incredibly strong man, often unaware of his own strength. He could break your jaw with one squeeze--he almost fucking did it this morning.

Joel mocks your nod. "Good," he hums, offering you a pleased smile as he lovingly strokes the apple of your cheeks. "Now, come to the bathroom so Daddy can brush your teeth."

Leaving your half-finished plate behind, you follow Joel into the hallway. You trail behind him aimlessly, your steps shaky and limping. He notices but chooses not to comment. It's for the best, a silent reminder that such consequences will recur if you act carelessly again.

Joel opens the door to the main bathroom and guides you inside with care. He lifts you with ease under your arms and sets you down on the countertop. A small squeak escapes from your chest, a sound that Joel finds adorable. He flashes a subtle grin and begins to wet your toothbrush, dabbing on the toothpaste. He shuffles between your thighs and thumbs your mouth open to start brushing your teeth. His actions brought you comfort, making you feel cherished and cared for. Even though you could have done it yourself, witnessing Joel display his nurturing side was touching. You longed to see more of this aspect of him, silently promising to be well-behaved with every passing minute.

"Alright, babydoll," he says as pats your thighs lovingly and rinses off your toothbrush after instructing you to lean over the sink and spit out the minty froth. "Now, get your butt back to your room and lean over the bed, panties off."

Joel notices the confusion spark in your eyes before it manifests in the furrowing of your brows. Your lips part to question him, but the words become stuck in your throat as his eyes darken and he gives a subtle shake of his head, tutting softly to himself.

"And here I thought you were goin' to start listening to me," he lets out a dark chuckle before invading your space with his strong chest pressing against yours. The force of the action causes your back to crash against the mirror, your head striking the glass while the sink spout presses into your lower back, causing discomfort and pain.

He bares his teeth just barely as he gets in your face, nostrils flaring and eyebrows furrowing, the storm brewing wildly in his eyes. Joel laughs gruffly as your eyes widen and you put your hands up in front of your body against his chest to protect yourself from his unpredictability. Oh, how cute. You were shaking under his hold like a frightened little bunny. Joel presses you harder against the mirror, no doubt forcing the sink spout deeper into your back. He grumbles pleasantly under his breath. He was causing this terrible fear clear as day on your face. The blooming bruises on your body are caused by his hands. The finger shaped bruises looked like a work of art on your delicate skin.

"Oh, babydoll," his breath fans across your face. He gives you a mocking pout, hushing you softly when the tears spill. "You're makin' it real hard not to paint that ass black and blue, you know that?"

Your bottom lip trembles and your body quivers, eyes shutting tightly as you mentally prepare yourself for Joel's next action. Tears spill and disappear underneath your aching jaw. He wipes them away at first, but when they keep sliding down, he wipes a tear-stained thumb across your lips before pushing the appendage deeper into your mouth and pressing down on your tongue.

"D'you taste that?" He asks you so quietly that you almost missed it. He's looking at his thumb between your lips and bites down on his own. Joel gazes into your wide eyes, which stare back at him as if he were the boogeyman. In a way, he is. "That's the taste of fear, sweetheart. Don't it taste fuckin' delicious?" The laugh he lets out is depraved, deranged, and delirious. With his thumb still in your mouth, he uses the other fingers to wrap under your chin before using that grip to force your head to move up and down roughly. "That's what I thought. Now, I ain't going to ask you again, babydoll. Take your ass back to your room and take off your fuckin' panties. When I get back, you better be leaning over the edge or so fuckin' help me God."

The mere threat was sufficient to send you scuttling down the hallway, pushing past Joel in a rush to get to your room. He watches you do so with a sadistic smile on his face. To see you react in such a way has him so fucking hard in his jeans. He cups a hand over the thickness and squeezes. There was a brief warmth pooling in his groin, and he let out a husky moan before his hand falls away. In due time, he silently tells himself.

Shaking, stuttering breaths were muffled in the bedding. You did exactly as you were told. The tips of your toes just barely skimming the rug, you were leant over the edge of the bed with your panties pooled at your ankles. One of your hands had blindly reached across the bed to grab onto your stuffed animal to curl an arm around it and press it against your side. The only comforting thing you can have at this moment that can hopefully ease the unsettling anxiety that won't go away.

Uncertain of how much time has passed, it might have been five minutes, ten, or perhaps even an hour. You caught a fleeting sound of Joel entering the room to retrieve your plate, then he left, securing the door with a lock behind him.

Long stretches of silence enveloped you, allowing the sound of your own heartbeat to echo mercilessly in your ears. It was a fleeting moment of tranquility before Joel determined his next move. In this stillness, sleep nearly overtook you, the exhaustion from hours of weeping creeping up silently. Then, the door unlocks, knob slowly turning. The ominous creaking of your door opening has you tensing as you hold your breath.

The steady stomp of Joel's footsteps enters your room before the door is shut behind him. The sight of you in a position that he demanded from you was driving him fucking wild. Panties at your ankles and your cute ass on display, the hem of your dress stopping just at the middle of your cheeks. He can see your pussy nearly calling out for him to play with her. But he can't, not at this moment. He needs you to understand that your actions, done behind his back, were unacceptable. They were reckless and dangerous—just the thought of it is enough to make Joel feel like punching a wall over and over.

"Now, what am I goin' to do with you, babydoll?" The question is rhetorical. He knows what he's going to do to you, but you don't. Leaving you in the dark of where his mind runs wild, keeping you pure from his deranged, perverted thoughts was for your own good. He intends to maintain a safe distance to prevent any critical harm, beyond what has already been inflicted.

The sound of Joel's voice has your hips shifting, your pussy lips just barely parted to give him a show of your exposed clit poking out from the hood that protects the exposed nerve. As he gets closer, he can see your stuffed animal in a headlock under your arm. How cute and pathetic.

"I gotta say, honey," he starts talking, his voice humorless and no longer holding that warm tone he previously had when he walked in. "It was adorable you thought I was done with you tonight. I mean, you really thought Daddy locking you up here was all that he was goin' to do?"

Unsure if the question was rhetorical or not, you still answered in a breathy voice, "Y-Yes, Daddy."

A smile makes its way onto Joel's face. "Yes, Daddy," he mocks your high pitched, breathy voice. The act of him doing so caused an embarrassed flush to warm your cheeks and ears. To be mocked made you feel so small. But that's what you are to Joel; this tiny, little thing that is so easy to crush in his big hand.

His groin rests against your ass cheeks, both of his hands lifting your dress higher until it pools around your upper back, further exposing your naked body to his eager eyes. The rough denim of his jeans and the cold metal of his zipper pressing into your backside made you hiss under your breath. Joel's hands hold onto your hips, forcing your body further onto the bed until your toes are no longer skimming above the rug, your feet now only dangling a few inches up.

"That's more like it," he grunts quietly, biting down on the plump flesh of his body limp when he sees goosebumps erupt on your soft skin. So, so fucking soft and untainted. As one hand pins you down at your lower back, his other hand gently rubs across your left ass cheek. Barely glancing at you to make sure you're prepared for what's to come, Joel mutters, "Brace yourself, sweetheart."

Then, he thwacks his palm across your skin. The force and strength of the smack made you cry out in surprise and pain. He smacks your other cheek with the same force. He does it again and again, back and forth, back and forth. Your legs kick behind you as fiery warmth blossoms along your backside. Your arm squeezes tighter around your stuffed bunny as you blindly reach a hand behind you to cover your bottom. Joel was quick to grab your wrist to pin it at your lower back.

He doesn't fucking stop spanking you. Not even when his own handprint is starting to show on your skin. He grunts with every thwack of his hand across your sensitive flesh. The cries that are forced out of you were music to his ears. Your backside feels like it's on fire underneath his wide palm; he doesn't know when to stop or ease up. The frustration and irritation from earlier were slowly making their way into Joel's mind.

"Bad." Smack. "Bad." Smack. "Fuckin'." Smack. "Girl."

Joel grunts like an animal as the smacks happen in quick succession. You're wailing into the covers, feet kicking weakly as you try so desperately to wiggle away from him. He won't stop. The pain is indescribable. It burns so badly, throbbing non-stop and feeling like a million needles are being stabbed into your skin. Your throat hurts from your pain-filled wails that are muffled into your bedding.

He's panting heavily and sweating. Wiping a forearm across his forehead, Joel removes his hands from your body, tilting one hand to the side to observe your marked ass. His handprints are on your skin, clear as day. He can feel the blazing heat radiating from your backside. But again, he's not done with you yet. And he tells you just that.

"Quit your fuckin' whinin'," he orders, both hands lowering to his thick leather belt to undo it from the hoops of his jeans. "We're not done until I say we're done." He folds the leather and snaps it together, the resounding sound causing you to cry harder in the sheets.

You learned your lesson. You know that you've been a bad girl. You know this. But the words fail to emerge, your voice and mouth unable to coordinate effectively enough to communicate with Joel. A tumult of emotions rages through your violently trembling body: fear, confusion, intense pain, and fatigue.

Folded, thick leather smacking against tender, angry skin is what forces a scream to erupt from your throat. With your bunny discarded, both hands desperately grab at your bedsheets to pull you away from Joel and his offending belt. You can faintly hear him sucking his teeth before one of his hands roughly yanks you back down by the back collar of your dress.

"Cry as much as you want to, babydoll!" he shouts through your pained wails. Then, the belt strikes across your ass repeatedly. Joel was barely giving you time to breathe through your tears and dribbling snot and drool that slides down your chin. "Kick all you want! Daddy ain't stopping!"

He lowers the position of the belt so that he can strike the back of your thighs as well. You're sure that after tonight, you won't be able to sit or speak for a very long time, for your vocal cords are nearly shattered from how hard and loud you were screaming, and Joel's hands and belt are bruising your backside. You're wishing that this torture will end. You're wishing that Joel will stop and hold you while you cry in his arms like a blubbering baby. Stop. Stop. Stop.

"Stop!" You screamed and screamed, both hands desperately reaching back to cover your backside. Everything burns. Everything feels like it's on fire. The pain only intensified when Joel tossed his belt aside and resorted to the palm of his hand again. "Please, please, stop, p-please!" Your speech now slurred and unrecognizable from thick tears, your hands claw at Joel's wrist, his hand wrapped around both of your own wrists to pin at your lower back again.

Only then does Joel snap out of it.

He's breathing so heavy that an innocent bystander would think that he was having a panic attack. Joel looks down at his creation and finally pulls his hand off of your wrists. Your arms go limp at your sides; you don't even bother trying to cover yourself. He looks at your backside, his thumb gently wiping away some blood that dotted around broken skin that was caused by his belt. He hums thoughtfully, bringing his thumb to his lips and licking your blood from the tip. In a day or two, your ass was going to be badly bruised and marked, all thanks to him.

"Such a sweet girl," he whispers, leaning down to press his nose behind your ear and inhaling deeply. Your body violently shakes underneath his chest. His groin is crushed against your horribly bruised ass, the pressure of it making you cry weakly, all the energy suddenly drained from you once he stopped abusing your ass.

Glancing down at his hard cock, now thick and pressing uncomfortably into his thigh, Joel decided now would be a good time for you to make him feel good. Though he knows you're not up for it, he doesn't fucking care. A darkness lurks within his mind, akin to an alter ego that commandeers his body, a monster in its purest form. This other facet of him is sadistic, vicious, and relentless. With you, it's so easy to fall into this second body. It's addicting. He can't stop, even if he knows this is wrong.

With a hoarse grunt, Joel grabs the back of your arms and yanks you off the bed to drop you down onto your knees. With a hand under your chin to keep your face pointed up to him, his other hand unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down, along with his underwear. He pushes both offending fabrics mid-thigh, sighing with satiated relief when his cock slaps up, nearly poking you in the eye.

You could hardly pay attention. Your eyes were unfocused and hazy, swollen lips parted to inhale and exhale shakily. You were so deep in another world that Joel had to roughly shake your head to bring you back down the earth. Unsure of why you feel so dizzy, you tried focusing on the pain in your backside that was still throbbing relentlessly, the burning fire now sizzling into a numb sensation.

"Tongue out," Joel demands roughly as he holds your hair into a makeshift ponytail with one hand as the other holds the base of his cock to tap his leaking tip against your lips.

