#g: one tree hill

[caramel-mocha-latte]

Laying in bed and kicking my feet all happy cause I just got some really great photos in foggy weather on my Polaroid camera

[doobea]

YOU'RE A MEAN ONE, MISTER GOJO ─ SATORU G.

synopsis: satoru gojo is spoiled and arrogant. he's also the next in line to inherit his family's fortune. his father sends him far away in a small town for a week in hopes that he'll 'change' for the better. instead of the usual five-starred hilton hotels, he stays at a local inn and starts to befriend the owner's daughter.

tropes: small town romance, christmas au, golden retriever x black cat

MILESTONE EVENT || MILESTONE MASTERLIST

contents: fem!reader, spoiled rich boy!gojo, acts like an ass to everyone but hopelessly falls in love with you at first sight, feels like a really bad hallmark movie, mentions of wealth class differences, reader isn't a tsundere - she's just indifferent for the most part and introverted word count: 7.5K (idk i will uh make the fics shorter in the future) a/n: thank you anon for requesting this!! idk if this is what you wanted but hopefully you like it!! :3 everyone also give a round of applause to @popponn for beta reading this big mess LMAO

Satoru Gojo has a lot of expectations, but this certainly isn’t one of them.

He isn’t particularly excited about spending a week away from his big city penthouse to be rotting in a small town motel in the middle of nowhere but, his father, CEO of Gojo Corporations, heavily insisted that he ‘needs this’ and that ‘it’ll be good for the company’ — whatever that means. Satoru is confident that his father thinks he’s incapable of running the family business after last month’s run with the paparazzi and his third fling of the month. It wasn’t his fault that they got caught doing drugs at one of Zenin's parties, everyone else was doing the same thing, it just so happened that the cameras were only focusing on him. 

Well, that’s what he gets for signing up to be the son of one of the richest men on Earth.

“You need to start taking this seriously,” he recalls his father slamming his fist down at the desk before throwing a bottle of Henessy at the wall. “I don’t want this company to go bankrupt just because I have a son who only thinks with his dick.”

Ouch… but he’s not wrong about that.

So now Satoru finds himself driving up a winding road somewhere very deep in the mountains. Exactly five hours away from the city. And, for the past three hours, all he’s been seeing are miles and miles of pine trees, sheets of snow, and — he had recently learned this from Suguru — sugar shacks. Apparently when you’re out over a hundred miles into wilderness territory these sap houses are littered everywhere.  The fact that Satoru is beginning to count more shacks than designer cars on the road is really starting to get to him. 

“This whole thing is so fucking stupid,” Satoru has also been talking to himself throughout the journey in order to not lose his mind. “He could’ve just sent me door to door caroling instead of whatever this is.” Satoru doesn’t know how to sing well, but he does know all the lyrics to ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ and that usually gets him all the tips. He wonders if he can manage to make a small side hustle when he starts wasting his week here.

He takes a sharp turn up around the hill before finally recognizing a big red sign with the name ‘Mistle Town’ as seen on the postcard his dad left him before leaving. It takes him another five minutes of driving through said small town, which is quite literally something out of one of those really bad holiday movies that his mom would force him to watch when he was little, before arriving at the inn. Upon arriving, Satoru is noticeably disappointed at the lack of valet assistance and, the size and design of the inn, is rather lackluster. 

First, it just looks like a regular white farmhouse. Maybe having a max of ten rooms, none of them being penthouse sized, Satoru assumes. There are a couple of flowerbeds out front, all covered in a couple of inches of snow, and there’s subtle signs of holiday decor slowly bleeding its way outside. He sees someone dressed in an oversized puffer by the entrance, arms occupied with red tinsel and large white ornaments, and figures that the first nice thing he’ll do is to help out a random stranger — just to prove something to his dad.

Satoru parks his Rolls Royce in a spot furthest away from everyone else in the parking lot and sends a ‘im alive and well’ text to Suguru, because he’s very much so going to be in frequent contact with him for the remainder of the trip, before heading up.

“Need a hand?” He points out the obvious but still manages to throw a smile as if he’s already fixed the situation unfolding in front of him.

Satoru’s presence seems to pull you from your busy trance. You wiped your body around, nearly smacking the damn tinsel in his face, and made a small surprised noise.

“I’ve got it,” you muffle out and he looks entirely unconvinced but, whatever, he tried anyway.

Satoru gives you a few encouraging pats on the back before heading inside, failing to realize his strength and causing you to lose your balance, making a few ornaments tumble to the ground. Thank god they’re all plastic though.

He pretends to not hear you yelling after him as he enters the double doors, immediately greeted by the scent of roasted coffee beans and leather. It’s the precious hour in the morning where nobody comes by, right after the cleaning staff had just finished vacuuming, when he struts in. He immediately spots someone vaguely familiar by the front desk. Long black hair, a red poofy bow tie in the back, and a distinctive scar across her face. The woman isn’t working alone, a man with another facial marking is next to her, brewing two cups of coffee by the espresso machine. 

Satoru looks at the woman again and outwardly smiles. “What are you doing here?”

“Ugh,” Utahime’s composure immediately falters at the sound of his voice, not that it’s a big shock. “Helping the family business, what else?” she throws back with a certain sharpness to her tone, and waves off the casual talk. “Have you even mentally prepared yourself for what you’re getting into?”

Satoru simply shrugs and saunters over to a nearby seat by the counter. “Nah, honestly just planning to fuck around till I get back.”

Utahime flushes a little, though it’s mainly from frustration. “Satoru Gojo, you really are—”

“Utahime,” the man next to her speaks, handing her a cup of coffee, and slides Satoru a freshly brewed one, too. “I can explain the details to him, if you would like?”

The older female rubs the bridge of her nose and exhales a long, overdue sigh. “Please do, Choso.”

“Yeah,” Satoru leans into the counter, lips pointed down at this new face. “Please, do tell.”

“You’re basically our little Santa helper.” A new voice rings out from behind him. It spooks Satoru from his seat and he whips his head around to be met with your narrow eyes.

“Huh?”

“Also think of this as an unpaid internship.” You start laughing when he gags on his own saliva at your statement. “Okay, you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.”

Satoru swallows. “U-Unpaid…?”

Now it’s Utahime’s turn to speak, she huffs and tosses a couple of stockings into his arms. “Your father sent us a lengthy email a few days prior regarding your bratty behavior. So, of course, we came prepared.” 

“Prepared…?” He feels the fabric in his hands and whines at the grainy texture. This is so not 100% real wool.

If Satoru thought he had any chance of actually taking over his father’s company, because he knows the difference between supply and demand, he’s wrong.

Customer service is not his forte. He’s always thrown emails and sponsorship paperwork at his many assistants, and Satoru doesn’t even know his own email log-in password. So, when you walked up to him first thing the next morning with a brown apron, the inn’s logo large and embroidered in the center, telling him how to function all these coffee machines that he’s seen behind hundreds of counters, it invoked some fear into his already wrecked nerves. Plus, no one dared to warn him about the clientele during a holiday rush.

“I want a venti peppermint frappe with two pumps of chocolate, three pumps of hazelnut, replace it with almond milk, one shot of espresso, and top it off with a drizzle of caramel on top.”

He slumps against the counter. “You sure you want all of that?”

“Can I please get a half dozen sfogliatella and a cannoli?

He starts picking at his cuticles and sneers. “Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.” 

“My change is supposed to be five dollars, you only gave me three back?”

Satoru groans. “You’re trying to scam me, aren’t you?”

By the end of his four hour shift, Satoru feels like he’s just done more charity work than he’s ever done in his life — actually, maybe this could also be comparable to the time where he did the ribbon cutting ceremony at Chanel; gotta support small businesses, right?

“Gojo.” You’re seated across from him behind the counter, arms crossed and pursed lips.

He barely spares you a glance as he idly plays whatever shitty mobile game that’s number one on the app store. “Mhm? What is it?” He clearly knows you’re upset, your voice practically screams ‘I will end you’ in the most monotonous way possible. But can you blame him? Of all places, Satoru does not want to spend his winter break here.

You jerk your head to the side, fingers rhythmically tapping away on the counter, clearly unimpressed. “It hasn’t even been a full day and you’ve managed to piss off every single customer.”

Satoru expression shifts, brow creasing, and sighs, grabbing a handful of mint chocolate from the freebie candy jar by the register. “Don’t be dramatic,” he rolls his eyes and shoves three pieces in his mouth before jabbing a finger at a young man. “I didn’t piss him off!”

You glower, cheeks slightly puffed out. “That’s Yuuji and he’s practically a family friend and Choso’s little brother, so he doesn’t count,” you explain before adding, “Plus, he’s literally nice to everyone. You’re not special.”

And for a second, Satoru considered arguing that fact. Having been born into wealth, granted whatever wish he wanted, his butlers and maids are always on speed dial, that’s the lifestyle he’s used to. Placed on this tiny rock called Earth just to take over it one day, is what his father used to always say to him. But how can he, Satoru Gojo, take over when he’s stuck working a minimum — scratch that, unpaid — wage job as punishment? 

Instead of fighting, Satoru slumps against the counter and pouts, like a little kid who just got their toy taken away. You and your sister Utahime have a clear advantage over him, by somehow being close, yet distant, friends to his family. Maybe karma is real. 

“I’m putting you on ski lessons later.”

Satoru’s ears perk at this. “Oh, so I get some employee benefits, right?”

You roll your eyes, digging deep in your pockets to pull out a sheet with his name next to a list of others. “Wrong. You’re in charge of teaching five year olds how to ski.” 

“Huh?”

Somehow that sounds even worse than being a barista. Kinda. 

By the end of his first day of unemployment, Satoru tries to convince himself that a full change of scenery is nice. Well, he has to convince himself, otherwise he’s stuck dreading each coming day for the rest of the week. 

“Tired yet, Gojo?”

You flop down on a spare armchair in his room, squishing his Canada Goose jacket underneath. He’s too tired to yell at you to get off and tumbles onto his bed, feet dangling off the edge, letting out a loud groan when his face immediately makes contact with the rough wooly blanket. Surprisingly to him, everything just feels so comfortable that the quality of the products doesn’t even cross his mind.

Sure, the air in the room is a bit musty, and he can feel his cheeks flaring up from the sudden change in temperature and the dull aching nag in his legs from demonstrating ski tricks to toddlers, but there’s an odd sense of fulfillment swelling in his chest just about now. He almost suggests taking over Choso’s lesson but, according to the hotel pamphlet, there’s going to be an ice fishing tournament tomorrow and he kinda wants to check that out, too.

“Exhausted,” he mumbles into the sheets, eyes squeezed shut. Satoru wiggles his body around for a few moments before slipping out of his snow boots and stares out the window, noticing flickering green and purple lights in the night sky. “Woah, are those…?”

He hears you laugh beside him. “Yeah, northern lights. We see them all the time during the winter.”

“Only seen them bitches in ‘Polar Express’.” Satoru finds himself saying whatever’s on his mind right now, his brain too whipped out to control his mouth. “You guys are lucky to see this every night.”

“I know you’re all pooped out from today but,” he feels the mattress dip by the edge and your fingers poking at his thighs. “Did you wanna head up to the balcony and watch them for a bit?” you say this experimentally, waiting for his reaction. 

Satoru might be a stranger to most natural phenomenons, having to zone out all the time whenever he did go on family vacations to a fancy national park when he was younger. Though, during the short time of spending his time here, it makes him think about packing up and leaving behind the fast paced city life for a bit of natural beauty and brightness.

“Carry me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re like a giant.” 

He manages to gather some energy to sit up on his elbows. “You should at least have some form of hospitality to a family friend, you know?”

You eye him for a long moment, and then finally huff, breaking the contact to kick your feet into the festive carpeted floor. “Alright, just don’t lean your whole body weight on me.”

“Wouldn’t count on that.”

Both of you end up tumbling onto the balcony rails around one in the morning. As expected, Satoru couldn’t keep to his promise, throwing his ridiculously long arms around your shoulders, and whining the whole way up the stairs. It’s not his fault that the inn didn’t have an elevator installed. In all, it’s not a bad day — a bad night, even. 

You straighten him against the railing before throwing a blanket over him. The fabric is thick and heavy, and Satoru forgets the ache in his limbs as he watches the way your eyes focus, eyebrows knitted, when you’re making sure he stays bundled up against the winter air. Once upon a time, Satoru never would’ve thought he would actually enjoy being in the company of someone who’s actively trying to teach him a lesson.

“Okay,” you say suddenly, almost like a reminder that you need to breathe, and pull away from him once he’s wrapped tightly like a swaddled baby. 

You both sit in silence for a moment, and Satoru feels the urge to fill all that silence. He supposes maybe that’s why most people find him so annoying. He never really shuts up, always wants to add the last comment to everything. Though, with the help of Suguru by his side, it’s gotten slightly easier and bearable for others but, when his head is big and full of loud thoughts, it’s so hard trying to calm the buzzing noise in his head and —

“Gojo, look,” your pointer finger darts at the illuminated skyline in the distance and he snaps his head, following the trail, before gasping.

He feels your other hand tugging at the blanket when he finally makes out two faint bright lights in the distance. You squirm slightly next to him, to the point where your shoulders touch, and Satoru finally breathes, because suddenly, there’s heat rushing in. The loud, rough winds around him seem to die down and he’s aware of the slightly gazed expression on your face as you look into the far distance.

“Did you make a wish?” he finds himself whispering.

You grin. “Yeah, gonna make you work here for eternity,” you reply back in good natured spirit.

Something stirs inside Satoru. Something important. Well, Satoru-level important, so in the grand scheme of things, not very — but still. He unravels parts of his blanket and throws it over your head, making sure that it messes up your hair, and laughs when you throw him another pout. 

“Did you make a wish?” you adjust the blanket so it covers your shoulders, moving a little closer to him, avoiding the cool breeze.

Satoru nods but presses a finger to his lips. “Not telling, though. Might not come true if I do.”

“Oh, shoot. Maybe I should’ve kept mine a secret then.”

He rolls his eyes and nudges your waist with an elbow. “You will definitely not see me here again.”

Satoru realizes, very fast, that his life has become very different, very quickly. And it might not be the bad kind of different. 

Over the course of the next few days, he’s practically glued to your side as you’re showing him all things related to hospitality that his father tried to drill into him when he was a pre-teen. Obviously, it didn’t work at the time. Satoru’s known for being defiant just because he wanted to, and eventually his father stopped with the after school etiquette lessons. You, on the other hand, unfortunately have him tied around your fingers.

“You need to tidy up the edges more, Gojo.”

“There’s barely a wrinkle in these sheets!” He points at the bed sheet on the mattress, the one that he’d been working on for the last ten minutes in vain while you stood next to him with slightly concerned eyes. It’s a room service type of lesson today and, even though Satoru has never made his own bed before, he’s positive that he didn’t leave behind any smudges that might catch anyone’s eye.

“Did you check tuck in the sides? Or are you trying to get off easy for today?” You say, there’s a mild accusation in your tone when you speak, smiling as you step aside. 

And, despite the warm smile, Satoru frowns a little, because guess who forgot to tuck in the sides? 

When Satoru ducks his head around the mattress and sees a good loose chunk of the sheets hanging off and groans when you’re right. “It’s not my fault that they’ve made them so big for no reason,” he replies, somewhat embarrassed, rubbing the back of his head and messing up his already ruffled hair.

You roll your eyes and stick a tongue out. “You’re getting the hang of it though, maybe even faster than Yuuji when he first offered to help.”

He flushes at the unexpected praise and quickly fixes the sheets, turning his whole entire body away from your sight. “Better than Yuuji, right?”

“Oh? So, you only work better with compliments, Gojo?” You sound amused, as if a lightbulb just popped on top of your head.  

Satoru flattens out the bed once more, strangely now feeling satisfied with the final outcome before turning around, sticking out a tongue of his own. “Only if it’s from you,” he answers, honestly. 

You laugh, and hopefully it’s not at him. “I thought you would be more annoying to deal with.”

“So, I’m just regular amounts of annoying?” He points out, with a fake frown, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the sheet.

You turn your gaze, seemingly in deep thought, before responding with a small shrug and grin. “Possibly a perfect amount of annoying.”

Satoru feels the blood rushing to his cheeks, again. “Well, of course, it’s the perfect amount because I’m perfect,” he replies, instantly, but suddenly he’s shy and feels the need to go to the next room to fix their stupid sheets before he combusts in front of you.

“Gojo,” you say, almost hesitantly. 

He swallows and rubs the back of his neck, wiping off evidence of his sweaty palms. “Yeah?”

“You missed a spot,” and your pointer fingers direct at the far right corner of the bed frame. He must’ve pulled the sides too hard and it caused the other side to flip over. Ugh, he’s not cut out for this at all.