Hearing his order, you look up at him with tear-filled eyes and do as you're told. You don't even know what exactly you're doing, but all you can hear in your mind is be a good girl and listen to him. Your eyes almost cross as you get a better look of his cock, and they widen comically. God, Joel was really long and thick. You wondered if all men were this size. It was intimidating to look at. You don't know if even less than half could fit in your mouth, let alone inside of you. Joel observes the revelation in your eyes and drops his left into a wink.

"Careful with your teeth, baby," his voice was gruff and strained, his mushroomed tip throbbing against your lips as his heavy balls tighten from the warmth pooling intensely in his groin. "Yeah, just like that."

His praise was something that you desperately needed tonight. Forgetting about the unrelenting abuse you endured on your backside, you can make it up to him by showing you that yes, you really are a good girl, and you will listen to him and do what you're told.

When you take too long to give Joel what he wants, he decides to take charge in one way that he knows how. Both hands grab either side of your head, forcing it to stay still as he shoves half of his cock into your mouth. Your eyes widened and you sputtered sloppily around his dick, your hands frantically fisting his jeans at his thighs. He grunts and groans, sweat pooling behind his neck and sliding down the line of his back.

"Goddamn," he hissed under his breath, moving his hips forward and back to start fucking your mouth with a brutal pace that has his balls slapping against your wet chin. "Born natural, ain't ya?"

Coughing and choking around his cock, you gagged and dry heaved as his thickness fills your mouth repeatedly. Spit dribbles down your chin and slides down your chest as you bite back the bile pooling in the back of your throat. Joel's breathing stutters for a split second at the sight below him. Your lips were obscenely stretched around his girth, eyes wide and glassy with thick tears just waiting to spill over. The sloppy, wet noises coming from your mouth nearly made him bust right in your mouth.

"Let me try somethin'," Joel mumbles to himself before roughly grabbing the back of your head and forcing your head all the way down until your nose and lips were crushed against his dark public hair. The contractions of your throat squeezing around his cock has him moaning gruffly at the ceiling, his head thrown back, Adam's apple bobbing in time with each moan that comes out.

Taking advantage of Joel's lax state, your nails dig into the thick meat of his thighs to push yourself off of him. His cock slips from your lips, strings of spit connecting from the enlarged tip to your puffy lips. You're coughing and dry heaving, your throat burning terribly. Joel looks down and grins wolfishly.

His hand languidly strokes his soaking cock. The sight of you struggling from his size was an image he wanted to engrave in his mind so he can watch it over and over again. He liked seeing you struggle. Hell, he fucking craves to see it again. Without giving you any time to prepare, he grabs the back of your head to force you down onto his cock once more.

The sopping wet choking sounds that are emitting from your throat are driving him insane. He wonders what would happen if he just...

Both hands roughly grab your head to yank you down until his cock goes down your throat again. This time, he keeps you there for a few, long, grueling seconds. You're sputtering wildly, eyes wide with terror as tears spill over your waterline. Your fists are weakly punching at his thighs, and you try to pull your head back, but Joel only crushes your head harder into his pelvis until your nose is pressed so deep into his pubic hair.

Joel grunts like a wild beast. "Just like that. Fuckin' choke on it." He sees your lashes flutter weakly, your eyes half-lidded and rolling into the back of your head. The lack of oxygen to your brain has your heart slowing dramatically. This is your death. Yeah, this is definitely how you're going to die: choking on Joel Miller's dick, also your mom's husband.

Suddenly, your head is pulled off and you're gasping for air like it's the last thing on earth. Your head is spinning and you're doubling over until your forehead is almost touching Joel's boots. Your throat burns and you can barely feel your tongue. This wasn't supposed to be happening. This is all your fault. You deserve this punishment. Bad girl. Bad, bad, bad girl. Slowly rocking yourself back and forth, you sniffle softly and take a weak glance up at him. A shadow almost casts over your face from where you kneeled, his long cock perfectly aligned below the ceiling light.

Joel bends down to lift you higher on your knees. His big hands gently hold your cheeks, and your eyes shut as this is the first tender touch you've felt in hours. You savor this moment, sniffling again and licking your bottom lip. Joel smiles sweetly, lowering his head to kiss your forehead, nose, and then your lips. A sweet little whimper reverberates against his lips. When he pulls away, he quietly instructs you to open your eyes, babydoll.

When you do, you're met with sweet, nice, tender Joel again. Have you really made it to the end of your punishment? Are you his good girl again? Is this really it? The moment doesn't last long. The smile on Joel's face vanishes gradually slowly. There's a sick feeling that returns back inside your stomach. This is going to be never-ending. This is your well-deserved punishment. Pain, pain, pain.

When Joel purses his lips, you flinch when a wad of spit lands on across the bridge of your nose and slides down your cheeks prettily. Your eyes open and your mouth drops. This was the most demeaning thing for him to do. Spitting on your face is a clear indication that you're nothing more than a personal toy for Joel to use. This whole entire night was of him showing you what you mean to him. The thought added a crack to your heart. All you ever wanted was to be good.

Joel's fingers filthily rub his spit all over your face, a crude smile on his face as he does so. His middle and index fingers are shoved into your mouth, the pads of his fingertips covered in his slick and are now laying against your wiggly tongue. "There we go," he breathes out, gently prodding his fingers further down your throat until they brush against your uvula, causing you to gag and sputter.

You barely have enough time to react before he's yanking his fingers from your mouth and landing a smack to your cheek. It almost sends you flying to the side if it weren't for his hand holding onto the other side of your face. Joel hushes you quietly when your eyes shut tightly, fire spreading across your face.

"This is for your own good, babydoll," he whispers against your forehead, pulling away to pop your cheek again, and then landing another smack to your other cheek. He shushes your pained cries again, giving you a messy, tongue-filled kiss. You can't stop crying against his mouth, snot, spit, and tears all over your face. The anguish won't diminish. It gets stronger and stronger the more Joel breaks you apart little by little.

His hands curl into your hair, tightening into fists and yanking your head back a few inches from his face. His eyes darken as he sees the fear in your beautifully broken eyes. He spits on your face once more, trailing his eyes over the artistic splatter across your nose and cheeks. His cock, still rock hard and soaking wet, hangs out of his jeans.

Joel is a patient man. In due time, you and he will finally become one. Whether you liked it or not, you were his--his to use, his to play with, his to destroy. You don't have a voice anymore. Joel Miller broke you apart with his bare hands and left you scrabbling to pick up the pieces.

taglist:

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @heyhihello-4771 @blueberrypancakesworld @codenamekitten @natalieispunk @koshkaj-blog @giowritess @beardropascal @pascaltesfaye @callmeafra @nexy00 @josephquinnswhore @baronessvonglitter @peelieblue @paanchusblog @b3bybunny @sugadolly @ktluvsmen @elliesr1fle @taeslarityy @yourgirljasmin444 @laloestoyvivo @aquanatalie @vickie5446 @cowboybootjoel @olicity-boo @ashleyfilm @withakindheartx @puduvallee @psychoenergy @chuutzuyu

[adverbally]

Let the Stars Fall

Written for the @steddiemicrofic September prompt “Shower” | wc: 399 | rated: G | cw: none | tags: early established relationship, post-S4, Orionid meteor shower, stargazing, pure cosmic fluff | title from “Meteor Shower” by Cavetown

———

The “shower” in “meteor shower” is a little exaggerated, Steve thinks. It’s more of a sprinkle, a streak of light shooting across the sky every couple minutes, but it’s breathtaking regardless.

Hawkins doesn’t have much light pollution, so he and Eddie drive into the hills and camp out for a good view. The late October night is cool but they’re warm in their cocoon, having zipped their separate sleeping bags into one quilted pocket where they can curl up together against the chill.

When their eyes adjust and the Milky Way coalesces into view, Steve gasps. He’s never been one for stargazing or astrology or whatever Robin called it, but he has to admit that the night sky is a gorgeous sight, sparkling and swirling above them. It’s colorful, too, not black and white like he tends to imagine but deep blue and purple fading into orange near the horizon, freckled with blue and orange and green stars. There’s a beauty to it, big and small, dark and bright at the same time, that Steve can barely wrap his mind around.

More importantly, there’s a beauty to Eddie excitedly pointing out constellations, explaining the mythological stories behind them, talking through the most notable stars and planets for this time of year. It’s a lot to keep track of, but Steve tries to commit as much as he can to memory: Orion’s belt, the bright stars that compose his left shoulder and right foot, the Winter Triangle, the nebula that Eddie assures him is right there, where his sword would hang.

Once they glimpse the first meteor, they fall silent, eagerly awaiting the next one’s appearance. Some of them paint a radiant trail that lingers, while others blink in and out of sight so quickly that Steve wonders if he imagined them. When two appear in quick succession, Steve thinks about Eddie’s hand in his, the way they can’t seem to get close enough, the way they gravitate toward each other in an orbit neither of them wants to break.

When Steve flicks his gaze over to Eddie, he’s gazing right back, looking more awed by Steve than by the meteor shower. Eddie’s eyes twinkle, shining brighter than Betelgeuse and Rigel, and his lips are cold when Steve kisses him, and this thing between them is still new but it feels as infinite as the universe stretched out above them.

[a-killer-obsession]

G, P, U 12 or 14+15 or all three?👀👀

Two Silly Boys

Prompt: Degradation/Sex Pollen/Unbearable

Additional Tags: afab reader, she/her pronouns, begging, oral (receiving), ass eating (receiving), petplay dog/master, double penetration (anal + vaginal), anal fingering, outdoor sex, semi-public sex

WC: 2.8k

Event Masterlist

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

Going out to sea to explore the world was something you'd dreamed of doing since you were a child, so when captain of the Heart Pirates, Trafalgar Law, offered you a place on his crew as their resident botanist you happily accepted. Much like you, Law was a healer, but while he practised modern medicine, you used more traditional methods. It was one of the reasons he was so keen on having you join, he'd come to learn the hard way several times in his journey that modern medicines and remedies weren't always available, and while he knew a little about the botany in North Blue and how to use it to heal, the flora of the Grandline was a whole different ordeal. He wanted to learn from you, as well as teach his crew how to stay safe when there were so many unfamiliar and dangerous plants in the New World. Born and raised on the Grandline, New World flora was your specialty, and you were happy to share your knowledge. In truth, it was nice to have someone who cared enough to listen.

Being botanist to the Heart Pirates did have its downsides though, namely two of them: Shachi and Penguin. You couldn't possibly fathom how no matter how many times you scolded them, they always ended up in the infirmary after touching or eating a plant that they shouldn't have. It drove you insane, you swore next time they needed a healing tincture that you'd just let them suffer. The two of them never learned, and somehow it always fell to you to fix their mistakes, because they didn't want the captain to literally rearrange their limbs for being such idiots.

A new uninhabited island loomed on the horizon, docking procedures already underway, and you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose, having no doubt you'd be seeing them in the infirmary later. You gave the crew the usual talk; don't touch or eat anything without checking with you first, don't pick anything, don't stomp on mushrooms even if they look cool and squishable. You hoped the trouble makers were listening but you knew they weren't. Once docked, you spent the afternoon with the crew, exploring the island and collecting herbs and flowers that you knew had medical uses and gathering them carefully in a basket. You were especially delicate with a flower you recognised as having use for treating libido and erectile issues, you had no use for it but you thought Law might be interested in its properties for the way it increased blood flow, so you carefully picked several and placed them in an airtight jar.

You returned to the ship to store and organise your forage, setting some aside for drying and making notes and sketches in your journal about the variety of flora on the island. Forage sorted and put away, you left the ship again for a more causal, exploratory wander. The others had declared after a thorough search that there was no danger on this island, there were barely any large animals at all which meant the only predators were too small to truly endanger a human. Confident you were safe on your own, you wandered into the forest. You weren't worried about getting lost, you had an exceptional sense of direction and worst case the island was only about a three hour walk wide, you would appear on a beach eventually if you walked in a straight line, and from there you could just circle it to the ship.