“I’m… uh, still better than Yuuji, right?”

“Mhm, getting there, Gojo.”

By day four, Satoru has surprisingly adjusted to the rules and responsibilities. He’s not entirely sure what’s gotten him mildly well behaved, Suguru is a bit surprised by the daily updates being less… aggressive and whiny. What started as long vent paragraphs about the lack of heated flooring and needy customers, soon turned into photo albums of kids face planting into the snow and unconsented selfies with you in the background. Satoru absolutely makes sure you end up looking the worst out of the two because he’s gotta let his best friend know who’s the prettiest and he’s definitely racking up a blackmail album of all of your worst moments in case anything happens in the future. 

It’s closing time and he just got back from the reindeer shed out in the back, covered head to toe in all things hay and snow. First things first, and no one bothered to tell him, but reindeers smell bad. Like, really bad. Especially at the end of the day, where their pens are covered in shit and countless carrots and apple bits from the little kids overfeeding them. Satoru is vaguely aware of the fact that he smells, just like he’s vaguely aware that the hotel lobby is oddly quiet from the usual banter between you and the usual workers.

Utahime and Choso are sitting by the cafe bar, seemingly deep in conversation about ordering more supplies for next week. Satoru thinks about interrupting their session with probably an unrelated dumb question, but the idea dies when Utahime notices his presence and motions him to come over. 

“You stink,” Satoru casts a half-glare at Utahime and begins picking out some of the scattered hay pieces stuck to his sweater. 

“For the record, I became good friends with Rudolph and Vixen today,” he grumbles back and Choso throws him a pat on the back.

“Hey, I don’t mind your stink, by the way. Smells kinda nice,” Choso offers up, but Satoru only shoots him a very unhappy look.

“If you think I smell nice then I’m really worried about what you think smells bad,” then he turns over to Utahime again, who’s engrossed in whatever is on her clipboard right now. “So, what did you need from me?”

“My sister,” she starts and taps away at the clipboard before handing it over to him. It’s pages upon pages of invoices from the past month. “Could you hand this to her? She should be in the back.”

“You treating me like an errand boy?”

Utahime scoffs. “What? Don’t wanna see her?”

“No, I do,” he responds, a bit too fast for his own liking, and straightens out. “Uh, is that all?” Satoru hopes his face doesn’t betray how much he’s a bit excited to interact with you, given that today was a full day out in the trenches, and he absolutely needs to hear you say his name at least twice a day in order to have a good night’s sleep.

Choso is trying really hard not to laugh, and Satoru takes it as a sign that he currently has a cheesy smile on his face — go figure. “One of the corner rooms upstairs requested a weighted blanket, mind also doing that too?”

There’s a certain relief that floods through Satoru and he thinks maybe he can take on a few more tasks for the night if that means spending a little more time with you, even if his body is screaming that he needs to take a two hour long shower. 

“Hey,” he starts to say when he rounds the corner, “Where’d you put those weighted blankets again?”

Satoru expected to walk in on you neck-deep in paperwork. You’ve mentioned earlier in the week that this year would be the busiest and there’s a bunch of stuff due. Something about end of the year tax returns and inventory counts, it all goes out his ear but he remembers something similar that his father told him in a prior conversation. He thinks he could probably help you figure out some of it, but that might be a bit much.

What he walks in on, thought, is you sitting in your little makeshift office. You’re on your laptop, the screen’s tilted just right enough that he gets a glimpse of what you’re looking at. You’re looking at flights and hotels, even got a whole spreadsheet on the second monitor. From what he’s seen of you so far, you didn’t come off as the type to talk about your future that much.

His voice catches you by surprise and your expression flickers from something vaguely focused to embarrassment real quick. You hastily close out the tabs and go back to the hotel’s homepage.

“What is it, Gojo?” And there’s this awkward, oddly frantic moment of you fumbling around with the keyboard and mouse, like a teenage boy who’s just got caught looking at porn.

“Ah,” Satoru thinks seeing your flustered side is rather adorable, to say the least. “You tryin’ to plan a vacation or something?” He struts over to your desk, placing a firm hand onto the back of the chair, and there’s this smile on his face that just screams ‘gotcha’.

Your face scrunches up but it’s not out of annoyance. “Kinda?”

Even with a grumpy look, it’s a good look on you. Makes you kinda dark, brooding, and beautiful, and it turns your eyes into dark storm clouds, or some other weird, waxy poetic shit that Satoru can’t figure out the words to. Either way, Satoru thinks you look cute and can’t stop noticing your little facial movements. You’re more expressive than you would probably imagine.

“Ooh, where to?”

You sigh and start playing with your thumbs. “Malaysia. My friend told me great things about it and I’ve been meaning to go for a while now but time and money are always iffy.”

“Makes sense, I can imagine that being an inn assistant doesn’t pay all the bills.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say. You huff and glare, an icy-death glare, at him. If looks could kill, Satoru is sure that he’ll be six feet underground by now. 

“Weighted blankets are on the second floor closet by the laundry room,” you answer his initial question curtly before shutting the laptop. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“It was just a question,” he mumbles slowly, and maybe even a little dangerously. “If money’s an issue—”

“Gojo.” Your voice is fixed and rigid, one that leaves absolutely no room for debate. “Your dad was right about you; you always just fall back to your fame and wealth.”

As you’re busy staring, Satoru realizes that you’re kinda being a total ass to him right now.

“That’s not fair,” his voice is rising and can’t seem to put a stop to the words spilling out. “Don’t bring my dad into this conversation.”

“Or what? You can go back to your privileged life anytime you want. This is just a field trip for you while others actually have to try hard and make a living.” You spit out. 

“No one forced you to become an inn worker, you know? If you’re so worried about money then you could’ve just found another high paying job.” Satoru wrinkles his nose and his volume continues to rise. 

You immediately offer him a dark glare and it comes off in a cut-throat way that shuts Satoru up mid thought. The rest of his counters die in his throat when you start making hand gestures at the office exit and he gets the hint: ‘leave before I lose my shit’ is the calling he sees.

And it works, because he finds his tone shifting a little, awkwardly kicking the floor and backing off. “Whatever…”

That was last night and, by now, Satoru is realizing that he’s kind of a giant asshole and the guilt is slowly eating away at him. Was he always like this? It couldn’t have been — he’s only met you a few days ago, and this is only meant to be a quick, ‘vacational’, getaway. Sure he might be a bit selfish and a dick, but he had been able to function perfectly fine before all of this, hadn’t he? 

Satoru’s not really sure.

It’s noon, and he’s lying in bed. Choso had asked him to cover his shift at the cafe, and he’d agreed, readily, even though it’s supposed to be his day off, because you’re working. Choso had texted him, though, saying that you had simply said you’d work the entire shift by yourself.

Of course. It’s absolutely not funny anymore.

Satoru sighs. He’s going to apologize, that’s for sure. It wounds some of his pride, yeah, but whatever, this tension between you guys, though, isn’t worth it. He finds himself wasting his entire morning away rotting in bed. There are things that he could be doing, that he looks forward to, like feeding the reindeers or demonstrating basic ski moves to little kids. Choso and Yuuji totally got him addicted to yelling out ‘pizza’ and ‘french fry’ at every chance he gets. They also got him addicted to a shitty relationship forum they both browse, but somehow the idea of reading other people’s relationship drama, when he’s facing drama of his own, is kinda mentally exhausting.

On second thought, maybe he should post on that forum, actually.

It might not be such a bad idea.

Or maybe he could reach out to Suguru and ask how to apologize? 

His best friend is a bit more grounded and attuned with other people’s feelings compared to him, afterall. Satoru’s not good at this stuff and he’s always just cut others off whenever they do argue, but this feels different. And, well, for the first time in forever, Satoru is desperate. 

“I fucked up big time and I need to apologize, help me out here?”

Suguru scoffs over the line. “Wow, what happened to saying ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’?”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Hi, hello. How are you? How do I make a sincere apology?”

“I’m good, thank you. Now, for your request, depends on how big the fuck up is.”

He bites his tongue, finding the right words to essentially not sound like a huge dick but, no matter how he wants to rephrase it, the outcome is the same. “I might’ve implied that she’s poor and needs someone to take care of her?” It sounds so stupid, so mean, and so degrading now that he’s saying it out loud. 

He hears Suguru sucking in his teeth and sighs. After a couple of pauses, his best friend finally speaks. “That’s pretty fucked up.”

Satoru frowns. “Okay, yeah, it is,” and he sits up in his bed when a snowball makes an impact against the window. It’s Utahime. And, currently, she’s throwing him the nastiest glare that a woman has ever given him in his life. “Um, I’ll call you back, buddy…”

“What? I haven’t given you—”

“Don’t have time for unwarranted advice right now.”

“You called me!”

“Bye!” Satoru ends the call before shuffling towards the window, swallowing a hard lump, and inches the glass panel just small enough for him to hear coherently and not big enough for her to punt him across the face. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

But Utahime is in an obvious shitty mood and Satoru’s lack of charming antics aren’t going to work this time. “I’m going to apologize, I promise,” he tries to insist.

“This is all your fault,” she immediately gets to the point and it makes him shrink back just a tiny bit. He’s starting to see that the bluntness runs in the family. “Just get your ass to work.”

“But my shift doesn’t start till—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Utahime starts to form an even bigger snowball and raises it to the window panel. “Ass out of bed, now.”

Okay, so as much as Satoru had tried to tell himself that this week wouldn’t be bad, it’s really starting to get fucking awful.

Everyone’s in a shit mood. Yuuji tries to crack some jokes but the usual crowd isn’t having it. You’ve been throwing Satoru dirty looks while working behind the cafe counter together and he’s been put on drink duty — which is his worst nightmare — while you’re attending to the customers because you’re young and cute enough for them to be nice to you. Satoru has spilled hot coffee and chocolate on himself like four times so far, and the shift just started. He’s terrified that the rest of this week is going to be like this.

“Can we talk?” Satoru whisper shouts over the espresso machine.

He sees your shoulders tensing up but immediately relaxes them afterwards. “Did you hear something, Yuuji?”

The boy looks up from the bar counter, it’s his day off and he’s catching up on some homework, but the seemingly growing tension that’s unfolding in front of him is making it painfully hard for him to focus on anything engineering related. Yuuji scratches the back of his neck before darting his eyes back and forth between the two of you. Normally, he would be the voice of reason, but Satoru doesn’t blame him when he shakes his head.

“N-Nah, must’ve been the wind or something...” 

Great, he’s been reduced to an air draft.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you agree without missing a beat. As the next customer in line spends an eternity holding everyone up, debating whether to get the seasonal muffin or french toast to go with their drink, you continue, “Thought I heard a rotten brat for a second.”

He absolutely doesn’t expect the harsh insult. Satoru widens his eyes at the outburst and there’s a small pause, the silence ticking in between everyone, and he’s sure that you’re glaring him down somewhere in a small reflection on the counter. 

Satoru debates whether to call out your name and shake some sense into you, but Yuuji quickly swallows and makes a motion with his hands to his throat, a universal signal saying — ‘I wouldn’t test the waters, if I were you’.

And, after the customer finally decides that they didn’t want any pastries with their coffee order, you finish the transaction before announcing that you’re going on a small fifteen minute break to “stretch”. Though, anyone could see that you’re planning to cool off before you manage to actually blow up in Satoru’s face.

“How the hell am I going to talk to her?” he groans to Yuuji once you’re finally away. He’s managing the cash register and, surprisingly, finishes taking the remaining orders quite smoothly compared to his first day. At least he can pat himself on the back for this. 

“You’ve really pissed her off, dude,” Yuuji replies and Satoru just rolls his eyes because that’s all he’s been hearing from everyone else all day today. “You should talk to her when she’s not… charged up.”

“Way to point out the obvious.” Sometimes he forgets that Yuuji is a bit oblivious. How is he doing so well as a mechanical engineering major? 

Yuuji makes an audible ‘pop’ and whistles. “What did you even say to her?”

Satoru groans into his hands. “Did she not tell you?”

“Well, she wasn’t exactly in a chippy mood to talk about anything this morning — outside of work, that is.”

“Here’s a little TLDR version: might’ve said something classist.”

“Might’ve?”

“Okay, definitely said something classist.”

“Then…” Yuuji drums his fingers against the counter, deep in thought. “Y’know, whenever me and Megumi fight, I always invite him out to the movies to try and cheer him up. Might not be applicable to you but…”

Satoru blinks. “Are you suggesting a date would help?”

“Maybe not a date—”

“No, I’m sorry for calling you dumb, you’re so right—a nice date might work!”

“You never called me dumb, though?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, kiddo.”

Satoru unravels the ribbon on his apron and throws it in Yuuji’s general direction, not caring if he tossed the stained uniform directly in his face. He hops the counter and pats the younger male on the shoulder, flashing him a genuine smile because, hey, maybe Yuuji actually is smarter than he looks.

“Gonna totally invite you to the wedding.”

It’s no secret that Satoru Gojo hasn’t been on a proper date in a pathetically long time.

He has swiped right on a number of highly influential celebrities and figures on dating apps before. Matched with nearly all of them. Gone on…maybe a lot of first dates with not a lot of second dates coming right after. Who cares though, everyone’s just there for the photos and followers anyway. Satoru knows that he’s attractive and that he personally loves big, lavish dates but, at this point, he knows you enough to understand you absolutely hate big gestures. 

After a short winded conversation with Suguru and Utahime, separately, Satoru has concluded on not buying you first class tickets to Malaysia. 

“Are you trying to get her to hate your guts?” Was the general consensus of the conversation with said people. 

So, what’s the next best option if he can’t fly you out to Malaysia? The answer is pretty simple — bring Malaysia to Mistle Town. And no, he’s not going to be relying on his black card for anything, even though the back of his mind is telling him otherwise. 

Choso blinks several times at Satoru’s printed out proposal. The colorful letters and Google image photos of beaches and coconuts slapped poorly onto the document screams back at Choso and Yuuji, bright and early on Christmas Eve. 

It’s unusual for Satoru to be bouncing excitedly in place for someone other than himself. So this catches everyone off guard. 

Yuuji whispers something intangible to Choso, but Satoru is able to make it out as, “Do we even have coconuts here?”

To which Choso replies, “It’s winter, so I don’t think so.”

And Yuuji moves onto the next question in queue, “What should we do about the lack of palm trees?”

A patient sigh from Choso, “We could always trim the pine trees outside?” He lamely suggests. 

“It’s a good idea, no?” Satoru jumps right back in, completely missing the flat vibe from the brothers. He frowns. “Why are you guys giving me that look?” 

And, like his best friend and your sister, the brothers throw him a confused head tilt. 

“Well,” Yuuji weakly starts, “Your plan ‘Project: Bring Malaysia here in hopes of Y/N falling in love with me’ doesn’t really sound that great… even on paper.”

Satoru grins, fully expecting that to be the response. “I’ll order the things, don’t worry about it. I just need to borrow your lungs for this project.”

Yuuji scratches his cheek in confusion, laughing nervously again. “Our lungs…?” he echos. 

“How long do I have to keep this dumb blindfold on, Choso?”

“U-Um,” Choso shoots Satoru a brow as he carefully guides you through the hotel lobby. 

It’s currently decked out from head to toe in all things yellow, green, and pink beach themed inflatables. Choso and Yuuji reminded Satoru last night that maybe two flamingos would’ve been enough to get the message across, but seeing that he ordered a whole colony? Yeah, he’s sending the rich boy prayers as he reels you in further, avoiding collision with the colorful balloons and seven-foot tall palm trees, too.

“Choso?”

He squeezes your shoulders when Satoru shoots him a thumbs up. “Ten seconds.”

Satoru quietly walks over to both of you, tip toeing so the sounds of his loafers are minimized against the flooring. Once he’s inches away, Choso retreats off into a different room, mouthing to him words of final encouragement, which Satoru gladly took. 

You appear restless under the blindfold. “I swear to god, if I take it off and there’s a giant pile of reindeer shit in the middle of the lobby I will actually kill somebody—”

And Satoru quietly debates whether or not he wants to keep you like this for a little while before revealing the big surprise. Seeing you flustered and confused is a very cute look on you, after all. But, he’s gotten you this far and it would absolutely kill him to leave you on such a bad notice. It’s now early evening, and the sun’s just starting to set enough that the golden rays illuminate your features from this angle. It takes Satoru back to his first private meeting with you on the balcony and he remembers why he’s even doing this in the first place.

Carefully and slowly, he slips down the blindfold and softly calls out your name. “Hey, take a look around you.”

Your eyes are blown wide when you see his face. Anger and frustration dissipate from your face when you soon realize that Satoru carries a soft expression. He watches as the emotions wash off as quickly as they came. Then, you finally take a look around your surroundings and gasp. “You—You did all of this for me?”