An hour into your leisurely walk and the sound of moaning caught your attention. At first you thought you'd accidently stumbled on a few crewmates taking advantage of the dense forest, and turned to leave and give them privacy, till the moans mixed with pained curses and desperate cries. They sounded like they were injured so you hurried towards the sound, already pulling off your backpack to grab your emergency supplies. You skidded to a stop when the crewmates came into view though. The troublemakers, who else. What shocked you however was their current predicament. Naked as the day they were born, covered in a sheen of sweat, dicks in each other's hands, desperately pulling at each other. You weren't sure you'd even seen them without their signature hats before, Shachi's orange-brown hair falling over his face in sweat slickened strands, Penguin's short black hair dusted with dirt like he'd at some point been laying down.

“Yes, yes, yes, noooooooo,” Penguin cried out, so close to an edge but unable to topple over it. He shoved Shachi hard, instigating a round of aggressive fighting, uncaring of their nudity as they fought in the dirt. “You're not doing it right!”

“Neither are you!!” Shachi yelled back, kneeing him in the gut, “how hard could it possibly be to make another dude cum!”

“Ask your fucking self, useless prick!” Penguin decked him with a solid punch right to the jaw and Shachi quickly returned it with his own, the two best friends shocking you with the force they laid into each other and spat insults, covered in bruises, their erect cocks bouncing with every movement.

“CUT IT OUT! BOTH OF YOU!” you snapped at them, emerging from the treeline and grabbing them both by an ear, pulling them away from each other as they winced at your hard hold. “What the fuck is wrong with you two?”

You could barely understand a word they were saying as they both yelled over each other, not even bothering to cover themselves. You caught something about hiking, something about a dare maybe? And ah… a flower. Of fucking course.

“Stop, stop,” you sighed, releasing them to run hands down your tired face, “did you two idiots touch a flower? Yellow? Pink tips? Six pedals?”

“We uh..” Penguin started.

“...we ate it,” Shachi finished. You let out a pained groan, throwing your head back. God, these fucking two, you wanted to scream.

“HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU TWO IDIOTS NOT TO TOUCH THINGS?!” you shouted, the two of them now cowering at your feet. You couldn't help but notice the way the subtly touched your legs, it was the effects of the flower no doubt. “Why the fuck did you eat it?”

“It smelt nice!” Shachi wined, “and it tasted sweet so Penguin ate one too”

“But then we… got… hard,” Penguin sighed.

“How long have you dumbasses been out here jerking each other off?” You sighed.

“... three hours,” Shachi whined, practically nuzzling against your leg. You couldn't help the electricity it sent to your core, you'd never seen just how muscular the two of them were under the boilersuits, not to mention their sizable cocks. Nothing quite like two muscled men on their knees to get a girl going.

“What do we doooooo [y/n]?” Penguin cried, nestling against your other leg, the two of them each claiming a leg and running their hands up them as they knelt in front of you.

“The flower you two idiots ate is a powerful aphrodisiac,” you explained, allowing them some small relief by scratching their scalps, making them let out little whines. God, they were like animals in heat. “The flower relies on the wildlife around it to eat the flowers so their nose spreads pollen from one plant to the next. It encourages the production of said wildlife by setting them into a breeding frenzy. More animals means more opportunity to spread pollen. You two knuckleheads are no smarter than a wild boar, its working exactly as intended”

“So what do we do?” Shachi whined, “we… we tried doing it ourselves, we tried helping each other, but we can't… we can't finish”

“That's because the flower wants you to breed,” you sighed, “for a mammal with a phallus, you need to finish inside another. If you were females, you'd need someone to finish inside you. Men have died from this you know? You'll keep going till you either do what the flower wants, or until you drop dead”

“So we just… have to fuck?” Penguin asked coyly.

“Yup, good luck fellas,” you shook them off your legs and turned to leave, “don't forget to warm each other up first!”

“Wait… no!” Shachi looked at Penguin and almost cried, “we're not into men! I'm not doing that!”

“Speak for yourself…” Penguin muttered.

“Shut up Peng!” Shachi shouted, shoving him and setting off another fist fight, “you're not fucking my ass! Or my mouth for that matter!”

You made an annoyed groan as you pulled them off each other again, the two of them quickly reclaiming your legs, more aggressive with their touches now, hands travelling past the hem of your skirt.

“Let us fuck you! Please!” Penguin begged.

“We'll make you feel so good, I promise!” Shachi added. You rolled your eyes at them but couldn't deny the arousal pooling between your legs as the two men begged for you and ran hands up your thighs. It was a tempting predicament. You weren't sure anyone had ever helped two pollen victims before either, it could be interesting research to observe how they interacted with each other. Would they work together? Would they fight for dominance? It was a fascinating proposition.

“Fine,” you relented, parting your legs slightly, “but you two pathetic boys better make me cum till I see stars or I'm telling the captain”

They didn't even bother to give you a verbal reply before they were all over you, running their tongues up your legs and tugging at your clothes. Shachi stood and pulled off your shirt as Penguin unzipped your skirt, letting it fall to the ground. They were like rabid dogs as they saw your underwear, and they made quick work of it, Shachi removing your bra, sucking on your breasts and groping them roughly as he stood beside you, while Penguin tugged down your panties and pulled you to rest your core on his face. You had to rely on Shachi to keep you upright as Penguin pulled your leg over his shoulder, and you cried out as he immediately drove his tongue between your folds, lapping at you like a parched dog, messily licking up any slick he could find and bullying his tongue inside you to find more.

“Fuck, Peng,” you moaned, hips rolling as you rode his tongue, “just like that, fuck. Who knew such a dumb, useless dog would have some use? Good dog, lap me up good,” Penguin moaned into you at your words, doubling his efforts, and you swore you heard him bark against your pussy.

“Am I a good dog too?” Shachi whined, letting your breast go with a pop to look at you with needy eyes.

“I don't see you eating your food like a good boy,” you huffed, “get on your knees and I'll see if you're worth my time”

Shachi dropped to his knees behind you, making a definite bark before pulling your cheeks apart and running his tongue against your asshole. If he had a tail, you had no doubt it’d be waggling. You shivered at the wet muscles lapping at you, feeling the way the two men's tongues occasionally met between your legs as they ate you out from both sides, Shachi's tongue bullying its way inside your tight hole. You reached one hand back to hold his head for support, a hand buried in each man's hair as they made growls and sloppy sounds against you, their cocks twitching untouched as they serviced you.

“Good dogs,” you purred, “fuck, gonna cum right on your faces, hnng~”

Penguin made a excited sounding yelp as you gushed on his face, and you cried out as Shachi took the opportunity to slip a finger in your ass, spitting on it and adding a second, your whole body tingling as he finger fucked you through your already intense orgasm. The two of them didn’t let up, Shachi’s tongue running over your ass and thighs before adding a third finger, stretching you open so you could take him.

“Good dogs,” you panted, barely able to keep yourself upright with the way your legs were quickly turning to jelly, “the two of you have worked hard, now show me how feral you are and come fuck me”

They moved faster than you could comprehend, working in tandem to get you in position so they could both fuck you. You expected them to lay you down, but instead Shachi lifted you so Penguin could slide inside your pussy, making you gasp at how fast he went to the hilt, before Penguin grabbed you himself and you wrapped your limbs around him. Shachi held your hips steady as he lined himself up with your ass, then he spat on his cock pumped it a few times to spread it. You held your breath, wincing a little from the stretch as he slid inside you slowly. They both held you still for a moment to adjust, the three of you panting heavily, both boys working hard to hold back and not just immediately slam into you. You gave them a small nod to let them know you were ready, mentally bracing yourself for what you knew would be a rough fuck given the effects of the flower. Shachi held your hips bruisingly tight, Penguin supporting your thighs, and the two of them began working in sync to lift and drop you, using you like a toy to get themselves off as they made deep thrusts in time. Between the strength of the two of them you were practically weightless, thrown around like a ragdoll as they grunted like rabid animals and fucked you mercilessly hard. Every hard thrust knocked the wind out of you till all you could do was whine as they used your body, quickly bringing you to orgasm again. Liquid dripped down their thighs from your release, wetting the dirt below you, the sound of them fucking your holes making sloppy sounds that echoed in the trees mingled with your collective moans.

“So good, good dogs,” you moaned, your tits squeezed against Penguin’s hard pecs, sweat making the three of you sticky as it collected between your bodies, your back pressed against Shachi’s front.

“Cum for us again, please,” Penguin whined.

“Need it. Need to feel you cum again,” Shachi added, his teeth grazing your shoulder.Penguin leaned back a little so he could rub your clit hard with his thumb, and you felt yourself spiralling.

“Fuck, fuck,” you cried, “cumming”

The two of them made deep groans that vibrated through you as they felt you squeeze around them, unable to let out your own moan from how hard you were cumming, the air entirely knocked out of you. All you could do was shake and see white dots in your vision as the two of them unloaded inside you, finally finding relief from the flower as they gave it what it wanted. The amount of cum they put in you was immense, another side effect of the flower, your two holes immediately dripping with white as they pulled out and held you steady while you found your footing and you practically collapsed against Penguin’s chest. Shachi grabbed the tank top he usually wore under his boiler suit and shook the dirt off, then he used it to do what he could to clean the impressive amount of collective fluids from you, your legs shaking and threatening to give out as he dragged it carefully through your oversensitive core. Penguin continued to wordlessly keep you upright while Shachi dressed himself, then they switched. Once the two of them were dressed they helped you, laying soft kisses and gentle, thankful caresses over your body as they pulled your clothes back on, before Shachi lifted you into a bridal hold.

“So what did we learn?” you yawned as they started to carry you back to the ship.

“Eat strange flowers,” Shachi gave you a shit eating grin. You smacked him hard on the chest and he pouted.

“I’m telling Law,” you threatened.

“Please don’t!” Penguin begged, “I promise not to dare Shachi to eat weird plants, and I pinky promise to not eat any myself!”

“Shachi?” you raised a brow. He rolled his eyes and readjusted his hold on you, making you squeak as you were jostled.

“Fineeeee,” he groaned, “I promise not to eat any more random flowers, even if they get me laid”

“I could have just let you die you know,” you huffed.

“I won’t do it again!” Shachi yelped as you pulled hard on his ear.

“Good dog,” you smiled.

“Woof!” they both replied.

[essentiallyleaf]

day 24. car sex. with. ningning.

1286 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, car sex, Z O O M I N, deepthroating, semi-public sex, a bit of classic existential dread.

notes.

it is so fucking late i gotta go. speedily, leaf.

It’s at times like these that you want to treasure the most precious resource you have. The sun just sank down the horizon of Alpha-Earth, giving the sky this vibrant, electric aura, from the golden and pastel blue West to the indigo East. Hundreds of headlights leave long trails of yellowish white and rusty red all along the highway, almost as if the lines were already there, and the cars just following their predetermined paths. Your right foot pushes down, getting closer and closer to the asphalt. They can call you old-fashioned, but you love the growl of the rear combustion engine, the sound of rubber on tarmac. Time. They say it gets slower as you approach light speed, you’re far from it, but it’s almost like the clock’s hands move slower as the speedometer needle reaches new peaks. Nothing feels as close to God as this. The car takes a life of its own, and you wish you could simply close your eyes and, feel. The thrill you get when you’re on top of a tall building, and part of you wants to take a step. Those are also just passing moments, you think as you lift and return to cruise speed.

Ningning is beside you like she, sometimes is. Her hand falls on your pants-clad dick and starts rubbing like it does almost every single one of those times; the other times you’re already naked. Not the first time this happens in the car, even at high speed, so you simply turn auto-pilot on (they forced everyone to install it even on cars built before 2035) and let your head fall back in pleasure as she reaches inside your underwear to caress your bare length. Your right hand naturally goes to her almost naked back, needing to feel her skin under your finger pads.

She doesn’t dress to impress; sometimes she doesn’t dress at all. And the navy skintight rags she’s wearing today, well, those almost qualify as the latter. You’re in your usual attire, combat boots, cargo pants, the ones that tighten at the ankle, a close-fitting long sleeve shirt and a windbreaker. She needs your help to lower your pants and underwear, then goes back to stroking your cock, spitting on it for lubrication and reaching down to fondle your scrotum from time to time, causing you to moan up towards the roof of the car.

“Mmmh- Ning?”

“Huh?”

“Mind speeding the process up a little?”