Satoru tenses a little, a bit on the edge. “You want the short or long answer?”

You don’t notice because you’re too preoccupied with the numerous fake flamingos around you. “On second thought, maybe no answer would also work.”

He laughs at this, slightly, before turning shy again. He feels silly, ashamed, and it makes his cheeks flush. “I wanted to say sorry again for what I said earlier.”

“You finally want to talk about it?”

He looks at your idle hands and then back to your face. When he sees that you don't move them away as he inches closer, he takes both of them into his palms, giving them a tight squeeze. “Yeah, I was a big idiot and I thought I was trying to help in the beginning but I just sounded—no, I am—a giant ass.” Satoru concludes. 

The atmosphere grows quiet and heavy again. The air humid and thick despite the opened windows and you’re looking at him. Then, there are tiny little smiles that break out on your face, like freckles and stars in the sky. 

“You’re such a pillow princess,” and he outright blushes ten shades darker at the nickname, “you’re lucky you’re cute.” Coming from you, that’s as good as a love confession.

I like you, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. He really likes you and doesn’t want to fuck this up.

But, everyone knows that Satoru Gojo is a child at heart. 

Satoru doesn’t know who gives in first; realistically, it might’ve been one of those stupid, rare, impossible moments where it’s completely shared. Suddenly the gaudy blow up palm trees and inflatable pool blur from his vision and he feels the world roaring around him when your palms rest on his cheeks. He ducks his head down but you’re the one who closes the distance between. 

You taste like strawberries and lavender, smell like warm cocoa, and feel softer than any sherpa blanket he’s had. Satoru closes his eyes and his vision goes white, his hands shakily snake around your waist, pressing you hard against his chest as if you might disappear at any moment. Satoru sighs into the kiss, it feels pleasantly warm, that throb in his chest, it’s a slow, steady thrum of simmering desire and comfort. He’s pretty sure he’s adding way too much tongue, the drool and saliva that comes dripping between you two will be uncomfortable soon, but for now, it adds to the blissed out, satisfaction you’re both basking in.

Finally, you pull away, shortening yourself a good several inches from planting the rest of your feet on the ground. Your eyes are glossed over, watery and looking at him without vexation. “You’re something else.” You say, but there’s no bite.

Satoru doesn’t speak for a moment. He’s too focused on the feeling of your warm fingers sprawled all over his heating face. Too focused on the dull pulse of both nervousness and infatuation slowly spreading through his body because you’re giving him that look. This all feels romantic and stupid, he thinks.

“I’m sorry, again.” The words are quiet, hesitant, and Satoru almost regrets them the moment he speaks.

You shift around a little, now dancing on the balls of your feet, but the grasp you have on his cheeks is still relatively firm, even applying a bit of more pressure as if it’s your way of showing reassurance. You tip your head; your eyes are so vivid and bright, it sends a shiver down Satoru’s spine. In this moment, he remembers every single thing between them in shocking detail — the awkwardness, the tension, the frustration, the dumb banters, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed.

“I’ll forgive you if you give me a private city tour,” you laugh. “And come back to work with us again next year.”

Satoru offers a small smile. “Unpaid?”

“Will you say no if it is?”

He hugs you tighter, a chuckle bubbles in his throat. “I don’t think I can say no because it’s you.”

Though, while some might think that Satoru is the real loser here for being whipped so hard over a small town girl, you know that deep down the real loser is you. Because you managed to have the son of a CEO wrapped around your fingers and now you will never know peace again. But you’re not really complaining; instead, you’re working even harder to save just enough to eventually see your dream destination while Satoru whines and sends an ungodly amount of selfies everyday when he’s back home. And you won’t allow yourself to get snappy because, well, you’re very much head over heels for him, too.

© 2023 DOOBEA. do not copy any of my writing and translate/repost.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@angstflayer-council 24 hour writing challenge!

prompt: forest | word count: 1,233 | rated: G

The town of Hawkins is laid out weird.

The richest neighborhoods built with maybe a couple hundred yards of forest between them and the Forest Hills trailer park.

“I don’t want to see that rubbish out my window.” Steve’s mother would say as she closed all the blinds at the back of the house come winter. Something beyond the bare trees that Steve could never see, and she didn't want to.

“You be careful in those woods now, Eddie. Don’t wanna see ya gettin’ hurt.” Wayne would warn. Never telling him to stay out, just a “Be careful.” since he knew Eddie would go no matter what.

That couple hundred yards of forest was Steve’s favorite place to go; it was Eddie’s favorite place to go.

At the halfway point between their homes, they made a place all their own. The place they met.

Whenever Steve felt alone, he would go to their spot.

Whenever Eddie felt like a burden, he would go to their spot.

Steve wouldn’t be alone, and Eddie could never be a burden to his friend.

They would play there together in the spring when Eddie would visit for Easter, all summer long when Steve was on break from school (Eddie too, visiting his Uncle for the season). During the short extra hours of Thanksgiving before they would have to go back for dinner. Every bright, freezing day of winter break.

Every day was some sort of adventure, either one that Eddie’s uncle had read to him about from those Ring Lord books he loved, or an adventure all his own! Eddie was always telling some sort of story.

The short hills and valleys became foxholes, sticks and branches were swords and bows, giant spoons to stir a potion of mud and bugs, the walls of a fort just for them.

“Hear ye, Hear ye! Beloved denizens of Harringson county, Fort Steddie is now complete!” Eddie declared loudly, putting the last leafy branch onto the lopsided roof. It was the summer after Eddie officially moved to Hawkins. They were 11.

“Steddie?”  

Eddie jumps down from the tree he’d latched onto to get up to the roof and pushes the short curls he’s managed to grow back since last year off his forehead. “Yeah, like Steve and Eddie mushed together. Duh.”

“Not..Eddeve? Why not just call it Fort Harringson?”

“All options were considered, Stevie,” Eddie assures, holding one palm up, his other hand resting behind him on his lower back. “Steddie had a better ring to it.”

“You have a better ring to it.” Steve teases, running off immediately, Eddie not far behind with his favorite branch-turned-sword.

A scant two years later, Steve and Eddie share their first kiss under the roof of Fort Steddie, in the heart of Harringson County.

Two more finds them nearly coming to blows. 

Eddie embarrassed Steve. On the very first day of High School. Steve doesn’t even fucking remember what it was that Eddie did now, the actual offence lost to time.

The last time he and Eddie were together in those woods?…Wasn’t.

“It’s high school Eddie, I wanted to–to be cool!”

“Well, I think you’re cool. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Eddie’s hair is longer now, it curls under his ears and Steve still remembers how it had felt between his fingers.

“No! ‘Cause you’re not cool! You’re a nerd!” Steve remembers he regretted those words immediately after they left his mouth. No. He regretted them as they were coming out.

Eddie’s jaw had clenched.

“Eddie–”

He turned on his heel and marched back towards his trailer.

“Fine! Walk away! Just like everyone else in my life!” What was he talking about? His parents weren’t around enough to walk away.

Eddie doesn’t look back. He only pauses to grab his backpack where he’d dropped it against a tree.

After that day, Steve feels alone whenever he enters the woods behind his house.

Every day since then, he’s wanted so badly to tear apart that lopsided little fort in the middle of the forest.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t bear to tear down the only place he’d ever had where he didn’t feel alone.

He couldn’t bear to tear down the place of his first kiss with the man he still loves.

For years, Fort Steddie sits empty. 

Steve and Eddie will both deny ever going back, but of course they had. Always missing each other, in heart and in reality.

It was the first place Steve thought of when Dustin barreled into Family Video looking for Eddie in March of ‘86, but he couldn’t get the words out. His mouth denying his brain’s demands to tell them about their spot in the forest.

So he kept quiet, letting the others figure out where else Eddie might be, promising to check there himself as soon as he had a chance.

Luckily though, they had found Eddie. In Reefer Rick’s boathouse of all places. Steve’s first thought when getting threatened with a broken bottle to the throat (after “Oh thank fuck you’re safe.”) was that it was good Eddie hadn’t hidden at their fort, it was too obvious of a spot.

Much later, while walking through the freezing cold upside-down Hawkins, Robin questions the little shelter they come across when almost to Eddie’s trailer.

“Is this Castle Byers?” She asks, sticking her head into the little door.

“No,” Steve and Eddie say at once.

Robin and Nancy both give them a weird look, but Eddie barrels forward, “We shouldn’t be that far now; I built this in the woods outside my trailer when I first moved in with Wayne.”

Eddie jogs forward to reach them, he and Nancy heading up the group now, Robin trailing behind.

Steve gives the fort a wistful look as he passes, then jogs forward as well, further into the fray.

They push on; they plan, they build weapons, Eddie builds a shield. Dustin copies him.

When Steve, Robin, and Nancy head back towards those same woods, the forest’s sure safety replaced in his gut by pure dread, Eddie stops Steve with an unsure “Hey Steve? Make him pay.”.

Steve loses it.

He stomps back the three steps he’d taken, grabs Eddie by the open flaps of his jacket and vest, and kisses him.

It only takes half a second for Eddie to kiss him back; their lips falling into rhythm as if no time had passed at all.

“What did I just tell you, Eddie?” Steve questions the dumbfounded metalhead under his hands, ignoring Robin and Dustin’s wolf-whistles while zipping up the protective layers his dumb of ass, beloved Eddie was about to leave open to the unforgiving world around him.

He can see how red Eddie’s face is, even in this dark hellscape. “What’d yo– You sa–”

“I said.” Steve emphasizes, pulling up the thick plastic zipper of Eddie’s new vest. “Don’t try to be cute, don’t be heroes.” he hooks his fingers into the armholes of the armored clothing, holding Eddie close. “You can’t help the ‘cute’ part, but you can help the second part.”

Eddie continues to stare at him, dumbfounded.

“Keep him safe, Eddie. Keep yourself safe too.” He looks him over once again. “I’ve been alone in those woods for too damn long. I’d like to keep you around once this is over.” he whispers, smirking at the other man.

"I-I will.."

Steve steps back, walking backward toward the woods, toward the Creel house, “It’s not quite Fort Steddie without the ‘Eddie’, you know.” Eddie’s own smirk climbs onto his face despite his attempts to frown it away.

Steve finally turns, walking away with Robin hanging off his side, no doubt berating him about the…all of that that just happened.

Speaking of: “Holy shit Eddie, what the fuck was all that??”

“Language, Henderson.”

i originally posted this as the shorter angsty-er version but i liked the rest of what i wrote too much not to post the whole thing 😅 so if you saw the first version, i hope you like the additions lmao

[sunlightmurdock]

Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

[inmyfxith]

SFW Alphabet - Neteyam

A/N -> This template isn't mine, I don't remember where I found it so if it's yours don't hesitate to tell me so I can credit you.

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

Neteyam admires his partner's intelligence and strategic thinking, as well as their unwavering loyalty and commitment to their loved ones.

B = Body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

Neteyam's favorite part of his partner's body is their strong and agile hands, which are capable of both delicate and precise movements as well as fierce protection.

C = Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

Neteyam loves to cuddle with his partner in a way that allows them to feel fully supported and comforted, often holding them close and rubbing their back in a soothing manner.

Neteyam and you are sitting together on a grassy hill overlooking Pandora's beautiful landscape. As the sun sets, you snuggle up close, with Neteyam wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your back in a soothing and affectionate manner.

"Your touch is always so calming," you say, nuzzling against his chest.

Neteyam smiles and kisses the top of your head. "I just want to take care of you," he says. "You mean everything to me."

The two of you continue to cuddle and relax together, enjoying the peace and serenity of Pandora's natural world. It's moments like these that make Neteyam feel grateful and content, knowing that he has found his perfect match in you.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

Neteyam's ideal date with his partner would involve a day of adventure and exploration, such as visiting a new area of Pandora or trying out a new activity together.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

Around his partner, Neteyam is very expressive with his emotions and is not afraid to show his love and affection through both words and physical gestures.

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

Neteyam is open to the idea of starting a family with his partner in the future, and sees himself as a dedicated and supportive partner who will always put his loved ones first.

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

Neteyam enjoys giving gifts to his partner that are both meaningful and practical, often choosing items that will enhance their daily lives or help them achieve their goals. It could be a beautifully crafted piece of jewelry made from natural materials found on Pandora, such as a necklace made of carved wood or a bracelet made of vines. A set of tools or weapons for hunting or self-defense, such as a bow and arrows or a spear. A plant or seedling from a sacred or medicinal plant on Pandora, as a symbol of life and growth. He could even organize a special ceremony or ritual that celebrates an important milestone or event in their relationship, such as a bonding ceremony or a rite of passage.

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

Neteyam likes to hold hands with his partner whenever they are out in public or during moments of intimacy, as it helps him feel connected to them and reaffirm their bond.

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

If his partner were to get hurt, Neteyam would be extremely protective and caring, doing everything in his power to help them recover and feel better.

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

Neteyam enjoys making his partner laugh and will often playfully tease or joke around with them in a way that is lighthearted and affectionate.

Neteyam and you are out for a walk through the forest, enjoying the sights and sounds of Pandora's natural world. As you walk, Neteyam starts to playfully tease you, pretending to be a predator stalking you.

"Oh no, it's the fearsome Neteyam!" you say, pretending to be scared.

Neteyam grins and chases after you playfully, pretending to be a fierce beast. "I'm going to get you!" he says.

You laugh and run away, trying to evade him. You dart through the trees and over the streams, always just out of Neteyam's reach.

Finally, you stop to catch your breath, giggling and panting. "You're so silly," you add, giving him a playful shove.

Neteyam grins and wraps his arms around you. "I just can't help it," he says. "I love making you laugh."

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

Neteyam is a tender and loving kisser, often taking his time to savor each moment of intimacy with his partner and show them how much he cares.

L = Love (how do they show you they love you?)

Neteyam shows his love for his partner through small acts of kindness, such as preparing a special meal using ingredients from Pandora's natural world or creating a beautiful piece of art as a gift. He also communicates his feelings through heartfelt words and gestures of affection, such as singing a love song in the Na'vi language or performing a traditional dance to express his love and devotion. Neteyam is deeply connected to Pandora and its natural world, and he often finds creative ways to incorporate these elements into his expressions of love and affection for his partner.

M = Memory (favorite memory together?)

Neteyam's favorite memory with his partner is the first time they bonded with their own banshees together, which was a powerful and emotional experience that brought them closer together.

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

Neteyam's worst fear is losing his partner, and he often worries about their safety and well-being.

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

One quirk that Neteyam has is that he is very attuned to the natural world and can often sense changes in the environment or the presence of animals.

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

Neteyam's favorite pet name for his partner is "my mate," which he uses often and affectionately.

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

Neteyam likes to spend quality time with his partner by doing activities that they both enjoy, such as exploring Pandora's natural beauty or sharing a quiet moment together.

R = Rhythm (what song reminds you of them?)

The song that reminds Neteyam of his partner is "I Choose You" by Sara Bareilles.

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

Neteyam is very open and honest with his partner, and he values their trust and confidence in him. He is willing to share his deepest secrets and vulnerabilities with them.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

It took Neteyam and his partner some time to get together, as they were both busy with their own responsibilities and commitments. However, they were patient and understanding with each other, and eventually found the right time to pursue their relationship.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

When his partner is upset, Neteyam is very supportive and comforting, often holding them close and offering words of encouragement and understanding.

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

He is proud of his partner and their many achievements and accomplishments, and he likes to show them off to others whenever he can.

Neteyam and you are attending a gathering of the Na'vi clans, where members of different clans come together to share news and celebrate their cultural traditions. You have just finished performing a traditional dance, and you are receiving praise and congratulations from the other clans.

Neteyam stands by proudly, beaming with pride at your talent and accomplishment. "Aren't they amazing?" he says to the other clan leaders, gesturing to you. "She's the best dancer in all of Pandora, in my opinion."

The other leaders nod in agreement, praising your skills and grace. "They are truly gifted," one of them says.

Neteyam grins and takes your hand, squeezing it affectionately. "I'm so proud of you," he says. "You're the most talented and beautiful Na'vi I've ever met."

You smile and blush, clearly touched by Neteyam's words. The two of you continue to celebrate and enjoy the gathering together, reveling in your shared pride and joy.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

Neteyam is a skilled warrior and takes his role as a protector seriously. He would fight for his partner and defend them with everything he has.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

He is able to read his partner very well and has a deep understanding of their emotions and thoughts.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

If Neteyam were to propose to his partner, he would do so in a way that is meaningful and personal to them, taking into account their shared culture and values as Na'vi from Pandora. He might take them on a special trip to a sacred site on Pandora, where they can connect with the natural world and the spirit of their ancestors. He could then ask for their hand in marriage in a heartfelt and sincere way. No matter how he chooses to propose, Neteyam is likely to make it a memorable and meaningful moment that reflects his love and devotion to his partner.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

What makes Neteyam feel calm is spending time with his partner and being in nature. He finds solace in the beauty and serenity of Pandora's natural world, and feels at peace when he is with his loved ones.