Ningning likes to take her time, you learned that long ago. To make you look at her as she pulls the little lever on the side of your seat to move it backwards, positions herself between your legs, and stamps one long wet kiss on your tip. Or to observe people strolling at the night market, mothers buying their sons balloons, couples eating tanghulu (“You can tell if they’re good kissers just by looking at that” “Want to try with me?” “There’s a more hands-on way”; that was your first shared kiss, and it was more than just hands, on one another’s bodies after that). Right now her blue-tinted eyes are on yours, as her mouth surrounds more and more of your cock and she starts to feel her eyes watering and her lungs lacking air. She resists for almost fifty seconds this time - a good one, though not in her top five - drawing more than a groan from you before she has to back out and seek for oxygen.

“Are you okay?” She nods quickly, her hands cleaning up some of the drool that has accumulated on the sides of her mouth. “I need you right now, Ning.”

Ningning smiles and snorts lightly like she has you in the palm of her hand, and at the same time she has to concede this one to you. You stare at her open-mouthed as she somehow rids herself of her clothes, revealing her supple breasts and thick outer lips to you, and only thanks to your tinted windows not to any car around yours. She straddles your lap and wraps her arms around your neck to kiss you deeply while you grab onto one of her plump thighs with one hand and align your shaft with her already wet slit with the other. Her eyes are finally closed as she focuses on the feeling of your tip swiping up and down her vulva, brushing on her clit at every passage.

She’d been looking outside for almost all the trip, scrutinizing every detail of the gray and neon skyline of Nu-Seoul. Ningning has always had her own, unique wide-angle lens on the world. She has a little plant shelf right below her window in her apartment. It’s in one of those old, gray, samey buildings they were plopping one next to the other back when a growing world population wasn’t just a myth; the place is small and the plaster falling apart. One day she was sitting in front of the window, staring at the new little blossoms on the orchid, or at the bland, shiny neons on the skyscraper behind it, you couldn't really tell.

“Do you ever feel like the world is moving too fast for you?” She asked, sounding dispirited.

“I try to stay on pace”

“I feel… impotent. Like there’s nothing I can do, to change it”

“Do you think it’s on you to change it?”

“I think it’s on me to try.” She turns her gaze towards you, you let out a little sigh.

“When it’s just the two of us,” You sit beside her and wrap your arm around her back. “We can make what we want of our time. Make it speed up, slow down… It’s just ours. No one will ever take that away from us”

What you’re making of it now is pumping your dick in and out of her pussy while gripping onto her full asscheeks while she whimpers in your mouth at the sensation of her hole being stretched. She loves that feeling like she loves the feeling of wet grass on her feet when it’s raining, though meadows are but a distant memory in a city eaten by cement and desolation. Her soft, tight walls squeezing you in a humid embrace. You were wrong; this is what makes you feel like you’re touching the Infinite, reaching Eternity. Ningning moaning in bliss on your lips, on the crook of your neck, on the headrest of the driver’s seat. Her hands not finding rest, switching between your pecs, your jaw, your hips, and her own heat, digits circling at frenzied pace on her clit. You speed your thrusts up, time slows down. It’s a race ending in a photo finish; you can see the end, it’s close for both parties, but you never seem to reach it. Take a look at her pleasured state, savor the moment. Savor her tits as well, feast on them, then slap her ass once, twice. She wasn’t expecting it, her instinctive reaction is to drag her pelvis forwards towards you, giving you a different angle to attack. Exploit that to hit every crevice, every little patch you weren’t able to before, and as she contracts around you in one long, then multiple short and rhythmic flexes of her lower abdomen, each accompanied by a scream that fills the entire cockpit, you have your own release. Spill cups and cups of milky substance into her womb, every spurt coinciding with an upwards thrust and a small bite on her shoulder, as you continuously groan in complete bliss. Then it’s silence, a second, or an eternity, it doesn’t matter anymore, before she talks again.

“Back seat for round two? I want it from behind”

-

footnotes.

now i can’t unsee the asthma periods. you cursed me @erospandemos. gaspingly, leaf.

[the-monkeies-girl]

Okay but what about 40. with Caesar?

40. Missing them.

The corners of your eyes felt like they were raw from severely tugging at them for the last few hours, crying themselves into submission as there were no more salty tears resting there but it was clear that the threat of more remained right at the horizon. Tilting your head just enough to dig your face into the fabric of your oversized jacket, your lungs urged themselves into reminiscence.

The piece of clothing, scavenged by Caesar so many years ago for you after you had once complained of the chill that shrouded the Colony on the cliff face, your fingers carding themselves through a thicket of blond long hair, the young child seated between your legs perpetually silent but accepted the brushing of her hair and it appeared to be a great comfort in a realm where mourning looked incredibly different for two adjoining species. There was only a lingerance of musk on your jacket now, the brushing of shoulders throughout time only able to catapult enough of him onto you to relish in the last few faded minutes you were able to stay rational about the entire situation. 

Maurice, in all his shimmering orange and red glory, was seated next to you in admiring silence, gazing upon the lushed land with his small beady and green eyes.

‘This…' Maurice chittered with grief and rolled his shoulders a bit to get your attention but you were refusing to even twist yourself from your position, only keeping it together long enough for Nova who did not need to see the only other Human here break down in a fit of grief stricken anger. ‘What Caesar would have wanted.’

You could see the sign of his large hands out of your peripheral as Nova rose and gave you a flashed smile of thanks for you taking time to groom her as if you were an Ape yourself, you gave a curt nod as she looked over at Bad Ape with her blue gaze, heart crushing at the idea that… They reminded you of Blue Eyes’.

They were such a nice change from the green and golden flecks you were so used to having been with the Colony for so long but with them carried the last bit of remembrance you had of the step-son you adopted when Caesar had chosen you as his mate. Maternal instincts never rested easily with you but you watched as she fluttered so easily down the rock face to greet her friend. Heart sinking into your chest, you didn't know how to respond to the orangutan as you looked upon them and then to the few other Apes in the area as they began work on a new Colony locale. 

Yeah… This was what Caesar wanted. He kept himself alive to see it come to fruition, he kept himself here to see… To see his people coming to their promised land, your eyes unable to even tear themselves against the backdrop of the landscape as a choked cry hit the back of your throat. There was no way to enjoy it without him; without his shoulder brushing against yours and whispering that things were finally okay, that you were safe and he would no longer let the other relics of Humanity pose a threat to any of them, their futures secure and peace garnered rightfully so after years upon years of War and carnage. 

It’s… What he wanted, your mind tried to convince itself and instead began convulsing in on itself like a walnut being shelled by the most vicious set of canines to exist. 

‘He’s not here.’ You signed with a wave of melancholy. ‘He’s not here to see his people, Maurice. What was the point!?”

There was nothing but silence from the Ape beside you as you dropped your hands and began to tightly coil yourself into a ball, refusing to even let Caesar’s most cherished friend see you break and crumble down right in front of him. The sob that racked through you was vacant of all noise, drawing your forehead down to kiss your arms that you had folded around your kneecaps to keep yourself secure.

There was no more of him; He was burned. Gone. To be forgotten, even though Maurice told you otherwise. There would be a book he’d write, the ways of Caesar but what good was that going to do you when all you wanted was for him to be manifested in front of you, his broad and barrel chested nature sweeping you into the familiarity of his fur. Words never spoken in those moments as you curled into Caesar’s chest and flushed your hands into his body. Your home, your mate… Never again, your fingernails dug themselves into the fabric of your jacket as you rocketed a small escaped cry.

“I miss him, Ma-Maurice…” Wiping your eyes against your forearms, you looked over at him and felt the flooding come down the side of your face instead of the straight shot they had been taking down and off your chin to mix into the virgin ground below, never before touched by Apes but now being tarnished into a new safe haven. “W-What… am I going to do…?”

There was languid silence that dripped from the two of you, the obvious nature of Maurice’s body giving you indication that he was processing and thinking of your words and a suitable answer. ‘Normal to miss him,’ Maurice’s face dropped to meet yours, comfortingly as you looked right into his gaze. ‘But… Need to know that… Caesar would…’ There was obvious contemplation as he raked his brain for the correct phrasing, something soothing and something gentle you hoped, that’s all you wanted in the absence of Caesar. ‘Want you to carry on… Much like Ape will.’

“It’s so hard.” Your voice was barely a touch above a whisper, “Maurice, I can… Can’t…”

‘Caesar would want… you to be strong.’

With your bottom lip trembling, you brought your gaze back forward and finally took in the view of the perch you were seated against. The bustle of the Apes, all mourning in their own unique way, all tired from the journey and all tired of the War that had finally come to a draw, the final consequence being the loss of their home and the loss of Caesar himself. You knew what Maurice said was correct. They were going to move on, to never forget the ways of their first leader. Apes together… Strong. Ape… do not kill Ape. 

You could hear the baritone in your mind as you shut your eyes and felt the tears seep down from your eyelids. Imagination ran rampant as you could feel the hardened nature of Caesar’s finger pads against your cheek as if he were wiping them away of any sorrow, any semblance of agony swept grief. How were you meant to be strong when everything you had loved since the Simian Flu took place was torn out from under you. 

Funnily enough, you laughed bitterly, your shoulders racketeering with that as you looked over at Maurice again. The flu was the start of the demise. From your family and friends, to your mind as you felt insane alone in the woods until Caesar found you and gave you refuge.

To the nights of conversations with him about the way things were, about the way that things could be for the future of the Apes. To the one early twinkle of dawn when he had pulled you into him while you were preparing to set up communal breakfast with Lake and admitted that even though years had passed since Cornelia, he was willing to try once more and made you his that morning before the sun made itself known against the sky; obvious that he had been up all night previously before marking the decision as finite. 

All of that…For a Human. For someone that took everything from him over and over again. All of these memories encased in an hourglass that was counting down to the unknown destination you were all sinking towards.

You felt guilty. You felt sickened. You felt greedy for taking from him things you felt you didn't deserve. Maybe… If you didn't take it all, if you gave more than he was blessing you with, he’d be here with you to remind you that you did give back enough, you gave back his heart, you have back a reason to fight a War that was raging within himself and against the scarred woods. 

You felt… Lonely. 

“Do you think… There was ever a… path to take where… Ca-Caesar would be here?” You uncoiled yourself and propped until you were on your hands and knees and frenzied between Maurice’s seated body, close enough to grab at his forearms and hike yourself against him. He did not move, letting you take in stride the actions that were obviously from the deepest recesses of your brain that were able to coincide with conscious decision making. You were a bit more adamant this time as you were barging straight into the aspect of anger that subsided in grief itself, needing an answer to something that had no inquiry to begin with. 

As something is brought into this world, it could be taken at a moment's notice. “Something I could have done? Something any of us could have done? Do--- You… think if I took Blue’s place he’d still be here? With all of you? His…” Your hands tangled into red fur as you collapsed straight onto him, Maurice quickly grasped you as you sobbed wildly against his chest, “His people, Maurice…” 

The deep chitter you got was soothing in a strange way as you tucked into him like a child, his long arms able to accommodate nearly your entire body as you displayed the only sense of mourning you knew how. “We…” You’d only heard him speak once before, your mind racing to get some grip on itself to actually pay attention to the wiseness of the tone, the only way he knew how to comfort an anguish-ridden Human, eyes falling shut as you tucked in further into the embrace of a friend. “All… must… face… what Caesar has…”

You nodded in agreement to that, unable to tear away from the long abyss that you were drowning in. Death was certainly inevitable, but… She was so unfair. So unkind to take away without reserve, your stuttering breath coming in waves as you drew your knees in to your chest.

There was odd comfort in that, that someday you’d all be gone and you’d be with Caesar again, your eyelids fluttering open to look over the landscape once more in a sweep, the shining of the lake in the shortened distance gleaming against your irises like a kiss from the Ape King against your eyelids in the early mornings before he trailed away from the nest, one more as warmth settled in from the shine. One more from Caesar, you felt inclined to imagine and draw parallels to things that were not actually true, another aspect of grief that came more from the bargaining side. 

You would see him again, such a Human thing to think. Such a naive thing to think but it was the only prospect keeping you tethered to the Earth as you grasped Maurice’s forearm tenderly and drew it in to your body like a shield of blanket. 

With his free hand, he gave you one more piece of advice, ‘Caesar's mate... must be strong... for her People.’

[its-avalon-08]

hearts intertwined (hamilton x sister! driver!rosberg) pt3

chapter three: the rookie rosberg

warnings- none at all

series so far - pt1 pt2

The air in the Red Bull garage hung heavy with anticipation. It was qualifying day for the Bahrain Grand Prix, the first race of the season, and Y/N, perched on the edge of a mechanics chair, was a bundle of nervous energy. Her hands tapped a frantic rhythm against her thighs, a stark contrast to the practiced calm of Max beside her.

"Hey," a voice said softly, startling her. It was Nico, his familiar blue eyes radiating a quiet reassurance. "First time jitters?"

Y/N managed a watery smile. "Something like that. Feels like everyone's expecting me to crash and burn."

Nico chuckled. "They underestimate you, kiddo. Just remember, you belong here. You've earned it."

Across the paddock, Lewis watched the interaction, a strange pang of…discomfort settling in his chest. Nico Rosberg, his old nemesis, back in the F1 world, albeit in a different role. It was a reminder of past battles, and a flicker of competitive fire ignited in his eyes. This season was about winning, no matter what.

The qualifying session began. Y/N, heart hammering in her chest, strapped herself into the car. Liam, Nico's former race engineer, his voice now a familiar comfort in her ear, guided her through the pre-race checks.

"Alright, Y/N," Liam's voice crackled through the radio. "Deep breaths. Let's see what you can do out there."

Y/N took a deep breath, pushing past the nerves. This was it. Years of training culminating in this very moment. As she pushed the throttle down the pit lane, a sense of exhilaration washed over her, momentarily erasing her anxieties.

The first laps were tentative, Y/N pushing the car, learning its limits. Liam's voice, calm yet encouraging, guided her through the corners. The timer on the pit wall ticked down, the pressure mounting.

Suddenly, Liam's voice cut through the tension. "Y/N, that was a phenomenal lap! P2 in Q1. Absolutely stunning work!"

A surprised laugh escaped Y/N's lips. P2? On her first ever qualifying session? The relief was palpable.

The paddock buzzed with disbelief. Y/N Rosberg, the rookie, had just placed ahead of established names like Ricciardo and Bottas. The media frenzy was already brewing.

Qualifying progressed, the tension thickening with every eliminated driver. Q3 arrived, the final battle for pole position. The tension in the Red Bull garage was thick enough to cut with a knife. Max launched himself out first, clocking a blistering lap time.

Y/N, her nerves now steeled with focus, took the track. She pushed the car to its absolute limit, feeling the G-forces pin her to the seat. Her tires screamed in protest as she carved through the corners, her vision a blur of speed.

As she crossed the finish line, her heart pounded like a drum solo. Liam's voice, barely containing his excitement, filled the car. "P2, Y/N! P2! That's incredible! You're just behind Lewis!"

Y/N couldn't believe her ears. P2 beside Lewis, the reigning champion? A grin split her face, wide and genuine. This wasn't just about proving herself anymore. This was about the thrill of the race, the pure joy of pushing herself and the car to the limit. As she jumped out of the car, she was pulled into a tight hug by Max. "I'm so proud of you Y/N!!" he exclaimed.

Lewis, watching from the Mercedes garage, saw the jubilation on Y/N's face. A strange mixture of admiration and annoyance flickered across his features. He couldn't deny her talent. The Rosberg name was back, and this time, it was here to stay.

The desert sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the track. The stage was set for a battle royale. Rookie versus champion. Rosberg versus Hamilton.

time skip to the next day - its race day!

The desert sun beat down mercilessly on the Bahrain International Circuit, baking the asphalt and turning the air into a shimmering haze. This wasn't just any race day; it was the culmination of years of relentless training and unwavering dreams for Y/N. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs as she lined up on the grid, P2 staring back at her from the starting light gantry. Lewis, on pole position, stole a glance at her in his rearview mirror. He saw the raw determination in her eyes, a reflection of Nico in his younger days, and a surge of unfamiliar anxiety shot through him.

Lights out! The engines roared to life, and Y/N launched off the line with a blistering start. She clung to Lewis's tail like a hungry wolf, their tires spitting sparks as they battled for supremacy. Liam's voice crackled in her ear, a calm anchor amidst the storm. "Stay focused, Y/N! You've got this!"

Lewis, fixated on keeping Y/N behind, failed to notice Max weaving his way through the pack like a silver demon. By lap ten, Max had snatched the lead, leaving Lewis fuming in his wake. His frustration grew with each lap as Y/N doggedly pursued him, their cars a blur of red and blue against the stark desert landscape.

The battle for P2 was fierce. Y/N, fueled by a desire to prove herself, pushed Lewis to his limits. "Fuck man, why is she right behind me?," Lewis exclaimed over the radio. Bono replied equally as stressed, "She is really pushing the limits Lewis, reminds me a lot of Ni-", Lewis interrupted him abruptly, "Don't finish that." The radio cackled in silence. They dueled for corners, their tires screaming in protest as they brushed against the edge of control. Finally, Y/N saw her chance. With a daring maneuver, she overtook Lewis on the inside of a tight corner, the crowd erupting in a roar. Lewis, his face a mask of fury, slammed on his brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision.

The remaining laps felt like an eternity. Y/N, her body pushed to its physical limit, held onto P2 with gritted teeth. As she crossed the finish line, the checkered flag waving her on, pure elation flooded her. She had done it. P2 in her first ever F1 race!

The podium ceremony was a blur of flashing cameras and champagne showers. Y/N, still buzzing from the adrenaline rush, beamed as she held up the P2 trophy. Across the podium, Lewis watched, his jaw clenched tight. He couldn't deny her talent, but the thought of a Rosberg on the podium rankled him.

When the celebrations subsided, Y/N, eager for a post-race handshake, approached Lewis. He glared at her, his expression cold. As she extended her hand and before she could utter a word, he shoved her hand away with a force that sent a jolt of pain shooting up her arm. Her hand slammed against the metal doorframe of the cooldown room, leaving a throbbing bruise.

Shock clouded Y/N's features. She knew Lewis disliked her, but this blatant hostility was unexpected. Nico, who had been watching the exchange from afar, felt a surge of anger rise within him. He lunged towards Lewis, but was restrained by a team member.

"Leave it, Nico," Y/N whispered, her voice tight with hurt. "Who the fuck does he think he is? He can fight me, fuck he can kick me or anything, but laying a hand on u? Even for the lowlife that he is, that was not okay," Nico shouted angrily. Lando who watched this jumped to Y/N's defense and grabbed an ice pack laying it on her hand gingerly, pulling her into a side hug.

Lewis, oblivious to the drama he'd caused, stormed off towards his garage. He couldn't shake the image of Y/N celebrating her victory, Max by her side. A pang of something akin to jealousy pierced through his competitive spirit. He would have to crush her, he thought, before this rivalry spiraled further out of control.

As Y/N joined Max, who wrapped her in a congratulatory hug, a lone tear rolled down her cheek. The silver war had destroyed her brother's friendship with Lewis. She never realized it would eventually chip away her relationship so greatly. This victory was bittersweet. She had proven herself, but at what cost? The battle lines were drawn, the rivalry ignited. The roar of the desert wind seemed to echo the challenge: could she maintain her momentum, or would Lewis find a way to break her?

credits for gif- @lewishamiltongifs

leave a like! leave a comment! reblogs are appreciated!

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ava speaks <3 -

so lewis is kind of a dick in this one! i promise he gets better but note to all the readers - regardless of how much you dislike a person, violence is not condonable by any stretch of the imagination. also

to those who celebrate eid mubarak! all my love <3

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[xzerosparrowx]

An Attempt to Steal the Crown Jewels

For the August @astrangersummer.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Prompt: Modern/Royal AU| wc: 717 | Rating: G | tags: Rogue/Thief Eddie, King Steve, an attempt to steal the crown jewels, based on a real historical event.

Steve awoke with a start, sweat soaked sheets tangled between his legs, his heaving chest calming as the nightmare gave way to wakefulness. The room was still dark, the blue hour just before the first cold rays of morning could peek over the horizon.

He shivers as he lays back down, bringing the heavy blankets over his chest. The fireplace, burning low into coals, could barely keep the chill of early winter out of the large chamber.

Snap!

He bolts up, eyes fixed upon the window closest to him, unsure if he is awake or still dreaming, hands twitching towards the rapier at his bedside. Then he hears it, the creak and rustle of something moving up the trellis just outside his window.

“Shit!” Hisses a voice, and Steve leaps out of bed, grabbing the rapier, positioning himself against the wall next to the window.

Steve presses himself further against the wall as a mop of hair finally comes into view. He watches curiously as a man pulls himself up, laying out a leather purse against the windowsill, a gloved hand pulling out a long needle-like tool.

It eludes Steve as to why he only thinks to watch the man, not once does it come upon him to actually step in front of the window to make his presence known to the intruder. He watches the man in fascination take the tool and with smooth, practiced hands silently unlock the latch to the window. With feline grace the man steps through, long lean legs wrapped in dark leather stretching over the windowsill, heeled boots silently landing on the dark wood floors.

It is only then, when the man is standing in his bedchamber, that Steve even considers saying something.

“If you're looking for the bathroom, you've climbed the wrong window.” The man springs back with a yelp, crashing into a desk, bottles of ink and glass clattering to the floor.

“My lord?” a voice tentatively calls out from behind the large french door. The man in black, sprawled on the floor amongst the mess, stares up Steve with large brown eyes, pleading.

“Everything is fine! I failed to see where I was going, again,” Steve replies back, stepping towards the man and pointing his rapier at the base of the stranger's neck.

The pair watch each other silently as they listen for the footsteps outside to disappear.

“What do you have to say for yourself, assassin?”

“I am no assassin, my lord!” the man avows in a rush, holding his hands up in deference. “I confess I did not have good intentions for my visit, but it was never violent in nature.”

“Visiting someone usually means you go through the front door, invited,” Steve scoffs, lowering his sword a fraction.

“Wrong choice of words, my lord,” the man says, scrambling to kneel, “I came to steal the crown jewels-” Steve raises the rapier again, “-but I assure you I have a legitimate reason and a very good story to tell.”

Steve considers it for a moment, staring at the leather-clad man before him. “Very well, I'm in need of a good story, and I would like to know how you managed to climb over the wall and pass the palace guards… Your name?” Steve smiles, taking a seat on a chair by the fireplace and pointing to the second seat opposite.

“Eddie Munson, my lord,” the man leaps up, taking a seat, “well, it all started with the dread pirate Vecna…”

The man is a bundle of excitement and nerves, launching into a story about beautifully tragic maidens, a host of silly yet brilliant children and a pirate with dark, supernatural powers. It is all fantastical, far too fascinating to hold any truth, but Steve finds himself enthralled nonetheless, captivated by the way Eddie weaves the tapestry of his story.

“Brilliant tale,” Steve chuckles when Eddie finishes, “though it does not explain why you've come to steal the crown jewels.”

“Ah, yes, well turns out you don't make any money on adventures like that.”

Steve barks with laughter, loud and happy, his sides and cheeks hurting by the time he manages to calm down.

“I'll do you one better than the crown jewels,” Steve stands, holding out his hand to Eddie, “how about a land and title?”

A/N: This story is inspired by Thomas Blood, a guy who tried to steal the crown jewels, stood before King Charles, and was given land instead. Horrible Histories did a really great skit based on it, I recommend watching it on YouTube.

[gloomysoup]

@steddieangstyaugust day 3 | prompt: "the sunset looks lovely, don't you think?" | rating: g | word count: 618 | tags: major character death, grief | ao3

sunsets and lemon blueberry cake

“The sunset looks lovely, don't you think?”

Eddie sat on the threadbare picnic blanket at the top of the hill. His voice was quiet, so as not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere. There was no response. He never expected one.

“It's been five years, you know,” he said to no one in particular. “Today, actually. I still find it kind of hard to believe.

Still, no reply. The wind blew gently through the trees, picking up a few of Eddie’s curls. He figured that was enough of an answer.

“Dustin called to check on me this morning. I told him I was fine. Robin called too, but I told her a little more of the truth. It's still hard. I woke up this morning thinking you'd be in the kitchen making coffee like you always used to. Obviously, you weren't.” Eddie sighed, watching the sun slowly sink lower on the horizon below. “Robin wanted to be here, but she's got this new PhD student on staff. Says he has a lot of potential, but needs a little more guidance. She couldn't get away from work to be here. She said she was sorry, but I told her it was fine. It is fine, though. I know she'd be here if she could. I told her you'd understand.”