[spicybunni]

YANDERE WATER NYMPHS SCENARIO

Hello darlings! I felt inspired from some art lately and decided to write it! Darling gets surrounded by a group of water nymphs💙 (here’s some art I did to visualize the story)

WARNINGS⚠️: Yandere tendencies, group teasing, groping, fem!darling/reader, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

💙It felt like there was no end to this forest. Only you could just keep walking.

💙The village you stayed at warned you about this place. The forest of haunting creatures and strange events happening. The journey through was taking longer than you expected. They estimated it was a day and a half travel to get through by following the path.

💙Since nobody ventures through the forest that often, the path in question slowly vanished after going a few miles in. You just kept trodding, wanting to get through.

💙Why did you insist on going through the forest? Because on the map it said it would only take two days to get to the great city. Any other way it would have taken four days. But you certainly were paying a price for it.

💙You were traveling all day long, parched for some fresh water to jump into. The blazing Sun was making you sweat through your clothes and warming your face, cheeks reddening.

💙After your tenth break in the shade under some trees you heard the nearby sound of a running creek.

💙‘Thank the heavens!’ You thought, getting on your feet again with newfound determination. If the creek was steady enough you could easily setup camp and plan a new way to get out of this cursed forest.

💙You were about to walk up a small hill that overlooks the creek down below. You heard a few giggles, making you stop all movements. Ducking down beneath the view of the hill, you slowly raise your head to see who is down below.

💙The view almost made you gasp in surprise. It was four half naked women basking in the cool water, gossiping and lightly splashing each other.

💙However, despite their normal appearance, you noticed that their hair colors and parts of their skin were strange. It looked as though the water was a part of them. ‘How strange..’

💙Respecting their privacy and also adhering the warnings the kind village people told you about, you decided you could travel more down the creek to set up camp.

💙But of course, the gods had no such plan for you.

💙Right as you were about lower your head to go down the dirt hill, you somehow made a few dirt clusters tumble down the hill. You seized up immediately hearing them go down but also because all the giggles and chatter stopped.

💙You glance back down to them all looking directly at you. Their eyes were darkened, making you still in movement.

💙In a moment of anxiety you stood up fully on the hill so they could see you meant no harm.

💙“G-Good evening! I’m just passing thro- OH F-“ Was all you were able to say before losing balance and taking a tumble down to them.

💙Before you could hit the dirt or rocks a wave enveloped you to cushion the fall. Then the water formed into one of the ladies holding onto your form. Her eyes glowed turquoise and her cheeks were blushed pink. Her arms held you steady against her. Her hair was dripping water onto your face, making you tremble by her beauty and strength.

💙Suddenly she turns her head to her group, cheerfully announcing “A maiden has tumbled to us ladies…What ever shall we do?…” then you hear those same giggles from the rest of them coming closer to inspect you.

💙 You suddenly realized…these were no ordinary women, these were nymphs!! How did you not see it sooner?!

💙Nervously laughing at your realization you try to back away from the one holding you. She puts no force to hold you but she prolongs her hand holding yours as you back away.

💙“Listen, I -Thank you, yes. Thank you for saving me there but I- I need to get going. I’m supposed to reach the nearby city by tomorrow so Uhm-“

💙They all exchanged glances to one another before laughing at your statement. It was like you were being made fun of but you didn’t know why.

“What neighboring village sweet girl?”

“Yes tell us all about it~”

“There is no neighboring village Maiden, you are in the center of our forest…”

“Why not stay with us fair Maiden? You never know what creeps in the night here..”

💙They came closer to you, making you back against a rock. The depth of the creek was deeper than you expected, coming up to your waist.

💙They surrounded you, their bright teeth smiling down at your blushing face. Their hands reached for your limbs. Grabbing, caressing, stroking, and rubbing your arms and legs. Whispering sweet compliments into your skin and trying to coax you to come deeper into the water with them.

💙Your face was as red as a pomegranate. Their constant fondling was making you beyond flustered. Desire was building in the pit of your stomach. The way they ran their hands through your hair, the way they gently rubbed your legs, and light graze of their finger nails on your back and forearms. You were simply putty in their hands.

💙They were talking about you as you slowly drifted into a blissed out nap.

“Look at her, oh maidens these days get cuter and cuter.”

You feel a hand stroke the side of your face.

“Her body is divine but her face is truly remarkable. One could almost bite her cheeks they’re so red!”

“Now, now. We mustn’t eat nor harm this maiden. I’d say she’s a gift from the gods! Nobody makes it out this far anymore, so let’s take care of this one…Right ladies?”

That’s all you could hear of their conversation before you completely knocked out. Going limp in their arms.

💙Even if you could resist, they would never let you leave, oh no. You are too much fun.

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Sansa Stark

Sansa Stark x daughter reader (platonic)

Warning: mentions of sexual abuse and trauma (to Sansa)

-From the moment she first meets you Sansa is fiercely protective. She knows girls are not kindly treated in this world. So the realities of this world are shown to you from a young age. Sansa has no interest at you being as naïve as as she had once been as a child. You are taught to be cunning and observe everyone. After all, no one can be too careful.

Y/n's little head rested on her mothers chest as Sansa walked through the quiet halls of Winterfell. Lights flickered in the hallway. Every step she took echoed through the ancient stone. Y/n stirred in her mothers arms, a small coo escaping her. Sansa's grip tightened. Even if she was a Queen there was no guarantee that Y/n was safe. Queen Cersei was a powerful Queen and all of her children were gone. Could she, still so young, succeed were Cersei failed? Sansa had always wanted a son. As a young girl it was to please her husband and continue his family line. Now as a woman grown, she feared to have a girl. She worried that her daughter would be burdened with the same worries she did. The night dragged on, the Queen's thoughts a blizzard of torment.

-Sansa will be a strict mother. As a child you would not understand why she labored over your upbringing, constantly tormented by a past you did not understand. She would always warn you of the dangers ahead. This does mean that while you know your mother loves you there is a wall. She is someone you don't fully understand. But you also admire her for being so strong. Sansa has always been a pillar of strength, she understands that her action will be an example to you. From the time you are old enough to, Sansa has you sit in on council meetings and affairs' of state. Because the world shows mercy to none, especially young girls.

Lady Karstark was arguing the case for her right to land against the Glovers. Both parties stood in front of the Queen who sat on her throne. On a seat beside her was Princess Y/n, wearing a newly forged circlet that would now be passed down to each heir. You took note of their arguments, the relationships between each person and the old alliances. You remembered the lands, having been to them on tours in the past. Beforehand, you had looked over documents, no matter how tedious they were. As future Queen you had learned that knowledge is power. Sansa put up her hand. Silence fell upon the crowd. You wondered if one day you would hold such power. The Queen looked to you. "And what does my daughter say?"

-There is still happiness in your relationship. When Sansa has a few hours away from the throne she spends time with you. She will tell you stories of the old Northern Kings, of the white walkers and the Old Gods. The two of you will gallop on horses for hours, the cold whipping your hair. There are times she will allow herself to enjoy things long left in the past. The two of you will sit by the warm fire, as a snowstorm rages outside. There isn't much talking, but that doesn't bother either of you. Warm lemon cakes sit on fancy plates, a delicacy the Queen rarely indulges in these days. She watches her daughter enjoy them, and although she wishes her daughter to grow up as hard as steel she can not bring herself to take this small joy from her.

The two of you found a hill. Breaking off from the party, Sansa made orders for the knights to keep an eye out. The two of you galloped to the top before dismounting. You stared in awe at the setting sun, casting its great light over the sky. The sent of trees and fresh running water overwhelmed you. For a while the two of you gazed out at the scene. Sansa walked back to her horse. "Are we leaving now?" You asked, disappointed. Sansa unclasped a pouch on her saddle. Out she pulled two things wrapped in cloth. You caught a sent and suddenly your tummy rumbled. Lemon cakes. Sansa gave her the lemon cake, and both mother and daughter sat and ate.

-Your betrothal and marriage will not be a happy occasion for Sansa. She knows what marriage means and what a man may take from her. Even if she can protect her Sansa knows that her power as a mother and Queen. Any guy who hopes to marry you had to go through the formidable woman that is Sansa Stark. Many a young man has cowered over the Queen's eyes. And you bet your butt that Sansa will have the boy's every footsteps observed.

"He is friends with Lady Karstark's eldest son. But he's a letcher." A small golden symbol of the boy's house bounced across the table. Sansa would be dead before she allowed her daughter to marry any such man. She critiqued each and every suitor whom desired to marry her. Beside her were stakes of paper. Anyone who married her daughter would have to agree to these terms. 1. Her daughter would be the sole occupant of the throne 2. If Y/n died without an heir, it would pass to the next Stark, not her husbands family Many more terms had been set. Y/n entered the room and everyone but the Queen bowed. "Come Y/n. We are looking to find you a husband." Having her daughters attention, Sansa made room. Y/n looked through the list of suitors before placing it down. "Well, do you see any that appeal?" "Not entirely, should we not look beyond our boarders. Perhaps any of the other six lands may have a second son to marry to me for an alliance?" Sansa gave a small smile. She was learning.

[purpleyoonn]

enchanted

P R O L O G U E 

“I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew I was enchanted to meet you.”

summary: The realm under King Min’s rule had been under war for over. thirty years, a war within the inhuman species with origins no one knows. Your presence was brought into awareness when found by the king under the rubble of your home. You are plunged into a world you had only ever seen from the outside, and don’t know how long you can last.

genre: soulmate au, fantasy au, dragon au, 

pairing: Dragon King Yoongi x Human MC

status: ?

warnings: starts in the middle of war, violence, angst, death, supernatural creatures, more to come.

-----------------------------------------

The river was freezing when you got up that morning, basket of cloths in hand to wash. It had been your chore for a couple of weeks now, ever since Mela’s body was found at the bottom of the hill. She had been working with you at the manor for a couple of years now, another “stray” taken in by Lord Ahn and his family. She also wasn’t the first to be found, others found at the same dip in the bottom of the hill.

You and a couple of the others had taken on her chores along with the ones you already had, meaning you barely got any sleep lately. Not to mention the nightmares you had. You and your friend Lila had been the ones to find her, body mangled from being pushed down the hill. When you had told the Lord of the manor, he just smiled and told you to get back to work.

It was nearly springtime, meaning the water was going to be getting warmer, and more of your chores would be done outside. You loved the spring, all the flowers blooming and the sounds of the woods to drown out the sound of your mind. Your thoughts were always loud, overthinking and replaying different memories. Your mind never seemed to shut off, always loud and all-encompassing.

You had a hard time keeping still, your mind and body needing to do something. That was why you liked working outside the house whenever you got the chance. Whenever you were inside, you had to be still, someone seen and not heard. That was normal for women, especially those who worked for Lord Ahn.

Mr. Ahn liked looking. His eyes always wandered when he was home. He only employed the girls in the manor, the men working outside. You had once been tasked with cleaning the upper portion of the manor, where the family resided, when you first started working to “pay for your stay”. He watched you the entire time, silent as he did.

You shook your head as you got out the soap from the bottom of the basket, rubbing against the washing board you had rested against the side of the river. You had to be quick, quiet as you worked. The woods were becoming increasingly dangerous over the past couple months. Stories of trolls and ghouls making their travels to the neighboring villages. You didn’t want to alert anyone or anything of your presence.

You had your own stories, your home destroyed by a horde of giants set loose, smashing everything they could. Your parents and sister had been crushed by one of their feet, running from the market. Which is what got you here to the manor, the Lord’s family “happily willing” to take you in.

You didn’t want to think that you could lose another home at the hands of the witches. The Queen had become angry with the kingdom, setting lose her minions on the land, killing and pillaging wherever they could. Reanimated bodies were their favorite thing. The ghouls seemed to be popping up all over the kingdom, and it seemed as though the King or his guards were doing nothing about it.

When you were in school, you remember learning about the Witches, how their Queen was angry with your King, some broken promise, and that since then, she had taken that anger on his realm. Your teacher had tried to drill into your head that your safety was only ensured if you remained silent, something that stuck with you, even to this day.

“Y/n!” You turned your head, seeing Taemin coming to a stop, leaning on his tree to catch his breath. “Are you almost done? Lord Ahn is wanting all of us to come back to the manor. He seems upset.” Your eyes widen in fear, scrambling to gather the half-washed clothes and washing board, getting to your feet.

“Do you have any idea what happened?” You asked your friend as both ran back up the hill and to the manor.

“No. All I heard was that Jeongmin can rushing out of his room with bruises all over her face.” You sigh out, knowing he could be mad at anything. Poor Jeongmin just had to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You wonder if she refused him, even with you and the other girls telling her to go along with it for her own safety.

Lord Ahn was known for his anger; the entire village knew it. No one was to speak of it though, for fear of repercussions on their own families. The word ‘no’ was the one thing none of the servants could say to him, not if they wanted their life to remain in their bodies.

“Well, let’s hurry. We don’t want to give him any more reasons.” You breathe out, picking up your pace with a tight hold on the basket.

When you get to the manor and move through the kitchen, placing your basket on the floor by the door, you both rush to your position in line in the hall, right at the end where your faces could be seen, eyes on the floor.

“Now, it seems to me that some of you…” You listen for the uptick in tone, knowing that Lord Ahn was really upset about something now. “think you can have a relationship within my house.” Oh no…. now you know why Jeongmin was all bruised up. She confessed.

You wince as you could hear her whimper, your body tensing as footsteps move closer to where you were. You knew there had been a couple of relationships going on within the household, particularly the one with Taemin and Yujin. You hoped that they weren’t the relationship he was talking about.

“You all know the rules, that I don’t expect much when you come into my household.” Lord Ahn’s voice had become deeper, darker as he spoke making your breath hitch, trying not to move.

Lord Ahn was now almost in front of you, about to say something else when the sirens from the village square went off, announcing the presence of non-humans. You move forward, ready to run when Lord Ahn catches you, his hand on your chest, keeping you from moving.

“Now, now. Since I’m sure all of you have been keeping these… secrets from me, you can stay here. Keep the house in order, as I’m sure nothing is truly going on.” You gape at the man, watching his smile turn into a dark smirk as his gaze turns to you.

“Min, Jung, help my family to the carriage. Kim, younger Kim, gather all the materials necessary and put them in the boot.” His hand is still on your chest as he barks out the orders, watching from his peripheral as the men he called forward move to do as he said.

“Sir,” You bite out, “What about the women?”

“Well, why don’t you continue your chores?” He squeezed once, before moving away and down the hallway.

Turning around, you watch him, mouth open in shock, the siren still ringing throughout the village. Feeling a hand grasp onto your shoulder, you turn back around, seeing Hana pull you back. Her gaze was soft, knowing how the sirens make you feel.

“Let’s just hope that it’s nothing. Come with me, we can finish the laundry in the sink.” Hana helps you walk forward, everyone else moving back to their chores. Once in the kitchen you pick up the laundry basket form the floor, noticing that the cabinets and pantry have been cleaned out.

“Did they take all of the food?” You ask, concern dripping from your lips as you think about being locked in the house with no food.

“It appears so. But don’t worry, I don’t think they touched the servant’s quarters.” Hana reassures you. You sigh out, moving to the sink where Hana has gotten some water. You empty your basket again, moving the washing board into the sink and then soap bar.

You hear the siren again, this time closer to the manor, swearing you could almost hear some screams mixed in. You chose to follow Hana’s lead, hoping that she was right about everything. You go through the motions, scrubbing the sheets with the soap and brush.

A scream has you dropping the brush from your grasp, the wooden handle making a clang as it hits the floor.

“Stay here.” Hana holds her hand up at you, motioning you to stay where you were. You do so, heart beating fast as you hear another scream cry out. You choose not to listen, moving through the back of the kitchen and down the hall to the servant’s quarters.

From there you can see through the narrow windows used for light. There were people running everywhere, people being pushed to the ground and having chunks bitten out of them by gray, almost see-through creatures.

Ghouls, you thought, eyes widening in horror as you watch a couple ghouls begin to move towards the manor. You look through the room, trying to see if you could find anything to defend yourself with, trying to ignore the screams that came from within the manor.

If these really were ghouls you were dealing with, there was nothing you could do to save anyone.

You could feel your cheeks becoming wet, trying to find a way to get out of the servant’s quarters without going back into the manor, as you still look for something that could create fire. You begin to freak out, flashbacks to the giants and the screams of terror as you hear the screams of now moving closer to where you were.

However, it gets silent quickly, the only noise heard is the sound of your breathing. Holding your hand over your mouth, you try to listen for anything else, only hearing the sound of something dragging across the floor. The crackling of something in the walls also catches your attention. It becomes louder and louder until suddenly; you were on the ground.

Everything seemed to be moving too fast for your mind to catch up with. You couldn’t feel your legs, but you could move them, somewhat. You felt like you had a huge weight on you and you could feel heat licking at your skin. 

As your eyes begin to adjust, you could see the body of the ghoul who was still trying to get to you, and the fire that was now spreading over the rest of the manor, inching your direction.

Your wits come back to you; survival instincts kick in as a loud roar is heard with a gust of wind keeping the fire from reaching you. Despite that, you try all you can to move the pieces of the roof from anchoring your body to the wreckage of the manor before that ghoul can get to you.

It didn’t matter to you that he was also buried under the remnants of the roof, you needed to get away. You blinked hard, rapidly as you tried to remove your tears from obstructing your vision. Using all your might, you tried to push the roof off of you, grunting as you failed again and again.

Another loud roar had you scrambling even faster, trying with all your strength to get out from under the rubble. Before you could get your leg out, the heavy material was yanked off of you, a growl as your bruised legs were visible.

You look up in horror, only to see who you recognize at King Min staring down at you, his eyes red and his fangs visible as he looks at you. Your frozen in place, unable to move as his red eyes pierce your soul and keep you still.

It’s only a couple of seconds before the King lunges for you, making your close your eyes in fear. Arms wrapping around you and picking you up from the rest of the roof and walls of the servant’s quarters.

“Please...” You whimper, not knowing what the King was going to do with you, only for him to place a hand behind your head, pushing so your head was rested against the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

One little word has you blinking away even more tears, a slew of emotions moving through you as you take it in. Your finger gripping tight into his button up shirt, the buttons almost popping loose from how tightly you hold onto it.

King Min moves quickly, walking out of the rubble and into the trees, a clearing by the river coming into the view as he shifts, his wings breaking out from the back of his shirt, the rest of his shirt now loose in your grip as he begins to fly away, to a place unknown to you. You were only focused on what he had growled out when he picked you up.

“Mate.”

[samantha-rae-velcher]

The Hunt

Jschlatt x Fem!YouTuber!reader

Requested by: absolutely nobody!

Warnings: Smut, Swearing, Schlatt being Schlatt.

A/n: 18+ NSFW! if you don't like the warnings please don't read! PLEASE KEEP MY COMMENT SECTION AGGRESSION FREE!

Summary: a harmless game of Minecraft prop hunt goes from being PG-13 to rated R once the cameras are out 👀 not much of a summary...but you get the idea

Tag: @goldenstarofthunderclan ❤️

___

"Five...four...three...two...one!" Schlatt yelled, the funny mic distorting his voice.

Y/n and Tommy turned into mossy slabs, they book it for the nearest hiding spot once they see Schlatt's character appear from over the hill. Tubbo flew passed them as a parrot, while Wilbur and Philza slide into place as blocks of sand.

Y/n giggled when she heard Schlatt sniffing close by, "I can smell your perfume, Y/n. I know your around here somewhere."

She held her breath as he ran up and stood on top of her, looking around for any movement.

"Where are you, my love?" He whispered. "Daddy is coming for you."

Wilbur bursted out laughing, "That is genuinely fuckin creepy."

"Yeah?" Schlatt asked. "I bet it got Y/n blushing from head to toe, didn't it?"

"Mhm.." Y/n covered her face, trying not to show her viewers the effect her boyfriend had on her.

"Where are you though. You guys are actually really well hidden."

"You're standing on Y/n."

"Tommy!" She yelled. "Why would you tell him that!"

Y/n took off sliding across the map with Schlatt directly behind her, "Come here, sweetie pie. Daddy has a present for you, all you gotta do is stop running."

"AHHH!" Y/n yelled, racing up a flight of stairs and changing into a watermelon. She slowly made her way over to a patch of melons as camouflage, as Schlatt passed by her.

"Where did you go?"

Y/n giggled, watching his character look around clueless as to where she ran off to.

"I heard that cute little giggle." He growled, making Y/n rub her thighs together.

Tubbo attempted to fly next to Schlatt, but got shot with an arrow.

"How did you know it was me!?" He cried.

"I had a fuckin feeling! Only you would be stupid enough to fly that close to me!"

Y/n took this opportunity to slowly creep away and turn into an ocelot, fallowing Schlatt as he scoped out Philza and Wilbur.

"Come here you little bastard!" He yelled, chasing a block of sand.

"Wilbur." Y/n whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I'm the little kitty next to you, fallow me."

The two of them found Tommy and watch from the roof of a building as Schlatt stalked Philza. unbeknownst to them, Tubbo was coming up behind them.

"Run!" Tommy yelled, making the others freak out and scatter.

Wilbur got caught, Tommy hid as a block of leaves, and Y/n hid in a pond as a sea pickle.

"Okay." Schlatt said. "You guys go after Tommy. Y/n is mine."

His words sent a shiver down Y/n's spine, the thought of being hunted by him was kinda intimidating in a fun way. She hopped out of the pond and hid behind a tree, going into third person view to check where Schlatt was.

"I'm coming for you, Y/n." He whispered. "You can't hide from me."

She let out a moan into the mic, making Schlatt stop and stare at the tree she was behind. There was silence for a second, just the blank stare of his character making her feel uneasy.

"Just you wait till this game is over."

Y/n shrieked, flying out from behind the tree. He chased her passed the other guys, through the lake, and back to the starting point where he finally got her.

When the stream was finally over, Y/n went down stairs and grabbed a soda out of the fridge. She cracked it open, taking a swig and setting it on the counter. When she looked up, Schlatt was standing there leaning against the wall.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" She asked.

"That moan."

"Oh...that? It was nothing."

Schlatt shook his head, slowly walking over to her.

"That wasn't nothin, princess." He whispered, taking her hand and pressing it against his groin.

Y/n's heart raced at the realization of just how hard her moan had gotten him, she bit her lip and pressed her hand down harder.

Schlatt leaned in close, his lips grazing the shell of her ear, "Feel that? You feel what you do to me?"

"Mhm." She moaned, palming at him through his sweats.

Schlatt groaned, pushing her against the counter and trapping her there with his large form. He attacked her neck, trailing hot wet kisses over her skin.

His hand pressed between her legs, making her whimper, "Mmm, so sensitive." His words making her knees weak.

Schlatt quickly turned her around, dropping her lounge pants down to her ankles, a long with her panties, she stepped out of them and kicked them away. He pulled out his cock, bringing her hips back a bit and lining himself up.

"You want this, baby girl? Huh? You wanna feel Daddy's cock inside you?"

Y/n whined, making Schlatt smile and thrust into her. She gasped at his size, after all this time she's never gotten used to how big he is.

"There we go, precious." He groaned, taking a hold of her hips and rutting into her, "Fuck you're so tight, does Daddy not fuck you enough?"

Y/n whimpered, shaking her head.

"Aw, is my poor baby deprived? Do I need to use you more often?"

"Y-yes."

"Finally, she speaks." His voice was dark, and full of lust.

Schlatt pushed her head down against the counter, his thrusts getting harder and faster. Making Y/n cry out when he hit that special spot.

"Is that it?" He asked. "Is that where you want Daddy to fuck you? Is that where it feels good?"

"Mhm...p-please don't stop!"

"I'm not stopping. I'm not stopping till I make my girl cum."

His hand slid down between her thighs, rubbing tight circles against her clit. Her legs shook and her hips jerked back making him hit her G-spot hard. Y/n cried out once again as she felt her orgasm wash over her.

"Ahh! J- Im cumming!" Her knees gave out, she fell to the floor out of breath.

Schlatt chuckled, tucking himself away. He slowly brought her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her so she wouldn't fall again.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Princess."

THE END ❤️

I hope you enjoyed

Reblogs are welcome 🤗

[thisphantomlife]

Songs Hozier has covered

Bowie - Changes, Young Americans (see also Trinity Orchestra section)

Prince - I Wanna Be Your Lover, Raspberry Beret, Jungle Love

James Carr - The Dark End Of The Street

The Beatles - Blackbird

John Lennon (Donny Hathaway version) - Jealous Guy (at the goldenplec block party with Zaska)

Ariana Grande - Problem

Warren G - Regulate (mashup with Problem)

James Blake - Retrograde

Tom Waits - Strange Weather

Florence and the Machine - Cosmic Love

Stevie Wonder - Living for the City, As

Sting - 7 Days

The BeeGees - To Love Somebody

Lauryn Hill - Doo Wop (that thing)

Amerie - One Thing

Skip James - Illinois Blues

Muddy Waters - Catfish Blues

Van Morrison - Caravan, Sweet Thing, Domino, Brown Eyed Girl, Saint Dominic’s Preview

Bill Withers - Ain’t No Sunshine

Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know

Demi Lovato - Sorry Not Sorry

Led Zeppelin - Whole Lotta Love

Fun - We Are Young

Paul Simon - Bridge Over Troubled Water

Sam Smith - Lay Me Down

Destiny’s Child - Say My Name

Britney Spears - Toxic (snippet)

The Band - The Weight

Otis Rush version of Willie Dixon and the Big Three Trio - My Love Will Never Die

The Talking Heads - Burning Down the House (Instagram live messing around with friends)

The Staple Singers - Let’s Do it Again

The Weather Forecast 🤪

Ed Lewis - I Be So Glad When the Sun Goes Down (Instagram snippet)

Mavis Staples - Eyes on the Prize

Jackie Wilson - (Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher

The Meters - Just Kissed My Baby

Christmas Songs - God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Winter Wonderland, Santa Claus is Coming to Town (with others at the Xmas Eve Ball 2015)

Traditional Irish songs - My Lagan Love, The Humours of Whiskey, I Am Stretched On Your Grave, The Rolling Wave (on the low whistle), The Parting Glass, The Lonely Jig (on the low whistle)

(Live) Collabs - that are not Andrew’s own songs

Alvin Youngblood Hart - Illinois Blues

Maren Morris - The Bones, My Church, Girl, The Tree

Annie Lennox - I Put a Spell on You (Screamin Jay Hawkins cover)

Tom Odell - Another Love

Noah Kahan - Northern Attitude

Allison Russell - Requiem, Stop Dragging My Heart Around (Stevie Nicks & Tom Petty cover)

Brandi Carlile - The Joke, Walk On (U2 cover), The Weight (The Band cover)

Jamala - Walk On (U2 cover)

Mavis Staples - The Weight (The Band cover), Keep Your Eyes on the Prize (with Our Native Daughters, Jason Isbell and Phil Cook)

Boygenius - Salt in the Wound

Alana Henderson - Ae Fond Kiss (poem by Robert Burns)

U2 - When Love Comes to Town

Tori Kelly - Blackbird (the Beatles cover)

Mumford and Sons - Guiding Light, Awake My Soul, With a Little Help From My Friends (Beatles cover, with other artists)

Lake Street Dive - Everyday People (Sly and the Family Stone cover)

Rachael Price - Rental Love

Victoria Canal - Swan Song

Elwood (his dog) - Don’t Go Breaking My Heart (Elton John and Kiki Dee cover, Insta snippet)

All the artists at Love Rocks NYC 2022 - Like A Rolling Stone (Bob Dylan cover), Feeling Alright (Traffic cover)

Brian Kennedy (and others) - I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free (Nina Simone cover)

His Dad - The Weight (The Band cover at MSG)

Zaska, Wyvern Lingo, Loah - Sir Duke (Stevie Wonder cover)

Eabha McMahon - Bright Blue Rose (Jimmy McCarthy cover)

Christmas Eve Busk 2015

Bono, Glen Hansard - When Love Comes to Town, Every Breaking Wave

Glen Hansard, Imelda May - The Dark End of the Street (James Carr cover)

Christmas Eve Busk 2017

Glen Hansard, Coronas, Imelda May, Liam O Maonlaoi - So This is Christmas (John Lennon cover), The Aul Triangle

Music Groups

Nova Collective - (original songs) Tuile, Closer, Quick Bossa

Zaska - (original songs) In Your Own Sweet Time, Different Light, She Gunk Gunk Dunk A Funk, Oh Yeah

Anuna - with Andrew on lead vocals: The Raid, La Chanson de Mardi Gras. With Andrew in the choir: Jingle Bells, An Uaithne

The Wiggles - Cherry Tree Carol with Anuna

Trinity Orchestra - songs covered with Andrew on lead vocals

~ Queen - Somebody To Love, Don’t Stop Me Now

~ Arcade Fire - My Body is a Cage

~ Pink Floyd - Time, Breathe, Comfortably Numb, Shine on You Crazy Diamond, Money

~ Michael Jackson - Earth Song, Black or White, Smooth Criminal

~ David Bowie - Heroes

*This list may not be complete. It only contains songs that can be found online.

Please let me know if any songs are missing so I can add them 🫶

I’ve not included the songs he sang snippets of on that Song Association interview

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Anonymous: Travis request - X reader and Travis went out to dinner for a date and had to have car sex on the way back to relieve the tension

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” You looked at Travis as he sat down in the driverseat with a huff. He slammed the door behind him, making you jump.

“What are you talking about?” He turned the engine over with a press of a button.

“Something’s bothering you. Talk to me, baby.” He ran his hand over his buzz cut hair, letting out a deep sigh. “There have been some trade talks.”

“About you? Are you getting traded?” You always thought this could be a possibility for Travis, it was a reality for a lot of players, but he was the star player for the Chiefs, and you didn’t think he was dispensable.

“I don’t know, baby.” You gave his arm a couple of squeezes to let him know it was okay to relax. He just tensed up even further.

“Ok, well if it comes, we’ll deal with it, ok?” You were trying to reassure him, but he needed something that would help him get out of his head.

“Pull over.”

“What, baby we’re only five-”

“Just trust me. Pull over.” When Travis had safely pulled the card to the side of the road, he turned off the engine. You were surrounded by nothing but trees, your neighborhood situated at the bottom of a hill.

You gathered the hem of your black dress, pulling it up to your waist until just a peek of your lace panties were visible. You guided his hand to cup your mound, letting a small moan out as his index finger pressed against your clit.

“We don’t have to do this, Y/N.”

You nodded your head, his hand moving to graze your eyes, sending goosebumps up your arms. “I just want to make you feel better, baby.” You slipped your strappy sandals off your feet. Travis watched you undress in the small space, his eyes glazed over with lust.

Travis shuffled his jacket off, unbuttoning his white shirt to reveal an undershirt, his chest hair peeking out of the top. With one swift movement of your leg, you turned around to straddle his waist, Travis helping you with a palm on your ass. “Are you hard?” You asked, clearly feeling his hardened bulge against your pelvis. “For you, always.” Travis chuckled, earning a smile from you. You helped him remove his belt and unzip his pants, revealing his cock pressed against the cotton of his boxers. You licked one hand, lubricating your fingers before you pulled his cock out and began stroking the head.

“Fuck, baby, that feels good.” Travis’ gave fell to your hand pleasuring him, your hips rolling instinctively as you anticipated him filling you up. You shifted yourself till his dick was hovering over your entrance, sliding down inch by inch until you could feel the tip of his cock settled against your cervix. You let out small moan after moan as you bounced against his pelvis, the limited space available meaning his strokes were short and hit your g-spot each time.

You stopped when you saw bright headlights in your eyeline, thinking you were caught. You ducked your head, pressing your forehead against Travis’ chest. “Oh my god, I thought we were caught.”

“Do you wanna stop?” He asked, lifting your chin to look at him. You brushed your hair to the side, continuing to wind your hips. “Does that answer your question?” You planted a passionate kiss on his lips, biting his bottom lip when you pulled away. Travis groaned out as you clenched down around his cock, digging his fingers in the delicate flesh at your hips. You quickened your pace when you felt your orgasm building in your lower stomach. “Are you close?”, you asked as Travis’ eyes shut in bliss, trying to stave off his own orgasm. “Fuck, yes.” He edged out as he lifted your hips so he could drill up into you.

“I’m gonna cum, baby.” You could barely get the words out as your orgasm vibrated through your body, Travis shortly behind you, pulling out to cum on your thighs and lower stomach. “Sorry, did I get anything on your dress?” You laughed, pulling him in for another kiss before you wiped yourself off. “Don’t worry about it, you can buy me another one.”

[kybercrystals94]

Everyday We’ve Got

By KyberCrystals94

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2023|Day 16|Prompt 16: “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

Rating: G

Words: 696

Summary: Hunter wonders what will happen to Omega when they’re gone.

“She’s going to be alone someday.”

Echo’s awareness is ripped out of report he was reading. “What?”