Eddie took a deep breath and reached for the box he’d brought from the car. He opened it, pulling out a small cake. “I know it's silly, but I brought your cake. Tradition, right? I'm still not sure I'm really celebrating anything, but it didn't feel right not to bring one. Lemon blueberry, right? I still don't know how you eat this shit.”

A sad smile pulled at Eddie’s lips as he stared down at the cake. It was a small, circular cake. Not big at all, but he didn't need anything fancy. Most of it would probably get tossed anyway. It was simple. No words across the top. He wasn't sure what there was to say. This wasn't really an anniversary worth celebrating, especially one worth mentioning to the stranger at the bakery, but he always brought a cake anyway. Lemon blueberry. Steve's favorite.

“I didn't realize it until the other day, but I'm starting to forget your voice. I wish I had some way to remember. I miss it. I miss your laugh, too.”

The wind blew again, a little harder that time. If he listened hard enough, Eddie could almost hear it. Steve’s voice.

“I miss you a lot,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Every day. Some more than others. I wish you were here. Lucas’s little girl is almost three now. I know you would've loved to meet her. I'm supposed to leave in two weeks to visit. It won't quite line up with her birthday, but it's the closest I could get with work. Too many appointments, and I don't want to have to reschedule. The shop’s doing well, though. I've been thinking about taking on an apprentice, maybe adding a piercer or two. I don't know. I've never been very good at all the business stuff. Not like you.”

The sun was almost gone. Eddie sat in silence. The minutes stretched on. Eddie grabbed the plastic fork he'd brought, poking into the cake. He took a bite, wrinkled his nose, and took another. He never did understand what Steve liked about it. Maybe he never would. That wouldn't stop him from trying.

The stars began sparkling overhead, reds and oranges fading to blues and purples. Eddie sighed and closed the box, sealing the cake away. He looked to his left, smiling sadly at the tombstone that rested there.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Always.”

[slapthebass]

DIR EN GREY - ASH PV - 1998

薫 focus

[florihye]

୨୧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀MY STAR. ♡⠀⠀──⠀⠀in which you're his star during dull nights.

朴成勋 ⟢ ⠀ wc627 ❜ warnings?! skinship. kissing x2. lowk corny.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀g. fem reader. bsf2lovers. non idol au.⠀⠀⠀𝜗𝜚⠀⠀library.

via's note.⠀⠀im so active guys. anyways. enjoy!!! i researched stars for this

the pure ivory stars glimmered in all their sinew, being the first things to greet you as you tip-toed eagerly towards the top of the cliff. moths sprawled all around you, floating around your frowning figure while you attempted to swat them away.

“yn,” a frost-kissed voice tumbled out from the depths of the night. you turned your head, a smile staining your face at the sight of sunghoon, who was seated with his legs dangling off the cliff, only illuminated by the molten moonlight.

“you told me to be here by midnight?” your hair cataracts down your back as you tilted your head slightly.

the boy patted the ground right next to him, seemingly inviting you to spend the cosy 12AM with him, to which you complied.

“and you’re here.”

“i am.”

“i’m glad.”

“me too.”

another wave of silence passed by the two of you like tumbleweed. you stared at your palms, inspecting every little crease and bruise in flesh.

had you said something wrong? why did it go so awkward so abruptly? was it always like this when the two of you hung out? surely not.

you sucked in the winter air, fiddling with the ends of your soft cashmere sweater. just as your mouth fell open to speak, sunghoon cut you off.

“yn, i know that we have a good friendship right now, which i’m so, so grateful for, but ever since we met, you’ve made me really, really happy. i think of you all the time, more than friends do. so…” the usually confident sunghoon you once knew seemed to have hidden himself, being swallowed by a new breathless, quiet one. “i love you.”

“really?” you utter softly.

sunghoon laughed. “wow. i just poured my heart out to you and you’re still questioning me? you’re something else, yn.”

there it was, the solace that you always searched for throughout every interaction. the solace that you always managed to find in sunghoon.

“well, actions mean more than words, y’know.” you teased, feeling delighted as sunghoon inched himself closer to you.

“actions? i’m good at that.” he leaned into your darling touch, giving your doe eyes one more glance before his gaze flickered to your rosy lips; you couldn’t even process the next few moments in which he had kissed you. it was short and sweet and simple (very sweet, too short and simple) and everything you could’ve asked for, plus more.

speaking of more, as soon as sunghoon pulled away from you, you didn’t waste a second to reconnect your lips. this second kiss was undoubtedly longer and rather fervent compared to the first. you lingered in the moment for as long as you could before having to move away for air, to your and his obvious dismay.

you let your arms drop to his chest, giggling at the dazed face that had overtook the boy. it wasn’t long before he parroted you, the cerulean night soon filling up with the sounds of teenage laughter.

the two of you eventually managed to settle down, the giggles dimming into a rather warm silence, nothing like the awkward one before.

sunghoon took your smaller hand into his own and guided it up to the dark blue horizon, pointing at a small, blazing cluster of stars.

“those stars over there? they’re called the pleiades cluster.” he whispered to you; you nodded slowly, absorbed by the riveting beauty of the stars.

“they are pretty, hoon.” you words slightly slurred as you were too busy observing the stars to take in your surroundings.

“pretty, indeed.”

from your peripheral vision, you could tell that sunghoon was staring at you, rather than the stars.

“the stars are up there, silly.”

“well my star is down here, right next to me.”

taglist open.⠀⠀@sainns @en-gelic @thenastone @xiaoderrrr @belovedsthings @cupidhoons @antoncyng @reverieki @a-dream-bookmark

[itsohh]

Cold

A/N: G/N reader, so I ended up writing out that idea I had in that one ask I mentioned.

Summary: After being separated from Price during a mission you're left to fend off the freezing cold by yourself. Finally reunited with him, he does everything he can to help warm you up from your hypothermic state.

Word count: 1073

Warnings: Angst

AO3 Masterlist

Radio silent. All he received back was static. The winds howled outside while the snow continued its assault. The pair of you had been separated with the agreement to regroup back at the safe house. A small cabin.

Yet you never came.

John wanted to go out to look for you, to find you and ease the torment in his worried heart. He knew better. With the thick storm around him, it would be pointless. The likelihood of him seeing something even a few metres in front of him was slim to none let alone being able to conduct a proper search.

So, with the fire set up, he stayed at the window. The thermal scope was his only way to see through the thick billowing weather. His hand found the radio once again. "Sergeant, do you read me?" Once again his ears were only met with static. Then he saw something. Almost impossible to see but it was a higher temperature than everything else. Not particularly high but enough for him to notice.

The shape came over the horizon and he could better see it. A person. He had no way of knowing whether or not it was you but that didn't stop him. John slung his gun over his shoulder and headed out into the snow. It made it hard to move, each step slow but he continued on. For the sake of his own safety, he held a pistol in one hand. Just in case.

A breath left his mouth when he finally got close. It was you, that was for sure. He paused only for a second and saw your form. Blood had drained from your face and gave it a rather lifeless blue undertone. Your eyes were hazy, unfocused when they settled on him. What was the most concerning was the fact you had stripped away almost all your clothing only left in your underwear. Gear, guns, all of it gone. "Shit." He swore and holstered his pistol before he took off the gun on his back and then his jacket.

He slung the gun back on and quickly put his long jack over you. Yes, it was cold but he would live. That wasn't a certainty for you at that moment. A whine protested from your lips as he secured the jacket around you. "Stop I don't want it." Your voice slurred out as you made weak attempts to push it away. "It's too hot." Each touch you made against John's skin was like ice and slowly you stopped. No energy to fight.

"Your freezing cold, we need to warm you up." You let out a whine at his voice and slumped against him. How you had managed to walk this far in such a state amazed him and he picked you up in a bridal carry. John knew he had to get you inside as quickly as possible.

John pushed through the snow, you in his arms until he slammed open the cabin door. He closed it behind him with his foot and immediately brought you down in front of the fire. You were still awake and let out a little protest at the fire's warmth. John let go of you for a moment and went to go snatch all the blankets from the bedrooms.

When he came back you had managed to undo part of the jacket and move away from the fire. He came down next to you. "Stop. You need to warm up, that's an order."

"Don't give a fuck 'bout your stupid orders." Almost like it came from a child, your speech barely came out of your mouth and continued your disruptive behaviour. The beanie on his head was ripped off and he put it over your head to try and stop any warmth you gained from leaving your head. John pulled you in-between in legs so that your back made contact with his chest. With you secured, he pulled the blankets around the pair of you and he felt your body go limp against him.

John whispered out your name and your head rolled against his chest. Over your shoulder, he lightly tapped your cheek with his hand. "Hey, hey, hey. Wake up. Don't fall asleep on me." Prices' voice pleaded, begging you. Yet, you gave him no response.

"Bloody fucking hell, don't do this to me. Come on." He held you tighter with one arm. John put his free hand just in front of your mouth and nose where he could only feel the faintest of breaths. "Stay with me, don't stop breathing. Your safe now, just warm up for me. Warm up for me." He spoke to your unconscious body, desperately trying to get keep it together. He knew he had to have a clear mind. To think straight, you were relying on him to do so.

His hand went to your neck to search for a pulse. It was still there but so incredibly slow. John kept his fingers there, a small relief each time he felt that pulse. "If you stay with me here I'll do anything. Just… keep breathing for me." His voice was quiet. John knew you couldn't hear him but hoped perhaps deep down in your unconscious state that it would encourage you to keep fighting.

"I'll force Laswell to finally let us have that time off for our wedding. You wanted the boys there, I'll make sure they can make it. We can go wherever you want, Love." He swallowed and stayed silent for a second when he couldn't feel your pulse. Every second felt like a lifetime and he was just about to move for CPR when he felt that faint pulse. He let out the breath he had been holding and continued.

"Get a month off for a honeymoon. How does that sound? I'm sure you will be sick of me by then." John let out a pained laugh. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, you were still like ice. "I'd never get sick of you. Best thing to ever happen to me. Don't deserve someone like you." He pressed a kiss against your head. "But I'm a selfish man. Let me have this one thing, let me have you by my side. Stay with me."

"I'm a selfish old bastard but don't you go dying on me." John shut his eyes and mentally counted every second between your heartbeats.

"Please."

[tainted-liquor]

𓇼𓈒ㅤׂHow Curious... 𓆉 [4.11.23] - ft. Miles G. Morales 𓆡 genre: fluff, part 2 of Sea Grillz!

What a liar.

Two years ago, you met a human. A beautiful, beautiful human who promised that he would come back and visit you. You waited around the coral for months, breaching the surface of the freshwater haven every now and again to see if the familiar red metal cargo ship ever showed up again. You kept that piece of soft cotton fabric wrapped tightly around your gills in hopes that one day the boy would remember you and come back. What was his name again? Prowler?

You zoomed through the warm currents of the 'Big Lagoon', otherwise known as the Caribbean Sea by the surface dwellers in search of some new findings at the bottom of the ocean. Your tail eagerly jerked through the waves, propelling you forward with the force of a bullet train as you scanned the ocean floor for any new finds. You had somewhat of a collection; a brass hand mirror, several giant beady 'pearls' of some sort, silky gloves, and a plethora of coins from all ages and times. It was dark, barely visible as your eyes struggled to pick out every minor detail due to the lack of sunlight. But truth be told, you only had one thing in mind as you glided through the pure water.

You breached the surface, hair falling along your shoulders as your beautiful coral and shell necklace rested against your collarbone. You looked up at the warm skyline, losing yourself in the vibrant shades of orange, pink, and yellow that decorated the world and illuminated your skin. You raised a hand out of the warmth of the ocean, watching as your skin morphed from a pale blue to your natural melanated tone. Your jewelry consisted of pearls, small shells, your swamp blue scales that you lost along the way, and solid diamonds that shimmered on the horizon. It was perfect; no humans to disturb the mesmerizing crash of the waves or the blue tint of the water.

You felt for your cold neck, grazing your soft fingertips over the ripped piece of cotton wrapped around your neck. A sense of melancholy suddenly filled your mind, missing the man that appeared before you and swept you off your fins. You looked around the bare ocean, whispering a silent prayer to whatever may be listening. Oshun? Ikatere? Whoever ears it fell upon, you'd hope they'd hear you.

"Please come back tomorrow..."

You bowed your head before darting back under the deep blue, blazing through the current with no other goal than to get home safely. It was hard to describe this feeling of grief. Maybe it was the promise he muttered that remained broken, or maybe it was his sense of style with those iron-clad claws and shiny teeth. He hadn't left your mind since he sailed away, but you sure left his. You cozied up next to the soft pink anemone, allowing its tentacles to flick and wave at your nose.

The ocean surface went from gentle pinks obscured by ripples of water to pitch black. The inky sky glowed with speckles of stars as you laid back on your lively 'pillow', gently running your fingers through the rough nylon of the rope attached to your waist. You thought to yourself for a moment, dancing over the buttery kapa fabric that covered your chest. It was just like every other night, staring at the water's edge while you attempted to lull yourself to sleep. But there was a sudden urge for you to get up and swim out far east.

You gasped, hopping up at the speed of light, tail twitching with an unfamiliar sensation. Your iridescent scales glimmered under the moon...something was nagging you to swim east. So what did you do? Swam as far right as you could.

"Tú en mi cama..." Miles muttered, deep purple Prowler mask glimmering in the moonlight as music flooded his brain. He knew he was stupid for sailing out in the middle of the sea for no reason, but he had to see that pretty little mermaid again. The one with the big beady eyes and the baby-soft skin, yeah. That one. It had been two years since he last saw that face, and you've been burned into his brain ever since. So now here he was, out in the middle of the sea as his new watch spewed out coordinates for him to follow.

Still in that same red cargo ship he stole two years prior, he sped out into the uncharted waters in pursuit of the woman with the blue skin. and the perfect scales. It was a dark and eery atmosphere as he voyaged forward. The ghostly hue of the moonlight led him forward, serving as his candle in the abyss. The ocean shimmered, each wave highlighted by the fluorescent white as Miles put the engine in reverse and allowed the boat to bob above the water.

He stepped away from the helm of the ship, his heavy-duty boots making a loud thudding sound against the deck as he swung both legs against the railing. He hummed along to the reggaeton music that was blasting through his headphones and took another glance over the sea line. His twin braids swayed gently with the low whistling of the wind, as the cold air kissed every inch of Miles' exposed skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Everything seemed to follow a pattern; the waves would flow and crash against the ship, and the wind would puppeteer his braids. Until there was a familiar deviation in the water.

You darted forward, ducking and weaving between corral, debris, and anything that stood in your way as judgment guided you forward. You passed by the little crabs and gave a couple pats to some adorable Mahi-Mahi before you saw it; the strange shadow you were met with long ago. Your eyes widened with hope and adoration, making no effort to conceal your presence as you breached the surface. "Hey!" You shouted upon seeing the familiar purple glow from some sort of mask. The small white eyes widened, glitching from their regular slits to tiny hearts as you swam closer towards the ship.

"Oh, shit-...Chiquita! ¿Cómo has estado? I missed you!" He shouted, lowering down some sort of boat attached to some ropes that he gestured for you to climb into. You held on to the edge of the smaller wooden boat, lifting yourself up with all your strength as you plopped down onto the rickety oak. He hoisted you up, using all his strength to pull you up on the deck with him. The floor of the ship was freezing cold, floorboards creaking under the added body weight as you flopped on the ground. You lifted yourself up on the palms of your hands, coming face-to-face with the strange 'prowler' once again.

"Where have you been! I've been waiting for you for...for...forever! You said you'd be back!" You shouted, wasting no time as your sopping hands grazed over his exposed arms. His skin was cold to the touch and littered with goosebumps as you attempted to take off his mask, earning a low chuckle from the boy in front of you. He grabbed your wrist, gently moving your hands away from his face as he went to speak. "How often do you think I can boat out to the middle of the ocean? Hmm?" He asked, his tone laced with gentle sarcasm and slight heartbreak. He really did want to come back sooner, but time has never been a friend of Miles.

"I see you found more jewelry," he commented, gently taking your glimmering hand in his as he examined the diamonds, aquamarine, gold, and blue calcite that decorated your knuckles. You were worth millions...fins or no fins, you had a killer jewel collection that could fund an entire generation's college ride. Miles sat on the floor so he could be at eye level with you, pulling you in his lap as he collapsed his retractable mask. "I got jewels too," he mumbled, before opening his mouth just enough for you to see the shimmery glint of...teeth jewelery?

Your eyes widened, pupils dilating as you leaned forward to get a good look at his mouth. His sharp canines were covered by a silver outline, while his bottom teeth were lined with what looked like pure diamonds as you ran your fingertips against the smooth metal. "This is...wow," you sighed, admiring the sparkling gems as Miles smirked at your reaction. "This is called a grill," He muttered, closing his jaws before you made an attempt to put your head in his mouth. You nodded, still processing his flashy sense of style as he scanned over your ethereal garments and figure.

"So what y'all be doin' down there? What's it like on the ocean floor?" Miles asked, gently kissing the thenar of your palm as your hand came to caress his face. You thought for a minute, letting the cold wind blow against your frostbit skin. "It's dark...I mean, I have angler fish! But other than the dark, it's very cozy," You shrugged, hands dancing across his black cotton turtle neck. "It's got a lot of cool things, and a lot of coins. Definitely a lot of coins..." You chuckled, feeling the soaked fabric trickle water down the nape of your neck.

"Damn...New York is never dark," Miles laughed. His laugh was cold and hollow, but oddly comforting as he fixed your makeshift 'waist beads' made out of a piece of rope. He took your face in his cold, and rough hands as he admired your perfection. He'd never seen such a pretty girl in his life, and she was miles away out at sea. Your button nose perfectly complimented your full, two-toned lips. Whoever invented that fuckass 'Phi' system was wrong, YOU were the most beautiful girl in the world; with your glimmering scales, flashy gems, and gorgeous eyes.

He wanted to take you back with him and keep you all to himself, so the greed of the world could never reach out and take from you like they took from him. But deep down he knew there wasn't a place for you in his world. He placed a cold, comforting kiss on your collarbone as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "C'mon, tell me about what you did while I was gone," Miles chuckled, hoisting you up as he waltzed toward the helm of the ship. He wanted his conscience to narrate his thoughts in your voice, that thick islander accent and velvety tone talking to him about his own moves.

You talked his ear off for hours, sitting pretty on his lap while he learned all about Aycayia culture, what you eat in a day, and how prevalent 'rare' gems are in the deep blue sea. He didn't care that he was soaked from head to toe, or that he was losing feeling in his legs the longer you stayed on his lap. He just wanted to hold you for a little bit longer as you mindlessly fiddled with his silver chain. His hands gently caressed your hair before reaching into his back pocket to pull out a small pinkish purple metal 'watch'. "I gotta go, I'm so sorry..." he muttered, attaching it to your wrist as the futuristic bracelet emitted a soft glow.

Your head cocked to the side, trying to make sense of the strange device. "This will show me your coordinates. Don't lose it. I'm gonna bring you with me one day, I promise," He mumbled, holding you as close as possible. The wind sang a song of melancholy, the ocean coming to a still as you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. You wanted him to stay, to tell you more stories of his life as 'The Prowler'. You hated the idea of not seeing him for another two years, tears pricking at your waterline as you smushed your cheek against his.

"I really...really love you. Please don't take too long...?" You whispered, the top half of your body hanging off the rim of the ship.

"...I love you too."

@ashsostrange @chessbox @janaeby @faeriesoiree333 @fivestardior @an1bara @bachirasegoist @milesnanana77 @niaurluv @sp1derw1re @ban-al3x  @we-loveebony @kae2kaee @dxrlingcc @al3xwqz @l0starl

[robthegoodfellow]

3DPC4EVA

@harringrovezine submission! Billy and Steve take a backseat while their cars get busy. Crack taken seriously. Brace for puns.

Summary: When the Camaro rumbles into the Hawkins High parking lot, she catches the attention of a certain luxury vehicle.

Harringrove, Camaro/Beamer (or Bimmer/Beemer whatever you prefer)

Rated G | ~2.2k (slightly expanded version) | Alternating Car POV

thank you @adelacreations and the rest of the zine team for all your hard work!

~🛞~

A car never forgot the moment it came to—became aware. For PC, it was rounding a bend of the Pacific Coast Highway, to the left a sprawling sea, baked cliffs sloping opposite. And inside… was a boy, death-grip on the wheel relaxing, his stiff back gone slack on a long exhale.

He was gazing at the water, mesmerized. Revved the engine, a vicarious roar—but not of rage.

Exultation.

They meandered north for miles, blue horizon painted pink and red, glittering in the sinking sun. Veering onto a rocky shoulder, he hopped on the hood. Reclined, sighing smoke, until the sky had bruised purple. 

The boy’s mind wandered on the drive back, and PC got a sense of him then—name, where he lived. Enough to nudge reminders before he missed a turn. 

PC learned its own names, too—knew the boy thought of it as a she. Called her Baby. Or sometimes he’d smush the first part of her plate together, PCE, and think peace.

~🛞~

3D didn’t belong here, wasting away parked outside a school. A BMW E23 7-Series? Far more befitting the head of the Harrington family, not his spoiled Lothario of a son.

But no—downgraded months after purchase when the wife gifted her darling husband a Rolls-Royce.

Who could compete? So here it was, surrounded by malformed AMC experiments, rusted-out Oldsmobile barges, decrepit Pintos liable to explode if you looked at them wrong. Oh, and tractors—let’s not forget the occasional farming equipment caked in mud and manure ridden to school for a laugh. 

3D could have borne the shocks without blowing a gasket—it was a high-performance vehicle—but then… then the boy made it his mission to bed every girl in town. And 3D had spacious seats. Spacious and luxurious: black leather, gleaming wood trim—not that the paramours would notice, too busy humping while 3D stared out its headlamps at the lake or the trees or wherever it could fix its attention that wasn’t the pair of humans copulating all over its pristine interior.

Finally, the boy hitched himself to a girl with standards, one who preferred privacy. Granted, that relationship coincided with some rather strange occurrences—early on, the boy sped off to a remote property with faulty wiring, lights berserk, and ran inside to much screaming and cacophonous violence. 3D was certain that menace would emerge grievously wounded if he emerged at all, and do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of leather?

Well, 3D didn’t, either, but it was bound to be impossible.

Anyway—despite that bizarre hiccup, the boy seemed happy, and so too was 3D.

Happy its rear bench was a Motel 6 no longer.

~🛞~

The blistering hurt he'd stoked from San Diego to Indiana—this despairing, gnashing fury—had simmered to a low-grade pang when PC rumbled into the Hawkins High parking lot, blazing past milling students.

Billy slammed the door—pat the handle, apologetic, before striding off. Max wheeled away on her skateboard.

Though PC was facing the school, she wasn’t limited to staring dully at the brick. Sky through her windshield, a side-view out her windows, the lot behind via the tail lights. In no time, she’d taken stock: not too different from back home. Less pervasive rust from salty air, fewer finishes sun-bleached pale pastel… and the crusty tractor was new… but a parking lot was a parking lot.

That’s what she repeated, again jerking her focus from a gleam in the next row. A BMW—PC had a weakness for German makes. Her first crush was a cute Volkswagen bug that belonged to one of Billy's surfer buddies, but the Beetle couldn’t hold a candle to this burgundy beauty—shining in the sun, the lines of its hood so proud, so pert and compact compared to PC. The appealing rounds of its double headlamps, spider eyes on either side of those distinctive kidney grilles. Like bared teeth.

The plate read 3Ds46T2.

Its wipers twitched, annoyance loud and clear. What?

PC barely reined in the startled beep, hot underhood. But then—well… what else to do when caught so blatantly staring?

She flashed a taillight, a quick, cheeky wink, and the headlamps across the way flared—a bright flush, though brief, firmly repressed.

Didn’t want to push it—the blush perhaps more embarrassment than pleasure—but when she risked a glance, 3D was looking back, intrigued. 

At final bell, PC blared both taillights, a last gambit—and her fan belt fluttered when 3D’s wipers swept a wide arc. A farewell.