Hunter doesn’t look at him, his eyes fixated on the little girl chasing Wrecker through the tall grass, their laughter floating over the clean, clear air. Hunter’s face is drawn, and he absently kneads his right thumb into the palm of his left hand. “How long do you suppose the Kaminoans planned for clones to live? Naturally, I mean. If we weren’t killed during the war.”

“Honestly, I don’t think the long necks thought that far ahead,” Echo says.

Hunter nods. “Tech said that the average human lives to approximately 75 standard years. But for us that would be halved, since clones age twice as fast. So, if we’re lucky, we might live for 35 standard years.” Hunter clears his throat, but doesn’t say anything else.

“And Omega will still be a young woman,” Echo finishes for him.

Hunter nods again, jaw tightening.

“For what it’s worth,” Echo says, “I don’t think Omega will be ever alone. That kid has got a good head on her shoulders, and an affinity to finding friends in the strangest places.” Echo breathes a laugh, but Hunter only smirks grimly.

“Well, that affinity also gets her into trouble,” Hunter mutters.

Echo chuckles. “She’s still a kid, Sarge. But she’s still got us.” Echo nudges Hunter in the shoulder with a fist. “She’s still got you.”

A shrill, delighted squeal pierces the air, and the two men see Wrecker scooping Omega up and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack. He starts walking up the hill toward the tree Hunter and Echo have been sitting against the past half hour while the two of them played.

Echo continues before the roughhousing duo are in earshot. “Supposing you’re right, and we’ve got 35 years in this galaxy…that means we have a little over twenty years left, right?”

“I suppose.”

“Then I say,” Echo says, keeping his voice low, “that we make the most of everyday we’ve got with her.”

Hunter is looking at him now, the sadness still lingering in his eyes. But there is an edge of hope that wasn’t there before.

That’s the moment Wrecker lumbers up, a giggling Omega still draped over his shoulder.

“Look what I found! A wild Omega,” Wrecker crows, “You know they’re rare in these parts?”

“Put me down!” Omega squeaks out through her breathless laughter.

“Mouthy little thing,” Wrecker goes on, “Can we keep her?”

Hunter cracks a smile. “I don’t know. Tech doesn’t like pets on his ship.”

“Hey!” Omega cries, wiggling around in Wrecker’s grip so she can turn her head to see Hunter.

“I think he’d like this one,” Wrecker says. “She’s pretty smart.”

“And the Marauder could use a mascot,” Echo puts in.

“Guys!” Omega whines good-naturedly.

Wrecker laughs and swings Omega off his shoulder, setting her gently on her feet. She smiles brightly up at all of them, but her focus hones on Hunter. “I like this planet! How long are we going to stay?” she asks.

“Probably only until Tech is done with inventory,” Hunter says.

“Can we stay through the night cycle? We can have a campfire!” Omega bounces on her toes, and she reaches out to grasp Hunter’s hand. “Wrecker told me all about campfires, and they sound like the best thing ever!”

“Yeah, Hunter, can we?” Wrecker asks, sounding, if possible, more hopeful than their sister.

Hunter exchanges a glance with Echo, and Echo grins and shrugs. “It is a nice planet. Might as well make the most of it,” he says.

The Sergeant keeps his gaze for only a moment, a silent acknowledgement, before he looks down at the golden-haired child in their care. “Sure, kid. A campfire sounds like a good plan.”

Omega gasps delightedly. “Thank you, Hunter! This is going to be so much fun!”

Later that night, around a crackling, roaring campfire, Omega falls asleep tucked into Hunter’s side, and Hunter holds her close. “Someday,” he whispers, “I’m gonna go where you can’t follow…but while you’ve got me, little one, I’ll protect you to the ends of the galaxy. I promise.”

Tag List: @isthereanechoinhere96 @followthepurrgil @amorfista

✨Let me know if you’d like to be added to the Tag List!✨

[rune-writes]

Ephemerality

Fandom: Love and Deepspace

Word count: 1827

Rating: G

Pairing: Xavier/MC

Summary: In the outskirts of Linkon City, there is a park listed as one of the Top Ten Romantic Parks of Linkon City. Xavier invites MC out for a Valentine's Day date.

Notes: A belated Happy Valentine's Day~

I wanted to write a cute Xavier/MC fic for Valentine's, but alas, I could only finish it now, and... it ends up not being very Valentine-y either haha.

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Mind your step.” 

Xavier offered his hand as we came to a slope, pebbles rolling loosely over a steep incline. It wasn’t particularly treacherous. At least, not for me. I was a Hunter, and I was equipped with hiking boots and pants. A measly slope couldn’t outdo me. So I ignored his hand and said, “I can manage just f—” I couldn’t finish my sentence before I felt my foot slip. 

The wind rushed out of me and the world upended—

Xavier caught my wrist and pulled me up, giving me leverage to fix my posture and land on his side. I gasped, heart racing within my ribcage. 

“What did I tell you?” he said. His voice was carefully leveled, but when I chanced a glance, I caught the mirth behind his pressed lips. His eyes couldn’t lie. 

“Thanks,” I said tartly. 

He released a playful scoff under his breath, then shifted his hold to my hand, his long fingers enveloping mine in a secure grasp. His smile finally on full display, he said, “Don’t let go now.” 

Any counter or retort I had ready evaporated instantly at sight of his disarming face. 

This hike had been his idea. Well, mine if we’re talking about technicalities, but I had only made a passing comment on a passing article I was reading—Top Ten Romantic Parks in Linkon City. I knew most of the ones listed; some were popular spots in the city proper even for single people, which I had been one until recently. The tenth one on the list, however, was a place I had never heard of. A clearing out on the hills in the outskirts of the city; it was a hike at the end of an hour train ride. I’d asked Xavier if he knew the place.

“I do. I often pass by it on my way home,” he’d replied. I had learned not to pry exactly where he had gone. As far as I knew, there weren’t any no-hunt zones in the area. He’d leaned over the couch and I’d shown him my phone. He’d nodded, confirming the place. “It’s a bit far, and you need to climb a fair distance. I can see why it’s not a popular date spot.”

“It looks pretty,” I’d said, looking back at my phone. Rosalea Park: a fenced-in clearing with beautiful cherry-blossom trees overlooking the entire city. It’d make a perfect spot for flower viewing, if they were in the cherry blossom season. I’d looked at the panoramic photographs the writer had attached before I closed the tab and noticed Xavier’s gaze. I’d met his eyes.

“Do you want to go there?” he’d asked.

And so our plan had been born. Fast forward one week later, I now found myself holding Xavier’s hand as he led me down the trail with groups of cherry-blossom trees flanking us on both sides. It’d take another month or so to see the pink buds bloom and grace the crown of every tree on this hill. Apparently, some decades ago, someone had planted an entire grove of cherry blossoms on the hills outside Linkon, providing the citizens a magnificent view when spring came around. I liked to watch them from the window of my apartment. It was like being surrounded by an endless, undulating pink sea. Magical. But the flowers didn’t last long. The blooms would fall once the season passed and be replaced by an ocean of verdant green. But that would take another couple weeks. Now, however, the trees around us bore white flowers, small and delicate, creating a sort of mystical mirage with their ephemeral beauty.

I gazed at them, transfixed. I didn’t realize Xavier’s stare until I heard his breathy laugh. 

“Do you like them?” he asked. 

“They’re pretty.” I reached up and caught a falling petal on my palm. “They remind me of you.”

“How so?” 

“They’re quite hardy, and they foretell the coming of spring,” I said. “But they’re also brittle. A single touch could make them fall from their branch. Blink once and you’d miss the beauty they offer.” 

He paused, then said, “Do I seem brittle to you then?” 

I looked up and met his backward glance. I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. I didn’t think my nonchalant observation would catch his attention. But then a breeze caught the petal in my palm and I watched it dance in the wind alongside other loose flowers. One landed on Xavier’s head, and I giggled, reaching up to brush it away. 

“You’re not brittle,” I told him as I picked the stray petal from his hair. Holding it between my thumb and forefinger, it quivered as the wind fought to keep it aloft. And then it broke free, and I felt a part of me fly away with it. “You’re…elusive. I fear that if I close my eyes, you’ll be gone from my side.” 

Xavier didn’t break his gaze away from me. I looked ahead and found that we’d reached the edge of the treeline. I tugged his hand, urging him to go faster. And then we were outside, and the view took my breath away. 

We were at the top of a hill: Rosalea Hill, judging from the sign they’d propped just outside the line of trees. But the trail didn’t stop there. It went on past the sign and into the clearing, winding around a plethora of flowerbeds in circles, squares, or crescent shapes. A mingle of scents greeted my senses. It felt like I was back in the flower shop Xavier liked to visit, except the smell was richer here, the colors more abundant and vibrant. 

We weren’t the only ones visiting the park either. Couples were already setting up picnic mats and several were taking pictures on the benches or by the wall overlooking the city. I let go of Xavier’s hand and rushed over to it, leaning over and peering down the stone structure. We were so high; the park ended in a steep slope that could easily break someone’s neck were they to fall over. Or, well, at the very least sprain their ankle. The slope wasn’t too sheer that your feet couldn’t find purchase, but I could imagine someone slipping over the terrain.

Like I had just moments before, to my mortification.

Xavier entered my line of sight and I grinned up at him. “Look,” I said, pointing at the entrance to the hiking trail at the bottom of the hill. “That’s where we came in, huh?”

“It appears so.” 

”Doesn’t seem like this place is unpopular,” I added, noting the crowd that was still trickling into the entrance. 

Xavier chuckled. “I never said it’s unpopular. I only said it might not be a popular date spot.”

Well, there were a lot of couples. Either Xavier was wrong, or they’d all fallen victim to the same article I’d read.

I followed the road, all its winding way back to the nearby train station, then finally to the city in the distance. Under the sun, Linkon City’s numerous skyscrapers glinted brilliantly, towers upon glass towers piercing the sky all the way to where Skyhaven hung with its gilded spires. I could spot the parks—clusters of little green dots sandwiched between rows of buildings. I could hazard a guess where our apartment was, though I couldn’t very well see the building from so far away. I saw the river, a sparkling blue line winding through the settlement, cutting right at the heart and finally draining into the sea beyond. Pristine ivory shores rimmed the city’s western edge. 

The place where I grew up looked so different from above. So serene and timeless, as though we had crossed over a threshold and were now gazing at a frozen sculpture. “It’s so beautiful,” I said breathlessly. Too beautiful, in fact. I couldn’t help the slight pang in my heart knowing that one day, things would change.

I pushed myself from the wall and took a few steps back, breathing in the scent, absorbing the view. I might have stayed like that for all eternity if I hadn’t heard the shutter of a camera going off. I looked to my right and saw Xavier directing his phone camera at me. He smiled sheepishly at being caught. 

“Let me borrow your phone,” he said, stashing his away.  

I blinked. “What for?”

He didn’t say anything, only held out his hand in silent inquiry. I indulged him, fishing my phone from my bag and placing it on his palm. 

“Now come here.” He drew me to his side, maneuvered us so that we had our backs to the city, then directed my phone at us to take a selfie picture. “Smile.” 

The shutter went off again. 

Even with the impromptu nature, it was still a pretty good picture. He managed to capture the city in the distance while also still capturing our smiles. He fiddled around with my phone for a while longer before giving it back to me. I looked at the screen—

—and realized he’d changed my home screen wallpaper to the photo he’d just taken. 

“Now even if you close your eyes, I’ll always be by your side.” 

I stared at my phone, then at his cheeky smile. “I want another one.”

“What?”

“It’s not good enough. Better yet, I’ll just take a picture of you ‘cause you already took mine.”

“Wait—”

I pushed him to the wall, had him pose for me several times. After a while, Xavier could only smile in resign. 

“Happy now?” he asked after his photo session ended. “You know, I only took one photo of you.” 

“And I took five.” I scrolled through my album. I couldn’t quite keep the grin out of my face. He looked so handsome in his jacket and turtleneck, and so cute when he pouted at the last picture because I couldn’t decide what pose I wanted him to do. I decided to use that for my homescreen wallpaper instead. 

“Why are you grinning at a picture when the real one is in front of you?” 

I glanced up, and true enough, the hint of a pout was already forming again in his otherwise poker face. I beamed from ear to ear. “Oh please, as if you wouldn’t look at my picture when I’m not looking.”

His response was a guilty, breathy laugh. 

I grabbed his hand and led him away from the wall to a quieter area. “Come on, then. Let’s set up our picnic mat. I made a lot of delicious meals this morning. I can’t wait for you to try them.” 

Later, Xavier told me that the park was even more romantic at night. They had lights stringed around the flower beds, and around the paths and walls as well. Like artificial fireflies, he said. He promised to take me here again to see it. Perhaps, when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. 

~ END ~

[deejadabbles]

hiii friend <3 for the Halloween drabbles:

🏚️ haunted house + "Don't be scared, I'll hold your hand" withhhh Echo!

Excellent combo, my friend! And with Echo no less, I was very excited to write this so thank you for sending it in! Also, I just realized IDK if people assumed this prompt was for a haunted attraction or a supernatural haunted house sooooo because several peeps asked for the prompt, I'll do both! This time around we're going with supernatural, I hope that's okay <3

The Hidden Room (Echo x GN Reader)

Summary: You and Echo get sent to a place that's totally, definitely not haunted....probably. Rating: G (but minors DNI) Word Count: 1.821 (what is self control at this point?) Warnings: Creepy atmosphere and dangerous situations, reader is not having a good time but at least Echo is there to comfort you. Masterlist /// Tag List Sign Up  /// AO3

“We’re going to die.”

The outlandish words earned you one of Echo’s infamous side-eyes, but the flat tone of finality earned the smallest of smirks. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?!” you shouted in a distinctly dramatic tone, the word ringing in the vast forest surrounding the two of you. “Echo, we’re out in the middle of nowhere, about to go into a mansion that looks like the inspiration for the Haunting of Hill House!”

“And Cid’s cutting us a decent check to do it,” was Echo’s bland reply, though, even he was looking at the abandoned home with a scrunched up nose.

Could anyone really blame you for getting the creeps from the situation? You had driven nearly an hour away from the city to this random ass plot of land with nothing but trees for neighbors, only to find a house that loomed up into the night sky like a decrepit specter. Seriously, even setting aside the gothic ambiance, just the rotting state of the house alone should be cause for concern, one good breeze might knock the thing down with the two of you inside.

Unfortunately, Echo knew you too well and, with a shrug, he started for the front door of the murder house. Kriff, he knew you wouldn’t stand out here by the speeder bike alone, in the dark, or let him brave the spooky manor by himself. With a muttered curse under your breath, you followed after Echo. The supposed forgotten family riches Cid mentioned better be worth all this!

Inside, Manor McCreep was even worse. Thick layers of dust and forgotten belongings were to be expected, but the white sheets over furniture, the broken grand piano, the grand staircase with a shadowy upper landing- yeah, Echo owed you big time for agreeing to be his partner for this one.

“We’ll split up, but keep our comms open the whole time in case one of us gets hurt,” Echo suggested, shining his flashlight slowly over every creeping shadow.

A part of you wanted to tell him how ridiculous it was to even say the phrase “split up”, but another part wanted this to be over with as soon as possible, and covering more ground meant faster results. “Fine, but we stay on the same floor and in the same wing.”

“Agreed,” he hummed, narrowing his eyes at a corner where a torn painting hung ominously on the wall.

And so, like the leads of any horror vid, you two parted ways through the dark. 

Echo could tease you for being dramatic all he wanted, but you took full advantage of the open comms and gave him a running commentary of every room you went through. “Oh, the kitchen, complete with rusted knives that’s probably dried blood, perfect!” “A conservatory filled with weeds that’ll come to life and kill me any minute, nice.” “Ah, the library, filled with ancient tomes of unspeakable curses, I’m having the time of my life!”

Your partner must have appreciated the antics that filled the silence, because his deep voice crackled over the channel, meeting your sass blow for blow. “Make sure to dodge the blades when they start levitating.” “I knew we should have brought that paranormal weedkiller.” “If there’s a curse to make Tech’s goggles fog up when he’s being a smart ass, make sure to grab it.”

You smiled every time he quipped back, comforted by the reassurance that he was still there, close by. It was almost possible to forget where you were as you rummaged through the rooms for this rumored treasure. For the most part, all you found were yellowed flimsi documents, broken furniture, and more signs that one wrong step would send you falling through the rotted floor.

Of course, the true potential for horror came flooding back to you when you opened a door to a study and found nothing but a porcelain doll sitting in the middle of the room.

“Absolutely kriffing not.”

Slamming the door shut was the only solution to that room.

Fortunately, by the time you had found that little horror, Echo was done searching his half of the first floor and the two of you reunited in the entry hall. Unfortunately, he had not found this treasure trove either, which meant it was time to climb that eerie looking staircase to the even creepier second floor. At least your lights lit up that shadowy landing.