Half-expected to overheat on the way back to the new house. Like all the coolant in the world couldn’t help her.

~🛞~

A showy, brutish Camaro Z/28 wouldn’t typically warrant more than an irritated huff of exhaust, but a car like that had never been bold enough to… flirt? Just brazenly wink for the whole lot to see, gazing like you were the most riveting object in existence.

It was… well, flattering, obviously—a Camaro was a handsome make, whatever its faults—but more than that, it had thrilled in a way 3D couldn’t shake. So next time the boy pulled into the lot, it gently nudged the wheel, willing them to the front where PCE 235 was sitting pretty.

Maneuvering to park next to the muscle-bound stunner took more of a push—enough to trigger a frown—but the boy rarely fired on all cylinders. He shrugged it off.

3D never dreamed it could be so forward, but the Camaro didn’t mind. Quite the contrary: as the school doors closed on the last straggler, 3D spied its neighbor’s window cracking open. A loaded quiet—then the soft static of the radio searching for a station. Odd squeals, a cut-off twang, belt, chorus, then—

—too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you. Pardon the way that I stare—there's nothing else to compare.

An earnest crooning Oldie, and—it was like its undercarriage had bottomed out on nothing. 3D flushed hot as a busted radiator. 

If you feel like I feel, please let me know that it's real. You're just too good to be true. Can't take my eyes off you.

Seeming to sense its struggle for composure, the volume lowered until the song clicked off. The window rolled up, parted lips closing, and the wheel spun, nervous. Crunch of gravel as the front tires turned its way: Your move.

3D choked, butterfly valve sealing shut. The boy’s tastes weren’t exactly varied. Hardly strayed from the local channels piping nonstop Hot 100. But the silence would soon ring of rejection, so it powered the radio, scrambling, poised to blindly crank the dial and hope for the best—

Miracle of miracles. Rushing to open a window, it lowered all four, silently thanking Hump Day Hits of the 60s.

—thought love was only true in fairytales—meant for someone else but not for me. Love was out to get me—that's the way it seemed. 

Spontaneity sparking, it left the windows down. Let the whole lot hear! What did it care what they thought?

Then I saw her face! Now I'm a believer. Not a trace of doubt in my mind…

Last bell, after hours of trading silly ditties, their batteries were dead, and 3D was in love—felt drunk on diesel, sappy sentiment gumming up its engine.

PC. How wonderful, those two letters. And a she. Fascinating.

Their drivers were baffled at both needing a jump—a much remarked upon coincidence. Waiting for their cars to revive, the boy made awkward small talk with PC’s human—a blond ruffian who smoked like a chimney.

The boy asked the ruffian—Billy—if he was going to the Halloween party later.

Billy was.

“See ya there, man,” he said, tapping 3D’s roof. It would have cringed at the fingerprints left behind, if not for a more pressing thought.

It would see PC that night.

Perhaps all night.

~🛞~

Billy was nervous—PC could tell by his fidgeting grip, Metallica blasting. Odd outfit, too: leather jacket, shirtless, with fingerless gloves.

He parked behind 3D, no encouragement necessary. Before he’d even disappeared inside the pulsing house, PC waved her wiper, overeager but suddenly—shy.

They seemed to mutually agree not to drain their batteries again. Instead, at the risk of coming on too strong, PC reached out with the nebulous consciousness linking her to her body, linking her to Billy… until she felt a psychic bump. Not enough to dent. Just… alert.

She’d never done this—gone beyond basic flirtation—but something about 3D made her bold… and maybe Billy’s loneliness, the aimless despair bubbling under his skin since the move… maybe that had bled over more than she’d realized.

A bump, and she almost ignited her own engine, so intense was the bolt of excitement. 3D was reaching back, willing to open to her—

She had no idea how much time had passed, so submerged in their mingled selves, when Billy stumbled against her with a grunt, a slurred curse. The icy jolt must have transferred before she cut off to focus on the problem sagging at her door—a problem she knew too well.

Billy unlocked her after a couple tries, more falling than sitting in the driver’s seat. Shoved the key in the ignition—groaned when the engine wouldn’t start.

“Not tonight, baby—I’m fucking fine.”

She remained unmoved, even as he slumped, forehead knocking on the wheel.

“Just start! We’re three streets away, for fuck’s sake.”

An insistent bump—so unrelenting that she reconnected, conveyed through images, flashes of memory, that this was just something they did: Billy would drink too much, and she wouldn’t start until he was sober. But that only triggered a renewed wave of concern, a series of impressions in return: pulling over to assist a family broken down, the kids shivering in the chill evening air of autumn; 3D’s human, breath misting, joking with a pretty brunette about drinking until they were warm, the girl informing him that booze made you more vulnerable to frostbite.

But… it wasn’t nearly cold enough for that, right? Although what did she know? It had taken ages to warm up this morning. How cold was too cold?

Maybe Billy would just… go back inside the house. Or she could—start the engine but jam the accelerator? Or—

Billy jumped when 3D’s horn blared, obnoxious in the still night, its headlights flashing with each trumpeting blast. 

Not a minute later, PC understood in a burst of gratitude: 3D’s human trotted from the house. He would help. Flinging open the door, she spun her wheel, sharp.

A grunt, and Billy spilled onto the pavement. “Bitch.”

The alarm died with a chirp. “Hargrove?” 

Billy sighed, flopping backward. “Fuck off, Harrington.”

Harrington did not—kept coming until he towered, hands on hips. Prodded Billy with a curious foot.

“You wanna be roadkill, or what?”

Bratty snort. “Or what.”

“Well, in the interest of not scraping you up tomorrow, how about I drive you home?”

Billy propped himself on elbows. A hum, considering. “Pass.”

PC resisted whacking him with the door. From his expression, Harrington felt much the same.

“Take you to mine, then.” Stooping, he stuck his hand out, waiting while Billy curled his lip, rolled his eyes—finally took the hand.

3D’s lights beamed worry as Harrington started the engine, Billy safe in passenger. PC twitched a wiper—shoo—and settled in by the curb. Small price for peace of mind.

~🛞~

At some point between disappearing into the Harrington house and emerging in the early dawn, something had happened—3D couldn’t begin to guess. The surly quiet of last night now buzzed like coins in a cupholder. Glances darted, never meeting.

3D resisted cranking the radio to drown out the awkward. Or redirecting the beads of condensation cutting through the misted windows so their dewy paths spelled HELP.

It rumbled with relief to see PC, glistening in the gloom, right where they’d left her.

“Last night,” Billy said, as they rolled to a stop. “We—it can’t happen—”

“You scared?” The arched brow was bluster, his frame rigid with nerves.

“You dumb?” Sneered it, scathing.

He was dumb, 3D would vouch for that, but the boy only glared. Billy huffed, paired an eye roll with a shake of his head, reaching for the door. 

A lesser vehicle would’ve missed the other hand pounce across the console, but 3D fogged the windows just in time.

No one saw the driver yanked sideways by the shirt, arrested by snarling lips pressed to his own—or the hands that grappled in reply, cupping cheek and chin, fingers sinking into hair.

No one saw, but PC knew—was practically dancing, wipers waving, front wheels pivoting left and right. And usually 3D would sigh, resign itself to rounds of necking and worse, but it couldn’t muster the fumes.

Because it would put up with anything—happily, no matter the wear and tear—for more time right here, sharing PC’s air. 

Since keeping one meant keeping the other, this would be no fling. Not if 3D could help it. 

What was it humans liked to say? 

My way or the highway.

~🛞~

Read on Ao3

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in May 2024. You can listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 including the fics on this month’s fic roundup [ @1dmonthlyficroundup ] which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #62 |  ko-fi | fic recs

- Louis/Harry -

🍃 Ocean Wave Blues by babyhoneyhslt / @babyhoneyheslt

(M, 49k, pirates) After the gruesome death of his Alpha, Harry takes over as the Captain of the Rose Arrow. Trying his best to uphold her reputation as being the most dreadful pirate ship to sail the Seven Seas.

🍃 and so I have to say (before I go) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 27k, mystery) Sometimes falling in love is taking a leap of faith, jumping into the unknown with your eyes closed, hoping someone will be there to catch you. Sometimes falling in love is seeing the person in front of you, all their flaws and imperfections, and taking that leap nonetheless.

🍃 Room For One More Troubled Soul by patdkitten / @babyarcanacasey

(M, 25k, supernatural elements) Louis Tomlinson is the chief medical examiner of the Centre for the Law Enforcement of Supernatural Beings - more commonly referred to as simply "The Centre".

🍃 High heels on, 'm feeling alive by thebreadvan / @thebreadvansstuff

(M, 14k, uni) Harry damages a car when drunkenly stumbling home after a fun night out with his friends. Feeling horribly guilty, he tries to find the owner and make it up to him.

🍃 oh so familiar by @insightfulinsomniac

(E, 13k, witch Harry/vampire Louis) A story of misguided enemies to lovers brought together by a stubborn orange tabby.

🍃 I Dig Your Cinema by @silverstuff50

(E, 12k, exes) It wasn’t that Louis didn’t want to see Harry’s latest film; it was a tragically pathetic fact that Louis had watched every single show and film, every interview, every red carpet that Harry had done since his ex-boyfriend had decided to leave Uni in the second year and pursue an acting career.

🍃 Haze on the horizon by @lunarheslwt

(E, 6k, established relationship) Louis finds himself unexpectedly going into soft heat. Which would’ve been fine, except he is hundreds of miles away from his alpha, Harry, and he needs him. They make it work.

🍃 You're Already Home by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 5k, magical realism) It's Christmas Eve and Harry's life is normal. Then he finds someone's barred the door to his favourite hiding spot -- the old groundskeeper's cottage -- and suddenly Harry's life isn't normal anymore.

🍃 just a couple of my cravings by YesIsAWorld / @louandhazaf

(G, 3k, crush) Summer's just around the corner and Louis' battling his addictions... Cigarettes and Harry Styles.

🍃 I'm not that other guy by @jaerie

(E, 3k, omegaverse) Harry has just come back from maternity leave when he unexpectedly goes into heat. He runs into a coworker on his way out.

🍃 Change of Plans by @haztobegood

(G, 2k, omegaverse) Harry and Louis plan to visit their families over Christmas. Sometimes, plans don't work out.

🍃 Into the Woods by @kingsofeverything

(E, 2k, tree adjacent porn lol) Whenever he hikes, Harry keeps an eye out for trees with knots and scars that resemble buttholes. What started as fodder for his silly little Instagram account has become his favorite way to masturbate.

🍃 Lights Are So Bright by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(G, 2k, famous/famous) Newly first-string quarterback Louis Tomlinson mentions enough times in interviews that he's a fan of mega-famous popstar Harry Styles that people start to notice. At least one person does...

🍃 mosquito bites and cheap beer by @juliusschmidt

(M, 2k, exes-ish) Harry’s careful not to look at Louis as he plays. At least, he starts out that way. Part 2 of Cabin on the Bluff

🍃 Different Than You Do by galactic_larry / @galacticlarry

(T, 2k, love confession) Louis and Harry have been friends for a little over four years. Louis has been in love with Harry for most of those years, even if he didn’t want to admit it at first. What happens when he impulsively decides to tell him?

🍃 On Love's Doorstep by @hellolovers13

(T, 1k, neighbors) Harry Styles: a day in the life...Stuck in a dress, Abandoned by his best friend, Date with hot neighbour. All in all, not the worst day ever

🍃 My heart's in overdrive, and you're behind the steering wheel  by @louisthiccsexyglitteryass

(E, 1k, uni) Being late to class means Harry and Louis have to pose together for figure drawings. That being said, the hate each other, but maybe they don't?

🍃 Expresso by @reallynotmemoi

(NR, 880 words, uni) Louis falls in love at first sight with a boy from his Tuesday lectures, and proceeds to make a fool out of himself in front of said boy. But maybe not all is lost…

- Rare Pairs -

🍃 better latte than never by @disgruntledkittenface

(M, 1k, Zayn/Harry) Harry was looking forward to the coffee cart at work. Until the subject of the previous night's fantasies lined up next to him.

🍃 No Constraints by @lululawrence

(NR, 863 words, Louis/Greg James) Louis is really not understanding this particular section of his Vector Calculus course, and his tutor doesn't seem to get what Louis is having a hard time with. Until he does.