Said landing was a wide, open space, with dust covered bookcases and broken end tables lining the wall between two dark hallways on either side. To add to the spook factor, a howling wind roared from outside.

“So,” Echo hummed, the light on his chest plate shining to the right, “do you want eerie corridor number one?” He turned it to the left, “Or eerie corridor number two?”

You opened your mouth to quip back at him- only to pause when you shivered at the breeze that should have been outside. You turned in the direction of the wind, narrowing your eyes at the solid wall that certainly shouldn’t have had that much air coming through an old crack or two.

“Do you feel that?” you whispered to Echo, raking your own light over the bookshelves.

His eyebrow lifted as he followed your gaze, of course, being covered in his armor and body glove under that, he probably hadn’t felt it unless it hit his exposed face. He did notice something, though, and walked over the bookcases. That skilled hand of his ran along the bottoms of the old wooden shelves, then he gripped one and pulled.

The bookshelf swung open as if on a hinge, and revealed a dark doorway.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t there be a sketchy secret passageway?” you sighed.

Echo huffed a laugh, “Well, what better place to hide the family fortune than in here?”

“I acknowledge that you are completely right but- Echo, have you not read any of the horror novels I’ve recommended to you? Secret passageways are never a good thing! We’re bound to find some madman’s journal detailing unspeakable monsters of the H.P.Starcraft variety!”

All he did was give you that look, then walk into the secret room. “Come on, sooner we find it, sooner we get out of here.”

With a heavy sigh you followed him again, running your flashlight over every nook and cranny so you could set your mind at ease that there wasn’t anything lurking. In the shadows. To your relief, there was no long passageway of certain death, but instead it immediately opened into a small room. There wasn’t much in it, just an old desk with a matching chair, and more bookcases that mostly looked empty. Above the desk was the source of the wind: a window that had three of its four panes broken.

Wordlessly, you two got to work searching, you taking the desk, Echo the bookcases. Of course the desk drawers were locked, and you had to dig out the multitool from your belt to open them.

In fact, you were so preoccupied with trying to jam the drawer open, that you didn’t think much when you felt someone step up behind you.

You didn’t know why Echo was standing over your crouched form, but you went on with your work, letting out a satisfied noise when the desk popped open.

“Nothing in here but old tax documents and…a first draft of a romance novel?” You said as you flipped through the pages.

 Echo chuckled, “Wonder how bad the smut is that they felt the need to write it in here.”

“Maybe they just liked the privacy…” 

...Wait, Echo’s voice hadn’t come from above you. A glance to your right told you he was still rifling through the shelves. Despite the fact that there was something creaking the floorboards directly behind you.

Every hair on your body stood on end as you wheeled around- and your light illuminated a gaunt, bloodless face with sunken sockets for eyes.

A scream ripped from your throat as you fell back against the desk, dropping your light in your fumbling attempt to reach the blaster at your hip. Another cold breeze whipped painfully across your face, just as Echo called your name.

He was beside you in an instant, a hand on your shoulder, “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Wha- how the kriff had Echo not seen the person looming over you?! Blaster in one hand you quickly grabbed your fallen flashlight and shone it over the spot they had been. 

But of course, there was nothing there.

“B-behind me,” you inwardly cursed the stutter in your voice and swallowed hard as you continued to scan the area with your light, “There was someone behind me- Echo I swear I saw someone!”

Echo’s hand gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, “Hey, it’s alright, I believe you,” he threw an cautious look around the room, then slid his hand down your arm to lock with your own. “Don’t be scared,” he murmured, that steady baritone almost managing to calm your thundering heart. Then Echo slowly started to rise, pulling you with him as he kept his eyes out for danger, “I’ll hold your hand while we-”

He was cut off when the desk chair threw itself across the room and shattered in a burst of splinters against the wall.

“Run!”

Your man did not need to tell you twice. With more grace than you thought you could manage, you sprang to your feet and ran for the hidden door, Echo holding your hand tight as you did. Just as you both cleared the doorway one of the bookcases fell over, blocking the secret room from visitors once again.

The carnage didn’t stop there. As Echo pulled you down the stairs, an end table grazed your cheek as it flew through the air, certainly aimed at your head. Paintings fell off the walls and floorboard ripped themselves up as you both thundered through the entry hall. The moment you two practically jumped past the front door something else smashed against the wall, narrowly missing one of you.

Unfortunately, holding on to each other caused one, then the other, to lose balance and both of you tumbled down the porch steps. As if on instinct, Echo’s arm went around you protectively, holding you as your bodies rolled across the ground in front of the haunted manor.

The moment you came to a stop, both of you looked up at the house. The wind gave one last mournful wail as the front door slammed shut, sending quite a clear message.

You and Echo both seemed to hold your breaths for a moment, waiting until, all at once, the horrible wind and sounds from inside died, as if they had never been there to begin with.

There was a heartbeat of dead silence, then, “Echo?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to kill Cid when we get back.”

“Agreed.”

EDIT: click here for an extended ending in my reply reblog lol

Tag List: @sev-on-kamino @anxiouspineapple99 @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @commander-sunshine @dystopicjumpsuit @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @arcsimper5 @littlemissmanga @wings-and-beskar @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @moonlightwarriorqueen @briefartnaturewolf @kimiheartblade @littlemissbshine @funeralreunion @chubbyhedgehog @ladytano420 @trixie2023 @mssbridgerton @wizardofrozz @vithepotato @mythical-illustrator

[soft-for-them]

Bracelet names and drying washing - Gilbert Blythe x plus size reader

Summary: You were just washing clothes until your soul mark appears (Soulmate AU, can be seen as any version of Gilbert.)

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: I've written that the reader doesn't go to church, so interpret it as you will because too much historical fan fiction makes the reader automatically Christian and white thus excluding POCs and non Christians and I'm not here for that. Also not proofread.

Clothes of many colours hang on the washing line as morning comes and goes.

The sun is bright and it’s surprisingly warm with only a small amount of chilly wind jostling the damp clothes on the line. For an hour now you’ve been washing clothes, at the moment a particularly gruelling mud stain on a rich blue skirt snatching your attention away from the nice warm day. Normally you would soak such stain but you’re being paid to get rid of it quickly so you scrub and scrub and scrub at it.

Your sleeves are rolled up to your chubby upper arms, your own skirt wet with dirtied water as you sit awkwardly on a foot stall, a bucket of yellowing water in front of you.

On a day like today you’d normally be outside reading a book on your little hill maybe even going on a nice walk but you need the money for repairs to your home and really you need the distraction from you little crush so you carry on attacking the dried mud on the skirt like it’s the only thing to do on this nice day.

You’re up to your elbows in murky water so you don’t see the black smudge forming around your wrist, even when you do see a smidgen of black you just rub at it thinking that it’s a bit of mud not noticing that the mark has become jet black and permanent.

“How do you get so much mud on a skirt!” you mutter to yourself as you lift the skirt from the water bucket, the long royal blue skirt belonging to one of the daughters of the local shop owner, the martial too nice for such simple garment and the waist line too tiny for someone as round as you can wear.

It must be a skirt someone would wear to a wedding or church but you don’t go to church so you have no clue how someone could get so much mud on it, especially when it’s so sunny. It’s almost always sunny for crying out loud, you get having grass stains but mud!

You dunk the skirt back in the bucket and pull it back up.

“Ah! YES!” you cheer, the mud stain now finally gone.

You go to stand and a hang the skirt on the washing line strung between two sturdy trees but your eyes trains down to your wrist, the so called mud that you had wiped off still lingering there.

Dark and bold link black ink, your try to wipe away the mark around your wrist only for the swirl of black to solidify on your skin a name now clear on your (s/c) skin.

Gilbert Blythe.

Like a bracelet around your wrist, the capital ‘G’ starting on the side of your wrist below your thumb, the cursive writing whimsical but clear.

You drop the skirt.

Splashes of dirty water jumps out the bucket onto the dull brown of your dress the water soaking through your shift to your soft body.

Frozen is shock your mind starts to wonder as a small gust of cold wind attacks the drying washing.

For years now you’ve loved Gilbert Blythe, ever since your family moved here when you were twelve. You’ve always been an odd one out in the community being that you don’t look like the average person who lives around here. Most people around here are thin, white and middle aged with an ever growing family, most of which are avid church goers who are very old fashioned in there ways.

Gilbert has always been kind to you but he had fallen in love with another, thus your heart breaking and you solemnly moving on. Still you stayed kind to all, to him especially and now you’re an adult you thought your love for him had dissipated but then Anne of Green Gables took a scholarship and moved away.

Somehow that love young you had for him sprouted back up and for the last year you’ve been trying not to be a bumbling blushing idiot in front of Gilbert.

Your thoughts of his handsome face and the utter shock of your soul mark bearing his name appearing today of all days is suddenly interrupted by another gust of wind, a wind so strong that a petticoat rips form the washing line carrying it down the hill from where you stand.

“Fuck!”

You hope no one is around to hear and see you for you bolt after the petticoat, your mouth running with curse words of varying vulgarity.  

Out of breath with legs beginning to ache you almost fall flat on your face, the grass of the small hill near the trees and stream were you were washing suddenly changing into a thin dirt road. You momentum subsides, your chest heaving up and down as your whole body aches from the sudden running and from all the scrubbing you've been doing.

There standing on the other side of the road (well it’s more just a line of dead grass but it’s used as a road none the less) stands a man, a man you know all too well.

Gilbert walks over to you with equal parts concern and amusement, a damp petticoat in one hand his other hand, more specifically, his other wrist bare, his shirt sleeve rolled up to his elbow.

His white shirt is crumple, his blazer long forgotten, his shoes covered is grass and dirt from running, his eyes sparkling with wonder and hope.

On his wrist in ink black writing, your handwriting to be exact, the name (Y/n) (L/n) big and bold lays like a bracelet.

[filthforfriends]

Glass Houses

Read parts 1 - 4 of DILFiano on my Masterlist

CW: Morally grey age gap and power dynamics.

Word count: 4.9k

Three hours: barely a respectable amount of time to party hop with your friends before asking to go home. It’s not like you didn’t have a good excuse: they wanted to drive over an hour to some bougie party in the hills. Icarus liked to use her dad's name to get into events every now and then, just for the thrill of it. Most of you were leaving for college on Monday anyway. This was one last hoorah. 

“I just feel super nauseous.” The statement was an excellent way to get home because no one wanted you in their car. 

“You better not puke, or I swear to god…” Icarus threatened

“It’s just nerves about the move. I’m struggling to remember why I wanted to attend college on the other side of the country.”

“You had like two sips of punch, anyways,” slurs Elliot.

“Fuck you,” playfully shout towards the backseat. “Someone needs to take care of your ass when you have alcohol poisoning!”

“Hey, I’m on your side!” protests Moxy.

“Oh, I’m sorry, love!” You blow kisses in her direction, both tacky and affectionate. 

“Is it okay to just drop you off at mine? Or do you need me to take you home?” Your heart jumps at the prospect of spending time in the David’s home. Pretending you were on this little adventure for Icarus was morally exhausting. It’s not that you didn’t care about your friend, but because the globe had shifted its axis. Your world now revolves around Damia. Ingesting various substances, dancing until you broke a heel, and stumbling back to your car at dawn was totally ineffectual in comparison to him.

“You can drop me at yours, I don’t want to deal with getting my car tomorrow morning. Ugh! I’m just fucking tired for some reason.” You were wide awake and so impatient you couldn’t even disguise it. Luckily everyone’s attention was on Google Maps.

“Just crash at mine like we were going to do anyway,” Icarus offers. “And we’ll be home…” She looks back at Elliot, who’s scanning the directions on his phone. 

“It’s an hour and 23 minutes away,” he supplies.

“Okay we’ll probably just sleep there then.”

“Sick! I’ve always wanted to spend the night in the hills!” Moxy is excited to cross something off her stereotypically L.A. bucket list. You try to be happy with her, but internally you’re counting the trees as they pass. While your physical form is trying to plaster a smile on her face in the passenger seat of Icarus’ G-Wagon, your mind is already at the David’s house. Biding your time on the ride was unbearable. You wanted to crawl out of your skin or just feel the dry desert air on your face as the wind rushed by. 

The sound of the tires changed as Icarus turned from asphalt, to her smoothly paved driveway. You wanted to jump out of the car and sprint while the SUV rolled forward.

“Wait, what is the turn off again?” She whipped around, coordinating with Elliot.

“Uh, shit, let me check. I screen shot the directions in case my battery gets low.”

“You can just charge it.”

“I forgot my phone charger,” he groans, and Moxy rolls her eyes.

“I literally texted you –”

“Okay, okay!” He holds up his hands defensively. Elliot had smoked too much random weed at the second party and was jumpy as a result. It was a risky move, just taking whatever was offered with no questions. Sometimes you’d be fine and others you’d want to rip your eyebrows off.

“Are you playing nice back there?” Icarus called. 

“Can I get out?” Keeping the urgency out of your voice was impossible.

“Huh, what?” 

“The car is still moving,” you snap.

“Oh shit,” she puts it in park. A good person would make sure Icarus was absolutely fine to drive. A good person would make sure all their dumbass friends ended the night safely. A good person would put aside their own personal needs for the sake of others, but that had been your entire life. Tonight you weren’t going to be a good person, you were going to seduce your friend’s dad.

Hopping out of the car, you exchange various expletive ridden farewells. The wave of relief at watching your friends drive off was like fully exhaling for the first time tonight. How freeing it was to be in the company of someone you didn’t have to take care of.

Damia had the house to himself, now. Alexander stayed at his mothers apartment so his older sister could have a going away party. You wanted to know how exactly Damia came to chaperone. Did he volunteer? Were you on his mind every waking moment too?

After your meeting a week and a half ago, Damia hadn’t called or texted. You waited in rapture for the first four days, then gave up hope. A grown man isn’t going to chase after you like a teenage boy would. You’d have to earn that reverence. Holding it against him wouldn’t be fair, anyways. Chiara would probably use your relationship against Damia in court, trying to win sole custody of Alexander. She seemed like the type to play dirty, and with a heart as pure as Damia’s, that was reprehensible.  

The house was dark, so you kicked your shoes off on the welcome mat instead of the tile, that way your arrival didn’t echo through the silent house. It felt early to you, but the kitchen clock read 12:07am. He must be asleep. You go to the trouble of depositing your belongings in Icarus’ room for appearances sake, before tip-toeing to the otherside of the house. Damia’s bedroom door didn't squeak when you opened it, the whole home was well-oiled and in perfect working order. 

However, you could sense that Chiara’s presence here was waning. All of Damiano’s eclectic art she’d managed to arrange in an orderly fashion stood on its own. No longer balanced between a neutral-toned painting and a perfectly proportionate end table, the heavy colors of a disfigured facade leered at you from across the hall. Up until today, you’d thought the bust was of a humanoid face. Now it was so clearly a mask, crazed eyes boring through wind-warped wood from the other side of some secret.

 Another painting had been moved from Damia’s office to the living room. The piece was both gory and abstract, radiating deviant energy. There were no mangled figures, but the blood red paint had been applied to look like straining muscular ligature.  In fact, all the paintings that had newly achieved pride of place were disconcerting, which you realized, was the point. In an effort to find himself, Damia must first be uncomfortable in the world around him. He was too beloved for anyone to do that to Damiano except himself. 

Walking into his bedroom, you found the space above the headboard surprisingly baren. At 15 years old, you'd snuck a peek during a dinner party. There was nothing remarkable about it. The David’s had an under-stated European style. Given how Damia had centered his sexual charisma as a musician, you’d expected plenty of nude imagery ranging from sensual to erotic. Hell, maybe even attachments for restraints on the bed. However none of this was true, and you’d shut the door, fearful of getting caught. All you could recall was the absence of things, but had no memory of what the master bedroom looked like.

In a room lit only by artificial light sleeping through the window, it was hard to decisively observe anything. After closing the door, you became distracted by the books. First and second editions of Maya Angelou, Willian Carlos Williams, Walt Whitman, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, Allen Ginsberg, and others whose names you didn’t recognize. There's a sensuality in your fingers running down every spine, as if caressing their drug addled ramblings.

Of course your eyes then fall to Damia. No one is more angelic when they slumber or more evocative of sin when they wake. The dark washes us clean. Maybe you and Damia could stay up all night together.

“Hey,” you whisper. He doesn’t stir and after a moment you're glad you haven’t woken him up. He lays on his side and you lift the covers, scooting in behind him. It wasn’t an unfamiliar position. You always rose first at sleepovers, even in elementary school. The boredom of waiting was hellish, but not now. Nothing could hold your attention more completely than the even rise and fall of Damiano’s ribcage as he breathed peacefully. In such close proximity, you could see he was shirtless and propped yourself up on one hand to admire him. The muscles of his pecs were relaxed as were his biceps. All this beautiful body resting easily, folded in on itself. 

You lay back down before the urge to run your hands on his warm, freckled skin becomes overwhelming. Testing the limits, heart racing, you put the pad of a single finger on  Damiano’s back and hold your breath. As far as you can tell he’s still sleeping. You scoot closer so certain places are just barely brushing against his body: knee, forehead, stomach, the back of your left hand. You imagine Damiano had invited you into bed with him, that you’d fallen asleep together like this, maybe after a night of love making. You press your lips to his spine, then can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Damia startles and flips over suddenly. The glass house you’ve built in your mind is shattered.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me!” he heaves, hand to his chest. The mortification sets in. This wasn’t the slow, sensual wake up call you’d be hoping for, with kisses and gentle touches. Of course it wasn’t, because you were an 18 year old girl and a near stranger in his bed.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Damiano reaches over you for his phone and for a moment he’s held above you so intimately it makes your cunt throb. After a few taps his sighs and lays back on his bed, disposition changed. 

“I take it Icarus is with her phone?”

“Yeah, of course! I wouldn’t – fucks sake I wouldn’t do this if there was any risk of be found.” It's then that the reason for Damiano startling occurs to you. “Oh shit, you thought I was Chiara for a sec.” You sit up, weight resting on your hip and left hand. Looking down at him felt so casual, a snapshot into a fantasy life.

“No, no. We haven't shared a bed in almost a year. This bed,” he pats the mattress on either side of him, “is brand new. I’d like to sell the house, but…it’s not the priority right now.”

“Alexander.” Damiano was trying to give some consistency to his son. He nods and puts his arm behind his head. His tattoos stretch across his skin. The claw of a sprawling dragon pierces the head of a sphinx because Damia hadn’t coordinated between tattoo artists. He says he prefers it this way.

“You’re a good father.” Damia snorts and you realize immediately why that might not have been the best comment.

“Oh am I?” God he’s gorgeous. His happy trail is dense because Damia’s body hair spans his lower stomach. It also partially conceals the coiled serpent on his sternum, and reaches across his pecs. You’d never slept with a man who had adult body hair. It must tickle. Everywhere.

“You could move to a different room? That should be a manageable amount of change.”

“The guest bedroom is right next to the kitchen, though,” he wrinkles his nose. Moving Icarus’ bedroom likely wasn’t on the table either.

“What about an add-on to the studio? Expand the bathroom, add a bedroom, and make all the Swedish producers sleep in here?” 

“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.”

“Sleep in the guest bedroom when Alexander has friends over.”

“So I can hear all the nefarious activities happening in my house,” he chuckles, nodding. “You're full of good ideas.” He extends a hand to your knee, face thoughtful. “You know what the issue here is though? You’re better at these conversations than my peers.” His words are the sweetest, most delicious, most unbearable torture.

“Damia, you can trust my discretion.”

“I trust you as much as I can possibly trust an 18 year old, since I’ve been one.” You don’t like this answer and he can see it. “Where is Icarus tonight?”

“Getting drunk an hour and a half away in the Hollywood Hills and spending the night. Probably will be too hung over to get home before 4pm.” Damia is bargaining with himself and visibly gives in.

“You can’t spend the night in my bed, but we can cuddle for a bit.” Is cuddling what he called tucking Icarus into bed? Or did he say something else like snuggle? Is cuddling what he called his caresses with Chiara? Which role are you: daughter or wife? You are neither. 

“Also please don’t tell my daughter that I have a tracker on her phone. It’s for her own safety, but –”

“I understand.”

“Of course you do. This’ll be our secret too.” There was no earthly thrill like keeping a secret with Damia, because it created an intimacy that couldn’t be denied. Even if neither of you named it, that tether was made stronger. You wanted thousands of secrets with him, to drown in all the promises you made and kept like your life’s purpose. 

You scoot closer, putting off the moment where this touch could feel parental rather than romantic. It was far worse: contrived. As you lay down on his chest, Damiano’s smell was everywhere: his bedsheets, his pillows, his skin. It was the perfect encapsulation of his sex appeal: mature, masculine, refined. His arm wrapped around your back, fingertips dragging up and down your side. The sensation made every hair stand on end and you shivered. Damia chuckled which broke the awkwardness. 

Feeling a little shy now, you turn your face against his skin and get a whiff of body odor. For some reason you want to hide how hard your nipples are, like there was any point in decency now. The hand strewn across his chest comes alive, holding onto Damia’s ribcage. The deep breaths aren’t really enough. Some part of you wants to bite into the muscle of his pec to feel it in your mouth, dig our fingernails into his skin and drag him across the bed. Consume him whole. It’s so carnal that you don’t recognize yourself.

“Pheromones. The smell thing it's…you’ll grow out of it, I think.” Having your mind read by Damia evokes that forbidden, cherished memory under a vibrant sky. For the first time ever, you weren’t thinking of the kiss already. Damia falters in stroking your arm, eyes turned to the ceiling in thought as well.

“Then why is it so hard for you to hold back?” The outer corners of his eyes crinkle as Damia lets out a short laugh. He shakes his head, not at you, but at himself. He should have known you’d be capricious.

“You call this holding back? Hmm.” Damia brings you closer and presses his face to your scalp, breathing in deep. Mothers say the heads of their newborns smell sweet when making the same gesture. If not sweetness, then how did you smell to him?

“I’d say we’re doing a terrible job,” Damia whispers. Upon being released, you finally feel confident enough to give into the craving that nags you, throbs between your legs. Nuzzling his arm out of the way, you press your face into his exposed armpit.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize for your depravity, then take deep gasping breaths of Damia’s body odor. “Sorry,” you mewl, trying to scoot closer. His hair tickles your nose, lips, and cheeks. Damia lifts his arm, permitting easier access. You pet his armpit hair with trembling fingers and your knees bump his flank. Testing the limits, you open your legs and try to nudge his thigh in between. Only when he abides, do you realize why you want Damia positioned that way, why you want his thigh wedged as high up as you could get it.

“I’m sorry.” He shushes you soothingly. 

“Sweetheart, stop apologizing.” You stick the tip of your tongue into the hollow of his armpit and taste the salty skin, then lick upwards. Thankfully, he’s not ticklish, but your rapid breaths against his wet skin makes Damia shiver.

“I want you so bad,” you whimper. “And if you’d just – I’d be happy just to give you a blowjob or handy or anything. If you wanted I’d eat you out. God, I’d lick you clean after a run. I don’t even need you to touch me, because just knowing that I got to touch you…I’d be so thankful and I’d never ask for anything again. I’d take it to my grave, I promise.” This had devolved from propositioning into pathetic begging, but you really were that desperate. Damia looks pained when you want him aroused.

“Sweetheart, if this situation were different –”

“But it’s not. This is the situation.” There's a flicker, a candle fighting the wind. Deep down, a fraction of a fraction of Damiano is considering it. Maybe pity wasn’t the way to go. He was so confident, he probably was attracted to confidence in return.

“Sorry that was rabid, um...” You have to instigate because Damia can’t. But push a little too far, he’d shut down completely and ask you to leave out of guilt. You commit to a course of action, rolling over to the side of the bed and peeling off your tights. Damia’s eyes go wide in alarm. Instead of taking the rest off too, you kneel in front of him, wearing just panties and a skirt.

“I want you to feel how wet you make me.” 

“We can’t –”

“And I’m not asking you to do anything! I just want you to feel, just once. You don’t have to get me off, but I want you to know.” There's that flicker, no longer just one candle fighting the wind. 

“This is a horrible idea,” Damiano responds, propping himself up on an elbow. “I can’t believe I’m…” He extends his hand and you shift position, parting your legs to make room. You pull his wrist under the skirt and his fingertips bump right above the waistline of your panties. Before you can control the reaction, everything tenses in excitement, pussy pleading for you to give it something to squeeze down on. 

Damia’s gaze is knowing, but he doesn't break the asphyxiating sexual tension with a witty remark. He’s not going to invalidate this moment for either of you. Trying to read into that, you lower his hand a centimeter to your panties. Damia’s short fingernails catch on the elastic, but his eyes never leave your face. Rather than blush and turn away, you stare right back, pushing his fingertips past the waistband. 

Of his own volition, Damia slides his hand between your legs. His mouth falls agape, because you’re so wet he has to focus on not accidently slipping inside.

“Tesorina, I –” he touches you at a loss for words. Damia sighs in admiration at how warm and silky your pussy feels. Out of habit, he goes to apply pressure just outside your vulva with his pinky and pointer, while his middle and ring finger play with your pussy. He has to stop himself. You almost wish Damia was wearing a wedding ring so your body’s lubrication could loosen it.

“You feel lovely,” he purrs, pulling his hand back. You close your legs around his touch, clutching it between your thighs. It fits there so perfectly that you can’t help but rock against his palm. Both hands wrap around his wrist. A shameless part of you uses the grip to work back and forth against him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but mm please – don’t –”  Damia wedges his upturned hand firmly against your vulva. “Oh my god,” you mewl, careening forward.  You get fistfuls of the quilt and cry out, pelvis naturally finding a rhythm to rock against Damia’s hand.

“Ah mm, I’m sorry.” 

“Shh, stop apologizing,” he insists in a whisper. Damia isn’t even concealing the relief in his expression at you making this decision on his behalf. Testing the boundaries, you sit back on your heels and give Damia’s hand your weight. He applies firm upward pressure to counteract and your source of friction ends up being even more snug against your pussy.

“Fucking, fuck. Thank you,” you moan, grinding your clit against the heel of his hand.

“Right now, it's okay to listen to your body, tesorina.” Experimentally, Damia’s finger slides into the divot of your vaginal opening. He strokes your hymen in circular motions. Without using any pressure, Damia allows just the tip of his middle finger to slip inside. A car drives by and the headlights momentarily illuminate half of Dami’s face. You can’t tell if it's the half he shows the world, or the half he’s failing to hide from you. 

Captivated but conflicted, Damia drags the arousal up to your clit, middle finger dipping out of your hymen. Immediately you're grieving the lack of intrusion with a whine. Upon reaching the crest of your labia, he brushes back and forth in progressively smaller strokes. Damia uses a massaging motion around and on your clit. Rather than blindly picking a spot to rub, he allows the messy slickness of your pre-cum to inform his movements. 

At first you're in awe of his presion while so deep in thought. Until you realize that subconsciously, your hips were shifting to bring his touch to the best spot. Under all that focus, he was listening to your body’s minute signals. When Damia does find your clit, he puts it directly under his thumb and your hips buck violently. 

“Are you sure?” Something changes in the way he’s positioned. One of his fingers is extended and you falter as he presses it inside. It’s all you can do to nod. Head hung, your expression is corrugated by pleasure. He curls the digit against your g-spot and now your hands are pushing the blanket away, back arching, mouth falling open as your moan. 

“Hey, look at me,” Damia prompts “Are you really, really sure?” It’s absurd for him to expect an answer while he finally pleasures you. Maybe this isn’t an overwhelming amount of stimulation for some women, but you’re on the verge of full body trembles. Damia holds your clitorous between his fingers internally and externally and stays consistent, titrating the pressure up and down, trying to find that sweet spot for you. One hand tightens its grip on Damiano’s wrist as insurance. The other is planted in front of you, bringing your face closer to his.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes.” Your intrepid confidence issues a scorching challenge. If this interaction ceases out of someone’s fear, it wasn’t mine. Because I am sure. You hold eye contact, gaze completely level. Equal. No longer a little girl in need of a replacement father figure. Damia returns your gaze, alarmed at your power, but also something like impressed. His pupils flit down to your lips. Eyes. Lips. Ridiculing himself. Lips, again.

“If you have the slightest doubt, tell me.” There's a sinking sensation in your stomach, not out of regret, but out of the knowledge of how wrong this was. It just made the whole thing more enticing; a door into the world of depravity that you coveted. People expected you’d spend your life as a righteous woman. Instead you wore a lacy thong under your skirt to seduce your best friend’s father when she was driving on the 405 tipsy. 

“If holding on to me feels good, that's fine, but I won’t pull away if you let go. I’m not cruel.” Damiano visibly makes the same kind of enduring moral concession. During which, his hand had stilled in the last few moments, but you didn’t have the decency to stop using it as a source of stimulation. It was an inexcusably filthy thing to do, hump Damia’s hand with so much vigor it made you sweat. It was fucked up. While Damia couldn’t bring himself to verbally encourage it, his eyes begged you not to stop. 

It was the briefest glimpse into the version of himself that Damia chained to the back of his mind, because it was a danger to his own reputation. A version of himself that sought out rules so his unquenchable rage had something to pulverize. That version of Damiano was allowed to fixate on the girl who fell to her knees in public and begged to blow him. He was allowed to accept the offer, and drag her back to the backseat of a car and have her ride his thigh. Both over and under the trousers, depending on which she liked better.

 “I know you’re desperate just from touching yourself, because sex toys are still embarrassing at your age. I could probably just buy you one, but…” he clicks his tongue at an intrusive thought and shuts his eyes. Jaw set, Damia carefully gets himself under control, but can’t stop the hand against your thigh from shaking. 

“I know you’re desperate because you’re so turned on that I can feel your heartbeat.” His fingers slowly curl towards your belly button as his thumb draws a straight line up your vulva. A breath gets caught in your chest, the pressure underneath your sternum threatening to become a scream. 

“Please, please, ” you babble, mouth falling open when he finds your clit again. With the plentiful pre-cum, Damia runs his fingers back down your pussy and inside. The reentrance makes a squelching sound from all the wetness and you cringe hard, eyes closed in embarrassment. 

“Shh, tesorina. Did you know most people have to use lube to get this wet? Hmm?” You had so much to learn. Why couldn’t he teach you? Damia’s fingering feels amazing, the slightest bit of delicious strain. You realize that he’d been using two. It’s more than you’d attempt so soon, but totally painless. Of course, Damia would know your body better than even you.

“How's that?”

“I didn’t think that I could take...but it feels mm.” You shift your hips side to side, exploring new sensations. 

“Of course you can,” he coos. Just as it had reflexively a minute ago, your body bears down out of a desperate craving for internal stimulation. This time you get to squeeze down on two thick fingers and that relief brings you to your forearms.

“Damia, oh my god,” you moan. At this point, you’re just breathing in your own hair where it falls around your face. Damia uses his spare hand to pull it from your mouth and tuck it behind your ear. Somehow, it's the most intimate thing he’s done today. 

“Do you want to try three?” No one had ever asked you that. It was counterintuitive to the goal of staying tight. It felt like you could take three. Maybe you’d really enjoy it, even if that was wrong. The stretch of two was deeply satiating. 

“Sweetheart, it’s okay if the answer is yes.” He sets his hand on your thigh and rubs up and down slowly.

“Yes,” you blurt, scooting your legs apart to create room. Damia works the third one inside much differently than the second. He starts with his pinky, just pushing the tip past your hymen. That’s easy after a couple passes, so he switches to using the pointer as the third finger. You’re frozen in anticipation for something you’d never allowed yourself to be interested in. When he pushes three inside you adjust your pelvis without thinking about it.

“See how you spread your legs to open your hips? It's totally intuitive. Never let anyone ignore your desires.” Listening attentively, you manage to integrate all three fingers to the last knuckle. It takes a little force from Damia, which just makes the whole thing hotter. The flat of your hand slams against the mattress in stimulation. A whine turns into a throaty moan that wasn’t supposed to escape.

“Mm, see? No one teaches women how good having your pussy stretched feels.” You’re nodding in agreement even though Damia hasn’t asked a question. He thrusts his fingers in and out at a relaxed pace. At some point during this exchange, Damia went from laying under to kneeling on top of the comforter to be closer. The hand stroking your flank was equal parts sexual and reassuring. 

“I could fit four fingers if I wanted too, hm? I could fit my whole hand, even. Would you like my whole hand inside you, tesorina?” You think about it, nod, and turn bright red. Even too embarrassed to meet Damia’s eyes, you can feel his smile. He’s thrilled at your honesty in this moment of self-discovery.

“Now I bet you didn’t know that about yourself until I asked. Here's the secret: most women love the way this feels. A woman, when she’s aroused, relaxed, and really wet because someone’s been patient with her, can fit more than just a cock. She can fit a cock and a finger, a cock and a toy. Never let anyone shame you for what it takes to feel full. It's your pleasure.”

Notes: No, that is not the end of the scene, however it is the end of my patience. My blog has been broken for months and it hasn't been fixed. For one, I can't tag people, hence the lack of taglist. PLEASE submit a help to Tumblr on my behalf. Yes, I know you're not supposed to, but I've resorted to annoying them into action. I'll post the rest once people can actually see my writing.